With daylight wasting, Luthael turns from the distant towering vine and gets the small band of cursed refugees moving again. With the cure for this affliction beyond his current abilities, their only real hope was Benedict Tavis, High Sunpriest of the Lingenau temple. The man was the oldest in the city, but as far as Luthael knew, was still the first to arrive for services in the morning and the last to bed after a day of providing prayers, healing, counseling, and comfort to any who openly stepped into the sanctuary of the sun. If he could just hold out another day or two, surely together, Luthael and Benedict could overcome this demonic curse and cure these folk of its affliction. He would not, could not, give up.
"I cannot vait to be vith you my leetle pumkeen of love. I am coming as fast as I can. Oh! Is that you my pet? Descending like an angel to my arms?" The distant echoing voice grows slowly closer and closer giving Scramsax the extra boost of energy to finish his desperate task.
The [/i]Grandmother's Old Time Lemonade Lost and Found[/i] shack finally gives way. The boards futilely objecting to the halfling's prying efforts with one last desperate groan before giving up. With a rending snarl the shack breaks free of the beanstalk's grip and plunges downward. Bits and pieces fly off the wooden shack as it rapidly makes its descent. Oversized bean leaves and loose tertiary vines are ripped and torn as the shack chases after the makeshift stuffed mannequin wearing Scramsax's spare clothing.
"I've got yo...OOF! The nerve grinding voice abruptly cuts off. Scramsax grins. For the moment the task is complete and he is able to bask in the lack of witnesses.
Aterro calls upon Thor's grace. The holy warriors electrical power filter's through the sickly elf stunning and subduing the demonic entities within her body, but not removing them altogether. A task made somewhat easier by the sunlight now shining overhead. Arianna's pain recedes as the paladin moves his hands across her stricken body. By the time Aterro is finished, there is only the occasional twinge or minor pain. A signal all is still not well, but not nearly as debilitating as a short while ago. How long will the relief last? Arianna gazes toward the midday sun, knowing the days are shorter as autumn is in full swing and winter's darkness is not so very far away.
As Aterro finishes his healing work, Ingryd contemplates a long, long, long climb in search of Scramsax. But with their gaze turned upward both bearkin and Gunnar notice a tiny speck. The speck grows and grows until they see that it is a pair of halfling sized creatures falling just ahead of the remains of one of the lemonade stand booths.
Horrified, the two recognize Scrams tatty second outfit. The one that's seen more than it's fair share of scuffles and mistreatment over the last several months.
Hooold...ooon..my....leeeetle...darlink! aaiiiYYYEEEEEEEEYYYYYIIIIIIAA The high pitched, feminine voice echoes and grows as it screams on the way down. Even with her cheeks fluttering with the rapid descent and hair twirling out behind, she maintains an almost unnatural sensual beauty. Her arms scrambling and reaching out for the other halfling silently plummeting a few feet ahead.
Halfling, halfling, and the entire Lost and Found shack hit with devastating force. One atop the other. Debris from the wooden booth scatters in a wide arc, including a chunk of a chilled lemonade mug that clatters off Aterro's helm with a mild *clang*.
"Thank you, Aterro. That helped," Arianna says before her ears twitch and she looks skyward. For a moment her worry about the shortening days is pushed aside as she sees two halfling-sized shapes plummeting before the half-wrecked lost and found. She winces as it all comes crashing to the ground, and wonders which would hurt worse, the wriggling things eating her from the inside or going splat on the ground just before a small shed lands on top.
"Well, the good news is that neither of those were Scramsax," she tells the others. "The bad news is that we still have a dead halfling and Scramsax is still up in the beanstalk."
“Oh,” says Gunnar, ”I wasn’t sure that’s where he went, but it makes sense that would put him out of range for his mind speech. In that case, hold on—we are going for some altitude.”
Grabbing the controls and saying the command word, Gunnar sets the carpet on a course for the top of the beanstalk. Looking at Aterro, he says gratefully, ”Many thanks…I don’t know if she would have made it without your aid.”
To Arianna, he asks, ”What did you eat, drink, or touch in that shadow realm that might have caused you to contract this disease?”
Luthael keeps moving everyone forward focusing on the certainty of the sunrise and Khors' love. He wonders what the Nasty are doing, if they were able to catch those gnomes if they'll make it to Lingenau.
Father Benedict is not much further now. They should be able to save these people. In Khors we trust.
