As mediocre as Bubba's performance is by his own standards, both he and Roylenna manage to outshine the Fabler, whose skill with the pipes is... limited.
Midas turns to Vug, beaming. "The next dish, milady, is of my own invention - with a little help from my cooks, of course. I give you all... the Tojbassarirge."
Tojbasarrirge is a curious dish involving an entire tojanida, stuffed with numerous gritty basilisk steaks, which are in turn stuffed with tangy arrowhawk breasts, which are finally in turn stuffed with an entire boned stirge with three olives impaled on its proboscis.
The tojbasarrirge is brought out on a huge platter slung between two manticores, upon which rests a great tojanida shell, halved and filled with a descending mass of meat.
Unfortunately the whole thing is foul, and the guests (including you except possibly Vug) will have to make Bluff checks as they try to choke it down.
Sandros quirks an eyebrow at the birds, but doesn't hesitate in drinking down the wine. If anything, though, the rish drink seems to deepen his foul mood, and his glares at Midas lose whatever semblance of subtlety they might have previously possessed.
When the tobassarirge comes out, the half-elf takes one bite and spits it right back out.
Having the opposite effect from Sandros, the wine seems too loosen and lighten up Ka'kara's mood. Still...she wrinkles her nose at the smell wafting from the newest dish. Seeing this as just one more in a series of challenges to prove herself worthy, she downs a few bites as stoically as she can while quickly following it up with more wine. Father, did you ever have to face an enemy such as this? For truly she was beginning to see Midas in an adversarial light.
Vug nibbles some in the name of science. "Hmm...the experiment was a f-failure, but we gained valuable data from it. I salute your inventiveness."
Bluff:
Vug can't conceal a grimace and a frisson of revulsion as she forces the morsel down.
Valgrim can't hide his disgust at the food.
Looking at the food as a challenge, Vulcan refuses to show weakness in the face of a potential enemy. He forces down the vile meal with aplomb even seeming to enjoy it.
Friar does his best to not spit out the food.
Bubba delays taking a bite, expecting the dish to be odd at best, and observes reactions around the table. Seeing the others' reaction to the dish, he steels himself to appear thoughtful as he chews the horrid combination.
"Quite an exotic combination of beasts, indeed. I fear the flavors do not combine on the palate as well as one would hope. Perhaps it is the conflicting nature of the arrowhawk and the tojanida. Of course, I've never had a taste for marine life, so it might just be me."
Midas glowers at those of you who are unable to choke the food down without grimacing. Fortunately, he himself soon realizes that the food is vile, and only a few bites in he suddenly declares the third course complete and commands the servants to immediately clear the table for the fourth. They haul the remnants of the failed dish away, throwing it over the cliff and into the sea.
As the fourth course begins, huge covered tureens are brought out. Within shudders a strange purple jelly. The Fabler observes that purple worms are a notorious menace in certain areas of the world, and their propensity for eating everything that moves is known to adventurers far and wide. The tribesmen of old learnt of a way of cooking the poisonous tail sections of the purple so that the poison is neutralized, but the recipe has to be precise in its preparation. As the bowls of shuddering purple glop are placed before each of the guests, the Fabler wonders if any of the guests at the table is brave enough to taste the dish before Midas himself puts his health at risk for deliciousness.
Any takers?
Wondering to herself, Is he actively trying to kill all of his guests?! I better do something before anyone else risks this and gets themselves killed. Glancing at Vug, That one is likely to try anything..." The copious amounts of wine adding to her bravado she holds up a hand, "Wait! Let's see how strong this is!" Psyching herself up she grabs a ladle full of the noxious fluid from the tureen and drinks the contents directly instead of putting it into her bowl.
Not to be outdone by the warrior woman, Valgrim digs in as well, eating a healthy scoop. "Poison?!...Bah, we dwarves laugh at poison!"
Vug digs in for science. Again.
Fort save?
The meat is actually quite tasty, and is perfectly safe to eat. It is served with iced C’rosch — a strong local spirit made from blackberries and exotic spices.
During this course, Kilraven tells stories of how he dispatched dozens of Reyhu orcs on behalf of the prince. Others join in (B’kruss in particular), and an impromptu bragging contest begins.
