Sprig's heartrate sped up when he heard the gunshot. Peering over, everyone seemed okay, but he had a bad feeling about what was happening.
"Ah don't like th' sound of that. Hezekh, could you head down there and help 'em out? it sounds like there might be a scuffle..."
Already tense, the kobold was ready when Bas made his move. He lept from the wagon and moved to a better angle.
Bas charges in and tackles the man who begins to laugh wildly, his voice hoarse and gravelly as he does so, ”Yes, yes, the awaited hour comes! I am unmade and made again!”
"We'll be havin' no unmakin' today," Ronan says. His eye glimmers as he draws on the spirits to interfere with the man's ability to break free of Bas' grasp.
Saraon raises his new sword and it blazes into life.
"If that is your wish, then may your ashes feed the land and bring forth new life free of your pain," he says somberly as he joins the battle, approaching and striking at the madman.
Saraon's blade pierces the man's chest and his eyes go wide. His smiles grows wider as his blood pours out of the wound. Even as the life fades from his eyes he murmurs, "The wound is open and sealed...I am unmade at last..."
For a moment, all is quiet. Yet when his blood hits the circle, the text blazes with pale, sickly light. The air inside it starts to warp and shift and crack. From nothingness a massive hand reaches out and a body follows along.
A nine foot tall humanoid in the image of an archetypical fiend steps forth from the warping in the air. It's body is covered in fragments of armor and shards of broken metal, arms and legs and wings wrapped in rusted barbed wire. Great metal shards protrude from it's hands and it's eyes burn with pure malice. It looks down at the corpse of the stranger, a bitter expression on it's face.
A voice rings in the party's head, the sounds seemingly made from the clamor of battle and the screams of the dying, "What a wretched being that gave it's life to bring me here. What a damned waste. No matter. It's death begets more death."
The fiend's head looks up at the party and it raises it's claws, "Your deaths will begin the slaughter."
Ronan's eyes widen as Saraon makes his declaration and strikes the man down. He futilely reaches his hand out, "No! Wait! We don'--"
But it's too late. The blood. The text. The voices crescendo. Ronan puts his hand up to his temple and winces at the chatter, trying to discern more of what was about to come.
But the voices could not adequately prepare him for the summoning that follows. Angles without lines. Hungry gnashing darkness. Wings wrapped in rust. Eyes of malice.
The voices...the voice...do the others hear it? Was it real? Or another hallucination?
"No..." he croaks.
This beast is a genthodaemon, a personification of death in pointless war and the despair of bloody, brutal stalemates, a being of malice and bloodshed and hate for all things, especially itself.
The ritual required murder by another, almost certainly, to pull the genthodaemon from the Far Reaches where it's dark masters used it as part of whatever cruel games they play.
Saraon's eyes widen in horror as he realizes how he's been tricked.
"Tree and Stone, what have I done?!"
He attempts to make amends by striking at the monster.
"I brought your taint into this world, I will burn it out as well!"
"S@%*e! What ya'll gone and don' now?" Katheryn wondered before she lined up a shot.
"What in the Hells..." Hezekh breathes, before shaking his head and flipping through his spellbook. Glancing back to Saraon and Bas, he thinks to himself Gotta line this up carefully. and casts a spell.
"Damn it, this wasn't how it was supposed t' go!" Sprig said as he quickly began drawing a magic circle.
He froze as the old man shifted into some form of demon monster complete with shards of armor and barbed wire. He was wise enough to realize letting go of the creature was the wisest choice. He tumbled and rolled torwards his bardiche.
"what in the hells is that?"
He clutched his bardiche and turned and spun as hard as he could at the demon.
The daemon is entirely blinded by Hezekh’s glitterdust. It roars in anger as Kat’s bullet hits it. Saraon, too, manages to strike it but can’t get past it’s supernaturally tough hide.
Bas, for his part, takes a mighty swing, feeling his already strong attack hit even more grievously due to the genthodaemon’s aura of carnage. The blood must flow, after all, it matters not from where.
The daemon tries its best to unleash a flurry of four attacks at Bas, but three go entirely wide on account of the blindness and Bas dodges the last one.
