Dandelion realizes with surprise that the glass man spoke, and what's more, gave them two riddles to solve. He recalls one from Cruor River. There was a young man who gave them all riddles, and one of them went like OTTFFSSE, and what comes next? This one, Dandelion could see, is a continuation of that, with the SE (Seven, Eight) in common.
With some surprise, Grendal's answer is accepted. Dandelion supposes 'dark' is relative. For Half-orcs, the birds are obviously quite different, even in the dark.
"Fifteen," he whispers. "The answer is F. I'm glad my father taught me to count."
He wonders if one answer is enough, and calls out "F ... is next!" Then he watches to see how the glass man responds.
“CORRECT, what comes next is F for Fifteen.” It slowly moves toward you until it stands in the area that Dandelion identified as being trapped. Clapping its hammer hand against its leg chips off fragments of its very being. Each fragment shines as brightly as a candle for a handful of seconds, as does the construct's hammer hand.
"Follow. Walk upon the glass only. Hurry."
It smoothly turns on its heel, its hobnailed glass feet grinding into the stone floor as it turns its back on you and starts moving away at a brisk pace that would be greatly appreciated should one be fleeing for their lives from a city that has been overrun.
Walking upon the glass destroys its light effect providing an uneventful passage through the trapped area, though you feel the constant threat of a misstep setting off something that decapitates everyone.
Your next approach is the area of flames, its walls charred and covered in soot. The golem does not chip off any glass, but simply stands still and waits. After the next burst of flame it moves forward at its hurried pace.
Following the creature provides you safe passage through the tunnel, which is interspaced with dust, crushed glass shards, dried mouse droppings, cobwebs, and five skeletons that suffered rather horrific deaths at the hands of the traps. Perhaps these were the companions of the thief that Calvoric had met.
The noises you heard get louder the further you move, as do the muffled voices. You come to realize that you are standing under the gathered throng of monsters laying siege to the spired city. The distance between the tunnel and the surface is uncomfortably thin, since a passing giant is sufficient to shake loose plumes of dust upon your heads.
A short ladder leads to the surface, which at first appears to be blocked, but you realize that rubble has fallen upon the trapdoor, and a liberal application of the group's collective force eventually brings them up to the surface. Morning's light plays across the burned husk of what was once the Citadel of Stars, the royal palace of Muaem. The trapdoor is located in the back of what you imagine to be one of the palace's storerooms.
Moving through the ash makes your clothing filthy by the time you work your way to the street.
Salty ocean air cooly cuts through the bedlam of a city working to put out fires, defend its walls, and tend to its many wounded. Fires burn beyond the city's high walls, sending up long lines of smoke.
Those that pass you buy pay no special notice of you. Your dirty and blood stained garb blending in well in a city that has been battered for days and days.
An inn, with a large hole burned in its thatched roof, stands not far from your current location.
Calvoric shakes his head at the Golem's words, surprised at Dandelion's answer, Grendal's happened to be Cal's other thoughts, still the bard was amazed at the creature's design. Still if the thief had managed to survive without being noticed by the golem, that the bloke had better chops then Cal had thought.
upon reaching the surface, the bard feels another hope dwindle, having the thought that the townsfolk of Muaem had fared better. Letting a sigh escape his lips, he takes note of many sights, trying to get a fix of landmarks in case the three of them would have to beat a hasty retreat.
Another disparaging thought crosses his mind, would the survivors look past their heritage or choose to attack upon a closer discovery. Still Calvoric was going to try to make the best of this, sooner or later ants would get into the honey that had spilled.
Looking at the other two half-orc's Grendel brushes a bit of ash from his face. A grin lights his tusked face momentarily.
"I damn near soiled myself when that thing spoke to us," the druid says with a shake of his head and a chuckle. He claps Dandelion on the shoulder. "Good answer, by the way. I didn't even realize the second part had been part of the riddle." He looks around, spying the inn rather quickly. 'Old habits die hard and whatnot,' Grendel thinks to himself with a ghost of a grin.
"Might as well start our search in the inn," Grendel smirks at Cal and Dandelion. "Now remember, no getting sauced, we're here on business after all." Chuckling to himself, the druid makes his way towards the inn with the large hole in the roof.
Grendel wasn't really thinking about stopping for a drink and meal. At the moment, he just wanted to get out of the open.
The glass man had indeed been impressive. Dandelion had not heard the thing speak, but he thought he felt his clothing shaking when it spoke, though he didn't realize it right away. "I thought the answer to the first part was 'When they were eggs', as all birds start out as eggs as far as I am aware."
Salty air reminds Dandelion of his finding Grendel on the shore of the ocean. It was not that far from here, he supposes, though it was a long time ago. No, it wasn't. He tries to count the days... There were a few days in Dewsdam, the day or so underground in that vampire's cave, then some days traveling in the darkness - how many of those were there? - and then a few days in the safety and warm hospitality of Stormhold. Not that long, in all. He wonders about he darkness, and how far it goes. "Does it cross the sea?" he asks no one in particular.
When Grendel mentions the inn, Dandelion smiles and says, "Yes, let's get a drink. And a hot meal would be nice too. We best be careful - our parentage may put us at a disadvantage." He starts heading for the inn.
With a caustic snort Cal says " I'm sure we will find all sorts of drinks that will fit your refined palate." Cal finishes with a wry grin.
"Quick thinking on the answer to the golem's question I was going to say when they look down on us in flight. Still it looks like we might not find too much around, as things like a little more on the bleak side o things. At this point I'd settle for a whiskey and some simple foodstuffs."
It seemed like each new place that the three of them visited, more and more calamity was already under tow. Still not wanting to spit in the eye of fickle fortune, Cal keeps on eye about his surroundings.
"That, and the only information we have to finding this gnomish woman is the sketch in the book. We're reasonably certain that she is a skilled tattoo artist, so that helps out a bit," Grendel says as the start moving. "With whats going on right now, this is going to be like finding a needle in the sand."
Thinking about what Dandelion had said about the Darkness reaching across the ocean, Grendel frowns slightly.
"I certainly hope it doesn't reach the sea. Let alone touch the water, given what it does to things," the druid says with a slight shudder skipping down his spine.
"We will need to ask people. How many Gnomes would be here?"
Dandelion had seen Gnomes only a few times in his life, in Cruor River.
Before entering the tavern, he looks to the sky. Those invisible bad things may come from up there, and he wants to keep an eye out for them. They may affect clouds, or birds, so it might be possible to sense it if they are there, he reasons.
Muaem is a bustling port city and as such it provides services to a wide array of different peoples. You do not get a second look as you skitter about the city. Normal racial prejudices are ignored as everyone moves with a purpose to shore up Muaem’s defences.
A number of different races are seen the short distance en route to the inn, though you do not see any gnomes, possibly due to their diminutive stature.
