This time around the roiling ground thwarts Aterro's efforts to put the newly risen undead creature down for good. Both hammer and spear miss the intended target as the entire cavern rumbles and moves chaotically. Adding to the noise is another tolling bell from Ibrox. Crunching on yet another batch of the sweet tasting red crystals, the warlock feels the spell fire and can sense the creature caught within the necrotic aura. However, the effect is less than what the gnome expects, but it matters little as the overwhelming rush of the crystals heals his remaining wounds and fills his mind and gut with the burning fire of undying power and glory.
As the gnomes eyes start to take on a red glow of their own, the creature scoops another handful of crystals, gathering several and easily shoving them into its mouth. More wounds heal, although not as many as the lingering effects of Khors radiance prevent the blood magic from taking full effect. Thinking the myconid is fully engaged with the crystals, Aterro doesn't expect the horrors sudden pivot and incoming fist that smashes into his chest.
Meanwhile the dryad places the struggling amber crystal over the scar upon her chest and begins to push it through her skin. Slowly, miraculously it begins to slip beneath the skin as the scar opens to accept what was stolen.
Trevor shrugs and says as he aims for the shroomanoid's mouth: "Didn't you mamashroom tell you that candies are not good for your teeth! Have some more Khors' light! It's more filling than death candies!"
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"HuuuRGH" The WarCleric grunts as a fist hits him with enough force to fell a good horse.
Though even as he is beaten upon, a short snort escapes Aterro's helm as the double-might whammy of Khors comes in but a short-lived flicker.
"Ha! Beseems Khors is not moved by this fight. Let us see if Thor can makes his presence known with a bit more...aplomb."
Aterro stops fighting a moment and places a gauntlet where the beast last hit him. A warming yellow light glows from his hand before transferring itself to his body where he feels life infecting him like a showering downpour.
Then the hammer attacks mushroom-zombie because of course it does.
As his big ball of flame disperses, Vrindel call forth a smaller one, and slings it at the big undead fungi.
Ranged Spell Attack
Ranged Spell Attack (Disadvantage if needed)
Flame Damage
Despite the healing power of the crystals, the reborn undead mushroom man is unable to withstand the combined assault of Light, Lightning, and Fire. The creature lets out on last agonized howl and crumbles to the ground where it slowly turns to little more than a charred pile of ash.
Ibrox manages to fend off the driving hunger, but his mind burns with fire and fury. The gnomes eyes glow and eerie crimson, highlighting a suddenly sunken, skeletal face, the outward manifestation of a desperate internal struggle to escape the never ending horror and hunger of the undying legions.
While the gnome struggles, the amber gem sinks fully into the dryad's chest. Moments later the wound closes and the fae grows calm, her breathing normal and easy. The convulsions wracking her body stop, which after a short while cause the cavern to stop shaking and trembling so violently.
With the combat over and the tremors ending, it is easy to make out the growing gaps in the walls, ceiling and floor. An odd grating sound seems to surround the entire cavern as dirt and stone trickle down from above. It is at this point you notice the slow movement of the roots as if they are receding, shrinking. From the somewhere beyond the tunnel entrance the myconids used to try and escape there is a growing rumble. Something that immediately makes everyone's skin tingle with instinctual danger.
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"I don't think we can stay here any longer," Aterro states as he looks around worriedly. "Trevor, if you will carry the dryad, I'll pick up the drooling Ibrox and I propose we run for that tunnel. The mushrooms tried to escape down it so I assume it goes somewhere else...and that is where I wish to be now."
Trevor is too shocked to realize he's listening to Aterro. He nods immediately, sensing the danger around them, and puts the dryad over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The frail body slumps over his shoulder and he proceeds towards the exit, too scared to speak.
"That tunnel seems like a bad idea... jumping from the frying pan into the fire so to say. I can provide both you and Trevor the ability to climb like a spider... and I can take the form of a spider, and we can climb out of this place".
The snap and crackle of old dry branches breaking rattles the cavern as Trevor snatches the dryad off of the floor. The roots that had once grown from her feet are all broken and clearly dead. With the severing complete, the collapse quickens. The light providing mushrooms begin to wither and fade, their light flickering and diming, threatening to leave everyone in complete darkness. The roots visibly wither and continue to shrink. Yet the fae feels warm and very much alive as the young knight holds her naked frame is his burly arms. She begins to stir, aware just enough to throw her arms around his neck and hold on, but otherwise still mostly unconscious from whatever ordeal she has experienced.
