Scram gives Gunner's inquiry an honest think "Hrmmm. Na, neither of those. There was a unicorn I thought was alright, but turned out he had the spiteful attitude of the damned..." about to tell his entire story in reverse when the druid outsmarts some plants once and for all and stands.
At Vrindel's friendship test, he padded the pockets in his vest and britches. Spoils could speak louder than words.
A normal person with a normal attention span would've thought different. Here was the trollkin who helped push him and the amber heart into the chest of Illarya, where he was kept for months... But Scram couldn't hold a grudge, he just didn't possess that kind of long term focus. Instead his fingers crept about the buttons and leather pouches looking for something from happier times...his time as Admiral of the Barsellan Fleet.
Before he could answer, he almost started laughing. He realized almost all of his gear must still be back in the meadow with the hallucinogenic flowers. Finally he held up one of the few things he had found that day, a tiny glass vial filled with spiky little nodules "I bet you remember this!" he wagered excitedly "Effildawnan pollen from one of those bees, it is. Who else in the world has a vial of this, eh?"
Turning his attention back to Gunner "Yes I'll sell it to you for an honest price."
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"Gratitude, Kalisuel," Aterro rumbles as he is at last freed from the terrible grass' grasp.
Faunally free, he only now becomes aware of just how much blood he's lost over the exertions of the day, and calls on Thor's grace to restore his fighting spirit.
Restored and refreshed, he looks about to see a nature spirit emerge and talk with the voice of Scaramax. "Ha! The pollen!" Aterro guffaws in mirth as a specter of his past is brought out of a pocket. "Aye, that's you. And nay, Gunnar! Touch it not, for nothing of those ill-bred giants can bring profit to any man of good standing.
You are a bit further off then when we last saw you, Scram."
Scram watches a familiar suit of arms stir up the garden, kicking and dancing blades of blackened grass into the wind. As the channel to Thor is opened and motes of energies crystallize on the bleeding wounds, Scram wonders just how far this Shadow Realm is from the real Midgard...the same gods have providence here? Perhaps Mnemnosyne, his lost goddess of memory, found some segway...he smirked at the divine light with some small shred of innocent hope.
"Aha, there's the Big Guy! Further you say? Well, when you're inside a dryad as long as I was, you start to rethink some things...*cough* Say, have a drink by chance? Dust devil's ticklin' me tonsils...where's the inn?" he scans the horizon a moment...
Scramsax looks around but see's no sign of the inn. Only the forlorn wizard's tower surrounded by the short hills of tall, deadly grass and then the dark forest in the distance. Of course, the halfling also notices the magical barrier between everyone and the tower which continues to glow and crackle under the assault of those shadow fey on the other side of the tower to the north.
The reunion with his somewhat water stingy comrades is shortly interrupted as the some postern door opens and out trundles another construct of some sort. Standing taller than a typical halfling, but shorter than a dwarf, the thing looks something like a portly, rosey cheeked child's doll dressed in gaudy livery of bright greens, blues, and orange.
It marches out of the door, directly toward where you all stand and roughly clears its throat in a mechanical sort of way before speaking in a surprisingly low pitched, masculine voice.
"The Great and Powerful Radovan the Radiant is indisposed at the moment. However Mistress Britta has vouched for you and suggested you be allowed entrance to the residence."
He pulls out a metal device approximately six inches wide, shaped like an eight pointed star and sparkling in the dim light of the moon.
"Please step away. Creating a temporary open within the defensive network may cause feedback and arcane shocks."
The creature reaches forward, places the star object against the barrier. Immediately a six foot circle of arcane shield centered on the star turns a soft yellow and the shield begins to slowly dissipate within the circle.
Unfortunately, just as the gatekeeper begins the process, you all hear and then see the shadow fey returning.
"I'm telling you I heard something back this way and the Lady's device here is off the charts." The leader says. "I want another sweep of this.....what the?! STOP THEM!" They spot you and draw blades at the same time as you spot them.
Scram's normally quick reaction time was hampered somewhat by the placental sap slowly crystallizing on his joints. But when the utterly grotesque shorty pulled forth the 8 pointed star, he was paralyzed by something else entirely: memory.
That loud echoing sound of a key turning a lock in a large wooden door. No, not a door...a tree...
While Vrindel speaks with the swarm queen, Scramsax is able to slip past the bigger, giant bees and get a closer look at the lock on the back side of the willow. His investigations reveal an unfortunate but unsurprising truth, the doorway and lock are both magical in nature. No mere mechanical mechanism exists for the halfling to even try his luck. Yet his closer investigation does reveal the locks shape to be a unique eight pointed star. The cardinal points longer that those between. Finally there's a central pillar of solid wood within the lock, shaped like two crescent moons back-to-back. That would mean the key must be hollowed out with the same shape in order to fit. The magical nature of the lock, also means the key is most likely magical in some form or fashion.
...he had to have it.
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At Scram's request for a drink Aterro checks about him and then frowns. "I had gotten in the habit of carrying a flask of rumtipple with me. Ach. I might've lost in when I found myself filled to bursting with honey-meade. Apologies. Next chance we get I really need to resupply with--" his words are cut off by first the seneschal and then the returning patrol.
"Oh no not these guys again," he sighs, readying his weapon. It seemed un-poetic that all the pain endured by the grass was all for naught.
Vrindel casts Spike Growth between the team and the fey.
The transformation of the ground is camouflaged to look natural. Any creature that can't see the area at the time the spell is cast must make a Wisdom (Perception) check against your spell save DC 15 to recognize the terrain as hazardous before entering it.
Vrindel taps his staff against the gray ground. A brilliant springtime green lancet of power jumps from the thick wood toward the oncoming fey. The energy runs along the ground like a slithering snake and then burrows into the soil a few paces in front of the enemy. A heartbeat later the land erupts with coils of twisting, thorn riddled vines. The long, sharp tips of each hooked thorn glittering in the light of the moon. The conjured hedge of formidable foliage completely blocks the cleared area between barrier and equally deadly blood sucking grass.