The Vulgar Virgin stands alone on a slight rise of ground accessed by a stone pathway that leads to a door that has been crafted of some kind of heavy, weathered wood. Its thatched roof sports an expansive hole in it with singed edges. As you enter you feel the warmth of a roaring fire, companionship, and take in the smells of hearty fare layered upon the stench of unwashed bodies, upon mildew beneath the odour of cold ale. Shelves line the wall carrying all manner of different items, predominantly militaristic in nature, from the realms. The floor is wooden, echoing your movements as you enter, though the boards looked weathered and dry. One section of the boards have been burned and crushed 'neath the hole in the roof where a giant flaming boulder crashed down. You are able to hear many different foreign accents, and languages among the 30 or more patrons and staff.
You find a side table as you slowly nudge your way past the countless unwashed. Along your path you hear numerous whisperings of strange disappearances, a large monster in the city's harbour that destroys any ship that tries to leave, an upbeat discourse of what they should rename the inn now that its sporting a giant's boulder as a point of attracting interest, and talk of the siege not going well (a free bottle of cheap whiskey is offered to anyone that can come up with a great name along those lines). The general atmosphere is not surprisingly stressed and edgy. Meagre meals and watered-down drink are provided, and they wave off any attempt to pay, explaining that in time of war rations are covered by the crown (though considering that their royal palace has been razed this seems to be a strange position indeed). They only have the floor to offer should you be looking for a place to rest your head.
Asking after the gnome is much easier than you would have imagined. Pribi is her name, and for a few coins a youth runs off to fetch her for you. An elderly gnome female walks into The Vulgar Virgin leaning heavily on her cane after a long draw of time and through the bloodstained bandages about her torso you easily recognize her from the sketchbook. Imagining you to be prospective customers she quotes you 50 gold per hour for her to colour your skin with indelible ink. Pribi assures you that she has a number of openings in her schedule, since no one expects the elderly to help with the war effort, and no one is currently beating down her door to decorate their flesh. She gives a demonstration of her technique, casting a spell of illusion upon the skin, and adjusting it as her customer wishes to ensure their complete satisfaction, then following it with the tattoo needle.
Dandelion wishes he had perused the sketchbook with more than just the cursory flip through he had given it back in Stormhold. Still, he trusts the other two, both in intent and in ability. They had grown close over a short time, and the space in Stormhold had helped them find their comfort zone in the short gap between trying times.
The gnome is several times smaller than he, but he knows she is due the respect that all elders are due, especially those who have not earned any disrespect. Plus, this one must have known the first three, Dimqu, Bragh, Xelien, and a possible fourth. Unless she was the fourth...
He lets the others speak first. It feels as if the know her better. He takes a swig of his ale.
Cal let's loose a smile, it had an " Ah shucks" tinge to it, glad to another moment of respite from the troubles of the world, when the older gnome woman finally is found and located Cal can't help but feel some relief, another piece of the puzzle.
" Well now I have been looking to get some work done, I saw an interesting design on my travels, perhaps you could tell more of the story behind this design. " Calvoric looks her in the eyes as he pulls the book from his backpack. " As I understand at least two other's had this design, but as a collector of stories, I am not too familiar with these two... or their other traveling mates." Opening the page to the sketch of the tattoo that the gnome had done.
" Tis been a difficult path we have taken, while I have no malice in my heart, what with a war going on, times are changing." Cal gives off the not a threat vibe while waiting for her response.
Pribi leans back in her chair, her soft eyes momentarily wide and wrinkled mouth agape. Her mouth moves for a moment before words come out in a stutter, "Br...ragh would not have parted with his sketchbook...unless." She looks askance of the group, as if seeing them for the first time, looking at the book perhaps in search of bloodstains, and glancing about in search of strong arms to cut the half-orcs down.
As she starts working her way to her feet she hears the rest of the bard's words, which give her pause. She wipes her eyes with an ink-stained cloth from her pocket, dabbing away the fluid there with an expert hand well-versed in removing extraneous traces indelible ink from flesh before it stains.
Others take notice of Pribi's discomfort. She waves them off and returns to her seat, looking so tiny in her chair.
"What happened to the four of them?"
Before you can respond she adds, "How came you by that tome? And what is your interest in their affairs?"
Taking the shot of cheap whiskey the bard slams it back, hoping to avoid the taste as much as possible. Clearing his throat after the burn ends he says " As best as I can tell, in Dewsdam we met Xelien after she and the others were attacked. She and one other were brought to the Gilded Wyvern. After she had been attacked by a vampire. After she passed in the night, she became one something.... else. Needless to say, it took the sun to cleanse her and Dimqu from their newfound curse of undeath. " Cal Pauses, his hands shake for a half second.
" It wasn't something I would like to see again, in fact what happened some time later wasn't something pretty as well. I gather that they were looking for some ruins or something unusual that would have peaked their interest." Cal stops to take a sip of watered down ale " Unless they had heard something about plants, animals, and people dying in horrible ways."
" If they were investigating the rumors of a blight, due to what happened to a small port city a few months ago, well it showed up outside of Dewsdam. As best as I can tell all four of them are no more. Or perhaps one might have survived, we only found two, Xelien and Dimqu. We might have found Bragu being used." Cal stops again breathing deeply for a few moments.
" As food for the vampire, as for the last member of their troop, no idea. We managed to escape with our lives, this book, which is missing pages and little information. " Cal pauses to let the words sink in, keeping something back the Gnome in case she turned out to be a member of the Nemesis 's cult of undeath.
Releasing the breath that he didn't realize he had been holding, Grendel nods to the elderly gnomish woman.
"We're pretty certain they had been attacked and turned by a vampire. We found the staked remains in a coffin, so it looked like they somewhat successful in the sunken crypt," Grendel says, speaking quietly. He didn't want to overhear anything about vampires. "We encountered Dimqu and Xelien after they had been attacked. They died from their wounds that night, only to come back to unlife." The druid pauses, taken a swig out of the watered-down beer to wet his mouth. "However, they had no interest in harming others. Only carving into their own flesh. I have a sketch that Dimqu did when we were trying to find out more about the blighted chain that was attached to something invisible in the sky." Grendel stops and makes a sour face. "That sounded a bit on the crazy side," he says as he retrieves the battered sketch from his bag and slides it over.
"We think that they might have had an idea as to stop the Darkness from spreading. I think they hid that knowledge in the journal. Cal tried to discern it nature, and it almost drove him mad," Grendel pauses running a hand through his ash covered hair. "We are trying to find a way to defeat the blight and send it away. Your sketch was in the tome, and we have no other leads, or clues as to what they where doing. We've come for your help."
There is a vaguely funerary look on her face as the names of the vampires are mentioned. Your conjecture about a fourth member of the group, the second unassuming woman seen in the sketches, is both confirmed and named when Pribi whispers a prayer for someone named "Aryaa" at the appropriate time in the conversation.
Pribi's eyes rake the ceiling, her face scrunching up momentarily as she dismisses conclusions too ridiculous to consider. Moments later additional information corroborates her earlier conclusions and her skin grows pale as a result.
"They sought me out a means of affixing a thaumaturgical binding deep into their flesh to hold a curse at bay. Such tattoo magics are known to me, though rarely requested as they are prohibitively expensive....not that coin matters much in a besieged city. They were not immediately specific about the nature of this curse, but..."