Bubba, much as he likes the limelight, is happy to step back and let someone else - that is not the Fabler - have the spotlight. He enjoys the meat and partakes of the spirits, interjecting the occasional "Bravo!" or "Well done!" in response to a particular rousing tale.
After seeing a few eat the purple stuff, Vulcan indulges as well consuming the iced C'rosh with bravado.
Her broad smile being somewhat lubricated by the Resinwint and C'rosch, Finally! A real contest! She relates a harrowing tale of the Assault on the Goblin King's Stronghold. Under a rain of goblin arrows they smash through the stronghold's gates to face the goblin priest-king. Getting forcibly separated from her companion, the great barbarian warrior Rana, she sees him fall beneath the waves of goblins and then butchered by the goblin-king himself. Roylenna's holy fire burns down swaths of goblins while Sandros' viper quick rapier forms a whirlwind of steel that's death to anything approaching. Alongside her friends, the enraged barbarian princess cuts a bloody swath through countless goblins while suffering a multitude of wounds until she finally comes face to face with the overconfident king. Barely managing to throw off the king's dark magics Ka'kara strikes its head from its body in revenge for their own fallen comrade like an avenging 'angel' (she gives Roylenna a conspiratorial smile at this point). Without their leader the goblin army breaks and flees before them.
Roylenna claps in recognition and floats up in her excitement. The holy fire dances on her fingertips as Ka'kara describes it. A touch of sadness is obvious at the loss of Rana, but she smiles at mentions of the others as the tale is shared.
Vug takes a drink and listens appreciatively to the braggadocio.
Sandros eats the jelly sparingly, not from concern over its poison but simply from an increasingly full stomach. He makes no such allowances for the wine, however, which he consumes in full measure.
Perhaps it is that overful stomach that cushions him from the worst of the wine's effects; he continues to glare at Midas, but his mood doesn't seem to get any worse.
Indeed, when Ka'kara tells her tale, he smiles again, although sadly; he and Rana did not always see eye to eye, but the death of a comrade-in-arms is not something he would celebrate. At the end, though, he claps as loudly as Roylenna does.
A hush descends on the party as Ka'kara comes to the finish of her gripping tale, and Midas himself raises a toast to Rana (and mellows somewhat at the savage woman's of table manners). "So that was you. I heard of your exploits. Interesting." All the other stories pale in comparison and Ka'kara is declared the winner.
Finally, as the last bowls of purple worm aspic are cleared, the smell
of cloves, honey, and cinnamon wafts through as a single manticore enters with a nearly eight-foot-tall cake. The cake itself is shaped like a ziggurat but crowned with a marzipan figure of Midas surrounded by light and with angel’s wings.
Everyone applauds loudly as the cake is levered onto the table, but as they do, the cake begins to fall apart. Large rents appear on the side, and the marzipan Midas begins to list. The cake is merely unbalancing, but the ironic symbolism is not lost on the guests. Suddenly, the marzipan Midas topples, sliding down the side of the cake in an avalanche of delectible frosting to strike the table hard enough that the head snaps off and rolls across the table to land in Valgrim’s lap.
The irony causes a few stifled chuckles and giggles, but for the most part the guests do an admirable job covering their mirth.
Standing and holding his glass aloft, "Alas, fate has provided us a reminder. The greatest among us - people, buildings, civilizations - are reliant on a firm footing, a solid base. Without them, as we saw here, the entire structure is endangered. To our gracious host, may your footing remain firm and your base remain solid."
Vug suggests a more durable marzipan recipe for future cakes.
Craft (alchemy):
Valgrim enjoys Ka'kara's exciting tale and claps loudly, throwing the fellow warrior an appreciative smile for her combat skills. When the cake collapses and the head falls in his lap, the dwarf tries to hold it together to not laugh in the King's face.
Miraculously Valgrim manages to keep a straight face as Bubba starts an oration on the fragility of empire and Vug prattles on about the culinary uses of cave fisher filament and its subtle orangy tang.
Midas looks more distracted than mollified (if a little intrigued by Vug's recipe) and threatens the execution of the entire kitchen staff. But just then the Fabler steps in to save the day by making light
of the fall, observing that “the cake is not made of stone and iron, nor of monstrous drool, and that he’ll eat it all if no one else will.”
There is relieved and nervous laughter at the feeble joke as the grateful guests find an excuse for their mirth, and Midas stays his hand. The cake is of course delicious and everyone enjoys it except the prince, who eats his piece in brooding silence.