"I didn't eat or drink anything. Probably not wise in a place so close to the Shadow Realms. I did buy the clothes I'm wearing, and I touched some stuff in the lost and found while looking for my things. I don't think it was that anyway. The people that were getting sick were more tossing their stomachs than doubling over in pain."
"Do you want some blessed honey? It may ease your belly" Ingryd says on the carpet as she smiles down at Arianna.
"I don't... think..." Arianna's voice trails off as she looks up at the gnome-loon bobbing on its string that also anchors it to her wrist. She hauls it down, so she can hold it in both hands and turns it's distorted gnomish face to look at her.
"What did you do to me after you knocked me senseless," she asks it, her eyes cold and hard.
Ingryd sighs and looks at Aterro."It's good honey, the Goddess never fails. Also, do you think Scram will like his shirt" The bearkin says as she holds out the Bearkin Child size small shirt, which looks more Arianna's size than Scrams.
Scram was lying on his belly near the edge of the towering stalk, his little pocket mirror at a special angle to inspect the handiwork below. Satisfied that at the least the insane nympho appeared to no longer be in pursuit, Scram brushed his hands of the matter. No meant no, after all...a man had to have boundaries.
Stabbing a torch into the meat of the stem near a windbreak, the halfling struck flint and warmed his hands by the fire. The thief was an excellent climber, but such a distance would take strength and endurance...and the cold would quickly sap his dexterity. He had Gunnar's stolen Feather magic, but hadn't memorized the formula for the weight/duration ratio just yet. His mind then drifted to maple seeds, the twirling blades that cusioned descent...the rogue would trust his friends before painting something like that into reality and getting dizzy.
Besides, he had loot to enjoy. Opening his lootsack, he surveyed the spoils of the latest heist...
"Sorry, Ingryd. I can still feel things wriggling inside of me, though not as much as before," Arianna explains. "I didn't think honey could help with that, though I would like some after we get rid of whatever is chewing on my insides."
As they sail upwards towards the top of the beanstalk, Gunnar says, "Oh, I see," then again as the implication hits him, "Oh my! That means that whatever parasitic infestation you have, you already had when we rescued you. That could mean the others we rescued..."
Gunnar's brow furrows as he works out the likelihood that Luthael may have a congregation of infested people on his hands, then he focuses on urging as much speed as possible out of the carpet as they ascend.
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Aterro was surprised when he felt drained by the Laying on of hands. For whatever malignant spirit was causing the bard's illness, it was most certainly not one of a normal nature.
"Apologies, Arianna. I feel I have failed in my attempt to eradicate it completely. Perhaps we can hold it at bay with daily treatments."
Exhausted as he was he could only idly watch at the display of falling halflings. Then, assured that one of them was not their own errant hairfoot, he felt calmed.
"Gratitude, Ingryd. None can doubt the quality of your honey. Indeed, after Arianna recovers some more, no doubt it will prove a good balm to speed her recovery.
For the nonce, should we not take this flying carpet up the bean stalk to search for Scramsax, if, as Arianna has observed, he is still high up awaiting rescue?"
You do find a dozen different articles of clothing. All are oversized for one of your stature. Most are just various elven shirts in a variety of colors. There is a lightweight Nurian jacket with My mummy is a mummy! embroidered across the back in gaudy yellow and red letters. A long purple and green striped knit scarf made from some of the itchiest wool you've ever encountered. And one Grandmother's Lemonade cap, the ole crone's iron toothed face grinning across the front.
There are a couple of other odd, but interesting items. A very realistic looking glass eye, a small orb marked with the four cardinal directions and an arrow that points north no matter which direction you turn, a candle that appears to be sweating constantly, a bottle of sweet smelling perfume, and a doll that says "Tommy is a bas$%#d!" or "Soon, I'll have my revenge!" or "The voices made me do it!"
With a growing sense of urgency Gunnar gets everyone aboard the Nasty Rug and lifts off. As the carpet carries Aterro, Gunnar, Ingryd, and Arianna upward, the true mass of the beanstalk starts to become apparent. It is nearly five hundred feet in diameter at the base and clearly stretches upward for miles disappearing into the gathering clouds.
Several others who'd been scooped up in the stalk's explosive growth spurt are slowly climbing their way down. You pass one of the weaselkin band members, carefully slinking its way down. The goblin server, his uniform in tatters and soaked in sticky lemonade, sits dumbstruck within the remains of the stand jammed between a trio of thick vines. A pair of shadow fey are busy giggling as they slowly pan some kind of hand held crystal out and down.