"A genthodaemon," Ronan replies. "Avatar of pointless death; a being of pure malice." Then his tongue begins to hiss as he addresses the daemon directly.
Ronan turns his eye from the corpse of the dead madman and towards the daemon. The angular cyan pattern the shines just beneath his skin glows and he hexes it.
"If'n y'all have any silver, now'd be a good time to bring it out. Sprig, one of 'em celestials ought to be useful. But avoid elementals n' such. An' try'n stay out of its reach if'n ye can!"
Saraon begins chanting a spell of his own, before splitting into copies of himself that move and act in sync.
"If anyone is going to get its ire... it should be me... back up everyone! RWaaah!
He called out to his friends his mind drifting to the prediciment. He suppsed dying by a demons claws protecting goodly folks was as good a way as any to readdress the ol cosmic scoreboard not that he could ever repay the blood on his hands.He roared out and spun about using the extra momentum to put even more heft into his swing.
"Not a chance, cowboy." Hezekh says, as he flexes his metal arm menacingly. Then he casts a spell, dashing in and so fast he leaves afterimages.
"One step ahead of yah Ronan!" Sprig says as he finishes his summoning circle.
A lantern Archon appears from the air, flying lazily above the demon and firing upon it.
"O Earth, Impress your pull upon this Fiend's mind!" The kobold chants as he casts a new spell. Burdened Thoughts
Katheryn swiftly lined up another shot and let loose a sound of thunder.
Between mighty swings from Bas and Hezekh and the celestial laser beams fired by the archons, the daemon teeters on it’s feet.
With a shot that barely pierces it’s hide, Kat fires a shot right through it’s head. It gurgles slightly before falling to it’s knees. It’s body begins to quickly disintegrate, leaving behind a pile of mud, gore, and scrap metal.
Saraon breathes a sigh of relief as the monster is slain.
"Thank every god above and below..."
Then he turns to the others.
"I beg your forgiveness for my rash actions."
Ronan sighs and lifts his tea-kettle-on-a-stick back to his shoulder. "We're lucky that wasn't nothin' but a foot-soldier o' Abaddon. Scary-lookin' but easy 'nuff to handle with the firepower we boast." He nods at Saraon. "But maybe don' go strikin' folk down like that. If there'd been two or three, that coulda gone right differ'nt."
"I understand. I had thought his madness had compelled him to throw himself at us so we would end his pain...and I suppose after a fashion we did, but it had all been a ruse to complete his dark rite. I suppose not all cries for Nature's final mercy are sincere," Saraon replies, bowing his head.
The samsaran nods uneasily. "I'm not sayin' nothin' 'gainst Nature's final mercy, mind, but I were to spill my marbles 'n beg for death, I'd hope y'all'd try'n stop me first."
Hezekh spits into the bloody dirt. "Not like we coulda known what was gonna happen. When a nutter attacks you, you fight back."
The dust of the fight settled, the party's able to press on down the road.
A few more days pass as the wagon rolls into wilder and more desolate country. Not many signs of civilization out here, signs of a time long-gone notwithstanding. The party passes a wide rent in the earth on the day after the fight with the daemon almost entirely filled with rusted, shattered remains of robotic beings, demolished beyond any hope of repair or salvage.
The fourth day of travel sees the party find a small stream, a relative oddity this far out from Exchange. Saraon, however, recognizes it by the clusters of reeds that grow along it. This stream leads to the entrance to the Glade!
Ronan looks uneasy at Hezekh's claim. "Thought you was a learned sort, Hezekh," he jabs. "You saw the circle. I was tryna figure out what it was."
He scuffs his shoe in the dirt. "Sides, fightin' back don' mean killin' by default. We coulda taken 'im alive."
---
Ronan is quiet in the following days, not nearly as talkative as he had been on the front half of the journey. But he looks agitated, often staring off at things no one else sees, nodding or shaking his head as though conversing nonverbally with himself--someone invisible to the others. He doesn't seem to notice that they've arrived at the Glade until someone else makes it clear.
Sprig steps in, trying to cool off tensions. "Now now, let's not get heated. The three of us..." He gestures to Hezekh, Kat and himself. "Were watching th' wagon, we only jes' rolled in when things started 't move. Ah ain't certain of the particulars of what yew saw, but what's done is done, as regrettable as it is."
