Doing her best to sabotage and conceal the door, Scram chortled lightly with excitement, telling herself ~Pull this one off, ol Scrammy, you'll be set til next winter...~ Chipping off a chunk of loose stone from the wall, the rogue secured the unremarkable rock in a tiny pouch as if it were a 1000 karat diamond...because it was.
After a while the thief returned, gazing over Gunnar's new set of magical runes bedecking the halls. "...oh nice, you spruced up the place a bit. More distilling stuff down the other way. Mushrooms. Water, but I think it was trick water and actually acid or bug juice. A few other corridors but I didn't want to push my luck. Let's continue this way, eh?"
The scout carrying on beyond the nullified portal.
Scramsax once again slips off into the darkness. This time through the disabled magical trap, across the empty room beyond and into the next tunnel. Before entering the tunnel, the halfling notes the set of three, shallow carved lightning bolts marking one corner of the entrance. She also notices the points of the bolts now point back in the direction of the previous chamber.
Following the path onward for another forty paces, the halfling comes to another T-intersection of passages. This time she finds the familiar reference mark leading once again back toward her waiting companions. But now she finds a second mark on the right hand passage. A sigil of a rolling wave. While to the left is a jagged stair step.
Coin chirps softly, the owl pointing its beak down at the floor just beyond the entrance to the intersection as well as the lower section of the wall. Kneeling down, Scramsax finds the floor to not only be a half foot lower than the branching passage, but it is also incredibly smooth and polished. Only a thin layer of dirt and dust coat the floor. The wall is the same, with the surface along the entire passage being slightly concave from the midpoint down to the rounded edge of the floor. It is all very unlike the rough, natural looking stone of the other passage. In fact it is more like something or someone came along and simply scooped out the lower part of the corridor, or scoured it down over time.
Looking in either direction, the halfling sees no light and hears no sound. Her nose does pick up the tingle of some other scent lingering in the hall. A faded smell, akin to burning metal or dissolving stone. It isn't enough to displace the omnipresent scent of dry earth, rock, and dust, but it is certainly does not escape her notice.
Scram raised an eyebrow as her imagination went into overload like one of Dekatron's psychic string jam sessions. A thousand different bypasses and dampening tools cycled endlessly in memory as the thief recalled shadowy details from her valuable mental lexicon of tavern tales, street rumors, and cold experience. With a hag in the mix, literally anything was possible.
~The situation is the boss...~ Scram thought as she opened her velociraptor embroidered pouch.
It was something the street taught early. Observation was an anchor, grasping the lone ripe apple from a full tree. She needed more information.
The absence of light and sound was disturbing, but could possibly rule out illusions. Scram lit a candle briefly, letting the color of the scene add new details. After a few moments inspecting the floor and wall in tandem with the lodestone probing its material properties, the thief also looked to the ceiling. Scram then blew out the minor flame and traced the smoke trail around the floor and wall recess...searching for any tiny, hidden inlets.
The candle flares to life offering a comforting warm light. That comfort evaporates just a quickly as the smooth surface of the walls and floor a revealed to be a cornucopia of swirling, dizzying, swarm of rainbow colors. It takes the halfling a moment to shake off the overwhelming...repulsiveness...of the pigments. Finally, she takes a few cautious steps forward carefully poking the walls, looking for the clearly for the hidden hole the clearly disturbed artistic mind has tucked themselves into. Alas, she finds no hidden traps or secret doors. Only the continued path stretching both left and right into the darkness.
But as she gingerly steps into the hall, she hears something crackle beneath her boot. Feels a gentle shift. Fearing a trap, she hurriedly hops backward, eyes and ears waiting for the expected collapsing floor, twanging spring, or hissing air. None occur.
Glancing at where her foot resided mere seconds earlier she spots a footprint as if she'd stepped in upon a thin, dry layer of mud. The colorful surface is now crackled and broken in the single spot. Edging closer, she scrapes at the stuff revealing what is actually a thin layer of rainbow slime, dry but still retaining a hint of stickiness. It couldn't help but remind her of the dried slug trails she spotted in the garden near Ilarya's grove the peasants of Nargenstal planted. They were always complaining of the ravenous, slimy, gastropods. Curiously, the corridor looked somewhat similar to a patch of carrots where the tops had been hollowed out by hungry slugs. Well, if the slugs had been twenty feet long and excreting rainbow slime.
The thief took a moment to scrape some of the Brittle Rainbow Crispies (now with 25% more slug) into a small glass vial before leaving the carrot-resembling morass behind.
