** spoiler omitted **
The dracha's horn-rimmed jaw drops in shock at Seidr's response.
Then, his eyes narrow into knife like slits, and Hastniss unfolds his substantial wingspan to its greatest extent, the leathery pinions of the black appendages rippling slightly from the excited motion of their speedy unfurling.
"I am not so small as all that! I don't see why the troublesome mojh even agreed to bring you along myself -- as if giants, the sworn enemies of the true and right masters of the Diamond Throne, my rightful lieges, could contribute anything to our venture. You're only here because your fellows decided to cut their losses and dispose of you along with us. I have no doubt if those cursed Scalebreakers Elisena's brought along with her weren't here to make of your lying head a shrunken trophy by means of their secretive ranger training in De-Shamod, that you'd have thrown your lot in with them too!"
He growls again,
"I am not small! But you are stupid!
The dracha's overweening fulminations are ushered to an abrupt conclusion by the unexpected entrance of the mojh sage.
While the Shadowbourne's visage is no less reptilian, it is far less belicose than that of the dracha, the mojh's deep green carapace evoking the same color as the fragrant and gentle water lilies which cluster in the ponds of ornamental gardens in the best houses of the west.
"Oh hush Hastniss, you really need to rise above your irritation that our common draconic patron, the great Kilasidamas, attached you to my proposed expedition to share the benefits of Erixalimar's own seed with the pitiable inhabitants of the west long deprived of the dragon's blessings."
The mojh seems to coo slightly as its draconic compatriot,
"Really now, you know, and I know, you're just taking that frustration out on these pour souls, who aren't responsible, and, note you, neither am I, for the bothersome little predicament we seem to have found ourselves in for the present moment."
T'lam T'listillit sets an undeniably noble chin, the chameleon or iguana-like horns that ornament its belly only highlighting the basic effect of the gesture,
"In any event, I was quick to discern from your foul mood that you'd be tardy in gathering our new friends here, and so I resolved to follow if they hadn't returned in your wake within a predetermined interval -- one which, I doubt not that you've guessed, my good friend, you've now utterly exceeded"
The mojh then turns to regard the collected company of fellow planes travelers, speaking with an either irresistibly compelling, or undeniably perturbing, enthusiasm,
"And how are we faring, my new friends, are you prepared for new revelations regarding our present environs? These I can supply"
The Shadowbourne then frowns as it seems to feel the intense heat siphoning in through the large windows of the observatory,
"Great God of Dragons, it's positively sweltering in here!
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"Then it is settled. Let us attend to our Lady that she no longer continue to concern herself over the fate of her favorite Bard, or us, her most trusted agents. Then to the depths we shall travel to save a world, or what's left of the world anyway.
But first, promises to be kept yes Lawbringer?"
Johnny said nothing in response to the Dracha's rants. Instead he rose and was about to head out the door towards the meeting with the Shadowbourne, when he appeared in the doorway. He listened quietly to what the Mojh had to say, clearly wanting to resolve this situation as fast as possible. When the Mojh paused, Johnny said "Yes I, for one, would love to learn what revelations you have for us."
Thankfully the Shadowbourne arrives before the two (or three) come to blows.
"We're as prepared as we're likely to become."
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The writhing form of the Lawgiver manages, with apparently great effort, to lift itself to a largely upright position, its twisted limbs contorting with strain at the uncomfortable exertion.
Faalcuun lifts his jagged claws slightly in something like a gesture of benediction, and emits a cacophonous wheeze before being able to speak once again,
"By the great powers of this vessel, I anoint you for the task at hand."
He then speaks in a deep, booming voice in the unknown tongue which he earlier employed with Nalcaros.
It seems, for a moment, as if the storm has gathered again, for something like a shadow passes over the sky, which belies the intense light, as if the sun were somehow re-lit at midday from some previously hidden reservoir of flame.
The top of the vast structure appears to hover slightly above its moorings, and it quickly becomes apparent that it is separating into four panels whose dis-aggregation now permits the unfettered entrance of the sun's rays.
Curiously, they seem to hover as if by levitation, for they are no longer attached to the slender black plinth which, heretofore, had seemed to be the sole support for the Pavilion's immense pyramidal awning.
