"Couriers..."
"Errand boys..."
"Messengers, indeed."
The three articulate as they each draw more smoke from the big floating hookah. Two exchange a quick glance and lean forward with increased interest while the third sits back and puffs away a more dismissive look upon his face until the others begin to speak. At which point he too regains an interest.
"We are merely..."
"Bystanders, watchers..."
"Witnesses to events." They say in response to Vrindel's question.
The second caterpillar fey drops to its many feet and curls to the edge of its mushroom to sniff the air around Vrindel and the hidden item of power he carries.
"Messengers..." The second begins the cadence this time, eyes and nose casting about suspiciously.
"With no..." The third leans forward as well.
"Livery? Unusual."
"Unheard of..."
"Unthinkable..."
"Unlawful."
Three sets of eyes blink and look on with growing curiosity.
"Yonder..."
"Tower..."
"Is Sanctioned."
"Is your..."
"Message for..."
"The wizard within?"
"What is..."
"That curious, curious..."
"So interesting smell?" The first, now joins its comrades in sniffing the area around the trollkin.
"Powerful..."
"Hateful..."
"Absolutley delightful!"
"Witnesses? Is there a wizard within? We are just trying to deliver to that tower. What's the easiest way to get there?" The trollkin asks the midnight tokers.
"So the tower is sanctioned and holds a wizard, does it? This path, however, seems to be free of the sanction, so we couriers should proceed unmolested, shouldn't we, witnesses three. Are there any other events of note you have observed regarding the tower recently?" asks Gunnar, attempting to reflect the witnesses' comments and bolster Vrindel's position .
|
Though his visage remains passive, inwardly he groans mightily. 'Beseems in this fey path we've stumbled upon a thing truly fey indeed. Which means it's curious and evil,' the WarCleric thinks, having never really trusted any of that ilk.
Without means to communicate his misgivings to his comrades, and seeing they have the talking (however fore-ordained the outcome might be) well in hand, he keeps his peace. His words rarely make a situation more stable.
Kalisuel stays at the back, unconsciously slipping behind Aterro to keep the war cleric between the strange creatures and herself. She bites down on the words wanting to spill from her tongue. The questions had almost forced the unvarnished truth from her, but she was more aware of that strange trick of this realm and she felt certain that she could at least avoid making things worse as long as there were no direct questions aimed her way.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
"Of course..."
"There is a..."
"Wizard."
The three communicate. The silver specks upon the third caterpillar begin to sparkle and glow softly as she, for her voice is certainly more feminine sounding than the other two, ponders the cavalcade of questions tossed forth by Vrindel and Gunnar.
"Of course there's a wizard." She says puffing hard on the hookah and blowing the smoke in your general direction. It's tangy scent tickles your noses as rings form around you and then slowly drift upward into the twilight night.
"There's always a wizard." Says the first as rings of lavender light ripple along his long segmented body.
"Everyone knows that." Says the third whose crimson body slowly changes to a pumpkin orange as it adds more smoke to the air.
The third caterpillar stands high up on only four legs. The other eight pairs gesture toward the undulating path as it follows the hilly land to the tower. In unison, eight sets of arms then point upward.
"Straight as an arrow..." She says.
"As the crow flies..." Follows the second.
"Is the quickest route." Says the third
"Shadow roads are always open."
"Not subject to sanction."
"But not unwatched or unguarded."
Silver motes sparkle more rapidly as the third caterpillar drops back upon her mushroom top. Reposing across the sloped cap, she leans down puffing again while directing a long gaze at Gunnar.
"Many things..."
"Have we..."
"Seen."
"Battles extraordinaire."
"Upon land and in the air."
"Some hardly even fair."
The second's color changes from orange to yellow, while the cycling light upon the purple's long body increases in frequency and brightness.
"Death and mayhem..."
"Upon the plain..."
"Blood has fallen like so much rain."
"Answered your questions..."
"We have done."
"Now from us for you, we have one."
The third caterpillar shifts her gaze to Vrindel.
"What is it you carry, so well hidden?"
"A thing that stinks of death and things long lost."
"A thing of power brought forth unbidden."
Kalisuel sneezes as the smoke tickles her nose. It is a dainty sneeze, but it sounds loud to her ears and she mutters a soft apology from behind Aterro, completely unaware of his ridiculous thoughts.
What are they after? We should just go. The less said the better.
She peeks from around Aterro and pleads with Vrindel using her eyes to keep moving. Something that might be effective if he was looking her way and she wasn't wearing a mask.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
"We do not know exactly what it is, or how it was made. These questions are part of the message for the Tower which we deliver. What you observe is what we observe." Vrindel replies fairly truthfully.
"Ahhhhh...."
"Ohhhhh...."
"Hrrmmm...."
The three ponder the trollkin's reply. The third starts to speak when an explosion bursts upon the tower sending a shockwave rolling across the plain following a bright flash of brilliant fiery light. The three caterpillars swivel around, bracing themselves upon their perches as the wave rolls over them and yourselves.
The tower still stands, but the protective magics that have held so far now appear to glow and flicker. After the effects of the blast pass, the first caterpillar turns back to you, eyes still blinking from the blinding light.
"The baroness..."
"Seems to be..."
"Tiring of the games..."
"With your wizard." Another puff of smoke.
"I would suggest..."
"You hurry along..."
"Lest your recipient..."
"Be tragically..."
"And, oh so, violently..."
"Unable to take delivery."
The caterpillars three continue to glow and sparkle and flash in the twilight light. Their eyes watching you now with eager anticipation.
"We shall enjoy..."
"Watching your progress..."
"Across yonder egress."
"A most delightful..."
"And fulfilling experience..."
"We do anticipate."
As the caterpillars converse more smoke fills the air and your lungs and several figures can be seen moving around the tower in the distance. To even the most uneducated tactical mind it is quite clear someone is surrounding the place and readying for an assault of some kind.
