"Please elaborate on the details of your agreement with the one you refer to as Aelfedred. As to Vehemence, we were engaged fighting several vine beast creatures and his means of vanishing were beyond us. It is also illogical to assume we would have abandoned you when the primary objective was to rescue you from the chameleon women."
...
Riven searches the room they rest in as it had not been a priority before due to the speaking worm and the various enemies all literally coming out of the walls.
Twas nothing. She just wants some crap in exchange for bringing me to you guys.
She asked for a bunch of sun paintings - as many as I could find. Or a really bright light source. Or a tear from Chronia. Gave me a choice! Makes it easy, cause I can just keep a lookout for whichever one comes around first.
"Bargains are not a trivial matter. Those paintings may be in the possession of the Curator. The tear from Chronia is a powerful magical artifact. The light source is probable a similarly hard to obtain object. If you are unable to fulfill your bargain what will happen?"
Riven stands vigil at the northern part of the room looking out into 29 so that should any threats come through that room he will be one of the first they encounter.
Dunno. There was no time limit. If I'm here in the maze, I'll keep looking. If not, then I'm out of her reach as I'm out of the maze and she is still trapped. Don't sweat the what-ifs, big guy. Worry about that later, if ever. For now - we're all back together! And that's what's important.
Thratch really doesn't seem bothered by the deal. Anything can be stolen, and he's just happy he's back with his friends.
For the most part, Thratch doesn't seem to pay attention to what's going to happen tomorrow.
It's good to see you safe, it give hopes to the desperation the maze brings.
In the first hour of rest, a torch on the wall blows out. Nothing you haven't seen before.
Several hours in, you briefly feel as though you're being watched, but nothing turns up. It's perhaps a reminder that you're never really alone in this place.
In your final hour of rest, Aterro and Moq notice a small ghostly figure walking through the area, stopping to look at the group. Aterro immediately recognizes him as the ghost boy he and Ashlyn found after you entered the Maze.
He walks toward the heart chamber, stopping and looking back at you, as though he's waiting for you to follow.
Riven pulls the last animal puff ball from the bag of trick and tosses it down in the doorway of 29. After giving it directions to keep watch he turns back to the others. The sticky floor of blood doesn't seem to have factored for him in camping out here. His eyes move between the members of the group thinking silently to himself about each one and some things they each seem driven by in this place.
This time the fuzzy object thrown by Riven turns into a giant boar.
Also you all find the closer you get to the south wall, the less saturated the grass and dirt with blood. There's a good 10' stretch from the wall where there wasn't enough blood to keep running.
That blood is really freaky. What's causing it?
"Did you not witness the giant broken heart in the room of blood we just passed through Thratch? I must retrieve something from the heart room momentarily. That patch of earth to the south seems like it is suitable for a rest cycle."
The boar who will no doubt get the name Gamma will snort and settle down in the doorway to guard. Riven returns briefly to the heart room his logic process fixated on an idea despite his lack of skills or tools. New magic flows through his circuits as his three fingertips spark and form three small beams of light that meet into one larger beam that emits into the heart and begins to carve out a large path of the heart outer thick skin until he has a 3 foot but 3 foot approximate section which he proceeds to carry back into the garden room shutting the door behind him.
\\The golem is a bloody mess now, his silvery metal body slathered with blood that he seems oblivious to how it affected the others. He drop the slab of flesh in the center of the bloody room and began searching the edges of the garden for things, it seemed like he had some sort of project he was working on using a combination of his body's magical tools and the various things he could scavenge from the garden and its tools.
Ashlyn can't help but love Tratch's lighthearted nature. Everyone else in this group is so stoic. Each and everyone of them overthinking every action. She would honestly go mad without the halfling's easygoingness.
"He's back. That is cause to celebrate. We can deal with promises tomorrow. I mean it! Each and every one of you is going to do something fun, or I will not let you sleep. Dance, sing, share a story, play an instrument. Play some cards for gods sake. But we have some good news for once. One of us got out. We're all back together again. So let's have some fun."
Seeing the figure creeping on us Moq says, If we want to get out of this section quickly, we can get to the wedding by following that boy. It would cost us the rest though.