The slender pylon begins to absorb the crimson rays, and its black color somehow deepens even further, becoming a kind of halo as it beings to, in some unknowable fashion, overflow in shadows.
Faalcuun's throne then begins to absorb the same energies, followed by the Lawkeeper himself.
He raises his misshapen, triangular head, which now pulses with the same awful energies.
One, by one, he emits a bolt of brilliant magenta and ebony flames from his gibbous maw, the energy striking each of the assembled company individually, and enshrouding them in the power of the Pavilion.
A deafening crackling sound, something like a thunderclap and a firework at once, accompanies each of Faalcuun's supernatural emissions.
With the passage of a few moments, the halo of multi-colored fire evaporates, leaving only a warm, residual glow.
Each of the party feels somehow increased in stature, stronger and more ready for the great task ahead.
[dice=Knowledge local, what does Kethe know of Rhul-Ty'ragi?]1d20+12
The Rhul-Ty'ragi takes its name from the ancient halfling title for the city that predated the Free City of Tyr -- Ty'ragi. This ancient metropolis was among the greatest settlements of the blue age, and its step pyramids and elegant canals were famed the world over.
The order of human druids that now takes its name from the city, as well as the term 'Rhul', which is connected with the halfling term for their own people, the rhulisti.
It is an, ostensibly, a society of magically-aimed gardeners, that have appointed themselves the caretakers of the manicured paradises of the gardens of the Golden Tower in Tyr. Whereas most druids attend to wilderness oases, these heirophants are the caretakers of an urban botanical conglomeration.
One of their great achievements is the 'glass house' in the gardens of the Golden Tower, a great cupola of glass that shields several exotic or fragile species of flowers. It was created by a grant from the then sorcerer-king Kalak.
The Rhul-Ty'ragi have virtually deified the naturemasters of the Blue Age, and treat their legacy as an object of great devotion. They have explored many of the ruins of the rhulisti civilization that are still to be witnessed beneath the Free City.
The mojh seems scarcely to know where to turn as he surveys the observation deck with several erratic movements of his densely crenelated head.
In the end, the Shadowbourne seems to find no resolution to this dilemma, and so sets upon the, apparently, most obvious solution of speaking to the ceiling, his throat exposed as the mojh leans upward in a bizarre affectation of a yogic kryia.
"They worship dragons on this planet, I mean, there are a few dragons here, and they're in charge, at least right here, as far as I can tell."
The mojh then seems to loose its train of thought and starts again,
"But that's not the case in this city, I mean it was -- but a really long time ago, like dozen hundred years or more -- then it was, but it's not now because she's dead, or not dead really but sleeping, or something like that."
"I don't really understand why, but the other dragons from around here, not exactly here you understand, not the city we're presently located in, but more generally, the area of the world in which this place used to be an important site -- sort of like Balatosh in Thartholan, you know, before dramojh destroyed it and established the phase heart to call in powers from other worlds in planes to their service... anyway, the other dragons from the other places not exactly here killed the dragon queen who ruled here, but why I don't know, because she seems to have been trying to evolve as the dragons on our world do, and how could they possibly have had any objection to that? Maybe they thought she was going to turn into a dramojh?"
The scholar breaths heavily for a few moments, clearing the spittle from his slips, before continuing,
"So that's probably not really totally correct, or it is if she was trying to become a dramojh, or they accidentally thought she might become one."
Then its mind heads off in a new direction,
"Anyway, there are a lot of tenebrian seeds in this city, like more than all of Pallembor, or at least as many as I've seen, maybe Hastniss has seen more since he lived there longer, and maybe that's not totally accurate either, but for different reasons than the distinction about why the other dragons didn't like the dragon queen of here -- I think here is called Kalidnay (did I mention that?), and she was called Kalid-Ma (did I mention that either?)"
The mojh concludes for now by staring around wildly again, not sure where to focus,
"What does everyone think of all that?"
The dracha slams his head forcibly into the surface of his right palm, and then looks up again,
"Nope, still here, blast."
T'lam T'listillit whirls animatedly on the dracha,
"Here, where? Huh?"
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"I too," the male of the pair of Tyrian druids opines, "am most eager to explore the under-works of Kalidnay. The order to which my own person and Misra belong, the Rhul-Ty'ragi, is most interested in the ruins connected with the lost civilization of the Blue Age. It sounds as if the settlement that predated the sorcerer-queen's city is an exceptionally well preserved example of this rare category, perhaps near the equal of some of the wonders we have discovered beneath the present day city of Tyr."
