"Yeah, we're on a super cool secret mission to keep universal order you know...in order..." Cuetzpalli adds.
Carina doesn't seem to have been too perturbed by the jaunt through the Shadow Plane.
"Eh, I've seen worse."
"Yeah, our main mission is to follow the law and restore order. We love rules and stuff. This thing we're trying to stop is gonna make the entire world a big wormy mess, which is super un-lawful. Hate that." Astraden grunts in disgust, staring the entire time unblinkingly at the flying armor-eye.
Cuetzpalli nods along, "Mmmhmm."
The flying armor-eye blinks. "Ah. Yes. The Reversal of Entropy. We are aware of that concern. Life and death losing contrast on the Material. Rust on the gears of Mechanus. Prophecies being as they are, though, it is unnecessary for us to become involved. The system will disassemble any loose parts in time. It always has."
"This," Clunk says, with something like a sigh as he gestures to the creature, "is Gehenna, a modron monodrone. I have been seeking to reestablish connections on Mechanus. It is difficult, as I have been absent for a long time."
"Do not fail to retain and consider what you were told, CLUNK." Gehenna whirs as it draws out a funny sort of watch-like device. "You will be of no use to Mechanus in this current state."
There is a click, and the creature is gone.
Clunk turns back to the party. "What is your errand? I am not currently pursuing a quarry, and might be available to assist."
"We need to go to a tower in the middle of the lake, which is surrounded by a big storm that might actually be an enormous air elemental of some sort. We were wondering if you might be able to negotiate with it to let us through, then help us kill some bad guys trying to end the world."
"And we get there via a nightmarish, day-long walk through the shadow plane where something unfathomable and horrifying might try and eat us en route," Eben says, quite chipper, as though pleased to boast about his contribution to the expedition.
"Or just make us really uncomfortable..."
"What is this 'tower'? As stated: I am not unavailable for this mission or disinclined to assist. I would, however, require more information to be certain that the cause was appropriate."
"We're told it houses a library", Tanith explains chiming in. "A really big library. Or at least a really old one. There's information inside we're hoping will help us unravel this whole age of worms business."
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"The library contains information that's otherwise completely lost to the outside world that might be vital to keep Kyuss from breaking free of his prison..." Eben sums up, deciding the whole 'we're looking for a dracolich's phylactery' angle to be more than can be reasonably broken down in a few sentences, plus possibly a bad idea to talk too much about publicly. "The island it's on is guarded by an intelligent storm. There's a chance we can get it to reason with us if there's someone it's inclined to respect, say, for instance, an inevitable that served the Wind Dukes faithfully for millennia."
"Incidentally, we've learned more about Kyuss since we all last saw you. Apparently he was a mortal ruler who used the lives of his subjects to ascend to godhood. A teeming metropolis of people who had given him power with the expectation that he would protect them, and he wipes them all out. Sounds like a major breach of social contract if you ask me." Astraden straightens her collar like she saw a barrister do once. "Also he wants to bring about the Age of Worms, if Celeste has had time to explain that to you yet."
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Clunk looks between Eben and Astraden. "Social contracts are not in my jurisdiction, though I personally share your distaste. This 'island', however..." He nods slowly. "You refer to the Isle of Last Resort. It is known to Mechanus. In efforts to recover myself, following this unit's... extended hiatus, I have been attempting to 'catch up', as you would say, on historical events. The Isle is involved in a highly problematic contract dispute at the moment. 'The moment' being a span of time across centuries to the present day."
The kolyarut seems to think a moment, and the party can see the gears ticking in his head—not figuratively. "I am not in a position to clarify beyond that. Additionally, I am not in a position to interfere in the contract dispute. "Not as a primary agent, that is to say. But... this unit would be well-disposed to serve as a consultant for your party. Do you understand?"
Clunk's form shimmers into that of his generic human alter ego, and once he has eyebrows, he raises them meaningfully.
"You want us to pretend you're not you?" Cuetzpalli asks. "Uhh...sure thing, Mr. Consultant."
