As the shadow fae disintegrated, the double agent looking on from the window smirked in satisfaction.
Chippy the Hin (whom the shadow fae recognized as a humble, loyal butler) was actually Chipluck of Spyglass (an agent of Zobeck's secret police). This little sting operation, for which Radovan turned out to be essential for executing, had long ago been paid for by the wealthy Hrovitz noble family calling the Free City home.
It was vengeance, murder for hire...this particular scouting party was well known to the Zobecker trade mogul. The halfling spent nearly a year with the shadow fae gaining their trust and subtly pulling the strings behind the scenes...and that meant suffering as their servant (really borderline slave) the humiliations and trickery of the aloof and rather hierarchal-obsessed fae for just as long.
Leading them to the tower at just the right moment took much planning. It was many nights of edge-of-thy-seat skulking across the shadow plains, cascading back and forth...evading not only the fae but the inherent dangers of the Realm.
One simple mistake is all it would have taken, but Chipluck had trained to not make mistakes. Thus his satisfaction at the disintegration of the fae was not particularly in any black-hearted malice, but in appreciation of his own professional aptitude.
But it was the last pat on the back he would give himself. A random reflection of the triple-beam gamma-waves Radovan was firing caught the unsuspecting halfling square in the chest, and took everything with it. He passed out instantly from the shock, and would dream lastly of the cool city alleys in the summer before bleeding to death.
When Radovan's soul and mind shatter, so does Kalisuel's. For a moment, she sees dozens of lives played out at once, each ending with an obsidian knife through her heart. She clutches at the burning cold in her chest and gasps in pain and horror. For a brief moment, the barest sliver of time, she feels the silver eyes watching her before she finds herself back in Radovan's tower as everything goes awry.
The fool. The overconfident fool had tapped into something he did not understand and now he was threatening to doom all of them. The Thorspear an the valkyrie inside it urge her to act, so act she does. She feels the energies swirling around her, and tapping into something so deep it is instinctual, she unravels what is going on. Two ley lines, the deeper one masked by the first, converged here. The only way to save Radovan from his folly was to either disable the construct or bleed the power coursing through him quickly enough he might be able to regain control of it.
She pushes forward and grabs Radovan by the should. Her other hand holds the Thorspear aloft, and with a brief apology to Aera, Kalisuel channels raw, primordial power through herself and the god-crafted weapon to loose a bolt of lightning up into the sky.
Luthael chants and watches the pseudo memories of Radovan unfold with him and the others participating. The wizard's pain damaging the Khorson just the same.
In the end, the hubris of the mage becomes his unmaking, literally. But as the protocol shattered his mind and spirit, they would reassemble him with the divine power of the Invincible Sun.
|
"YES!!" Aterro rumbles like a thunderhead as the first brace of dark elf-type Xenos are blown to atoms by the first blast of this superior weapon.
He had long viewed wizards as just the squishy things in back that needed to be protected and nutured, like cold ale in the hot sun, but this one had finally gotten off his overly-padded duff and done something. Actually DONE something to help people. To help everyone stay alive and un-eaten by the greyskin horde.
"More! Again!" he roars as another trio of pieces are removed from the board. "They'll think again before trying that anymore! A few more blasts and we'll take back what once was ours! We should all be fine now as long as...uh-oh."
As the power surges and rips apart The Machine, so too are his own inards torn asunder. And not just his guts, no, but the whole of his mind is sent spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning spinning....
He's back at the docks, hewing and smashing with his warhammer, WarGuard. The barricades hold and keep the pirates at bay, with Zove skillfully keeping them up and providing fire of her own. But something's off. It's not right. He turns and looks for Zove, Zove, what's happening...but it's not her. It's a girl, aye, but not, she speaks..."Hoi chummer, I'm Wraith."
He's elsewhere, in his hands is not WarGuard, but a crossbow of strange design. He strides boldly across the battlefield--at least that part seems right--but instead of arrows he's fired at by a thunderous barrage of guns--whatever they are. The iron balls they throw bounce off his Mark VII power armor harmlessly and he spews unavoidable death at them, knowing they are wrong their lives are wrong their beliefs are wrong their existence is wrong and and so long as they even draw breath there can be no peace. He cuts them all down and bellows a warcry, the only warcry, "FOR THE EMPEROR!"
He's on a bridge. No, behind a bridge. No, in -front- of a bridge. The enemy is charging at him. They all are mounted. There are many. So many. So very many. It's just him, here. The sniper starts taking shots. Some go down, but not many, not enough. He raises his shield, and his hammer, Krieg. They charge, closer, closer, closer still. They get to the rock. They are at the rock. They pass the rock.
The rock explodes. From the charges he put there.
He kills them all. Then a monster called Eater comes up and tries to catch him as he crosses the bridge. He puts it down. There is a cost, and his armor is ripped. He'll need to tell the marshall about it. "Yes, Kaviya, it was a thing to see. It was nice while it lasted."
