Ari beds down for the night with the others. Before she does, she nods to Ranek. She plans to get up in time to take the same watch as him.
"Thank you. I .. don't know what came over me.."
"Powerful manifesters of the Way can bend the mind sometimes with more practiced ease than even practitioners of the Arcane Arts.
I shall be vigilant now that we know the capabilities of our foes. Well, not the full extent of the capabilities but the beginnings of the danger that it possesses".
The company settled down, posted their guards, and tried to claim some much-needed sleep.
You are meditating, lost in thought. You swoop around mental constructs that look like pillars of golden fire. From here you could channel your intellect into teh astral, into your own body, or even into your enemies. No one can attack you here, and your psionic power ripples around you, a fraction of what it one day may grow to. You can faintly feel your thoughts resonating with nearby crystals, and the mental chimes sound like church bells. Ahead of you is a crossroads, and you pick a path randomly and turn down it.
And that is when someone throws a jagged axe at you.
That is what it feels like, at least, and as you lower your hands to your belly, you expect to find the liquid warmth of your own intestines waiting for you. There is no blood. Then the pain comes again, and you realize that the attack is a mental one: brutal, agonizing, and overwhelmingly strong.
You look around for your friends. They are gone, faded away as dreams do. You throw up your mental defenses. They are shattered like a silver mirror, and fragments of your psyche go spinning around as another attack hammers home. Where is the attacker? There...there! You focus your mind and a needle-sharp spine of thought lances out...
And you have just attacked an eye, as blue as the sky, that holds your thoughts and then returns it to you tenfold. Things whirl and go black, and now you are lying on a metal floor that is also your bed. You can feel both the cold metal floor and the straw ticking on the mattress under your cheek, but you cannot move, and there is a Voice in your mind. "You...have potential. When the time comes, you should choose the other path. Doing otherwise will bring death to you, and to those you love. You are clearly talented. It's a pleasure to sense that." Part of you is stubborn and resists, and in a moment the voice passes, along with the pain. You sit up. It was only a dream. Only a dream. You stand up. And notice a drop of red on the sheets. Just a drop. And then a trickle. Then a flood as you raise a hand to your head and feel where the top of your skull was shorn clear away. Your fingers touch something soft and wet and your hand comes away bloody.
And then you really wake.
The enemy waits just a few feet ahead of you. The dwarf should never have challenged you, and now he will pay with his life. You feel the old familiar adrenaline coursing through your body, and you look forward to the feeling of slamming your fist through your opponent's chest. Then you are rocked backwards as an unseen weapon ratchets off your chest, leaving you breathless.
The creature circles you, now human-sized, and you realize that you have been too busy thinking to get off a shot. "No problem," you think. "I'll get one..." And the creature strikes again, flicking you in the face with one lazy, ogre-sized hand. Desperately you try to cudgel your lazy thoughts...your life is at stake! But you just...cannot...respond, and a huge clawed hand barely flexes as it flicks your weapon from your hand in the same way a child might flick an ant off a table.
You turn to run, and with you is your best friend. "Run!" you hear, but your legs are barely moving. The giant form looms over you, and shakes its head. "Don't make the wrong choice," you tell yourself. "Some things are better to live and let live." Can you do that - let go and let someone else make the decisions? You ponder, and your mother is laughing at you, and the creature you are following reaches out to your head...and twists.
You wake up.
You hate the feeling of your fingers bleeding.
Not that they usually bleed, mind you. Yet you have been playing now for more than fifteen hours, only stringed instruments, and you realize that you do not even like the sound of strings anymore. But your audience does and you cannot disappoint them. Oh, no. If they do not like your music, if they do not like you, this time it is not as if they will just not give you a good recommendation. Instead they will rip out your vocal cords.
And eat them.
It feels as if your voice has already been ripped out. "Sing," your audience croons. "Sing, and keep singing, and do not disappoint." Yet your voice has become a croack, and your fingers are bleeding, and your best friends sit on the other side of the brass bars with their eyes pleading at you not to make any mistakes. You know that you cannot, you will not; you are better than that and you will not fail them. You will not fail yourself. You are better than that. You fill your lungs with air, and you start their favorite ballad. And with a twang, you break a string, and you realize that you are croaking the words to the ballad instead of singing it.
Your friends' eyes have opened wide with horror, and you feel yourself picked up and spun around, the bars of the cage falling away. "You might as well accept it," the audience says out of many mouths, with many voices. "You will have no other choice. So tell me," and a huge claw caresses up your torso from from crotch to throat, "how are you going to choose?"
You open your mouth to answer, to make your choice, and your throat is too raw. No sound comes out, as you strain to answer. Your friends are laughing at you, or maybe screaming. And as your mouth is wrenched open and your tongue ripped from your throat, you start drowning in your own blood, and your eyes snap open...
