| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
*Pa-Ping*
Luthael's egg locator bounces back a return. Several seconds later...
*Pa-Ping*
The prophet raises an eyebrow as he hurriedly ushers everyone back out into the narrow spiraling stairway climbing along the outer most portion of the tower. Robes flutter as the sun prophet twists around making a few quick directional checks...
*Pa-Ping*
And with a nod starts up the stairs. Ingryd and Scramsax discuss various tactics regarding the protection of the stash of gemstones discovered within the temple. Raseri hangs back with Emilee and Darrel. The priestess helping the young woman adjust to the newly discovered abilities of her body and the chaotic thoughts cascading through her mind. The adamantine claws have retracted back into her flesh and the god's healing sealed the wounds, but thin red scars mark where the metallic blades emerged.
"B-b-but...I was so scared. So angry. They just...popped out." The girls says quietly. Her voice trembles with a blend of fear, awe, and curiosity. "Is that going to happen all of the time? Will...will I turn so...feral?"
Raseri shakes her head and pats the girl on the shoulder. "You will master your fear. By doing so, you tame the beast that resides in each of us. That creature's only desire is to survive. Fight or flee. Fear gives that aspect power and control. Defeat your fear and you stay true to yourself. And in turn you master control over this new gift."
The whispered conversation continues as the group slowly spirals up and up the stairs.
*Pa-ping* *Pa-Ping* *Pa-Ping*
Luthael's location signal sounds much more rapidly. Arriving at a narrow landing the prophet pushes the door open and steps through into another narrow corridor that ends in a set of silver double doors.
"Not much further now." The prophet says carefully moving into the hall and up to the doors.
"...my thighs may not be tough enough to handle gnome ghouls, but can your big bear fingers do this...?"
Scram quickly revealed to the bearkin exactly where the church was, in addition to the prominent location of the steeple. When the thief opened the door, sure enough there were all the people.
Stepping up to the oddly clean doors, the thief fished around in her oiled leather toolpack with the velociraptor embroidered on it "...hold on, something fishy about this one..."
Moving closer to the doors, the halfling is able to make out the bas relief center facing griffons and surrounding scroll work that once was synonymous with the Order of the Griffon Knights. Cautiously searching each suspicious crack, cranny, and crevice the rogue discovers there is indeed something very fishy about the ancient silver doors. Primarily that they haven't been looted and melted down to make knick-knacks for the hag's midwinter gift list, but running a close second, is the fact that the doors are neither locked or trapped.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
After what seemed like an excessive amount of ventriloquism, mystical numerology, and questionable apparatus, the door appraiser posited "...hmm all right, guess the cracks are all clear. But smart hags always go for the crannies. Gotta check those crannies..."
Another turn of the glass as Scram produced very erudite distinctions between 'cracks' and 'crannies', from a professional's perspective. "...for you see, 'crack' stems from the old common 'cracian' for 'an explosive noise', often confused with the southern 'craic' or 'entertaining conversation'. 'Crannies' however are rather different in quality, most believing the term to be based on the draconian 'crener', or 'fissure'. Well, *ahem* eheh...no worries, guess the coast is clear on that front as well..."
The thief was red in the face, but snapped a digit in sudden realization "Ho, could it be...? Diabolical...one moment friends, I think I've outmaneuvered this precious portal once and for all: it was the crevices the entire time!"
However, after a few more minutes the useless turd conceded nothing was there and finally got the hell out of the way.
"We could just bash it down" She says looking unphased by such restriction.
"Doable, Griz, doable. What we have here is the chocolate from downstairs wrapped in a preservative foil, not a true argentum cast..." the thief lied for no reason. "Why the ruse? Just think about it: cocoa. Doors."
The commutative relation was obvious. "Bittersweet. Barrier. Cocoa's dual nature of bitter and sweet mirrors the door's double duty as entry and exit. Yet one offers nourishment, the other transport. Together then, the hag is suggesting a preparation before a journey or rite of passage. Rather fitting then, for a hatchery. Isn't it." The thief needed no answer as she disappeared into the shadows and bear-fur.
Baffled by Scramsax’s complex pontifications as usual, Gunnar says, “Let us open the doors and see if the eggs are guarded. If we can liberate the eggs and get them someplace safe, we are one big step closer to saving the region and defeating the hag.”
Scram opens the door and then quickly re-hides if no one else does...
With Gunnar's easy push, the doors swing open easily and without a sound. Beyond is a short hall that opens into a large semi-circular chamber. A hundred paces across the longest point, the chamber is wide and open with the exception of a trio of wide support pillars equidistant from each other forming a rough semi circle within the main chamber. Along the far side of the room, it opens into the well running up the center of the entire fortress. The pale green of the arcane flow flickers within the chamber, but is not nearly as strong here as it was further within the depths of the tower. However, the air here is warm. Almost stiflingly hot compared to every other place within the fortress. Whether the heat comes from the captured energy flow or some other source, none can tell at the moment.