Coughing on the smoke, Gunnar moves as quickly as he can towards the tower.
He looks at Gunnar with concern. "I've some magic that might veil us, so we can try to cross those enemy lines without being seen."
Vrindel releases Tee from her pocket dimension to let her flutter around the tea. The druid chants in a guttural tongue and waves his staff in front of his companions as if he was erasing them from a painting. Then, he stamps his staff on the ground causing a veil of shadows and silence to radiate from him. The trollkin anchors the spell into the pseudodragon.
|
|
As a Cleric of War, Aterro is inured to most pathogens used in siege combat, and this one proves no different. "Smoke from the madking root, unless I miss my guess," he muses, breathing through his nose, as he was taught. "We have to do exercise in a room full of this stuff for a whole week. We call it the Week of the Mad King. I did pretty good and got a three day pass out of it. That pass was the first time I ever visited the Sweet Doomed Angel. Good times," he muses.
"Gratitude, Vrindel," Aterro says as the magic makes light his footfalls and he makes as much sound as morning dew falling from a leaf.
You each try to concentrate on the task at hand, but it is so very, very difficult quietly navigating the shadow planes dangers while remembering when your once best friend ran off with your best girl or that first time you experienced the power of magic upon your fingertips or when for the 13th time in the 13th year the monster that claimed to be your mother sent 13 hideous horrors to chase you down under the light of the full moon.
Under the influence of Vrindel's spell, you leave the curious caterpillars behind puffing upon their dreams and memories. Gunnar and Kalisuel stagger and stumble. Their gazes oftentimes lost and staring to some looking glass inside rather than out. But they do follow along, doing their best to stick with druid and cleric, both of which are much more used to a bit of mind alerting hocus pocus given the general rituals and customs associated with their faiths.
With Tee drifting along just overhead, all goes initially well. The trek across the grassy plain along the shadow road passes without further trouble or incident. The same cannot be said for the ever approaching destination.
Dozens of shadow fey warriors and others can be seen pouring through a pair of gates on the north side of the tower. A massive third gate births some kind of large siege engine. The heavy device is pulled forward by a bevy of furry ape like creatures who bellow and roar as a pair of fey keepers whip them forward. Twin, barrel shaped crystals are perched in the center of the trundling weapon. Each glowing with a massive amount of energy. Protruding from beneath the crystals are twin coils of spun gold and silver that end with an elaborate array of carefully cut glass that from your distance vantage point look like a pair of blood red roses.
As you hurry along trying to keep out of sight from the prying eyes of any scouts or spies. The great device is brought into position and a beautiful fey woman stride onto the scene. Dressed in silver and indigo robes, she radiates power and authority. She spends a bit of time aligning various levers and cranks with the aid of a half dozen scurrying servants. Then with a great flourish she pulls a final lever. Energy travels from the crystals along the coils. A hum fills the air that can be heard for miles. The energy pours into the glass roses where it is focused further and then leaps toward the great arcane shield surrounding the tower.
The beam strikes the fluttering shield and there is a mighty boom as force meets force. Great crackling arcs of energy burst outward from the point of contact lighting up the twilight of the shadow realm. Glowing cracks begins to appear in the tower shield. Cracks that slowly begin to grow and spread outward.
Meanwhile, the gathered warriors gather is rough formations preparing for whatever battle might ensue once the wizard's main defense collapses. An event surely to happen within the next hour unless the defenders within are able to come up with some kind of counter to the mighty shield breaker that has been brought into play.
Back upon the shadow road all appears to be going well, until up ahead Vrindel spots an actual roadblock manned by a half dozen shadow fey. Fortunately they are busy watching the fireworks provided by the assault and haven't seen or noticed you yet. However, now you are faced with the decision to try and sneak through the road block, a difficult task even with Vrindel's magical aide. Or leave the road to sneak past in the tall, wicked, sharp bladed grass. Or assault the position for surely they will be letting no one pass under the circumstances. The mere presence of the blockade upon a shadow road means they are ready to slap the face of tradition and throw it to the ground with little concern or care.
Suffering from distracting visions, Gunnar thinks, ”Sylvia, my faculties are compromised—I trust you to aid me in the coming battle to discern between reality and smoke-induced hallucination.”
The addled dwarf says quietly to the others, ”I have nothing particularly subtle to get us past this roadblock. The shadow fey are bad enough, but the iridescent dragons are another…uh…” He seems to listen to something unheard and adds, ”Uh, never mind about the dragons.”
Vrindel whispers "Let's try to sneak by. Can someone create a distraction on the other side from our path?"
Whispering, Gunnar says, ”I can invoke a freezing spell off to the side of the path on some of the saw grass, if that will help us sneak by, I also have more…ah…dramatic distractions I could use, but those might be a bit too obvious.”
Errr...Gunnar? This might be a time to focus your thoughts." Your shield interjects in your mind. The disembodied voice filled with just the right amount of chastisement and concern to bring your smoke addled brain back into focus. At least for the moment. But it isn't until you get a gentle nudge from Vrindel that you remember to cast your spell.
Your breath grows short and the world starts to spin. The echo cackle of HER laughter fills your mind as the skulls start to taunt in child like voices.
Little sister, little sister! Come and play.
Little sister, little sister! Why won't you stay.
Little sister, little sister! Mother's going to find you one day!
You barely manager to stifle a scream and ready yourself to turn and flee when another voice breaks into your mind.
Whoa there partner! Not sure what's got you so riled up, but let's not run away if we don't have to." The spirit in your spear says, the strength and just a hint of disappointment in her voice just enough to keep you from fleeing. For the moment.
Then Vrindel gestures to Aterro and Gunnar and everyone starts to sneak forward. Closer and closer...
For several seconds nothing happens as our heroic little band ponders how to slip past the shadow fey. Finally a plan is settled upon. Vrindel and Aterro wait for Gunnar to cast. They wait. And wait. And wait a bit more.
