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Phraanz points at a corpse on the ground that he had, until recently, been lifting and working out with.
The corpse is riddled with massive puncture wounds. The dhampir on the floor, un-phamped as he is, is also a Lontash Sympathizer, and part of the Wraith’s Bloodline.
Phraanz looks at Imazael as if she has grown another head. "Ya, I am being me, und I am looking in dis room looking at dat dead one. Vat is dis ting dat you are to be talking me to? Ya, you see dis leetle gurly man not-living dhampir here, ya? Ya, he seems mebbe to have been dead-killed wit a ting dat he struggled wit. Und he LOST! And you know who loses?
...
Lossssssahhhzzzzz!
Ya, dat is why we must be pahmped! Und dat is why I carry da FIRE und STEEL!" he states, holding up his hammer and torch.
He then crosses them over his chest, as if he's just won a victory in the gladiatorial pits he was thrown into after getting epicaly, almost universally pahmped grinding grain on the Wheel of Pain...
...but that is another story.
"Ya, so, dis guy here, he liked Lontash, und zomezing has FAHKING KILLED HIM! Ya, so, mebbe da Lohd Bohrak da Despioler, our dahd, he is here mebbe, ya? So we must have our full pumism so he does not make us kill-dead, ya."
Phraanz starts flexing and looks like he might be at it awhile unless something distracts him.
Kyrillosr puts his two remaining bolts of fabric in a safe place upstairs, hoping to be able to find them when he was to come back, in order to handle the gnome in need of help. With the gnome safely on his shoulders, he follows the other gnomes downstairs, and stays a bit behind as Gulirk works on opening the doors.
The voice behind the door does not respond coherently to Imazael. You think you hear another voice whisper precious, but that would be trademark infringement.
One of the villagers, a stocky-looking individual, offers to carry Kyrillosr's fabric in the breadbasket Muirkhom has loaded with the bread from his basket. "Now more than ever, I wouldn't leave nothin' out of sight."
Kyrillosr, now with an alleged god on his back, graciously takes up the villager on his offer. "You're right," he says, handing over his fabric. "That thing might as well have turned into a talking thread monster by the time I returned to it, judging by how things have been lately." He glances for a moment at the octopus before looking away.
"Right! Got the gold, got my staff, time to go deal wi' that gold-addled fool!" Muirkhom marches off downstairs, basket in one hand and staff in the other. When he arrives downstairs, though...
they find a long hall running parallel to the room upstairs. At the foot of the stairs is an oak door to the left. At the end of the hall is a carved walnut door with cast-iron knob and keyhole(!).
"What the - the hell did Em go?!" He looks left and right, but both the doors are closed, and he can't see her (because for all Phraanz claims brotherhood, he swears she's a woman) anywhere.
"Right...where first?" He walks over to the walnut door and tries to open it.
Imazael snatches up the dagger, heart racing and limbs trembling as Phraanz mentions Borak. She quietly reaches for the discarded golden hammer, hoping she won't notice. if he doesn't confront her, she will place it it her cloak along with the chalice, and leave her axe in it's place.
How does he do it, act the way he does, with a vampire's soul whispering to him? Imazael wonders as she reaches for the doorknob, before turning back to him why do I suspect I'll regret this? How do you do it? ignore the vampire inside, not give in to it's urgings? She asks him
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Phraantz pauses in mid-flex. Slowly his arms comes down to his sides, like winter's ice slowly melting in the face of the uncaring sun. He turns to you, his face down-tilted and his dark black hair hanging over his ice-blue ice.
His face grows slack, the normally boyish grin now gone, it ran home as the adults came out.
To talk.
"How do you know I'm not?" he replies, deadpan.
Like the sea reclaiming a castle made of sand, the former mannerisms reasset itself. "Ya, well, I am tinking dat we kneed to open dis doah, ya. Ya, hear me nao und listen to me latah, mebbe our dahd he is hiding behind dis ting, yah?"
Having been given no indication of what might be behind it, Phraantz opens the small door and thrusts his torch inside, illuminating all it holds.
