Farrukh attempts to fill in the regrettable and unusual gaps in his knowledge of an Aberration: Mindflayers.
The weather is extremely average today as Eben and Farrukh head off for their fun fishing trip with Lowri. Zalamandra has acquired a new haircut, making do with what she's got for a fetching, if slightly startling, sidecut.
Seeing the finished shrine in its Kordian splendor being embraced by the community, faithful and general locals alike, fills Tanith with boundless pride. The big man makes little effort to disguise that naked pride. He firmly shakes every hand, squeezes tightly every hug, and marvels at every incredibly heavy rock. He begins to wonder if this is what fatherhood feels like. The reflection leads him to thinking about his wilder days before his committed relationship with Carina and their extended adventuring career together. Do I have bastards running around Diamond Lake? What have I been missing out on?!
Tigri’s rock climbing challenge is a well-timed distraction from the unwanted bout of introspection. ”Loser buys drinks!”
***
After getting a good sweat started, Tanith surveys the shrine from the high vantage provided by the climbing wall. ”You’ve done a damn good job Tigri. The Brawler’s grinning like a fool down on all of us right now. How are the coffers doing? I can leave more coin if you think it’ll help” he asks the shrine’s keeper. Having helped Eben and Astraden with accounting after the party’s assorted hauls had started to give Tanith an appreciation for regular bookkeeping. ”I know folks living in the Muddle aren’t wealthy. Are the donations coming in covering the day to day costs?”
Cuetzpalli is also very impressed with Tanith's efforts. "Wow, this is really something, Bro. I'm glad that you taught me about Kord, or I might not be here now to see it. Hell, I don't even know where I would have gone after I died. I guess just...thanks for being such a good example for me." Cuetzpalli gives Tanith a big hug of his own.
***
"Wow, Tigri, that sounds awful. I'm sorry to hear about your dreams. Thanks for the warning though. I'm not sure what all the pitch stuff means, but we're doing our best to deal with the Age of Worms thing before it becomes more of a problem. This," Cuetzpalli says, laying a hand on his enormous blade, "is Kelmarchen. It was given to me by the Big Man himself to help with our quest. Wanna hold it?"
At the question of the coffers, Tigri looks a bit unsure, shifting from foot to foot as she returns with protein bars. "Well, that Mr. Dantares has offered help from time to time. He is... quite something. He meets with the community often, and as long as he keeps doing that, it should be fine. He doesn't really raise rent, and he is happy to put much of what he builds under Muddle management as long as we put his name on it. The kids love him, and as long as he does not go mad with power, it should be fine. But it would be nice to have resources not depending on the whim of one rich celebrity. The Free City has offered help, but the City does not give anything for free. Yenaver helps, too, but... well, he has not the connection to Kord to hallow these halls."
Tigri's eyes widen as she grips the splinter of the sacred weapon of Kord. Her hair starts to stand on end, as if being hit by static. "Ah. Ah, yes, I see. Now this. This is a weapon. Get me two of these, and I could cut a mountain."
She stares breathlessly into space, then, reluctantly, hands the weapon back to its rightful owner. "But it is not mine. I see why you travel with Kordson now. Two motes of five."
Tanith nods along as Tigri fills him in on the economic state of the shrine. Hearing she turned down aid from the Free City further convinces him that she was the right choice for the job.
”Astraden, the orc woman that travels with us, is a powerful priestess. She’s not sworn to mighty Kord but she’s a trusted ally and a good friend. I’ll work with her to hallow the caves below before we leave town again. Could you arrange to have the area cleared out? You know, just in case things go sideways.”
In between libraries, Astraden makes cardboard food to keep off the hunger pangs. She throws the leftovers at the jackdaws and gulls gathered around fountains and outdoor markets in the city. "Here, birdy-birdy!" She turns to Farrukh, holding out a handful of lint-like crumbs. "Here, put this in your pockets for later. Boy, I can't wait until we have money again."