"...bit of an odd one that way. In fact, look into my eyes, am I intoxicated?" opening her golden eyes for everyone to inspect before describing in detail the strange patch of soggy stone.
Adding "Might be safe if we cross in the dark, but would be more comfortable gettin' over it somehow. Many swinging across with a rope anchored to the ceiling. Here, take a look for yourself..." pulling out the carefully collected sample.
Just as Scramsax returns to the group holding up his sample of dried rainbow scum, a sound echoes from the distance in the direction of the recently scouted tunnel. A whip crack. Followed by another and another. A few minutes later and everyone can hear a sort of mild hissing sound like a sculpture sanding down the rough edges of a statue. A light begins to flicker and dance along the walls of the intersection as the sound grows steadily louder.
"Hiya there! Hiya!" The whip cracks again as the rough, growling voice echoes up the tunnel. "Get a move on ya lazy bags of goo! Hiya!"
"..." the thief tried hard not to show any reaction, before finally breaking down "Everyone heard that, right?" still unsure if the rainbow sludge had induced some kind of hallucinatory state.
Luthael freezes at the crack of the whip remembering gnome slavers. He is caught in his memory until the halfling snaps him out. He whispers, "Yes, of course. I heard it. Can we hide? If it's the hag, we can take her by surprise." The prophet looks to his sneaky companion to lead.
" Is it the Hag?" Ingrud saud standing now to ready Ennui to smash
Scram thought a moment at Ingryd's question, then shook her head NO "Not enough cackling. Sounded more like a subterranean coachman staging his actual gel companions...must be some kind of rush." Turning to the Prophet "No need to hide, there was intersection up there and it went the other way...not our way. C'mon, we can get behind it."
After taking a few steps "Like I said though, might be better with lights out and mounting a rope to swing over whatever gooey crap this is. Gunz, ever seen this stuff? Maybe a S.O.U.S (slug of unusual size) or one of them oozy cubes?" holding up the sample again.
Gunnar takes a look at the substance with a squint, trying to discern if he has heard any tales about creatures who might make dice a trail.
Quickly realizing Scramsax's caution regarding the stuff is well warranted you quickly incinerate the paper it was dabbed upon. A few minutes later your headache begins to clear.
Based on Scramsax's description of the tunnel, you are nearly certain the odd shape and the lingering residue are the manifestations of what most of your kin would call a Shimmering Slug. A large, tunnel dwelling gastropod known for its rainbow colored squishy flesh, hallucinogenic slime, and disorienting aroma. Although not overtly aggressive under most circumstances, the creatures are often considered a menace by your folk because their toxic leavings have caused more than a few injuries and even deaths as unsuspecting workers stumble across a fresh trail. Usually a mining operation is forced to close for days, even weeks to safely cleanup the mess and hunt down the culprit or culprits before they can multiply.
As Gunnar takes several minutes to examine the halfling's sample, the noise of shouting, whip cracks, and grating stone grows louder until it peaks with an added grinding rumble of some type of heavy wheeled wagon or other conveyance moving along the tunnel. Shortly afterward, the noise begins a slow fade as whatever is was passes and moves on up the tunnel.
Describing the slime and the history of the creature that creates it (feel free to read spoiler), Gunnar suggests, "Perhaps this represents some regular traffic from the hag's servants. It might be worth a sneaky-sneak to spy on them for a moment, Scram."
The thief shrugged "Alright, I'll take a crack at it...and try not to see double."
Scram returned to just before the slimy patch and climbed up the wall. Fastening her trusty grappling hook to the sandy stone, it was only a matter of a running alley-oop to jump onto the rope, letting her momentum set sail over the offending rainbow curse and into the hallway behind the quickly absconding stageman. WIth a nimble flick of the wrist, the dangling rope and grapple were worked free and quickly stashed. On the hunt, the rouge did her best to catch up to the slug as the wizard (presumably wise) advised...following sounds of Hiya!s and whip-smacks through the unknown.
Raseri stays near Luthael as Scram scouts ahead. She doubts it's the hag causing that ruckus. More likely it was one of her servants, which left them with a conundrum, maybe.
"Luthael, Gunnar, do you think we should try sneaking our way to the Hag or do you think we should kill any of her servants and allies we find?"
"Tough call," says Gunnar, "If we engage early, we risk wearing ourselves out before the big fight. If we sneak up and engage the hag first, though, without having dealt with her allies we could end up fighting all of them at once."
"It took quite a bit of effort for me to get through that magical barrier, but I still have some arcane power left for the day. Perhaps if Scram can get us some good recon, we can rest for the evening here and go in fresh in the morning. My guess is they never come this way, relying on the magical trap to prevent invasion from this direction," he suggests.