To muster the momentum to break through this hand-carved walnut door, Ginger will need to put her full weight on it. The alternative is that the corner of your cloak gets caught in the stone frame of the door. The cloak snaps taut, rips, and you and Lemongrass are deposited on the floor, where Ginger has reappeared.
In either case, after Muirkhom sets down his basket and grasps the cast iron handle, the door is pounced out of its frame, leaving Muirkhom holding the knob.
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For a moment, Muirkhom stands there, holding the knob that used to belong to the door.
"... Gul, that ain't how you use a door!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Wavy Lines of Retcon~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Phraanz, I've had an idea. Muirkhom is having a conniption about that hammer, and it's pretty small, not big enough to get leverage or heft. your strength would be put to better use with this axe she says, hefting the weapon and extending the handle toward her self-styled "Brother". Besides which, that rapacious dwarf has stolen my protective necklace, and I hope to barter that back with the hammers return. she finishes, deciding to be transparent with Phraanz, mostly to spite the paranoid, manipulative vampire soul within her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Wavy Lines of Nowitude~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Imazael is taken aback by Phraanz's sudden personality changes, even a little scared. He is smarter than we know, hiding beneath a cloak of ignorance and ridicule. an assasin playing at being the king's fool. the vampire says in it's usual overwritten and dramatic, if observative, manner.
Phraanz, no! she shouts, too late. she backs up toward the door, pushing it open as she prepared to retreat.
The door out opens into the room. Imazael steps on the pressure plate while backing into the closed door. The plate clicks, and mechanisms begin sliding in the walls.
Phraanz opens the other door in time for the trap to crash down, spikes driving into wood. A humanoid arm reaches out of the door toward Phraanz
The doorknob:
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As Kyrillosr descends the stairs, Lassiter points at the two of you in turn: "Gulirk is bound to Muirkhom because she is his property... But Muirkhom respects Gulirk for telling it how it is. Make it work!" The two of you recall the truth of his statements, and can't tell if he reminded you, or he's playing with your lives. What memories surface?
When Ginger crashes through the door and into the pots, Gul gives off roaring laughter. She had always been a gambler, it was what made her feel alive.
The words from the LASaROS, spark a memory. A painful one.
Not long ago, a preacher with a following came to town. He set up a tent to preach and set up a casino. After all, when it comes to gambling, the house always wins (all that gold). Gul got in deep, more than she could pay.
She entered into a contract with the Dwarven priest. I am his property until my debt is paid.
Gul shakes her head and looks at Muirkhom. It's best we search the area sir.
Papa, did you bring the multi-oculus? The orc says to her father.
Oh my, Yes. Yes. the small gnome says while fishing out what looks like a pocket watch from his pocket. The brass watch was nothing of the kind. With a flick of a switch, gears and apertures unfold into a telescoping device. He hands the oculus to Gul. With a movement of a lens, The room becomes brighter as she scans its contents
Muirkhom looks panicked at Lassiter. "Wait, wha-" and then, the memories come.
Ahhh, the casino! That was the latest collection strategy. It was one of his better ideas. The fact that you could only bet with gold only helped his collection effort. As awful as gold madness is, that casino used it to good effect in order to get the gold off them.
Of course, the real problem was that the people that arrived and ran the casino with him were only pretending to follow him for a future payout. They wanted the gold, and when it was made obvious that they couldn't just go away with any of it, they allowing bets with silver currency where they thought they could get away with it, and issuing loans in an attempt to aggravate the debt problems they were creating. He'd had no idea until he caught one of them in the act and convinced them to spill everything.
Gul got hit the hardest of them all - the amount of debt she'd racked up compared to everyone else was...staggering, to say the least. Unlike the others, there was very little to be done. To try and prevent the abuse of the debt by his 'following', he had Gul enter into a contract with him. He...really wasn't sure where to go with that.
He looks at the basket, stuffed with gold. It was a good haul, but he couldn't use that method again without some dwarves or goblins he could trust. He just hoped none of his false followers were upstairs among the other villagers.
And then, Lassiter's other comment - about how he respected her, and why it was. It was true - he knew it was true now, even if it wasn't before - but he couldn't remember specifically how that started off . Just some scathing commentary on something that happened. Something about greed and...watermelons? He was going to have to think about that one.