"So, Farrukh. Mr. Al-Khatel. Master of adventure. Reader of books. What's going on in your life?"
"Nobody's tried to kill me in days. It's making me nervous."
"Other than that? Not much is going on except the research, so things are pretty good actually. It's nice to have a short rest after that mess in Redhand."
Astraden nods, focusing intently on what Farrukh says. She flings another piece of "food," which happens to hit and lodge in the fashionable hat of a passing merchant. He is immediately beset by a single small jackdaw with patchy feathers, which pecks at the "bread" momentarily before looking back at Astraden with a critical eye and flying away. "So you're happy like this? Just researching, sleeping, eating? Like, not because I myself am completely unhappy. Just curious. Like, do you miss what your life was before? You were an adventurer when you came to Diamond Lake, but you're from Ket . . . how did you decide to try your fortune in the backwaters of Greyhawk in the first place?"
Astraden nods, focusing intently on what Farrukh says. She flings another piece of "food," which happens to hit and lodge in the fashionable hat of a passing merchant. He is immediately beset by a single small jackdaw with patchy feathers, which pecks at the "bread" momentarily before looking back at Astraden with a critical eye and flying away. "So you're happy like this? Just researching, sleeping, eating? Like, not because I myself am completely unhappy. Just curious. Like, do you miss what your life was before? You were an adventurer when you came to Diamond Lake, but you're from Ket . . . how did you decide to try your fortune in the backwaters of Greyhawk in the first place?"
"Believe it or not, this was kind of my GOAL when I left home. I was an apprentice ranger. I kind of liked it, but it was hard work, and I wasn't really keen on doing it for the rest of my life."
"I figured if I got a big haul as an adventurer I could afford to just live off that money forever. Or just go after some big score every few years or so. Take it easy, you know? And what better place to make my fortune than the Free City?"
He shrugs.
"But then we get mixed up in all this prophecy business and suddenly there are actual STAKES beyond just getting a bunch of treasure some dead people weren't going to use anyway."
Tanith nods along as Tigri fills him in on the economic state of the shrine. Hearing she turned down aid from the Free City further convinces him that she was the right choice for the job.
”Astraden, the orc woman that travels with us, is a powerful priestess. She’s not sworn to mighty Kord but she’s a trusted ally and a good friend. I’ll work with her to hallow the caves below before we leave town again. Could you arrange to have the area cleared out? You know, just in case things go sideways.”
"Ah, fantastic! She is of Olidammara, right?" Tigri waves a hand. "Not perfect, but at least she follows an ally of Kord, an Ysgardian. That would be wonderful. Thank you, Creedson."
Farrukh and Astraden find a text entitled Elder Evils, written by none other than Rary—the member of the Circle of Eight who would later kill Tenser and Otiluke. Rary is an exceptionally meticulous writer. One might uncharitably describe his writing, in fact, as tortuous.
Mind flayers, he writes, dwell deep in the Underdark, mostly keeping to their own private "research centers" with little contact with the surface. The "illithids" are brilliant, but alien, feeding off of the brain tissue of living, sapient beings. Their essence is closely tied to the nature of magic itself, and many become incredibly powerful sorcerers.
You already know about their "save or stunned for 3d4 rounds" Mind Blast, so we'll let you learn instead that mind flayers possess an intimate connection to magic within their own minds so strong that they can at-will cast charm person, detect thoughts, levitate, plane shift and i]suggestion[/i]. They need not move or speak to "cast" these spells.[/ooc]
The next day, Eben and Farrukh make their way to the docks, where Lowri and Mahuudril are waiting aboard Mahuudril's vessel. Lowri is dressed in simple, practical clothes, while the ever-friendly 'Madril' wears a somewhat frumpy raincoat and pair of wading breeches.