She changes the subject, "They were not able to rescue those who had been taken, or halt the threat that would bring a screaming end to the realms." She speaks of the permanent scars that Xelien had on his body from the chain, scars that match the ones Dandelion received perfectly. "No one took them seriously. I didn't take them seriously. They sounded mad. Until the black came and the disappearances of the special ones increased."
Defensively she adds, "These were goodly individuals. Adventurers who fought for those not strong enough to defend themselves." She lets out a deep sigh and starts crying, deeply affected by this loss. "Aryaa and Bragh were both paladins dedicated to justice and honour."
She shakes her head and whispers what she could not give breath to earlier, "I think I understand now what I could not see then: they left here to be purposely turned into vampires hoping the tattoo would hold the curse of vampirism at bay."
She sounds as if she does not even believe her own words, though they are presented with confidence, despite how absolutely crazy they sound.
Dandelion pulls aside a small piece of cloth, enough to show a bit of the scar on his shoulder. "I got this when I touched the... the... blight Grendel mentioned. It was not pleasant. But how did they believe that... change would help them stop the threat? Or save others?"
He stops, shaking his head. She seems to have known them well.
"I am Dandelion. This is Cal, and Grendel. We tried to save them, but we could not. It was too late. Their book allowed us to find you. Did they tell you more of their plan? Maybe it would help us continue the fight."
He realizes now he trusts this gnome, and since they were in so deep, it seems silly to not do so. They need every aid they can get.
Pribi shakes her head, "I know nothing more, I am sorry. I thought them to be mad." She looks both embarrassed and like she might be ill.
The existence of the scar shakes her further, since it is yet another means of corroborating what the others had relayed, and had been completely dismissed by those they sought to protect.
" I believe you and will do whatever it takes to help you in your quest ."
"What can you tell us about that tattoo? I think it might have been partially successful. Dimqu and Xelien weren't trying to hurt anyone. Brugh on the other hand, was all about causing.., hurt. And what do you know about these "Special Ones" that you mentioned?" Grendel asks as he reflexively rubs his palms at the thought of the holes running through his hands. "Personally, I think that they might have "seen" what it is that is causing the blight, and it shattered their minds." The druid takes another swig of his cheap beer and frowns slightly at the mug as if it offends him somehow.
"I think that they were hoping the being becoming vampires would make them invisible to the thing, or the death cult," Grendel looks at the elderly gnome woman. "I think that this cult might have been the ones responsible for getting the Darkness' attention in the first place. There was a lot of talk about them around the time we were in Dewsdam, if I remember correctly."
"Whatever they found, it was recorded in their journal, and when magic was used to try to understand it, like I mentioned, the effects were.., bad," Grendel glances at Cal. "It's like he was trying to tell us something, but the words where absolute gibberish. Although, Cal finally regained the ability to speak and told us what he had learned." The druid pauses and leans forward a touch.
"An ancient, slithering evil dwells within a previously unknown land beyond the shadow chains, and it is feeding on the essence of goodly and lowly creatures from beyond the known world who are battling it even now," Grendel softly quotes what Cal had said. "Honestly? When we first encountered Xelien and Dimqu, they were speaking gibberish, and we thought them quite insane," he says with a sad smile. "After spending time in the Darkness, I wish that they had just been mad, not correct."
"I'm a giant idiot," Grendel smacks his forehead. "Pribi, I am sorry for the loss of your friends. I'm not sure how well everyone knew each other, but, for what it's worth, I'm sorry."
It sounds as if the fighting has grown much more fierce outside of closed doors, and open roof, of The Vulgar Virgin.
Pribi relaxes a bit, having been pushed into familiar waters. "The thaumaturgical binding is an arcane derivation of ancient shamanistic magics, which was used for witch hunting. The tattoo is a permanent marking, but the magic is what maintains the vibrancy of the special inks. Each curse it acts against will weaken it further until it fails altogether. Though the fading acts as a warning of sorts, it provides little in the way of comfort, since the magics cannot ever be affixed to the flesh once again."
She delves into the specifics of the tattoos that you saw on Xelien and Dimqu then compares them to how faded their tattoos were the last time you saw them, contrasted with how Bragh's was all but faded, to support her words about the magic fading with each use. She assures you that she read nothing to suggest that anyone was thinking of the eternal curse of vampirism when the skin magics were conceptualized, but agrees that it looks to have been at least partially successful as only the paladin Bragh appears to have descended into the evils associated with being a soulless supernatural predator, while the others appear to have maintained wisps of their humanity.
As a wielder of arcane magics, and a recipient of the wisdom that stems from hundreds of years upon this plane, it does not surprise you that Pribi is so well read, or intelligent.
"There is no solid information, but rumours abound. Those that disappeared were people with strange and unexplained powers of the mind, including those psionicists of incredible power. To a man they are all simply gone, even the children."
She gazes at the provided sketches, especially the ones with the chains, then snaps her aged fingers and sheepishly answers Dandelion's question, "Something about evil creatures being able to ascend. They mentioned that in passing. I had thought it to be not worth mentioning, but perhaps it means more to you."
Pribi's eyes remain on a point of the floor, the moment of reflection rimming her eyes with tears. The scholar in her cocks her head to the side, "Creatures from beyond the known world? I have never read of creatures beyond our world."
"Yes. The invisible thing I touched, we touched, that caused this scar, goes up into the sky. If I were evil perhaps it would not have hurt me. We know someone had climbed some distance up, as we saw a rope hanging in the sky. So they chose to become evil by 'nature' and hoped to resist the urge to do evil, I suppose."
Dandelion believes he understands more. Not the 'thamorglamical' stuff Pribi talked about, but the why of those taking on vampire form. He is also somewhat reassured that he is not evil. Once can never be sure. His eyes open wide, suddenly, and he adds, "Oh! He is still out there! We buried him, but it is only a matter of time before he digs himself out. He might well come here, at night only, I understand. You must take precautions. He might look for us, or for you."
After a brief pause, Dandelion says, "I think the land beyond the shadow chains is somehow in the sky, or reached via the sky. The chains are the bridge to get there. Our path is unclear. But..... Pribi, do you know of any magics that can make us appear evil, to those chains, I mean?"
Pribi considers Dandelion for a minute, then starts nodding along with the oracle's words, "Should evil creatures have autonomy not available to other creatures..." She runs a finger along a crack on the face of the table for a moment. "If I was looking to operate in a place where evil beings thrive, then the curse of vampirism would certainly be the fastest way I could imagine to become evil per se."
She shakes her head at the ruthless pragmatism at the sacrifice that entails. "The descent to selfish motivations, and carrying not a wit about the plight of others does little to those ends...." She finds the flaw in her own logic, working through it out loud as he progresses, until she rectifies the disconnect on her own, "So one would seek out methods to mitigate the effects of the vampirism, say with a tattoo or something of the like. I follow your line of reasoning young man and believe it lines up with the selfless character of those that I knew." To have seen such horrors approaching and to be dismissed, then to lose all ability to communicate is truly a curse indeed.