It's then he realises that Gul had said something to him. He shakes his head. "Ya don't need ta call me 'sir'. Call me what yer comfortable wi', not what ya think ya need ta. He looks around, but he wasn't blessed with the sight in darkness of cave dwelling dwarves. Dammit, I need somethin' ta see wi'...maybe the gold'll help. I mean, normal gold makes for a crappy tool, but damn if it ain't a great channel'a power - can't expect anythin' less from Midas's blessed creation. If it's the best a god can get fer 'is body, then'a course it'll handle the lesser stuff great too.
Muirkhom rummages through the basket for something that'll let him see. Come on...I'm a dwarf, I'm safe from the madness. All I can hope fer now is that Midas will bless me wi' what I need.
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~wavy retcon!!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Phraanz frowns his manly face in a manly way. His hand goes to the golden candelabra at his belt and withdraws it, offering up. "Heeah. You may offer dis ting in exchange for your necklace. But dat dwarf is greedy to steal all of da tings! If you say so, I will crush him! He should not horde all da gold for his own purposeses."
Phraanz holsters the golden hammer and takes up the axe, giving it a few swings. After getting the feel for how the heavy weight interacts with his rippling physique, he opens the door!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~the NOW time!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Phraanz recoils at the arm and jumps back, torch held out and axe held up. "Hear me now und listen to me latah! What da hell ah you?? Are you da bad und not good ting dat killed-deaded dis guy here? Or do you work for da Borak! Speak quickly!"
Phraanz keeps ready, debating whether to brain the thing and have done or to actually listen to an answer.
It's then he realises that Gul had said something to him. He shakes his head. "Ya don't need ta call me 'sir'. Call me what yer comfortable wi', not what ya think ya need ta.
Gul knew the Dwarf was uncomfortable about owning her.
Sure thing Boss. She says.
No reason, not to remind him of their true relationship. She thinks.
Imazael thros the door open, the right way this time, shouting out I'm sorry, I'm really sorry! to Phraanz, who she is fairly certain escaped into the other room. as she exits, her woodbag catches on a spike, and rips open. Nothing the tailor couldn't fix, but she doubted the firewood would survive the walls crushing it.
Her escape did, however, bring her face to face with Muirkhom, rather fortunately. If Phraanz was right, she would be glad to have her holy symbol back.
Dwarf, I got some of the gold back from Phraanz. If you would be so kind as to return my property... she says, holding up the candelabra.
===>Conflict Map<===
In the hall of veneration, Muirkhom sheepishly hands Lemongrass the golden oculus Which is then passed up to Gulirk. The oculus changes alternative forms of energy such as heat or magic into light. Unfortunately, its ride in Muirkhom’s basket has ruined the fine calibrations required to really dial in on the desired functions. The dwarf seems distracted by whispers on the wind. Imazael appeared in the room for a second, but is no longer there.
Gul, you see movement in the darkness. Someone or something is approaching in the shadows. Ginger's muscles tense and a low growl escapes her clenched teeth. Casting about, dialing back and forth on the oculus, your free hand closes on something that casts a warm glow. Pulling it free from the shelf, you find it to be a tassel at the end of a knotted length of rope. It looks like it was a favored bellringer’s rope. Finally, nothing here looks familiar. You were born an orc, raised by gnomes in a dhampir village, and nothing here lines up with any of those cultures.
The LASaROS on Kyrillosr’s shoulders delivers a complex series of “high ones” with the LASaROS on Krenin’s shoulders as the two meet at the bottom of the stairs. Meanwhile, something thumps lightly against the nearby door, and the knob jiggles furiously.
Imazael, it takes you a minute to realize the door is being held closed as part of the trap you have triggered, and would not be able to be pulled past the iron spikes that have stopped a foot above your scalp. Fortunately, your embarrassing struggle with the door out has also jammed the door in part-way open, and the gold-crazed are having a hard time getting through. Looks like Phraanz will be able to deal with them one at a time. At least… as long as the trap stays tripped. You think that if you get off the pressure plate, you would be able to get the door open and get through, only leaving a few spare supplies behind, but doing so will unleash the tide of gold-crazed on Phraanz, and (eventually) the remaining villagers. Something else occurs to you, though it seems crazy. While Phraanz deals with the trickle of threats, you may be able to reconfigure the mechanism below the plate. You have no idea how you’d even begin to do that, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind when confronted with a pressure plate you may not want to move from.