Gunnar, Aterro, Britta, and Scramsax all stand within circles of brilliant arcane power. Circles that now form a nearly complete web between the fallen wizard, the constructs and one of the two orbs. Power churns within the room as Gunnar, with Luthael’s ongoing aide, does all he can to maintain control and direct the ritual while also experiencing the disorienting visions of Radovan’s memories and experiences. But not all the visions belong to Radovan alone. Some experience other glimpses. Images of the past, the future, alternate dimensions or realities? One can never be sure under such circumstances, yet each one is as real as if it had truly happened. Kalisuel’s blast of lightning reaches for the stars even as Chipluck spends his last few moments of awareness watching his midsection dissolve in the wizard’s ray. Aterro churns through multiple possibilities leaving the warcleric pale faced and sweating with the possible power and deaths granted in his visions.
But before any can truly contemplate the meaning and potential of such imaginings, the rune beneath Kalisuel flairs to life. The light is indigo dark and eldritch for the power called forth is as ancient as time itself.
FLASH
You drift. Not really aware of anything beyond floating in an infinite emptiness. You’ve no body, no substance. Merely a spark of thought, of something that once was, that once existed. But now, all is darkness and void and timeless. Nothing floating within nothing. Except for the great whirlpool of immense and unfathomable energy and power that ever so slowly spins at the edge of your existence. You orbit the vortex, slowly circling like some tiny speck of flotsam spinning around a drain. Eventually, like all else, you too will be sucked down into the center. Carried off to true oblivion or whatever lies beyond such phenomena.
You are content with this end. For at the very least, there is peace that comes with being nothing within nothing. A contentment that you could never discover...before, in whatever existence once was. So you drift in contentment, slowly orbiting your impending oblivion. Until you suddenly feel a sharp twinge of pain.
This is impossible, for you’ve no physical form, no body to feel such things. Yet again it comes. A sharp burning sensation that racks and riddles your entire essence. You scream, but there is no sound. The pain intensifies. It’s like being trapped within an inferno, every fiber of your being burning into life and existence once again. Each second an excruciating experience of pure physical misery. The flood begins and the pain gets terrifyingly worse...
FLASH
The first moments of your existence in the mortal world as the midwife slaps your naked bottom forcing your first breath and first screams of discomfort.
FLASH
Stumbling across into your mother’s waiting arms as you cross the soft rug covered floor, your eyes glued to hers as they sparkle with delight.
FLASH
Blisters sting your hands as you finish the grave. Helping your father lower your mother’s body into the earth while tears stream down your face. Cursing the wasting sickness that took her away.
FLASH
The tap of Bloody Benedict’s wicked pointer upon the board. Feeling hatred and fear of the old archmage and his demeaning, arrogance.
FLASH
Watching the first tiny flame dance in your open palm as the wonder and power of the universal elements course through your mind and body. The conjuring a revelation and gateway to so many new possibilities.
FLASH
A pub. Smoke filled and rowdy. Musicians play in the corner while you sit sipping ale. You listen to the kobold youth, who is really only a year or so younger than yourself, speak of traveling south to answer a call for aide made by some village. But the real reason you get involved sits to the right of the kobold, the dark haired girl who studies the ways of Wotan.
FLASH
Fire streaks from your hands dropping the goblin in its tracks. The last of the creatures that had been harassing the small village of Mendrake at the edge of the Margreave.
FLASH
Hanging from an icy cliff. Choosing life and love over death.
FLASH
Waves crashing across the bow of the Winter’s Spite. Lilith laughing with Britta as the lightning flashes and you lean over the rail for what must certainly be the millionth time. Rook offering one of his foul drinks that you wave away unable to even smell the stuff.
FLASH
An undead sorcerer. It’s snarling grin as it kills what you hold dear. Your failure to stop it. Failure to keep her safe. A death in the dark roots of the world tree. Pain unimaginable. This dissolution of friendships and drifting is aimless anger and loss.
FLASH
Pride and accomplishment at the waking of your own child. Vee’s eyes focus on you allowing the imprint to occur. You feel the power of the Heartwood within her. Feel the connection to what was taken away.
FLASH
The need for revenge. The need to put an end to a menace that has plagued the world for much too long.
FLASH
Broken machines surround you. Each a failure. Your mounting frustration eats away at your very humanity, for this will be your penultimate achievement and you will not be denied. You break another rule, summon forth the demon for answers.
FLASH
Power of unfathomable proportions. A mistake made. Terror. Pain. Failure. Again.
FLASH
New faces and one old. Strangers. Barsallen Scoundrel, Priest of Light, Warrior of Thor and Krakovan Refugee, Singer of Lost Memories, Thunder Wizard.
FLASH
Time begins. You no longer orbit the vortex at a distance. Instead, you find yourself upon the very cusp of the event horizon. Falling over the edge, drawn inexorably down into the center along with all you have been and more…
FLASH
Radovan screams from the center of the ritual web. The black orb is now linked to the wizard, tendrils of eldritch power weaving through the others. His body is wracked with spasms as everything slams back into his mind. The blowback upon each of you is overwhelming in its own right. Flashes of memories and existences crashing upon each of your minds like a giant’s hammer pounding a cracking anvil.