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When Ashlyn speaks Moq says, I'm an entertainer for a living, you know. Not so keen with dancing, but I can clumsily play a bouzaki or lute. Unfortunately, I was brought from stone without a stitch of clothing on me - I don't tend to wear just a linen wrap normally. We make do.
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From the moment Aterro was awoken for his shift at the watch, he'd been busy. Moq sees him disappear into the heart-blood room for some time, and the smell of cooking and be mildly detected. After a fashion the Warcleric returns, without armor and dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, and whispers to Moq, "Bah, the phantom does nothing. We can follow for lack of other plan, but, well...later.
For the now, keep an eye out, friend. Torm teaches us that Man does not live by strife alone, eh?"
He follows that with a quick wink and walks over the sorceress.
Ashlyn is gently shaken awake by Aterro. The first thing she notices is that he's not wearing his armor. The second thing she notices is that the ever-present pungent smell of bodies and blood that covers everything--does not cover him. He smells faintly of wine, but lacks any sign of being drunk.
"My lad--er, ah, Ashlyn. I have something that...may provide you some small entertainment. Will you follow me?"
He holds his hand out, waiting to be joined.
"It is no lute, but I do have a flute you're more than welcome to play. " She smiles as they're finally seeming to drop their guard, if even a little. "Now that we have music, are one of you man enough to dance with me? Or will I have to put on a show?"
Long after the festivities have settled. She slowly awakens to his touch. Her body shifts, brushing her dress out as she sits up. Her eyes are still adjusting to being awake, as she tries to mask a soft yawn. She offers him a gentle smile and crawls into his arms rather than take his hand. Letting him carry her wherever he wishes. Slowly wrapping her arms around his neck, she leans in finding his ear and whispers, "You smell nice."
Very well, I could use a chance to step away from this violent machination for a moment. Some festivity would certainly help!
Moq stands and rolls his shoulders for a moment before extending a hand to Ashlyn.
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Aterro's eyes flicker up as the sorceress speaks of dancing, but he has no skill at it, and would rather appear the fool, then try to dance and remove all doubt.
He pulls out his ever-full flask and keeps working on his sword. The thin wine proves to be a wonder at cleaning the mess.
A smile creaks the WarCleric's dour demeanor as he takes the warm, pleasant bundle of the girl in his arms, easily carrying her around corner into the room just to the north.
The near corner, once covered with blood and bits of vegetation, has been scrubbed clean, though the floor is tinged in a light red, as though several casks of wine had been spilled.
Nearby a small fire cracks merrily as it boils a liquid in Aterro's gleaming-bright helmet. Nearby a bedroll serves as a tablecloth for a noble picnic. Tin plates hold sweet-smelling trips of well-cooked meat, and preserved vegetables, unappetizing when eaten dry, have been boiled in some sauce back to a semblance of appeal.
Setting the girl down near the repast, Aterro moves over to the boiling soup. He pours a hearty measure into two cups and brings them over, handing Ashlyn one.
It's a simple mixture of barely and beans, cooked in a wine base and smelling delicious and, in this place, exotic.
It takes only a moment to realize that Aterro must have pillaged his own ration packs, and prepared the finest bits for this simple feast. He'll be eating naught but hardtack for some time.
As he holds the cup out he smiles and says, "Shall we? And my last name is Dominatus, Ms Fairchild.
What was your life like, before this place?" he asks, taking a small sip of the hot stew.
Ashlyn eyes sparkle at the chance to dance again. She gladly takes Moq's hand. She slides in close letting her body press to his. She relaxes into him, giving the sense of complete and utter trust. She remains vigilant to let him lead. There was a harshness to his movements, but she was more than agile enough to float with him. Her movements forcing him to remain vigilant. She knows him a practiced warrior, and plays on it. She kept him constantly alert, eyes scanning the floor for obstacles, and constantly aware of what is happening in his arms. No matter what style of dance he attempts to work her in. She converts it into a sensual display. Her movements working equally to arouse her partner, and entice any onlookers.
Though her entire display, that most would find a hedonist display of lewdness. It is obvious she is still restraining herself from lavish performances she is accustomed to making.
She was truly surprised at the display, her heart swooning at the revelation that he would abstain for his own nourishment just for her.
"Oh, Attero. I don't know what to say. This is, wonderful."