That is the last course, and with the conclusion of the great feast, the
Fabler calls for the dance of the dead, the traditional Maskholmian close to important ceremonies. Typically, dancers dressed as the dead founding fathers of the city perform the dance, but this time the Fabler commands his skeletal minions to do the duty. As some of the help quickly and efficiently clear the table the Fabler leads the guests into the palace ballroom. He asks Bubba and Roylenna to join him and several other members of the staff as a strange, slightly off-key but nonetheless exuberant song strikes up.
Valgrim hangs around, waiting for Bubba and Friar, to approach Lashonna. He is quite uncomfortable around all the evil. He does however share a drink with Ka'Kara before leaving, exchanging some war stories, such as when he charged and gravely wounded the black dragon but died in the process. "I don't recommend dying. Highly overrated!" With a laugh, he parts from the new group of warriors and gets back to the business of stopping the Age of Worms.
Plainly impressed with many of Valgrim's exploits she is also greatly relieved to finally talk to someone who speaks her 'language'. "You must be powerful indeed to come back from death. Most times I have seen people do that I have to put them back into the ground because they didn't come back......right..." She reacts to his story of the dragon by showing him a prominent tattoo of her own, "Roylenna also has one like it that I did, but much smaller. It symbolizes our battle with a acid spitting black dragon. It was smaller than the one you fought but it was a very hard fight all the same. We drove it off and it never returned."
Valgrim points to Friar. "I owe me bacon to that priest there. He's the one who brought me back from the dead and has healed me on the brink of death countless other times. In my group, I tend to draw the attacks and Padre keeps me up and kickin'. It's worked for us so far. Killed a dragon too, eh? Great, great!"
With a look of disappointment, "No, didn't quite kill it. Wounded it so badly that it flew off and never returned."
Sandros isn't finding much of anything funny, but his tight grin is filled with schadenfreude as he watches the cake collapse. He watches the skeletons with a white-knuckled grip on his belt, and turns quickly away once the side-conversations spring up.
Which is when he sees Ka'kara baring all for Valgrim's inspection.
He closes his eyes, lets out a slow breath, then opens them again and moves over to Roylenna. He bends down to murmur in her ear.
Vug interrupts Ka'kara and Valgrim. "Have you ever seen the inside of a dwarf? It's really quite f-fascinating. The large intestine is several f-feet shorter than a normal, elvish intestine, f-for instance."
Ka'kara pauses for a moment and then laughs good naturedly, "Then where do they put all that food and ale?!"
Indulging in small-talk with various guests,Vulcan happens to be facing Ka'kara's direction when she displays her tattoo to Valgrim. The Storm sorcerer's jaw drops for a moment before breaking into a grin, shaking his head in amusement as other nearby guests gasp at the warrior woman's nonchalant action.
Valgrim tries to make as if he did not notice Ka'kara's "assets" but he's a terrible liar, and the barbarian is a fine-looking warrior and Valgrim is male, so he admires unashamedly.
Friar nods to Valgrim when he hears his name mentioned. "No problem, friend, glad to have you among the living." He looks for Lashonna to speak to her, while saying parting words to the friends he made, in case Midas needs to be ousted one day. A little revolution here and then, is not a bad thing.
To Valgrim and Vug, "Would you two be interested in doing some tavern hopping? This party just got me warmed up, time for some REAL drinking." Despite the late hour she seems full of energy and ready to go, "Of course, all your friends are invited too."
Sandros isn't finding much of anything funny, but his tight grin is filled with schadenfreude as he watches the cake collapse. He watches the skeletons with a white-knuckled grip on his belt, and turns quickly away once the side-conversations spring up.
Which is when he sees Ka'kara baring all for Valgrim's inspection.
He closes his eyes, lets out a slow breath, then opens them again and moves over to Roylenna. He bends down to murmur in her ear.
Her eyes twinkling, she floats up so she can talk to him without straining his back - and so she can see more than the underside of the skirt - and murmurs back.
Much more loudly, "Oh, Sandros, it has been good to see you!"
Bublaka makes a point of speaking with as many of the other guests as possible without being rude, making note of contacts that might be useful in the future. I see the good Father has the same idea...