Your own shouts and screams join those of the reconstituting Radovan as you all scramble to hold on long enough for the ritual to finish its work.
Kalisuel screams as blinding white pain consumes her like ravenous fire. She collapses to the ground and curls into a ball in a futile effort to find some relief as the scream goes on and on.
Luthael finally sees the end pulling the wizard from his oblivion to the mortal world. The pain is not unlike his latest vision, hot and agonizing. Powerful is rarely painless.
He takes a knee within his runic circle, unable to quit his duty. Arcane steam wafting from his head and clothes as if he were drenched in evaporating water.
Scram felt himself being torn through memories, but concentrating on one in particular brought only pain. The relentless flashes blurred together finally into one numbing white field, pulsing too fast to even be detected, and within it he could only sense one thing: the sapphire orb.
He remembered the trick that allowed him to steal it from Illarya: without a defined location or physical body, natural common sense things like gravitational force were meaningless. As some claimed, the strength of such pulls were related to the inverse square of the distance between objects...but absent a distance was like the Void trying to divide by zero.
So, on the edge of the event horizon, Scramsax the thief with a shrug simply reached out and plucked the vortex out of the Void, placing it into his pocket before floating off into the stars.
Holding on by force of will and now strength of body, Gunnar struggles to force the completion of the ritual!
The pain is fierce and the strain almost more than he can bear, but somehow he finds the power to complete his most powerful ritual ever attempted!
|
|
Aterro is at last faced with a threat that he knows how to deal with. Like a stone wall his face contorts in a rictus grin and the mere physical pain crashes against him like a wave upon the ever-living rock.
Seeing the masked bard having more trouble dealing with it--unlike Gunnar, of course. Ever does he stand high in the eyes of Thor himself!--he calls upon Thor's grace, establishing the connection now that he finds himself at least back in his own body.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Sweat pours off of Gunnar's brow. His hands tremble and his voice grows raw fading to a mere whisper as he fights to contain the numerous forces within the ritual. It is unclear how long you have all stood within the circles. Time, space, memory, physical forms, all are confused within your minds given the workings of the ritual and your experiences under its influence.
Kalisuel's screams join those of the wizard at the center of the circle. As she slumps to the floor the light within her rune flickers. Everything threatens to unravel. Aterro reacts quickly. The warcleric once again calls upon Thor and grants the god's blessing and comfort to the stricken elf marked. Her screams end even as Radovan's reach an unbearable pitch. His body convulses in a massive set of seizures as blood begins to seep slowly from his nose and ears.
Frantically Gunnar tries to maintain control. Determination, strength of will, and more than a bit of pure stubborness keep the dwarf going. He weaves and controls the flows of the five runes as best he can. Occasionally using his own body or Luthael's as grounding conduits until reaching the threshold of what any mortal could be expected to withstand. He feels the wizard slipping away. With one last all encompassing push, Gunnar activates the final rune.
The green light of spring leaps from the rune at Luthael's feet, bathing the priest of Khors in its gentle embrace. The smell of spring fills the air. Fresh grown grass, budding trees, sweet flowers, damp earth. Rebirth, renewal, return.
The runic energy frog leaps to the other circles, bathing everyone in its soothing, life affirming light. Its warmth is soothing. A blessed comfort after the cold, empty, desolation of the dark void. Strained muscles relax, battering hearts slow, wild thoughts slow and emotions calm.
From each of the six outer circles, the power flows into the center. The Heartwood within Vee flares to life and begins to beat with a steady rhythm. Outside of Gunnar's influence and beyond his control, for the wizard had know knowledge of the items existence prior to starting this great work, the runic magic combines with that of the Yggdrasil and Wotan. The crude copper and brass metal of the construct's body turns to a leafy green and earthy brown. The constant tapping of her hand stops as pure emerald eyes flutter open and dark brown lips feel air cross their surface for the first time.
Within the very center of the circle, Radovan's screams cease along with the massive seizures which threatened to rip his entire body asunder. The black and red orbs flare to life and then shatter into dust that quickly burns in a cloud of glittering sparkles within the power surrounding the resting wizard.
Finally Radovan takes a deep gasping breath. His eyes flutter open for just a moment before falling closed again. But this time into a soft, restful, perfectly normal slumber.
The task seemingly as complete as possible, Gunnar slowly, carefully releases the powers gathered within the circle. One by one, the runic lights go out and the energies dissipate leaving each of you to try and understand this recent experience and what, if any, meaning it may have had.
Britta is one of the first to move, stumbling over to a nearby table and grabbing the closest bottle of fortified wine. Ignoring the nearby glasses, she simply puts the bottle to her lips to take several deep swallows before offering it to anyone else.
Outside, a robin sings to the rising sun.