Continuing to sweep the room, all see a very narrow arched path appearing to create an odd ivory bridge across the chasm. It takes a moment, but as all observe the bridge each comes to realize it is made of actual ivory. Bones. Hundreds. Perhaps thousands of bones fused together to create the macabre path. Where the bones intersect the mana flow at its apex the ivory turns an eerie icy pale blue laces with black and green threads of power.
Sitting within that never ceasing flow of natural power is a large woven basket of bone lined with some kind of straw that glitters and sparkles in the flickering light of the mana stream. Poking just above the edge of the basket are a half dozen pale silver and white eggs. Occasionally one of the oval orbs wiggles slightly.
The ceiling of the room stretches up sixty feet a second tier balcony appears to over look this lower section, although how access is gained is unclear. Another set of double doors sit closed to the north, while a less ornate single door is to the south. To the west, across the chamber is a near mirror reflection of the same room. Silver double doors, a trio of wide support pillars. Other doors to the north and south.
All manner of debris fills the room. Bones, feathers, broken blades, rotted bits of cloth, rusted tools, faded books and torn, illegible scrolls are scattered throughout the chamber. Stepping forward a few steps a stark, high-pitched, feminine voice whispers from somewhere in the darkness above.
"What's this? Who crosses the threshold of our home."
A second voice, similar to the first but slightly lower key, follows from a slightly different location but still shrouded within the darkness.
"A visitor dear sister."
"Why it has been so very, very long since we've had such succulent guests."
"Indeed. This third voice is pitched slightly higher than the others. "And uninvited I might add, smelling of winter's storm and summer's heat. Of deception and sorrow."
"Shall we flip to see who gets the first liver?"
"Don't care for your monologs, the eggs are coming with us." Ingryd says as she pushes in after Scram. She does not hesitate as she seems to be all business.
Scramsax was suddenly very excited, rummaging through her belt pouch eagerly searching for something. Taking out the previously looted lizard doctor's unfinished crossword puzzle, she triumphantly scribbled, mumbling "...9 letters for 'when the doormat dreams big'...'threshold'...yes, hehe. Scram 1, Dictionary 0...all boxes filled. All doubts silenced." and totally missing the stealthy wingers chatty about livers.
Gunnar considers, ”This may be the coven of hags responsible for the unnatural winter.”
Casting ’See Invisibility”, Gunnar looks into the darkness for some sign of their adversaries.
Luthael wants to confirm with his locate object that the obvious eggs are in fact dragon eggs and not an illusion.
"Let the Sun Lord shine his blessing on us." The prophet opens a portal to his deity to illuminate the darkness.
*Hoot*Hoot*Hoot*
The light of day bursts forth from the prophet of Khors. The brilliant summer bright illumination reveals three feathered, winged creatures, part feminine humanoid part feathered owl as they flutter off a ledge and scatter to three new narrow ledges about sixty feet up and equidistant about the chamber. Three gleaming pairs of golden eyes peer down with a mixture of curiosity and malice as they watch Ingryd stride forward. Their faces are flat and covered by a blend of white, yellow and brown feathers. Each sport a pair of thin arms that end in over sized claws, while their legs are much thicker and with even larger claws.
"Oh my. What's this. A honey bear with attitude." Coos one of the feathered creatures.
"Yes, yes, indeed it is." Reply's the second.
"Very focused and singular of purpose I would say." Nods the third who then shouts down to those below.
"Hungry for an omelette?" She screeches. "I can't recommend those eggs, who knows what all that big powerful mojo has done to them."
"Hard boiled is my guess." Mutters the first.
"Oh that would be a pity." The second says with a shiver. "All that good dragon yolk wasted."
"Nah...they aren't hardboiled." States the third swiveling her head back and forth. "Our mistress doesn't want the little buggers cooked. At least not yet. Just wants them...altered."
"Bearkin's on the other hand..." Reply all three with a quick shrug of their bony shoulders. "And halflings, and dwarves, and humans. Oh my, but how will they die?"
"A gold crown says they'll be vaporized."
"No, no, I'll take ported to another dimension."
"Bah! Fools, you're both easy marks. I'll take two to one the bear's transformed into a toad and we boil her for supper."
That causes all three to break into a screeching cackle as they peer down from above. Their gazes all flicking from the newly arrived to the strange egg-filled nest sitting within the harsh green flow of the harnessed ley line.
"Caretakers Three. I thank ye on behalf of the children's mother. I know you are minions, but I care not. If you wish to flee flee, if not.Either way I shall take these children to return to their rightful mother. Then once I have, I will seek your mistress and crush her face, break her bones, feed her body and blood to the soil below. Show the wood we are true to our word and let her soul face the power of a being one as I can't comprehend. So if you wish to live, I suggest flee now or die" Ingryd states as she stands, not looking at them directly and focused on the eggs.
" Check for Traps, mundane and magical. I shall stand here and be ready for what comes." Ingryd says, shield in one hand and her hammer in the other. She hopes the others do their thing, and if need be she will seize the eggs.