And you wake up. Your fingertips burn, and your voice is nothing but a rasp.
Your knees ache from the hard stone floor. To worship him properly, you would not want to sit on the stone bench. But groveling with your cheek pressed to the red floor, you cannot seehis face, which is what you really want. You left your own god for him, and you have never regretted it.
You feel his presence above you, inside you, where that core of faith resides.
"You are true," he says, "and a test of faith is coming. I will possess you and hold you and keep you safe, and you shall be with me, victorious beneath my wings. Ready yourself. Your sacrifices have not been in vain, and your rewards shall follow you in life and afterlife both. The work is hard, and the hours long, but your triumph oh so sweet."
He moves on as you genuflect, this time with the idol in front of you, and you know you have been blessed beyond all others if you follow his simple instructions. briefly you think of your old religion...and you know how glad you were to cast it away. Your heart beats. You breathe. You smile. Your time is coming.
And you wake up.
The dwarf wakes from his blasphemous dream. Angry. Real F#<King Angry!
Thurvek gets up from his resting place, fumbles loudly for his warhammer, and marches to the spot where the remains of the dragon totem lay, and viciously smashes at it with his warhammer!
"DECEIVER! SWINDLER! FALSE! BLASPHEMER!"
Aldon blinks and stands, placing his hand on his head to make sure all is well.
"This is a dangerous course we take..."
Marcus was alarmed when those sleeping started tossing and turning in the grip of nightmares before suddenly awakening. "What befalls?" he asked in an urgent whisper, before looking around suspiciously.
"Fell dreams my friend, and that was after the destruction of this idol. Whether this foe is responsible for the capture of these children is not clear what is clear is that our presence here becomes known to it so we must proceed with even greater caution or perhaps more reckless abandon, I cannot decide which would take our foe more off guard".
"A quandary.", Marcus considered this and glanced around noting the haggard appearance of his companions. He came to the inevitable conclusion, "It seems to me our original decision to rest was sound, assuming we can of course get sufficient rest..."
Ranek awakens at Thurvek’s cry, grabbing his sword and leaping to his feet, eyes casting about. Upon hearing Aldon’s explanation, he shakes his head. ”Magic that strikes the mind. I’ll need to see if I have spells that can do something about that.”
"Peace, Thruvek!! Peace!! What are you doing? Hakon grabs Thurvek's axe, tryign to caalm the raging dwarf.
The paladin forces the dwarven cleric to stop his onslaught. Breathing heavily from the effort, Thurvek spits, "It made me bow to it. It promised riches and power. It..it..", sputtered Thurvek, "It made me forsake my vows! Forswear Clanggedin Silverbeard!" The dwarven cleric slumped to the floor, warhammer still in hand. And cried.
Breaking out of his meditation turned sleep, Bolkvar looked at Thurvek with worry.
”Ye haven’t forsaken your vows. Dreams are just that, and powerful magic can send visions through them. Even if it felt real, it was just a trick by the enemy to undermine your faith and resolve. Call to Clanggedin. He will hear your prayers, I am sure of it.”
Thurvek got up from the ground, swiping his eyes, and walked back to his place of rest to pray.
Ari gasps, her eyes opening wide. She grasps her bow at her side, her muscles relaxing as she realizes she still has it.
She stays prone, but looks around at the others in the room. She sees Thurvek up in arms and wonders.
Was he the one?
With Thurvek and the others fully awake already, Ari decides to keep the exact details of the dream... vision... nightmare... whatever... to herself. She's not even sure what to make of it, so no need to bother the others with it.
Instead, she takes a few deep breaths before turning over on her side and trying to go back to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.
Barra awakes with a start, hands scrabbling painfully in the dirt for his weapon and chest heaving. His mouth is dry... so dry... and once he has a sword safely in hand he grabs his canteen and downs half of it in a single gulp. "Thank you for your yelling, Mr. Dour Dwarf." He rasps, sincerely. "My own dreams were no better. Something's bedeviled us - what, I don't know. We should get back in the sun, and soon, before we're lost to this place. Is everyone ready to move?"
And a stray thought runs through his head, I can't even sing that well...
Aldon closes his eyes and manifests a power to strengthen his mind.
Aldon's head is sheathed in a ring of white light, the light fades after a few seconds.
"I have strengthened my mind from mental intrusion for a few hours. I can provide the same protection to those of you who believe it may be useful.
I am ready to move forward once the rest of you are".
He then activates a power once more and his body is covered in a rainbow kaleidoscope of colors which alss fades son after.
Thurvek got up from the ground, swiping his eyes, and walked back to his place of rest to pray.
The strong, silent presence that Thurvek knew was the Father of Battles was there, just as always.
Still shaking a bit and nursing his fingers, Barra doesn't go back to sleep - doubtful he could, after a dream like that. He'll take the place of anyone who was supposed to be on watch and got interrupted instead.
