Smoog finds 2d6+20 coins and a portrait of a female kobold that is set inside a pocketwatch-like container on a chain. The figure in the picture is ghostly and the picture itself moves as you look at it. You recognize her; she was a trapmaker that was part of your tribe in Moontower Mountain, named Falla. She was killed in the adventurers' assault on your home. When you pick the picture up, the image begins to shake, and the female kobold melts away, looking sad.
In her place is the face of your greatest foe, the Dragonborn Paladin that slew Gorlaug. His smirking, smug face winks at you from within the frame.
The frame itself is black, except for a single corner of it that is red. When you hold the portrait and turn around, the red corner moves along the frame, ensuring that the portion of the frame facing toward the direction of Bastion City is always reddened.
"What I remember most about that party was that they all looked well rested, even after being lost in our caves for days. The Elf that held the figure did not seem the type who could heal. I think the rest of that party included a flamboyantly dressed wizard and a shady human who ran away once the others were dead and eaten. It would seem this is one of the older outlets for our God's midden heap. Further reminders of our God's dominance over the lesser races. Heroes so prepared with such items, crushed like mice." Sees' speech weaves itself into an inspiring oration, bringing the nearby Kobolds closer together.
Loot
Thunk spends several minutes smashing the bones to dust, attempting to satisfy his appetite.
Then he looks about and picks up coins.
Thunk like shines. Thunk wish he get more like them.
It would seem the gods are fickle, loading treasures on them but leaving me with but a few coins.
Hegh inspects the bowler hat closely, and again sounds as if he is listening to the wind.
Fssst rolls the acorn over and over in his claws as he feels a well of life force slowly pour back into him.
"Our God was mighty. Our God has fallen. We must be mightier still if we are to take our rightful vengeance."
Fssst begins a slow, limping walk towards the lava flows. This day requires an oath, and oaths require sacrifice. And sacrifice requires a fire such as that which flows from their broken home.
Hegh, you may not know exactly what the hat does, but you know it won't cause any harm to you to put it on. It's not a trapped item or cursed, or anything like that. Something having to do with illusions, you wager. You also see a small discoloration on the underside of the outer rim of the hat, near the front.
Fssst beckons to his companions. "Come. The flames will hurt for but a moment, protect and keep you forever after. Come, come..."
He stands over a thin rivulet of lava, heat shimmering out of it. He thrusts in his left hand to the wrist, the edge of his robe bursting to flames. Fssst pulls out a glob of molten lava, glowing the same dull, ashy red as his scales. "Come."
Smoog sits down heavily on the rubble pile that had tripped him. Slowly turning the watch over in his hands he finally stops and stares at the miniature portrait of the girl.
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Falla the Trapsmith had once been the focus of his youthful passions. He had been smitten with her ever since she first started installing entrance-protecting traps on the portal tunnels he and his crew dug. He remembers the furtive glances, the coy smiles and finally the brief encounters shared in secret.
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He snaps out of his daydream when her image dissolves and the scoffing visage of the God-murderer replaces it. Smoog suddenly realizes that his future (at least for the short term) has been laid out before him. The red beacon now points he and his companions toward the one that has destroyed everything they knew.
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Can we bring him to justice? We just barely survived the Bolgir incident and now this bauble points us toward doom. Oh, Great Gorlaug, if we are to avenge you, forge us further into the death dealing instruments of your wrath.
Thunk watches Fssst curious as to why he would melt himself
"Fssst, are you doing the fire thing again? Who am I kidding, it's always the fire thing with you. If you're thinking of burning up that acorn- with us on the brink of a long, arduous adventure, then you're insane." Sees-Death was babbling at this point, following just out of arm's reach. When it seemed Fssst was not listening, she stopped and took a deep breath to settle her nerves, and shifts into draconic high chant, the dialect of ceremony.
"What use is a sacrifice if it is not also selfless? He who would sacrifice his brother's son makes no sacrifice at all, and the debtor who offers his last coin to God brings no glory to Him. You wonder why you have not risen to full Firestarter, yet you cast things into the fire which would serve Gorlaug in this world, and keep your precious mementos to yourself." Sees feels something as she speaks, a suffusion of energy that bolsters her poise. When she started, it had been only a complaint, but once she was done she found she had made a salient point. Sees had not seen Fssst burn his own possessions, and, as a mater of fact, could not recall Fssst having much. "Have... you been avoiding attachment so that you don't have to feel the pain of sacrifice?"