She sets the stew down, before taking even one sip. Her hand reaches over resting on his. She crawls up onto her knees. She closes the distance between them slowly, unaware, or unconcerned with the plunging neckline of her dress. Her cleavage blossoming from her undergarment.
When she finds her target, her lips brush his cheek. Then she slides forward pressing her lips to his. The sweet taste of fresh fruit floods his senses. Her practiced kiss only serving to instill even greater desire in him. Then, as quickly as it came, it is withdrawn. She offers one more squeeze of her hand on his, before retaking her seat.
"There is quite the man hidden under all that armor Mr. Dominatus." She emphasizes his name playfully for effect. "But, if we are to remain friends. You will need to call me Ashlyn."
"My life before was certainly more relaxed. I was a performer, of sorts, building a business. Though, I do not expect to go back."
She takes the tin cup up in her hands again, holding the warm broth between her breasts letting the warmth flow through her. Then lifts it to her lips, sensually wrapping them around his cup and gently sips the broth from it. Each movement accentuated for effect, serving as a wonderful distraction from her answer to his question.
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Later that night, after the music and dancing, Thratch tells a story of his past.
We were just outside of the city, and had stolen a merchants wagon. Somehow, I ended up driving the damn thing. I don't know a lick about horses or wagons! But there I was, steering her as fast as we could go, Yaa-ing away! Trying to run from the guards.
I steer into the woods and see that there's a crevice ahead. It wasn't more than two, maybe three feet across, but I knew we couldn't make it. I immediately try to stop the wagon, and Garund - my guild boss - starts yelling at me.
"What the f+#$ are you doing, you little twerp!" He says. "Go go go go go! F+@&ing go!"
I tell him, "That's crevice is too big! Well wreck the wagon! No way it'll cross."
So he climbs up front and pushes me off the wagon (while we're still going) and says, "Get the f&!* away, let me show you how a real man drives."
Sure enough, not thirty seconds later, that wagon was on its side in the crevice. He managed to get both wheels on the right side stuck in the crevice; horses broke that axle thing and kept running!
We lost the entire haul that day, but man did he ever show all of us how a "real man" drives.
The crew laughed about that for weeks!
I was in the army driving a HMMWV (aka a Humvee), and my sergeant ordered me to drive off road to catch up to our platoon. We came to a crevice and I stopped, for that exact reason.
He ordered me to drive, I objected, he ordered me to get out so he could show me how a "real man" drives.
Sure enough, he got that HMMWV stuck, both wheels on the right side stuck in the crevice, the entire truck on its side with the passenger doors pinned to the ground. We had to climb out the driver's side windows.
It took a tank to get us unstuck. The army tow truck that tried first got stuck as well, so we had to call over one of our tanks to pull us all out.
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Aterro spares a few moment's glace as Ashlyn takes Moq to the dance floor. He knows that he -should- feel some sort of emotion watching this--it is, after all, an example of an expert flawlessly executing their trade--but the tactical part of his brain slides to the fore instead.
'Hm. No...no I don't think this means what we think it means.'
He logs the data gained and lowers his eyes, collating.
Surprise gives way to pleasure and expectation and he returns the kiss in earnest, making up for lack of skill with a raw, almost brutish, passion. But the lock is broken too quickly and confusion drifts across his face, though he contentedly settles back down.
Still, though sheltered and perhaps cautious, he's not naive. A slight smile crosses his face. "A performer, eh? Well we all need coin, and there are worse ways to win it than that."
As she elaborates no further, and fills the silence with neither stories nor questions, he takes it as a sign to fill the void himself.
His deep, gravelly voice speaks up, talking lowly with a story of triumph. "Did I ever tell you of my first real campaign? High-Father Joakim had agreed to dispatch a company of Doomsealers to the Ironhide Hills, to crush a war band of SteelClaw orcs that had overstepped their bounds and raided farmsteads in earnest.
Though a mere hundred of us marched, the wagon train of provisions and fodder stretched back on the road 'till it crossed the horizon. At every village on our path everyone, from elders without teeth to farm girls, bouncing in their simple frocks, came out to shake our hands and litter our path with sweet-scented flowers, or offer hard-crusted bread and tough salted pork or even an earthenware pitcher of good clean water to wash the dust of the road from our throats.