"Yes, let us enter through these mines, and see what scholarly aims can be accomplished alongside the pressing quest to return the mad sorcerer-queen to her ages-long slumber beneath the great temple."
Falcuun's blessing, if it could be called that, had absorbed all of Kethe's attention for a few moments, as her body and mind adjust to their new capabilities. It feels like something deep inside her is blossoming with newfound strength, unfurling tendrils that both reach to the sky and burrow beneath the crust, strengthening her connection to the world.
But she has not forgotten the words spoken only moments before, words that had sent her searching her memory as she tries to remember why that name sounds so familiar. "Rhul-Ty'ragi. I have heard of your order and I had been hoping to speak to one of you. We share many interests, it would seem." Kethe regards Dalman and his companion, inclining her head to them both. "I am Kethe, a druid from South Ledopolus, although I have been living in Tyr for the past few moons."
Seidr strains as she listens to the Mojh speak. He was talking fairly quickly and erratically and it would be obvious to anyone watching that Seidr was doing her best to translate what he was saying in her head as he was saying it.
"You speak quickly for me, friend. Do you mean to tell us that there was a dragon queen of this city who seemed to like the growth of the dragons but she was defeated by other dragons here?"
Seidr paused for a moment, thinking hard. "Dragons are seen as gods also? Except for in this city? Nechápu."
"Let me explain it for you, giant. Like Balatosh, this was once a mighty city that has since been brought to ruin. Over a thousand years ago the dragon queen of this place was warred upon by her peers over some disagreement with her evolution, and she lost. It seems the dragons abandoned the city and its tenebrian seeds, which are plentiful, for these many years.
"Shadowbourne, are tenebrian seeds so common here that the victorious dragons just left them behind? If not, then I think these ruins must be quite dangerous, like those of Balatosh. It may be this queen put some curse upon this place, or haunts it still, if she is dead-but-not-dead. Such an undeath is possible to attain; perhaps this was the evolution the other dragons of this world found detestable?"
Seidr peers down at the human during his explanation and smiled at him.
"Thank you for helping explain to me, small one."
Though she could sense the condescension in the human's voice, she decided to remain civil with him. Her command of the common tongue left some to be desired and she anticipated the judgment.
She continued to await the Shadowborne's next words.
"History lesson aside, what do we plan to do now? It's not like we have endless supplies, and while a large hold of Tenebrian seeds is useful for becoming more powerful, they will not keep our bellies full or prevent you all from dying of heat."
Rokan is alarmed as the fire bolts begin to erupt from Faalcuun's throne. Is this a trap? Have we been fools the whole time...?
Too late.
At the very least he expects it to hurt somehow. However, as the glow from the bolt settles on him and fades, some of the previous gaps in his knowledge become closed. He gains an insight into matters of alternate planes of existence itself. He begins to spin over this new insight and make educated estimations at beings likely to come through gates.
Is this what it was once like for Faalcuun himself, so long ago choosen by a sorcer king?
Well, I'll certainly have no trouble keeping these newcomers separated. Though the scent of ozone is certainly curious. Another disciple of the storm perhaps, or a mage?
At the elf's words, Shizuka cracks a wry grin. "I believe this is over our heads like a giant over a toddler, but that doesn't mean the child can't stab the creatures toe." Cracking his knuckles, the old man's grin turn feral, the thought of combat getting his blood running. "I'll have your back. Success is best assured through through mutual survival"
Canaan's presence unsettles the blind warrior, who quickly hides his unease with a quip. "Surely you can't expect an old man like me to stay awake on such a wonderfully warm day now?" Stifling the lone arc that emerges from his skin like goosebumps, Shizuka hold's his face calm. Another bard? The question is, who does she serve? She's obviously well supplied, given her appearance and strong scent.
Do we trust him to solely explore and keep us from dying? Damn this, it was suppose to be simple, not stopping nascent gods. Lifting his hand, blind man adds, "I can serve as a runner between Slavathras and the rest of the group. I'm fast enough to outrun most threats, and my armor should keep me in one piece long enough to relay any message."