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"You have not seen me burn my own, because I prefer to make sacrifice in private. Speak not of my path, of which you know little." His eyes flicker to his right hand, holding the pewter acorn just beyond the heat of the flow. "But...your point is not missed. You have given to the flames before, Sees-Death. You have given, and so your account is not without worth. Take the acorn, if you deem it of value."
Fssst tosses the small lump of metal, still cool to the touch, over to the bard. Then he raises his other hand, glowing, to his ally.
"Now, would you accept the blessings of fire once again? Though it bears pain and worth in equal measure, I shall not force it upon an ally unwillingly."
Grick brandishes the ornate walking stick, shaking it at the horizon, "we come for you god killer and I bring this, uh stick to smite you!"
Grick tries to remember any stories about ornate walking sticks...
"That's right world, it's a simple stick I think!!!
Compelled by the spirits that had filled her, Sees catches the figure and kneels. "I would shoulder this burden gladly, if only for questioning your path out of turn." She removes her headdress and places it on the floor, baring her head. A short series of burn scars can be seen trailing from brow to the base of her neck.
Hegh (believes he) hears Gorlaug speak to him alone, "This noble helm will protect you and bring fear into the hearts of your enemies, wear it proudly!"
Hegh puts on the Bowler's hat, thoroughly convinced that it makes him look more fearsome, instead of absolutely ridiculous. He wears nothing but an Ancient Sword and the hat.
Smoog approaches the group gathered at the lava's edge. Sees, Thunk, and others surround Fssst as he completes his ritual fire-cleansing sacrifice.
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Apparently Fssst has things in his past he feels he needs to atone for.
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"I think I know where God-slayer is. Gorlaug has chosen us and now points the way."
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Smoog holds the watch-compass out for all to see; slowly turning it to demonstrate the red beacon feature.
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Staring towards Bastion he says,"Sooner or later we head to Human-Town. Has anyone ever been there? Anyone know anyone who has ever been there?"
Pork tips over as he is blasted by the magical geyser
Grumbling as he gets to his feet, he leans on his staff and gives a derisive snort at the skeletal corpse of the Kobold Necromancer.
No the end you deserve, traitor. I had planned on suffering much longer lasting for you. But, still, you can be useful..
He walks over to the skeletal corpse and picks up a thighbone and eyes it hungrily. With an audable SNAP he breaks it open, and begins greedily sucking on the marrow within as he eyes the surroundings.
Fssst traces a line down the side of Sees-Death's brow with one glowing claw, working quickly and carefully enough to prevent all but a brief pain. The new mark entwines with the others, the scales discolored slightly by the passing heat. Fssst bites into his right hand, deeply enough to draw blood, and uses it to wash and cool the burn. He nods to Sees-Death in respect, and offers a similar blessing to any others who wish to partake of it.
"I know nothing of the human ways or lands. My master told of a raiding party to one of their holds from the days of his master before him. It had gone...poorly."
As he speaks, Fssst carefully scrapes the quickly cooling lava from his left hand onto a barren patch of dirt. When it cools enough, he bundles volcanic stone into the leather pouch that contains his few meager possessions. The coins he collected as his share of the spoils are quietly, and without ceremony, dropped into the lava behind him.
Thunk finds 1d6+10 coins and a pair of strange greenish leather gloves.
Pork finds 1d6+10 coins and a wineskin full of wine. Also, Pork, sorry for the confusion, but there is no skeleton of Bolgir. He vanished, actually...after a flash of light that came from within his bones. Could've been vaporized. There's no trace of him but a small depression in the earth where his body landed. Sorry to deprive you of your snack, but at least you found wine as a consolation.
Hegh, when you put on the bowler hat you instantly look like a brown-haired, olive-skinned, green-eyed human from the neck up. You are unaware of this "transformation".