"No, I am not asking you to pretend anything. Subterfuge and deception are chaotic elements. I am saying that I am not strictly the party with agency in this undertaking. You are. I will travel with you, and offer my support. If you should happen to encounter the source of the Dispute, of course, while I happen to be consulting in this manner..." His eyebrows waggle with mechanical rhythm.
"Well, when you put it that way, it's rather obvious." Carina nods. "Of course, consultant."
"I am ready to leave now, if needed. Time is a factor." He turns to Astraden. "Regarding: The Age of Worms. The Age of Worms is known to Mechanus as well. Mechanus identifies it as the Reversal of Entropy. It is a transition to a mode of existence in which the gears of Mechanus will rust, but never break, and the servants of Mechanus will steadily lose all motility until we are, effectively, sealed inside ourselves. In most of existence, it is primarily going to involve maggots.
"Mechanus is confident that the Reversal will be a temporary state—a momentary error in coding, unacceptable but self-resolving when the prophecies are completed. The clock will delay a second, then skip two." His expression is sour. "This unit believes its presence will maximize the probability of the prophecies being carried through to a positive outcome. It is not as confident as Mechanus as a whole."
After a moment, he looks up again. "Do we leave now?"
As I understand it: 1.) Talk to Klunk, 1B.) Talk to Korrush if he can't help us, 2.) Buy the supplies we talked about (scrolls etc.) 3.) Potentially sell/give the wands to someone trustworthy like Tenser maybe? 4.) Recover spell slots one last time if we need to 5.) Depart via Shadow Walk.
Eben blinks in surprise. "Wow, Clunk, who taught you to do that with your eyebrows? I wouldn't have thought it was soemthing that came naturally to you... anyway, yeah, that's a good plan. We... could probably leave, maybe in a few hours if we have to, but we all have had a full day of walking across the shadow plane already. There was some shopping needed doing, I think, then after that... I dunno, do you guys feel like another half day trip without resting up?. I've got another shadow walk in me, today, if so..."
"Kolyaruts, as the enforcers of contracts, must develop advanced social acumen to carry out our duty," Clunk says, with a note that could almost be pride in his voice. "My time spent in the Cairn has left me out of practice, however. It is, according to Definition 2a, 'ironic' that an extended absence from Mechanus would leave me sounding more robotic."
Astraden rumples her collar back up, now that the deal is made. She runs a hand through her hair for good measure. "I think the sooner we leave, the better, but I haven't prayed for aura of the insufferable altruist yet. That and a couple more of come on, Joeffrey, I told you to take off your armor already, you clumsy horse will take me a half-hour or so to get ready. Could you guys do the shopping in that amount of time?"
She leans over to Clunk. "Isn't rust actually like, entropy, by the way?"
She leans over to Clunk. "Isn't rust actually like, entropy, by the way?"
"It is... difficult to explain in your chaotic language." Clunk seems to think a moment. "Entropy is natural. Death and ending is inevitable. It is similar to." Gears click and whirr for a moment. "Simile: It is similar to a 'clock' that will always one 'day' 'wind down'. But instead of the 'clock' breaking apart, 'rust accretion' continues, preventing the 'machinery' from being 'replaced'. The 'clock' can never 'wind down', but it can never 'tell time', either. End simile. The Reversal of Entropy represents endless stagnation. The Rust on the gears of Mechanus indicates a potential for Mechanus to become a broken relic, the parts lingering for eons beyond when they should have been destroyed and replaced.
"I am not certain if mortality has an equivalent to that. Every plane that I have communicated with, however, has shown signs that 'trouble is brewing'. It is not unique to Mechanus, nor to the Material."
Astraden plays with the flame of the candle stationed at their table, moving her hand through it just quickly enough to avoid being burned. "Hmm. But it's not like that philosophy that says the universe will just get infinitely spread out and devoid of energy, then? 'Cause according to that one, there's no rejuvenation waiting to happen, either. But this rust has worms everywhere instead?"
"But what's the functional difference between the gears being 'rusted' and being 'nonexistent'? In either case the 'clock' isn't working anymore, it just seems like a matter of degree to me."