He looks over to his scarred companion. "Bas, Ah think you made th' right call, it's a shame it turned out the way it did."
Before they leave, the kobold opens a hole with Expeditious Excavation and buries the cultist's remains.
__________
Sprig was excited to see the Glade so when they arrived, he was quick to nudge Saraon. "Ah think Ah see the entrance up ahead! Is this the right spot Saraon?"
"Happened has happened." Katheryn said as she shrugged "We can't go back ta change it. Work with wha ya have."
--------------
"Who stuc' da bee down your pants?" Katheryn asked Ronan with a raised brow.
"out here in the wastes. It is often best to start with violence. I think i could have handled the skinny fellow just fine...but perhaps it was better safe than sorry. Perhaps it was best it was us."
He was silent during most of the travels, keeping his thoughts to himself watching the distance for any threats... the rent in the earth drew some attention from him. Despite the clear state of distruction within he kept a wary eye to it till it was far in their dust.
Saraon nods to Ronan.
"You are right, I was hasty this time, and that nearly caused disaster. Next time, I will take greater care."
When Sprig intervenes, he tilts his head a bit.
"I didn't mean to start an argument, Sprig. Both Ronan and Hezekh's words hold wisdom."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Saraon is similarly silent as they continue to travel, but more out of contemplation than concern. The encounter had given him much to think about, which was the whole point of him being sent into this old and broken world in the first place. When Sprig points out the reeds, his eyes light up.
"Yes indeed, Sprig! You have wise eyes. Not many would notice the reeds we use to mark the stream."
With that, he takes the lead and begins escorting them into the Glade.
To Kat, Ronan shakes his head and takes a while to respond. "I been called far worse 'n a 'nutter' in my years," he sighs at last. "Folk are rare who believe half o' what I hafta say. I learnt ta keep lots to myself o'er the years. So I relate to those with crazed eyes n' frazzled hair n' whatnot. We're all jes folk."
---
The visions seem to have mostly stopped, while the voices now dominate Ronan's psyche once more. He looks about at the reeds and the stream with a smile. It seems calming. He had never met the druids of the Glade before, outside Saraon. He wonders what they remember of the Old Ways.
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The party heads up the stream, walking along it's banks. Some might even marvel at the clear, gently flowing water.
As they travel upstream, more and more greenery can be seen, sagebrush and rushes, small patches of bright wildflowers. The magic of the Halcyon Circle has been at work here, and is slowly restoring the land.
The top of the stream is a ways off, but going up a twisting mountain trail through a small pass leads to a breathtaking sight. Willow trees arc gently over a pond, lily pads floating atop it as small fish flit back and forth under them.
A great waterfall cascades from the mountains above, almost certainly the source of this pond, casting a scintillating rainbow spray into the air.
The path leads around the pond, seemingly straight into the waterfall.
Following the well-trodden track to it, the waterfall ripples for a moment. With little warning, it opens like a door, twin curtains of raging water granting passage to the Glade beyond.
The Glade is, for many of the party, beyond description. Green is everywhere, lush plant life, even some wandering animals like deer.
As the party takes it in, a sharp voice beside them says, "Beautiful, isn't it."
A tall, slim man has appeared almost from nowhere. He is without the masks of the druids, but his hooked nose and hawklike eyes bely a power and connection to the natural world.
Saraon recognizes the man who introduces himself, "I am Aed of the Hawk, one the of guardians of the Glade, and one of the Fangs of the Circle. I recognize one of my cousins of the Circle itself among you, but I know not the rest of you. That must mean that what brings you here is important. Be thankful I am not as strict as some in carrying out my obligations, and that I allowed you to enter alive."
"A merry meeting, Aed!" Saraon says as he steps to the forefront. "These are my friends and comrades. I have traveled with and fought beside them, and can vouch for the trustworthiness and good intentions of them all."
He pauses to allow the group to introduce themselves.
"You are right, we've discovered something in our travels that speaks of danger too close to the Glade for comfort, and have encountered evils on the road that suggest darkness and death is gathering, so we wanted to warn you. And my friend, Master Snaggletooth, wishes to learn from us as well. He too seeks to help heal the world, and believes we and he can work together to become a stronger, healthier pack."