As the others start to flee, Ibrox sits upon the floor of the cavern. His mad, crimson filled eyes staring at nothing, a long thin strand of crystal soaked drool dropping from his open mouth. Slowly he drops the remaining crystals in his hands, but the effects of the necromantic substance continue to burn within his mind and veins freezing him into place unaware of the immediate and growing danger.
Aterro and Trevor make for the tunnel only to see that route in the midst of a complete collapse not more than a hundred paces away. The rumble of crumbling stone dirt and snapping roots growing closer and closer. Soon enough it is clear the druid's plan to escape back through the willow is the best and only hope.
Trevor nods to Vrindel while making sure the dryad is holding him properly. If he has time, he'll wrap a rope around their bodies, turning a deep shade of red as he smells the scent of her breath and her skin.
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"Fine! Vrindel, make your play if we would escape from here!"
Aterro shifts the gnome's form on his shoulder, one thick arm balancing his weight upon shoulder.
With the other arm he holds the Thorspear, and waiting for the druid to put good to his word, he grips the spear tighter, allowing Thor's light to pierce even this warped-domain.
"Unless Ibrox can come to his senses and help a bit, we're going to have to tie him own. Your going to need your hands to climb".
Vrindel hurries to the willow, and casts [i]Spider climb, first on Trevor, then on Aterro... "Go"! Shouts the druid as he finishes each spell.
He then takes the form of his favorite Giant Wolf Spider, and starts up the shaft after the remainder of the group.
Aterro and Trevor find thier hands and feet suddenly able to cling to the receding walls, floor and even ceiling as Vrindel uses his nature powers to gift the two warriors with the abilities of his arachnid friends. By the time the castings are all complete, the once massive root that spiraled down from above is nearly a third of its previous size. The rumble of the collapsing tunnel is deafening as dust and debris fill the cavern.
Spider-Vrindel takes the lead, scuttling forward on his eight fury legs and unaffected by the growing darkness. He is followed by Trevor, carrying the dryad, his elfmarked eyes also able to draw enough light from the growing gloom to make his way. Taking up the rear is Aterro, Thor's light shining from his spear as he carries the mind wracked gnome back to the surface.
What seemed to take only moments to descend, feels like hours on the way back up. Dodging falling debris and slippery, rotting fungal surfaces. About halfway back up everyone starts to notice dirt and rocks slipping through the cracks in the 'floor' of the great spiral. Oddly even with Aterro's light it is impossible to make out any sense of what lies beneath the mighty vines as everything seems to drop away into nothingness. Looking above, your eyes spot several similar areas where a hand spans worth of dirt and stone has fallen away to reveal nothing but emptiness beyond.
This added bit of discomforting knowledge gives everyone an additional boost of energy that carries you all back to the original chamber of the well and the shimmering glow of the magical gateway. With the roots now a mere third of their original size each of you the cavern's floor is slashed with several wide gaps into the black unknown. Fortunately the ability to move like spider's allows each of you to navigate the walls and even ceiling to reach the gate without needing to leap across any of the stomach wrenching openings. And with one last bit of effort you all charge through the doorway back to the world....
Heat blazes down from the midday sun and thunderheads boil to the west. The air smells of dry grass and the dust of late summer. A hot wind rustles the dark green, droopy leaves of nearby shrubs and trees. Although the storm clouds are still far off in the distance, a great crackle of thunder bursts forth as you collapse on the solid ground beneath the willow tree. Scrub jays and crows take flight shouting their annoyance at such a disruption on a hot lazy afternoon.
The thunderclap also draws the attention of a pair of giant bees resting on the top of what used to be the old inn. One quickly swoops down to get a closer look and then hurries off to the east. While the second slowly swirls down to land not far from where you all stand, exhausted and catching your breath after the long run back up from the depths beneath the willow.
Looking down at his charge, Trevor notices the dryad's eyes flutter open, the purple shaded orbs looking right into his own with a sense of surprise and confusion. Suddenly a wry grin crossed the lovely fae's face and she speaks with an oddly familiar accent.