The dwarf stares at the guards who are still busy watching the fireworks of the assault along the north quadrant of the tower. He stares with an odd looking grin on his face and tapping his finger to some offbeat rhythm.
At the same time Kalisuel looks on the verge of some kind of panic as she stares ahead. Her feet slowly shuffling backward until a brief spark from the Thorspear seems to ease her fear.
Not sure how long the guards will continue to be distracted or his companions will keep their wits against the caterpillar smoke, Vrindel gives the dwarf a less than gentle nudge. The move seems to break Gunnar's reverie and he casts his spell.
One of the shadow fey notices the frost settling in and points it out to the others. Some chatter breaks out in their native tongue as two of them take a few steps off the path to try and get a closer look. This leaves a narrow opening that with luck and a bit of skill you all could slip past without notice.
After more distraction, Vrindel again leads the way hoping to get past without a fight.
Able to focus with Sylvia’s help, Gunnar attempts to move quietly past the roadblock.
|
|
Aterro, given a plan that includes nothing to smash, or, indeed, no heresy that needs a loud and thorough drubbing by his righteous hands, stands passively, allowing such foreign forces as "diversion" and "stealth" to achieve whatever kind of weird otherworldly alchemy that they might.
As he waits, patiently, for his Thorson brother to cast his spell--no doubt he waits for the opportune moment, he thinks, knowing little enough of stealth to perceive even its use to detect it being done improperly--he ponders that he might achieve a bit more guidance from Thor on this alien quiet-stepping operation.
He blesses himself with Thor's Guidance, and then follows along, hoping a doubled-magic assistance can make it through.
And if not? Well a little GLORIOUS COMBAT never hurt anyone. Much.
Though his steps are strong and sure, as is his habit, between magicks of druid and cleric, he manages to be just barely adequate at not making too much noise.
With Vrindel leading the way, Gunnar and Aterro with Thor's aide all manage to slip past the guards. Bringing up the rear, Kalisuel wrestles with the visions in her mind. But having been subjected to numerous different drugs and other concoctions while under the ministrations of her former mistress, she is able to sufficiently push aside the effects of the caterpillar's smoke and sneak past the shadow fey just moments after the others.
Under the protection of Vrindel's magic you all manage to make your way along the shadow road as is dips into a shallow valley and out of sight of the watchers. By the time it rises back up to within sight of the guards, they are several hundred paces away and the base of the tower is only fifty. However, the crackling magical barrier still stands in the way, keeping you out just as effectively as it hinders the shadow fey. Although judging by the growing cracks and arcane dissonance it won't be much longer before the shield finally shatters under the ongoing assault of the device to the north.
After quickly assessing the situation, Vrindel doesn't break stride and continues to follow the crackling magical barrier around the tower looking for a crack or obvious opening. He pauses in front of the ornate main set of doors hoping to see way in.
The trollkin pauses and shrugs. He was surprised that Aterro didn't want to get in the middle of a GLORIOUS WAR.
The druid nods and changes direction heading south, counter clockwise around the magic barrier.
”Should we not try to destroy that mechanism eroding the barrier’s strength as a first priority? The life of the wizard inside may be forfeit if his shield fails with a fey army at his doorstep,” suggests Gunnar.
|
|
"Is that why we are here, my brother? Might there be an army between us and them?
I might split the difference with you. If one of us wanted to skull to the north and see what sort of crowd awaited us, that might prove to have profit."
Aterro would never say he was averse to metting out RIGHTEOUSNESS, but going down on some forsaken island outnumbered a thousand to one was not what he imagined to be his destiny.
Some quick observation to the north offers a view of the big siege engine and its arcane beam. You are also able to see the shimmering form of another gate where the occasional runner or group of shadow fey come and go. Camped in a perimeter of a couple of hundred feet along a cleared area between gate and siege engine are between fifty and sixty shadow fey warriors or other entities that seem to be doing little more than waiting. Little more can be seen from this distance.
But as you circle to the south you spot a small postern gate partially hidden by scraggly shrubs and grasses.
|
|
"It is as I feared," Aterro says, mulling over the enemy's company surrounding the siege engine. "Though I too would like to raze their weapon of mass destruction, or, at the very least, use those big, beautiful doors, I fear that the enemy is in too great a strength for either option to be open to us."
Forced to circle South, the WarCleric looks diligently for another way in until they come to the postern gate.
"Hold a moment, what is that?"
”If I can get close enough, I could call down the Thunder of Thor on that mechanism, but alas, my stealth skills are meager, even with the powerful Druidic magic already in play,” replies Gunnar, about to continue his train of thought when the eye catches his eye, as it were,
Gunnar surmises this might be a way to communicate with the mage of the tower…”Let us investigate this strange orb before I do anything truly rash,” he says.
Arriving at the postern gate, Vrindel looks around ignoring Aterro's posturing.
But cannot find anything useful until the same WarCleric of Thor points out the blinking eye on the effective doorknob. He's loud but useful.
The trollkin tries to approach the brick to gain admission to the tower.
A crimson light flashes from atop the tower followed moments later by an explosion to the north. For a moment the crackling along the arcane shield stops and you can smell burnt flesh and hear distant shouts from the opposite side of the wizards demesne.
All of this occurs at the same time that Vrindel approaches the barrier only to meet the expected as he bumps into the field receiving a minor spark of shock as he does so. Although unable to pass through, the trollkin's subsequent words to seem to trigger a response from the watching eye.
The 'brick' suddenly detaches itself from its place next to the small gate. As it drops to the ground a trio of spindly legs unfold to break the things fall. It quickly scurries across the rough ground to stop about a foot from where Vrindel and Gunnar both stand. The eye blinks for several moments and then a beam of apple red light stretches out and runs up and down both dwarf and trollkin for several seconds. The light causes no harm to either, except for causing them to close their eyes or turn away as the bright light crosses their face.