The strain of completing the ritual takes Gunnar beyond his limits, but somehow he finds the strength to continue. Just when he is about to fail, he feels Sylvia channel a last dredge of power into him, allowing him to push through the worst of it and start to safely unravel the complex ritual.
A solitary birdsong pierces the silence as Gunnar unravels the last threads of power, and he takes a deep breath. Relaxing fractionally, Gunnar gives thanks to Thor for seeing him through…which proves to be a bad choice, as his battered body falls to the floor, his overwhelmed psyche unconscious before he even clangs to the ground.
Scram was thankful for the Jeru rune's hangover cure, and the opportunist was about to make some enterprising quip about bottling and selling such powers...or about how he finally understood how dwarves were able to drink so much...but the sight of the altered constructs, now something very different, was almost more marvelous than even Radovan's return.
He tested a step outside his circle, just a quick pad of one foot, and after not erupting into a hairy ape or changing gender hustled over to the 'new' Vee taking its hand awkwardly and shaking it while poking her in the shoulder and stomach repeatedly "Heya, its me, Scramsax. Remember? What's going on with you, Vee? Or is it Vee-Eye now?" he asked, while feeling the new material and gazing all over.
== 20
Kalisuel groans as she returns to her senses. Every part of her ached and her head felt as if she had challenged an entire tavern full of dwarves to a drinking contest.
"Vee has a piece of Yggdrasil in her. It is her heart. I think that changed her," she answers Aterro as she staggers to her feet. A few drops of blood splatter on the floor from the bottom of her mask. "Radovan sleeps, so I cannot speak to him of the problems he harbors, but you do not have the same luxury, Thorson. I am worried by what I saw in those visions. Hand me the mace," she says. Her voice is flat and harsh as she makes the demand.
Injured, but not critically so, Gunnar sleeps the deep sleep of the exhausted. Already drained from the shadow realm battle, this epic ritual depleted all his reserves and then some. The rising conflict among his companions and the strange transmogrification of the mechanical Vee will have to wait…for now.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Scramsax finds Vee's hand to be warm and having the slightly rough, but soft texture of an spring maple leaf. He feels the pulsing beat that thrums within, matching the remembered rhythm of the Heartwood seen in the final few moments of the ritual. Her fleshy shoulder and stomach, for indeed they are flesh not metal, are also warm to the touch and smell of loamy soil and fresh pine after a summer rain.
Seconds pass as the halfling pokes and prods Vee like a Zobecker Chirurgeon hopped up on Sumpberry Juice. Until her wrist suddenly flips to grip his hand in hers. It is a solid hold. Full of strength and power. Tendrils of wiry vine flow from her wrist to rapidly engulf Scram's arm up to the shoulder pinning the surprised halfling's arm in place as sure as a coney caught in a snare.
"Would you please cease doing that." Vee says as her eyes rapidly blinking and turning to look at the halfling. Gone is the dry, metallic vocalization she once had. Instead her voice has a deep earthy resonance. Her solid emerald eyes are filled with curiosity as they take in her arm and the growth now constraining the halfling. "It is very intrusive and quite annoying."
Amazed by it all "But..but...daughter!" he gives her a parental embrace with the still movable section of his body. Technically everyone in the room was her 'parents' but it was no less touching for Scram.
And for once in his life, it wasn't a gimmick to pick her pockets.
Hearing Vee speak tears Kalisuel's attention from Aterro to look at the constructs new living body.
"Scramsax, I think she needs a moment. It would seem Radovan is not the only one to have endured some changes in this," she says as she tries to pull the halfling off of Vee. "Are you still Vee, or someone new," she asks, finding her own curiosity taking control.
|
|
Aterro nods, mostly to himself, satisfied that the issue has been dealt with.
Seeing Radovan sleeping peacefully, and Gunnar sleeping the sleep of the exhausted, Aterro deems that they just won't be doing much more for awhile. "Methinks that most of our answers will be met once Radovan wakes. However, that may not be for awhile yet, so...."
Not quite ready to join his brother Thorson in dreamland, he eyes the potables that Britta is attacking. "Do not drink all of that, good Britta!" Aterro yells, making his way back toward the kitchen. "I shall join you anon, but I do hate drinking on an empty stomach, and saving the world, again, does make one quite peckish."
He goes exploring to see if any of the stew from earlier is still to be had, with the plan to fortify himself before seeing if he can drink Britta under the table.
It made sense to Scram that an elf-touched would separate father from child...they had been doing so for centuries to restock and reshuffle the supply of servants, attendants, and cooks in their gold and emerald palaces by the river.
Still the system shock of being pulled so abruptly away from his daughter sent the halfling's mind spinning into another momentary trance...some sort of subconscious-induced hypnosis. The sapphire orb surged with psionic power, and a new mental landscape unfurled to echo his surface thoughts of heredity.
A glimpse of Incarnation Awareness manifested from within the synaptic static...