"Oh. Hey kid." She says. "What are you doing carrying me around? Did I feint or something? Dang I feel weird, kinda like one of them bees I smashed back in the...." The eyes flick down taking in the naked, fae, female form. "...in...in the....wood. Ahhhhhh!" The ear piercing scream is abruptly cut off as the dryad passes out once again.
Uuuuhhhhhhhh. Necrotic candy drool drizzles down Aterro's back from the sack of gnome over his shoulder.
"She- She knows me?!" Trevor says, perplexed, looking at the others for guidance.
Vrindel immediately goes to the bee queen, to check on her status.
Circling around the tree, Vrindel finds the queen no longer held within her prison. The wood of the tree that once bound her appears to have been shattered. Splintered wounds of broken wood are all that remain of the queen's prison at the base of the mighty willow. Surprisingly, a new layer of sap and thin bark is already growing over the worst of the trees wounds.
The trollkin looks up into the branches where bodies no longer dangle. Instead the druid finds nothing but long dangling branches waving in the hot summer wind. The flowing limbs are covered not it deadly spikes and needles, but the dry yellow green leaves found on any ordinary willow.
Scuffling around in the dirt and dry leaves, Vrindel is able to uncover a set of bones. Gnawed, scattered, weather worn, and yellowed from exposure. They are clearly not those of the bee queen, most likely the remains are those of a dwarf or perhaps a halfling. In their current haphazardly strewn about state it is difficult to judge for certain.
Trevor lays the fae carefully down, her back against the tree, and waves air at her, hoping she'll wake and explain.
"Vrindel?! did we do it? Did we beat the curse and freed the queen?"
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Fortunately you fought off the driving cravings for more of the crystals, otherwise the magic would have easily overwhelmed the last of your defenses by now. But actually eliminating their effects from your system is much, much harder. Your blood seems to boil within your veins and complete madness threatens to overwhelm your mind. Even your connect to your dark patron floating out there in the great void is tenuous at best, and you can't be certain the Old One isn't actually encouraging your downfall into chaos.
Oddly something else also seems different as you dangle over the precipice of undeath. The ever present tingle of Baba-Yaga's curse. Always a slight itch in between your shoulder blades, a nagging sensation of being watched. It has fled. For the first time in your entire life the feel of the curse is gone. Unfortunately the madness caused by the rampaging magic of the crystals makes in impossible to explore this discovery any further.
Under the tree, Ibrox lays on the ground staring into the crown of the willow. "Blurgghh!" Is all the gnome can manage to say.
The hot, dry wind rattles the crisp dry stalks of weeds and dry grasses as the rest of the group searches for sign of the bee queen. The dry, desiccated and skeletal remains of Mog and the other goblins are still scattered about the courtyard. The darkness, foreboding inn seems less dark and foreboding somehow. It now just feels something like a simple dilapidated ruin with thick layers of dust, dirt and old leaves blown into the doorway. A patch of the roof has collapsed completely allowing a beam of hot afternoon sun to shine into the old common room.
Circling down from it sunny perch atop the old stable, the giant bee buzzes around in front of Vrindel gesturing with its multiple legs. It takes a few tries but eventually the trollkin thinks the big bee is simply asking him to wait. Wait for what is unclear.
Not far from where Ibrox lays in a puddle of his own drool, Trevor stands looking down upon the unconscious dryad. Puzzled by the creatures initial words, the knight watches closely for any sign of the fae's reawakening. His vigil does not last too long before the creatures eyes flutter open once again.
This time the eyes convey, initial confusion but soon take in her surroundings and a smile crosses her lips.
"It is over?" She says filled with disbelief. "My sister, is she safe?" Her voice husky, much older sounding than the youthful body. She breathes deeply of the warm summer air. Her chest rises with the deep intake of air, bringing an extra flush to the young knights cheeks. The eyes filled with fae light and ancient memories focus on the knight and her brows furrow into a puzzled frown. "Who are you and why do you loom over me beneath my home?" She says levering herself up onto her elbows and into a sitting position.
The change of position causes her to swoon for just a second and she shakes her head slightly, rubbing her ear with one delicate hand. "Who speaks so shrilly and incessantly?" She says looking around the glade is confusion. "If they continue to insult me in such a manner I'll see they regret ever taking breath upon this land."