At the same time another little appendage unfolds from the 'brick' and directs a funnel like end closer to the barrier and Vrindel. It simply lingers there while a tinny, static filled voice emerges from the blinking eye.
"The wizard...zzztt....adovan...zztt...currently occupied by...bbbrrzzzzt. Please state your name....zzzttt...of your request....zzzzbbbtt....reviewed in the order.....bbbrrzzzt...received."
The trollkin smiles and replies, "My name is Vrindel. My friends and I need to speak to the wizard Radovan urgently."
He looks at Gunnar then everyone else nodding. He didn't want to over-complicate the request or confuse the animated brick which seemed to be having problems.
"Zzzbbbtt....message received....zzbt...wait for instructions....zbbbbttttt. Zzzbbtt...could be delayed for...Zzzbbbttsss...days." The things then turns and promptly starts to walk back toward the gate. That is when you see standing on the balcony overlooking your position, the familiar and most welcome form of Britta Gleamguard. It takes her a few moments, but suddenly recognition washes across her face and she offers a quick wave then disappears back inside.
"I don't know why we keep having to patrol through here. That old human inside isn't going to make a run on for it in the shadow realm. Where'd he go?" A voice slowly coming closer. Clearly one of the shadow fey warriors.
"Quite your complaining Bashir. Her ladyship isn't taking chances. She wants every angle covered. And I'm not bucking her orders so we patrol." A second voice, clearly one of authority. "So quit complaining and keep your eye peeled. I swear I felt something pass through a while ago."
Some laughter among the group. Then the first voice speaks up again. "Right Nihls. That your old elf sense tingling again. Probably just indigestion. Hahaha...*thwack*...Ouch!"
The crack of something hard hitting something less so and the sudden cessation of any laughter or other conversation.
"I said shut your frog hole! One more word and I'll see you've no heirs permanently. Her Ladyship's, nephew's, third son or not. Now march!"
Vrindel hears a patrol of Shadow Fey approaching and gestures to his companions to take what cover they can and be still and quiet. They might have to kill them if the posters gate opens before they pass, so he grips his shield and staff ready for a fight.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Scramsax hurries over to the big mushroom, who is now nearly completely blackened. His face scrunches in disgust as he slides his hand into the slimy folds of the dead creatures head searching for the amber heart stone. After several attempts, he manages to find the stone and pulls it free with a look of triumph upon his halfling face.
...the ever adventurous halfling continues to examine the heart sized and shaped glowing amber jewel he recovered from the still blackening myconid leader. The pulsing light from the huge gem causing a slight trickle of drool to slip down the corner of Scramsax's mouth as his eyes begin to water at the sight.
In the tank, the dryad's body begins to stir as fingers twitch and muscles spasm in her thighs and abdomen.
Catching a glimpse of something hidden deep within the stone, Scramsax brings it closer to his face to try and see what it is.
"Hey Trevor! Come take a look at....Eeerrppp!" The halfling is cut off midsentence. Moments later he disappears, the amber heart dropping to the floor with a thump. It rolls a few inches to land near the blackened hand of the big dead shroom.
Scram only blacked out from the fall for an instant, but it seemed like a year. He licked his upper lip and tasted blood he thought his own. An extremely low, rythmic oscillation was pulsing all around him, his eyes and nose watering from a sticky humid heat and unidentified allergen. "Uh...hello? If this is that crayfish thing again can you please just come out..." he appealed impatiently but nothing came. Barely seeing anything, he wandered forward with his 10 ft pole outstretched, but only stepped thrice before the entire world turned upside down, right side up and again, over and over and over...
This time his face splatted against a translucent orange surface and he made out what looked, from his perspective, like the hand of a titan. For a moment he thought he was back on the western shore at the edge of the world, near a fallen Barsallan statue guarding forgotten sea routes. But the sounds of the battle outside his amber prison carried through the stone's shell, and the halfling was quick to deduce he had in fact shrunken and been encapsulated by the myconid's gem.
The pulses were getting faster and faster, and he started to feel more than a little drugged. "Oof. Nap time it is." but soon the audible thumps were joined by energetic blasts of shimmering light, and there would be no easy rest. The light seemed to be coming from a figure in the distance, the figure almost pure light like an illusionist's dancing prestidigitation. But it beckoned to Scramsax, the way a violent wind through the branches of trees captures your attention.
Thinking fast, the thief lodged his pole all the way across the heart so that its 2 ends were each jammed into a side. Grasping the pole with both hands and shifting his body, the jewel could be made to move...similar to a hamster in a wheel. *Better stick to the light...doesn't sound fun being stuck in here in the dark...* he thought, what he mistakenly believed, to himself. The feeling of being drugged intensified and in a flash he realized...he was holding his breath reflexively. When he finally took in the amber humidity he realized he didn't need to breathe at all...
*We can have lots of fun in here.* an unknown voice corrected.
The dryad continues to convulse on the floor where she fell from the chamber while the amber stone pulses brighter and brighter. Slowly the stone begins to roll toward the dryad of its own accord. It travels about five feet, then suddenly stops and starts to roll the other direction only to reverse course yet again and start back toward the flopping, spasming dryad.
The roots growing from her hands and feet shivering and shaking with each body contorting spasm. This in turn causes the continuing violent convulsions of the walls, floor and ceiling of the cavern. One especially violent tremor flips the pulsating amber heart stone within five feet of the fae's fallen form.
"No, I don't think so, roots! You aren't going to trap me like you did the Queen Bee!" No one could ever call Scram 'plump', his entire core was rather all well-toned muscle like a fish. Gripping the pole as a horizontal bar gymnast might, he flung his entire body into a spin, revving up the amber heart carriage in elegant evasive maneuvers.