As the bolts begin to emerge, the lightning warrior suddenly darts in an attempt to avoid the bolt of energy, only for the bolt to strike him dead center. Instead of blinding pain, Shizuka only feels the familiar tingle of electricity as his entire body starts arcing, lightning tracing across his form. Hunched over kneeling, the old man gasps. The world is so...clear now. Every bit of energy and air near me is clear as can be!"
Pak cracks an insectoid grin at the rush of power, "Such power, ah, perhaps it is no wonder these beings became so corrupt, this is but a taste..." His mouth is impassive once the process stops.
He wants to speak but hesitates to see what other comments those around him may have.
Canaan eye's widen as the power rushes into her body. As she absorbs it, she shuts her eyes, having one hand on her head, nearly stumbling. After doing some breathing techniques to center herself which is quite unlike her character, she stands as if nothing happened to her.
Oh my. So this is what it feels like when we have the power. That is quite a powerful boon.
Once the empowering process is done, she turns away from the bard and towards the druids and the group that she will be working with.
"Where are my manners? Since we are working together now, call me Canaan. I might not be as good as the others that specialized in combat but I am good at distracting our targets."
She looks at the Tyrian druid that she spoke to.
"Do continue your exposition. I am quite interested on listening to your thoughts about the ruins or the vessel, err."
The Thri-Kreen pauses and recollects whether he introduced himself, "I am Pak'cha. A wielder of the Way".
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Canaan eye's widen as the power rushes into her body. As she absorbs it, she shuts her eyes, having one hand on her head, nearly stumbling. After doing some breathing techniques to center herself which is quite unlike her character, she stands as if nothing happened to her.
Oh my. So this is what it feels like when we have the power. That is quite a powerful boon.
Once the empowering process is done, she turns away from the bard and towards the druids and the group that she will be working with.
"Where are my manners? Since we are working together now, call me Canaan. I might not be as good as the others that specialized in combat but I am good at distracting our targets."
She looks at the Tyrian druid that she spoke to.
"Do continue your exposition. I am quite interested on listening to your thoughts about the ruins or the vessel, err."
"The Rhul-Ty'ragi have recovered many records of the ancient Blue Age, including an archive of curious plates, bound together in great reams by a spine of many rings, and whose surfaces were apparently resistant to both water and rust."
"Needless to say, such a quantity of metal was quite attractive to a number of parties with other than historical interests, and it was only with the greatest effort that our order preserved them, inviolable, in a hidden vault beneath the settlement now known as the Free City. In addition, and probably more decisive in this regard, was the fact that a misguided experiment to attempt their smelting proved... dramatically unsuccessful, as none of the presumptive re-purposers survived their experiment..."
"In any event, the archive contained some details of other ancient settlements, including the naturebender stronghold already described by our stalwart bard."
"The under-works of the city occupy several tiers. First, there is a vast web of tunnels that surrounds the rift in which now pools an immense quantity of some black, viscous substance. These semi-organic tunnels were once the site of ancient naturebender experiments, including a number of breeding groups for their weapon races."
"Lower still, the tunnels were described as housing a large vault that contained a naturebender weapon on the order of power similar to the network of Pristine Towers that surrounds the girdle of Athas, or the complex represented by the ancient city of Ty'ragi and its satellites in the Ringing Mountains above the Free City."
"The evil halflings created this weapon to counteract the power of the natureshapers, and may have had a significant role in deforming the halflings into insectile, reptiliant, or amphibious forms far removed from their early grandeur."
I of course didn't say," interjects the elf, "that the ruins were a product of the naturebenders, but rather of the Stoneburners, their masters. Your orders preoccupation with the ancient halflings has no power to change the reality of this city's history, and you have assuredly conveyed only a part of its truth."
The dracha grunts loudly, releasing two elegant rings of smoke from its flared nostrils,
"Despite finding his bastardization of the culinary arts infinitely detestable, I cannot find fault with this upstart's objections, to which I wish to join my own plaint."
His attention is then suddenly and irresistibly drawn by some arresting vision in the window to which the rest of the company currently are displaying their posterior portions,
"Great God of Dragons, what in the Million Worlds could that be?"
** spoiler omitted **
The mojh hisses in an almost comical manner as it replies,
"I was just getting to that, little blonde haired man of great appetites and apparently infinitesimal conviction."
