"This one.. doesn't have the auras that the other had. What do you think?" Aladdin said as he scanned over the ranger.
“I think we have the right Balion this time,” Simon chuckles, returning the arrow to the quiver. He respectfully takes up the ranger’s offered blade, and studies it carefully, nodding in approval of the craftsmanship. He taps Aroden’s mark curiously, and returns the sword to Balion, “Someone joined us looking exactly as you do, pretending to be you. He may have fully infiltrated our group if it was not for Rolg’s suspicion and Aladdin’s magic. It might’ve been this goblin sorcerer you spoke of.”
The lordling pauses for a moment, thinking. “Dragons have never flown over Ytramond. Many presume them long dead or the stuff of dreamtales, but I read an account from the dwarven cartography expedition that suggests that some may live on the Dragonspine, if the name did not make it evident enough. The account was written long before my ancestors landed on this island, and few voyages around Gozreh’s Mouth have met success. If dragons do live on Dragonspine, I’m not sure why we haven’t seen any here –not that I would want to. But I would not trust anything that devious creature said. I’m just glad you are all right.”
Simon frowns at the blood stains on Balion’s clothes and looks to Bolgrith. “Is there anything you can do to help him?”
"Of course." The dwarf says drawing the wand from his pack. "I'm glad it's you this time friend." he says to Balion as the healing energy flows.
“I think this is the right Balion. He showed up lookin’ like he grappled a briar,” Jamie says to Rolg.
After hearing Simon’s words, she blurts, “Well I believed that sorcerer when he said he would come back.”
She looks around suspiciously over the stone-studded hills. The northern storm front slowly edges closer, and a momentary chill drifts by the group.
"We should find a place to rest. Preferably with lots of cover so we can avoid his spells but still fight him. I will not be surrendering."
"Agreed." The aged Priest looks on to Simon, the young lordling so matured in their brief time together. "Any ideas?"
"We'll need to find a place to shelter us from that storm as well. I don't mind the rain, but I'm not sure how our gear will hold out in the weather."
Bolgrith does not see any readily available shelter other than the scattered boulders. He supposes a lean-to could be constructed, but depending on the storm strength, it might not hold up.
“Balion, did you happen to spot Wolftooth Cave in your northern trek? If it’s close, a cave would do nicely for cover from the storm.” Simon shoulders his bow and scans the horizon.
“We’re just a few hours from the foot of Mount Fireblood. Maybe we can find the cave before the rain gets too bad.” He looks to the others, eager to be off.
"I agree with Simon."
The wind carries the dark clouds quickly as the adventurers proceed north, and an hour passes before the sprinkling mist increases to driving rain. Rumbles shake the ground, but those paying attention notice that thunder accounts for only some of the noise. The top of Mount Fireblood belches black fumes and orange cinders, and the deep cacophony between the storm and the volcano occasionally drown out anything that is said. Bolgrith makes a commendable effort to obscure the tracks as they travel, but the softened ground make it very difficult to By the passing of the third hour, the group is completely soaked with a warm rain, and darkness of the clouds preclude the sunset to a day’s end. Stepping around a boulder, a chance flash of lightning illuminates a cave below a large natural stone overhang, bearing some canine resemblance, though part of what would be a snout is crumbled away. Small stones on the ground line the entrance like teeth. Balion recognizes this as the cave he stayed the night before.
The party’s cautious approach shows nothing to reside in the cave (and Simon pointed out the falsehood spun by the imposter). By torchlight, inside they find a tunnel that extends twenty-five feet before a bend to the right, after which, the cave widens roughly into a thirty foot space. Oddly, an S-shaped line of ninety-nine gold bits lay on the ground. Small vertical fissures trace up the walls, and a few sizeable stones lay on the otherwise unremarkable stone floor. The largest crack in the wall is at the deepest part of the cave, and it looks large enough to be the home of tiny creature. In fact, it would be a safe bet that Stabi could squeeze inside, anyone larger would need to put in some considerable effort. The light of the torch does not show how deep the fissure runs.
The storm continues to lash the side of the mountain. Jamie kneels and begins to prepare a fire to dry her things. “Balion, I don’t wanna to pry, but are you carrying a body in your backpack? It looks completely full, and blood is seeping through.”
The ranger looks at the sellsword with an odd expression and then remembers the deer he had killed earlier. Without saying anything he pulls the dead animal out of his back he skins it and begins to prepare roasting it for the entire group. Looking toward Simon the ranger briefly tells him how he had stayed in this cave with the mage the night before. Feeling a bit weak himself the ranger eats a good portion of the roasted venison and then curls up in his blanket and falls asleep by the fire cuddling his longsword about him.