Gunnar focuses on the eggs now they they are well-lit and his gaze can also see both invisible and ethereal emanations.
Suspecting some kind of trick or trap, Luthael concentrates once again upon the location of the dragon's eggs. Fortunately, or perhaps less so, the sun symbol of the prophet's patron god hangs directly over the odd sparkling nest surrounded by the chaotic flow of pure arcane power. It does not waver from that location no matter how Luthael maneuvers around the chamber to detect any kind of deception or other hagish trickery.
Like any good dwarven male, Gunnar has faced much worse and so easily ignores the cackling harpies with their poor jibes and constant snide slights. The wizard focuses his intellect upon the eggs themselves curious as to how their extended bathing within the natural, chaotic power of midgard itself might be affecting the embryonic reptiles.
He detects no sign of another entity within the pillar of power. No extra dimensional or multiplanar entities sneakily protecting the eggs. No invisible fae or other aberrations harboring the young. This brings a small sense of relief. Perhaps the screeching harpies really are the only ones left to mind the eggs. If so, it is a small bit of welcome news.
Curiously, the eggs themselves emit a rather large magical signature. That they emit magic is not so unusual, dragon's being potent creatures of power. However, the brilliant gleam of energy emanating from the eggs is something the dwarf has not ever encountered before. Whether it is just the outer shells of the eggs absorbing the power or whether it infuses the young dragon within, the dwarf cannot know, but either way it is an amazingly large amount of pure arcane power.
How to safely free the eggs from their flowing cage? That is the true question. He can see no obvious answer. However, the wizard continues to study the eggs, the nest, and the precarious platform. He again peers not at the eggs, but at the bone construct of the nest. And that is when he senses something else. The glittering straw, is not straw, but some kind of thin metallic substance. And the nest of bones, they also emit a rather large amount of magical energy, originally hidden within the overwhelming flow of the pillar and the brilliance of the eggs themselves. But this third energy is something much more familiar, necrotic. Undead.
“That nest of bones supporting the dragon eggs reeks of undeath,” says Gunnar, “I fear the eggs themselves may be affected, but regardless it will likely complicate our attempt to liberate the eggs.”
Gunnar will plan to either suppress the necrotic magic if the bones if it counts as a magic item—Dispel Magic to divert the ley line—or he will banish it if it counts as an undead creature—Banishment.
The halfling did her best to stay hidden in the now very bright room, using secretive lightfoot techniques passed from parents to children throughout time. She decided instead to send a representative.
Hovering into the chamber was a massively overweight, splendidly ordorned figure glittering with a magical glow. If he wasn't flying and surrounded by a halo, he might be mistaken for a banker or portmaster of a big city.
"Caretakers Three. I am the Emissary's Visage, here to parlay with the one true Queen of Meadowcourt (not that imposter her sister) or whichever relevant underling. I speak on behalf of the Wyrm Boreal of Bluebell, Ember Vortex of Niflheim. My words carry Her authority...for I am here with Her now. This image before you, as you may have noticed, is simply a projection." offering a bow. His stubby fat fingers were covered in gold rings, and as he spoke he ate from a plate of greasy, messy pasta and clearly had two opened wine bottles in his large fur coat pockets. "Now, to the matter at hand, we first offer---what's that Majesty?" pretending to engage the dragon just on the edge of the projection in a bit of hushed conversation.
After a brief pause "*ahem* Well, my Mistress wishes to cut to the chase. As you know, we are here for the eggs. One way or the other, She will have them back. But you don't all have to die. The tower doesn't have to be obliterated. Your fart candy empire can stay in business and stay profitable. The ley nexus doesn't have to be nullified. Let's make a deal, eh?"
The Emissary's voice sounded suspiciously like Scramsax the Male to those familiar with the old member of the Narg Nasty 6.
Satisfied that the dragon eggs were authentic, Luthael let his companions lead the conversation with the abominations which must be destroyed.
When Gunnar mentions the bones of the nest, the prophet offers, "I can ask Khors to restore the eggs, once we separate them from the nest. How exactly are we going to transport them?" He rhetorically asks his companions. First things, first.
"We can task our guide to keep them" Ingryd says as she smiles.
"I say we grab them and I smash the heathenous thing that lies beneath. Unless Her Majesty wishes to see to traps her sister may have laid in wait." The bearkin says, still standing arms to side, face forward, looking at the eggs and not the harpies.
"Oh my! I wasn't expecting." The first of the three bobs her head back and forth in surprise as the rotund emissary strides into the once grand hall of the Griffon Knights.
"Your excellency. We are honored to have such a one as yourself visit our humble abode." Deftly adds the second with a flourishing bow and fluttering wings swallowing the ruse hook, line, and sinker.
"Hrrmmmm..." The third of the three, slightly older than her siblings by a moon's sliver or two eyes the bejeweled negotiator with a gleaming eye of golden skepticism.