Unable to completely stop their forward progress in time, the front two fey go stumbling into the harsh ripping mass. Cries of pain quickly ensue. The other two spend precious moments checking for a way around the obstruction without any success. Finally one points a simple rod up in the air. He presses something and a ball of orange light goes shooting forth into the twilight.
But whatever aide does answer the summons will be much too late. For it is just after the signal reaches its peak several hundred paces in the air that the opening in the wizard's shield is complete.
"You may enter." The gatekeeper states as it steps back still holding the 'key' in its hand. "Due to the approach of unwelcome entities, the passage will remain viable for only thirty seconds."
Scramsax didn't waste time duckwalking his way into the bunglesome marionette's promise of safety. Those rosy cheeks were incredibly disturbing, that much was certain. But the screams of pain coming from the latest nasty-patch were likewise something the halfling simply didn't want to deal with. Besides, what other infinite treasures lie waiting within this enchanted fortress on the edge of shadow? It was important to find out...and soon, if the signal flare held any promise.
Using the extra few moments granted by Vrindel's spell, everyone quickly ducks through the opening in the barrier before the shadow fey can work their way through the shredding vines. As soon as Gunnar and Kalisuel cross the threshold behind Vrindel, Aterro and Scramsax, the gatekeeper slams the key back against the shield and the portal disappears returning the arcane block to its original solid state. Instantly Vrindel's spell dissipates as whatever connection between the druid and his magic is cutoff.
Although no longer harassed by nature's magic, the shadow fey can do little at the moment but fret and pound uselessly at the barrier and send their own rather feeble curses back at Aterro.
Spinning on one foot the gatekeeper gestures and waves you all forward where the small gate to the wizard's tower stands open. A dim blue light illuminates a simple stone corridor and stairway that goes up into the tower from the simple foyer.
"Enter and be welcome, guests of Radovan the Reclusive."
The construct says as it marches forward and starts to stomp its way up the stairs.
After watching the operation of the octagram-key with concealed interest, Scram paused a moment in the 'simple' foyer...his gut told him nothing would be quite that simple in a transdimensional wizard's tower. Though he had no real understanding of any sort of magics, he had a sharp wit and trained jeweler's eye to recognize the signs of a fake.
He started with the stones opposite that of the staircase, ostensibly leaning his hand on the wall to clean his boots (which were in truth a sticky mess) and mumbling something absentmindedly about 'the secrets of the city'...
+ pp18
Later, he caught up with the construct to talk hygeine "Say, might a hot bath be in the cards, Rosy? Been ripped out the ass-end of an eternal tree, I have."
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Otherwise you notice nothing but stone wall as you slide your hands deftly along the west wall of the foyer.
Thinking back to your view of the tower while you hurried along the narrow shadow road, you can't help but think of other places you've seen that have a similar look or feel.
The aptly Minaret of Misery used by the Magistrates of Barsella for the questioning and temporary housing of prisoners awaiting their day in the Halls of Justice is what immediately comes to mind. A place you are all too familiar with. The designer of this place apparently also enjoyed the use of domed tower tops, because the central tower and all four attached, shorter, drum towers are topped in such a fashion. But the narrow, more delicate and fae feel of the structure overall reminds you more of some of the older elven structures found in the west and Courlandia itself. Not surprising given the regions long ties to the Grand Duchy of Dornig and the Imperatrix herself.
You'd bet your dearest gemstone that tower itself is actually of elven design and origin. All that carved vine work and woodland forest critters everywhere is a dead giveaway. Then again, the floppy eared, fire breathing bunny and the frog with what can only be a leg sticking partway from its mouth are two motifs you haven't seen before. Then again, this is the shadow realm. Still either the original builder was some kind of shadow denizen, which gives a bit more weight to the claims that the current human wizard occupying it is a trespasser of some sort. Or this wizard is a bit more eccentric in some of his design tastes.
"I will see a bath is prepared shortly sir." The construct says as it works its way up the stairs.
"That worked well." Vrindel said to himself as he passed through the magical portal.
The trollkin nods at the halfling and nods, "that sounds good. The bath, not the other thing Scramsax said. And that must be one hell of a story."
The druid looks to make himself a guest.
As the steps lead on and on, the crusty sap crackled and flaked off of the halfling's joints, leaving a little trail of sap crystals (if someone needed to waterproof a small canoe, they were in business). Meanwhile Scram prattled away with his usual one-two punch of incredibly obvious lies and casual flattery. As the mural told its twisted elven pastoral story, he snapped his fingers in fake recognition "...Ah yes, the conflagrating cottontail: bane of the plain. One of Radovan's additions I take it? What other rennovations did the recluse make to the place, hm? Or are you new too?" he pressed the construct.
At Vrindel's comment he pauses midstep, countering "Well you know Illarya, er...me, I mean." cryptically. "Ya likely saved her life by trappin' me inside there, Paws. No hard feelings though. Honest." the smirk was more noticeable without Scram's trademark mustache to conceal it.
After another brief pause "By the way, if you be plannin' any groves in the near future count me in. I have a few contemporary design features you mightn' be interested in..." he goes on to explain how deliberate uses of texture can create a subtle sophistication often missing from traditional arrangements.
At Aterro's mention of a meal and drinks, he eagerly awaits a response.
Gunnar is intensely interested in both the arcane shield and the device used to manipulate it. Resisting the urge to throw a spell at the advancing shadow fey, he instead moves quickly through the barrier and watches the magical proceedings.
The stairs ascend a good fifty feet. About midway up, each of you feel a slight tingle as you pass through an open support arch. You do not feel physically or mentally different in anyway but the next window you pass looks out upon a sun filled landscape and the sparkling waters of the lake lapping at a nearby rocky shore.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs you find yourselves in a large open hall. A round fire place sits in the center of the room, currently unlit. Several Harkeshian rugs line the floor and tapestries from as far away as Nuria hand from the walls. A foursome of thick, triolan leather chairs sit arranged near the fire place. Side tables of exotic rosewood sit next to each. A chess board with delicate ivory and jade pieces sits near a window that looks out toward the forest and mountains beyond.
