Ingryd chuckles." You need more hair!"
'Though I have the blood of a Grizzly in me, it takes alot of cold to get me." The honey haired bearkin says as she giggles.
"F-f-f-from th-th-the N-n-north. P-p-prob-b-bab-b-bly s-s-spent t-t-to m-m-m-m-much t-t-time i-in Z-z-z-z-z-zob-beck," Raseri says, though she can only remember a half-dozen times that she was this cold, and most of those have been in the past few days.
Scram was rather physically comfortable from up on her hairy heated seating, wrapped up in custom fitted neon furs. But something was filling the thief with unease mentally "Six, I can't say what's up ahead, but I know what's behind. Tracks in the snow leading right to this spot. Aint gonna take a master rangin' bounty punk to follow us in here. If we're gonna linger might keep on yer toes..."
"T-t-t-t-tracks th-th-th-that howling w-w-w-winds and f-f-f-f-falling s-s-s-s-snow w-w-w-wwill s-s-s-s-soon ob-b-b-bs-s-s-scure."
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After they finally get though, Luthael offers, ”let’s warm up and get ready for spleunking.” He tries not to focus on Raseri’s temperature.
Scram pretended to nod in understanding, the whims of the Margreve being deadly at one end and very helpful for sneaking at the other. With a shrug, she scouted ahead. Ingryd would just rip the face off whatever came, anyways.
While Luthael ponders the least embarrassing way to warm the shivering priestess, Scramsax and his faithful familiar slip further into the depths of the tunnel. Silent as death, dark as night.
Examining the sandy floor, you find dim evidence of tracks. Tracks quite old. It has been a very long time since anyone has made their way along the tunnel. Continuing a little further, the path branches with one continuing northeast, the other leading due east. The water sounds come from the eastern tunnel. Inspecting the intersection further, you discover a series of three marks carved into the rock of the northeast tunnel. To most, the marks would easily be mistaken as just naturally occurring grooves in the rocks, but to one who spent years among the smugglers and thieves of Barsella it is easy to recognize it as a smuggler's mark.
"Th-th-the b-b-b-brush w-w-we c-cut aw-w-w-way, th-th-th-that sh-sh-should h-h-h-help," Raseri tells Luthael as Scramsax scouts the path ahead.
Scramsax was about to make a conscious decision to end the universe again but zappo! At the last second, the merciful halfling altered her plan, returning to the party. "Fork up there. Sounds like one 'o the fox's springs to the right, but Fuzzy's path continues up north a bit. Saw the smuggler's mark. With any luck, cavern preserved the rest of his marks too. What do you say, Darrel? Any of those waterways a hot spring by luck?"
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Inspired to prove himself a worthy and superior provider of warmth and comfort, Luthael ventures back out into the harsh elements as the gray day slowly dims to darkness. But like a bear seeking honey, the prophet of Khors quickly spots a fallen pine tree shrouded amongst several of its still living companions. Nestled in such a place, the aged wood beneath the thick canopy is even reasonably dry and not entirely buried in snow and ice.
Still it is hard axe work to cut, split, bust up and carry back to the cave enough of the old tree to make a decent fire. But it is work gladly done. His arms and back ache by the time full darkness engulfs the forest. A small price to pay to hear the satisfying crackle of flames and feel the warmth filling the cave to thaw Raseri's shivering bones.
Raseri follows Luthael to help, but she fails to spot a patch of ice. She slips and takes a nasty tumble that leaves her bruised and aching on top of being cold. After being helped up, it's clear that she's in no shape to help carrying the firewood in, and returns to the smuggler's cave to wait and rest. The cold continues to sink deeper into her flesh and bones, though the Thorsdottir manages to slow it's progress somewhat as she sulks near where the fire will be made.
After the fire begins to crackle merrily and warm everyone back up, Raseri sits next to Luthael.
"Th--thank you," she says quietly, her words no longer cut up by her chattering teeth. "For this and saving my life back at the falls."
Luthael's blushing is hard to see in the glow of the fire. "My pleasure. Can't lose my swordmaster."