"It sounds like Clunk believes the 'clock' will be replaced somehow. Where Mechanus is a 'clock'. But who could replace Mechanus? Ooh, wait, is it Olidammara? You know, he knows his way around gears." She winks.
"Endings are endings, and an eternal void is still in order with the ways of the multiverse." Clunk sounds slightly frustrated. "As I said, it is difficult to explain in language. Hm." His head tilts. "Metaphor: Imagine the difference between a death by disintegration and being boiled endlessly inside your armor. One is a simple death. Your soul will proceed to its destination, as is customary, and your body will be recompiled by the ecosystem. The other is slow, holding you in a state of endless discomfort. End metaphor. Is that a more logical way of thinking about this?"
"I see. So your issue is really very analogous to undeath - the universe keeps on at its current state without ever changing."
Farrukh winces. "Yeah, that analogy makes a lot of sense."
Clunk seems to think about this for what feels like nearly two weeks.
"Yes. That would be a superior analogy to the ones I chose. Very good."
Astraden accidentally burns herself on the candle. "F*+%! Ow! Sorry, what was that? An inevitable conceding an argument to a cleric of Olidammara?" She nudges Clunk with her elbow and smiles. "It's okay, we won't tell St. Cuthbert."
"Ah. Yes. One of the young gods. Yes, I am relieved that my indiscretion will not be made known to a man who ascended to godhood by hitting landlords and tax collectors with a stick."
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Eben gathers the party together outside, along with Clunk, and begins to cast the spell. It takes him a moment to orient himself in the magic this time. It feels a little more difficult somehow—harder in the early afternoon, with the sun shining bright through the fog. There isn't enough shadow to hold onto.
But it's not just that. Eben feels a resistance here that he didn't feel in Alhaster. And he realizes that the anomaly has nothing to do with Magepoint. It was... easier in Alhaster. Easier to slip into the colorless noir of shades and gloom. In Alhaster, the fabric of reality was porous, frail, like a halved sponge. Here, the fabric is finer, more resistant, like a bolt of silk.
A cloud passes under the sun, and for a moment, an early dusk looms. Eben grabs hold of his shadow and pulls Astraden, Tanith, Farrukh, Cuetzpalli, Carina and Clunk through it—before lurching in himself.
The nausea is less this time. The adventurers know how it feels to shift realities now, after all, and they just did it earlier today. But for a second, the Plane of Shadow is delayed. For a second, as they gaze around them at misty Magepoint, quaint little village with more swords, spells and adventurers per square inch than the World Serpent Inn, they catch a glimpse of something new.
They see Magepoint in ruins. They see the homes all around fallen into disrepair, the tavern's wood rotting and paint peeling away. The bustling passersby are now shambling along clumsily, their faces reduced to dark holes of nothing and their limbs twitching like damaged marionettes. The ancient old yew next to the tavern is dead. Briefly, the party sees its rotten bark bulging as beetles crawl through it, chewing away, and see the beetles' pupae covering the branches like tiny, hideous leaves.
And the castle up on the hill is rubble. Complete and utter rubble—every square foot of solid, magicked stone reduced to dust and gravel. Strange, sinuous, enormous shapes pick their way over the carnage, unnatural silhouettes in the twilight.
Aside from the beetles, there is one living thing. A tall man, human, clad in indigo robes and untouched by the decay. He is surrounded by orange and golden light, and the decay does not touch him. His curly hair is sandy blond and his eyes are so blue that they are nearly purple. He is staring around at his surroundings, eyes wide. Words escape him, but the party can't make him out. He seems to vanish a second before everything else does.
The party's surroundings flicker and drop into colorless noir, and the vision is gone. Once again, they are surrounded by mere shades of the Material Plane. The world around them seems to almost flow as if made of endless rippling ink, or as if it's all being cast down as shadows on an ocean floor.
The party has the strange sense that they will not be back to Magepoint for a long time.