Devoid of her jewelry and finery, the de facto mistress of Alhaster's private sector looks a little bit absurd, but that doesn't seem to bother her one bit. In fact, Mahuudril waves excitedly as the adventurers draw near, laugh lines appearing around her eyes with an earnest grin. "Ahoy, there, you lot! Oh, I'm glad you brought a friend, Mr. MacTeague. Mr. Al'Khattel there looks like he knows what to do if a tojanida comes looking for revenge for the Prince's awful cooking!"
The docks stink of fish. Mahuudril, however, still stinks of mint.
Eben dresses down for the fishing trip as much as his for-lack-of-a-better-word foppish wardrobe allows, but is still unarguably impractically outfitted. "Well, Farrukh is quite good at killing things, and that's what fishing is all about, right?" he replies, jocularly, to Mahuudril. He does his best to follow the instructions of the others, having never spent much time aboard a boat at all, and hopefully doesn't make too much of an ass out of himself as the day progresses. He does make an effort to spend as much time with Lowri, in as much privacy as a fishing boat can muster, leaving Farrukh to entertain Mahuudril. One might almost think that was the plan in inviting him along in the first place...
Carina eventually emerges from the All-Seeing Eye with several pages of translated notes and a rather worried expression on her face. She goes hunting for either Astraden or Farrukh.
"So, uh, I finally managed to translate those avolakia rubbings. They're... well, they have nothing to do with the Ebon Triad and everything to do with Kyuss."
She goes on to explain what the rubbings spoke of--the prayers to Kyuss, the Ravenous Awakening, Kyuss' ascension and subsequent imprisonment in the monolith of Kuluth-Mar, and the four major figures in Kyuss' faith.
Eben dresses down for the fishing trip as much as his for-lack-of-a-better-word foppish wardrobe allows, but is still unarguably impractically outfitted. "Well, Farrukh is quite good at killing things, and that's what fishing is all about, right?" he replies, jocularly, to Mahuudril. He does his best to follow the instructions of the others, having never spent much time aboard a boat at all, and hopefully doesn't make too much of an ass out of himself as the day progresses. He does make an effort to spend as much time with Lowri, in as much privacy as a fishing boat can muster, leaving Farrukh to entertain Mahuudril. One might almost think that was the plan in inviting him along in the first place...
"Actually, it's pretty different from what I understand. Since your goal is to catch the fish alive so they're fresher when you get back to town with them."
"Not that I've ever been fishing before. Not really a ton of water where I grew up."
"Ah, yes. Ket, isn't it?" Mahuudril chuckles. "One of the few countries I don't think I've had many dealings in. I can't stand the heat, you see. But they know their smithing, don't they? A magus I know positively swears by Kettite scimitars. Won't so much as look at a longsword." She gestures to Farrukh's klar. "You'll want to use that crab knife if the abalone make trouble. Electricity should do us nicely."
Lowri looks up from her chat with Eben. "Wait, how big is the witchsend abalone?"
"Oh, a couple of feet across. But I did mention they're psionic, yes? No?" Madril blinks, then shrugs. "Ah, well. It probably won't have anything too dangerous nearby."
The dragon turtle puts up a vicious fight, nearly rending the boat in two before Farrukh manages to knock it away with a lucky shield bash, buying Madril time to dispel the abalone's control. Eben keeps a couple of inquisitive dire crayfish at bay as Lowri wrestles with one of the abalones, which seems determined to leap off the boat into the turtle-Farrukh melee.
At last, the fishing crew stands victorious—drenched, both Lowri and Farrukh covered in thick green algae that Eben's prestidigitation isn't quite strong enough to remove alone, but with two gleaming shells that positively shine beneath the afternoon sun. Lowri is in a wonderful mood, and talks everyone's ears off about her plans for her new creation all the way back to shore.
Astraden is welcomed graciously by the Kordites, as well as by Rillikandren! Her brother is pleased as anything to see she's still alive and hasn't been reincarnated as a troglodyte. "I heard you were coming by! Have you talked to Marinn lately? She's, uh—" He lowers his voice. "You should sending her sometime. If you're not too busy with your, um, doppelganger dragon zombie worm quest. Nothing urgent."