"Can you believe it!" One of the two elven girls says with astonished delight. "I mean this is so weird am I right? But look at the view. Are you getting all of this? We are so totally going to go viral with this."
Gunnar passes them as quickly as possible only to come across an ogre couple slowly making their way down.
"Did you plan this Mortimer? I just know you did. You just wanted to get out of cleaning the subcave tonight didn't you? I knew we shouldn't have come tonight." Yammers the burly female ogre toward her companion who sighs and keeps climbing.
"No! No, Ethel, I did not plan for a giant beanstalk to carry us away and I told you I'd clean the cave tomorrow." Replies the male, muttering something else under his breath.
"Sure you will. You'll be too tired now. I swear, my mother warned me she did. I should've listened...."
The voice slowly fades as Gunnar spirals around the other side of the beanstalk. Two hundred feet further up another voice calls out.
"Help! Help! Anyone, please help!" Gunnar brings the carpet around to investigate and finds a half-orc dangling from a thin outer vine. She appears to have slipped while attempting to climb down and is unable to regain her footing on the main trunk. As you approach, she slips another few feet as the small, thin vine she clings to weakens and pulls free.
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"That...is a big vine," Aterro states the obvious with a deadpan reserved for the sublime.
As the flying carpet passes the bickering couple, he observes, "I could use the combat practice," indicating the two ogres. "I feel that death would come as a friend to both of them. And as ogres I doubt they play for the side of the angels."
Aterro was just about to formulate an argument for flying around and helping some of the poor unfortunate souls that they were seeing, when the more obvious and immediate plight of the half-orc comes to their attention.
"We should at least save her. If we do not wish to spend time as a ferry, we could at least carry her to a more stable step.
Bleib hier! Wir kommen um zu helfen," he calls to the half-orc, trying to comfort her in a natice tngue.
Noticing the orc’s distress, Gunnar flicks his wrist and casts Feather Fall on the unfortunate creature. “You have 600 feet to fall before you speed back up again—make good use of it,” he calls as they climb past her, hoping she has the sense to angle back in towards the stalk if she is more than 600 feet above the ground.
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Scram was chilly, and decided (what the hell) now was as good a time as any to put the paints to good use. The artist began with a large rocky circle of smooth edged obsidian, quickly filling the gaps with boiling hot springs. He included a dry cave nearby, which had a small source of actively flowing lava making sauna-like conditions inside. Finally, he scattered the scene with tasteful landscaping, including flowers for decoration with maple trees and wicker for private changing areas.
Of course he couldn't forget at least one mud bath, with a briar patch of cucumbers nearby ready to be sliced. Mindful of costs, he included only one large deer-skin blanket.
One final touch engraved a stone pillar with the words 'Stalker's Retreat'. A few feet below (and chiseled in much tinier letters) was a waterfall of legalese describing the terms, conditions, dodges of liability and responsibility typical to those running a world-class spa. There was a particularly sketchy terms of use agreement which allowed users of the spa to use credit (sure!) but it was clearly an interest-trap that would make the legal proprietor (one Scramsax the Esthetician) a boatload of gold.
After it all came alive, Scram put a soup on using some of his dry rations, sliding the pot close enough to the lava to keep it simmering. While waiting for the vegetable broth to get more flavorful Scramsax dozed off in the hotsprings... naked save a pair of cucumber slices over his eyes.
As the carpet climbs and the temperature drops, Arianna rummages around in her pack and pulls out a couple of thick blankets she'd missed in her first look through when she had found it. She wraps herself into a blanket burrito and snuggles close to Ingryd.
"When I was a child, my parents would tell me tales of giants in castles built on the clouds. I wonder if there's one up at the top."
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"You are right,Aterro it is great honey" She says as she settles in and adjusts herself.
Later as they climb, she notes Arianna snuggling up, and the MOther in her began to shift the elf and hold her close wrapping not only her arms but her cloak about her. Ingryd nods.
"I told my children the story of Jak the Gaint Slayer. A young reckless cub, that made a bad deal. The deal was gold for three beans. His grandma scolded him and threw out the beans, Beans were not a goat, However, the beans grew into a mighty stalk and Young Jak climbed that talk the next day" Ingryd says as she began to say, she cradled Arianna keeping her warm and comfortable.
Ingryd distracts Arianna with old bearkin tales as the carpet climbs higher and higher and the air turns cold. The sickly elf finds herself tucked in comfortably beneath the blankets and Ingryds thick fur.