"What are you on about now?" Hisses the second, her own brow furrowing in consternation. "Show some respect. Why its the Wrym Boreal and the Ember of Niflheim."
Hrrrmmmm..." Replies the third waving a wing dismissively at her all too gullible sibling. "Niflheim. Bah! Those scheming devil dotting gnomes aren't part of the deal." She hisses back across to her sister. "Can't you see its just another hero's trick?"
The first sister scowls thoughtfully, pondering the words of the third, but the second digs in her heels for groveling and sucking up to those higher up the political ladder was always her forte. She lets forth a brutal snort.
"Pleeeeaase. Excuse my adle-brained sibling." Says the second to the Emissary with another apologetic bow. "I fear the constant exposure to such chaotic powers has degraded her manners and good sense."
"Adle-brained!" Shouts the third, wings fluttering wildly. "You doubly-daft feather brained tick dropping. There hasn't been an Ember Vortex since the last one was brought low by that pyramid scheme. Why you can still see those ugly pointed tops poking up near the outskirts of the city. Nearly broke the entire economy, those so-called secure tombs did."
The first begins to nod her head. "Oh yes. I remember now." She says. "Nothing but mud and straw on the inside, right?"
"Yes, much like your sisters head."
"That's just about enough!" Shouts the second, poised to launch herself across the room.
Meanwhile...
Seems you're in quite a pickle. The deep, voice echoes within Luthael's mind. It has been silent for some time. Long enough that the prophet of Khors almost didn't recognize the voice at first. Almost. It is The Sword. The ancient blade that has been a constant burden across the prophet's back since Nargenstal. A heavy weight of responsibility and burden for sins of those who once represented Khors and the Light in a time filled with regrets and darkness. The blade that the prophet wishes to see destroyed when Khors is once again at his strongest during the next midsummer. You must reach the eggs, yet they are surrounded by a potent magic that corrupts nearly all that is touches.
It chuckles softly. If only there were some tool, some implement of justice, some beneficial blade of righteousness that could perhaps do something about that power. Siphon it away for a few moments. Divert its course. A dramatic pause. What do you say? A truce to rescue those innocent little dragon's? Am I to be offered no chance to prove myself? To reform? We both served the same god after all.
Gunnar ponders the possibilities before him. Certainly he could banish whatever entity holds the eggs within its nest-like grip. Of course, to do so could take the eggs with it. Or with the nest no longer offering a comfortable resting place, gravity would have its say and cause the hapless hatchlings-to-be to go careening into the depths of the tower. A trip not likely to end well, except for the young goblin Snort Buggerbelly who upon discovering the shattered eggs will treat himself to the best meal he's had in weeks.
On the other hand, it is futile to attempt to dispel the flow of the ley line. It would almost certainly resume with immediate effect. Perhaps offering a moment or two for someone to grab the eggs. They'd have to act impossibly quick to snatch five eggs and get safely clear. Perhaps if there was something else to hold the flow or power back or block it for a few extra seconds.
The thoughts bounce back and forth even as the harpies curse and spit at each other from across the vast open space of the room.
"Well, all this can be avoided." Ingryd says as she steps closer.
"You ladies can, as I have previously stated, leave. No harm, no foul. Otherwise, you can watch and get chastised later by your Mistress, or seek to defend and find your head smashed in by my hammer. The choice is yours: Flee, be complacent, or fight. I prefer you flee. Clearly, you are in need of some time away from whatever curses this place."
Ingryd looks at each one and gives them a critical eye. She then looks at her own fur and sighs.
"Pretty sure like me, you need to get out, get some fresh air, take a long soak in some water, get a good meal, and maybe some booze. Not too much, hear it's bad for your complexion. Lucky for me, My Hair covers most of mine. Still, you ladies seem like this is beneath you, especially when me and my friends have the eggs in our possession and you all have to face the Hag. So what do you say to taking the best option for your health and mine, go get the much-needed reprieve to get some food in ya, take a long soak while avoiding a fight, and a great excuse to not face the ire of the Hag?" Ingryd asks with a smile. Despite her clearly dried and caked in blood.
Gunnar considers, ”Is it possible the wall of force from the wand and the Dispel Magic could divert the ley line and break the connection to the eggs and nest for a few precious seconds so his companions can snatch up the eggs? Yes, perhaps angled just so and with the first, third, and fifth frequencies damped the flow should divert almost a meter out of line for 3.8 seconds, assuming the wall of force is set at the right angle to assist in diverting the flow…”
Quickly checking his calculations, Gunnar shares his plan if the equations solve correctly…
"Sisters? Wait, are you THE Sisters? Nevermind, yes...you must be the ones. I was told two of you were wise enough to enjoy a good plump liver when it was given to you, but the third spent most of her time bad-mouthing the others behind their back. Our spies collected evidence of various graffitis hidden around the tower, such as this one here..." the Emissary holds up a crude sketch of what looks like an owl woman with incredibly saggy, wrinkled features hawking up a mucus-covered owl pellet, veins popping on her face from the strain...vaugely resembling Sister 1. The caption scribbled was 'queen of eye rolls and unsolicited opinions beholds her loyal follower'.