Pribi shakes her head in answer to the half-orc's question about means of appearing to be evil, "Evil is something in the hear...."
The door slams open, and with a single utterance The Vulgar Virgin is cleared out, "They have breached the walls!"
Pribi leans back, accepting her inevitable end, "It appears this is how it ends. A monster chokes the harbour, unless flight or teleportation are available to you, then the legion of monsters will crush Muaem like a wave."
" I know a way out of here, we could start to get those that are willing to leave out of here, although we will not be able to take everyone." Cal says " Hope is not lost, start getting those who wish to live." Cal stands up look at those that are resigned to fight to the bitter end, as he would rather find another path then have folk do nothing.
Grendel stands to his feet, looking at the rapidly emptying room. Listening to what Cal says he nods.
"What is this monster that chokes the harbor?" the druid asks as he calmly checks over a few straps on his pack. "Also, if we are going to go back the way we came in with a bunch of people, we're going to have to move quickly."
Grendel frowns slightly as his mind races, thinking about their chances and the chances of the people of the besieged city. The druid tries to avoid thinking of the slaughter that was about to go into full swing. He was all to aware of what the more monstrous beings where about to doing.
Pribi stops the last of the fleeing throng from The Vulgar Virgin with a sharp command. Though their eyes are wide with fear they heed her, and are each dismissed to pass the word to return to the remains of the Citadel of Stars with the womenfolk, aged, children and as many supplies as can be quickly gathered. As a youth, who is all legs and ungainly arms, starts to run away she yells after him, "And get me my bag pup."
It is a lot of trust to extend to a stranger, which explains why everyone is looking at the trio of half-orcs as one would a possible mirage after crawling through the desert. Then again there is no other option, which makes the decision easy.
Your departure from the doomed city of Muaem is embattled with each and every step as goblins, orcs, ogres and giants spill forth into the streets. There is no central command structure, and the disorganization provides you ample opportunity to exploit gaping openings in the onrush of inhumanity. Many fall as it quickly becomes a rout. Death is everywhere and it indiscriminately cuts down the young, old, sickly, healthy, and all those in-between.
Along the way to the Citadel of Stars you catch a glimpse of the creature in the harbour moving to casually tear docked boats asunder, the tremendous leviathan resembles a vast squid, yet the markings on its body are strangely unsettling to look upon: a kraken. Its impossible power will haunt your dreams for days to come.
You find an opportunity to pick up the occasional bloodstained weapon or item that will support you in the future.
It takes time to collect and organize the many, far more than you expected, that have desperately clung to any wisps of hope. Guarding the top of the ladder, after explaining the nature of the traps to key individuals, almost ends your journey as their departure is insufferably slow, permitting monsters aplenty to take notice and charge forth to run down the fleeing prey. Much of your blood stains the area around the top of the ladder, and bodies have piled up around you, but finally you can depart what remains of Muaem dragging your ravaged bodies down the ladder.
Your trip down the tunnel is slow, and everyone that still stands finds the need to support or carry the wounded, or the children. Some of the guard, and other able bodied individuals are among your ranks, and they do their part. Once you get some distance you are able to quiet those you travel with and tend to injuries.
The swim to the surface nearly ends everyone, as it is a cluster f+%& of epic proportions to organize, but hours and hours later your exhausted bodies stand next to Lake Ibey next to 147 refugees from Muaem stare back at their city from the outcropping of rock.
The rout is sufficient to assure you that these 147 will be the only survivors of this attack. Tears stain the ground and mingle with the lake water. The call is made to march to the "Hold", and after many thanks and hugs the long line of humanity seeks out the closest area of civilization available to them. For the second time in as many days you are held up as heroes. There are far too few swords to properly protect so many, and so many wounds and wounded to tend to.
The cult lies more than a tenday away, much of the journey would need to be aboard ship.
It might just be your imagination, but it appears that the dark wall of pestilence far off in the distance has spread. The world is dying around you.
Dandelion had been about to suggest dealing with the harbour creature, until, that is, he saw it. It is difficult to comprehend it, but he stows its knowledge away for later. The need to get people out by any means possible became very obvious, and he went along with the others, helping Pribi, the sick, the young, the old, and anyone in between who needed help. He cast spells if they would help.
The darkness is growing. This is not a surprise to Dandelion, as it had been growing in some fashion before, and he had guessed it was merely taking a rest from it for the time being. It is a concern, and if nothing is done, it is clear it will envelop all the realms. He is pleased that Pribi is with them, as she can be a source of wisdom and knowledge as well as magic.
Alone with the others, and perhaps Pribi, Dandelion says, "Again, we are faced with the prospect of unknowing - not knowing what to do, but having a small clue that one particular action may lead us in the right direction. If any of you have ideas, now is the time for them."
He rubs Nagrish's neck, telling him he will need to be strong in the coming weeks.
To Pribi, he says at one point, "You were telling me that evil is in the heart. But we need to trick the chain, so that it thinks we're evil even though we are still ourselves."
Cal gives a groan, the fighting had been fierce to say the the least, although the bard wasn't interested in gathering the best looking weapon. He knew that the magics he had could change the will of his sword into something more. That didn't stop him from scooping up a better crafted long sword, he could feel the craftsman ship in every swing, that in the fact he had tripped over some rubble to find a small cache of potions in a bag, that seemed to hold a minor enchantment, along with a chain shirt that Cal had heard tales of before, something involving mithril.
Cal looked over the group of survivors, not thrilled at the so few managed to make it out. the other fact would be that, there is no place to take them, at the moment, Cal pulls out a map that he had grabbed in his haste, looking over the map trying to find a possible 'safe' harbor for all of the remaining folk of Muaem; and to take them their hoping for some more kernels of hope.
Calvoric doesn't feel even close to being a hero, all though some of the tales he had heard, had simple folk doing what was right. Still he hated the fact that so many had lost their lives for what might even amount to nothing. The bard frowns, trying to find the next puzzle, nodding almost absentminded at Dandelion's words.
Pribi completes what she was saying earlier, "Evil is something in the heart. There is magic for the senses, so there may very well be magic to change the heart, but I am unaware of them."
Calvoric is aware of a glamer available to bards of his current level of training called Misdirection that permits the spell caster to misdirect the information from divination spells that reveal auras. It is difficult to know if such magics would affect the interaction with the chain, especially since the only way to know would be for someone to venture much closer to the area of pestilence around the chain that is normally advised.
Glancing down at the map provides many potential areas for the group to go, though it is unknown how far the area of black stretches and where monsters roam. He sees a fishing community relatively close in the opposite direction of Stormhold, and another few far beyond the outpost, though the journey would add a number of hours to their journey. It is likely that any of these communities would have boats that could be commissioned.
The last of the sodden survivors of Muaem walk passed the trio for the short journey to the outpost at Stormhold; scant miles await and helping the wounded and young will make it much longer. Pribi, already walking in the back with the wounded, glances at the group wondering as to their next move.
Warmth pervades your tissues from the early afternoon sun, and though a quarter mile away you can hear the screams of a city being ravaged, there is still life in every nook and cranny around you.