Meanwhile, Aterro calls out to the desperate half-orc, her green skin turning a bit bluish in the freezing air. She's dressed in a tight fitting Paanfear shirt, trousers, and knee high black boots. A small pack is draped across her back and a silver handled short sword dangles at her belt. Her curly, dark hair is cut so it falls just to the base of her neck. An attractive woman, but not striking or having nearly the same appeal briefly glimpsed by the halfling woman so recently seen crashing into the ground.
"Oh thank the shadow queen herself." She says her breath coming in gasps as she looks at the floating carpet and Aterro's warm smile while struggling to maintain her hold on the weakening vine. "If you good give me a lift, I'd be most..."
Gunnar casts his spell and delivers his straight faced dismissal before spiraling the carpet higher.
"What?! That's it? But I thought..." SNAP!* Her surprised and disappointed response is cut off as the vine finally gives way and she begins her slow descent toward the ground. She starts to holler back up at the departing rug, but then remembers that she only has a limited distance and rapidly starts flailing about to slowly bring herself closer to the beanstalk and a more sturdy set of vines to use climbing down.
The journey upward continues. A trio of dwarves wearing small feathered caps, checkered shirts and short pants are methodically working their way upward. They frown as the carpet whirls past. The lead dwarf picking up the pace even.
"I just knew some wizard would have to be first to the top." The second dwarf growls.
"Aye, but we'll be the first to make the actual climb. Flying carpets and flying wizards don't count." The leader hollers back jauntily.
Higher. Gunnar spots a rustling in the dense foliage of the beanstalk. He moves the rug a bit closer only to jerk it back quickly as a set of massive golden eyes suddenly blink at him from the dim, shadow filled depths. Well, beyond halfling sized, the gleaming hungry orbs are definitely not those of the lost Scramsax.
The journey upward continues as Gunnar takes the carpet into the misty bottom most edge of the clouds now swirling around the beanstalk.
Higher up, wrapped, deep within clouds, Scramsax bathes in the refreshing beanstalk hot springs of Stalker's Retreat. The sound of letters tinkling softly echoes throughout the warm enclave as liquid runes cascade down the legalise waterfall into the Pool of Species Resources. Stew burbles over the lava, emitting a warm spicy aroma that drifts out into the open air. A set of thick stone-warmed towels wait in fluffy anticipation just outside the pool along with an assortment of fine scented lotions and oils. Carved from the heart of the beanstalk by magic paints, the respite offers both the casual and professional climber a welcome respite from the grueling ordeal of scaling the mighty beanstalk.
The storm clouds continue to build and work their way across the mountains. Soon the bright light of the sun turns to a filtered gray light. Keeping a close eye on his charges, Luthael quickly spots the signs that the parasitic curse and its demonic denizens are working to take advantage of the sun's diminishing strength. Even as the first drops of rain splash upon the cold ground the prophet of Khors is calling a halt and leading preparations for camp and another long hard night. One that is getting an even earlier start thanks to the storm.
Luthael has had to ride in the wagon to avoid slowing everyone down. His body exhausted from maintaining the radiant blessings of the his divine patron to hold back the demonic disease.
When they stop, the prophet stumbles and face plants into the muck. Anette helps him stagger to his feet. He calls for the divine light of Khors to illuminate his rituals which keep his flock from succumbing to the disease that he has probably already contracted himself.
Arianna tries to listen to the tale, but after her ordeal with the gnomes and the recent gnawing done on her insides, she finds herself drifting off to sleep. She pulls the blankets tighter around herself, bouncing the gnome-loon off of Ingryd's head by accident, and is soon fast asleep.
Ingryd gives a reassuring smile before Arianna falls into a sleep and she holds the elf close cradling her and keeping her warm.
"That's right Ari, sleep, for now, let your dreams keep you and guide you to peace and happiness" Ingryd says in her motherly voice. One she hadn't used in a long while.
"Martha, did she really?!" A high pitched gossipy voice drifts from somewhere just outside Stalker's Retreat.
"Yes! Can you believe the nerve." A second voice. Lower in tone, but exudes gossip like stink on a skunk.
"Well...I never."
"I know! Why Ethel, you wouldn't believe what that little tramp said next. Why she said that I should...Oh!" The voice suddenly cuts off and then returns filled with curiosity. "This is new? Ethel did you know about this?"
"No, no. Not at all my dear Martha. This is the first I've seen of it. Looks nice."
"It does, doesn't it. I could do with a bit of a soak, and what's that smell."