Astraden is led by Tigri into the cellar. Along with Cuetzpalli and Tanith, Anlathi tags along—the cleric of Obad-Hai has a personal interest in seeing the evil phase spider put to rest.
Immediately, Astraden can sense that foul force, the lingering haunting of the Festering One's tormented soul—and with some magical examination, she knows that this is no job for a mere hallow spell.
The haunting proves difficult and grueling to face, a contrast to the fun pond scuffle Farrukh and Eben get into. Spectral wasps begin to rise from the cursed ground as Astraden and Anlathi channel positive energy, each wasp bearing the same hideous mask that the Festering One wore upon its carapace. The wasps grow more and more legs as they zoom around the party, screaming the same words over and over in a multitude of little voices: "CUT OUT THE ROT OR THE WOUND WON'T HEAL. CUT OUT THE ROT OR THE WOUND WON'T HEAL."
Tanith and Cuetzpalli work with Tigri to keep the wasps at bay, keeping them occupied long enough for the clerics to finish their work. This turns out to be a task of drawing the haunting's attention and getting stung a lot. The stings burn like rusted iron. At last, though, the haunting is defeated, the Festering One put to rest once more. It is only when Olidammara's distant, comforting laugh rings throughout the chamber, though, that the evil feeling of the chamber truly gives way.
At the end of a long, long day of difficult adventures that went surprisingly quickly, all things considered, the group reconvenes at the inn to have a chat with some magic sticks.
Reminder on the wands' properties, alignments and appearance.
Nihil, the wand of lightning bolt, is a surprisingly subdued entity. Lacking telepathy, it communicates strictly in flashes of color and emotion, conveying a certain ambivalence to its usage, a longing for a higher purpose, and a keen desire to find out what happens when it hits zero charges. It doesn't care if it's sold, and in fact seems resigned to the inevitability. It has been through plenty of previous masters.
Grayscale, the wand of haste, is quite a different animal. Grayscale is very chatty, and is full of questions about the party's exploits. It seems to forget names as soon as it hears them, but this doesn't stop it from guessing—Astraden alone is called "Marion", "Yzk'aelvya", and "Steve" over the course of the conversation. Luckily, Grayscale only seems to wake up when touched, and it goes quiet almost as soon as it goes back in the bag.
13th of Harvester , Year 595 — Day 165 of the campaign.
It's another late-summer cold snap on the third night, though there's at least no rain. It's just very windy. Grass and dandelions crack underfoot from frost.
It is dead midnight when the party is awoken and told they have a visitor. A fairly ordinary carriage has pulled up to the Angry Rifter Inn, driven by a gaunt half-orc with heavy bags under his eyes and a skeletal scowl. "My name's Kelgorn," he says stiffly. "I'm here to take you to Her Ladyship." He raises a gleaming piece of jewelry, a large silver loop earring—one of the earrings Lashonna was wearing at the Banquet, alert members of the party recognize. "Gather all your possessions and get in the carriage. Don't attract attention."
He is unwilling to say more, answering questions with as few words as possible. He is clearly impatient to get going to Mistwall Manor.
When and if everyone loads into the carriage, Kelgorn hands "the one named Eben" a pair of scrolls and tells him to read them off while he wheels the carriage into an obscure alleyway. The scrolls are of invisibility sphere, silence and a fairly powerful casting of invisibility. The latter is supposed to be cast on the carriage, Kelgorn indicates, by repeatedly and rudely pointing at the seat of the vehicle without speaking.
"I think I speak for everyone when I say I'm glad that's behind us", Tanith laughs between winces as he pulls spectral stingers from his hide. "I knew I left this place in good hands but I'll feel better knowing we cleaned it out for good. With you to lead it, I'm confident Kord's House will grow the Muddle strong enough to make sure creatures like that thing we killed down here never take advantage of the folks living above again."