"If that is true, then perhaps we should keep an eye on that passage and recover our full strength. I fear that once we start making forays into the hag's lair, we will not have the luxury of retreating to regain our breath."
"So either we take the fight to the smaller ones, alerting the Hag. Who can gather her forces for our assaults'. Or sneak past attack the Hag and await for her minions to attack us while on assaults'" She says as she rests Ennui on her shoulder and readys Vanity for defense.
Scramsax slips back down the tunnel toward the Rainbow Road, while Gunnar, Luthael, Ingryd, and Raseri contemplate the most effectively and least bloody, for them, tactic for assaulting the hag within her tower stronghold. As the debate continues Scramsax reaches the cross corridor. The warmth of the passing creatures is still brightly displayed upon his eyes same as the rising fumes. The toxic air shimmers like heat upon a midday desert. And the smell. No longer a hint of this or that. It is a nose pummeling assault of fruity flavors all underpinned with the smell of a thousand teenaged feet just wrapping up a day cleaning out the horse stalls. The Barsellan dockside doxie, her nose long ago grown accustomed to may of the most heinous scent in all Midgard, soldiers onward.
Avoiding actually touching the sticky goo, she manages to reach the upper half of the wall and start a scuttling crawl like a half sized, four legged spider. She catches a look at the receding conveyance. A quartet of glowing twenty foot long slugs are harnessed to the front of a wagon sized sled. Their antennae slowly circle as they pull the sled upon the slick trail of freshly laid slime. Grease for the skids until it cools to become a sticky, clinging trap for the unwary.
The rear of the hauler is stacked with unmarked crates and sacks. Scramsax is able to guess at some of the contents when she spots a pale arm flop lifeless within the top of a sack as it bounces open over a rough patch in the corridor. Sitting on a rough board seat up front wielding the whip is a roughly humanoid type creature. The head of a horse fly with a pair of humming wings on its back, but attached to the torso and legs of a man. A billed cap tops its head, while it wears a sturdy layer of studded leather armor and a spiked mace on its belt. Sitting next to the flyman is a masked and cloaked feminine figure. Dusky skinned, delicate hands flip through the pages of a book as she rocks back and forth with the motion of the sled.
You climb along further. Each move coming more and more naturally. Hand hold here, wedge your foot there. You move like a spider, your arms and legs covered in thick hair, your rope a handy web. Further along, you find yourself getting a little tired. Spot a nice corner near the top of the tunnel with a bit of ledge. A nice spot. Might even catch something for dinner if you wait a spell. You begin weaving your web into a nice nest where you can rest comfortably. Maybe that fly will come back this way. Now there would be some good eating. You think letting a grin flow across your wide mouth, your fangs dripping with anticipation.
After several minutes the tactical debate comes to an indefinite conclusion. More time passes as the rest of the Narg Nasty Six wait for Scramsax to return. Luthael and Raseri share a few awkward glances. Ingryd smiles. Gunnar ignores them with a sigh. Minutes slowly tick by and looks of boredom start to slowly shift to looks of concern. There is no sign of Scramsax.
From her perch in the corner of the barn, Scram-lotte was astonished to see Fern's favorite piglet next in line for the slaughter. She had to think quick. Suddenly remembering the power of words and importance of compassion, she deftly spun a missive into the structure of her web itself, the gossamer fibers reading "Terrific".
After a while of sitting in increasingly awkward silence, Raseri stands up and looks at the others.
"The wee lass has too long been gone. We should see what has happened to her," she says as she readies her sword.
Breaking the silence, Gunnar says, "Scram has been gone too long, and with her stealth I don't know of any good way to follow or contact her. Any ideas?"
"I have not any ideas that do not require several hours. Perhaps you have some spell or spirit that can find her path?"
"I can try to go after her. I mean, I am not wearing armor, I can sneak somewhat better than the rest of you."Ingryd says looking over the others armor choices.
"Thanks Ingryd. Please see if you can find her. Hopefully, she's counting her loot somewhere." Luthael replies.
"Raseri, we can try that Locate Object spell for something that Scramsax carries." The prophet suggests.
"Hoping to save it for the tower I am," she says with a sigh. "Better to use it to save one of our number, but what to seek?"
Ingryd smiles and crouches as she then moves forward.
”Avoid breathing the fumes if you can—remember they are hallucinogenic,” cautions Gunnar.
It takes a few moments, but then Raseri recalls the dagger Scramsax always has on her belt. It's icy cold blade the color of the deep dark sea. Morrin's Misery the halfling calls it. An item unique enough for her purposes for certain.