"...I wonder which one of you that was supposed to be, hmm. Ah, heres another..." This time the Emissary held up a scribble with a resemblance to Sister 2, engaged in a not so charming posture with a certain lizard doctor. Together, and despite their intertwinedness, they were heaving a large log into the river. The caption read simply 'hussy making a splash the only way she knows how.'
"This is all rather confusing. Perhaps you can tell me who's hoo?"
Luthael squints when the ancient relic starts whispering into his mind. He sighs and replies, I have not missed your observations and suggestions. Nut, you know that. I appreciate the offer, but unfortunately I do not trust you to escape the box, especially so close to the hag's lair.
Seeing the wheels spinning in the Thorson's mind, the prophet whispers, "Gunnar, as you make a plan for us, please remember that I can fly, can also Dispel Magic, and wield the First Sword, which would probably not react well to that chaotic distortion. Scram also has a Teleport up her sleeve, too."
”Excellent, let us work together, Luthael. You and I work our abjuration and supplement with a wall of force from the wand, then our companions dart in and rescue the eggs,” says Gunnar, relating his plan to the others.
”That would get us an additional 3 cubits of clearance to get the eggs,” Gunnar calculates mentally.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
The Witch is an ancient enemy. Whispers the sword into the prophet's ear. And indeed the passion and anger for the hag who's plans each of you work to disrupt at this very moment is quite clear and true. For much too long she has been a constant thorn in the side of our god. You witnessed yourself that pain and suffering she has caused. The blade adds sending the so recent image and feeling of the old chapel and the pains Luthael felt upon first setting eyes upon the cursed place. I exist to deal with the likes of her. Would you deny me my very essence of being just to ease your own mortal fears?
But as Gunnar outlines a plan, the sword's offer appears to become less and less relevant. A way to block or at least divert the arcane flow? Check. A way to preserve that shield long enough to allow for the snatching of the eggs? Check. Someone to actually snatch the eggs? The wizard looks between Ingryd and Scramsax who both continue to distract the eggsitting owl harpys. Check. How to carry the heavy, fragile burdens back to their mother? Perhaps a question for later.
The three owl harpies continue to argue and screech at each other from their prospective points in the room. The first sister scowls at the image presented by the Emissary and her brow immediately furrows into a frown followed by a descent into outright hostility.
"Why, I don't look anything like that." She says huffily adjusting her rather ample chest upward.
"Eeeeww!" Exclaims the second upon noticing the rather lurid picture of herself and a now very dead doctor. "You couldn't pay me enough to sleep with him." She sneers. "He's just so gross and always smells of those necrotic preservatives." Her gaze turns suspciously upon the Emissary. "What do you mean by coming in here and spreading your fake rumors and gossip all over the tower?"
But then Ingryd pushes her way into the conversation between the emotional guardians and the illusionary emissary.
"Now there's a gal talking sense!" Cackles the third sister. "We've been cooped up in this old cavern for much too long. It's made us cranky and prone to squabbling. A vacation sounds nice. Someplace warm and tropical.""
"Oh my yes, yes. I've always wanted to visit Shibai or the beaches of Kashara."
"I hear Nuria's lovely this time of year."
"Bah. There's nothing but a bunch of dusty old mummies in Nuria." Says the first. "Now the vineyards of Capleon, there's some easy living."
The argument grows even more heated as the trio attempts to agree on a vacation destination. Thus leaving those below free to begin implementing their plan.
With the outline of a plan, Gunnar sets it in motion once the others are ready. Casting Dispel Magic, he finds his skill in abjuration magic has matured and the spell itself has become more powerful (Improved Abjuration)--a much-needed boost as he tries to deflect and divert the massive power of the ley line for the precious few moments needed.
Ingryd swipes in to grab the eggs and moves.
Luthael ignores the whining of the evil relic and whispers to Scramsax, "Scramsax, get ready to teleport us to the dragon with the eggs." He motions Darrel and Weapon X to move closer to the halfling.
As Ingryd nestled the eggs forth from their boney perch, a curious pair of hands extended out of her lush fur...the hands of the thief. With fierce certainty the corrupted ovoids were plucked one by one.
It could have been argued that Darrel the Fox would be best suited to snatch eggs, but the Barsellan did not want to fall into the traps of racism...nor the traps of this nest for that matter.
Scram then maneuvered into position in order to capture Emilee, Darrel, Raseri, Gunnar, Ingryd, Luthael, and herself in the effect. The bejeweled puppet rose from its slumber at the thief's wrist ~Anyone need to use the cocoa fountain before we go? Sure? Not stopping...~ before...
