Urzok looks at Bodiddly curiously as the Gnome seems determined to stand and fight the Tatterman with his back against the wall. I knew I liked that Gnome. Dropping Red Destiny to the floor, he flips the dagger in his hand, the blade now extending away from his pinky. "Let's dance!"
Lashing out with the silver knife, he slices at the Tatterman's bladed arm before leaping back into a low stance with both hands raised and ready. No matter what happens, if you're in a knife fight, you're gonna get cut!
________
Shakur looks from side to side, hoping to catch a glimpse of something to throw. He finds nothing he can throw in time as the Tatterman steps closer, so he draws his regular dagger, Strides to the hall, and raises his shield.
Okay, so much for these things.
He quickly deposits the alchemist's fire he had in his hand back into his belt pouch and begins a familiar incantation.
Urzok slices with the silver dagger right into the Tatterman’s arm, slicing through the saffron tatters and causing its flesh to sizzle and smoke as a ball of flame comes from its side and encases the beast!
The nightmare’s arm sizzles as it raises a crooked, veiny finger up toward Shakur.
*
*
"̴̢̨̝̺̞͚̥̠̖̘̠ͦ̐̈͒́͢Y̷̡̛̱̝̦͕̰͈̰͇̙̮̾̿̋ͫ̚͢o̵̧̨͔̜̥̩̫̣̞̣͚̺͔̣͍̬͕ͥ̂ͨ̿͋͗̕͠ô͐ͬͪͪ̎́̊ ̷̹̮͖͈͚̦͎͎̼̙̮̬͓͕̣̃͡ơ̛͎͎̰̭̙̘̹̳̹̲̭̞͙͎̖͚̩̌̊ͣͮ̓ͥͮ̇̈́͂́ͮ̊͊̆ͨ͜͢͡ͅoͯ͐ͧͮ̀͏̶̵̨̛̜̻͍̯̗̮ ̗͔̱̝̟̗̘͚o̢̊͗ͩͤ͑̾ͦ̅́̽̍̒̋͡҉̢͓̙̲̩̹̝̥͎̪̝̗̭͉̖̳͔̘́ų̣̰̝͍̦̟̖̗̤̦̯̲͖͕̼͚͙̩͗̄͐͛͑̑̈́̅̒ͥ͢ ͚u̧͙̬͎̮̖͉̘̅ͥ̌ͫ̉͝u͊̈́ͨͫ̒ͧ̑͏̵̛͎̺͔̺̞͓̭̪͖̠̜̦̹͖u̍ͤ͛̉҉̶̫͖͍̤͇̱̲̲͓̼́͠u̎̈́ͣͧ̍̈̍̿͊ͬͬ̆ͣ̿ ̴͏̯̦̳̥͍̣̙̜̖̹̰͇̩̙͢.̶̧̖̘̠͎̺̣̰͎̠̝͋͆̓͢͞.̶̡̞̱͉̝̬̹̱̣̤͒ͩ̃̑ͩ̽ͩͯ̈́ͪͦ̍̊͂̆ͧ̉̚̚.̊̄̇̓̇̓͌̉ ͙̹̩̝͈̫̹͐̆ͫ̒ͣ̋̏̀͠"͉̙̘̙̓̅͋ͧ͂̿̅̉ͦ̆̅̎̓̂ͣ̄̽̀͘͜
*
*
In the blink of an eye the monster dissipates into a yellow smoke. Just as the amnesiacs look on in confusion, the Pharasmin feels a wet, wheezy breath cascade down his neck, causing every hair on his person to stand on end!
A sharp pain runs through Shakur as a massive wound opens up on his back! The Tatterman screeches as it raises its jagged dagger once again!
Shakur barely manages to catch the blade on his shield as the Tatterman continues to wail spots of saliva into the Pharasmin’s face, each droplet causing a pinprick in his flesh.
Round 11/12
================
Urzok (-13) {wounded 2}
The Tatterman (-93)
Jevar (-24)
Shakur (-20)
Boodiddly (-9)
================
With the Tatterman focused on Shakur, Urzok tries to lay another deep slash into him. "What's the matter? Does this hurt too much?" he taunts. Did it just teleport? S&$@, that's going to make this much harder to kill if it can keep doing that.
"Run if you need to, this can turn still turn into a chase!" he says over his shoulder to his allies. Not much can outrun me!
________
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Shakur shouts in a mixture of pain and fear.
For lack of anything better to do, Shakur quickly tries to dig his dagger into the Tatterman's flesh.
Shakur then steps back with Urzok. "KILL IT!" Shakur shouts, returning the droplets of saliva (to a much less painful effect, I'm sure). Shakur raises his shield again. Hopefully preventing his untimely death.
Ya know what...If it's not dead, Shakur really wants to stab it.