Grick, when you wildly wave your walking-stick around, you fire a hidden, collapsible grappling hook out of the tip by accident. It shoots almost forty feet in the air before it reaches the end of its tether and nearly gets yanked out of your hand from the momentum.
Gain an XP, you've also buffed the enemies with your failed Spout Lore...in Dungeon World that's called Advancing a Front.
Fsst, you discard the coins you have found in ritual sacrificial offering. All kobolds present have at least heard rumors of those kobolds that dwelt closest to Moontower Mountain's fiery core. Now her heart was disgorged upon the land, and even as Fsst performs his ritual, the lava continues its slow and inexorable flow into the swamplands. Pork is aware of the land's creatures fleeing the blazes that are springing up along some parts of the treeline. Fsst's ritual inflicts 3 damage that ignores armor on everyone that partakes in it, including Sees-Death, and Fsst himself.
When his ritual is complete, Smoog shows you all the small picture frame that he found. Indeed, the red mark on the outer frame is always oriented in Bastion's direction, no matter which way the frame is held.
spout lore oh well, they are just pretty gloves
Thunk have gloves.
He puts them on and wipes bone dust from his face and sis ready to move on.
The gloves are comfortable but you don't really notice anything else odd about them. Could you do me a big favor and add "magical green gloves" or a reminder of some kind to your Race box, so I remember to apply its effect to you?
"So the only thing I can remember about Bastion is what my cousin Mrix told me after his trips into town on the Tribute Collection Team. I think he said something about..."
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"...a huge, wide-open street that leads directly to a big marketplace at the very hub of the city. You can get anywhere in the city from that hub, though of course they 'discouraged' us from exploring wherever we wanted. Ha! We muscled our way past their pathetic guards anyway, just had to remind them who was backing us." Mrix sniggered as he recounted his tale to Smoog but a few weeks earlier. "There's a huge statue of some jerk human on a horse," he spits, "But like with all human creations there's a trick to it. I noticed a hidden panel near the base of the statue that looked like it led to some kind of sewer system." Mrix was always a dreamer, letting his imagination run away from him, but trustworthy enough. "I bet there's a whole network of tunnels running throughout the whole city. I told Argoron we should look into it, but he said there was no point. 'Fear of Gorlaug keeps them in line,' he'd always say. What can I say, when he's right he's right! I took so many melons from shopkeepers on the side of the road without paying..." Mrix sighs at the happy memory.
Hegh walks over to Thunk, and takes the gloves from his hands. He turns towards an empty space next to Thunk and kneels, staring into the distance. "Oh great Gorlaug. This mighty warrior beseeches you, that these glorious gauntlets may aid him in your cause. What is thy blessing?"
Hmmm, where did this one come from? I did not see him at the outpost, but he showed some great prowess in combat...he appears to have some knowledge of these gloves.
Me Thunk. Me see you help thump. Thunk like thump. You like thump, then Thunk like you!
You get the distinct impression that the gloves will help you to kill your foes while remaining unnoticed, but you aren't sure exactly how.
"If there is one thing I have experience with it is waste removal. Their sewers likely outlet at the river, downstream of the city. We will have to go around." Sees gestured from the height of the mountain toward the city downhill. "We could cross the mire and keep it between ourselves and the humans, or we can take the shorter, dryer route. We all know which path Pork would rather take."
Hegh reverently returns the gloves to Thunk.
"Thunk, the great Gorlaug blesses you for he has much planned for you. He provides these gauntlets to aid you. Wield them, and your enemies shall not see the thump until too late."
Thunk takes the gloves and then examines the rest of the newcomer.
A human head...hmm must be some kind of magic at work. Fascinating. This could be an incredible advantage.
Long leg! Thunk need thump? No. No long leg. Friend with long leg head! Dumb long legs get 'fuse and not see thump come!
He falls over laughing at the spectacle.
Hegh approaches Flung and kneels, head bowed. Shieldbearer follows suit. "Gorlaug's Chosen One, our sword and shield are yours."
Flung looks over his shoulder to see if Hegh is talking to someone else. When he realizes that Hegh is talking to him he replies "Oh... OK. Well, thanks. I guess. Maybe we should just relax for right now" he says with some embarrassment.