The big man claps Cuetzpalli and Astraden on the shoulders, a wordless gesture of thanks and sign that it was time to say goodbyes.
"I don't know how long it'll be before we're back in the Free City again but I'll leave a couple scrolls of sending. If anything comes up, don't hesitate to reach out."
His faith lacking a lot of direction in regards to self-discovery, Tanith is unclear on how to help Nihil and Greyscale find their callings.
"If you could do anything, right now, what would it be?" he asks.
Nihil sends emotional pulses that appear to imply blasting a hole in the roof, followed with an empathic shrug.
~ I can do anything! I can do thiiiiis! ~ Grayscale's telepathy is in a gleeful singsong as it springs out of Tanith's hand, sprouts a pair of arms and legs like some sort of terrifying wand emporium mascot, and begins executing an unsettling jig.
~ And then I would kill the tarrasque. Oh, and end world hunger, I guess. I should probably find my maker, too. How many wishes do I get, again? ~
Eben looks at the scrolls, scrunches up his eyes, figures it would be rude and inconvenient to just keep everyone waiting while he takes a few minutes to figure out what they say, and wordlessly passes them over to Zalamandra.
Eben frowns at Kelgorn's somewhat stiff mannerisms when it comes to Lashona, and comes to a realization. He reaches behind him and idly plucks Forzamele to get his attention, while thinking really hard in the bowstring's direction. A few moments later every member of the party hears Forzamele's telepathic voice in their heads, sending a message along.
"Eben wanted me to let you know that this man's free will has been usurped. He's acting under a charm spell. Personally, I don't see why that's a big deal, but Farrukh threatened to cut me in two if I posessed Eben again, so presumably it's important to you all..."
Cuetzpalli laughs at Nihil's dance. "It's cute. Can we keep it?"
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"Believe it or not, this was kind of my GOAL when I left home. I was an apprentice ranger. I kind of liked it, but it was hard work, and I wasn't really keen on doing it for the rest of my life."
"I figured if I got a big haul as an adventurer I could afford to just live off that money forever. Or just go after some big score every few years or so. Take it easy, you know? And what better place to make my fortune than the Free City?"
He shrugs.
"But then we get mixed up in all this prophecy business and suddenly there are actual STAKES beyond just getting a bunch of treasure some dead people weren't going to use anyway."
"I will say, I came kinda late to this whole business, so I didn't quite have the same motives joining as you four. But didn't you hear all the stories about adventurers? Like, nine in ten that you hear about have died in a cave collapse or been eaten by wolves. Our group has been lucky so far, really. Was the possibility of getting a better life if you survived worth the risk of, well, not surviving?"
After their day of research, Astraden leaves Farrukh with the task of "infosplaining" everything they dug up. When he actually does, so, though, she interrupts almost every sentence with an interesting fact. ("Did you know the white-tailed pseudodragon subsists on primarily a diet of shrubs and beetles?", etc.)
She goes on to explain [...] the four major figures in Kyuss' faith.
Third, the Harbinger of Worms is mentioned in passing as the "seed of our prophecies".
Fourth, the "Hero of the Pit", whose hubris will ensure the greatest of all gifts to the Dead. Interestingly, the way the pictographs can be read, "the Pit" could also be translated as "the Stone"—as in, peach pit, peach stone—or "the Fall".
"Uhh... s@%@. Did you just say that the Harbinger was the 'seed' of their prophecies? As in, the 'pit' of their prophecies?"
Astraden sticks a hand under her arm, expression grave, and wings downwards with her bicep. A sound like flatulence is produced. "Ahaha. Owned. Well, good work getting that all translated. Too bad we'll never know what in the Hells they meant. What were these Avogadro things, you were saying? Like worm pretzels?"
Astraden smiles when she sees Rillikandren, then looks perturbed. "Didn't I tell you to keep your head down, bro? We still haven't tracked down that mind flayer." She gives him a hug. "It's great to see you, though. Yes, I'll send Marinn. I assume you haven't heard anything from Svenser, though. Don't know what that guy is doing any more."