"Let's escort them to the hold, that will give us a little bit of time to figure out exactly what our next move should be," the battered druid says, tired looking over the lake to the burning city.
Grendel's feelings towards helping the refugees escape the city were bittersweet. While glad they had been able to save a little under 150 people, how many hundreds, if not thousands, where doomed. Part of his mind was very practical about it, he knew that there was simple now way they could have save more. It didn't mean he had to like it.
Taking the small stone statue of a sleeping cat out of his pouch, the druid places it on the ground. Muttering a few words in the Old Tongue, he releases Nagrish back to his own form. He takes a moment to scratch the cougars ears.
"I can change my form once more, most likely to something that can fly," Grendel looks skyward. "That way I can scout ahead, while you two try to keep them organized into groups. That way they can hid easier, big groups of people are going to draw the wrong kind of attention."
Perhaps fate has smiled upon the bedraggled group, though it is more likely that everyone monster in the surrounding area is supping on the denizens of Muaem, as you are accepted into Stormhold without finding combat, or being perforated by hundreds of its archers.
Corros, sans Jaevan, comes out to oversee the disposition of refugees, assigning them villagers to bunk with, and ensuring that their wounds have been tended to. It is a small outpost, which will find it difficult to accommodate so many, especially the difficulties associated with filling so many additional bellies.
Pribi and Corros speak for a time with the occasional word, gesture, or glance suggesting that they are speaking of you. The winds bring some words to your ears, "..hout them none would have survived...", "....supplies are meaningless, if they fail then all is lo..."
Pribi departs with a handler of Stormhold.
Corros moves across the expanse and looks upon the group with his rheumy eyes, which are filled with a level of respect far exceeding what it was when last you met, "I have been made aware of how time presses, so my words will be few. A small party of 3 was dispatched, shortly after you left, to request assistance from the Tilestu. We have heard nothing since. I implore you to leave immediately and bring word of what you have seen to the Tilestu. We will starve within a tenday without their assistance." The bard's map is used to ensure you are aware of the route to the town of Watersedge, and you have some of the local dangers pointed out to you.
Under his words you can hear the fatigue, and also deduce that those that were sent to request help have likely been slaughtered.
This is confirmed a moment later. Two horses are brought forth, both show wounds, and no one has taken the time to wash the blood from them. The riders atop them had been slaughtered. Pribi's tiny form, hugging her bag to her chest, is mounted sidesaddle on the smaller of the two horses.
You are all familiar with Tilestu, it is number of savage barbarian tribes that have been known tolerate its closest neighbours on occasion, when they're not sacking towns for their amusement.
Calvoric has heard enough about the Tilestu to know that strength is everything to these people. They will never tolerate any sign of weakness or disrespect.
Dandelion looks good in the large breastplate he found. It is of high quality, and let him move almost normally. To go with it, a very light shield crafted from a strange, dark wood. Dandelion had never seen such wood, but it was strong and light at the same time.
He had also picked up a few interesting knick-knacks, including a rope that turned to metal, some incense and special rods to aid him performing his spells, a magical tool that transformed into many tools, and a magical rod of great power, that let him cast spells from farther away than usual.
When he finds out the people of Stormhold are going hungry, he gives them all of his rations (5 days') and asks them to distrubute them wisely.
When the horses and Pribi arrive, Dandelion suggests, if Grendel is going in animal form, perhaps Cal could ride with Pribi and Dandelion would ride by himself since he is so much bigger.
Wrapped in the form of a large hawk, Grendel watches the proceedings with extremely sharp eyes. Listening as the others converse, he found his thoughts wandering. The desire to take wing and hunt prey was strong with noble creatures form. Stretching out one of his 3 1/2 foot wings, the druid calmly preens his golden feathers. The mention of these Tilestu rings a faint bell in his memory.
Rifling through his memories, Grendel thinks about the little he had heard about the barbarians. Aside from a few ridiculous bard tales, the druid couldn't really recall much. Then, he remembers one of his step-mothers was from a distant tribe of barbarians that had caught his Father's eye. 'That was the one that like to fight with Mother,' he thinks. Suddenly hit by an almost painful swelling of homesickness, Grendel forces his attention back to the current events.
Using his absurdly sharp eagle eyes he looks over the two horses to make sure that they are not too badly injured. Plus he wanted to know if the horses wounds were from weapons, or from more natural sources. Like claws and fangs.
Each horse bears wounds that look as if they were inflicted by edged weapons crafted of steel and serrated of edge. The wounds look to be deep, but horses are hardy animals as long as the wounds are not inflicted upon their spindly legs.
Riders and Nagrish pick their way across the ground with their druidic companion providing overwatch. Hours lay behind them before they see the first sign of something unusual, which turns out to be a dead horse. A garish wound had torn open the side of its neck. It was running towards Stormhold when it had fallen. Trails of its life's blood drip back in the direction it had come from.
Grendel is the first to spot the site of the previous ambush firstly by the presence of carrion feeding birds. 5 orcs lay dead on the ground, daggers protruding from 2 of their assorted vital organs, and the rest having been cut down by swords. Among the bodies are two deceased humans who look to have been absolutely savaged by serrated weaponry that matches the wounds upon the group's horses. They had died fighting, as shown by the orc blood that stains their weaponry.
Blood pools upon the ground, as well as many tracks that tell the tale of a brief, but brutal exchange. The soil is compacted to reveal extremely large footprints as well, which continue along your path following another blood trail.
The last rider.
Dandelion's impressive perceptive ability locates a well-crafted belt in the tree line, which looks to have been torn off by a thrown boulder about the size of a prize-winning pumpkin. The belt is familiar to him as he had seen one just like it around the waist of the silent Jaevan. He also finds a backpack containing meagre supplies, lock picks, and items used in disabling traps. Blood stains the area, and it looks as if the man had stopped to bandage a wound when the boulder interrupted his ministrations.
Pribi closes her eyes for a moment, then begins the process of casting a spell, which each of you identify as a means of magically communicating across long distances called Whispering Wind. "Two have fallen. One appears to have fled, but is injured. Giving chase now. A horse for slaughter upon the pathway. Trail appears clear." Before you can ask she relays that she was always rather good with illusion magics, though her skills are little better than rudimentary.
Once again it is Grendel's sharp avian eyes that spot trouble before the group finds it, though everyone can hear the trouble in short order. This giant looks like a thick, muscular human. It has frost-white skin and long, light blue hair that it wears braided: a frost giant.
It appears that Calvoric is prepared to write his dissertation on frost giant as his knowledge is extensive:
- Though uncertain of which type, the size of this creature before you marks it out as one of the giant-kin. He is aware of the creature's rock throwing ability, vulnerability to fire
- This creature is a frost giant, a member of the giant-kin usually found in snow-covered mountainous regions. As well as being dangerous melee combatants, these creatures, like most of their kind, are practiced rock-throwers, and can use these great chucks of stone as deadly and precise missiles. Frost giants usually speak both the giant and common languages. This creature is immune to cold
- Frost giants are brutal and destructive raiders, feared by most who live within or close to their territories, and ruled over by tribal leaders who call themselves "jarl". Though they usually live by hunting and raiding, they have been known to trade with other giant communities. They also like to take slaves when they raid communities.