The Shadowbourne's raised scaled brow suggests it considered the last part quite an impressive, and sophisticated verbal barb, given that the descriptor 'infinitesimal conviction' could be understood as either positive or negative, depending on the perspective of the speaker.
It had quickly become apparent to the present company that the mojh scholar known as T'lam T'lisillit spent a very large amount of its private hours imagining such turns of phrase, and had a large reservoir of such per-rehearsed retorts both ready at hand, as well as eager to find their way to its tongue.
The mojh completely ignores the seized attention of Hastniss as it tries to completely savor its own cleverness in the moment.
** spoiler omitted **
The mojh then seems to realize with a considerable delay that Utrim has addressed him,
"Oh she, the dragon queen Kalid-Ma I mean (you understand), did I tell you she's in that black sludge in the lake (or was it a lake of black sludge?) that we sailed in on? Because that's also a fact, or rather that she was, at one point (but for a very long time you understand, so it's not like I'm lying or saying something untrue in telling you this, it was the case for a considerable period) in it, but then she seeped into her temple and woke up an exceptionally powerful tenebrian seed, as well as some of her priests -- well she activated a pylon that powers the seed, and that woke up some others that, in turn, turned the other seeds on, or something very close to that order of operations (but you get the basic picture, she was in the sludge, and now she's in the city). Anyway, that's also kind of interesting, and maybe relevant to our current predicament."
Canaan eye's widen as the power rushes into her body. As she absorbs it, she shuts her eyes, having one hand on her head, nearly stumbling. After doing some breathing techniques to center herself which is quite unlike her character, she stands as if nothing happened to her.
Oh my. So this is what it feels like when we have the power. That is quite a powerful boon.
Once the empowering process is done, she turns away from the bard and towards the druids and the group that she will be working with.
"Where are my manners? Since we are working together now, call me Canaan. I might not be as good as the others that specialized in combat but I am good at distracting our targets."
She looks at the Tyrian druid that she spoke to.
"Do continue your exposition. I am quite interested on listening to your thoughts about the ruins or the vessel, err."
"His name is Dalman, and I am Misra. I not irregularly... compensate for his social abilities."
Pak looks to Dalman, "Reptilian? Are they described or are there drawings depicting them as such?
Have any of your order verified the veracity of these wonderful archives?"
|
As his companions all are blessed one by one, Kuro feel's his apprehension grow more and more. To gain power in this way, it seem's...less fulfilling, adding that it's coming from a powerful defiler makes it even worse. But the worst part is Kuro can't bring himself to out-right refuse despite all that. Power comes at steep price, no matter what it is gained from. Strength and discipline come at the cost of blood, sweat, and tears. Magical power comes at the cost countless days reading, studying the world and it's mysteries. Kuro can't help but shudder at the thought of what this power will cost him, his life?
To the boy's distorted mind, his life has no true value, saving other's for nothing in return has been his own ironic saving grace. Kuro can feel it, the suffocating power now rolling off his companions. His pragmatism forcing him to evaluate how useful and grand such power would be to accomplish his goal's...
This power would definitely allow him to jump start his quest, it could allow him more freedom then he has ever gotten, save everyone...
...But what would he lose? Does working with an evil to defeat a greater evil excuse the very act of working with a clear evil? Kuro doesn't think so...who's to say the moment they finish this mission, that Falcuun can't just take his power back? or even worse, turn the wielder into a puppet?
Unluckily, this long introspective stops Kuro from refusing before Falcuun bath's him in his power.
It hit's the boy like a truck, his lean muscles bulging as his vein's are set alight by the raw, oily substance that is a defiler's power. it's disgusting, a bile rising in the ranger's throat. soon however, the feeling fades away, Kuro left panting to himself. he looks to the ground, inspecting his tanned calloused hands and letting this power waft from a palm before dismissing it.
Kuro is heavily conflicted...but in the end, he'll do whatever it takes to get him closer to his impossible dream, that unreachable utopia. this power will be a mean's to his ends, nothing more, Falcuun might regret this.
With a calming breath, he opens his eye's and stare's piercingly at the man
Slavathras has called out.