She enters the cellar after a few more minutes of hanging out with her brother, and is happy to see Anlathi joining them. She is less happy about the wasps joining them. But all is well in the end. She gives Tanith a thumbs-up when the last laughter of Olidammara rings freely through the chamber. "So, you want this blessed? What kind of blessing? Olidammara can make it so as soon as someone starts playing music, everyone has to start dancing. Or so that all surfaces in the building are magically soft when you lie down on them. Or . . . now this is kind of unpopular for some reason," she whispers, "so that receptacles convert all liquids into alcohol."
Astraden holds Nihil. "Uh so . . . you were in that dragon's hoard. Did someone not the dragon make you?"
She runs down the list of the current members of the Circle of Eight with Greyscale. "Any of those sound familiar? Maybe you were made by one of them?" She seems nonplussed by Greyscale's different names for her.
Astraden takes at least fifteen minutes picking up all her stuff and shoving it into her bag. She actually runs out of space in her backpack, at which point she puts the remaining scrolls and coins into a pillowcase and slings it over her shoulder. She nods to the night attendant on her way out. "Just taking a nighttime stroll. See you later!"
She climbs up into the carriage and relaxes against the leather seats. When she receives the strange telepathic message from Eben's bow, she sits straight up. "Can you tell Eben to tell you to tell the others, 'what the f!@!?' Has someone hijacked our carriage driver? Is he going to take us out to the backwoods and knife us?"
"Two of those sound familiar alright. I guess that means we should prepare to deal with the other two. Could 'Hero of the Pit' be Raknian? He was involved in all of this, right? He had a connection to the Free City arena that some would call a 'pit'. Did anything in those prophetic writings mention how all of this was undone last time? It seems to me we should figure out who the 'Enemy' was that defeated Kyuss in the past."
Withered and desiccated, it is said that the pale stranger can only be killed with a spelled bullet, though the implication of the text is that any magical crushing weapon will do. They are canny and quick, and those who draw near them are filled with an unnatural fear similar to that of the spawn of Kyuss, but perhaps their most deadly ability is their "stranger's shot": With a fell curse in the language of salt, they fire a single ruinous bullet. It is said above all else that none can survive a perfect stranger's shot.
As for the Faceless One's lackeys, Jadis actually made it clear that the person helping Not-Carina was anything but. When asked if the ally (who you believe was the Hierophant) was a close friend of the Faceless One, Jadis replied, "Oh, um, definitely not a friend, no. I think he was their ex-boss."
That said, the "Overgod" [url=https://paizo.com/campaigns/KCsAgeOfWorms/gameplay&page=429#21415]totally did reference a self-declared servant of the Faceless One! It said she had killed many throughout her life, referring to her as a "bird" who answered every question with lies and misdirection. It suspected she was actually working for someone else, who might have even been talking to her through a distant link, feeding her answers. This could imply she was someone's familiar, though Vecna does count many kenkus among his servants. Later, the Overgod referenced speaking to "the bird servants of far-off aberrations", which could suggest she was working for Zyrxog. Or, for all you know, an avolakia.
Rillikandren grins, returning the hug. "You ain't the boss of me. Besides, I'm not seeking you out or anything. You're the one keeps visiting Kord's house. Sneaking out on the Rogue?"
He coughs when Svenser is mentioned. "Nah. Word is he and Brumiss are still with the Captain. They ain't in Cairn Hills jurisdiction anymore, though. That whole Druid War thing's kinda turning the Cairn Hills into a hotspot not even bandits are touching. They headed north. They're alive, far as I know. But what do I know?"
The night attendant stares at Astraden, then shrugs and goes back to sweeping. He's seen sketchier things at 12am in the Angry Rifter.
Tigri's nose wrinkles. "Naturally, like, I am sure, all of you, I do not drink. And I would like to be able to pee and bathe inside the temple without things getting weird. But if you could block future planar interlopers from teleporting in and out of here, or perhaps just a ward of fear, either would sit well with me. Kordson, you and Cuetzpalli have Kord's ear. What do you think?"