The priestess giggles, her mood much improved by the warmth of the fire.
"I wasn't your master at the falls, at least, not when you saved me from drowning," Raseri says as she tries to ignore the questions that kiss had raised. "And I'm afraid I did more to injure my pride than anything to help with gathering firewood."
As Raseri looks at Luthael, she notices the blush the light of the fire doesn't quite hide. The questions come back louder, and more insistent.
"I--I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I," she asks.
"Um." Luthael manages to reply. "No. You're not making me uncomfortable. This is actually quite comfortable."
Raseri's eyes widen as her cheeks turn bright red, her fair skin unable to hide the blush even with the aid of the firelight.
D-does he like me?!
She looks at the flames, but not before Luthael gets a good look at her surprised expression. The questions are now clamoring to be answered as she tries to think through the implications of what the priest just said. A part of her, a very small part of her that is swiftly bound and gagged by the parts of her that have had no outlet before, screams that this is insane. She shouldn't be acting so impulsively right before they are going to fight for their lives against a powerful and deadly hag.
"Oh! Um?" She hesitates before scooting closer to Luthael. "W-we c-could g-get c-closer. Th-there's still a chill to the air," she says while staring at the fire, still unable to bring herself to ask any of the questions she wants to ask him, that are begging to be asked.
D-do I ask him if he likes me, or if he has someone waiting for him back home?
Raseri feels herself shaking as her stomach ties itself in notes just thinking about asking him either of those things or examining her own feelings more closely.
Once Raseri is free from the threat of freezing to death and everyone has filled their bellies, the intrepid band of heroes begins the journey through the smuggler's caves beneath the Hag's Tower.
Entering the northeast tunnel the light from the entrance quickly disappears leaving nothing but dank darkness. The tunnel continues deeper into the earth in a twisting route for sixty feet. Along the way, the path grows sandier and softer. Everyone also soon hears the sound of trickling water while the moisture is also in the air along with the less pleasant small of sulfur.
Scramsax is quick to point out the evidence of old tracks. So old it is impossible to say who or what may have last ventured here. Continuing a little further, the halfling calls a stop where the path branches with one continuing northeast, the other leading due east. The water sounds come from the eastern tunnel. Nothing but silence to the northeast. Scramsax points out the odd gouges scratched into the stone and turns an inquiring gaze toward Darrell.
The foxkin moves closer and gives a quick nod. "That's the eh...family mark." He says glancing to the northeast.
Whatever may be developing between Raseri and Luthael will have to wait as Scram comes back from her scouting and they all fill their bellies with a warm meal as they prepare to press on. The trek deeper into the dark leaves her feeling more unnerved than she would ever admit to anyone, and her grip on her sword's hilt causes the leather of her gloves to creak in protest.
Arriving at the fork, Raseri looks to the east and wonders for a moment if they should see what lays down that path.
"If the northeastern path leads to the tower, then what lies to the east? A spring," she asks their guide, remembering what they saw of the dragon's lair. "Perhaps a fine place to find a clutch of dragon eggs," she muses aloud.
Turning to Raseri, Gunnar grins and says, ”Good thinking. It hadn’t occurred to me that the hag might be keeping the dragon eggs so far away from her mountaintop domain, but it probably makes sense to maintain them at a more constant temperature. If they were to die, she would lose her leverage over the dragon.”
”Perhaps it is worth a quick look from one of our stealthy scouts?” he suggests.
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"Yeah, probably some newt-water poison cauldron runoff from upstairs or somethin'...but here's hoping for a mineral hot spring." the thief crossed her eensy beensy fingers as she padded off down the eastern passage.
Scramsax continued to conceal her feelings about the sand to the others. She didn't like it ...something was suspicious about it. Once around the corner, the halfling knelt and scooped up a handful, trying to understand its curious nature...
...digging a foot or so down before continuing on.
Luthael shrugs ready to go along with the majority to the east. He kept trying not to think about Raseri, but was failing.
"We could cook the newts" Ingryd says as she stands watching.
"Newts? Don't tell me that you're turning into a witch, Ingryd," Raseri says with a giggle.