"If you are withholding information, it would be in you're best interest to speak up and share it if you desire a world without Kalid-Ma...Please"
Ah, of course. I do forget sometimes that the most academic ones are not quite the ones to shine when it comes to a normal conversation. If what the bard revealed is true, does the members of your Order have any other hobbies than engrossing themselves into unraveling the halfling relics or technology from the blue age?
Canaan has her eyes glued to the two druids in equal measure as separate conversations takes place inside and outside.] of her mind.
"Halfling devolving into insectile? Does that mean they had a hand in creating the thri-kreens? I find it hard to believe."
As his companions all are blessed one by one, Kuro feel's his apprehension grow more and more. To gain power in this way, it seem's...less fulfilling, adding that it's coming from a powerful defiler makes it even worse. But the worst part is Kuro can't bring himself to out-right refuse despite all that. Power comes at steep price, no matter what it is gained from. Strength and discipline come at the cost of blood, sweat, and tears. Magical power comes at the cost countless days reading, studying the world and it's mysteries. Kuro can't help but shudder at the thought of what this power will cost him, his life?
To the boy's distorted mind, his life has no true value, saving other's for nothing in return has been his own ironic saving grace. Kuro can feel it, the suffocating power now rolling off his companions. His pragmatism forcing him to evaluate how useful and grand such power would be to accomplish his goal's...
This power would definitely allow him to jump start his quest, it could allow him more freedom then he has ever gotten, save everyone...
...But what would he lose? Does working with an evil to defeat a greater evil excuse the very act of working with a clear evil? Kuro doesn't think so...who's to say the moment they finish this mission, that Falcuun can't just take his power back? or even worse, turn the wielder into a puppet?
Unluckily, this long introspective stops Kuro from refusing before Falcuun bath's him in his power.
It hit's the boy like a truck, his lean muscles bulging as his vein's are set alight by the raw, oily substance that is a defiler's power. it's disgusting, a bile rising in the ranger's throat. soon however, the feeling fades away, Kuro left panting to himself. he looks to the ground, inspecting his tanned calloused hands and letting this power waft from a palm before dismissing it.
Kuro is heavily conflicted...but in the end, he'll do whatever it takes to get him closer to his impossible dream, that unreachable utopia. this power will be a mean's to his...
"I too," the male of the pair of Tyrian druids opines, "am most eager to explore the under-works of Kalidnay. The order to which my own person and Misra belong, the Rhul-Ty'ragi, is most interested in the ruins connected with the lost civilization of the Blue Age. It sounds as if the settlement that predated the sorcerer-queen's city is an exceptionally well preserved example of this rare category, perhaps near the equal of some of the wonders we have discovered beneath the present day city of Tyr."
"Yes, let us enter through these mines, and see what scholarly aims can be accomplished alongside the pressing quest to return the mad sorcerer-queen to her ages-long slumber beneath the great temple."
Falcuun's blessing, if it could be called that, had absorbed all of Kethe's attention for a few moments, as her body and mind adjust to their new capabilities. It feels like something deep inside her is blossoming with newfound strength, unfurling tendrils that both reach to the sky and burrow beneath the crust, strengthening her connection to the world.
But she has not forgotten the words spoken only moments before, words that had sent her searching her memory as she tries to remember why that name sounds so familiar. "Rhul-Ty'ragi. I have heard of your order and I had been hoping to speak to one of you. We share many interests, it would seem." Kethe regards Dalman and his companion, inclining her head to them both. "I am Kethe, a druid from South Ledopolus, although I have been living in Tyr for the past few moons."
The slightly abrupt druid with the prematurely whitened hair then seems to realize that he has not replied to his fellow druid, almost as if they task had sat in his mind inchoate for several minutes while other matters where addressed among the assembled group.
He turns now, pointedly, in an attempt to remedy the error,
"A fellow guardian of the land? Your company is most assuredly most welcome. Though you may have heard of our order, I, at least, know little of the dwarven society, and would be grateful to know more of your people's druidic orders. How did you come to a knowledge of our humble assembly, and in what activities do we prospectively share a bond?"
"Pray, what lands do you protect, and what knowledge of the ancient world do you seek?"
** spoiler omitted **
Canaan has her eyes glued to the two druids in equal measure as separate conversations takes place inside and outside.] of her mind.