"I was wondering what the smell was. Also, did anyone notice the 99 gold bits on the ground?" Aladdin said.
“I surely did. Since there’s nowhere to really spend it, I can hang onto it until we return to civilization, and add it to whatever we decide to sell. Then we can divide it fairly.” Simon stoops down and adds the gold to the same bag containing the valuables found on the giant.
He studies the tunnel entrance to the cave, and the expanded chamber where it leads. “This will be a good place to find that lying mage. I remember reading about the Arcane Inquisition of the hobgoblins –it happened before I was born. Their tactic was to use close-quarter combat to reign in those who did not yield to the Consiliulsapte. That ought to work here, if we can lure him inside.”
“Consiliulsapte” literally means Councilseven, the supremely imaginative name of the Council of Seven.
The lordling leans against the cave wall with his bow out and arrow nocked, with a clear line of vision to the entrance. He glances at Rolg and Bolgrith expectantly, but says nothing as he waits. Jamie jokes about the mage and Balion being butt-buddies in the cave.
You remember the imposter scoffing at the thought of fighting you. Perhaps his pride could be used to your advantage.
As the party enters the cave Bolgrith pauses and runs his hands along the exposed bones of the earth. Those watching him see a small smile take his face as he breaths deeply of the heavy earth scents. Slowly making his way around the perimeter of the cave he examines everything exhaustively.
As he reaches the small crack in the back he lets his eyes adjust to the darkness and peers as far as he can into the void. Finally the Priest stops and says a quick prayer before sitting in the middle of the cave placing gnarled hands on his knees.
"When the mage arrives tomorrow, I will challenge him to fight me alone. I will wait at the back of the cave and you all will ring the walls. After the first blow is struck, enter the fray. Lock him down with all available methods. Aladdin, Bolgrith, can you counter his spells? Do we have anything to keep him from becoming invisible?"
"I can attempt to blind and stun him, but I'm afraid I have nothing along the lines of a counter spell" Aladdin said woefully.
While Bolgrith’s search of magic turns up only the imbued items worn by his companions, the deepsighted eyes of his kind notice that the wide crack at the back of the cave appears to widen slightly and continue deeper into the rock, turning sharply right after a few feet. Moreover, the texture of the stone at the turn suggests that this fissure was hewn by stone-carving tools. Backing up to reassess the deceptive break in the stone, he thinks that some of his more spry companions, such as Aladdin or Simon, might be able to squeeze through, especially since the opening widens after about a foot or so. As for himself, Bolgrith knows he would need to remove his armor to even consider an attempt at entry. Also, the faithful dwarf easily spots footprints coinciding with Balion’s account of finding rest here with the mage.
“But what if he comes back as one of us?” Jamie blurts nervously.
Simon inclines his head, thinking. “If we can get him to accept your challenge, I think that plan just might work. He did seem very confident, but to get him to walk into a cave for an outnumbered fight might be a tough sell. I’ll be ready to catch his flank, and block his escape.” He nods reassuringly, but stops short when he remembers Rolg’s blindness.
Finishing his inspection of the cave he turns back to his companions. "I agree with Rolg's idea. With all respect to the lady, Rolg is the best fighter amongst us." Pulling out his copy of Unbinding the Fetters the Priest turns to a specific chapter and runs his finger down the text. Though an observant watcher would notice that rather than the fine calligraphy, the dwarf's stuby digit was actually following some scrawled notes in the margin.
"I am unsure about countering his spells, I will need to study. But I have been thinking much and more on your aliment, Naxdag. I think there might be a way for me to perform the spell that restores your sight." He pauses to collect his thoughts. "It will be difficult, and you will experience pain. I will need utter silence from everyone while I make the preparations." Approaching the hobgoblin Bolgrith lowers his voice. "I cannot guarantee that this will work. But I am willing to try if that is your wish."
His dark earth colored eyes stare at his companion as he awaits his response.
Rolg chuckles resignedly. "I can't get any blinder. Go ahead preist, and thanks for trying."
Their companions quiet at the dwarf lays his hands over the hobgoblin’s eyes and temples. Chanting in his native tongue, he calls on the Perfect Man to expel the imperfection from the mercenary’s sight. Rolg indeed experiences pain; unlike wounds from battle or sickness in the stomach, the sharpest headache roots into his skull, boring deeper until the hobgoblin feels unable to withstand any more torture. A moment later, the pain subsides. Bolgrith, called The Faithful, feels short of breath from the sudden release of so much power channeled through him. Removing his stubby fingers, he sees the milky eyes returned to the cold, clear gaze familiar to the sellsword’s hard face.
Rolg blinks away the pain and slumps as he realizes he can see his surroundings. A single, misshapen tear barely squeezes itself past the dam of the mercenaries eyelids.