*BaMF*
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
*tap*tap*tap*tap*
The tapping of the wooden stick upon the chalkboard caused the eyes, eyestalks, pods, and ocular masses to swivel toward the front of drab imperial gray room number 66 of the Sorrowspine Academy for Young Evildoers, Villains, Inquisitors and Liches. The forty by forty square room was the unchallenged domain of Vampirix Agatha Bloodspear. Her bloodshot gaze sweeps the room instantly silencing the cacophony of hisses, chatter, laughter, and occasional screech until only the rattle of her pastel pink and lemon bone bracelets can be heard.
"Okay now, pay attention class." Her knuckle-rapper taps the large crystal ball glowing softly at the front of the room. "Today we will be discussing case number 4772896 in your texts. The Case of the Absconded Eggs."
"Oh miss! Miss!" Hisses a voice from the left side of the room causing Agatha's eyes to close as she rubs a shriveled hand across her pasty features. She was famished and it was still forty-five minutes until she could head to the slave pits for lunch.
"Yes, Digby" Agatha replies with a grimace toward the chubby rakshasa. "What is it this time?"
"Is this going to be on the test?"
Agatha's eyes narrow viciously causing several of the other students to hiss and mutter in sudden fear.
"Are you asking if something I would spend my precious time and energy attempting to teach you young foolish morsels is not really important? Are you implying I don't know what might be useful for you to know should you ever crawl out of your mother's den and actually terrorize a village of your own?!"
The young tiger faced demon-blood swallows hard, his eyes shrinking to small dots a fear suddenly grips his heart. "Uh...ummm...no...no not at all maam. Definitely not. It was a foolish question."
*Crack!*
Like a vicious snake, the pointer lashes to strike the rakshasa across the knuckles. "Yes it was." Snaps Agatha. "You must remember Digby Direpelt, that fools are soon skewered upon the swords and bows of nasty adventurers."
"Now as I was saying. Let us focus our attention on the chosen case." As she speaks the crystal ball grows cloudy for several seconds before clearing once again to reveal a familiar scene. A large circular room of stone. Columns are set around the space except for where a large opening splits the room in half. A column of potent natural magic rises from the depths of that opening and rises upward. In the center of the chamber is a arced bridge of bone that passes directly through the energy flow. Centered on that bridge is a nest holding several dragon's eggs. Three nefarious owl harpies overlook the chamber, perched upon ledges that . They appear to be busy arguing amongst themselves at the moment.
Standing at the base of the bridge are a dwarf, a human, a halfling and a bearkin. Another human, a foxkin, and a strange altered human girl are a bit closer to where all just entered the chamber a few minutes earlier. Another rather rotund figure dominates the area nearest the entrance. Dressed in fine garments and waving his arms about in some ridiculous gesture.
"Now watch carefully as I let the visual roll forward." She taps the crystal with her stick.
The frozen image begins to animate. First, the robed human flourishes a wand and conjures forth an arcane force field that suddenly diverts the flow of magic away from the narrow arch. The dwarf follows this with a burst of dispelling magic upon the nest and immediately the bearkin races up the arch to snatch a couple of the eggs from the nest.
The image pauses.
"Now who can tell me what went wrong with the old Hag's plan from the very first moment?"
"Oh! oh!" A young beholder waves his eye stalks while bobbing up and down.
"X'anzibar."
"Unreliable guardians." He says proudly. "They are too busy arguing among themselves to notice the thieving adventurers make their move."
"Yes, but why are they arguing? Miss Holly?"
The short, prickly haired elemental holly tree starts and then looks carefully at the frozen image. Suddenly her tiny red eyes grow wide and a toothy smile cracks her bark.
"They were fooled by an illusion miss."
"Indeed they were." Nods the vampirix. The image proceeds as the bearkin passes the scampering halfling as the latter races up the arch toward the nest. Only when the halfling has grabbed the remaining eggs do the harpies attempt to swoop down toward the egg thieves.
"Does anyone recognize any other faults? Yes, Marty."
A young shadow elf points back at the nest. "There was nothing to disguise the hidden undead spirit within the nest. Therefore the wizard recognized it and was able to stun it with his dispel."
"Good. Good." Agatha taps the crystal.
The image proceeds again as the halfling scampers back down the arch and quickly gathers the rest of the adventurers into a tight circle. A flash of light and they all disappear leaving the screeching harpies and the bone horror holding nothing but an empty nest and a thousand years of torment.
"Anyone else?" The vamprixes lips purse tightly. "Yes Digby."
"Well miss, shouldn't the eggs themselves have been a trap?" Says the young tiger demon. "Or why not tap some of that power to create an anti-magic bubble around the room so they couldn't just teleport away?"
"An interesting point young Digby. Can anyone share why his plan might be just as flawed?"
"Yes, miss." Hisses a red dragonling from the back of the room. "Since the hag was using the energy flow to change the weather in an entire region, she couldn't very well divert it to a potent anti-magic field. In addition, the Twenty-Seventh Law applies in that you cannot power anti-magic with magic."
"There you see Digby. That is why." Suddenly a banshee screams from out in the hall. The students start to gather their books and papers. "Remember, your torture chambers are due in a week along with your seven basic themes for world domination."