Flung: this isn't the first time you've been thrust into a leadership position due to the ebon color of your scales, so it's not totally weird that Hegh would defer to you.
Smoog watches Hegh intently, amused by the appearance change to his face. Immediately recognizing the benefits to their upcoming city visit this will afford, Smoog is concerned over his speech.
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Hegh finally notices the others looking at his face, Thunk laughing, and Smoog looking much more intellectual than any proper kobold has any business looking. Even Shieldbearer has an odd look on his face.
"What?"
"If there is one thing I have experience with it is waste removal. Their sewers likely outlet at the river, downstream of the city. We will have to go around." Sees gestured from the height of the mountain toward the city downhill. "We could cross the mire and keep it between ourselves and the humans, or we can take the shorter, dryer route. We all know which path Pork would rather take."
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"I agree we need to go cautiously at first. These sewers might afford the perfect sally point for our covert mission. Let us remain hidden while we search for answers. Pork, what is your assessment of the lands we must cross?"
Dismayed at the prospects of a mute chameleon, Smoog asks what to him is the most obvious and critical question...
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"Can any one of us speak Common? Tradespeak? A passable elvish or even orc? How shall we communicate with the city dwellers and not give ourselves away as the kobolds they hate?"
Fssst watches the group showing deference to Flung. This is right, and acceptable so long as he leads with a deft hand. Fssst begins to consider how one might burn a human settlement to the ground.
He suspects the party would need large quantities of fat and oil, and perhaps access to the granaries...
"With that illusion, a pair of us could pass as one of the apes. Perhaps a refugee from one of our slave pits. We just need a long enough cloak. The one of us on the bottom should be strong, and the one on top nimble and silver of tongue. Anyway, we can decide on the details as we go. I do not like the idea of milling about in one place like meat-swine-- no offense to your mother, Pork."
Pork hefts his wineskin and takes a swig as he eyes the lava coming from the mountain, slowly lighting the treeline of the Swamp on fire. He turns to Sees. eyeing her for a moment before grunting.
You have a sharp tongue. Perhaps it would be better to sharpen your claws. One of us may not be able to save you should conflic erupt next time.
Pork grumbles before waddling over to Fsst, eyeing him levely before speaking.
Fire burns within you. I require you aid for a moment before we set off.
Pork, the wineskin is just as full when you lower it as when you first raised it.
Pork and Fssst seem to still have business here at the foot of our mountain. If there is anything Smoog can do to assist and hasten our departure, he gladly offers.
Shieldbearer asks Hegh to remove the Bowler's Hat. Hegh does so, and turns it over to his companion. When Shieldbearer puts the Hat on, Hegh jumps back in surprise, and narrows his eyes. Once again, he tilts his head as if listening to a voice on the wind, and takes the Hat back. He approaches Sees-Death, handing the Hat over.
"Gorlaug the Great wishes for you to have this to aid our quest."
Sees accepts the hat with a look of shocked gratitude, as if she had not just seeded the idea herself.
She removes her voluminous headdress and places the bowler inside. As she does so, she spots the mark on the inside brim, and reverses the hat experimentally. When she dons the headdress, the bowler hat is underneath and backwards.
Hoping the illusory effect does not activate under these conditions, she goes about the business of making sure everyone has a few days' rations.
Speaking to Fsst, Pork grumbles...
Fire comes forth from the mountain. It brings death to the swamp, and those who dwell within. I must put a stop to it. I must beg the spirits of fire to calm their hunger. The fire burns bright within you.
Pork snorts, looking at his wineskin and noticing it is still full, he takes another big swig of the wineskin before continuing
Perhaps your presence can aid me when I speak with them. I think. Maybe. It is a very dangerous thing.
He shrugs slightly.
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Fssst stares at the Druid, contemplating the potential affront. The blood of their home weeps down into the swamp, making a pyre of it's inhabitants. Who is to say this is not exactly the honor the death of their home deserves?
"You want to call the flames away from being what they are. This is... it is not a task likely to succeed. Fire burns. It consumes. To calm the hunger of a flame is to kill the flame. Nothing more or less. I am not sure I could do this for you. If I can, even in part, your debt would be great indeed. Your suffering for failing to pay it, legendary. Are you certain you wish me to try?"