The sellsword places a hand firmly on the dwarf's shoulder and looks him square in the eye.
"I have never before experienced anything like that. I am truly in awe of your faith and your god. If we survive this mage, we should discuss this Irori more fully."
Without further ado, Rolg walks across the cave and unfurls his bedroll, climbs in, and shuts his eyes.
"Wake me 1 hour past dawn unless I am needed on watch. I must sleep away this headache. The plan tomorrow is unchanged."
Aladdin unfurls his bedroll, casts prestidigitation to clean it up a bit,and settles down for sleep, fighting gnawing thoughts that his connection to his eidolon was somehow being sucked away.
Bolgrith staggers away from Rolg, leaning heavily against the stone walls of the cave. He shudders at the remaining tingles of the divine power that still course through his veins. Closing his eyes he exhales and breathes deeply.
"We will talk. Friend." The Priest says as he rests.
Shedding his armor, the dwarf retreats to a dark corner of the cave and sits with legs crossed on the cool smooth floor. He concentrates and gradually he slows his heart beat until it seems to stand still in time.
Silently he offers up thanks to the Perfect Man as he meditate on His teachings. Eventually his mind returns from the silent musings into the cave. Rising, Bolgrith, called the Faithful, returns to his companions around the fire.
"I will sleep now, but I would like to take last watch. If that is acceptable."
Finding his bedroll, the dwarf closes his eyes and sleeps.
Guidance
Read Magic
Virtue
Magic weapon
Protection from evil
Shield of faith
Sun Metal
Aid
Silence
Zone of Truth
Detect Thoughts
Simon takes up the watch. The volcano and thunderstorm rumblings are felt throughout the evening, and the smell of the wet, unwashed clothes fills the cavern as they dry around the fire. About an hour before sunrise, Jamie wakes Bolgrith to watch the earliest hours of the day. At some point, the storm was blown away by the wind or dissipated, and Mount Fireblood’s rage bellows on. The night passes without event, but that does not ease the minds of the adventurers as they wake to remember the promise of the mysterious mage from the day before. Still, each of them feels a bit readier than expected, with a renewed body and refreshed mind to face the challenge ahead.
The travelers don their dried clothes and break their fast shortly. Simon, now well-rested, takes a vigilant post to watch the cave entrance, this time with his bow on his back. He fidgets nervously, and at any sound from the wilderness, his hand touches the hilt of his magical scimitar. The hours before noon drag slowly onward, and at precisely midday, Simon jumps back, and says in a hushed voice, “He’s here! The cave mouth was empty, and then he suddenly appeared! Get ready!”
In evidence to Simon’s warning, the sound of boots scuffing on stone come closer to the bend in the cave. The unseen walker will in enter the cavern in seconds.
"Do as we planned." Rolg hisses as he pulls on his shield and draws his sword. He stands tall and proud in the center of the cave: plainly this is not a first for the seasoned mercenary.
“If he turns invisible, shout out if you can hear him!” Simon whispers, drawing his scimitar, “We can do this!”
Jamie shakes the chains of the heavy flail, and looks to Bolgrith. “Care to share any of those magics, stumpy?”
Aladdin concentrates and attempts to summon Squall for the upcoming battle.
Just as before, Aladdin is unable to summon Squall, not as though he is blocked, but as if there is nothing to summon. And, once again, his call for his eidolon is answered by a sharp pull on the stormborn's very core!
"Come here Lass, this won't make you fight better, but it should protect you a bit." He looks up a the big warriors dented plate. "We really need to get you some better armor, remind me when next we are in civilization." The short little Priest reaches out a calloused hand as a crackling azure energy sparks from his fingertips.
A hobgoblin decked in fine, crimson robes rounds the bend in the tunnel. His shoulder-length black hair is held out of his face by a silver headband adorned with rubies, and each of his fingers are ringed with a varying glittering gemstones. His red robe is hemmed by large gold scales, and a deep blue sash wraps over a black tunic underneath. A full, worn leather backpack hangs from his shoulders. The finely dressed mage smiles grimly as he studies Rolg’s defiant stance and those outlining the cave walls.
He opens his mouth to speak, when Aladdin suddenly vanishes completely, followed by the disappearance of the mage’s confident grin. Balion mutters obscenities, and Jamie shouts hers. After a momentary puzzled look, he locks eyes with Rolg and begins again, smiling.
“As promised, I return. Now, are you willing to be subjugated peacefully, or shall I show you the meaning of true power?”
He calmly stands at the entrance of the cavern, looking at each of the adventurers in turn, though his gaze lingers on Balion before resting on the proud kinsman in front of him.