The room smells of ceder, sage and lemon, and perhaps most importantly, fresh warm bread. An elegant side buffet table is lined with steaming bread, sliced meats, fruits, cheeses and multiple pitchers of a fine amber ale.
Four archways exit the hall as does another stair that spirals upward. Descending the stair is a familiar but rather worn and tired looking face. Britta Gleamguard dressed in her ever practical leathers and soft boots offers you a somewhat ragged smile. Her eyes fall on Vrindel, Aterro, and the rather filth coated Scramsax.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to find you all here, and I must say you're a welcome sight." She turns to Gunnar and Kalisuel offering a smile as she tips her head in greeting, a locke of graying red hair brushing across her face as she does. "And you've brought other friends as well. Well met. I'm Britta Gleamgaurd and I only wish our meeting was under...better circumstances."
The trollkin, who is usually fairly stoic, bursts into smile showing genuine relief to see a familiar face, "Britta! So good to see you. It feels like ages, since we set off to fight the hydra. When we finally returned to town, you were gone!"
"Scramsax here owes us his story of how he ended up here, so he can tell it from the hydra to here. Then, we can fill in the bit about the new god and an old evil sword."
Bowing to the welcoming committee, Gunnar intones, "A pleasure to meet you, Britta. I am Gunnar Thorstein, thundering vengeance of the...what was that? Oh, thank you Sylia." With a slight stagger, the dwarf winces and says, "My apologies, I appear to be suffering from some rather...powerful herrrrrrbs."
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"Britta!" Aterro boisterously exclaims, not breaking stride as he heads toward the buffet. "And you are also well-come. We've had a hard time since last we laid eyes and friendly faces have been rare indeed."
As the WarCleric spoke he expertly sliced a warm, soft loaf in two, and then dug out the insides with a practiced scoop. Into the awaiting cavern he poured in a king's helping of meat, along with a generous portion of every kind of cheese available, and added a few of the fruits, so as to round out the serving.
"Oh, aye, some few of us have the mettle to stay the path, and some others have joined our ranks, noble as they are."
He takes an enormous bite from his artful structure and chews with great enjoyment. Dispensing with need of a cup he moistens the bite with a swallow from a full flagon.
He says something else, but the whole of it is lost in his mastication.
Scram gargled the ale annoyingly loud for quite some time, and then as quiet as he could upon being yelled at. By the 7th flagon, most of the raw shadow-bunny-meat and bitter sap of Yggdrasil had found their way finally out of his throat and into the halfling's tight stomach. With spirits lifted he took his meal in the bath tub, scrubbing the remnants out of the dark brown stubble on his lips and jowls as well as the nearly bald butch cut that used to be such glorious locks.
Scramsax told his story to anyone who would listen, and then to himself when no one was listening. He spared almost no detail, including how he had been watching from inside Illarya and even sometimes controlling her in a roundabout way from the three orbs of perception, how he met and was aided by Coin, the appearance of the sword's influence, his assistance in creating the decoy and tracking the party transdimensionally, his ultimate escape during Illarya's latest tree stride, his bizarre new mental abilities upon being reborn...
...the only detail he omitted was the ultimate theft of the sapphire orb, Illarya's third eye. Scram sensed somehow that he possessed it, though it certainly had no physical reality. But that satisfaction from a successful heist was enough for now.
Britta arches an eyebrow when Gunnar mentions being under the influence of the nefarious caterpillar herbs. The woman snorts with frustration. "Those three are still out there?" She says waving in a general westerly direction. "Trio of bloody busybody nuisances those overgrown worms. Always huffing and puffing and bloviating a bunch of nonsense." She walks over to a nearby credenza, rummages through a set of bottles and jars finally pulling out a heart shaped bottle filled with a syrupy orange liquid. She adds a couple of teaspoons to a mug of ale and swirls it around with a spoon.
"Foolish creatures think they're equal to the Three Weavers. Placed upon the world to observe events and judge the worthiness of the actors. Bloody frustrated film critics is what they are. That and purveyors, seller, and spreaders of some of the worst substances. Here drink this. It should take care of the worst of whatever you've got. The headache afterward can't be helped." She says handing the mug to Gunnar.
After listening to Scramsax's tale, the woman clearly considers offering the halfling a mug of the same anti intoxicant given to Gunnar. But recalling the halfling's penchant for wild stories and blustering tales she merely smiles that same indulging smile used so often on the village children. "Well....that sounds like, ummm, quite the experience. Inside a dryad's mind. How curious." Her eyes glance about to Vrindel, Aterro and Gunnar looking for confirmation as to whether the halfling had taken some kind of blow to the head of something. Finding only three blank looks staring back at her she shrugs and nods to Vrindel.
"Yes, I had to go. Something odd was happening back home. You lot had disappeared. Then more and more folk started to arrive. It was quite a boon at first. The inn was full. The influx of supplies kept folk fed during those lean months while the crops matured. We had plenty of hands to work the fields and gather timber and other materials to rebuild. Overall, Nargenstal seemed to have come back from the raid better than it was before."
She takes a sip of a golden wine from a cut crystal glass and sits in one of the soft leather chairs. "But then things started happening. A few folk gone missing, like yourselves. Then things started turning...dark is the best way to put it." She pauses, sips. Thoughts clearly pass through her mind trying to piece together a puzzle still incomplete. "Folks started arguing. More fights broke out. Friends for years turning against one another." She leans back, sighs.
"At first I just thought it was growing pains. Too many people, too fast. But things kept getting worse and then the garrison arrived. That new commander." That last is said as if she'd just stepped in something gruesome. "Throwing her weight around. Letting her people run roughshod over folk. It just added to what was going wrong."