Hakon sighs. [b]"This place is... We really need to get out of here."
Ranek returns to his blankets to await his turn on watch - although the fact his companions had been subjected to such dreams was disconcerting.
Marcus wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep easily and offered to extend his watch. This place was uncanny and he was't entirely sure it was wise to rest here but on the other hand it would be wasting hours of precious daylight the next morning to climb back back up if they descended...
As much as Thurvek DOES NOT want to sleep, he knows he needs to sleep, probably mutters prayers into unconsciousness.
The remainder of the night passed without further horrific dreams, at least that anyone remembered. All had a vague sense that their dreams were not pleasant and involved much being watched and chasing even if the details drifted away on waking.
As soon as Thurvek wakes, he sits in a kneeling position and arranges all his weaponry around him in a circle. The cleric begins his morning prayers, asking for Clanggedin Silverbeard's blessings and spells for Thurvek's daily use.
Likewise, Bolkvar sits and performs his devotions. He reads holy texts, ritually braids his beard, and performs the stretches of his monastic order, and finally shields himself in arcane armor.
Ranek takes out his spellbooks and studies them, preparing his arcane powers for the day. Once he has finished, he also casts mage armor on himself. "I am ready to proceed."
Ari stretches after she awakens and takes a few moments to get her bearings. Last night had not been very restful. Eventually she's able to wake up enough to prepare her spells, then stands and readies to leave with everyone else.
Still awake, with small bags under his eyes, Barra stretches stiffly as he readies for the day.
The next morning Marcus felt shattered. He'd eventually slept but his dreams had gone strange and felt uneasy... So he prayed with renewed fervor that Torm the True might guide the way and help them find the missing children.
Once everyone was ready Marcus cautiously moved forwards down the northern corridor.
Aldon regards both passageways and remembers something he has had for some time but has never used, a gift from one of his mentors. He pulls a slim jewel like wand (for lack of a better term a dorje for those familiar with the Way) from one of his packs and activates it.
You can track creatures with an Intelligence score of 3 or greater by following the trails of mental energy they leave behind. Pass without trace and similar effects provide no protection from this power; however, creatures immune to mind-affecting effects leave no perceptible psychic tracks, and cannot be followed this way.
Finding psychic tracks or following them for 1 mile requires a DC 20 Spellcraft check. Every time the tracks become difficult to follow (such as when they intersect with other psychic tracks, enter an area of heavy traffic such as a market, or backtrack and diverge), you must make another check. If you fail a Spellcraft check, you can retry by meditating for 10 minutes (low traffic) 1 hour (high traffic) .
While tracking, you move at half your normal speed. You may move up to your normal speed by taking a -5 penalty on the Spellcraft check, or double your speed by taking a -20 penalty on the Spellcraft check.
Spellcraft
Thurvek takes his position in back of the party. Securing his gear, the dwarven cleric excuses himself shortly after the party leaves. With his privacy, he takes this opportunity to urinate on the remains of the dragon idol.
"You made an enemy for life, you scaled bastard! I will see all your 'aspirations' turn to ash!!" The dwarven cleric murmured under his breath.
There are tracks leading up to the corridor going north out of the room. None go to the other room to the west.
Ranek gathers his things, draws his sword, and says, "We saw tracks going north, right? That seems to be the direction we should journey, then."
"Perhaps. My dorje is certainly picking up... something ".
"Perhaps. My dorje is certainly picking up... something ".
The company proceeded northward, along the trail marked by Aldon's dorje and the physical tracks alike. They found themselves at the end of a long hallway, which reached past the limit of their light. It sloped sharply upward, line on both sides by stylized statues. To the left, they were chiefly dwarven and human warriors. To the right, in the main, craftsmen and miners with their tools. Here and there stood an elf or halfling among the rest. Many bore at least the chipped marks of age. Some were outright smashed or otherwise defaced.
Ari looks at the various figures carved in stone, then says, "This doesn't seem like the creation of a dragon-worshiping cult. Perhaps this was here before that? Humans, dwarves, elves, and halflings all working together... what a novel idea. So much of this place's history is likely long since forgotten. All we get now are glimpses, faint echoes, of what's come before."
Before proceeding further, Ari glances at the statues she can see one last time, just to make sure they are, in fact, statues.
Ranek studies the statues with a cantrip to detect lingering art to see if any have had enchantments placed upon them.
Placing the dorje away, Aldon will focus on the Way and attempt to detect any Psionic residue on them as well.
Bolkvar walked over to get a closer look, flipping through one of his many books to see if it can help jog his memory.
"Okay, this is a little creepy. The workmanship is impeccable, though." Barra says, stepping close to one of the statues to admire it more closely.
Marcus agreed with Barra with feeling, "Yeah just a touch. I dread to think what is behind all this, I can only hope we do our sponsors proud."