*BAMFFF*
The smell of fried potatoes and roses fills the air for a moment as the chamber within the knights tower disappears and the party of heroes reappear within the Stalker's Retreat eggs in hand and none the worse for wear.
Standing
After Luthael sees that everyone made it out unharmed with the dragon eggs, he exclaims, "outstanding! Well done, team!" He goes to Scramsax to help her with her carried eggs shift them to a more secure location.
He calls to the proprietor, "we would like to order a hearty meal for all of us."
Moving to Gunnar, he asks, "Gunnar, which would be better, would a dispel magic cure the infecting magic of the dragon eggs? Or, should I bless them with Greater Restoration?"
Recovering his bearings, Gunnar says, “Yes, let’s take a look. It may be worth detecting for evil or undead given the previous auras.”
Casting Detect Magic, he evaluates the condition of the eggs, asking, “About how far away from the dragon’s lair are we? We may want to move to an open area soon assuming she has detected the liberation of her eggs so we don’t scare the townspeople too much.”
"I will guard the doorway. I doubt the eggs absence will go without notice. So I am gonna guard the doors." She says, standing with Ennui and Env,y ready for anything coming in to attack them,
He calls to the proprietor
"...what? *ahem* I mean what will it be, sir? Wouldn't be surprised if those granny fairies ate all my stock. Or those damn flocks of albatross..." gazing out looking down at the clouds. "Well, gotta be some cucumbers left at least. I'll scrounge you up something...first I gotta check something though. Important."
Scram headed back to the contractual stone where a 'suggestions' box had been placed. Turning the little key, the businesswoman read over a handful of notes. She was bracing for the worst, after all the place had been basically abandoned since its creation. On the other hand, not many could climb the stalk.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
It takes several moments for Luthael to realize the 'inn' Scramsax teleported to was the one located nearly a mile up the beanstalk still growing out upon the Rothenian Plain. This is further confirmed by Ingryd, who going to guard the door, discovers they have arrived on a particularly sunny down upon the plain. An unusual occurrence for this time of year. She doesn't spot any curiosity seeking climbers.
But as she scans the stalk and the horizon for threats, the bearkin does see the cause of that peculiar weather pattern. The roiling mass of dark gray and black clouds surrounding the mountains to the west and south. They boil and churned like caged animals. Occasionally flashes of lightning flicker through the storm clouds. But that potent power is nothing compared to the massive the pillar of green light that rises up from deep within the circling storm. Any can quickly guess the source of that arcane phenomenon. From the top of the massive pillar great arms of crackling energy arch out and back down reaching the very edges of the storm to form an arcane net. Held within the storm boils and continues to feed upon itself and the arcane power fueling it to more and more power even as the magical cage keeps it pinned in place to continue ravaging the forest and mountains with snow, wind and ice.
Meanwhile out on the plain, the effects of the witch's weather manipulation offer another harsh sight. The rolling hills of grassland, usually a golden yellow at this time of year, are blackened for miles to the east. Eventually the smoldering earth leads to another type of cloud. This one billowing forth into the sky. Wildfire. With the autumn rains arriving too little and too late, the parched grasslands burn. Great swaths of once tall, thriving grasslands, dotted with the occasional copse of trees are now little more than bald, blackened earth and stone. From her perch high, high, in the sky, the bearkin is able to see the distant outlines of at least one burned centaur village. Who can know how many others have been caught within the conflagration.
With things seemingly secure, Gunnar and Luthael begin to examine the eggs for signs of danger, contamination, or alteration. Given the long exposure to the harvested ley line magic, Gunnar has difficulty discerning the lasting effects. Eventually the dwarf steps back rubbing his weary eyes and shaking his head. The eggs practically glow with the residue of their exposure. At the moment it is impossible to tell what might help or harm the little dragons growing within. The wizard things that perhaps waiting until morning to give the energy time to dissipate will reveal the proper treatment.
Elsewhere within the confines of the small Inn in the Clouds, Scramsax seeks out food and drink along with any notes from passing customers. Within the box the halfling discovers a button, a 3 foot length of string, a chewing gum wrapper, a set of nail clippers, 23 silver coins, 4 coppers, and 3 gold. In addition, there are several notes.
"Thank you for creating such a welcome place of respite. Love the view and the self service model works great. Maxine and Johann Tillis"
******
"You suck! Zeppelin Rulz!!"
******
"An excellent view, but the pantry selection is awful. Nothing but a few jars of pickled eggs and a sack of cucumbers. Best to continue on to Climber's Getaway. It's only another five hundred feet up and worth it."
******
"There's no paper in the water closet and no soap. Also there's no safety netting for the disposal system. My rat familiar jumped through and fell to his death. I'll be reporting you to the Zobeck Health Council."
******
"Haha! That dude lost his familiar. You suck...Zeppelin Rulz!"
******
"This is an official notice of the Zobeck Health Council. You are currently in violation of Section 3.7a to 5.32j of the regional health and safety code. You have thirty days to appear at the regional court in Zobeck to arrange for the proper correction of these violations. Failure to appear will result in a 500 crown fine and the possible surrender of the property. Have a nice day."