"Some kind of stew I think dear. Ohh...hahaha. My glasses are fogging up. Do take my hand Martha."
"What?! Haha. Of yes, of course, Ethel. I swear you really should talk to someone about your eyes. You've really no need for spectacles."
"Oh I know, but I think they make me look distinguished. Ahhh...there we go."
The two middle aged sprites flitter their way into Scramsax's little spa in the vine. One, with graying auburn hair and a large pair of thick black framed glasses, the other featuring a blondish hair, towered in a beehive that almost distracts from her prominent nose and cheeks just on the verge of sinking to jowls. Both look around with interest at the heated pools, the assortment of oils and lotions. Finally one of the two spritely busybodies spots Scramsax lounging in the Meditation Grotto.
"Ah. Hello there young man. Are you the attendant? I believe Ethel and I will partake in a soak followed by a..." The beehive spins to look at her companion, quirks a bushy eyebrow. "What do you say do we deserve it." She holds out a wriggles her fingers.
"Oh yes. After these last few days, I certainly think we do. A soak and a mani-pedi if you please young man. A fine idea Martha. Simply fine."
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Flying up the beanstalk on the Nasty Rug, Arianna drifts off to sleep wrapped in the warmth of the blanket and Ingryd's arm. Damp and cold quickly seep into everything as Gunnar takes the rug up further into the heart of the clouds circling the gigantic veggie vine. Moisture drips from beards and hair with each misty breath. The occasional odd animal call echoes from further up or off into the heart of the oncoming storm.
Eventually Aterro smells the aroma of cooking camp stew while Gunnar spots the dim glow of fire light glittering off the outer most vines. The source of both light and dinner aroma is currently hidden behind the various oversized bean leaves, but the dwarf does spot two matronly sprites as they suddenly flit deeper into the brush toward the central core of the beanstalk.
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You grow weak. The voice whispers in Luthael's mind as the prophet picks himself up out of the mud. I can help.
Anette, wraps a gentle arm around Luthael's shoulders, offering her own strength to bolster his own. Her hand is warm in his own. Her eyes a source of faith and belief Luthael is able to tap just long enough to call the light into being once again.
A clap of thunder rumbles in the distance. Cold wind swirls across the prairie churning the tall grass into a wild clattering, sea of harvest gold.
"Hold on Luthael." Anette's quiet voice says, her hand still holding his as someone hands her a cup of warm broth. Luthael can't really remember when they stopped and started a fire. But he is grateful for the steaming broth as it warms his tired body, offers a bit of strength. "You have kept us safe and alive for so long, only a little longer now, I'm sure." Her confident words are only slightly disputed by the tremor of fear and concern in her voice.
Another voice. No fear. Only assurance bordering upon arrogance. Only the prophet of Khors wrestles with it's words.
Khor's brought us together for a reason. The voice whispers, cutting through the growing howl of the wind. It is your destiny. Rid the land of the demons. Do as so many of the faith have done before. Cleanse the evil. Rid the world of such abomination, before it is too late. Let me free these souls, bring them into Khor's true light.
I can help.
Thunder rumbles. The light of Khors shines. A tiny beacon in the vast growing gray emptiness of evening and the oncoming storm.
Are you the attendant?
The cucumber slices faced the pixie voices from deep in the boiling pools "Uh...no. I'm just here to check the alkalinity. 'Tis a big problem you know, too much alkaline..." he lied for no reason. Of course Scramsax was the proprieter, not some mere attendant. Besides, the miser would have to pay employees and therefore wasn't about to become the first one.
"I can, however...offer you these." pulling out two huge cucumbers, which was extra-odd considering the halfling was naked.
"Thank you Anette." Luthael expresses his gratitude and struggles with every step and breath.
Centering himself for meditation and prayer beneath the holy light, the prophet internally replies, Yes. Khors brought us together for a reason. But, everything else you say is untrue. I will see you destroyed and rid you of Midgard.
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"Wow. That is a big beanstalk," Aterro observed in their way up, giving credit to the obvious.
Seeing the bard nod off he felt himself relax into an ease and enjoy the ride.
Thinking himself of the plan he had, and thinking it no batter time to try it, he pulled out one of the CoolMUGs he had procured, and poured some tepid wine from a skin into it. He let the thing do...whatever it was going to do for a bit, and then tried a sip. Magnificent! The liquid had indeed cooled pleasantly to a refreshing temperature.