Trevor is now even more confused: "You don't recognize me? You just said you knew me!? I mean, before you lost consciousness... Are you ok? Dizzy? You must be, you were quite drained, looks like; imprisoned, really... One crystal cage underground... Wait! Who's your sister?"
The dryad continues to fidget with her ears as she tries to answer Trevor's questions. Her face grows quite sour and a tremor runs through her body at the mention of the cage. "Sooo....it wasn't a nightmare after all." She says quietly, mostly to herself. Concern flashes across her fae features as she whirls around to take in both tree and the wounds where a queen was once bound.
"My sister is the queen of the hive not far from here." She says. "I remember the strange old woman coming...speaking with me and then my sister. Somehow she bound us. Used our connection to...." She holds her head, moans softly. "Root and branch! Where is that babbling coming from?!" She cries out again and then falls back unconscious once more.
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As the dryad roused herself to speaking, Aterro took notice and drifted over to here what she had to say.
Alas, her ramblings were but cousin to madness, answering no questions but bringing new confusion.
He had spent enough time around the charnel fruit of the battlefield to tell a corpse from a hole in the ground, and as the dryad's words drift away, he turns his head. The state of the dead around them worry at his head.
"Where are the bodies?" he wonders aloud at none in particular.
"There is the skeleton of Mog, a giant of a goblin who was made of great slabs of fat and flesh. I slew him and he fell to the ground...what? An hour past?
And now his bones are bleached and picked clean, as if left in the desert sun for a hand of days.
And the tree? It was groaning with fresh corpses of dwarves and other folk. Where are they now? Surely if the tree was recently slain, the bodies would still be about--either still in a green cocoon, or else dumped unceremoniously to the dirt?
So too, I have grace enough to cast blessings of health and healing upon the dryad, but before I do we must make pact that we then take rest. I would not again go barreling into the unknown with an exhausted spirit. We did that when first we came here, and we were near done to death. I would not repeat such."
Survival
Vrindel seems a bit unsure, but Arterro's observations confirm his suspicions.
"The fey works in mysterious ways. Unless I miss my guess time passes much more quickly here than it did where we were. We have missed a great deal of time".
He then turns to the rescued Dryad "I'm not sure what noise that you hear. I hear nothing untoward. I believe I have met your sister, and hopefully we were able to free her as well from this terrible dilemma. I must ask you however. Does the name Scramax mean anything to you?".
As Vrindel waits for answers to his questions, he approaches Ibrox. "I'm not sure that I have magic strong enough to help you, but I'll try".
Vrindel casts Lessor Restoration on his friend.
"Aaaaayyyyyyeeee!" the gnome sits up and shrieks in terror. Then he laughs, a maniacal laugh and plunges face first into the ground, unconscious.
Trevor turns to the others, now that the fae seems to be resting. Looking at Ibrox, he says: "At least one of us made it out untouched by this madness..."
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Aterro frowns as the druid confirms his fears. "We should away to the village as soon as we are able. There we can learn what we missed.
Indeed, they might think us dead, for we left saying we were going after the witch, and they thought it folly."
He has an opinion as the druid begins the familiar liten helse but holds his tongue. Though when there is no effect and the gnome attempts to headbutt the planet, he grins, saying, "Nay. He is touched in a way beyond our ken. HighFather Joakim might have grace enough to restore his mind, but he would be far from here.
Let us make him comfortable, perhaps we can rig a stretcher from branches, and we can carry him back to the town. Mayhap, with time, his mind will heal.
So let us hope thus dryad does not need us overmuch, or overquickly."
The dryad's eyes flutter open once again, this time turning their fae gaze upon Vrindel. She smiles at the trollkin.
"I greet you holy one of the wood." Her hand reaches out and touches the druid on the arm. "Help me up if you would." She says her weight barely noticeable to the stout trollkin. "I can feel nature's power within your spirit. Once your kind and my own maintained the balance and harmony upon this land. The machinations of that foul witch would have been easily prevented and her sorry spirit banished to the hells from whence it came." Climbing to her feet she sighs and then takes in a deep breath of air. "Alas, so few care about such things now."