On the floor of the cavern, a small drama plays itself out. The glowing amber stone, its light pulsing like a beat heart rolls closer to the prone and convulsing dryad. It as if the very roots themselves are working to push the heart shaped gem to the fallen fae. Yet, somehow the stone itself seems to struggle against the constant push of the roots. It rolls itself left, right, whatever direction is away from the dryad, but whatever fuels the stones struggle is unable to overcome the dryad's draw. Eventually it is pushed close enough that a long fingered hand covered it root growths makes a grab for the stone. It slaps the ground with a sloppy splash causing the entire chamber to shake, rumble, and groan. But the grab just misses as the amber scoots out of the way at the last possible moment.
Scram could feel the roots winning, and had to act fast. He decided to save his energy for a feint, allowing the roots to collect the stone. Maybe that would lower its guard enough to... "Victory is mine!" the prisoner shouted as it foiled the dryad's hand.
While Ibrox feasts, Vrindel moves closer to the fallen, convulsing dryad. Carefully he nudges the glowing amber stone toward the reaching hand. With snake like quickness the dryad snatches the stone and pulls it close to her naked chest, where the trollkin notices a large scar where a persons heart would be. Although the stone appears to struggle, the dryad's grip is tight and sure as she places the stone onto the terrible wound.
*clunk* "Hey watch it Vrindel!" but further protests were interrupted as the dryad quickly regained control of the heart stone. Scram uselessly threw himself this way and that. "...erg, when I get out of here, troll man..."
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.
Scram sickly realized what was happening "Given a choice, I wouldn't much want to go in there..." he decided, but his face was melting, making speech difficult. In fact many new and interesting sensations were ready for him to experience. His legs were sinking into the orange shell of the stone and he could feel them being pulled in many different directions. It nauseating, and spreading quickly to his arms and neck. The last thing he saw in the amber heart stone was another small figure hovering above him, equally melting into gooey sap: the dryad's life essence distilled from the world-tree Yggdrasil. Scram was for a moment completely indistinguishable.
...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.
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.
Scram now found himself in a twilight grove just on the edge of darkness, ancient flora reaching towards a featureless sky. Before him were three great orbs, arranged in a triangular shape. Two of the orbs were a beautiful, somehow natural, purple color. The third, higher orb was textured like unworked sapphire...Scram immediately desired the sapphire orb, it was obviously worth more than 10,000 gold coins. But before he could plan a heist, the purple orbs fluctuated and images appeared on both of them...images of Trevor. The images were nearly identical. Scram opened his mouth to politely greet his friend, and felt his voice carry through the strange orbs...
"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.
Something strong and authoritative was pushing against Scram's will, but the influence weakened and released just as suddenly as it came on. The orbs again had taken their solid lavender color. "Alright think. You are inside the dryad. What would the great Captain Cadavrus do in this situation..." thinking back to the Barsallen dilletante of tavern song. "Court the dryad. Of course...I need to love her the way she wants to be loved...yes..." He started tending to the plants and stones around the orbs, maybe if he soothed his captor he could find an opening to escape. He sang little verses of Cadavrus to tree trunks, made multiple tiny puddles into one big puddle, even uprooted a nice looking flower and transported it to better soil...all the while imagining it comforted the sleeping dryad.
In a short time, the purple orbs again showed the face of Trevor, but Scram found his voice didn't carry through them quite as well. "Trevor? Can you hear me...its Scramsax?" he said for the 100th time. Before he could finish the 101st however, his attention wandered back to the curious sapphire orb. He very much needed to get his hands on it, but was too short to reach. Luckily, his life had prepared him for such scenarios and quickly he was affixing a grappling hook and rope to the large flying stone...as his open palm stroked the glistening, blue and gray, rough surface he felt a strange connection to something, like walking through an invisible spider web...
(on waking) 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.
"Ahaha! You can hear me! It's me, Scramsax."
"Illarya." the unconscious dryad spoke to herself in a dream.
"No, I'm not ill. Just...displaced? Lost I guess. Who are you?" the halfling wondered.
"I think...well, I'm you." the dryad supposed.
"You are? Nice!" Scram responded, excited by the friendly exchange.
"Not nice. You aren't supposed to be here. You need to leave...you...are a weakness."
"Well, let me just pack a few things, I was just getting settled here I had my day all planned out and a few creative landscaping ideas..."
"NOW! YOU DO NOT BELONG TO THE OLD WORLD!" the forest began to tremble and darken, but the sapphire orb glowed with a bright pink energy, and presently a blast of concussive force sent Scramsax airborne, landing in a fun-sized puddle. As he sunk in the darkness the forest above was like a painting on glass...*We can have lots of fun in here...* the mysterious voice again promised.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"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?"
Inside the dryad's mental prison *So...when does the fun start? And are you a dryad too, I mean us?*
*I am...* the unknown voice pauses *...contingency.*
*Coin-tin-gents-what?*
*The dryad is right you know, you should leave. But on your own terms. Yes...I can help you, my pretty.*
*Own terms you say? Carry on, Coin, tell me more. Also I don't like how you said 'my pretty' just now...* Scram seemed intrigued, but honestly anything would be better than sinking in this puddle forever.
**ahem* Dryads have a great responsibility, did you know that? Their trees, their bodies, and the network they create predate even shadow roads. It is their instinct to tend this responsibility, and they will tend their task to a fault.* the final word was sharp and cutting, quite vindictive. *When the dryad is most focused on her outer life, the inner guardian is at its weakest. You can take it for yourself.*
*Inner guardian? You mean the sapphire, really? Wait, why didn't you tell me this earlier, I wasted a lot of energy thinking about gardening techniques...*
*I was hiding. I was hiding in the amber acorn, the heart I mean, like you were...and I was absorbed into the sap, as you were. But I mustn't ever let her hear me, as you did.*
Scram grinned in the utter darkness *Oh ho, sneaky sneaky. I get it.*
*But now she has quite willingly locked us in a space even she can not hear, all because of your delightful babbling. It's the perfect place to plan your escape.*
*Coin, you're a mastermind! Wow, you were waiting all this time?*
*Patience. In time she will lose her inner focus and the boundaries of this imagined space will dissolve. You can return to the tri-orbed psionic nexus, and subtly exert your control. Lead her back to the grove, let her be once again consumed with tending her task...disable the guardian.*
*Yeah I'll hafta craft like a little treasure chest for it to fit inside, out of sticks and mud or something...*
Coin metaphorically facepalmed *You aren't thinking in terms of quasi-static astral identity. How are you forming the thoughts to communicate with me right now? What infinitely small changes are taking place in the universe, and your own soul, to facilitate it?*
*Er...hum...*
Scram, or the soul of Scram, or whatever Scram was, continued the enlightening dialogue with Coin in the darkness for some unworldly time. He would learn to sense the dryad's true metabolism, the beating of her amber heart was of course only the easiest to contact. A fortified system of more subtle subrhythms, accents, and hidden off-beats colored the flowing sap and what it meant to be alive. And Scramsax would soon learn to control such things, as the orbs facilitated contact...the dryad was right, in a way, he had become her.