The sensation of strong winds buffeting your eyes keep you from seeing anything, and your ears feel deafened by absolute silence. But the confusion lasts for only a moment, and you open your eyes to be standing on a flat, opaque surface stretching as far as you can see, with the distance obscured by an unearthly mist. Squall’s body lays five feet ahead of you, partially obscured by the low fog. This world is quiet, and strangely formless, but you suspect this to be Squall’s home plane.
Quietly Bolgrith watches the exchange from his place by the wall. His hand idly grasps at the pearl of power in his pack. He feels the soft warm energy emanate from the stone, and suddenly he feels restored.
Casually he walks over to Rolg. Patting him on the back his fingers again glow with the electric azule flecks of lighting as he says.
"I believe you wished to speak for us friend?"
The whole time Bolgrith wracks his mind, trying to figure out what could have happened to Aladdin.
Aladdin’s disappearance was not like the false-Balion’s invisibility witnessed the day before. Apparently, his problem summoning his eidolon worsened, and resulted in this odd manifestation of the conjuring magics. Bolgrith supposes that Aladdin may have gone to Squall’s home plane, but there is no evidence to support this, nor has he read of such a thing happening. The spell needed to voluntarily shift planes requires a very strong magical ability, that much Bolgrith could be certain of. Wherever Aladdin is, it is a surer bet that he did not intend on going there.
"You know, you're the sort that give hobgoblins a bad name in the world. 'S bastards like you that make my life hard."
Rolg raises his shield and brandishes his sword.
"The only submission you'll get from me is the submission of the grave."
"Come! Let this be between us alone."
Aladdin, startled, looks around in an attempt to get his bearings.
"Squall...."
The extravagant hobgoblin narrows his eyes at Bolgrith’s use of divine magic, and the scowl follows the dwarf until Rolg speaks.
The mage smiles a bit too widely at Rolg’s mention of their shared race. At the sellsword’s challenge, he raises a hand calmly.
“I shall surely grant you a chance for freedom. But before we begin, there is something I must say,” he points at Balion, who stands beside the cave wall with his ancestral sword unsheathed. “This one, Balion, destroyed a servant of mine. And now he stands here defiant to me, as though his soul does not belong to me. I must show you my mercy. Come, Balion. Show your companions the sensible choice, and your betrayals shall be pardoned.”
He gestures strangely, and after an incantation in a strange tongue, Balion’s hard stare softens. The ranger turns to Rolg and Simon. “Wait, friends. Let’s hear Naja out. Maybe this is all just a big misunderstanding.”
Naja smiles greedily at the adventurers. “I’m sure it is.”
"No misunderstanding! Balion, snap out of this for I swear, I will kill you if you oppose us now!"
Rolg, not one for waiting, takes a few aggressive steps toward the mage and raises his shield, but does not yet attack.
Squall’s ear perks at the voice of his master. He rolls slowly, as though very tired or in great pain, and replies in the weakest whisper, “No... Aladdin... you shouldn’t...”
Aladdin notices the ankle-deep fog around them silently gathering to an area ten feet away, on the other side of Squall, moving as though pushed by a breeze the stormborn can neither feel nor hear. The eidolon shudders, closes his eyes and slumps to stillness, as the white mist seems to thicken and pile overtop itself in one particular spot. The billowy mound grows larger and taller, and wispy tendrils roll out of the shape, vaguely resembling tentacles, if tentacles could be intangible.
A few seconds more, and the mound bobs up from the blank surface as a cloudy orb of the purest white, flailing many arms of mist. Altogether, the thing looks to be about four feet in circumference (but the constantly billowing surface makes is difficult to tell), and floats almost two feet off the opaque floor.
A large, single eye opens on the center of the orb, pupilless and shining white. A strange voice seems to come from every direction, in a tone or pitch unlike any Aladdin has heard before. Instead of sound, the voice evokes the smell of lightning, or burning metal, and yet the sorcerer understands the words perfectly.
“Welcome, Azlanti called Aladdin, the first of your kind to walk these lands for a millenia. I am Guardian of The Weeping Gate and keeper of its key. Your trespass threatens my duty, for only Azlanti blood can possibly defeat me.”
“Now, I shall eat your soul...”
Naja’s grin broadens. “Never have I seen a slave so eager! Let us begin! But first...”
The hobgoblin sorcerer whips his arms out, and they bend unnaturally against the joints, like rope. With a snap they split into three snakes each, every snake a different color. Meanwhile, his goblinoid pupils thin into spindles, long fangs grow from his mouth, producing a proud and cruel grin with chorus of hisses from what used to be his arms. The six snakes protruding from his shoulders weave and hover, flicking tiny tongues at the adventurers. Naja stands imperiously.
“...you will see your master’s true form.”