He finished his drink and felt warmed for it. No doubt he was now inured to more cold than these climes could bring. Although, if they went much higher, how much colder could it get? He had seen snow-capped tops, of course, but just now was understanding how they go that way.
"Methinks I detect a cooking brew? Up here, in this monstrous garden? Ha! No doubt that is our halfling friend pulling another trick from his sleeve as he makes himself comfortable and awaits rescue. Ha! We need not have hurried!
Had we taken a fortnight to get here no doubt he would have constructed a manse and resort, charging wondering families by the head!"
Aterro continued to take his ease, waiting for the end of the trip and looking forward to another leisurely journey down.
Spotting the resort the others mentioned, Gunnar says, “Indeed, that does seem rather typical of our rapscallion,” as he arcs the rug in towards the tantalizing stew smell.
Gunnar lands the rug on the small ledge just outside the cavern entrance. Steam swirls out and up from the opening that glows bright red, presumably from the various pools of lava one can see bubbling inside. A large stone just outside the entrance is labeled Stalker's Retreat.
Stepping past the dangling leaves, Gunnar and Aterro come upon a curious scene. It is a large cavern filled with steaming hot springs, lava pools, and a single large cooling pool. Small displays of various oils, lotions, and liniments sit next to several of the hot springs along with a stand containing fluffy, warmed folded towels. A pot of stew bubbles on an iron stand setup across a small patch of lava.
Two middle aged sprites hover above a dripping, naked Scramsax who appears to be offering the two fey a rather oversized cucumber even as the slices covering his eyes slide away to plop unceremoniously into the steaming waters of the pool he stands in.
"Alkalinity?" The two sprites say in unison. Ethel, her glasses steaming up yet again, lifts the thick framed specs from her nose and squints down at Scramsax. "Looks as if your tester has gone on the blink, wouldn't you say so Martha?"
"Oh Ethel! You're utterly terrible." The long nosed sprite says with a stifled giggle-snort before recovering her more than serious face and tone. "Now look here young man. We've had a rather long day and are looking forward to a good solid soak." She says waving off the halfling's offered vegetable. "We're not interested in your chemical testing or whatever you young folk are calling it these days." She turns and directs herself and her companion toward one of the pools farther back in the cavern.
"Come along Ethel. We'll leave the boy to his testing."
"Yes, yes. Quite right Martha. I'm coming. Ooop!" The sound of bottles spilling to the ground rattles the cavern as Ethel bumps into one of the stands. Martha rolls her eyes and takes her friend by the hand. "Oh. I'm terribly sorry." Ethel says.
"Really Ethel, those glasses are just the most nonsensical thing. Now do come along. I'm sure someone will be along to clean that up and bring us a drink shortly."
A few minutes later, after the removal of various girdles, support bra's, hosiery and other accoutrements, the two sprites sink their naked, gravitically challenged, plump bodies into a pool with a variety of satisfied oohhhs and ahhhs.
Arianna wakes with the crashing of glass and the tittering of matronly sprites. She groans in protest at having her rest cut so short as she stirs.
"Nnn. Why 'zit so loud?"
She slips off the carpet and sheds a couple of blankets as she notices the warmth of the cavern and sees two sprites she'd hoped never to see again.
"Not you two, again," she groans as she sees Ethel and Martha lounging in one of the hot springs.
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"Is it he that needs rescuing by us, or the other way 'round?" Aterro murmurs sardonically seeing the oasis paradise dumped in the literal middle of nowhere.
"Wait, you know these two old biddies?" he asks, internally debating whether a hot soak might be too nice to pass up the opportunity. He had to admit that after a successful mission, getting in a hot soak, perhaps with a bite of that stew, might not be what the doctor ordered.
"Unfortunately, yes. They hired me to perform at a party, complained the whole time, then paid me a quarter of what we agreed to," she explains. "Then they had the nerve to curse my hair to be a horrid green color for a month."
While there's not murderous intent in her eyes, there's definitely anger as she glares daggers at the the sprites.
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Aterro hadn't really been listening.
With the idyllic scene before him, he was already gauging the feasibility of stripping off his armor and soaking his long-sore muscles in the warm, inviting waters. Perhaps he would take an idle hour swapping half-truths and full lies with the biddies. With a bowl of that stew and a mug of sweet, cold ale, one could perhaps--
"Eh what?" he asked the bard, something she said clattering in his head. "A quarter of what they agreed to? They broke their word? You would...swear to this?