And the entity Scramsax chose to call 'Coin' wasn't wrong either. As the mental prisoner's influence grew, it was actually his oldest habits that were the easiest to recreate in the captor...
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...
*Hehe. Even the cutpurse didn't notice the purse cutting.* cracking his astral knuckles in satisfaction.
After a time the rescued dryad did indeed return to her eternal task, lowering her inner guard. It was getting easier for Scram, the concussive blasts from the sapphire orb coming further and further apart...Coin was right: being quiet at the right time one could easily evade notice. The dryad had to concentrate very hard (or be especially emotionally perturbed) to reach the place they inhabited, it didn't come naturally for her.
In months Scramsax' control was such that even the psionic nexus itself began to take on a new form to echo his astral identity. Strange crystals grew from the soil the halfling could easily shape and deform into comfortable chairs and leaf-less pipes, the beginning of what Coin referred to as an 'intellect fortress'. Ever present over his domain of course the great sapphire, a never-setting sun.
At times though Scram secretly admired Illarya. Sometimes when Coin was resting in the puddle, he would put his legs up on the psi-crystal ottoman and appreciate the care she was providing to the ravished lands. He would even propose to himself at times (just as a hypothetical) that it really wasn't Illarya but his own actions that lead him to be trapped here. After all, he was the one who sought the amber gemstone in the first place, surely she didn't put it there as a trap?
But Coin helped Scramsax think through such things more rationally, and see the truth.
The smell of a familiar pipe smoke tickles their nose just before they spot the dryad sitting casually up in the tree, naked legs dangling from one of the big limbs.
She waves and smiles upon seeing the druid and warlock. Then takes a moment to tap the pipe on the limb before dropping down to greet they two new arrivals.
"Vrindel, Ibrox!" She says clapping the two upon the shoulder. "Good to see you again." She spins gesturing toward the pond and flowers. "What do you think? It's taken a bit of work, but not bad for a city girl...errrr...I mean....well I don't know what I mean. But not bad eh?"
Surprisingly, the dryad is quite talkative, speaking of the flowers around the circle, additional trees she plans to add once the pond is full, and other plans for restoring this small patch of the natural world following the devastation at the hands of the ancient witch. Both travelers notice that occasionally the fae slips into an unusual western accent, one they can't help but feel like they've heard before, but then it goes away again.
Scram was pushing it, he could feel a low hum from the Third Eye as Illarya's mental defenses started to raise...but it was so great to see his companions again. He retired for a time, simply watching through the purple orbs with minimal influence as long as he could, but when Ibrox questioned himself Scram couldn't help but give an opinion to his friend...its what friends do.
After a few moments, she taps her pipe against the rock and casually fills it with some sort of herb. Pulling a thin brand from the fire she expertly lights the pipe and flicks the stick back into the flames. A cloud of smoke gathers around her head as she puffs quietly for a few more moments.
"The way I see it, your brush with joining the undead meant you were very likely actually dead for a time." Her voice takes on a deeper tone as she speaks and smokes. Slightly more masculine and with the occasional familiar accent. "Since the old crone herself cursed all your living kin, once you were undead...or close enough as far as the curse was concerned...it jumped ship. Figured it's job was done and set sail for other shores."
"As for how that helps the rest of your folk, I haven't the slightest idea." She says shaking her head. "Case of the cure being worse than the curse is my guess." She holds the pipe in her hand by the bowl an points the end at Ibrox. "I mean, you barely survived and almost went completely mad. How many are going to risk becoming brainless undead to break free of a curse they've already learned to live with? Not too mention, the others your kind made a bargain with for protection. They might not react real favorably to someone coming along and messing with their sweet deal."
She slips the pipe back between her lips and blows a smoke ring. "I'm just saying, watch your back friend. Most folk don't like change. They like it even less when it messes up a good business arrangement."
Suddenly, the crystal chassis enclosing astral-Scram cracked. There was a fourth presence in the psionic nexus, not Scram, not Coin, not Illarya. Something infinitely more powerful than all of them combined...a creeping betrayer appeared as a dense fog making most of the forest invisible.
*Wha..what is it, Coin? What's happening?* but there was not the slightest peep of a response. From the trees there came a multitude of new tri-orbs of all different colors and textures. They blasted the fog with concussive energies much stronger that Illaryas, and at times the shrapnel seemed like writhing vipers, such wisps of hate. After setting up a defensive perimeter, these foreign tri-orbs moved in to reinforce Illarya's original set, causing the purple orbs to ignite with a green glow. Some kind of cascading waves rippled through the tri-orbs and the fog, and that sinister 4th presence finally receded...though it wasn't quite gone. Scram found it hard to listen to the whispers of this...the bearer of the apocalypse.
The sword clatters to the ground where it sits until a series of vines weave themselves around the metal blade. The dryad continues to gesture, her eyes glowing green as vines spin and twirl around the weapon until it is wrapped in a cocoon thick as a wine barrel. Satisfied the thing is no longer an immediate threat, she snaps her fingers and the vines drag the sword to a far corner of her garden.