*zing*
The velociraptor *chorkle corkled* a throaty call to its hunting mate some 50 yards further down the steamy dark jungle. The prey had been at last located, and it was Scram-raptor's dino-duty to play dumb decoy. Ostensibly fumbling its steps and wandering into plain sight, the prey startled and immediately retreated...right into the hunting mate's open jowls as the clever girls planned.
*sha-bing*
The flail snail oozed its sticky trail of shimmering glass down the fine rainbow dust of the crystal cave, looking for its next gemstone meal. The great wizard Braviso followed closely, concealing his presence with advanced illusion magic. Unbeknownst to Scram-flail-snail, but knownst to Braviso...the creature's shell could fetch thousands of gold. The risk of course was the anti-magic properties that defensively exhibited in the form of a blinding light...only a long range attack made any sense. But when the acid arrow failed to penetrate the exoskeleton, the flail snail closed the gap in a startling dash, pummeling the great Braviso with a pentad of mallet headed tentacles.
*dong*
The modron recalculated the probability of a successful flank, given the sudden Class-F33PnT planar rupture which was inverting gravity just off the demonic battalion's western side. Scram-duodrone the Cubical, in the final analysis, judged the +0.0005% adjustment to be curiously close to the tridrone's established tolerances. It was the closest a modron could come to fear. Raising his brass spear to the astral sky his vocal module loaded filename 'CaSS-E' into sysRom "We are structure! All other structure crumbles when brought before us!" the cube bellowed as the modronic horde clashed with the demons of the Eleven, tearing them to bits with 87% efficiency.
*fffffzt*
Dark purple veins bulged on the balded shorties skull, a trickle of blood launched off Scrams upper lip (the hairs of which seem to have grown at least 4 mm since yesterday?) "*huff puff* What in the name of hell?" struggling against Vee's encapsulating vines and the hands of the tyrannical elf.
"The poor girl has been through as much as the rest of us. Leave her be for now," Kalisuel answers as she picks the halfling up and begins to carry him out of the room.
"Besides, I think we both need some rest. You look like the very hells you refer to, and I feel like you look."
Scram stops resisting the elf (how the hell did she get ahold of him anyways?), and instead simply raises 2 fingers to his forehead, projecting his thoughts into Vee. In her construct form, he had found nothing but a concentrated confusion of repeated runes in a sea of exotic space. But now, perhaps her mind was something that could be entered more freely...
::Vee. It's your dad. I just wanted to say how proud I am of you for sustaining the wizard's life throughout this whole thing, and how happy I am that you are a part of my life. You know without your loyal tapping we would've never made sense of any of this. ...also just a gentle reminder to clean up your workspace later, it is a bit junky.::
To Kalisuel "Yes, better carry me to comforts and excesses...that's how I like it in times like these. I'll just doze off a dad...I mean tad. Wake me when we get there?" he smirked, closing his eyes.
Diving into her mind you encounter a whirlwind of the same emotional blend churning through a very different landscape than what you experienced before. Gone are the neat codes and runic equations. The numbers and mathematical patterns of logic where A leads to B which leads to C.
What you run into now is someone attempting to process an overwhelming flood of stimuli having never done so before. Colors, sounds, touch, pain, warmth, smell it is all new. All completely engrossing, frightening, thrilling, sensual, and so much more. These emotions themselves are nearly too much. Feelings rampage through the mind and body like a startled herd of long horned Ankole.
And yet, you also feel recognition in some small way. This newborn creature even within its struggles to know and comprehend its new and unexpected existence remembers.
"I....I....know you?" Her mind-voice whispers. "From...before." A flash of another mind, another way of seeing the world. Another way of being in the world. A stranger entering the orderly patterns of that mind. "You are Scramsax? Father?" A tentative inquiry and then you are forced to focus your attentions elsewhere as Kalisuel jerks slips you free of the vines and holds you in a rather unbreakable and surprisingly effective hold.
Aterro finds plenty of left over stew in the pot. A few minutes over the fire and the spiced aroma is wafting through the tower bringing memories, or possibly nightmares, to those sleeping off the effects of the day's work. Her stomach rumbling, Britta seems to suffer little concerns when the big warcleric puts the pot down on the table and offers a fresh bowl and spoon. In return, she slides the bottle his way and shoves a spoonful of stew into her mouth.
"You know..." She says around the mouthful. "This would be pretty good if you went a little lighter on the cumin and tumeric. The Mharoti always make theirs stronger than the Nurian's. I think it's a dragon thing."
Showing the sure fire quality of an old adventurer, the spoon (or the bottle) barely make a pause when Scramsax is suddenly swooped up by Vee's vines and subsequently released and grappled by a scowling and disapproving Kalisuel. As the lithe, elf marked holds and hauls away the halfling in an impressive grip she turns back to scoop more stew into her bowl.
"Better come sit down priest." She says to Luthael who hasn't hardly moved from his spot within the now dormant ritual circle. "You look a bit peaked. Come have a drink and put something in your stomach before you collapse in a heap like the others."