This has to end... it's just toying with us!
The wizard snarls as he draws and flings his dagger at it...
After the dagger returns he slides it back into it's belt sheath.
”Keep at it! Take this fiend down!” Boodiddly yells encouragingly. He tries to wrack his brain for anything else useful about this nightmare as he moves away from the action to give his companions more space to maneuver.
Drips of sickly yellow ichor drips from the Tatterman’s maw as it shambles forward and raises its bloody knife!
The nightmarish beast lodges its blade deep into the side of Urzok’s neck! The half-orc stares into the face of the tattered entity of nightmares as it takes a raspy inhalation. As suddenly as it began, the Tatterman brings its face within inches of the fighter’s as it lets out a screeching wail that sends a mixture of ichor and saliva spewing forth!
The Tatterman’s shrieks causes something in the half-orc’s mind to change as his fight-or-flight instincts are jump-started to a terrifying extreme!
Fail-->Success (Bravery)
But right at that moment, something clicks inside of the half-orc; he chooses “fight.”
Urzok takes the silver dagger in his hands and shoves it through the Tatterman’s mandible and sends it straight upward through the beast’s skull in a demented shish-kabob!
The tattered shreds of cloth on the Tatterman begin to dissipate into a saffron smoke, and with a whisper, the flesh of the Tatterman’s body disintegrate into a yellow dust that flies into Zandalus’s “throne room.” Just as the smoke becomes nearly invisible, it stops over the cult leader’s bed, where a single, thick book has been clearly stuffed underneath one of the four mattresses.
Shakur takes a moment to breath and immediately moves to Urzok. "Alright. Alright. Let's get you all fixed up real quick. Don't need you dying on us."
Critical success. Double heal.
x2 for 28.
As Shakur begins pulling gauze and stitches from the healer's kit, he looks to the wizard and utters "Jevar. Burn the book."
On it. Jevar responds quickly. He runs to the bed, and throws back the sheet. He directs Produce Flame at the bed until at least the book is burning. Given how wretched he finds everything related to it, he won't mind if the bed burns on the stone floor as well.
Looking over Zandalus’s coal drawings, Jevar notes a pattern. These drawings seem random at first, but there are reoccurring views of specific monoliths and cities, or parts of the same city. He rolls up the drawings and stows them away.
Urzok lets the knife clatter to the floor as the Tatterman disintegrates. When Shakur comes over to heal him, he plucks it off the ground and hands it back to the Cleric, hilt first. "We make a good team, Elf," he says flatly, staring at the floor as his wounds are tended to.
Collecting and sheathing Red Destiny the Orc looks around. "Maybe someone will recognize those pictures," he says nodding to Jevar. "Search the place and head back?"
________
Boodiddly collapses to the floor. He tries half-heartedly to stop Jevar from burning the book before they've had a chance to investigate it, but doesn't find his voice and decides maybe the priest is right and they're better off not knowing.
Jevar throws up the mattress of Zandalus’s former throne and raises a flaming hand when he abruptly stops. Almost mindlessly, the wizard stares at the cover of the book as he utters its title:
A sharp pain goes through the four amnesiacs at once as a brief whisper of thought goes through their minds.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
One by one, the four men’s vision blur as they fall to the floor into unconsciousness…
Jevar lets the flame evaporate from his hand as he picks up the book.
The title that Losandro wrote about in his journal... "a near-legendary collection of psycho-arcane studies". I wonder... does it hold some secrets for my spellbooks. Will it provide us with more answers about this damnable place, this experience...
After the seemingly uncontrolled display of rage at Zandalus’s throne, the wizard now calmly sits down. Cross-legged he begins to flip through the book...
The amnesiacs groggily open their eyes once more, but rather than lying on the ground, they sit cross-legged in a circle around an open book that Boodiddly seems to have been reading from. They snap their eyes open and jump to their feet. It is at this point that they all notice that they feel different—Shakur’s armor suddenly feels much heavier, alchemical formulae coursing through Jevar’s mind, a deep-seated anger coursing from within Urzok, and Boodiddly’s magic feeling completely reworked.
The gnome slowly closes the tome in front of him and sees the title upon it: The Chain of Night.
Not sure what else to do, the amnesiacs wander around the second floor of Briarstone Asylum. Shakur looks out the massive hole in the wall to find that the sun has set, and what was once a sickening yellow curtain around the asylum has dissipated into naught more than a pale mist. Far below, figures move along the grounds just outside of the asylum—some wearing pure white patient’s smocks, and others with yellowed sheets wrapped around them.
On the body of Ulver Zandalus is a +1 striking light mace as well as a wand of soothe. Settled on the ground, not too far from the former cult leader, is the blood-soaked weapon of the nightmare that was the Tatterman. Boodiddly spends time Identifying the Magic upon it and discovers that it is a +1 striking war razor, but the gnome feels a great power from within the blade.