"No I just know they are tasty. Cause I ate what I could when I could when I traveled. Slept in the wild, ate things i probably shouldn't have. Killing evil where its ugly head rose up." She says and sighed.
"I was lonely and lost. Now I am together and have direction. Perhaps even a future"
While examining a slightly blacker patch of sand, you hear a soft splash from beyond an opening forty feet ahead. A sound of someone or something slipping into a pool of water.
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The air smells hot, moist, and of the ever present smell of sulfur. But underlying that strong unpleasant aroma is another, one that reeks of civilization and festivities. For it is none other than that of a rich dark chocolate.
But before you truly can contemplate the chocolate pond tucked beneath the hags tower the surface of the cocoa sump begins to ripple and bubble. Moments later a huge feminine figure bursts through the surface, chocolate sliding from her bulbous bloated body. A pair of great pendulous breasts bob at the surface as a sharp toothed grin crosses an ugly face highlighted by a wart covered nose. Stretching her hairy arms, the massive fae rolls her body, the layers of fat slapping against the heated chocolate of the pool and glides to the edge.
A sudden distant look crosses her face and moments later a flurry of putrid bubbles grow and burst like flatulent popping pustules.
"Ahhhhhh....." Sighs the sugar fairy as she uses an knot knuckled finger to wipe a bit of chocolate from her eldritch eyes. A quick glance at the coated digit before she sticks it into her mouth slurping the goop down her rolling gullet.
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"..." the thief's left eye twitched uncontrollably as she stood face-to-face with the candyland lair. Life would never really be the same again as some part of her childhood died, a wintry treat forever despoiled by the foul image. Here was at least one bean the Legume Whisperer would be boycotting in the future.
Trying not to let confusion become overwhelming, Scram focused on the task of gathering more information. With a deft snip, she cut a sample of one of the mushrooms to bring back...
Scramsax rounded the corner white as a ghost, suddenly remembering turning into vanilla pudding a while back. Like fire and ice, chocolate and vanilla were destined to destroy each other. It was as if her physiology were returning to its vanilla pudding state in some kind of tactical posture.
"Right so uh...here's the skinny, Six. There's a bunch of hot chocolate in there and some kind of sweety demon. Actually, ho! Maybe it was a witch...there was a wart on her nose after all! Now I can't be 100% certain, but here's the bad news: I think she farted in it so save your marshmallows...*nods* it was pretty frothy. Also, she was rather unshaven, probably some hairs in it too. So yeah, long story short, a bunch of impotable hairy, fart cocoa and a witch that loves it." the halfling explained with little laughter in her heart.
"I think we should definitely kill her." the murderer added, wounded deeply on a psychological level from what she just saw...and seeking glory on behalf of the forces of vanilla.
Raseri stares blankly at Scramsax as the halfling proclaims that they should kill the strange creature bathing and farting in hot chocolate.
"Even in the fey realms, that would be an unusual sight. How deeply have you quaffed from your cups," she asks before shaking her head. "No, don't answer. I'll go see with my own eyes."
The priestess heads down the eastern path as quietly as she can manage while looking out for any dangers that Scram may have missed.
Unfortunately, she misses one of the holes Scram had dug and trips with a surprised yelp.
Luthael stops Raseri, "Could this be the hag? Should we invite the spirit guardians in preparation? Or are we going to treat with this person?"
Raseri pauses and considers things for a moment.
"I don't think it is the hag," Raseri says. "No, I think this is something else, assuming Scram isn't drunk."
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Rolling her eyes at the teetotaling virgins "Right, because when a person drinks, they start to see dangerous things that turn them away from the gods, like fart cocoa! *Pssh*" the sarcastic thief deadpanned. "That's a normal thing that happens."
"It's probably one of those classic hag switcheroo's, like that horse toothed girl back at the dead farmer's house. Sweet n' tasty peppermint mountain! Chocolate cream waterfalls! Oooh! But then it turns out to be aborted kitten intestines bloated with thrice-cursed demonic ichor and used carriage salesmen..."