Mayhap our meeting is not purely by chance. No doubt Thor has put them in our path to give them chance to re-think such an insult. Perhaps it was all a misunderstanding?
Do you concur to an attempt to make good on their remuneration now?"
Aterro had no great love for law or contracts, but to engage labor and not pay for it was simply theft. A kind of slavery, did one take it as such.
This must needs be made right.
'Eat first, legalities later" Ingryd said hungry again and then looks at the others.
"Especially up here, the air is cold, and you all will need a full stomach to keep your body heat up." The ursine woman says familiar with the biting cold, despite the fact he didn't feel it much, but it was there and she knew the less hairy races were not used to such extremes.
Scram shrugged as the granny-fey duo totally trashed his precious sidehatch supply of oils and perfumes...and incense. It was all highly flammable, after all. One little spark or magma pop from the lava pool would take care of the annoyance, burning them alive in agony as the halfling imagined. Yes, vaporizing the pixies while the polished obsidian of the spa would be left unharmed. Things would work themselves out as they always did, of course there was no need to prematurely evacuate the insanely nice hot-water dunk...
The thief slid down another inch, letting every knot of his muscles relax.
It only lasted a moment as the others emerged from the bean brush. "Ah, welcome friends, to the Stalker's Retreat! Of course the first soak is on the house." giving them a wink. As much as the scoundrel lied there was no way to know if he was being serious or not. At Ingryd "Yes, thats New Barsellan Scram Chowder you smell. Go ahead and have at it, I didn't put anything weird in it or anything." the thief promised.
“What wild scheme has brought you to this place, Scramsax? Whatever it is, we cannot tarry long. Whatever shadow parasite afflicts Arianna likely infects those others we rescued. We must return to Luthael as soon as possible,” says Gunnar, though he seems quite intrigued by the fragrant soup.
”Although certainly we should take this marvelous soup with us to eat along the way,” he adds.
" I assumed Scram is the cause of all this, the Bean Stalk the bath, the soup!"Ingryd says laughing as she looks at the others.
"What Scram is a powerful fellow"
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Gunnar's words seem prescient as the dwarf no more than finishes his thought when Arianna gasps and doubles over in sudden pain. Clutching her gut, all can see the rippling of her flesh as something underneath struggles to get out. Is it the heat of the lava, that has reawakened the beasts within? The lack of light? The residual magical energies of the beanstalk, Scrams grotto? The answer to such questions remains a mystery as all thoughts of missed payments or arguments over musical choices are forgotten as Arianna's cries of pain echo in the magical cavern.
But really if Arianna had known of the animosity between the two families, she would never have sung The Ballad of the Midnight Primrose at young Desirae Perriwinkle's quinceanera. It was an honest mistake. Unfortunately one that the prim, proper, and quite fuzzy Baronesse Bertha Louise Magenta Perriwinkle could not abide. After all, there were momentary gasps of shock followed by titters of laughter rippling throughout the grand hall. Jokes made at her grand nieces expense that soon sent the girl, who most unfortunately acquired her clan's prominent nose and long chin, bursting into tears for several long minutes while Bertha's daughter futilely attempted to calm the spoiled girl. This was not really helped by Bertha's own outrage and embarrassing mention that Desirae had recently been put aside by young Mathias Primrose for the likes of that scatter brained Emily Starflower. In fact, this created a much greater flood of tears and even more tittering from the shadow haunted corners of the hall. Yet, this fact is not mentioned by any openly or within the hearing of the Baronesse. Of course, Bertha's no-good lay-about son-in-law barely noticed the entire incident. His attention occupied by yet another round of pillbug billards with his equally lazy and no-good friends.
The whole incident created quite a fuss and the entire fiasco was the most dreadful talk of the court for nearly two days until young Duchess Marigold was caught in the barn with none other than Sir Horace of Lower Falls. For her part, Arianna, after receiving only partial payment returned to the shadow roads and was only a few weeks later abducted by the gnomes and their infernal allies.
Arianna starts to answer Aterro as she remembers how her hair had just returned to its natural color just before she was caught by the gnomes when a flash of pain causes her to double over. Whatever it is inside of her is trying to gnaw at her innards again, but she grits teeth and chokes down the scream. Thankfully, it seems that this time it wasn't too bad.
"I think we need to grab Scramsax and leave before whatever is inside me tries to get out again or those two mini-hags remember who I am," she tells the others as she staggers back to the entrance of the cave.