"That should keep it out of the way for the moment." She says. "Although I'll not be able to hold it for long. It is too powerful and will draw too many seekers even with its aura dampened by the vines." Her look turns inward for a moment and she frowns. "I also fear its...influence." She adds with a hint of hesitation. "It seems that as long as it is held within my demense and magic, I can hear the spirits twisted thoughts and feel it desires. Fortunately they are quite muted and distant. Still 'tis not something I'd want t' keep in my pocket forever." Those last words are spoken with an odd Barsallan accent that for some reason remind both Vrindel and Aterro of young Scramsax. But then the resemblance and accent disappear and the dryad appears her more usual fae self, except for the pipe she pulls out and begins to smoke.
"I don't want to be here forever." he spoke to himself, for the first time in a long time.
Following Vrindel quickly out of sight, Gunnar waits quietly, so as not to give away their position. All this skulking about rankles him, though, as he wishes to take the fight more directly to the enemy...
With a quiet warning, Vrindel waves everyone into the tall, rustling grass that surrounds the tower and covers most of the land for hundreds of yards in every direction. Still under the effects of the druid's spell, there is no sign of your passage as each of you hunker down in the chest high grass and wait for the shadow elves to pass.
There are four of them. Armed and armored. They slowly make their way around the cleared ground surrounding the tower and along the barrier. They continue the banter of bored warriors with little else to do except complain about their superiors and just about anything to do with their current task. None pay any attention to the door or the blinking eye on the other side of the barrier. All walk right past each being sure to avoid wandering off the path and into the tall grass.
The enemy is twenty feet past the door and where you all currently hide when each of you first feel the sharp stabbing pains in your feet and legs. With panicked downward glances, each of you see needle thin blades of grass jabbing through leather and even the links in metal armor. What's worse is the longer, thicker strands of grass that are busy wrapping themselves around your feet and limbs to hold you in place while the feeder shoots do their work.
Vrindel grits his teeth in pain as the blood-sucking grass digs in deep. He unsuccessfully struggles against the constriction.
The trollkin's inhuman vigor kicks in to counteract the wounds.
He tries to remain still and quiet to ensure that they don't have to fight the patrol and the grass at the same time.
Somewhere in that disturbing reflection of creation known as the Shadow Realm, a little fey rabbit with rainbow antennae sniffed at a fallen acorn.
It had managed to find some berries a few days ago, but a nut this big nearly had the bunny salivating. Still, as hungry as the creature was, its instincts sent it into a great leap when the acorn started to vibrate and its black shell withered and crackled. A substance aglow with the hyper-natural ambergreen light of fireflies rapidly extruded from the acorn, piling up higher and higher into what looked like a large, sticky bean. Whatever the thing was, the acorn was instantly rejecting it.
"Mmf mmf MM hmm mm." appealed the bean, but the rabbit did not recognize the odd dialect. In fact, its ultra sensitive ears at that moment picked up a very particular whinneying in the distance, and the acorn dropped a few tickboxes on its 'coney'-do-list, taking for the hills.
Thus only the stars could watch helplessly as a tiny hand pushed from inside the thin, gooey membrane. It probed the surface desperately here and there, stretching the odd elastic material near its breaking point...until finally a single halfling finger ruptured and broke free.
The finger retreated immediately and was replaced by a nose with 2 nostrils, dilating for some time to take in the stale Shadow air. Scramsax' tiny body slipped remarkably easily through the opening, aided by the lubricating sap that covered his skin and gear, plopping onto the black forest floor.
Grabbing a handful after handful of the sticky sap from his eyes he squinted carefully open to take in his surroundings...and was astonished to see what, for all intents and purposes, was an actual unicorn. But in reality this was a cold-hearted shadhavar, scourge of the shadow plains.
Scram tried to speak, but found his mouth was likewise jam-packed with the placental sap. Vomiting, the shadhavar barely tolerated everything this strange little creature was doing, skuffing its hooves and lowering its single horn in protest. If Scram could just get a word out, he would explain everything...
Fragments of the last few months scurried around in the dusty recesses of the halfling's mind. Crafting crystal structures in the forest with his friend Coin, studying the strange body-mind duality that existed within the dryad's subconscious echo of herself, the everpresent impossible to look away from three orbs...images, sounds and smells came back to him in pieces.
There was one moment that was quite clear however, the theft of the sapphire orb. It had been a puzzle for some time, he approached it from many angles and all of them failed. He had finally taken it simply by realizing one important fact: since neither Scram nor the stone existed, location was meaningless. He simply slipped it into his pocket, since it was neither there nor anywhere.
*Wait. I don't want your horn, though its really nice.* he lied (he actually did badly want the horn), instinctually feeling his way into the alien psyche. But the effect astonished the creature as much as Scramsax. What in the name of hell just happened?
|
|
"Mmmrmph," Aterro mumbles, trying to stay quiet even as this un-natural assault bores into him. Though his armor is heavier than most, even he misses the blood that now runs from him in copious amounts.
Realizing that he can't stay here forever, he calls on Thor's Guidance to see him through in future endeavours to escape.
Gunnar is held fast by the ensnaring grass, but he growls away the pain and waits for the foes to pass.
The grass burrows and delves deeper into Vrindel, Aterro, and Gunnar as the three find themselves held fast by the wicked blood sucking stuff of the shadow realm. Following her initial shock and need for silence, Kalisuel quietly manages to wriggle herself free of the deadly grip, her thin frame being better suited for such things verses her more brawny companions.
As the elf slips free, the shadow fey patrol continues on their circuit of the tower. Still bickering and complaining, not having realized their quarry was only a few dozen feet away. After what feels like an excruciatingly long time, the enemy disappears around to the eastern side of the tower. Kalisuel quickly moves and starts cutting the grass away from Aterro who happened to the closest. Already the war cleric is practically covered in the thick bladed grass as it continues to wrap around his body and feed like a starved shark upon his blood filled body.