******
"We have been informed via the Zobeck Health Council that the location currently known as Smuggler's Retreat has knowingly and willingly provided unlicensed ale, wine, and brewed beverages. This is a violation of the Iron Mountain Brewers Guild code of beverage service and sales per the guild manual volume number 7 chapters 57 to 60. As such, you must submit a form QR45-391A to the nearest guild hall in order to receive a proper probationary license. If a probationary license is not registered in 10 days guild fines will begin accruing at the standard rate of 100 gold crowns per day. We appreciate your immediate attention to this matter."
******
"Haha! Busted by the Brewers. Zeppelin Rulz!"
Scram shook her head, glaring daggers at Gunnar what with his anti-dwarf slaying philosophy and tearing up the damning missives one by one. "...Gunnar, a word. I know how you feel about Iron Stag...I mean Iron Crag Mountain. But listen: that blimpy beer troupe isn't getting a second chance. I see them again..." the thief didn't feel the need to fill in the particularly gut-splorching details.
Taking the establishment's profit of 5.34 common currency as well as a bonus helpful spare button, remarkably interesting dangly string, some kind of mini-comic starring 'Arquebuss Jane' on the back of the gum wrapper which somehow found itself much funnier than it actually was, and a mercifully non-rusted grooming device, the entrepreneur grinned with a well-deserved solace of greed.
It was 100% profit...everything was going to plan, and only a matter of time before the big coins began to jangle forth looking for the thief's gaping purse. Those mumblecrusts in Zobeck could try all they wanted with their regulations and claims to authority. With nothing but cold hard coin in hand here and now it seemed the joke was on them.
But the hungry Narg Nasties were itching to send the innskeeper back to blood red. "Prophet...as the foreseer of all things true, you know nothing is more important than good vision. Of course a roast lamb would be a nifty fleeting treat, but this..." pulling out the odd carrot Scram has been carrying around for 5 years for some reason "...well we both know this is what's best. Eat up, friend." passing the raw, withered, once-orange root over.
Luthael accepts Gunnar's conclusions to let the dragon eggs cool until the next morning. The prophet asks Scramsax, "Interesting retreat. Too bad we don't have access to an airship."
"Do you have a way to create a surface that I can cast Scrying? We could take a look at what's happening since we left."
"Anyone injured and need healing?" Luthael would spend healing after a short rest.
”If we can communicate with the dragon and let here know where we are, we can direct her here to pick up her eggs,” suggests Gunnar, ”Though perhaps purging them of any lingering effects from their ley line ordeal first would be prudent.”
" Hey Guys come look," She says pointing to rhe strange anomaly out in the wild.
" Otherwise look for casks, or a butt, should still have booze in it if it wqsnt damaged. Use it as a reflextive surface." The bearkin sats as she looks on the scene before turning and looking about the Tavern.
Gunnar looks at the devastation and puts a weathered hand on Ingryd’s shoulder. Sadly, he says, “These witch hags have much for which to answer. I worry we may waste too much time resting and cleansing these eggs while the wildfires rage.”
”Still, if we rush to deliver the eggs and return to do battle with the hag we may unleash corrupted dragons on the world and fail in our efforts to defeat the hag, being too depleted to bring our full might to bear during the final battle,” he adds.
In a rare moment of indecision, Gunnar says, ”I truly don’t know which course of action is better, my friends. Does anyone have wisdom to offer?”
"We could leave them here with our hangers on and then return to the forest and try to defeat the hag?" Ingryd says with a general question.
Scramsax tidied up the lava flow, notably some carelessly discarded Zepplin kegs clogging the ash filters and mentioned "...you know, hate to say it but I think the hag evaded us back there. That little priss on the sled near the slug corridor? Well, think that was the same sled back in Lenovco I was tryin' to buy. Remember that horse-toothed woman slicin' me liver..? Same person I reckon, or ice hyena lovin' hag icy princess whatever."
Taking a break from managing the place, the halfling lit a pipe off a crackling emberstone in one of the heated seats and added "As for the eggs...either dragon knows how to fix it or don't. Either she takes em as is or she don't. She doesn't like our efforts, we slay the needy Niflheim reject and lay claim to the hoarde. Or we could crack em open here and now, have one hell of a spicy omelette."
"Remember getting the eggs was just a way to stop her from attacking Lenovco. Killing her was always a plan B...might be time to execute that if nothin' can be done about em."
"Except we told an Ancient Sentient woodland we would kill her" Ingryd says with a growl.
"AND I WANT TO KILL HER" Ingryd roars in satisfaction.
"Maybe if we show the dragon what the hag did to the eggs, she'll be mad enough to attack the hag herself."
”Maybe we do both. I can cast a Sending to the dragon and tell her to fly here. We offer her the opportunity for some of us to egg sit here, while she flies us back to kill the hag.” Luthael suggests.