Phraanz, the unfortunate creature claws its way out of the jammed doorway, one thin limb at a time. First, an emaciated arm, smeared with dirt and dried blood. Then, a leg, barefoot and long-nailed. At every push and pull, she claws in your direction. When her head pushes though, her eyes are golden lights in deep, hollow pits. The hands of other crazed humanoids reach around the frame of the door, trying to push it free to no avail. Your hesitation to deal in violence means the first creature gets through before you can act. You are now engaged with the poor thing in Close quarters combat. She is unarmed other than long, sharp nails. Because of your axe, she'll have to enter your defenses before she can strike back. Her clothes hang from her thin frame in threadbare rags.
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As Muirkhom gets more tense from Gulirk's casual hammering home of their situation (She doesn't even think much'a it, does she? It's just a thing that is ta 'er.) and handing over the golden oculus (Gul would jus' give it back if I asked, though. I don't like why, but she would.), Imazael's intrusion...isn't appreciated. He turns round to face her, expression dour. "Ya know, I'd appreciate not being talked ta like that ya-" And then, she vanished.
Sudden disappearance aside, since it seemed that stuff was just a thing now, Muirkhom was starting to get rather frustrated with Imazael. She was talking like those damn nobles he'd had the displeasure of dealing with before - the condescending sort who reeked of entitlement, and not the deserved kind either. It wasn't even like she was anything like those nobles, from what he'd seen.
Shoulda remembered what Garnyl said. Even if they ain't full fangers, vamps're trouble. Guess I should count meself lucky Phraanz is more fool than vamp...at least fools don't have that kinda bastard attitude as hallmark'a all their kind.
Well, if she could just show up and vanish, he could do it too. He just thought about her being right there in front of him and said "I need the 'ammer too! If he keeps it, it'll get to 'im, and I've had enough'a frenzied gold mad'ned killers!"
He hoped that had got to her, because with that classic fanger attitude she would argue if she heard later, and that was not something he needed to deal with.
He should at least see if he had the damn thing she was after, though. Muirkhom takes the chance to rummage through the basket for that symbol of Ibris...and also, for another holy symbol, with less gold. Something that was safer. Because if he could get away with it, she was having as little gold on her as possible.
As he looks through the assorted, he diverts a part of his attention. "Gul, ya found somethin'? Whatever yer pet is seems ta have."
Gul froze when Ginger's hackles raise. She had to make a decision quickly. Moving with swift intent, her arm flicks out the rope with a snap. Going low and yanking hard, should put whatever it was on the ground. Before the trip maneuver is even complete, Ginger! Pin! The beast launches itself forward.
Friend or foe. A friend will be alive but bruised, and a foe will be at our mercy.
No choice.
Imazael's mind is working a thousand miles a minute, the dwarf starts talking, and suddenly she's back in the g#&#%@n room, and the door won't open. F+@*ing Lassiter, f%++ing magic, f!+$ing gods! she thinks, knowing full well this could only worsen her situation.
The pressure plate is key to all of this, but it's just a weight device.. she leaves the firewood on it (If this thing was calibrated for Gnomes or halflings, that would work.
She moves forward, knife in hand and peers into the room (Filled with "Gold-Mad" individuals, so who knows what these undead were attracted to) and peers into the room beyond.
Phraanz, if we fall back, the trap will dispose of them! she shouts. I don't want you to get hurt. she finishes, Most of her means it.
After the burden on Kyrillosr's shoulders is lightened by LaSaROS's omnipresence, he hears Gulirk's alarmed voice and tenses his bow. But what was it, anyway? Was it dangerous, and could his own attacks do something to it?
Gulirk strikes home with her makeshift whip and the heavy tassel thumps the figure unnaturally, knocking them to the floor where Ginger pins them down. You can hear the distant sound of a bell tolling.