Raseri rolls her eyes and heads down the passage. A few moments later, the others hear her yelp before what sounds like a stack of pans falling over.
" Except for the Demon ichor, Ive eaten worse" Ingrud says as she follows.
Raseri creeps down the tunnel stealthy as a drunken, six foot tall church mouse. A few moments after her jingling armored form disappears into the darkness of the side tunnel a great clatter emerges. It is as if a trampling heard of armor clad antelope crashed into a wagon full of caffinated goats.
Oh great. Bemoans the spear. Real smooth Sister Sneaky. I've heard blue skinned dwarven berserker gangs make less noise. *Sigh* Maybe my next owner will be a bit more lightfooted.
At the first rattle-clatter, Raseri hears a chocolate muffled cry of surprise and then a blurp of something splashing in thick liquid. This is quickly followed by quiet only broken as she straightens her plated bodice and strides confidently into the smelly, cocoa infused chamber.
A quick glance around reveals a trail of splattered chocolate, squashed striped mushrooms, and a series of rather wide six-toed fudgy footprints leading down the tunnel to the left.
Maybe your next owner will use you to pick its teeth, Raseri silently growls back. Now quiet so I can think.
It's fortunate that she chose to go first. This way, no one can see her furiously blushing face after her bout of clumsiness. Logi can her her grumbling and cursing herself for not trying to make the suit of gorgon-hide plate more quiet as she moves down the tunnel and into the frankly rank chamber.
Seeing the obvious trail, Raseri sighs and debates on whether to follow it or not, and if she does, if she should call out and find out who it is she and her companions are dealing with. After a moment, she turns and follows the chocolatey prints.
"Who is there," she calls out, Logi held in her hands in a way that isn't threatening, but still easily readied should she need the spear. "Can you tell us more about the strange spring in the chamber?"
All the while, the Thorsdottir keeps her eyes and ears open for any strange signs.
Luthael after the Thorsdottir who not wait for preparation or her companions. The prophet was a step behind her to see the room with the tub of chocolate.
"Scramsax, what's down this other tunnel?"
Tucking the peppermint mushroom no one was interested in away "Beats me, Prophet. Guess some eggnog with zits in it or a backbroken sorry-as-hell jinglehorse...I didn't go down there. Contract explicitly says my scouting is limited to 90 steps, no more no less."
" You have a contract?"Ingryd asks as she looks around.
" We should sneak up on the hag in the bath" She smiles as she seems too eager to attack the hag and send her to her death.
The thief pulls out a well-worn document, looking suspiciously like a charcoal sketch of Aterro with breasts "That's right, we all do. The founding document of the Narg Nasty 6, forged in the tower of Radovan to handle redistribution of wealth." A tear at the edge of her eye, or perhaps acid droplets from the sulfurous steam "...Vee was just a wee scrap back then..."
A bit bemused, Gunnar follows along, keeping watch for anything shaped like a large egg that might belong to the dragon. Hearing that they have encountered fey, he will have “See Invisibility” ready to cast should he hear noises to indicated there is someone nearby so concealed.
Raseri's follows the cocoa path into the other tunnel. The burbling stream at her feet trickles across rock candy coated with a sickly ochre slime. As she calls out ahead her voice echoes up and down the tunnel. Back to her companions and ahead into the darkness. A darkness that the priestess quickly realizes isn't so dark anymore.
Taking a few more cautious steps forward she notices the thick vines growing along the tunnel wall. All prickly thorns and soft pale leaves more like the a soft fur like moss or branching lichen. As she walks past, small thumb sized purple fruits suddenly start to glow dimming again as she passes.
*BOOM*
The drum beat echoes from somewhere up ahead. The single beat drifts back through the tunnel bouncing along the rock into the chocolate pond and beyond to where Ingryd, Gunnar, Luthael, Scramsax, and Darrell all wait. The halfling wearing a look that says "See it isn't always my fault."
*BOOM*BOOM*BOOM*
The drumbeat picks up as Raseri creeps forward, following both the chocolate stream and footprints. Suddenly the drumbeat is accompanied by voices. Deep, guttural voices singing to the doom and gloom beat of the drum.