"Yep, not bad at all." She says returning her attention to Aterro and the stew. "Mind if I put something similar on the menu back home?"
Kalisuel hauls Scramsax off to a guest room, just as eager to get away from the overly spiced stew as she is get halfling rake from Vee. Once the door is closed and she lets Scramsax down, she sits with her back to the door and tilts her head as she looks at him.
"Care to tell me why you called Vee your daughter," she asks, too tired to care how rude she sounds.
Carried away in the gentle arms of an elf, Scram clandestinely maintained the mental connection to his daughter...at the same time reflexively disgusted by the burden of responsibility and yet loving of this (however fractional!) extension of himself. Perhaps the idea of a second chance was most exciting. A reroll. An echo through time.
He wanted to see exactly what part of himself had been passed into Vee...but of course that would take time, the insights that came with trust and true relationships. He wanted Vee to know about his Barsellan homeland and...wait a minute! She did not suffer the legally imposed exile he did and could experience it for herself.
He wanted Vee to be happy and safe...the polar opposite of his own childhood which, at least through the lens of conscious memory, was mostly spent dodging the do-it-yourself alley-blades that grinded washed-up zinc sacrificial anodes of ships to a thin razor's edge. Outsmarting the green-jaws as they presented shady deals with utmost confidence only to withold pay or flip the law in the heat of the scheme. Bleeding out face down in the gutter with a fat swollen lip and empty stomach during the torential downpours of monsoon season.
Why couldn't it be different for her? The halfling saw nothing but hope in her deep emerald eyes.
You are Scramsax? Father?
::Yes. I'm with you still, now in voice and forever in heart. Your, er, second mother wishes you to rest but...heh, can't help it, I want to be with you. Sorry. Maybe I can just sit quietly here on the edge of your mind until you are ready to speak further...not of Kaunen or Naudiz but of yourself. Oh, and I'll bring you a crispy cake with a box of Sumpberry juice later.::
---
When Radovan was awake, the thief had one item of business to attend to...separate from the party business of the sword that is. Introductions at this time were not necessary, having met already within the entropy encapsulated egg of the wizards mind, and he jumped right in "So, Rad. Who's the Saurian in the basement with the priceless wardrobe?" referring to the stone statue he had found while saving Aterro's life.
"Care to tell me why you called Vee your daughter"
He raised an eyebrow, crossing his legs over the elf's shoulders as he considered the response. Finally he offered "Well...why would you not? It was us, all of us, that brought her from a repeated string of mechanus into a breathing feeling thing. I've already travelled inside...the landscape of her soul is now no different than yours. Not as it used to be when Vee was merely Radovan's animated form. Together we have brought true life into the world...you know, I'm really starting to rethink some stuff. Also could you carry me closer to yonder Sumpberry juice...or, oh, carrying time is over?"
After a moment "You know, Paws would've really liked this...natural transition and whatnot. Where the hell is old blister-pits anyways?" referring to the mysterious absence of the trollkin druid.
Luthael nods at the call to supper, physically exhausted from the ritual. He takes a seat at the table and tucks into he stew, like someone who knows how to eat. Halfway into the bowl, he offers,"that was interesting. Do you think that wizard will learn a lesson about what not to dabble with?"
"Oh, and where is the EVIL sword?"
Blank stares greet Luthael following his inquiry into the whereabouts of the item that had brought everyone to this lonely tower. Vrindel was the keeper of the sword when last anyone saw it. After a long pause, Britta takes another long drink from whatever brew was held in the third bottle removed from Radovan's selection. She tilts the tip of the half empty bottle toward the far corner where the fireplace tools hang. A bundle wrapped in a ragged cloth leans against the brick of the hearth, barely noticed in the dimly lit nook.
"Saw...*hic*...the trollkin leave that before he...*hic*...left." She says weaving just a bit as she squints in the general direction she pointed out. [b]"Said somethin' 'bout needin'some fresh air...*hic*. Can't say as I blame 'im...*hic*. Bloody worst bit 'o magic I've experienced." She adds along with another drink.
"Well...why would you not? It was us, all of us, that brought her from a repeated string of mechanus into a breathing feeling thing. I've already travelled inside...the landscape of her soul is now no different than yours. Not as it used to be when Vee was merely Radovan's animated form. Together we have brought true life into the world...you know, I'm really starting to rethink some stuff. Also could you carry me closer to yonder Sumpberry juice...or, oh, carrying time is over? You know, Paws would've really liked this...natural transition and whatnot. Where the hell is old blister-pits anyways?"
"He should be about, somewhere" Kalisuel says, trying not to get distracted again. "As for Vee, I do not have the connect to her that you possess. Perhaps it is because of my blood or the hole in my mind."
Scram could relate to the notion of a mental void "Better a hole upstairs than down...that's my motto." he sputtered meaninglessly, quickly filling a lever-covered tankard with Sumpberry juice and collecting a few cakes onto a plate. "I'm no magician...and philosophy is a waste of time. All I know is something mixed from within me with all of you, and the result was a new life. It's true whether you feel a connection or not, I guess." he shrugged.