The enraged creature sports the newest fashion, which consists of a liberal application of daggers protruding from its skin. It screams as it randomly tears into the trees around it in search of something that you cannot see. Upon its back is a stained sack, which you hope does not hold hors d'oeuvre babies. It actually holds: the charred corpse of a small humanoid, a magical warhammer, and a large set of ruined leather armour.
You are able to move right up near the creature, as it is so distracted with something in the tree line that you imagine that a troupe of singing bards could probably march right past it without being noticed.
Cal had nodded at Corros' words, knowing that without supplies Storm hold would fall. Hefting his new backpack that held all sorts of tricks, the bard had informed the group what would be helpful in matters of diplomacy with the Tilestu: Strength and respect.
Cal been quiet, pondering more about how to win over the Tiestu, when the remains of a batttlr were found. Noting how the orcs had started the ambush and the serrated blades, Cal rubs absently at his chest as the old scar tissue started to itch.
Upon the locating Jaev's gear, Cal shakes his head, then notices the boulder that had interrupted the man's first aid. If the man had no way of staunching his wounds and was engaged in combat it wouldn't go well for him in the long run.
The sighting of tr frost giant had brought tgr knowledge from his adopted father. The half-elf had learned Mich in his travels imparting as much of his knowledge to his ward.
Cal says quietly to the others " frost giants are quite powerful, immune to the cold, however weak to fire, they are quite accurate with boulders. Hit and run tactics work well if you are able to keep out of sight every time you strike."
Calvoric hoped that the others didn't wish to tangle with the frost giant, the bard wasn't certain that if they were going to fight that the battle would be easy.
Dandelion rides along, only his second time on a horse, but holding up well. If the horse ever held two riders, that would have been similar to Dandelion and gear.
On the road, he keeps an eye out for danger, and seeing the dead horse he can't help but think of the hungry people in Stormhold. He mentions it to Cal and Pribi - "If we write a note, and Grendel the bird brings it back to the town, they can come and get the horse themselves, with a wagon or a litter or something. When we get back we can ensure it is safe to eat."
But the tracks pull them forward, and their grisly find doesn't leave them time for notes. When the giant appears, and Cal tells them about its weaknesses, Dandelion whispers, "Let's move forward, maybe it won't notice us." At the same time he thinks about pulling a few flasks of oil out of his pack, but changes his mind and pulls out a sling bullet instead. "Stay within fifteen feet of me." he says, then again to the cougar (speaking his its own language, telling him to stay close). Then he casts a spell, silently as always, and the silence spreads out from its center, which is sling bullet in his hand. He starts trotting his horse forward, ensuring it stays near the other horse.
Pribi assures Dandelion that her Whispering Wind spell had conveyed the information to those back at Stormhold. You imagine that should those at the outpost have the manpower then they would drag the horse back for the slaughter, and hopefully bring their dead back for a proper burial.
You get your wish and are able to pass through the area as the Silencing magics eradicate all sounds from your those proximal to the epicentre of the oracle. The giant's nigh elemental fury shakes the ground, and is felt in your chest, but it is a strange pantomime indeed with the sound stripped away. Trees are torn asunder as the giant continues its berserk search for the injured human.
As the spell ends you have worked your way far enough away that the sounds of the chase between giant and man have muted significantly.
Grendel flits back and forth, keeping a keen eye out for danger, he confirms that the frost giant has not given chase to the group, as it moves further into the forest in search of its prey, and that there are no obvious dangers between the group and the Tilestu's encampment.
You are halted long before you get close to the encampment, and in hearing the purpose of your journey you are escorted into the heart of the mighty nomadic Tilestu. Weather worn faces impassively track your progress, scarred hands drifting to well kept weaponry, but none make a move to stop you.
A beast of a human, standing fully a head taller than any man you had seen before, and with corded muscles bedecking his battle scared frame shouts and moves too close to those that escort you. Words are exchanged in a language that is unknown to any of you and are punctuated with a heavy punch that breaks your escort's jaw. With wild eyes the giant of a man covers that distance between you and him with jaguar-like speed and grunts in heavily-accented Common tongue, "Why here halfbreeds?"
Pushing his borrowed form, Grendel rising on a thermal gust, mis-matched eyes glaring at the frost giant. Perhaps it was the devastation the druid witnessed as a once great city was completed routing. Grendel embraced the cycle of life, the Balance of Nature to his very core. What was happening, the rise of the Blight, the empowerment of blatantly evil creatures, was wrong.
This wasn't the Cycle re-balancing itself, this Darkness spit vile pestilence in the very fabric of the Natural Balance. Perhaps he was just sick of watching another person being cut down without a chance. 'Maybe I'm just losing my mind,' the druid thinks to himself as he closes the distance. 'After all, the insane are usually the last to know their crazy.'
Rituals of power gathering in his mind, Grendel summons his will and begins to spin Nature's gift. Eyes locked on the giant, Grendel shapes the natural magic, his beak clicked and talons twitching as he completes the ritual. Still several hundred feet away the druid only had one thing that would distract the giant. Grendel summons forth a small volcano behind the roaring giant. It erupts, spewing molten rocks and ash almost as soon as the ground rises up to form the small volcano.
Grendel had a few more rituals that he still had the strength to cast. He just had to get a bit closer. It wasn't hatred that fueled his attacks or magics this time. Grendel felt it necessary to restore what balance he could. Plus, a giant against a single person in combat was pretty much suicide on the non-giants part.
A hawk's cry is conveys a lot more importance than simply warning others of predators, seeking out mates, or declaring one's dominance. This hawk releases a torrent of molten rock that spoils the air and encases the frost giant, charring flesh and burning clumps its hair.
Calvoric's information about the creature's vulnerability to fire proves true, as the spell tears far deeper than Grendel would have expected.
Its rage redoubles, as its eyes cast about seeking to pierce the ash and locate its newest foe, not connecting the hawk's cry with a spell caster.
Waiting until he was positive he was close enough, which was much closer then he would have liked to be, Grendel summons his reserves of will once more and begins a much simpler ritual. Gliding down, Grendel tried to can as much cover from the ash cloud as he could.
The gathering power thunders through his veins, feeling strangely invigorating. The druid could easily see the addiction that arcane casters some times suffer from.
Finishing the ritual, the young druid summons for a fire elemental from the volcano. The elemental uncoiled itself from it's home plane to answer the call of the druid.
The summoning is sufficient to momentarily draw away the giant's cruel eyes, chips of glacial ice, from following its newest challenge.
Summoned forth from planes unknown is a creature that looks like a living, mobile bonfire, tongues of flame reaching out in search of things to burn. It slides forth throwing its flaming body at the giant with wild abandon. Slamming into the giant hurts, especially so because Grendel has learned to amplify the creature's already impressive power, but not as much as the flames that cling to the monster.
Moving so close to a creature with such long arms opens one's defences, and the frost giant's greataxe sweeps left to right and ends the elemental's visitation to the Material Plane on its backstroke. A wash of ash joins the volcanic ash, as the summoned monster is no more.