He hears a murmur of surprise go through the crowd and sees several craning their necks to see something. Who's over there? Valgrim's voice, and ... the princess Ka'kara. I wonder what she has done now. She has certainly helped make this an interesting evening.
Armed with a small smile and something new to share with his new friends, he continues to work the room.
You have made quite an impression on Lashonna (as well as many of the other guests) and she agrees to meet you in a few days' time to answer any questions you may have.
You have a pleasant night, mingling and dancing and gathering some support for a future coup while the party goes on around you. Eventually, Midas has had enough and leaves in silence—applauded(of course) by his fellow guests as he makes his way to his quarters. The guests are led back to the carriages and taken back to their lodgings.
The rest of you have a few days to spare and let Vulcan level up before we go ahead with your audience with Lashonna.
Ka'kara catches Sandros on his way out, "Oh no you don't, we still have a lot of catching up to do. We're going drinking and besides your buying." She gives him a winning smile as she hands him a small folded, slightly crumpled piece of parchment that is an I.O.U. for 57.5 gp with Sandros' personal mark on it.
Roylenna, with a mock-serious look, produces another bit of scrip with Sandros' mark. This one is for 50 gp. "Definitely buying."
Sandros looks at the two pieces of paper, then sighs. "Gods above, if you two manage to drink a hundred gold's worth of liquor tonight..." He snatches the IOUs and stuffs them into his pocket. "Fine! I need some company I don't want to stab anyway!" With a laugh he offers an elbow to the two women and leads them off.
Lashonna has asked you to visit her at midnight, saying mysteriously that what she has to tell you is nothing the sunlit world would like to hear.
Soon before midnight you are picked up at your lodgings and driven to her estate by her carriage and driver — a tall, gaunt half-orc named Kelgorn who walks with a limp. He gives you a disapproving look but says nothing.
As you arrive at Mistwall Manor, you are escorted through a luxurious courtyard of fountains and topiaries, into the front parlor, and are then led up a spiraling marble staircase to Lashonna’s private study and reading room.
The walls of this spacious, tastefully decorated study are filled with shelves of leatherbound tomes on a wide variety of topics. A large desk sits against the far wall, its surface empty save for a stack of tattered pieces of yellowed paper. The carpet is a deep shade of crimson, and arrayed on it in a semicircle before the desk are several high-backed chairs fitted with velvet cushions.
Lashonna waits here for you, wrapped in a gold-trimmed gown of the very latest fashion and cut to accentuate her near-perfect fi gure. As you enter, a delighted smile dances upon her scarlet lips before she dismisses her manservant. "You won’t be needed any longer Kelgorn, I’m sure I’ll be quite well attended to, with such pleasing guests
to keep me company. Good night." The half-orc withdraws with a stiff bow as Lashonna gestures to the chairs before her desk.
Once you are comfortably settled (and the chairs are definitely comfortable) Lashonna apologizes again for the late hour but assures you that what she has to tell you will make the loss of your beauty sleep worthwhile. She indicates the tattered pages on the table, inferring that one of you should take them as she says, "Balakarde’s journal, or what’s left of it, in any event. You’ll see he’s quite mad. Obsessed, the poor dear, and with worms no less. Tiresome. But please, look it over, and then we can talk."
The Rite they performed obscured Dragotha's phylactery from thought, history and sight... as if it never existed at all. But the Order of the Storm were no fools. They suspected Kyuss would one day rise again, that his worms would learn to walk once more.
Dragotha's presence in the world has been quiet for the last several ages. The loss of his phylactery 1500 years ago left him a coward. Yet my research proves he stirs from his long sleep, that he now intends to waken Kyuss after all this time. Why now? What has changed? I fear that a journey to Wormcrawl Fissure to confront the dracolich is my only remaining option.
Once in the coach, Bublaka shares with the others in case they have not noticed, "It appears the driver is under the effect of a spell. A charm, to be precise."
That's about right. Lashonna is a powerful sorceress who played a role in defeating the Ebon Triad and who may be the last person to have seen Balakarde, who may have some important clues about the Age of Worms. She's very reclusive though, as you have become aware, so there isn't much more that is commonly known about her, except rumors to the effect that she and Midas are an item. As far as you can judge from what you've seen, the interest seems to be chiefly on his side.