"H-hail! Goodfellow- I don't guess you'd have- hoof! Good show. Fair game, but would it be a bother if we made some higher contact first before resorting to the rough-handedness I am sure you are tired of having associated with your race. I dare say." The figure twists about on the floor, uselessly.
As Kyrillosr pulls the bow to its full draw, he expects something to happen. It always had at home. Bows were a fairly common weapon in the deep, launching simple spells in infinite variation; however, try as he might, the merfolk weaver can barely summon the simplest of magic missiles. It should be able to hit, but who knows what might happen if it backfires.
Kyrillosr lets go of the bow in the direction of the shadow, bracing himself to see whether the magic arrow would fire true at his target.
It soon becomes apparent that the shadowy figure is less physical threat, and possible ally. A bolt travels from the hall into the room which might change possible ally to accursed enemy. The orc steps into the line of fire, and the force of the bolt drives her to her knees. Her side bleeds.
Argg. The pain gets worse. Something was happening inside her. The wound sprouts a fast growing seedling. Gul falls on her side. The seeding grows with stunning speed to a sapling then to tree. The weight of the tree pushes her body to the floor with pain and pressure. The tree leaves and blossoms. The blossoms turn to fruit. Peaches rain from the tree to the floor
Before the pain turns out the light in her eyes, The tree evaporates, and the wound disappears. Gul shoots a look at LASaROS. It is a look of fear mixed with annoyance. She coughs. Ginger, steady girl, It's OK She coos.
Skulking in the dark can get you killed. Name yourself, and your purpose.
A sputtering bolt of magic pegs the flailing shadowed figure, who grows still and silent. Something clatters to the floor from his hand. Reality slides again, and suddenly, Gul takes the arrow, driving her near death. The passage of the arrow gives everyone a glimpse of the dhampir that Ginger has pinned to the floor.
LASaROS gives Gul an apologetic look. "Sorry, still thinking about peaches."
The figure on the ground gasps relief. "Hagred Wraithsire, proud father of Lontash the Wraith; although, the familiar relations among dhampir are quite complex as compared to other races. It's really more a matter of shared blood and arrangements of convenience than..." Hagred carries on about dhampir genealogy from his position on the floor.
Ginger! Release! Orders the Scout. Gul get's up and walks stiffly to Hagred. She offers her hand to the father of Lontash. Please forgive me. I was only being safe. She helps brush off his clothes.
I have never seen any thing of the like. She says while indicating the room with her arms and hands. What culture made this chamber? Do you know?
Among the trinkets and baubles, Muirkhom finds the gold-plated icon of Ibris. The gold is crudely crafted, and peels off quite easily. Surely, Imazael would appreciate the wooden icon found underneath.
Hagred is completely unphased by the interruption, changing gears without a pause. As Gulirk helps him to his feet, he remains close at Hand. As is tradition, neither of you mentions how his race wiped out yours, and yet yours is the brutal race. The elder dhapmir folds his hands behind his back. "Ah, yes, quite the discerning eye. This locale, commonly refereed to as the Forest Temple, but perhaps more accurately it is a human funerary temple to some crude deity of death and rebirth. It is said they were our fore-bearers. Before, of course, our undead bloodlines arose."
Realizing he had shot something that wasn't a danger, Kyrillosr skulks to the back, hoping not to be seen by the shadow whom he had just endangered.
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The heroin-thin woman rushes madly at him, rending and clawing with vice-like hands, her thread-bare shirt, little more than rags, hangs about her ultra-thin form, doing little to conceal the skin underneath.
Actually....
In truth more flesh is revealed than covered, and the heedless throes of the wilding woman only flaunts the body therein. The lack of fat and the tauntness of the muscles underneath seem to have a...strange, and unforeseen...effect on Phraantz.
'I say! That is one butt-ugly philly! So why am I so F%$@ING AROUSED?!?'
Were one to read Phraantz's thoughts they might detect a slight accent with the king's english...but that is another story.
"Ya! Heer me know und listen to me latah! You have been doing too much of da cardio und not keeping up on proper nutrition! You need to max-load on da carbs an' cut down da protein ratios!"
Phraantz turns to listen to Imazael...but he's not one to back down from a challenge! He lifts his mighty axe...!