"Blocking teleportation seems like a wise choice to me. I don't think you'll be attacked by anything, but if you were, and it could teleport, well...yeah...."
"Hm. Good point." Tigri nods to Cuetzpalli. "Yes, Olidammaran, do as Cuetzpalli says. We are not afraid, we followersof the brawler, but I would like anything that comes here to enter and leave by one door." She cracks her knuckles. "Or not leave at all."
She cracks her neck to the left and right. "Or it could break the building apart, if it was very strong. Then it would leave however it pleased. There would be no door to leave by. Life is complicated."
"Ahaha. Owned. Well, good work getting that all translated. Too bad we'll never know what in the Hells they meant. What were these Avogadro things, you were saying? Like worm pretzels?"
Carina sighs. "Well, worm people. It's kind of their gimmick."
"I will say, I came kinda late to this whole business, so I didn't quite have the same motives joining as you four. But didn't you hear all the stories about adventurers? Like, nine in ten that you hear about have died in a cave collapse or been eaten by wolves. Our group has been lucky so far, really. Was the possibility of getting a better life if you survived worth the risk of, well, not surviving?""Believe it or not, this was kind of my GOAL when I left home. I was an apprentice ranger. I kind of liked it, but it was hard work, and I wasn't really keen on doing it for the rest of my life."
"I figured if I got a big haul as an adventurer I could afford to just live off that money forever. Or just go after some big score every few years or so. Take it easy, you know? And what better place to make my fortune than the Free City?"
He shrugs.
"But then we get mixed up in all this prophecy business and suddenly there are actual STAKES beyond just getting a bunch of treasure some dead people weren't going to use anyway."
"Well, despite what they say about rangers being 'one with nature', a lot of them get eaten by wolves too starting out. Or a bulette or something. Death of heat stroke, snake bites, sudden sinkhole collapse, sandstorms, bandits, random undead popping out of the earth..." he shrugs again.
"The wilderness isn't any less dangerous for non-adventurers, the work just pays worse."
"Anybody else worried about the fact that our coach driver is being charmed?"
"Ah, I get it. Like being a bandit. Despite how similar the profession is to adventuring, there's somehow a lot less money involved for a very high risk." Astraden smiles at Farrukh, then lobs another piece of not-bread. It splatters on the window of a nearby house; a man can be heard screaming in surprise.
Astraden jumps into the conversation before Carina can answer. "The 'Enemy' was probably the Order of the Storm. They're the only force we know of that actively opposed Kyuss in ancient times."
Astraden pulls out of the hug. "Wait, you're a Kordian now? That's a new one. I had you pegged as a rabid anti-theist, from the dinner table fights. That's cool, though. Kord's got some things right. Just not enough of them." She mimes drinking a bottle of wine, with an actual wine bottle (regrettably empty).
"What's this about a Druid War? That's not the Bronzewooders, right?"
Astraden nods. "You get the s&#*, Tanith, and I'll cast the spell."
"Uh, yeah. Eben's harp just sent something about that. Should I dispel it?"
Astraden jumps into the conversation before Carina can answer. "The 'Enemy' was probably the Order of the Storm. They're the only force we know of that actively opposed Kyuss in ancient times."
Eben buries his head in his hands as, once again, his attempts to quietly pass information along without the individual that was being discussed overhearing, is foiled.
Also, Astraden hears Forzamele speak up in her head. "No, I won't be passing that along unless you can think of someting worthwhile to add to the conversation that isn't simply random foul language. What you just said aloud would have been a much more useful contribution. And I'm not a harp. Are you a druid? An oracle? A favored soul, gods help us? No, none of the above, correct? Learn to use proper terminology instead of just randomly assigning words because being disrespectful makes you feel closer to your god or whatever your rationale for being you is."