Ronan is initially shocked that he was caught so unawares by Aed of the Hawk. He was normally eminently vigilant. So to be snuck up on? The man had to be good.
Should he bring up that he also wanted to heal the world? It depended on what the Halcyon Circle's eye towards technology was. Was it a total prohibition, or an acceptance of sustainable means and methods? Or, to be more specific, was there a cutoff of technological development and use after which they adamantly denied?
He decides to leave that be for the moment, since he is currently--as always--bedecked in clicking and whirring gears.
"Ronan Del'Arte," he says, holding his hand out. "Or as I am led to understand it, Little Seal of the Profession. No other formal titles yet, least none such as those now alive recognize. I appreciate stayin' among the now-alive, too, thank ye."
"Ya ain't mad" Katheryn told Ronan with a shrug, "And ya can't help everyon'... Ya have a good heart Ronan, but it ain't all on ya." Katheryn reminded him with a nod.
-------------
"Ya another from Olok Redtusk and yar group?" Katheryn asked Saraon as she pointed to Aed. "Oh! Where be my manners. They all call be callin' me Kat, but da name is Katheryn, Katheryn McHaven." She said with a nod.
"Hezekh." the bearded man says, offering his flesh-and-blood left hand. Gesturing with the other, he says "Ironfist, some call me."
The kobold is so caught up in what he sees that he is late in his introduction. "Oh, er... Ah'm th' Snaggletooth Saraon mentioned, Sprig Snaggletooth. Ah've traveled some distance t' meet y'all, and Ah hope we can make an agreement. Through my studies Ah believe Ah have found a way t' spread this beauty t' the world outside, and Ah'd like to consult the Circle on this endeavor."
He was quiet as was his usual but his hackles naturally get a little up when the hawk fellow mentioned "allowing" to let them live. Threats like that just irked him. He was glad he learned long ago to bite his tongue though. The scenery was nice.
"Bas." He said simply nodding. You didnt offer hands to someone said they could have killed you.He knew sometimes you had to be the biggerr beaing still. He backed away and let sprig work his talking... warily keeping an eye all around them now.
Aed nods at the others, "Well met."
He turns to Saraon, "You speak of darkness and death. Harsh tidings. Not like the Saraon I have known. It must be serious indeed. Go to the Grove of Totems. Speak with the elders. They will know better than I the course to take."
The Grove of Totems stands on the other side of the Glade. There, totems of the world's animals, live or extinct, are shaped from living wood. It is from these totems that the druids receive their sacred masks.
The Glade is truly magnificent. Dwellings are carved from the rock of the high cliffs that surround it, and people bustle to and fro. Some are fully initiated druids like Saraon, animal masks donned at all times. Others are shifters, unmasked but capable of transforming into animals at will to protect the Glade. Still others are initiates or gatherers, working to earn a place among the Circle or support their efforts.
Past fields of berry thickets and ponds where children play stands a tall hill, a grove of weathered but strong oak trees standing atop it.
Following the meandering path up to it's summit, the party can feel the deep magical energy here. It is unmistakable. Inside the grove sit three people in a rough semicircle.
At the center is a dwarven man with a massive, massive white beard visible behind his bear mask. The carving on it is rough and the wood is deeply worn.
To his right sits a hulking half-orc woman, unmasked but with arms tattooed with twisting designs of beasts locked in combat. A brass bull-ring hangs from her nose, and her tusks are ornamented with small jade tokens.
To his left sits a figure familiar to some of the party. An old elven woman with a carved wooden hawk mask. This is none other than Yularia Hawkdew, whom the party has met before.
The dwarf at the center rises, his voice rough and gravelly. A bitter ton is unmistakeable as he speaks, "Newcomers. Aed of the Hawk has told me that you come with some report of evils lurking outside. I am sure it is nonsense. You young ones have never held respect for our traditions, and outsiders even less."
Yularia snaps at the dwarf, "Gorsk, calm yourself. At least try to hear them out. You haven't even given Jade Bull a chance to introduce herself!"
The half-orc grunts, "You heard my name from her. Don't care much either way. Just need the Glade to be safe. That's it."