The journey through the Plane of Shadow is even quieter than before, though with a new sense of urgency, of building pressure. All sound is muted here, not just color, and the Nyr Dyv is totally motionless as the party travels across it. Clunk seems to quickly fall into a wordless rhythm—advancing forward at a brisk march, only occasionally checking his surroundings to confirm that the party is alone.
Briefly, when the party is about an hour along, they catch a glimpse of something in the distance: a small band of humanoids making its way perpendicular to the party, barely visible in the distance. They are on a collision course.
Only Eben's sharp eyes and quick thinking saves Spiny's Six here. Spotting something amiss in the other group, he guides the party to stop walking for a moment and duck down in the shadows. The band crosses the path up ahead. As it does, the party realizes that the band is not small at all—it is a small army of undead shadows. Dozens, scores, perhaps hundreds of silhouettes dance and writhe, their forms overlapping to resemble a much smaller mass. Their strange parade passes by, and something like music—an unsettling moaning and whistling in the otherwise silent, windless expanse—reaches the ears of the living.
The parade of shadows dances on, and soon, the party is able to continue on their way.
An unpleasant smell emanates from Cuetzpalli. "Sorry...I pass gas sometimes when I'm nervous. That was the scariest thing I've ever seen!" he whispers hoarsely. "Let's get out of here! This Library better be worth it..." The berserker's knuckles are white on the grip of Kelmarchen, as he looks about warily.
Farrukh lets out a breath.
"Holy shit, I don't think even we could have managed against an army like that."
As the other group appears, Eben in particular makes an effort to pay attention to them, specifically to see what they were wearing, because, after all, you're traveling through another plane and you want to know what the current fashions are. Fortunately that moment of vanity pays off as he notices that they aren't actually wearing clothes, or rather, their clothing is all flat silhouettes. Which, sure, could make for a nicely dramatic way to make an entrance to a night at the opera, but when worn en masse, probably means trouble.
"Holy s@+@, I don't think even we could have managed against an army like that."
"Yeah. Good thing I'm so sharp eyed." Eben then begins to give a tiresome and really quite inaccurate lecture to Farrukh, of all people, about how you stay alert and notice things.
As Astraden follows Eben over the gloaming reflection of the Nyr Div, her movements develop a lag, each step just slightly more languid than it would be on the Material Plane. At some points, the rest of the party has to pause to let her catch up. Strange lights seem to move underneath her skin, and the armor over her stomach seems to retain just the faintest tinge of color among all the grey.
She gazes ahead when the party stops to let the shadows pass. "Yes, many souls . . ."
"I'm starting to understand why most don't come this way", Tanith comments after the horde of living shadows have passed.
"How does anything living here with dangers like that about? The locals must have some kind of special defenses to keep them out."
"One, two, three, four, five..." Carina stops counting the shadows after a while, the colour draining from her face.
"...yeah, I don't have NEARLY enough bombs for all of them."
Astraden turns faintly glowing eyes to the shadowy path the party walks over the frozen waves. "Doubtful that anything lives here. But souls are in no short supply. I think I can feel them."
"...creepy."
"I'm starting to understand why most don't come this way", Tanith comments after the horde of living shadows have passed.
"How does anything living here with dangers like that about? The locals must have some kind of special defenses to keep them out."
"There are few 'locals' on the Plane of Shadow." Clunk stares off after the shadows as he keeps walking. "It is fortunate for what few there are that there is no better place to hide in the multiverse. To quote Sionsiar:" His voice turns light and airy, almost feminine, almost like a recording, as he switches to the language of Elemental Air. "এমনকি অ্যাস্ট্রাল প্লেনও এত লোভজনকভাবে এর গোপনীয়তা রক্ষা করে না।."
Astraden keeps trudging along, gazing ahead with a faintly effervescent thousand-foot stare. "I guess Sionsiar did say, 'বিমানটি 'মুনাফা অর্জন করে' এর গোপনীয়তা রক্ষা করে না।.' We all remember when they said, 'বিমানটি ‘লাভ করা’ এর গোপনীয়তা রক্ষা করে না।.'" She nods slowly.
"How much further, Eben?"