Valgrim does not like that Lashonna keeps charmed servants. He greets the elven noble. "Thank you for seeing us, Lashonna. We know you are a busy woman. We heard of your efforts against the Ebon Triad. We must tell you that we recently found an old hideout of the Ebon Triad here in Maskholm with a ledger of all the members of that organization. How, if I may ask, did you miss that under your very nose in this city, when we found it in a matter of days?" Valgrim eyes the elven noble with suspicion.
"No, m'lady, he was not insane. Balakarde was right about all of it. We have become quite experts at these green Kyuss worms and have defeated dragons, mind flayers, urguthasas, spell weavers, and every other kind of horror you can mention. The Age of Worms is upon us and we aim to put an end to it, even if it means challenging Dragotha. However, who is this Order of Storms mentioned in the journal? And where is this Wormcrawl fissure?"
"Is there anything you can tell us about the Ebon Triad and their link to the Age of Worms?"
"Milady, as you can see, we have undertaken a difficult and important task. We hope you can find the time to share your insights into these mysteries so that we might complete our mission successfully."
"The Ebon Triad are pawns, possibly even put together originally by Dragotha or his agents, to do the bidding of Kyuss. I helped destroy them here in Maskholm. I don't usually get involved in politics, but I am fond of my home here and the Age of Worms threatens all I hold dear."
"It seems obvious that Dragotha intends to release Kyuss from his prison, and in so doing, usher in the Age of Worms. The solution seems obvious. A king without his commander is powerless. It’s taken Dragotha nearly 1,500 years to reach this point. Remove him now, and it will certainly be centuries before anything has a chance to release the Wormgod again."
"Of course, one cannot simply waltz into a lich’s lair, kill him, and be done with it. Dragotha may not know where his phylactery is, but that doesn’t mean it’s useless to him. Destroying him before you destroy his phylactery is as good as finding it and handing it over to him."
"So your first order of business should be to find his phylactery and destroy it. And that’s where it gets complicated. I have no idea where it may be hidden. Obviously, neither does Dragotha, and that’s a good thing. Certainly, his doubt to its location is the main reason he hasn’t tried to simply destroy himself as a desperate way to discover its location."
"Balakarde left for the Wormcrawl Fissure, against my advice, intending to learn more about Dragotha. He never returned, but at least he had the foresight to leave his journal fragments with me. His journal and his disappearance have become something of a minor obsession of mine, I must confess. I’ve spent the last sixteen years, on and off, studying the lore of Kyuss, of Dragotha, and associated matters. And while I haven’t managed to determine where Dragotha’s phylactery is hidden, I do believe I know where that information might be found."
"As Balakarde mentions in his journal, the Age of Worms and Kyuss’ resurrection were stopped fifteen centuries ago by the Order of the Storm. Historians believe that the Order died out not long after this victory, hunted down and destroyed by the last surviving members of the cult of Kyuss. These records are incorrect. The Order instead retreated to their stronghold on a remote island in the Wine-dark Sea called Tilagos."
"On this island there is a library of sorts, a repository of the Order’s lore. It has been sought for centuries by wizards, scholars, and explorers, for it is said to be filled with hundreds of years of history, memories, dreams, and of course secrets. Secrets are so valuable, aren’t they, my darlings? Seems the longer they are kept, the more they’re worth. If a written account of the secret of what happened to Dragotha’s phylactery exists, it must certainly be there."
"Of course, there are complications — there always are, right? Before they built this library, the Order of the Storm drove a lasting bargain with primal elemental forces. They sacrifi ced their lives to whisk the island’s interior off the Material Plane. In its place is a barren rock surrounded by an ever-raging storm of such intensity that ships that approach within ten miles are invariably lost. The island itself appears on no maps, but the stories hint that the druids left a way for those in need to reach their secrets while at the same time warding the place away from the prying eyes of Kyuss’ undead fanatics."
"Worse, I’m afraid others have learned this as well, in part as an unfortunate result of my own research. I have a fair amount of competition in the arena of gathering and keeping secrets, and invariably word gets out that I’ve made a discovery. My enemies are always quick to nip at my heals. I speak, in particular, of a simpering dog of a man named Heskin who once served me. I’m afraid Heskin has been wooed from my side with promises of wealth and power, and has taken word of this discovery to a disreputable man indeed, a powerful priest of Norgorber named Darl Quethos."