He turned to the elf-marked with his hands full of food, seemingly unarmed, gazing at her right in the eyes. "I want to take this food and libation to my newborn daughter. Are you going to stop me, madame?" uncertain of her intentions, and untrusting of her lineage.
---
Luthael moderately imbibes. He isn't a teetotaler and is too exhausted to enjoy getting drunk. The priest walks over to the fireplace tools and examines the EVIL sword without touching it. At this point, he doesn't know that it is a really good fake, so he treats it with dangerous respect.
Gunnar starts awake, realizing somehow he fell asleep in his armor again—then the events of the past day come rushing back to him in a flood. The familiar channels magic has burned through his psyche start to recover somewhat from their extreme exertion, and he groans, propping himself up on one elbow.
The mage Radovan is still unconscious, but seems to be resting well enough. Suddenly smelling the aroma of spicy food, Gunnar realizes he is famished, and he follows his nose to join the others in their meal, asking, ”How long was I out? What did I miss?” as he helps himself to a large portion and a cold drink.
Britta turns her eyes to Gunnar and gives the dwarf a lopsided smile. "Sssnot been long. Maybee three bottlesssorssso." She slurs, her body weaving like a ship upon a stormy sea.
Luthael pauses at the EVIL sword, like a moth to a flame, feeling a palpable hunger seeking to devour light and decency and good. He lifts his hands to the waves of EVIL emanating from the weapon as if it was a bonfire.
"Aye, this is the unholy artifact that I saw. There's some connection to a dryad's grove, a dragon, and a Light reborn."
Kalisuel listens and after a moment sighs. It has been a strange week to be sure. Twigjacks, ghouls, shadow fey, monsters from beyond reality itself, and now she was apparently a parent, or at least midwife.
"Let me get enough for all three of us. I'd rather not try Aterro's stew again," Kalisuel says as she helps Scramsax get enough for the two of them and Vee to eat their fill.
After following Scramsax and finding Vee again, She sits and quietly eats the food and drinks the juice. As much as she would like to, she cannot ignore the look Scramsax gave her, the one that seemed to distrust her.
"Scramsax, how much do you not trust me," she asks, finding a refuge from hesitation in bluntness. She looks out at the halfling from under the mask now sitting on top of her head.
Kalisuel and Scramsax find Vee, pretty much as they left her. Still naked, she sits on the floor, her legs crossed. She shivers occasionally as goosebumps ripple her flesh. Running a curious finger over the little bumps, she smiles up at you both. The vines the entangled the halfling earlier have disappeared.
"Hello....father....mother?" She says with a bit of hesitation to the halfling and elfmarked.
Scramsax and Kalisuel sit talking and eating with Vee near the center of the room while Britta, Aterro, and Gunnar are across the way at the long dining table eating and drinking. Lutheal stands near the dark fireplace contemplating the sword found in the long lost sanctuary and temple. The priest asks his question to those in the room while Kalisuel asks hers of the halfling.
Both replies are held for a moment as a groan emerges from Radovan. The first sign and sound of actual consciousness made by the wizard since your arrival.
Seeing Vee shivering, Kalisuel finds her pack and wraps the poor girl up in a thick blanket.
"I think sister might be more accurate, Vee. We should find you some clothes soon, but first you should eat." she says as she finishes covering Vee up.
Hearing Radovan begin to stir, she looks over to the wizard. She wonders how much he remembers, and how he'll react to Vee's new form.
With Vee bundled up warm and a mouth full of sweets, Scram took out a trilliant cut ruby from Zove's stolen gems and spun it on the tip of his finger. He was trying to pass it to Vee's finger without it falling or stopping spinning, entertaining but also teaching...well-noting the potential dexterity (or lack thereof) in the girl's new form. The basics of legerdemain were best taught young, as he knew from experience.
Whatever moment they were having ended when Radovan stirred and suggested consciousness...he had the urge to jump within that consciousness, but ultimately put the thought aside. You don't pick a scab as its healing, the quack reasoned.
Later when Kali had raised her mask and called him out on his hesitation "Heh, hard thing to measure. In my heistin' days out on a job I suppose trust lasted as long as an agreement wasn't broken. Confidence is somethin' to be exploited and all that. Sayin' goes 'trust among thieves is as shallow and furtive as a riptide in the foreshore'. Its both a warning and a statement of fact..." tilting a bit of gin into his sumpberry juice. "I try not to think of it...takes me out of the moment. But when an elf tries to put a muzzle on me...well, that takes me far back to the Old Ways." speaking of how halfling children were routinely taken away from their parents for lives of servitude in the courts of the elves and shadow fey. "Maybe being a father is workin' up some new emotions and such." he smiled at himself at the thought.
"I am sorry then. I was... I did not mean to give insult. I was more worried about how Vee would react."