Astraden pulls out of the hug. "Wait, you're a Kordian now? That's a new one. I had you pegged as a rabid anti-theist, from the dinner table fights. That's cool, though. Kord's got some things right. Just not enough of them." She mimes drinking a bottle of wine, with an actual wine bottle (regrettably empty).
"What's this about a Druid War? That's not the Bronzewooders, right?"
"Well, I mean, the church is here, and it's a good place to be. I guess gods are okay by me as long as they ain't telling me what to do. I dunno about the 'strong ruling the weak' stuff Kord has, but Tigri doesn't talk about that angle as much." He shrugs.
"And yeah. Haven't you been in touch with Diamond Lakers at all?" Rillikandren scratches his neck, looking uncomfortable. "Undead problems in the Hills. Apparently they'd been turning up for a while, but it used to be just one or two drifting over from the Marshes. Now a few wormzombies pop up every night. So far, the druids have it handled, but who knows what things'll look like in a month or so?"
Astraden opens the carriage window and casts dispel magic on Kelgorn.
Astraden lets her concern show. "Every night? Olidammara's twisting cellars, how long has it been this bad?"
She pries Rillikandren for more details, letting Tanith and Cuetzpalli hear the news after the temple is cleansed. "Apparently Nogwier isn't just letting the world rot; he's making some sort of wretched last stand against the worms. They call it the Druid War."
"I think it's getting bad everywhere, to be honest." Rillikandren chews his lower lip in thought. "I dunno the tactical details of it, being honest. Wish I could tell you more. But it's all small potatoes compares to what you do these days, I'll bet.
"Nogwier? Nogwier's dead." He blinks, seeming honestly surprised at Astraden's words to her colleagues. "Been dead since Richfest, I think. He was, like, a million years old."
Kelgorn blinks. The carriage stops short.
After a moment, the half-orc lets out a weary, distinctly annoyed sigh and flicks the reins, signaling the horses to continue. He mutters something in Orc as the carriage advances toward Mistwall Manor.
As the members of Spiny's Six arrive at Mistwall Manor, they are escorted by a sullen Kelgorn through a luxurious courtyard of fountains and topiaries, into the front parlor, and up a spiraling marble staircase to a wooden door covered with designs of great magical creatures. Owlbears, behirs, pegasi and enormous eagles all adorn the carvings, though something feels curiously missing.
Kelgorn performs a complex knock—two rapid knocks, one long knock, three fingernail scratches and a closed-fist pound on the door. After a pause, Lashonna's voice calls from the other side, "Enter!"
The walls of this spacious, tastefully decorated study are filled with shelves of leatherbound tomes on a wide variety of topics. A large desk sits against the far wall, its surface empty save for a stack of tattered pieces of yellowed paper. The carpet is a deep shade of crimson, and arrayed on it in a semicircle before the desk are several high-backed chairs fitted with velvet cushions.
Lashonna is standing at the far side of the room, looking at what initially appears to be a mirror—then she turns to face the party, and the adventurers realize she was staring at a portrait of herself.
She gives a delighted smile. She's wrapped in a gold-trimmed gown of the very latest fashion, and despite the late hour, she appears perfectly at ease—perhaps even moreso than she was at the Banquet. She walks to her desk and sits down, lounging back as she gestures to the seven chairs clustered before it. "Thank you very much, Kelgorn. You're free to go for the night—I'm sure I'll be quite well attended to, with such pleasing guests to keep me company."
Kelgorn nods, gives a stiff bow, and withdraws. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving the party alone with what might be the last person to see the archmage Bucknard alive.
Lashonna arches her eyebrows expectantly. "I hope I didn't wake any of you with my summons."
"Wake? No. Surprise? Yes." Eben says, after the door is shut. "If we're going to be working with you, I think we need to get something out in the open. We weren't sure what was going on until he actually brought us here, but since now we're certain that Kelgorn works for you, I'm gonna have to ask... do you mind control all your servants?"