An enraged scream erupts, as the burning giant has sported a brand new dagger, this time housed in its spleen.
It casts its eyes back to the trees, wondering where the wounded Jaevan might be hiding, then flicks its head to track the movement of the hawk.
'That didn't work quite as well as I had hoped,' Grendel thinks to himself as he uses the heat to ascend. The druid felt extremely uncomfortably being that close to the giant.
When he gets a little over a hundred feet away, the druid begins casting once more. This time he Calls Lightning to his aid, concentrating upon the massive Frost Giant.
'Yup, definitely crazy,' chirps his mind.
Dandelion, Calvoric, and Nagrish become aware that their druidic companion has launched an attack from on high against the giant that they had avoided. Whether brave or foolhardy will only be determined at the end of the battle.
The column of lighting tears a swath across the land, the giant stepping aside at the last moment to only accept a glancing blow, though that is enough to blacken its upper chest.
A sweat-stained and exhausted Jaevan sprints forth from the trees, his heavily blood soaked jerkin wrapped tightly around his leg, gripping his last dagger, seeking to take advantage of a melee combatant to work opposite of, but the short work the giant makes of Grendel's summoned minion has him reconsider mid-stride, and instead he moves back into the trees. The desperate move was ill-devised as blood flows much more freely from his wounded leg as he limps the last few feet and collapses.
Impossible power culminates in a throw that leads the half-orc druid, turned hawk, instantly taking into account his small size, the extended distance, ash in the air, flight speed, and all other factors that would easily foil such an attempt.
Grendel's head smacks back at something that outweighs him by a factor of 40 smashes into him, nearly snapping his neck. It takes a moment to recover both senses, and to arrest his fall, but he is equal to the task. Another blow like that might be fatal.
The giant continues to burn for a few seconds more then guts out. Its wounds are many, and it is labouring as it tries to fill its expansive lungs, which are currently a repository for great volumes of its blood.
Managing to right himself, and regain altitude, it was a blessing from the spirits if Grendel managed to keep his brain from leaking out the tiny holes that served for avian ears. Let along hold on to his magics. Although his world was still wobbly, the druid wasn't in a free fall, and was pretty confident he still held the Call Lighting ritual.
Eyes seeking out what the giant was hunting, Grendel eyes widen at the sight of Jaevan. His couldn't help but be impressed that the man had held out as long as he has.
Hoping that the human has something else up his sleeve, Grendel focuses once more on the giant.
Lightning arcs from the wisps of clouds above, filling the area with momentarily illumination that steals the breath, and fills the nostrils with the sweetness of ozone. A sack falls from nerveless fingers, racing the greataxe and giant to the ground. Contrails of smoke rise up from the giant's corpse.
Jaevan turns out to still be alive, though only barely.
Time passes, providing opportunity for the group to reunite, loot the corpse, heal wounds, and any other activity that you might wish to undertake.
You stand before the enraged giant of a Tilestu, who has spat a question and demands you answer him lest he leave your entrails for the birds to devour. Many warriors watch the proceedings with unreadable expressions on their faces.
An anchored boat can be seen a short distance off shore, which would be ideal for your purposes, should anyone have any familiarity with the seas, or navigation.
It might just be your imagination, but it is unseasonably warm for this time of year, and it is much brighter at this time of day than you would normally expect.
Landing near Jaevan, Grendel releases his hold upon the form of the eagle, and flows back into his birth form. Standing a little unsteadily, the druid wipes a trickle of blood from his nose. 'I'm going to have a hell of a headache soon,' he thinks to himself.
"Hello Jaevan, happened to be in the district, looked like you could use a hand," Grendel remarks as he runs a Healer's eye over the mans wounds. He bandages up the worst of them, trying to work somewhat quickly. He didn't want the other four to get into get themselves into trouble while he was gone.
"I'm not sure if your spell is still working Pribi, but the giant is dead and one of the messengers is alive, we should be there soonish," Grendel says, unsure if the gnomish woman's spell is still active. He catches the look from Jaevan as he bandages his wounds. "Sorry, I'm not crazy, a friend cast a spell for communication and I was wondering if it's still active."
Looking over the giant's gear, Grendel thinks for a few moments. Aside from whatever loot that might be servible to non giants, he looks for one of it's weapons. He doubted the barbarians would respect words as much as they would a show of superior strength. Given that he will probably have to aid Jaevan in walking, Grendel settles for removing one of the giants eyes for a trophy.
"Let's get moving, I don't want to leave the others by themselves. It always seems like they get into trouble," the druid chuckles as he cuts a square of cloth from the giant's hide clothing to carry the eyeball. Grendel did find it strange that the giant's blood was cool, almost cold.
Jaevan does indeed require assistance as his leg has been slashed right down to the bone, and the right side of his face and chest is a large contusion. He needs healing magics to close his wounds, even a small spell might be the difference between life and death.
As Grendel collects his gruesome prize, the rogue gathers up his daggers, which are housed in a number of hidden areas about his person.
The group reunites and carries on.
Dandelion had cast a few cure spells on Jaevan as soon as he had seen him. The knife thrower would live another day, and throw more knives.
Also, he had searched the giant's sack and found a magic hammer. It might do well in a battle, and look impressive to the fickle tribesmen.
Now a 6'10" Dandelion looks up to a human larger than he is. He looks him in the eye, not threatening but defiant. "Stormhold requires food. We thought a prosperous tribe such as the Tilestu must have some livestock to trade for. The courageous Stormhold citizens battle the darkness in the distance just as the city of Mauem falls to the marauding hordes of giants and others."
Calvoric also had also spent one of his spells in healing Jaevan, helping ensure that the silent one would make it another day. Cal spent more of his Songs on Grendal, the druid had acted more courageous then the bard.
Upon Dandelion started speaking, the bard started to hum, keeping it subtle merely adding just a hint of drama and hope in adding weight to Dandelion's words.
Calvoric understands how to maintain dramatic tension, amplify an audience's emotional tension, and provide them sweet release just when the experience had become almost too intense. While he gets a few stares at the beginning, by the end he has the barbarian chief, and the gathered throng, figuratively eating out of his hands.
Dandelion's words are delivered with perfect timing, inflection, but mostly conveying a deep pool of feral intensity that is only amplified by the giant's warhammer he holds. Grendel revealing the giant's eye further corroborates the oracle's acquisition of weaponry, If there was any remaining doubt of the group's prowess then the tribe is provided with the location of the giant's corpse.
Not only does Simr, the barbarian chieftain, agree to immediately lend assistance to the people of Stormhold, but also provides use of his ship as long as you agree to return it within 25 nightfalls; providing you with as many as 3 days to complete your business with the culd. Tribesmen return to their toil and the entire attitude within the encampment changes in an instant: you are now welcome as one of them, and will be until you destroy that trust.
Pribi magically relays the group's success with the Tilestu to those in the Stormhold.