"Hey, don't sweat it. Grudge aint worth nothin." he said quite in earnest, passing her a plate of cheese slices. "And see, that's the motherly instinct taking over." he chuckled. "Can't forget instincts."
Gunnar, having been occupied with the ritual for so long, then being unconscious, and now eating, looks up when Radovan stirs. ”Do you think it worked?” he asks, looking intently at the mage. Sparing a glance to his friends to see their reaction, he sees a new arrival in a blanket. ”Wait, where did she come from? Is that Vee?” he adds, noticing the resemblance.
|
|
"...so then I says, 'That's not a fireman, that's my wife!' Ha-HA!" Aterro finishes his long-tale and takes another pull of--whatever it was that Britta had poured most recently. He hoped it was not too fine a vintage because he had stopped really tasting the things about two bottles ago.
Having the world well on its way to not needing to be saved just this moment Aterro stopped caring and just relinquished himself to the pleasures of plate and bottle. He had stories enough to meet Britta's one to one and the day's victory certainly demanded to be heralded by revels.
Let the others interrogate the new-made machine-girl and wondering what this meant for the future. Or, even, what it meant to be 'human' at all. Perhaps, even, Wraith might have had a thing to ponder and meditate upon this new work of magic, but it was not his way. He would rest, and store his strength, and meet the evil on the field of GLORIOUS COMBAT. As it should be.
Refilling both his mug and hers with something green he began, "Britta, did I ever tell you of my first campaign...."
Britta breaks loose with a snorting laugh that practically has her tipping out of her chair, but with the balance of a professional adventurer, she rights herself and dives into a tale involving Rook, a set of gnoll twins named Vic and Mick, and a depressive, obsessive compulsive Nurian mummy. But before she can really get rolling Radovan groans again and slowly pulls himself into a sitting position.
Twisting around, Britta focuses blurry eyes upon her former adventuring companion. Seeing the wizard coming around and needing a bit of aide, she pushes to her feet and weaves her way over to the awakening mage.
"Ahhhh..Britta, old girl, good to see you." Radovan says in a voice, scratchy and dry from recent ill use. "Where's Vee, I need some water."
Leaning down to stare closely at the wizard's face she offers up a warm, toothy smile. "Feeling a *hic* bit better are we?"
"Yes, a bit. An unpleasant experience I must say." He frowns and waves a hand. "Gods, have you been drinking?"
A deep throaty chuckle gurgles up from Britta. "Just a splash. *hic* There's been a bit of s..st..strain all around since you're little sp'eariment. But you're sure *hic* you're feeling better now?"
"Ugh...yes, yes. Help me up and where in the eleven hells is Vee?" He pompously demands holding out a hand which Britta takes in an iron grip of her own.
The tall red haired warrior turned innkeeper, yanks Radovan to his feet. Her eyes suddenly clearing and burning with flush cheeked fury. "Vee seems to be dealing with some interesting troubles of her own, you arrogant, ego maniacal bag of monkey s%$t!." She says through gritted teeth. "All of us told you time and again, to leave well enough alone. But the high and mighty brainiac mage knew what was best. Just knew he could do no wrong, make no mistake. Thought you were the only one who lost someone. Well she ain't here to do it, so I will. This is for nearly breaking the world and getting all of us killed! you self-centered, ankole F*&^$r!" She adds before coldcocking the wizard with a hard resounding right that would fell a storm giant.
Scram spots a tooth tumble through the air, the yellow stained ivory catching the lantern light just right before it clatters under a nearby chair. Radovan's eyes roll up into the back of his head and he crumples to the floor once again.
Britta nods, smiles, and releases one last drunken giggle. "Been wanting to do that for twenty bloody years." She says before staggering to the nearest soft chair and collapsing into a snoring slumber.
A few minutes later Radovan's eyes flutter open and he groans again. His face already swelling as blood trickles from a bent nose and bleeding lip.
"Ohhhh..." Moans the wizard, slowly regaining an upright posture. "Bamned Booman always bid hab a tember." He mumbled through a nasally broken beak. "Boo are all you beeble?"
Scram scooped up the tooth with one of those micro crab-flesh forks, clinking it into a shot glass full of milk before delivering it to the mage saying "Hey, its me, Scramsax. We met at that fire egg thing inside your mind just before it all went to s$&&. Thanks for the tip." offering a high five. "And this is...this is the Narg Nasty 6, most badass crew of elite operations commandos off the Bay of Ghed." he lied for no real reason. "Well, 5 now I guess."
|
|
"Did you really have to--" is all Aterro gets out before Britta lets out a long snore. "Seriously, if _I_ am questioning your application of violence, you really need to think about things," he says futily at her sleeping form.
"I apologize for her, since she will not," Aterro says, approaching the wizard and calling on Thor to undo what Britta hath wrought.
"I am Brother Aterro Dominatus, and we have...well, I suspect matters are about to become clearer.
Kali! Do come over and introduce Radovan to your new friend. It's only polite."
Aterro plops himself into a comfy chair and waits to watch.