At Gunnar's words "Huh? Invictusol in trouble you say?" slipping on some underpants (silken whites with little baby blue embroidered anchors, obviously stolen from some governer's mansion or princess' tower). "Well don't let me hold us up."
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"...because if you're not going to swear to it--" Aterro was stating, already thinking about giving up the effort and going for a dip anyway.
Then the screaming started and his attention was brought back to the immidiate.
"Apologies, Scramsax," he directs at their naked-but-dressing host. "It seems my attempts to keep Arianna's malignancy at bay will not hold. We must needs make haste."
Aterro grabs the pot of stuff in his armored and resistant hands and takes up a seat again on the carpet.
No need to waste it. Can't tell how long the trip will be and they'll help no one dead from hunger.
Starting at 6th level, whenever you or a friendly creature within 10 feet of you must make a saving throw, the creature gains a bonus to the saving throw equal to your Charisma modifier (with a minimum bonus of +1). You must be conscious to grant this bonus.
Ingryd grabs a bowl of stew, and smiles."For the trip"
"Cute undergarments Scram, Oh I got your shirt!" Tosses the halfling the size toddler shirt for Bearkin.
Grabbing clothes, stew, sickly elf, and wayward halfling, the Narg Nasty Six leave the warm confines of Stalker's Retreat and the middle aged sprites who barely seem to notice the rapid departure. At least not until Ethel looks around to find the service boy to bring her a new towel after dropping hers in the pool. Not finding anyone on duty she huffs her way over to another stack of towels, grabs one while managing to knock the others into the lava incinerating them instantly. Complaining of the utter lack of service and a momentary presence of common adventurers, the two leave. Later commentary by the two at the Shadow Court's Midwinter Festival and Royal Ball results in a ten fold increase by high court nobility and residents as they are ensured the two and their immediate circle of noble busybodies wouldn't be caught dead in the place.
The Nasty Rug dives through the clouds. The storm front having moved in now covers most of this western stretch of Rothenian Plain. The lack of sunlight causes Arianna's condition to worsen, which forces Aterro to focus most of his attention on the elf in order to prevent her being ripped to shreds from the inside out by whatever demonic curse is trying to burst free.
By the time the rug lands back at the crossroads, evening approaches and rain pours down. A cold wind blows off the mountains. Despite the weather, the tracks of Luthael's wagon and refugees is clear enough to spot. With the trail set, Scramsax takes the rug back up and makes haste to catch up. A matter of a few hours if the prophet of Khors made reasonable time with the wagon.
The hours go by. Evening turns to full night. Rain continues to fall. Wind blows. Arianna thrashes until Ingryd and Gunnar have all they can handle just keeping her from throwing herself over the side of the rug. Still no sign of Luthael, the wagon, or the refugees.
The rain and cat urine dripping off his face "We have to keep going, yeah?!" determined to find Invictusol.
Luthael manages to make it through another night. Unfortunately, two of the refugees do not. Seeing the demonic parasites breaking free, Luthael is forced to incinerate them and their poor hosts. A former Krakovan farmer named Gavin and Ursula, a cobbler's daughter from Gybick. Death comes quick to the two as Luthael's holy fire consumes them and the evil struggling to slip free.
Anette is a constant source of strength for the prophet who finds his rapidly dwindling. She gently holds her hard, calloused hand upon his shoulder as he watches the flames consume Gavin's body.
"It must be done." She says, her eyes filled with sorrow and understanding as the holy man of Khors is forced to admit a certain amount of defeat on this dark, storm-filled night. It is her belief and his own faith that keeps the light of Khors shining over the small camp for yet another night.
It is his own inner strength that allows him to fend off the other voice whispering in his mind.
How many more must die? How many more will you sacrifice for your own beliefs in how to fight for our god? Will you sacrifice them all to upon your altar of misguided justice?"
I can help.
Ingryd holds on and slumps a bit as she feels weary, Arianna thrashing more violent and harder to control in the rushing winds. She could eat the honey ease the sluggishness from her bones and muscles but jot yet. Not yet.
"Thank you Anette. Know that while their bodies have been purged with holy fire, their souls are in the afterlife with Khors. While we don't rush into the afterlife, we should not fear it, because Khors protects here as well as there." Luthael appreciates her strength and reassures her that anyone incinerated are in a better place than Midgard. For he must brace himself, in case the disease takes Anette or himself from Midgard.
To the whispering artifact, he replies, no one is sacrificed who dies in the faith of Khors. They enjoy the afterlife, unlike you, cursed one.