Glancing around at the numbers of savage warriors about you, veterans of dozens of wars, and innumerable conflicts, you are positive that you have done right by the refugees of Muraem, and those that reside in the outpost. If anyone can keep those people safe, it is the Tilestu.
--
After breaking bread with the barbarians, an experience you will never ever forget, you find yourself heavy drunk and aboard a small sea vessel with bloodstained boards and some rudimentary understanding of navigation and how to work a ship.
You muddle through over the next tenday and more, though it is a humbling experience.
Jaevan is brought along so you can watch him over his recovery, and in no small part since you have the knowledge that leaving him with the barbarians will likely result in a wickedly-sharp greataxe being dropped on his throat to end his suffering. His shoulder has been badly dislocated at some point during the exchange with the frost giant, likely from the impact of the boulder, but what is most troublesome is the blow he took to the head. During your ministrations, having stripped him of his doublet to bind his shoulder, you observe horrific burned flesh across the man's chest, shoulder and upper abdomen.
Surprisingly Pribi also joins you aboard ship, though she is seasick almost immediately, and looks as if the journey is a torture to her. She spends her entire time belowdeck, nestled near the stores, and agrees to watch the wounded human to the best of her ability when she is not filling a bucket with the contents of her stomach.
---
On the second day a slightly-green Pribi offers to tattoo anyone that wishes it with the tattoo she had provided to Bragh, Xelien, Dimqu and Aryaa. It is a process that will take days, so she will need time and space to work. As she demonstrated in The Vulgar Virgin she uses an illusion over the flesh, then tattoos along the illusionary lines.
--
The enigmatic Jaevan rouses on the fourth day and is able to keep food down for the first time. He remains silent as a shadow, miserly withholding his words unless he has to grudgingly release a syllable. This is a man of action, not words, and he simply avoids conversations unless they are absolutely crucial to achieving his ends.
He becomes a wonderful recipient of the gnome's babbling. Within a day he is told everything about the group, their quest, what had transpired to this point, and details, to an excruciating degree, of Pribi's life. Perhaps he is a good listener, or could not care less, but more likely he simply cannot get away.
A day or two later, likely prompted by the need for a moment's peace, he is seen above decks. He moves gingerly, but you can see that he has accepted on of Pribi's tattoos and has retrieved his lost gear.
--
A question earlier posed is answered as you travel past the wall of roiling blackness, which stretches up into the sky and also descend to the deepest depths of the sea. As with the area near Muaem and Dewsdam you sight many monstrous creatures gathering near the blackness, making your time proximal to it far more interesting than you would have liked.
New wounds are bound and magically healed, and you hope the barbarians will not notice the scars and acid burns their vessel has received.
--
Your eighth night aboard ship is your most horrifying as everyone that finds sleep is roused as something massive strikes the ship, causing all manner of cracks to appear in the hull, which you promptly fill with batten.
As you drift toward your destination you are positive that it is becoming unseasonably warm, and that the seas are rising as you see flooded docks and houses that foolishly clung to the shoreline.
--
Perhaps 2 hours before you find shore you once again witness as fire scorches the sky. Hundreds of lances of white-hot fire, trailing luminous purple vapour and sparkles of yellow light relentlessly collide with the ground and seas with explosive force. This horrifying bombardment continues on and on long after the ship is anchored.
You see the massive fire in the distance, fascinated as it obliterates absolutely everything in its path. It burns uncheck, out of control, tendrils of ash obscuring the moon's light.
The ship is anchored a short distance from the shore a mile upwind from where the fire destroys the port city of Alansis, and Pribi agrees to remain with it to ensure she has secured your return. She repeats, "3 days, but 2 would be better", as you depart. You are unsure how the Tilestu will react to you breaking a promise, but your mind comes up with a number of rather gruesome thoughts on the matter.
You are confident that the cult operates not 3 miles inland, and the wall of blackness in the distance provides an easy reference point to their location.
Grendel had been checking Jaevan's progress, aided by some of the most powerful healing magics that he could cast. Looking at the burns, the druid realized that the human had probably been a little closer than he would have like when Grendel summoned the volcanic storm.
A smile finds it's way to his face, mostly in place the first few days of travel. The chieftains daughter had been very impressed with his show of strength, slaying the giant, and had found a wonderful way to show her.., appreciation for the deed. 'She's going to give that tribe a surprise when she's in charge,' Grendel thinks of the fiery woman. The smile that lights his face at that thought stretches from ear to ear. It's good to be the prince.
The days aboard the barbarians vessel reminded the young prince of how he came to these troubled place in the first place. His thoughts found their way to memories of his life in the desert lands, and homesickness rather than actual sea sickness was his norm. Rather than letting it depress him, Grendel enjoys the mental glimpse of home. It helped to counter the sight of the Black wall stretching from the depths of the water to the stars themselves.
Spying Jaevan's tattoo, Grendel wanders down to check on the elderly gnome. He inquires on how she is doing and makes a little small talk before asking her to tattoo his flesh. It's curse warding magics may just give them the edge that they need. Almost sheepishly, he asks if she wouldn't mind inking that into his flesh as well as another. The second is a band of colored flames wrapping around his left bicep, from shoulder to elbow. Near the top, where images of home that the prince described to Pribi. The images are spread within the images of the inviting looking flame work. Ichi can be spotted as well as Nagrish, a few other profiles that are unknown except to the prince. Grendel cannot help but marvel at the gnomish woman skill as she works the ink into his flesh.
At the sight of the raining fire, most likely more of the creatures that fought the darkness, a deep frown cuts the druid face.
"I hope we're able to find one of those multi-winged beings alive. I bet they would have some answers for us," the druid says, half to himself, half to the others.
Cal had been busy, letting the members of the tribe know more about frost giants and what they were weak against, along with some ideas on how to fight them. Along with some other tales on brave warriors that had faught the giants, making sure to never downplay the tribe of warriors strength.
The leader of the tribe loaned the group with a ship, which the bard had asked questions on steering the ship, along with what common things to watch out for. It wasn't the first time Cal had been on a ship, after spending time traveling around however, it was better to be informed about the dangers on the ship.
That evening, Calvoric had been telling tales that he had heard, glad to have an audience for a change. After all his habitats of keeping people entertained was his bread and butter so to speak. Waking up in the tent of a tribe's woman wasn't a huge surprise, since the chieftain's daughter was enormoured with Grendal which suited Calvoric just fine. After being chased out of a town long ago after sleeping with the Mayor's daughter had not been a fun day.
Sea travel wasn't as enjoyable, as they happened to be little new folk to listen to new tales. The bard took to singing sea shanties, helping the others with tasks on a boat with the power of the Song. Dandelions lack of hear was troubling, so Cal took to slapping the rail, keeping the rhythm going, allowing the Oracle something new.
As for the damage on the reefs, Cal used his magics to make repairs as best as he was able to. Not thrilled at damaging the loan of the ship, which Cal just knew wasn't going to be received well.
Cal had Pribi tattoo the elvish word for wolf on his arm along with an image of a wolf running. Allowing the gnome to install her protection tattoo as part of his new design.
" Ah agree Grendal, it could be useful to say the least.". Cal says with a grin