"The voices, or I think perhaps it is only one voice, seems to have subsided now. I was able to lock it away where it can no longer bother me." She frowns, tilting her head slightly when Vrindel mentions Scramsax. "Odd you should mention that word. It was something the voice was repeating over and over for a while. Does it have some importance or meaning to you?" She asks genuinely puzzled but before any can answer she gazes up into the crown of the willow and runs a caring, gentle hand across the bark. As her fingers trace the wounds from the bee queens shackles, she winces. "Ahhh. The memories are returning to me. The witch her trickery. First she silenced and captured me, then using my own blood as bait, captured my sister." She shudders. A soft sob escapes her lips. "The corruption...desecration of my home...myself...my sister...so many lives devoured by her foul magics." Despite her fae nature, her pain and sorrow are clear as she leans heavily against the tree.
A few moments later as Aterro prepares to leave and Ibrox sprawls passed out upon the ground, a loud humming can be heard coming from the east. As the sound grows, you can see a swarm of bees both great and small heading your direction. They surround a central figure and one you recognize, although she appears much more healthy and vital than you last saw her trapped in the confines of the willow.
The great humming cloud swarms around, but causes no harm to anyone. With the buzz of hundreds of bees surrounding you, the queen flutters to the ground and offers a deep, formal bow to each of you before hurrying to hug the dryad. After exchanging warm hugs and sisterly greeting the queen turns back to Aterro, Vrindel, and Trevor.
"I had thought you all lost in the shadow realm. Yet here you now stand a year and a moon's time later." She says a happy smile upon her face which turns sad and worried at the sight of Ibrox. "Yet it appears your journey was not without cost, I seem to recall one other who accompanied you, and this one seems must have encountered some of the spoils of the witches awful curse."
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"Ha ha!" The gnome laughs and spits some dirt breaking out into song:
"I want to tell you a story
About a wee gnome
If I can
A gnome named Grimble Crumble
And little gnomes stay in their homes
Eating, sleeping, drinking their wine
He wore a scarlet tunic
A blue green hood
It looked quite good
He had a big adventure
Amidst the grass
Fresh air at last
Wining, dining, biding his time
And then one day, hooray!
Another way for gnomes to say
Ooomray
Look at the sky, look at the river
Isn't it good?
Look at the sky, look at the river
Isn't it good?
Winding, finding places to go
And then one day, hooray!
Another way for gnomes to say
Ooomray
Ooomray"
Then, he face plants again into the dirt, unconscious.
Trevor nods, convinced the Gnome is exactly as he was before their terrible ordeal.
He kneels in front of the bee queen and wants to say something chivalrous, but he can't get over something she just said and blurts, looking up at her: "A year and a moon?! What do you mean?!"
The bee queen and dryad both watch as the gnome drops back to the ground. Confusion is written clearly across the dryad's face, while the queen purses her lips in worry.
"I have something that may help reverse the effects of the toxins, but it will take time." She says turning to Trevor. "As for what I mean...it is as I said. I suspect when you released Illarya from her prison you shattered the witches spell that had kept her entrapped in both time and space. What felt like a rapid return to normality and collapse of the pocket dimension within the tree actually to place over several months of real time."
She waves her hands dismissively. "I've not the wisdom or ability to explain such things. Only that often time in the fae realm is different from that of the regular world."
She bows again. "I was freed from the tree over thirteen months ago. Fortunately, at the same time my people were freed from the witches commands as well and they were able to help me return to the hive. Since then I have posted a watch to see if you would return." She smiles. "Today you did and most unexpectedly with my sister as well. For I truly thought her lost to me forever."
She looks around the fields and fallen ruin of the inn. "But come. The thunderers acolyte is right. You all need rest and a chance to recover yourselves after such an ordeal. I offer you the hospitality of the hive if you wish, or you may seek shelter elsewhere."
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Aterro stands, mouth agape, as revelations pile upon revelations and his ability to categorize and respond to whichever crises is most threatening is quickly overwhelmed by details of magic most puissant.
That the gnome now fancies himself a giggling teenage bard does not help matters.
"I..." he stammers, trying to think of a some reason to turn down the invitation, to get back to the town and tell them they yet live.
But the words do not come.
"We would be honored, my lady," he says to the queen, accepting her invitation.