But he finds his arms unwilling to make the squishy on this hapless...and surprisingly alluring form.
Both his axe and golden hammer shoot out, trying to kill all three birds with a single smash!
The two weapons pinion the woman's arms behind her back, immobilizing her and keeping her form plugging up the hole. He keeps his head back from her lunging mouth and, though he contemplates to fight or run, he then tries a...third option.
"Ya, okay, seXXy lady, what are you wanting? Are you wanting da carbs...or da goldz? Ya, I can tellz you dere is dis dwarf just dowhn da hall dere an' he has a whole basket of da stuff! He is ve'ry greedy an' is trying to keep it all fohr himself. How'z about you all go an get him?"
"An' den, you'know, if you want mebbe we can sit down an' get to know each beddah?"
** spoiler omitted **...
Phraantz drags the woman toward him with his axe, and grapples her into a headlock. He pins her by interlocking the axe and hammer across her chest. The torch he had taken from the wall clatters to the floor and begins to gutter out. The woman kicks and thrashes in the dark-skinned cobbler’s arms right up until he starts sweet-talking her.
Her body tenses, then relaxes. “Mer… Kom…” The name hisses from her teeth and an echo passes through the others behind the door. A man pushing his way through the door stops and turns to Phraanz, seething hatred behind his hollow, gilded orbs. “Murkoh… gold.”
The woman in Phraanz’s arms starts struggling again, but now she’s pushing for the door behind Imazael, forgetting the tiny hammer even as it bars her movement.
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Phraantz allows himself a wry smile as the woman wriggles her taunt form against his own writhing muscles. Though she's b&#$#&@ crazy and doesn't appear to return his affections, he still finds the whole of the experience invigorating nonetheless. A bloom of hope grows in his chest as she briefly calms down, and he allows his mind to wander....
Alas! The woman acts as many women do, only chasing after material things, without bothering to hold on to what is real. Ah well, cest la vie.
[dice=Spout Lore on this "Murkoh" guy...whoever that is.]2d6+0[/dice]
Phraantz has no clue who the hell this "MerKom" or "Meerkat" thing is, but apparently they are very adamant about pursuing it. And he's not one to force a woman to remain held. If a woman wants to give him her ultimate greeting, he would accept such a thing when given willingly.
"Ya, okay, we arh two differ'ent peoples, ya, I get dat. You can goh chase ur careehr nao, und mebbe we can meeet ahgain once you haf soood ur wild oats!"
With that he unleashes his hold upon her and lets her and her little friend go in pursuit of...whatever the hell they were on about.
Frustrated that his efforst came to nought, he resheathes his golden hammer and picks up the guttering torch, lovingly blowing the ember back to a happy yellow flame.
"Ya, Imazael, let dem goh! Day haf noting 2 do wit da Borak! So dey arh of noh threat to us! Come, let us investigate da room dey just came from. Mebbe dey had clues or zomezing?"
Once the family of over-eager aerobic enthusiasts have vacated their room, Phraantz bends down and thrusts his torch forward, curious about the place they just came from.
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Imazael goes to let Phraanz retreat with her, but instead, he chooses to grab the first undead, a husk of a woman. G+& d@*n it, why does he never liste- GREAT GOD IBRIS, IS HE FLIRTING WITH A DEAD WOMAN!!! She thinks, watching him try, in his clumsy way, to seduce the walking corpse.
Phraanz, she isn't sentient! Also, she's been dead for a few years at least! Stop Flirting with her! she shouts, punctuating her last statement by driving the dagger into the woman's throat, then pulling back and driving i between her ribs, in case she is vampiric somehow.
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Phraantz stares, agape and stunned, dumbly holding on to his star-crossed paramour as his sister's blade plunges into the thin woman once, twice. Still holding the body he looks down at the woman, brooding.
Again he speaks, again the odd patois is replaced by something cold. Something calculating.
"You killed her because she was dead. A monster.
What made you so sure?
What do you think we are?"
He lets go of the corpse and it hits the ground wetly. Only now do his eyes rise, to hold Imazael's gaze.
"Are you sure the monster here isn't you?"
Phraanz lumbers over and retrieves his torch.