"So I went to get a little help." She tilts her head and circles her arm to indicate her current residence. "Unfortunately, I didn't realize old Radovan had gotten himself into deeper trouble than usual."
She leans forward and stares at Vrindel. "But before we worry about that, what's all this about gods and swords?"
Scram considered business with the Three Weavers, finding interesting rare poisons was an enjoyable pastime after all. He'd have to risk getting back through the tower shielding however, a risk that didn't seem worth it at the moment. But perhaps if he spotted them from a window his newfound telepathy could reach through...
Listening to Britta he stirred a little tin cup of milk cream with the arctic edge of Morrinn's Misery, turning it into a frosty treat. Meanwhile the halfling considered Britta. His own trip here was rather difficult and unusual, and no doubt his companions faced similar trials. Had Britta so cunningly concealed her aptitude ever since their time together with Rook? Or did she have help...
Scram listened to the others explain about 'gods and swords', filling in some gaps of his understanding. If pressed, he would detail as best he could about the sword's effect on Illarya's will, and how it took a combined effort of the dryadic community to hold it at bay (at least from his surreal perspective of it all).
But he was more interested in Radovan "Ho, the wizard aint here, then? Abandoned his tower, has he?" he glanced at the chess board to see if a game was in progress...and appraised the cut of the jade out of habit.
"We encountered a witch in an old tavern north of the town. After we defeated her minions, she who cursed us and retreated, and I suspect settled into the town. That's probably the bad stuff that you felt." Vrindel offers Britta.
He then pulls out the decoy from his pack and shows/gives it to Britta.
Could she have navigated the shadow road through the shadow plane to reach the wizards tower? Perhaps. Few actually know all of Britta's secrets or what she and her companions experienced during their own adventures. But it's much more likely she just made the hard, but not overly so, journey through the forest and knocked on his front door, prior to the shadow fey initiating these current troubles. No need for traveling the shadow road. No sanctioning guardians or meddlesome dark elf soldiers running about.
Pondering Britta and her talents, you wander over to gaze at the chess set. A game is indeed in progress. Although the jade player is likely to lose his Empress and then the game within six moves. The set itself, is quite exquisite. Mharoti in style, several of the figures are draconic in design. Carved by a talented artist with a clear attention to detail that captures the smallest scale on the Emperor's reptilian hide and the belt of human heads around each Outriders waste. One piece alone would bring a modest sum, but the entire set with the equally artistic and well crafted board would be of immensely higher value.
"This is just a copy?" Britta says quickly handing the sword back to Vrindel with a sharp hiss and wince after taking the decoy for just a few moments. "The real thing must be a cruel and dark thing."
Rubbing her hands upon her thighs, she offers a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid I can't be of much help getting rid of that or the original. The old woman was right to think old Radovan might have ideas." She shakes her head, her eyes filled with a mix of concern, sadness, and more than a bit of anger. "But I'm afraid the old fool has gone and put himself and in consequence, us all in a bind."
She stands up from her chair, and beckons you to follow. "Best to just show you what I mean."
Striding up the stairs, she takes you up to what must be near the top of the central tower to an ornate door. Multiple arcane runes are permanently etched in the stone around the door but all appear to be quite inactive at the moment. A hum vibrates beyond the door raising the hairs on everyone's skin with its odd, off key sound.
"Now do be careful in here. Radovan was much like any other wizard. Disorganized, sloppy, and often meddling in things best left unmeddled. Don't touch anything because who knows what it might do."
Without waiting for confirmation, she opens the door and steps through. Electric blue light flashes and snaps from a massive glass globe the dominates the center of the room. It sits upon an apparatus of wooden and metal with a rats nest of wire running about between multiple crystals. Great arcs of arcane energy hum and crackle within the globe in random intervals.
Sitting in a chair set at the base of the globe in a thin human with several months of scraggly, graying beard growth mark a face slightly older than Britta's. His eyes remain closed, and only close observation reveals the extremely slow movements of his chest to indicate he still breathes.
The outer wall of the circular chamber is lined intermittently with bookcases and a series of workbenches covered in an array of notes, books, and items of magical research ranging from a quite mundane selection of large insects to a large glass jug containing an animated glob of aetheric purple goop.
As you enter a ravishing young woman steps from behind the big globe. With a dancer's grace she glides across the room to bow before Britta. A soft, gentle clicking and turning of gears accompanying her movement. "Mistress Britta. The Master's state is unchanged since you're last visit. How may I serve you?" The voice is refined, elegant, but with a metallic tonal quality. Her eyes flick quickly back and forth between Britta and yourselves. "Strangers are not allowed within the Master's study." She adds looking directly at Gunnar, Aterro, Scramsax, and Vrindel.
"They are with me Vee. I will vouch for them while Radovan is...indisposed."
Skylights open to the sky above where stars twinkle in the night sky. The usual sharp points of light waver light a mirage upon the desert. The effect of the wizard's protective magic no doubt.
A flash of light flickers above. A rumble from outside. The great orb becomes more active as arcs flicker and the static in the air grows stronger.
Britta sighs and frowns at the form of Radovan sitting unmoving in the chair.
"He's been like this ever since this whole nightmare with the shadow fey started. Put himself into some kind of physical stasis so he could 'devote all of his energy to fending off the thieving, pointy eared, harlot.'" He said. Her fingers shaping angry air quotes. "'Only last a few days before she'll come to her senses.'" He said. "'Don't worry, you always worry too much.' Condescending, arrogant old nut." That last directed directly at the man in the chair.
"I'm no spellslinger. A few little knacks to help around the inn or deal with the rowdies is all I know. Blades and clever thinking have always been my strengths. Not all of..of..of this." She says waving her hands at the study. "Been stuck here for months now and he hasn't come out of it. Vee says she can't identify the problem, but that the system wasn't supposed to operate this long and under such a strain."
"I don't know why he didn't just pay his tribute or whatever it is this Baroness wants. But now I'm stuck here. We're stuck here. Until either he comes out of it or she finally breaks through which Vee says is possible if things continue as they have."