Zoomba, roomba, dippity doo.
We've got a story ready for you.
What do all the kiddies find neat.
A Midwinter surprise both lucious and sweet.
Sugar plums, candy canes, chocolate treats.
That's what makes the kiddies giggle and bleat.
Molly Bloody Holly's got an answer that'll bring them a fright,
A special surprise full of darkness and spite.
Mix a little shroom into candy cane stripes,
Put a little poo in the chocolate delight.
Bat dropping and yuck berries are much more fun that butter and egg whites.
With our carefully blended neat treats,
Midwinter screams will screech their defeat.
And then we'll all dance and have a great feast
Just like the zoomba roomba dippity doo.
Rounding a corner, Raseri spots another chamber entrance thirty feet ahead where both stream and cocoa trail disappear. Strange green, red, and yellow light flickers and glimmers from within oddly matching the beat of the song and drums which soon starts to repeat itself.
Great, this sounds like something goblins would come up with.
Raseri shudders as she remembers the goblins from the Shadow Fey Courts. After a moment of thought, she turns back to get the others. Foolhardy she may be, but even she has some common sense.
Scram quickly knelt and pulled a few items from her pack "That's it, I've heard enough. They are about to start using 'jingle' as an adjective, I can't handle it..."
A Midwinter gift to all the haters, the thief promptly secured her mouth shut with a gagging, tight bandana. Getting mind-controlled and eating anything the zippity poos had to offer sounded like a fate worse than death.
Pulling out the icy finger of Morrin's curse, Scramsax the Zoomba-slayer was ready to confront a destiny of showering, cheery blood with nothing but a cold, assassin's focus flickering in her golden orbs.
Shaking his head, Gunnar casts “See Invisibility” and follows along to see what fey wonder they have unearthed.
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After returning to her companions to relate her own findings beyond the less-than-sanitary chocolate hot spring, Raseri and the rest of the Narg Nasty Five along with a rather confused Darrell who has clearly never seen, heard, or smelled any of this before sneak up to the opening of the next chamber.
A scene of brightly lit chaos and grotesque manufacturing emerges before the hardy adventurers. The chocolate stream slides over the edge of a short waterfall, dropping forty feet down into a lake churned by a gaggle of large eels. The followed footprints lead through the entrance onto a narrow ledge and down a flight of stone stairs. There they get lost in the cacophony or workers moving to and fro with great deliberation and attention.
The entire chamber well over two hundred feet wide and about half again as long is lit by constantly flashing lights of putrid green, bloody red, bile yellow, and a rather bruising blue. The central corridor is filled with a variety of hissing, steaming, blurping, glurping, and obnoxiously slurping machines. Running from machine to machine is a long wide conveyor belt carrying various stripped, spotted, polka dotted, candies, cookies, and other sweet looking treats in various stages of cookery and bakery. Goblins in gaudy red and green striped chef hats busily monitor the machines and their spewed forth contents for any that aren't properly hideous enough to send anyone eating one into immediate fits of deranged murderous hallucination.
Still other goblins sing their jaunty tune as they toil to bring more and more ingredients to drop into the various funnels, bowls, and bendy tubes that feed the mighty machines. A glance around the cavern reveals a good, sickening deal about what goes into the Molly Holly Old Time Candy Treat boxes being packed and stacked at the end of the long assembly line. In one corral, a half dozen goblins in wide brimmed hats and spurs jingle jangling with each step are busy roping a herd of giant spiders. Once secured the big, furry beasts are milked for poison and silk which is quickly carried off and dumped into a machine churning out curved white and red striped candy canes. Scramsax is quick to note the sacks of harvested mushrooms sitting near the same device, watching as a pair of goblins pour the fungal contents into a big feeder. A cloud of spores burst from the chute causing one of the cooks to grow pale, choke, and fall to the floor eyes bulging for several seconds.