"Halfling devolving into insectile? Does that mean they had a hand in creating the thri-kreens? I find it hard to believe."
The elf speaks half to Canaan, and the other part to Dalman,
"More self-serving nonsense -- the halflings did not create the kreen, who instead preexisted them on this world. If you want to know the truth, they are a genus that exists on a number of planets, and their evolution was guided by the servants of the Stoneburners. This druid is attributing far too much significance to the halflings, who were but servants of the Glassmakers. But I have already told you this, and your unthinking zeal simply rejects that which conflicts with your order's doctrine. We will doubtless find evidence in the ruins that will further elaborate of the truth I have told, and am telling you."
Pak looks to Dalman, "Reptilian? Are they described or are there drawings depicting them as such?
Have any of your order verified the veracity of these wonderful archives?"
"There are elaborate friezes in one of the ancient structures we have excavated in the caverns below the Free City -- these contain, among other scenes, depictions of six-armed reptilian creatures. Given our knowledge of the ancient world, clearly they are somehow descendants of the rhulisti"
** spoiler omitted **
"Well, she's not in the city here, she's in the temple to be more specific, or rather the pylon in the temple, as well as the seed linked to the pylon (I mentioned that her consciousness transferred from the black sludge in the lake to the temple right?). You see, the black sludge is the nascent, inchoate form of the tenebrian seeds. The ancient writings refer to it as 'burned stone' or 'fire rock'. It can serve as a reservoir of mental energy, but it sits dormant, waiting for it to be awakened and shaped. Certain shapes -- triangles, spheres, rings -- focus this energy when the black sludge is reshaped into them, the arcane physics somehow awakening the largely latent potential of the sludge... So she was vaporized in the final battle with the other dragons, and her residual intelligence, which was fairly well diminished at that point, pooled in the ichor in the lake. Then someone woke it up sufficiently for it to slowly move through and underground network of tunnels to the temple, where it melded with a great pylon, which woke up all the tenebrian seeds."
"This keep was the domain of one of her priests. They still performed her adorations for centuries after the sorcerer-queen's demise (such loyalty!). There seems to have been a residual caste that lived in the ruins and worshiped their fallen god (loyal like the mojh, who preserved the dragons' legacy in their absence). And something changed and now she's awake again, in the temple you see, and her priest's mind is linked to the another pylon that sits below this complex. And, you see, he's (his name is Ahmen-Ahnpur) the one who's in these walls. All rather remarkable, isn't it?"
Pak looks from the Bard to the Druid, "No doubt we will learn much below this ancient ruined city.
I should like to see the ruins beneath Tyr with my own eyes".
Rokan grows tired of Slavathras and Dalman's adversarial debate. He looks back and forth between the both of them before finally interjecting.
"Let the ruins and the clues lost to time tell the story as they may. We won't argue our way to the answer. I, for one, am simply eager to see what what is to be revealed in our expedition."
"Again, what do you want us to do about this dragon queen? Kill her? Free her? beat her into submission? Make her an omelet?"
One by one the others were blessed by Faalcuun. Malkaer stood in frozen horror as the magic infused him. He could feel his blade hum with power. Once it had been an elemental, reduced by defiler magic into being little more than a withered husk. It had bound itself to him, using his soul to stay alive. It was the source of all of his power. Faalcuun's blessing revitalized much that the elemental had lost. He could feel it stir, coming back to life.
His eyes went wide, as sparks of electricity coursed through them. His body held within it a raging storm of power. The black blade shined with blue light. He had never felt so alive before. So powerful! It was intoxicating. It was...horrifying. A thought hit him. Was this how Rajaat's Champions felt? So enamored with their power that they never thought about where it came from? Or what they would have to do to earn it? He wondered if he should reject it. To stay Malkaer. But he could not. To his shame, he could do nothing but accept it. To revel in it. He fell to his knees, twitching. He felt like he would explode. He swore to himself that he would not fall as they did. That he would not walk their path. That he knew what was right, what was wrong, and what responsibility he held. He swore...
While only a few seconds had past, it had felt like years. Pushing himself to his feet, he looked around, hoping that the others hadn't noticed. Standing as he was in the back, he could hear them still talking.
"Let the ruins and the clues lost to time tell the story as they may. We won't argue our way to the answer. I, for one, am simply eager to see what what is to be revealed in our expedition."