"So you see, I am unfortunately quite unable to be much help to you. In fact, I would appeal to you for any aide you might be able to offer."
Scramsax was astonished to encounter another of the mechanical wonders, this one with an extraordinary grace was particularly charming. When he practiced locks he could always imagine the mechanisms from the inside, but they were much simpler he supposed...a cylinder, springs, tumblers. This 'Vee' on the other hand was a mystery; the schematic clouded perhaps by the divine will of Rava.
As Britta spoke, the halfling could empathize with her situation...having recently been stuck and secluded away himself. This nurtured a cautious trust of the former innkeeper. But a particular phrase she said stuck out like a lightning burst in the shadowed sky:
'Physical stasis'.
The halfling repeated the words to himself intrigued...he had recently found ways to bypass the physical world. Breaking into Radovan's mind shouldn't be much different than breaking into a jewelry shop, right? It was just a matter of finding the right entrance at the right time...
"Eh, bet I can chat him, 'identify the problem' as ye say. Hang tight, imma' try..." planting his feet flat on the floor a shoulder's width apart, the lightfoot raised a pointed finger from each hand to the side of his butch cut skull. "...egggh. Ehhhhgggh..." he struggled, face quickly turning quite rosey as if severely constipated. Scram wasn't really sure if the stance and grunts were a required element of the technique, but it felt right.
hours
Suddenly the flow of Scram's consciousness forked like a river as the stolen sapphire orb inside pulsed and swelled, rupturing at last into a germinating seed...one that quickly found anchor in the halfling's own psionic nexus and began to grow rapidly. Unlike the dryad's mental forest, Scram's was a sandy white beach off the coast of Barsella (with no pesky mole holes to worry about). Despite the thin and sandy soil, the sapling palm climbed upwards rather healthily...and for a moment Scram was at total peace as the first phase of his psionic reach was complete.
But as the frothy surf of the clear ocean waters lapped rhythmically nearby, Scram turned his attention to the sky...a night sky filled with stars, billions of them all with different colors and intensities. It was like someone took a normal night sky and layered it upon itself multiple times to create nearly a solid tapestry.
The growing palm soon accelerated its growth, and the halfling was scooped up by an unfurling leaf and carried upwards with it! As he raced to the stars he could sense somehow that the bright orange one was Radovan...or rather, some 'port' of entry into Radovan. With the palm close enough, he heard some rustling and organizing from inside, and chanced to speak directly to it:
::...hello? Radovan? Heya, it's me, Scramsax. Er...well Vee and Britta's kinda worried about ya, something 'bout the system not supposed to operate this long? You need some help? We're adventurers from Nargenstal. ...by the way, you play jade or ivory?::
There were other stars nearby as well...could they hear him just the same?
"Fascinating," says Gunnar, turning his trained eye to the wizard, suspended in the globe in the middle of the contraption. "Vee, is it? Is there anything in Radovan's research that might shed light on the situation?" he adds.
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Aterro, too, was slightly agog at the veritable cornucopia of books and contraptions in the arch-mage's sanctum. "I had thought I had known power. Only now do I see the labors that true power demands," he said, his thoughts so powerful that they demanded voice.
Still, books and items of alchemy held no true passion for him, and he found his mind wandering when V walked in.
"Is this a...automaton?" he asks the air, staring openly at the fetching woman/construct. "She seems so real. So lifelike." He prods at her cheek, testing the artifact's flesh for its semblance to life.
At Britta describes the predicament, he shakes his head vigorously, as if trying to dislodge an idea from its hiding place. "Wait, you mean to say that...months? He's been like this, holding off a siege that has lasted for months?
My first instinct as that, no, I can't see how any assault that has not crushed the thing before it in months is going to do any better given more time. Time is against the besiegers, no matter their support or skill.
Still--" Aterro's voice trails off as he is quite surprisingly included in the psi-chat. 'Uh, hello?' he asks...anyone he can.
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The second mind, if that is what it can really be called is something completely foreign. The eldritch violet star sparks internally with a thousand, thousand smaller stars burning within the enclosed shroud of the constructs mind. KAUNENNAUDIZGEBUGEBUNAUDIZNAUDIZNAUDIZKAUNENKAUNENBEGUGEBUNAUDIZNAUDIZ.... The ongoing string of runic symbols rapidly fills your mind and threatens to overwhelm your psyche. Or even worse, capture you mind once again within another foreign entity. This one so foreign that escape would be nearly impossible. Before it is too late, you draw your mind back and instead race your thoughts toward the bright orange of what you expect to be Radovan's mind.
The realm inside the orange orb is filled with fire, chaos, and power. Great searing geysers of billowing fire swirl within the wizards mind. Instinctively you raise a thin barrier between yourself and the swirling, raging elemental energies of thought. Your words carry forward ahead of your mental being. Most are scorched and burned away among the flames.
You repeat them. Again. Faster, faster. Attempting to break through the chaos while ducking and diving deeper, ever deeper toward the unknown. Eventually you spot a dot within the brilliance. A place of non-light. A place of order and respite.
You move forward, still shouting. The dot grows in size. A child's ball, a gambler's table, finally one of those great flying balloon's the dwarves of the Ironcrags sometime use. Inside the darkness sits a worn and wretched looking figure upon an ornate runic throne. Motes of white light flicker through the throne and the paper thin skin of the man. Fireflies held within a flesh and stone cage.
You call out again as you enter the relative safety of the darkened orb.
"SCRAMSAX?!" The sound reverberates through your being, dropping you to your mental knees. No matter the chaos and weakness of the wizards mind outside this place, inside, the arcane mind still holds power and control over all that happens. "A NAME UNKNOWN. A PRESENCE UNEXPECTED. BRITTA? VEE? THESE ARE KNOWN? CANNOT STOP. MISTAKEN CALCULATIONS...UNEXPECTED LEY LINE...MORE POWERFUL...TIES TO SHADOW REALM...WARN OTHERS...FLEE THIS PLACE."