He goes on to explain. "'Twould seem we now, at last, have no hurry. Whatever the town thought of us, they have mourned our passing and gotten on with their lives in earnest. Whoever we knew there, they have given us up for either dead or simply not returning in any good time.
To return to them upon either this day, or the next, or the one after that, makes as no difference.
So aye. Aye, let us take pause. 'Twould seem we have accomplished a great deed, having conquered one evil and released a being of great good.
Such deeds should be marked by...revels."
He turns, his steps ready to follow the queen.
"But soft! You speak of the witch as though she has wrought much, to thee and thine in the past. Know you much of her? I had thought her but some goblin shamen run amok, but now, methinks she works at evil of a much different scale."
Months!?!
Trevor immediately thinks of Owyn, the young boy that led them to this mess. He must have turned eleven then, he thinks to himself, and starts worrying.
But Aterro's words sound ok, better than usual at least. Strangely enough, he seems to make sense. Perhaps it was the curse of the place?
"I worry about the witch, and I worry about Ibrox. As Aterro says, the town can wait, at least until we feel we've resolved the matters of the witch's demise and Ibrox's health appropriately. Aye... It is a conundrum, yes?"
Both dryad and bee queen shiver when Aterro mentions the witch and how much she has affected them.
"She is no simple goblin shaman, hag, or corrupted wizard." Illarya, the dryad, says softly. "Were that the case, my sister and I should have been able to overcome her."
The queen nods her agreement. "She has haunted these lands since the days of the great Empire." Her eyes flick toward Trevor and his elf marked features. "Some say she's even older. None know for sure, and certainly none know of her origin."
The dryad picks up the tale. "Most of the stories tell of how she was born out of spite, malice, hatred and anger. The Old Witch of the Wood, living deep in the darkest corners of the land roasting mortal children, setting curses upon lost travelers or innocent princesses. Filled with jealously. Living on the misery and suffering of others." Illarya shivers as she absentmindedly rolls a coin purse around in her hand. "Since it had been over a hundred summers since any rumor of her had traveled through the land, it was thought she'd gone. Moved west to the lands of men or north where there is plenty of hardship to sate her palate. Maybe Baba Yaga had finally grown tired of her meddling and driven her away. At least, that is what we had all hoped."
The dryad looks down at the pouch, puzzlement clear on her face, as if she's never seen the leather sack before. She examines the pouch, pouring a few of the coins into an open hand while her sister speaks again.
"Of course we were wrong, the Crone of Calamity was still lurking. Watching, waiting, weaving her schemes. Using her illusions and trickery to destroy the things she hates most." She turns dark, sad eyes toward the ruined inn and sighs heavily. "This place was once a refuge filled with joy and peace. Beautifully built with skilled caring hands. The witch hates things like that. A hate that burns hot as a smiths furnace."
"Yet, thanks to your bravery and skill, perhaps now, we can heal this place of her taint. With my sister reunited with her heart and the tree, this can once again be a thriving meadow filled with all manner of herbs and flowers. Perhaps some time soon the stones will sing to the moon and sun and offer safe harbor on a cold dark night."
"Hm... Well... This... This is mine, no? I mean, perhaps I dropped it?" Trevor blabbers.
"Oh!....Well, I don't really know where it came from." The dryad says blushing in embarrassment. "You must have dropped it as we came through the portal."
She hands the pouch back to Trevor and rests against the tree, one hand rubbing her temples.
"While you all recover in the hive, I must stay here to rest and begin the work of cleansing the glade and healing the damage that has been done." The dryad says, clearly tired.
"I thank you once again for my life. I am in your debt." She bows formally and slips around the back side of the massive tree. By the time anyone moves around the trunk see where she has gone, the dryad is gone.
The bee queen waves you all forward, "Come, it is not far to the hive. Gather your friend and I'll see what I can do to ease his troubled mind."
True to her word, the journey is short. An easy trail leads through the wood and over a small rise to another wide open expanse of meadow. The great sea of waving grass and flowers stretches on for miles. But no where does it contain any of the great purple flowers that proved so bothersome earlier. A mundane meadow just covered with tall sunflowers and other late summer blooms along with a hum of thousands of bees both large and small.