Seeing his companion in such a terrible state, the second goblin sighs and quickly reaches over to flip the numbers beneath a sign from 2 to 0. The lettering below the numbers reading 'days without an accidental death.' He then calls over a nearby hobgoblin carrying a large clipboard. The two enter talk for a few seconds. The hobgoblin wacks the goblin with the clipboard and points back at the machine before blowing a whistle that draws two other goblins to carry off the still twitching body.
They unceremoniously drop the poor hapless creature into an immense vat sitting along the north wall. A fouler looking batter one could hardly imagine. Newts eyes, eel tails, frog warts, and little girls giggles can all be seen churning and heard bubbling to the constantly stirred mixture. The twitching goblin body is seen for a few seconds before it slowly swirls and sinks beneath the surface of the grainy globby goop. At the far end of the vat a spigot splorks forth into a series of oversized bread pans. Onto a belt they slide and into a massive oven labeled Holly's Scrumptious Fruitcakes. Out the other end a trio of frightened goblins stand ready with thick mitts over their hands and arms. One of the pans comes sliding from the hot oven with a banshee scream. The three grab catch the pan, knees buckling beneath the cakes enormous density rivaling that of an exploded star. Dropped from the pan, wrapped in tin foil and tied with a bow, off it goes on another belt and disappears into another chamber.
Down below at the base of the stairs, a sopping mass of oversized fae flesh waves her hairy arms about and drips chocolate near the boots of an angry looking hobgoblin with yet another clip board. He tries not to notice or thick about the jiggling swinging chocolaty breasts bobbing just below eye level, but he unfortunately happened to look straight at them when the dour damsel for started shouting at him. Now he can't help but stare. So distracted, it takes several moments before he realizes she isn't coming onto him, but in fact warning of potential intruders in the outer tunnel.
His eyes look past the barrels of newt eyes. Beyond the pixie dust hives where workers busy themselves scrapping the golden confectioners delight from the bottom of the pixie cages. They carry his gaze over the farthest corner of the chamber where the days unlucky six are busy combing white flaky dandruff from a trio of hill giants recently arrived for a quick shave and haircut. The cascade of snow white flakes are swept up and drop into the sugar sieve where it is generously sprinkled upon the chocolate truffles. Finally his gaze looks up to the opening where the heroes hide. But seeing nothing but shadows and gloomy dark, the haggard supervisor throws up his hands, stomps his boot in a splatter of chocolate and demands the flabby fae get back to work.
Raseri is no stranger to the horrors that can lurk in the shadows of Midgard, the Fey Realms, and the Shadow realms. Being the guinea pig for a hag's twisted experiments and serving the Gray Ladies does a bit to desensitize someone to the terrors that lurk just beneath the surface of the world, but this was something else altogether. As she stares glassy-eyed over the whole disgusting operation, her face turns a sickly pale green.
"This place needs to burn," she mumbles under her breath.
Staring at the scene in shock, Gunnar begins plotting where he might position a Storm Sphere (for purification by lightning) and perhaps a Wall of Stone (to cover a quick retreat).
“Dare we even engage with this stupefying menagerie?” he breathes in disgusted wonder.
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"Daddy, a chocolate river!" the gum-chewing, pig-tailed little girl said with both glee and greed to a father who wasn't there. "I'll have one of those, two of those, yes, a box of the sprinkled ones, and...hmm? Where's the gum?! I'm the World Record holder in chewing gum. What are you waiting for, let me try it! I'm not afraid of anything!" A golden ticket entitling its owner to infinite free samples of Molly Holly's stash, along with a personal tour which promised to teach ethics in a fun, engaging way flashing in her pocket. Thumbing to herself arrogantly "I'm Indigo Vangeline!"
Meanwhile, from the hidden perch the slayer calculated her dark trade. No, 20 deaths wouldn't be enough to sate the unflinching urge to eliminate this actual psycho-nest from the face of Midgard. Therefore she watered her flask of soil containing a bean, tossing it right under the most explosive factory station she could see: the high pressure sugar reduction chamber that turned mushroom syrup into solid canes. Hopefully, the bean would sprout something helpful in releasing enough of the toxic gas to kill as many of the little workers as possible, if not dropping 5.75 million tons of solid Southlands pyramid on top of everyone...