Saraon takes the lead, escorting the group and pointing out the local landmarks as they pass. When they arrive at the summit, he bows and then sits.
"Thank you for meeting with us, Honored Elders. I can assure you the threat we face is no mere nonsense."
He begins telling them the story of their adventures: the journey from High Gulch, the battles of Svedka's Fort and the Iron Tree, the liberations of Kildain and Glowing Springs, meeting Fortuna and the hunt for the caches she sent them on, encountering strange phenomena and new friends, culminating in the strange bunker and the confrontation with Davin Traznaff, a broken remnant of a man who seemingly had survived the death of the Old World. He then finishes by describing what they'd learned about Davin's group, themselves called the Remnant and the mysterious "Gaia" they coveted.
"We don't know what this 'Gaia' is, but if the other members of the Remnant are as cruel or mad as Davin was, it should be kept out of their hands. We seem to have recovered what they need to activate it, as well as Davin's fragment of the key to access it. One of them, definitely more powerful or resourceful than Davin was, hides in the nearby mountains, and an entrance...or exit...to their lair is nearby the Grove itself. Too close for comfort. These others, if they learn of Davin's end, may have means of hunting us for these, to claim for themselves, and they may even be stirring as we speak, for we have met people maddened by some otherworldly presence on the road, and even encountered a man who summoned a daemon! I wanted to make sure you were warned of the threat that's seemingly on our threshold before I, and my friends, sought to investigate further to learn the nature of that threat."
Ronan smiles at Kat. Logically, he believes her, or at least he wants to. But knowing and believing are two different things.
The Glade is stunning. It wasn't Ronan's way, but these people were living in Harmony with the World. The Spirits are chatty, whispering in hushed awe.
Ronan lets Saraon take point, ready to provide backup. Some of what the half-elf speaks of (from before he had joined them) is new to Ronan, but he follows along the logical throughput easily enough.
It's disconcerting how quick the dwarf is to dismiss their concerns before hearing any evidence, and Ronan immediately dislikes him. What does he know of traditions?
The old druid grumbles, "This all seems like madness. I have tended to the Glade for four centuries, just like my father and his father before him. Never, in the tales I have known nor what I have lived myself, have I heard of such wildness. The wastes are a harsh place, but never with true malic. Nonetheless, if you can convince the other elders that your claims are true, then I suppose I will trust their judgement, hasty as it may be."
Ronan fixes his eye on the old druid, his own relatively physical young age belying memories that stretch back well beyond the dwarf's grandfather. "Then you know the world is older and stranger than any of us alive truly know. We do not bring wild claims without evidence. Yours is the haste to dismiss, not ours to bring."
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Saraon gets stiff in that way you do when you're trying not to cringe but don't want to look like you're trying not to cringe at Ronan's rebuttal. He was out of line, but he wasn't wrong. Gorsk had always been the most stubborn and provincial of the Elders, and went beyond the Grove's borders far more rarely than the others did. He had sometimes wondered if the turtle was a more appropriate totem for him than the bear, but he never dared make the joke publicly, as Gorsk's temper would quickly remind him exactly why the bear was his mask.
If the party wants to secure the help of the Circle, they’ll need to convince it’s other Elders to throw support behind them. Alternatively, they could leave that for later and head directly into the mountains.
There are five other Elders besides Gorsk. Yularia Hawkdew is one, and oversees much of the Circle’s intelligence gathering network, and is likely to support the party with little if any convincing. Jade Bull, though not formally an Elder, is treated as such because she’s the leader of the shifters who protect the Glade, and is most concerned with ensuring the safety of the Glade and it’s residents. The Elder in charge of regenerating plant life is a gnome bearing a toad mask by the name of Grimple Thundercroak. They’re hard to miss, as they are almost always yelling when they talk. Overseeing the restoration of the waters of the Barrens is the beaver-masked halfling Deytha Barkbiter. With a muscular build beyond most other halflings, she’s an imposing presence beyond her stature. Finally, in charge of cleansing and purifying the poisoned earth is the mole-masked human Berrind Starnose. The most reclusive of the Elders, he’s eccentric but well-loved by his pupils.