Unwilling to take the chance further with these grasping blades of grass, Gunnar calls on the magic of Asgard and invokes Heimdall’s Eacape (), banishing from the plant’s clutches and back onto the path now that it is clear of the patrol. Carefully aiming another spell, Gunnar tries to freeze the grass holding Vrindel fast (Curse of the Frost Giants (Frostbite) to give advantage for his check).
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
The Shadow Realm. Place of mystery. Land of legends. Den of Duplicity. Home to horrors and tales to scare children. A giant gods bedamned pain in the backside. If it is trying to eat you, it's trying to rob you blind or enslave your soul.
Sure those first few moments of telepathic contact had been awkward and uncomfortable. Sure you'd had various creatures look at you like you were the daily catch of the day along fisherman's warf. But you'd never actually heard their thoughts as they'd considered whether you'd taste better with a red, white, or silvery moonshadow sauce (whatever that is). Roasted or rotted. Whether it would start with the fleshy backside or a meaty arm. (Perhaps a year spent in a dryad's psyche did leave one a bit out of shape.)
Definitely an experience more unsettling than you might have imagined. And yet, you'd worked your way beyond those initial troublesome interactions. Thought you'd come to an arrangement with the Shadavar. You provide it a couple of good meals, not derived from your own personal body parts. And it provides you with a bit of transportation in the direction of...well where ever you wanted to go.
It didn't occur to you to bargain when you wanted the ride. Or if you'd be able to use any kind of harness, rope, belt or other way of attaching yourself to the creature's, hard as a petrified logs back. Thus the first time it decides to leap over some weird undulating, and hungry looking, mass of vines and thorns, you end up tumbling into the midst of them and can still hear the shadavar's laughter as it went galloping off into the moonset. Leaving you to hack your way free of the halfling eating hedge. (Who apparently prefers mushrooms with its halfling repaste.)
You can't help but wonder if perhaps life wasn't better back inside the dryad with Coin as your companion and confidant. But choices had been made. So onward you travel. Escaping to Forest of Lost Torments, so it was called by that pink and orange striped rabbit right before you skewered it for dinner. Stupid long-eared varmint didn't even help you out of the acorn, least it could do was fill your belly.
After what seems like days, but could have only been minutes, or maybe centuries. You come to the edge of the wood and upon an open plain of tall grass that tinkles like a set of chimes in a soft breeze. It only take a few steps and several dozen puncture wounds to figure out the grass was not friendly. But as luck would have it there's a path. Simple. Stone lined. Rolls and winds its way across the rolling plain to a tall stone tower that stands like a bastion of civilization in this vast ocean of inhospitable, dim, gray wasteland.
You set off down the path. You've crossed about half of the distance to the tower when far up ahead a light flashes. Suddenly four beings emerge from some kind of gateway. It's hard to tell from this distance, but your eyes have adjusted some to the dimmer light and subtle tonal differences in this mostly black and white realm. Two of the new comers seem quite familiar. The tallest two. A human, dressed in heavy armor. A trollkin, carrying a staff and...something...that pulls you toward it. A residue of her magic. The memories come crashing back. Vrindel! Aterro! Plain as day those two stand in the moonlight only a couple of hills over.
You wave and shout but they seem to be focused on the tower and some great conflagration that is happening there. No one spots you and your shouts simply drift away in the wind. There's nothing for it, you've just got to hurry and catch them up. A harder task that you might have imagined since they too seem in a hurry. And the task gets even harder after you stop for a pleasant chat and smoke with a trio of caterpillars who talk a lot but offer little actual information. Still the smoke is quite intoxicating with a pleasant spicy aftertaste.
By the time you regain your senses, the four have already disappeared over the next hill. Cursing your own lack of discipline you hurry after even as whatever field that protects the tower looks ready to give in at any moment to the power of its assailant. You recall that a shadow fae once traveled with the others before you joined up with them. Had they got caught up in some politics of the realm? Bargained a way to deal with that old witch? Only one way to find out, so you hurry ahead.
Not certain of your own standing with the shadow fae, you sneak around the guard post, also careful not to go deep into the surrounding grassland. With that obstacle passed it's on to the tower where you flip a coin and guess that your companions went south rather than north toward the shadow fey. You follow a discreet distance behind a patrol, keeping a close eye out for any sign of where your former companions may have gone.
You are about to continue on when a dwarf suddenly appears in the path. Bleeding from multiple punctures, wounds you are all too familiar with, the dwarf turns gazes into the grass and sends a wave of chill air flowing over it that causes the stuff to shrivel and turn yellow brown as it grows limp.
As the bleeding pile of leather and metal rolled on the path, Scram's first instinct was to hide...but as the pile stood the light of its invoked magic illuminated the face of a dwarf. "Ahoy! ...a little landscaping, eh? It really is just what this place needs, I'd say." he lied, coming forward covered in some kind of orange-ish tar-like substance, now quite crusty in some places.
There's a lot of rabbit fur stuck in the goo around his mouth, but otherwise he is completely hairless. His gait is rather odd and bowlegged, as if he were just kicked repeatedly in the crotch with tremendous intensity. "Lilacs there, some snapdragons...*cough* say, friend, don't suppose you have a drink?"
He seems completely unarmed...
Snapping his shield up at the sight of the new arrival, Gunnar asks quietly, ”Are ye with the shadow fey or the wizard of the tower?”. The head of his war hammer sizzles with electrical energy, and he seems to be quite wary, and perhaps even a bit…drugged?
Gunnar tries to focus on the new arrival, attempting to decide if it is a shadow fey or something else…
Vrindel grits his teeth in pain again as the blood-sucking grass continues in deep. He successfully escapes the constriction and stands up.
The trollkin's inhuman vigor kicks in again to counteract the wounds.
Then, in a bit of shock, the druid asks the small stranger, "Scramsax? Is that you? Tell me something that only we would know together?"