He was clearly working on multiple projects. You discover a schematic for improving a constructs thought patterns and functions in order to add an offensive capability. Writings on the uses for mangy thistle powder when dealing with spirits and the undead. A rather interesting and delicious sounding recipe for lemon huckleberry scones with sugar icing.
Finally you come across several sheets of calculations and formulae for what can only be the massive device that dominates the room. The symbols and arcane math will take several hours, perhaps even days to fully comprehend, but you manage to glean a basic understanding of the goal. Tapping the power of the ley line running beneath the tower to fuel other arcane efforts.
Looking over the papers you suddenly remember your passage through the shadow plane and getting to the tower. Your quick study of the barrier and the fact that you sensed not one, but two ley lines beneath the tower.
At first Vee moves to stop Gunnar from looking at the wizard's notes, but with a word from Britta the construct bows her head and retreats away. While Gunnar begins to look through the many scattered notes upon Radovan's workbenches, Scramsax's face suddenly goes slack for several minutes. The halfling remains standing in place, his body as limp as his pasty cheeks. An unusual sight to those who've known the rather sticky figured, nimble Barsellan for any length of time.
"Under normal circumstances, and with a normal enemy, you would be correct." Britta says in response to Aterro's thoughts on the odds of success for a prolonged siege. "Unfortunately, we are not trapped within normal. From what I can determine, our enemy is a noble of the shadow realm. Arrogant, pretentious, powerful and completely without concern for time. In other words fae through and through." She snorts and shakes her head. "Those damned sentries just showed up one night and ever since she's sent one form of assault or another against us. Wyverns, manticores, ground troops, strange hideous hounds, the list is rather long. "
"But never really enough to truly overwhelm the tower defenses. Enough to have to maintain the barrier and keep Radovan's attention. Enough to slowly chip away at our resources until all but a few defenses are left."
"Then they started hitting us with whatever that big energy device is. Nightly they'd bring it forth, blast away at the barrier in the shadow realm while others harassed and assaulted in Midgard. I have to imagine they could have finally broken through at some point, but always they retreated and just kept us bottled up. Almost as if they were waiting for something" She adds the puzzle clearly on her mind.
"Say are you okay?" She says to Aterro as he cuts off his talk mid word.
Scram stood on his tippy-toes at the edge of the palm tree leaf to reach the white-crimson orb ::Nice, it worked. Heya, Crackles, its me: Scramsax. Hold on, I think I can break into Mr. Arcane McMeditates over there the same way...mental crowbar! Should be fun, eh?:: he projected into the war cleric's psyche. ::...and profitable.:: he added only to himself.
Scram peered cautiously into the indescribable, yet undeniably existing, mind of the soul-inbued mechanus ::Ahoy, its me, Scramsa---oh god!:: The unending cipher string was like being in a furious hailstorm, the fruits of which threatened to bury and capture him. The next rune would appear even before he could read the last, and quickly he felt cross-eyed (despite not having any eyes), and the disorientation was enough to send the failed mind-burglar plotting his escape.
Merely by luck he made it, falling backwards out onto the palm. Smirking, he plucked a hard green coconut and carved a mark of Cant so the next thief wouldn't befall the same fate: 'Danger, No Escape' in the western slum style. He left the coconut, and its mark, floating there next to Vee's star, responsibly.
But he was lying. To himself.
In reality, there was the practical part of him subconsciously that wanted to exploit Vee's bizarre realm the way a poisoner would exploit the paralytic root-tips of the Sneezewort Yarrow. The constructs' mind would be a bottomless pit, for any he might throw there. Not that he knew how to do that.
::Security features...::, the halfling assumed making his way along the psionic gauntlet of the wizards scorched consciousness. Here, it seemed to him, was a mind familiar with the footsteps the thief was making--that any thief would have to take--and the halfling took notes. He would need to design similar defenses for his own mental realm...locks and traps against intrusion. It didn't occur to him that the chaos and destruction he was witnessing was a by-product of the mage's current predicament.
Scram barely had a moment to catch his breath (he kept forgetting breathing wasn't a thing) inside the relative safety of the wizard's intellect fortress before his attention was fully captured by the booming response.
Back in the physical world, the halfling wiped the slobber off his mouth and uncrossed his eyes, saying "Says he can't stop. Says the calculations were off. There was a ley line he didn't expect? One bein' more powerful and had ties to the Shadow Realm. He wanted me to warn ya. Says to 'flee this place' but dunno if he meant his mind or the tower 'ere..."
The telepathic conduit was still solid ::You mean flee your mind, or the tower? What can we do to free you?::
Vrindel wanders around the laboratory wide-eyed. He cannot imagine being anywhere more out of nature than here. He listens to Britta but does not know how to help Radovan. After an anxious tour, he leaves the wizard’s self-prison and explores the rest of the tower for inspiration about this fine mess or the hot mess that brought them to seek the wizard’s counsel.
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::Ah! Well, okay, then. Nice trick! Yes, I do prefer crowbars myself.::
Aterro reels his concentration back from the mental messaging, unsure of the new form of speaking, and still eager to focus on the martial situation in front of him.
"Gah. Hrm, heh, apologies. Beseems Scramsax has learned more than one new trick since last.
Hrm, ah, yes, now that we are here, I can say that our combined power is no trivial thing. If it would help to secure the grounds by having us launch counter-raids, I would of course be amenable to that. Now that we have somewhere secure to stay, saving this wondrous place for the free peoples of Midgard seems a good purpose to have.
Mind you, what you describe does not sound like a siege in earnest. Just as you say, if they had the forces to carry on for this long, might not they have forces to saturate your defenses and to have won a long time ago?
Beseems this is not a campaign for victory, but, as you have said, just something to keep his attention.
But to what end? What prize would be gained for keeping an archmage busy that simply making him dead would not do better?"