Another short walk brings you to several great rising mounds covered in clover, grass and flowers. Over twenty paces in height, and covering an area as big as the inn, the ground vibrates with the hum and thrum of the thousands of bees that must live inside.
Waving at hand at the large opening lit with a welcome golden light the queen smiles and bows her head. "Come, take your rest within the safety of the hive. For what you have done, you will always be welcome within my walls."
Stepping into hive the air is warm but not stifling. In fact compared to the late summer heat you just left, it is quite refreshing. A myriad scents fill the air honey, clover, lavender, apple, blackberry, a plethora of smells. You are each given a single small room, shaped like honeycomb, but large enough for a full grown human to lay flat or stand straight. The 'bed' appears to be somekind of soft waxy material that covers a pod of honey so that when you lay upon it a slowly moves and conforms to your shape.
As you settle in, the queen returns and pours a gold liquid down Ibrox's throat that settles his mind a little. She then hands a rather worn waterskin to Vrindel. "This contains enough of the elixir that should see your friend recover. One cup, daily for a week should do it."
Throughout the gnome's delirium you hear him humming and some time singing a song that you eventually can piece together as this:
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of a dark black night
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of a dark black night
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise"
It probably does not mean anything. The gnome is just broken and recovering.
Trevor is taken by the sight, but his mind nonetheless wanders as his hand drifts to check if his pouch is still there. Unrelated, he asks: "Man! That was a looong night! You think Scramsax made it out in time?" as he settles in the soft bed and takes off his smelly boots.
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During the journey to the hive, something naggles at the back of Aterro's mind, and he judges this as good a time as any to bring it up.
"My lady," he begins at the queen bee, thinking that as fine a title as one can have for nobility of any ilk. "I have a question. Or rather a proposition. Erhm, ah, I do not mean like that, but, ah--" Never a silver-tongued man at the best of times (and by best count he has crushed more drinks in the presence of others than he has managed to actually imbibe) the other-ness beauty and bearing of the queen bee has put him off. Focusing on the question at hand he tries to start again.
"That is to say, earlier...I guess, much earlier...we saw many of the giant bees feeding at these large, purple flowers. The flowers were of a pure and powerful nature, sending many reeling with ephemeral dreams.
One of our number mentioned that such flowers, if harvested and carefully cured, would be quite valuable. Even moreso, since some harm was encountered at the flowers, and some just due compensation seemed fitting....
But, ah, I see now, since you are so, ah, rational in dealings, I think, instead of stumbling in hacking at the flowers, unsure of how many to reap, I see now I might, ah, ask you your opinion on such. That, ah, is, uh, to say, what might be your opinion on how many flowers one might take so as not to harm your own food supply? And if you had tips on the best way to harvest them...."
Having judged himself to have said enough words, he stops talking and takes some moments to gather himself. As surreal as it was talking to her bee's head, he could not stop himself from snatching glances at everything south of the head and the word 'consort' kept floating in his mind.
Although kissing her was a physical impossibility, a man and woman could do more than just kiss....
Within the golden glow of the hive, the queen takes on a natural glow of her own. Much healthier than the emaciated, sickly creature first encountered trapped and confined to the willow tree. Her naked figure is firm, fit. A bit fuller in her hips and chest than a younger woman's might be. A warmth fills her eyes and her cheeks dimple with her smile as she greets all of her humming, buzzing children. Shimmering, lacelike wings tuck back behind her shoulders and drape across her back and upper legs like a silver cloak, as she moves gracefully through the narrow corridors of the hive.
Her skin is no longer pale and bleached like old bones, instead it is covered in an almost mesmerizing pattern of gold and black striping that wraps her entire body from head to toe.
She nods thoughtfully at Aterro's questions about the Effildawnan flowers, chuckling softly as he speaks of harvesting the great purple blossoms.
"Many have tried to harvest the flowers. Few successfully or for very long." She says. "You are correct. The pollen of the flower is quite potent and often quite deadly to most creatures. Always if exposed too long."
"To us it is harmless. A sacred bloom for my kind and the hive. Used in rituals and ceremonies since the long ago. Rarely have we willingly shared it with others." She stops and stares into Aterro's eyes. Her own brown eyes glittering in the hive light. As the cleric stares back he realizes her eyes are actually multifaceted, like a diamond with a hundred faces, each one glittering in the light to make the whole. Finally she looks away coming to some internal decision.