Malkaer, for once, spoke up. "Rokan is correct. We have a task to do, and precious little time to do it. Let us not waste the gift that has been given to us with words, be they idle or barbed."
The blind man nods, heading back to grab his helm. Taking a moment to turn the smooth helmet in his hands, Shizuka states, "Talking all the history in existence will not stop what's coming. Let us at least speak on the move."
The druid pauses in consideration for an uncomfortable moment, biting his lip slightly with his front incisors as he mulls a response to both Slavathras the elven bard and the young human male called Kuro, whose pragmatic moniker is "Archer".
"There are admittedly those of my order who have been... led astray in their interpretations of the various artifacts recovered from the long untended grottos beneath the Free City of Tyr. They have proposed that the six limbed reptiles, for example, are members of one of the several races that have visited this planet from the stars. Indeed, they have concocted a version of ancient history that is, in many respects, quite similar to the sad fantasies mimed by our resident court minstrel here. But we have seen to the correction of these misguided notions by any necessary inducements, a freedom of action which, sadly, I am at present denied in the case of Slavathras, though who knows what fortunes the futures may cast in time in my favor."
** spoiler omitted **
Canaan has her eyes glued to the two druids in equal measure as separate conversations takes place inside and outside.] of her mind.
"Halfling devolving into insectile? Does that mean they had a hand in creating the thri-kreens? I find it hard to believe."
"Our activities encompass a wide range of both practical and abstruse pursuits. We care assiduously for the quotidian maintenance of the lush gardens of the Golden Tower in the highest quarters of the Free City of Tyr. We also devote ourselves to a number of less... well known projects connected with the ancient knowledge of the halfling naturemasters of the Blue Age. It is an explicit goal of a certain cadre, such as my erstwhile companion here, to recover these forgotten abilities for our order, a power whose use they hope will help us to return the scarred plains of the Tablelands to the verdant glory they enjoyed during the Green Age."
""A fellow guardian of the land? Your company is most assuredly most welcome. Though you may have heard of our order, I, at least, know little of the dwarven society, and would be grateful to know more of your people's druidic orders. How did you come to a knowledge of our humble assembly, and in what activities do we prospectively share a bond?"
"Pray, what lands do you protect, and what knowledge of the ancient world do you seek?""
Kethe opens her mouth as if to reply, but then shakes her head and thumps her walking stick on the ground.
"All worthy questions, and I would be happy to answer them, but I believe that at the present we have more pressing matters to attend to. Let us speak on the way."
Returning nature to its original state. That is a lofty goal, not to mention lengthy. I wish you all the best in accomplishing it.
"Agree. We are standing too idle."
Canaan's ringed hand closes on the surface of her hair to brush it.
"And I am still not believing what grains of truth that comes out from either of your tongues until I seen the occurrence with my own eyes."
She bows to Falcruun.
"Thank you for bestow us this gift, mighty Falcruun. We will use it well and ensure that it will benefit both sides."
The lady in purple turns away (whether Falcruun response back to the party or not).
"Without further ado, let us report back to Lady Almah so that we can begin our real journey."
Seidr sighs.
"That is a good point. As capable as we may be, I'm sure taking on the Queen in some way is a big order."
** spoiler omitted **
The large windows of the observatory look out onto a large courtyard, beyond which lies a vast barrier of mazes which surround three smaller enclosures. These each contain one of the three 'Gates of the Night', which the mojh scholar had mentioned in a previous disquisition on the archives of Ahmun-Ahnpur, the High Templar of Kalid-Ma, and the former occupant of these mysterious premises. The three gates have, over the last several nights, seemingly opened and discharged some manner of abominations, which now ply their way blindly through the dense barrier of mazes which separate the these subterranean apertures from the rest of the high templar's fortress compound.
Beyond the front gates of the fortress, there commences a vast processional way, which seems to lead to a large gate on the very edge of the visible horizon.
Over this thoroughfare, a strange vessel, its hull dark green, and fitted with six wings on each bow, hovers over the center of the processional(image). Above it, two large black rings are retreating into the temporarily darkened heavens, and the many tenebrian seeds which wound around them only a moment ago like twining serpents are now dispersing to form a writhing wall around the ruins.