"Who truly understands the fey?" Britta says. She paces around the chamber for several seconds. Eventually her gaze lands on the decoy handed to her by Vrindel. She furrows her brow in thought. A finger lightly tapping her chin as she ponders this replica and what she's been told about the original.
"But what if you simply wanted a potential adversary distracted and out of the way for a while? The cost in resources to kill this foe would be quite high. But a more limited effort, just enough to keep them busy, isolated, someplace where you could keep an eye on them. Compared to whatever reward might be gained, the resource cost might be more....manageable. And an artifact that can apparently remove gods from the world stage?"
She turns and gazes at Aterro and Gunnar. Starts to speak and then looks quickly around the room. Moments later there is a burst of light outside the tower and a deep rumbling that sends everything shaking and rattling.
"Where did the trollkin go? He really shouldn't roam about. Radovan is not the most conscientious or careful spell slinger you might meet. There're rooms and places best left alone here."
The question is asked. You await an answer. Finally after what seems like hours but is only really a few moments an answer arrives. "A WISE MAN WOULD FLEE THE TOWER. A BRAVE MAN WOULD FLEE THIS TRAP. MY SITUATION IS.....UNCERTAIN. TO BE FREE WOULD REQUIRE CUTTING THE CONNECTION TO THE POWER SOURCE. SOURCE IS...SECURED WITHIN THE DEPTHS OF THE TOWER. BEWARE, PROTECTIONS EXIST AND I NO LONGER CONTAIN OR CONTROL THEM."
Light suddenly fills the place of peace as a nova like explosion rages and ravages through the 'outer' realm. Your thin thread linking back to the mortal realm and your own body waivers and starts to unravel within the sudden chaos.
"ANOTHER ATTACK! BEWARE! THE POWER SURGES! HURRY!" Then a mind shattering scream as Radovan attempts to maintain the solidity of his mental core. But cracks appear and flames of chaos start to lick around the edges like starving dogs.
The first door is a rather elegant and lavishly furnished washroom, complete with running hot and cold water. The seat even seems to warm itself when in use. It seems some of the rumors regarding the luxuries of arcane knowledge are quite true.
The second door is locked.
You try a third and it opens into a dimly lit bedroom. A great four post bed complete with canopy and silken sheets dominates the far wall. A wardrobe and a nightstand sit next to it. Along another wall is a tidy desk with a dimly burning candle to provide light. Opposite the light, shadowed by the bed is a large chair seemingly occupied. Unfortunately the occupant is completely shrouded in shadow except for a narrow, somewhat pointed chin and a naked crimson torso.
"Do come in." A sotto voice beckons just as the tower begins to shake and rattle from some unknown source.
"Says he can't stop. Says the calculations were off. There was a ley line he didn't expect? One bein' more powerful and had ties to the Shadow Realm. He wanted me to warn ya. Says to 'flee this place' but dunno if he meant his mind or the tower 'ere..."
Shortly after saying that he adds:
"Hold on, heh, I get it now. We need to either get outta here to save ourselves or head below and shutdown the Source to save Radovan." nodding at Britta, wagering he knew her vote.
Mentally, Scram was consulting his non-existent contingency list trying to select at least a short term solution to Radovan's situation against the waves of chaotic flame. But as his hands and nostrils unraveled like a cheap sweater into a little pile of string at his feet, he deftly pivoted to self-preservation...
In the end he just left his waterskin and a ration (or whatever they were, constituting his mental inventory) on the wizard's lap (certainly not his lap), giving a quick thumbs-up ::Alrighty, well hang in there then...:: gathering up the nostril string into his pockets and waddling quickly back through the fields of chaos.
Gunnar nods at Scramsax’s explanation, asking, ”If we shut down the shield, won’t the shadow fey invade?”
"Yeah. But look, the alternative is we have to leave and Radovan is mind-scrambled..." he opens a fist next to his head and makes a little whistle sound "...and the tower is destroyed anyways. Maybe...maybe there's a way to cut the connection to Radovan without shutting the entire thing down...like when your foot gets caught in a ship's mooring, you cut the rope don't blow the ship, eh?" He was speaking from experience. "Probably worth taking a look down there." Scram paced a bit, thinking before he added "Well he did also mention some sorta' out of control security..." glancing at Vee "..ye know anything about down there?
”Ah, he didn’t know about the second ley line, and that threw off his calculations. Perhaps I can assist in re-anchoring the shield properly using both ley lines. I must begin the calculation modifications,” says Gunnar, clutching some of the wizard’s notes.
”Don't let that slow us down, of course. Onward and downward to to root of the problem!” he adds with a bit of forced cheer.
You try a third and it opens into a dimly lit bedroom. A great four post bed complete with canopy and silken sheets dominates the far wall. A wardrobe and a nightstand sit next to it. Along another wall is a tidy desk with a dimly burning candle to provide light. Opposite the light, shadowed by the bed is a large chair seemingly occupied. Unfortunately the occupant is completely shrouded in shadow except for a narrow, somewhat pointed chin and a naked crimson torso.
"Do come in." A sotto voice beckons just as the tower begins to shake and rattle from some unknown source.
"Umm. Nope. Sorry. Wrong room." The trollkin quickly closes that door and scurries back to the laboratory.
When he returns, he looks at everyone with an I'm-not-guilty look and asks, "do we have a plan yet?"
"Jus' in time, Paws. Its comin' together now..." Scram explains the main goal of reaching the Source under the tower and severing the connection to Radovan, thus saving the tower and all the expensive, easily portable things within. "Britta and Vee were jus' about to spill the beans..."
While waiting, Scram padded his pockets. If security downstairs was as tight as Radovan hinted, he'd need his trusty crowbar, 10 ft pole, and set of lucky picks...sadly he turned up none of those, vaguely remembering losing them in the Battle of Effildawnan Bay and his pole still within the amber heart of Illarya.
Britta ponders Aterro's question for several heartbeats. Then nods her head as she grabs some paper and a charcoal stick to begin laying out a rough map.