Throughout the campaign, a steady caravan brought bread fresh-baked from local ovens and news from home. Acolyte Rufus was granted leave to see his first son born, and StormCleric Arrian was raced home when his grandfather, a warlord in his day, fell to his deathbed.
As we marched home, the corpses of the greenskins rotting at our backs, along the track we were showered in kisses and gratitude. Not a one of us did not feel a hero in a bard's epic, and each warrior knew what good was done that day.
I suppose my hope here is that I can return to my order with another such tale, but this time secure on the knowledge that 'twas mine own efforts that did reap a victory, and not just a cog in a mighty host."
At length he winds down. He fills two wine cup from the eternal beaker and hands Ashlyn one. Smiling he asks, "Alright, your turn. You say you were a performer, but I can tell you wield a mighty power. Did you gain it through great study, or is it a natural manifestation?
And why would one so powerful as you still be a performer? Was thy art part of your...business?"
The corded muscles on his forearm keep flexing and unflexing, as if he greatly wishes to place hand on thigh...but, seeing her react so vitriolically to prior attempts, is unsure of her personal code.
As people are starting to play music, Tenchi finds a place to sit and begins sketching.
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"I do not require sleep...not anymore."
The golem speaks as Ashlyn then gets pulled into the dancing he seems highly focused on working on some project and he is seen leaving the area to go through 29 on brief trips and coming back with tools from the shed he found earlier as he works to assemble something. He turns down attempts to draw him into dancing but will listen and watch as he works but keeps his crafting to himself until the time comes later that evening...
Later during the story telling Riven approached the group and stood before Ashlyn. He has been working on something for a few hours in the north corner of the room with several garden tools and scavenged things from the nearby tool shed area they had passed before. He withdrew a cloth sack with a thicker strip of leather like a shoulder strap crudely attached to the cloth sack.
"My observations have noted that you lack containment for items that you may wish to carry. This will make your carrying capacity more optimized and allow for storage of things you find in our mission."
He stood there his three fingered hand outstretched holding the hand crafted satchel.
After the revelry, Moq picks up his shield and lantern and sets up for watch.
As you finish your rest, a group of seven robed individuals walk into the area you're in, ignoring the patiently waiting ghost boy.
Their frames suggest they are young and athletic, save for one who appears older and their leader. All are wearing masks that portray the features of plain-looking women.
They carry several packs of tools, torches and supplies, and immediately get to replacing spent torches and wiping the blood from the walls as well as cleaning up the remnants of the Vinebeasts and other debris.
By and large they ignore you as they go about their business of tidying up. They stop only to offer you rum, cigarettes and fresh rations and water.
They ask if you have any broken gear or equipment that needs replacing.
You recognize the individuals as the Bondye Reparatè, the caretakers of the Maze. They're highly dedicated to their work, though completely elusive about answering questions apart from food or gear.
Finally, I've been hoping to run into you lot. I'll take the provisions, but I need clothes. Also, where should I go to leave the maze?
One of the robed individuals pulls out two packs of rations and gives them to Moq, along with a filled waterskin. He quickly moves to other tasks while another pulls out a robe and some simple clothing, making some quick alterations to fit his larger frame.
To his question, the lead individual simply replies, "You must go where your destiny leads you."
Ashlyn sips the broth slowly as she listens to his tale. The whole of her posture exuding attentiveness. As she finishes the bowl, she lays it gently on the blanket.
Neither daring, nor wishing to interrupt his story, she slides over to him. She rests her head upon his chest as she lays against him. Her hand lifting to brush the hair from her face, then falls to his chest. Her long nails scratch idly on his chest, exploring his physique mindlessly. Her finger finds his abs, tracing downward, building the anticipation as he tale builds in excitement. Then, as she reaches his waist, her hand falls to his thigh as though she forgot where she was going with it.
"You have already rescued me on more than one occasion." she purrs into him, squeezing his leg with enthusiasm.
She sit up slightly as he turns the conversation to her. "Me? My magic is a part of me. As natural as any other gift."
"Must I live a certain life, just because I have a talent. Should every man strong of body go to war? Or could they put their gifts to a farm if that was their pleasure?"