So as the priestess settles in to conduct her ritual, Ingryd proceeds up to the intersection. The bearkin spots the piton hammered into the rock that Scramsax used to climb above the sticky, off-gassing slime trail. Just like Scramsax, Ingryd sees the shimmering fumes filling the air of the tunnel. Can smell the sick, fruity scent. Unlike the halfling and unlike the precious, precious smuggler's whiskey, the toxin doesn't seem to slip past her system's tolerances. At least for the time being.
However, she doesn't really have much time to test her theory. From down the hall she hears the soft whoosh whoosh whoosh of feathered wings. A few moments later and the familiar but slightly ruffled and haggard form of Scramsax's owl friend comes swooping out of the darkness. He offers a thankful squawk upon seeing the bearkin and swoops down to land on her shoulder clearly agitated and disturbed by something.
Another glance up and down the tunnel reveals nothing but slimy silence.
Meanwhile, Raseri's chants reach a pitched crescendo as the priestess is rewarded with a clear image of the dagger, not moving, perched upon a ledge in a tunnel. It isn't far, although it is farther than would be usual under the halfling's normal routine. Of course, the priestess considers, a break in routine is pretty routine for Scramsax.
"I've got her." Raseri says to her companions. "About two hundred feet away." She frowns for a moment. "Must have veered from the main tunnel, either that it doubles back on itself at some point."
Ingryd continues forward trying to be stealthy as she goes to grab the halfling.
Ingryd follows Coin as the owl guides her down the main tunnel reaching a small dark branching corridor. Coin points the way to the right.
Meanwhile, Raseri guides the others back into the brewery area and through another tunnel Scramsax explored earlier. The priestess sets a twisting path through another series of gloomy chambers and dark passages. This includes passing through what must have once been another trap similar to the one deactivated by Gunnar. This one however was deactivated by time and shifting earth. The runic ring shattered and broken by a partial collapse of the corridor. A quick check by the wizard insures there is no danger and allows the group to scramble over the stones and continue forward. Finally the priestess comes to a stop at another intersection with the slug slime infused passage. A narrow, dark tunnel proceeds on the other side, but all can see the fumes still drifting in the air and the sticky, damp slime coating the floor and lower half of the corridor.
A quick observation also reveals rather large boot prints marking the center of the corridor. Familiar to all, they are those of Ingryd.
Ingryd plods along following Coin.
Ingryd is the first to arrive having taken the more direct route. Her boots and lower leggings are covered in a thick layer of sticky rainbow slime and even her hardy system is beginning to feel the effects of the toxin. It is not especially severe or detrimental, but the bearkin breathes a shallow sigh of relief when Coin finally directs her into the slime free tunnel.
Harboring an annoying headache, Ingryd doesn't spot the woven tangle of rope pinned along a narrow rock ledge along a short span near the ceiling. Doesn't spot the gleaming stare of blank eyes or the bit of drool dripping down the halfling's chin as Spider-Scram prepares to sink her fangs in the lumbering oversized beetle making her way right into the predator's trap.
Using Luthael's winged boots and thick masks of cloth, the rest of the party cross the sludge coated tunnel and hurry along to try and catch up with the bearkin and the missing scout.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
That is not gonna come out normally, my feet, legs and lower dress will be rainbow. She owes me a dress and a long bath when we get back home!' Ingryd thought as she continued on and sees the bug and instantly smiles.
"Yay something to smash!" She says as she leaps forward and seeks to smash the beetle.
Spider-Scram was notably docile as an alpha predator, easily distracted by novel weaving activities such as walking the dog.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Luthael, Raseri, and Gunnar all arrive upon the scene to find Ingryd pulverizing a rather large beetle in the tunnel while Scramsax remains ensconced within her tangled rope weavings where the wall meets the ceiling of the tunnel.
Luthael rushes to Scramsax's side to check her vitals.
"Ingryd, how long have you been here?"
"Heard I of wines and ales to drive one mad with drunkenness. Into a cask of that fabled mead has she gone?"
Luthael heals Scramsax and helps her down from her perch. "Scramsax, what happened?"
Scram calmly sets her string aside "Well, avoided the rainbow stuff like Gunz forewarned. Thing is, the wizard didn't account for the fumes. Fumes don't care if you touch the slime or not, as it turns out. Was the vapors, see, invisible vapors did me in..." he shrugs turning to Gunnar "...was a good idea, I don't blame ye. But not much to be seen beforehand...coulda been the hag riding along with 'em, not sure. Didn't hear any cackles or spot any warts though...hmm she was flippin through a book however..."