"First, I've not been everywhere and there are places you should definitely steer clear of." For just a moment her eyes focus on the wandering trollkin. "Especially on this floor. There are rooms...ummmm....best left undisturbed. Radovan isn't bad as wizardly folk go, but still, he does like to dabble in things best left undabbled." She punctuates that last with a pointed look at the hapless wizard now trapped in a chaotic maelstrom of his own creation. "This is the only room I've touched up here and that was only because Radovan brought me here once before."
"The main floor, where we first met is safe. There are extra rooms, enough for all of you and more. I really don't know why, the man never entertains and hates crowds." She shrugs. "Still its all safe. Same goes with the kitchens and store rooms."
"Now the floor just below us, it's...safe." Hesitance drips from her voice. "The rooms are mostly empty, but the whole floor gives me the icy fingers running down my spine. I've no proof or anything, but I'd swear by Odin's Eye that something lurks there. Fortunately, is seems tied to that floor."
She draws out another similar floor. "The floor above the main is also relatively safe. It's occupied by a few of the lessor constructs. Mostly harmless, but some can be a bit irritating after a time."
She sighs, starts to sketch out the areas below the main floor. Eventually shakes her head and tosses the charcoal aside. "Aside from the passage where you came in, it is difficult to know the true layout of the lower levels. They keep changing..." She pauses. A mixture of disgust at wizards and discomforting memories on her face. "I tried to see what was down there, but hallways would shift. right turns would become left. Stairs up, suddenly go down or cease to exist only to reappear elsewhere. I think....it has to do with the crossover into the shadow realm, but I'm no expert."
"And if the old man said there'd be trouble down there, best to expect it. I didn't run into anything, but the moving maze was enough for this old woman to get her backside back upstairs to solid stone."
The halfling was closely inspecting metal files and thin plates of discarded brass on Radovan's desk when Britta mentioned the shifting labyrinth of the tower dungeons.
His mind drifted, as it often did, to the homeland he longed for in exile...Barsella. He couldn't help but think of his beloved and imprisoned goddess of memory, Mnemnosyne. Legends blamed her for the impassibility of the western sea, with fewer than 1 in 10 ships ever returning...a consequence of the goddess constantly mixing up the cartography, preventing navigation of any sort.
Perhaps whatever Radovan or the tower was doing in the basement to prevent finding a path was similar.
"Hrm. With no pattern to the shifting passages down there that's a pickle...hafta make it through sheer luck. Of course there's gotta be a bypass or something, every lock has a key..." he mused hopefully, before snapping his fingers "Wait, how bout that octopus star thing? It was the key to that tree bee's door along with the defenses outside...maybe it could open a path around the shifting maze? We'd better take it with us, just in case..." the thief suggested.
Without realizing it he had been pocketing items from the worktable while talking. Along with all the practical items the master thief would need to rebuild a reliable kit, Scram took the most beautiful and expensive looking gear he could find just for a keepsake.
Another rumble and shiver runs through the tower. "That's something new." Britta says, worry in her eyes. "Up until now things have been fairly stable. Just fey outside and a comatose wizard inside."
She shunts her worry aside when Scramsax mentions the 'keys.' Shrugging her shoulders the woman walks over to a large drawer as she responds. "Radovan copied some of his designs from a few of the locals. He never had a flair for aesthetics. Too literal and statistics minded."
Sliding the drawer open reveals a half dozen of the star shaped items similar to the one used by the construct below to open the barrier.
"He is also horribly unorganized. Each one of these is possibly attuned to something in the tower. No way of knowing what or exactly how. Or if they are just duds not connected to anything." She pulls two of them out, one made of brass the other a combination of silver and iron. "This one goes to the liquor cabinet." She says with a wry grin. "This one to a door that goes....ummm....somewhere." Suppressing a shiver, she grimaces, and shoves the brass key further back in the drawer. She points to a gold star sprinkled with red glass beads. "I think that goes to the front door, but the current security status has blocked its use somehow."
She steps back from the drawer. "I haven't tried the others. After..." Her eyes flick to the brass key sitting at the back of the lot. She swallows. "After that, I thought it best to just wait and hope he'd come out of it."
Scram plants his feet at the rumbles, becoming his own shock absorber. "Yeah, looked like Radovan was about to fail. Any second now. But hrm, that'll narrow it down to three...I like those odds!" he says, glancing into the drawer and separating the known from the unknown...scooping them up along with the liquor cabinet key. "What's with the brass one you tried? Let me guess, it opened a door taking you to a sandy wasteland where the skeletons came from the ground and all over, and the bones are their money...nevermind, maybe explain on the way." he looks to the others "Right guys?"
Vrindel starts getting itchy and twitchy. Everything was so unnatural. Now the magic tower was shaking. How did he get here? He feels like a rabbit in a trap, maybe a wolf, so he can gnaw his leg off to escape.
He collects the decoy evil sword from Britta and secures it to his gear, in case he can escape the trap, maybe without a leg.
"No....not to Nuria. That I could have dealt with." Britta shudders again and turns to start down the stairs. "Perhaps I shall tell the story, but now is not the time. Let's just not use that one."
"Vee, keep a watch on Radovan."
"As you wish." The construct replies with a short bow.
The ex-adventurer, turned innkeeper, turned defacto mayor, hurries down the winding stairs and back to the main level. From there she pivots and leads you down a short hall to another set of stairs leading down.
Just as when you came up, you pass a point going down where things shift. The world suddenly feels different and you find yourselves once again within the realm of shadow and its odd mirrored representation of the mortal realm.
Britta comes to a stop at an arched doorway. The stones around the door are carved with a simple meander pattern that peaks in a circle within a triangle symbol. Britta nods at the door and takes a deep breath.
"This leads below. Those won't have any effect yet." She says pointing to the 'keys' in Scramsax's pocket. "But be ready, if what Radovan told you is correct, there could be just about anything beyond the door. Ready?"