Her tone shifts to be playfully hurt. "Unless you have reason to think I should not perform. Am I not pretty enough to draw a crowd? Do I not excite you?"
She knows full well her teasing will fluster him, and after he has suitably complimented her. She only replies to his embarrassment with a soft giggle and presses another kiss to his cheek to silence his stammering.
Ashlyn is concerned when the large group appears, but as Moq seems to know them, her guards drops some. Her eyes light up when they offer him clothes seemingly free of charge and approaches them as well.
"Excuse me," she offers a soft wave. "Hello. As you can see my dress is in quite a bit of disrepair. The bottom drug in the sewer, and it has been battered in a few battles. Would you be capable of repairing it?
Thratch wipes his face off with a cloth, but otherwise doesn't seem to be concerned with the state of his appearance or his clothes.
I'll take some food, too, if ya got it. Thanks!
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To his question, the lead individual simply replies, "You must go where your destiny leads you."
Well can I follow you for a while?
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By the time the cleaning crew comes around, Aterro is dressed in his armor that shows signs of being recently cleaned. Indeed, it all but sparkles, though it's still damp, and bears a light red hue, as if it was cleaned with several barrels of wine.
He takes his turn in line. Though he's never met one, the Order of Suffering Sisters is not unknown, and a clutch of them is a permanent unit amongst the LifeClerics.
"Greetings to you. I too would like a few rations. My own have been...depleted, of late."
Accepting two rations, he holds out a gold coin to them. Though most of their kind refuse payment, some don't, and it seems only right to offer some manner of donation.
Aterro admitted to himself that this was going well, but could also see the trap.
'She's a woman, not a military problem. Though the two can be related, they're not the same. Be cautious.'
"Heh. Of course not. As each does what is best for themselves, they do what is best for society."
Aterro returns the caress in kind. His broad hand tenderly caress her soft back, easing away the day's tension, working the supple muscles and enjoying their feel through the brief sleeping gown.
"You are soft as the summer wind,' he gravels out sweetly. "You are fair as the morning sky, and bright as a thousand swords, raised at dawn into the crimson sun." As he speaks his other hand comes around, beginning at tender knee and gently walking the graceful curve up thigh and hip, eventually settling upon thin stomach, luxuriating in the sensation of touch.
"Your smile is contagious. Your laugh fills the room and draws all eyes to you. Your skin is soft as buttermilk and your eyes are like the rarest of gems, sparkling before the crowd and gifting them with the chance to gaze upon you."
The earnestness of his desire is evident now, and his hands on both fore and aft all but quiver with antici...pation.
"I go only where I must. If you have questions, you should seek out Lady Nine-Bones." the elder replies to Moq. "She is near Chronia Torn's chamber."
The rest of the Bondye Reparatè quickly and efficiently fill everyone's requests for rations and replace empty waterskins. Three of them quickly gather around Ashlyn and make repairs to her dress, not quite as good as new, but much improved.
When Aterro attempts to tip one of them, his donation is quietly refused. "This is what we do. Our job is to repair heaven."
Once they have completed the requests, they move on into the heart chamber and beyond, busily putting things back as they were, or as close as possible.
The ghost boy simply watches quietly from the northern doorway.
No idea who lady nine-bones is. Is that the woman you spoke to, Thratch?
Before they leave, Thratch inquires upon the Bondye, Do you know where I can find the brightest light source?
To Moq, he answers, I don't think so. The Oku said her name was Aelfedred.
Well we explored the south and half the east of Chronia's chamber. I vote for heading deeper into the gardens for now, when we move north we can attempt to circle around the outside of Chronia's chamber.
Riven awkwardly stands there as Ashlyn hugs him, his body perfectly still like a statue, only the heart inside his chest giving any indication of his being alive. Slowly he gives her back a pat and waits for her to disentangle.
"It is an inferior work of crafting though I used sinew from the heart string of the giant heart to attach the leather and cloth. I was not crafted for such work, and it seems I have been corrupted from long inactivity. You all have my...gratitude for restoring me from my tomb."
As the strange boy comes around Riven will move to investigate what he wants to show him while the others accept gifts of clothing and food. Needing neither Riven focused on collecting more data...
Noticing him for the first time, Tenchi says "Should we do something about the spirit? It seems intent on having us follow it."