"I cannot offer you the secret to safely harvesting the pollen of the Effildawnan, for it does not exist for your kind. But in gratitude for my freedom and the freedom of my children and sister, I will grant you each a barrel of the sacred meade upon every other full moon."
"Prepared by us in this way, the flower's pollen can safely be ingested by your people." She smiles. "I am told it is quite pleasant to taste and has many restorative properties." She nods toward Ibrox. "In fact, it is the base for what I am using to restore your companion to health."
She pauses for a moment and then brings her gaze back to Aterro. "All I would ask is that the meadow is left in peace. The Effildawnan are quite rare and....particular...in their growing conditions. Any prolonged disturbance would be devastating."
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and her cheeks dimple with her smile
While her face of unearthly perfection stares into his, his own eyes flutter about, like a confused butterfly, minutely flittering over multi-faceted pupils. 'How does she see us?' he wonders.
As his eyes play along with this new information, the back of his head meanders over the change in the offer. His brain mulls on it and finds it good. For all of his iron will, he knew prolonged duration and the battle to cut down enough flowers to turn a profit would make for an interesting time. It would only be a matter of time before he, too, fell to some un-real escapade, and he did not long for such a thing, if the screams and insanity displayed by his companions was any example.
So an elimination of work, and a gain of much drink, freely given? That was a bargain if ever there was one.
"You are too kind, my lady," he says, becoming more enthralled with her. That she is a beauty is almost an afterthought to her enchanting grace. That the wings drape so royally must mean that she even evolved to be queenly.
"That is a good pact. I surrender to your wisdom on the flowers, for indeed methinks you would know better than I.
And speaking of things you know...."
He knew this next question was reckless, but caution was alas poor coin in his internal economy. He never gave it weight before and saw no need for it now. And the morrow was never promised one, so why wait?
"I have heard that bees...normal bees...have but one queen, and she is responsible for all the new bees in the hive." This was no great secret. "But, as you are...formed differently from thy insect cousins, does that still hold true? And if so...."
A part of his brain wondered, if he did ever couple with her, would their children be some kind of human-bee hybrid?
Oh by Odin's drinking horn that just made him want to try it more. Just to find out.
Trevor hears some of the conversation from his bed. He smiles as he falls asleep, figuring they would donate this bounty to the village to keep it safe and wealthy.
Soon enough, a satisfied snore rises from Trevor's hexaroom.
As Trevor sleeps and Ibrox recovers, Aterro continues to speak with the bee queen. With a regal tilt of her head she acknowledges Aterro's agreement to her suggestion about the flowers. As the cleric continues to ask his questions, she gives him a smile, her multifaceted eyes roaming across his tall, strong frame. She laughs, a soft, throaty sound, almost a purring.
"Indeed, I am queen of this hive." She says smiling. "And what you have heard is true. I am mother to all who live in the hive. Although I my kind are not required to lay eggs as often or regularly as my smaller kin. This grants me certain freedoms."
She waves her hands around her body. "Like many with the blood of First World, I can assume many shapes. This form I have taken to better interact with you and your companions." A pained look crosses her face. "The shape I wore when you first encountered me was a painful hybrid forced upon me by the witch's magic. It is not....something I would choose to wear."
Her nose twitches slightly as she sniffs the air, moving closer to the cleric. She reaches up and runs a delicate hand along Aterro's cheek and down his neck. Her scent is like honey mead, sweet, rich, slightly intoxicating with hints of rose and wildflowers.
"All of the hives males, were killed by the witch. Their lives given defending their queen." She says, her voice quiet and soft as she whispers in Aterro's ear. "Because of their lose, it has been long since I've mated. Soon I will need to seek out another hive, find makes willing to answer my call. Perhaps you wish to take on this role? The necessary transformation can be achieved."
Her body is warm, vibrating softly, emitting a low hum as she leans in closer to Aterro. "I can sense your desire, but I must warn you, the toll of mating among my kind can be quite....harmful, even deadly, for the male."
The gnome continues to sleep deeply, sometimes snoring that would wake the dead.
Groggily, he wakes and looks around his environs. "Am I still dreaming? Where am I? What happened?"