"All light sources here burn as brightly as they are able." one of the masked individuals responds to Thratch.
The ghost boy looks up at Riven and says nothing. He looks to the rest of the group and gestures for everyone to follow.
"I believe this spectral entity desires our attention and is trying to show us something that he is unable to communicate through other means."
Does that mean we have to follow it? I mean, sure. Why not? What else have we got to do?
After finishing to strap on his armor and weapons, Tenchi will secure Wan'di's body and prepare to move.
Ashlyn drinks in his every work, melting into his arms. Every song of praise rewarded by her soft, teasing touch. Her well practiced movements are tantalizing. As each touch seems to linger just beyond the edge of what he truly wants, leaving him longing for more. Each and every action she performs a calculated precise contact intent on equal parts pleasure and frustration. Never so frustrating that it draws his ire, but never so pleasurable that he is not left longing for more.
As the men move to fix her dress, Ashlyn will glance over to her shoulder to the rest of the party. "I'm not fool enough to ask you not to peek. But, do try not to stare." There is a playful teasing to her words, and not even the slightest hint of shame. Then makes a show of slipping free from the garment, letting it drop. Never turning from facing away, she takes a step back, pending at her waist, far more dramatically than necessary to retrieve the dress from the floor. Offering it to the men and letting her tailors do their work.
Upon completion she will redress, and return to the others. Discreetly watching to see how each man behaves after her display. Interest, uncomfortable, bashful. She loved watching to see how differently people would react to such things.
"I have met the ghost boy before. He was able to pull me through shadows to another part of the maze. It was how I discovered the wedding before when we first split up. I tried everything I could to get him to show me what he wanted. But, he just brought me to an empty room and stared."
Riven seemed unaffected by her display, his glowing eyes neither averting or staring at her for long periods. He did not sleep and had watched during the night over those that rested. As her clothes were repaired he continued to speak facing her.
"While unable to communicate verbally it is possible that he can show us more if we follow him. It is not required but it may yield more data or objects that will complete goals."
The ghost boy begins walking back toward the blackened room with the dried plants, where you entered the gardens . He stops every few feet and turns around to look at you, waving you to follow. He's clearly walking toward the door that leads back to the starlit stones.
As you enter the blackened room you see the spectral glow around him get brighter. He waves on, as if urging you to move faster.
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"Fah, I found the boy to be utterly useless. We can follow him, simply to either sate him so he'll leave us be, or, as Thratch so aptly said, lack of other options. But do not cling to any hope of chasing a goose save of the wildest sort."
Aterro tramps along, his greatsword ever out and ever wary.
Aterro grins and writhes in pleasure, eagerly anticipating the next phase when the two participants will get down to pleasure of the sublime sort...
...but as Ashlyn's tangential touch skirts any hint of true meaning, his brain switches modes, from abandoned pleasure, to curiosity. 'She reminds me of the times I played the Kissing Game with Inga, the miller's daughter, in the years before I took my Oaths of Momment, and she was wed to Axle, the baker's son, wearing white in honesty to her ceremony. Though this foreplay is nice, it seems to be the sport of teenagers, lacking the endgame one of experience would seek.
Is...is Ashlyn...a maiden?'
Such a thought seemed unreal mixed with what he had observed, but she seemed so willing to take the initiative, yet so unwilling to take the next step. He feared pressing the issue, given her nature, but could not let the issue go.
"Ashlyn, Ashlyn," he whispered out. "I can not help but detect a certain...reluctance on your part to engage in the serious business of love. I had thought you a woman of the world, one who would accept my open offer of pleasurable sport, two bodies offering each other comfort and warmth in this desolate place. Are you...yet unknown by a man? Your actions remind me of maypole-dancers: Always circling around, never reaching the point of the matter.
Or do I not arouse you? I will not force myself, and I imagine I'm not as refined as other courtiers you may have had, but, given the circumstances, I had thought...?
Come now, opportunities for intimacy will be rare in this place. We should find what little pleasure there is to be had. Let me help you out of that sleeping shift and we'll show these walls that there is yet joy to be had in this world!"
"Perhaps new data will present itself."
Riven will activate his cloaking mode blending into surroundings as he follows the young boy but makes sure others are not left behind.