Jevar looks at the hundreds upon hundreds of coal sketches within Zandalus’s “throne room” and recalls the former cult leader is known in the most avant-garde of Versex county’s artistic circles, and his grand collection of sketches could fetch a significant price to the right bidder—especially now that the artist has passed.
Underneath the four mattresses that were Zandalus’s throne are several items—offerings by the Apostles in Orpiment to their Messiah. The first among these are eight pouches each containing 50 silver coins. The second of the offerings is a set of what must be the best pieces of coal and papers and similar materials that could be found inside the asylum, which functions as sterling artisan’s tools for creating charcoal drawings. Third of the offerings is a vial that Boodiddly determines to be truth potion, as well as a scroll that Boodiddly is unable to identify, but Jevar looks at it and determines it to be a scroll of object reading.
Last is the tome, The Chain of Night. After studying it, it appears The Chain of Nights is first and foremost a text on the anatomy and workings of the brain, and the first several hundred pages concern themselves with diagnosing, analyzing, and treating—via therapy, drugs, and basic surgeries—numerous physiological and psychological afflictions. Only in the final third does the tome turn toward more esoteric topics, such as the source of nightmares, accounts of the Dimension of Dreams (land where the dreams of dreamers become manifest, if only temporarily) and the Dreamlands (the “stable core” of the Dimension of Dreams, created by the dreams of primordial dreamers) and descriptions of the creatures that live there. The tome also seems to give a detailed description of several dream-related spells: dream council, dream message, dreaming potential, and nightmare.
Rare Conjuration Occult
Cast 1 day
Primary Check Occultism (expert)
Range touch
Duration instantaneous and 1 year or 1 week; see text
Targets Touched creature of up to 4th level
————————————————
This ritual creates a small rift between the Dimension of Dreams and the target’s mind in an attempt to cure them of their nightmares. If the target suffers from natural, reoccurring nightmares, the ritual conjures them into a viscous, physical substance that boils forth from the target’s mouth and nose, then congeals into an inert, coal-like lump of dead dreamstuff. After this, the ritual attempts to counteract any nightmares or abilities similar to nightmare—such as a night hag’s dream haunting ability—that are affecting the target; mundane nightmares are treated as having a counteract level of 1 and the counteract DC is a standard DC of the target’s level.
Critical Success The target is cured of their natural nightmares. The target has no natural nightmares for a year and never has those specific nightmares again. Treat the result of the counteract check of the ritual as one degree of success better. The target is immune to nightmare-inducing abilities for 1 week, as per spell immunity (this can even affect non-spell effects, as long as they would result in some form of nightmare).
Success The target is cured of their natural nightmares. The target has no natural nightmares for a year and never has those specific nightmares again. If the target was the victim of an extraplanar being’s ability or innate spell, this ritual attempts to conjure them. The target must have been affected by the creature’s ability within the last 3 days. In this case, upon the ritual’s completion and a successful counteract check (if needed), the creature must succeed at a Will saving throw or be summoned into a space adjacent to the target. If the target has been affected by multiple creatures’ abilities, the creature with the lowest level is conjured. The conjured creature is in no way controlled by the target or the ritual’s casters, and likely either attacks those who conjured it or attempts to flee.
Failure The ritual fails and the primary caster is affected by nightmare every night for 1d6 nights.
Critical Failure As a failure, except the target also takes 6d12 mental damage. If this would reduce the target to 0 hit points, they instead remain at 1 hit point and become an oneirogen.
————————————————
Heighten (+1) Increase the maximum level the target can be by 2. Increase the number of nights the primary caster is affected by nightmare on a failure by 1d6. Increase the mental damage from a critical failure by 3d12.
"What, why am I wearing....WHAT AM I WEARING!? And what's this? A shield? I wouldn't dare carry around something so barbaric. Would I? I...I guess I would. I remember having it with you guys," Shakur finally looks up, a surprisingly different look in his eyes. "I remember it being effective. And useful. But that, it...it wasn't me. Not the real...me...Okay okay.
Lowls. Right? Count Lowls. And...hmm...Let's get down to the Pharasmin, she might know more."
Shakur spends a bit wriggling out of his armor before taking the nicest looking set of padded armor. "I'll feel much better in this."
Jevar flips through the tome, feeling like he might have tried starting this before. The elusive thought nags at him to the point that he cannot focus on the advanced ritual.
There is some pretty powerful magic in here. It's going to be some time before I can work with some of this.
He walks over to inspect the vial that Boodiddly has just identified. Wonder if I could break this down and devise a formula..
Anybody watching his face notices that his eye is twitching every several seconds. Being very distracted, still lacking focus, he quickly moves to the blade to see if he can discern more of what it does.
"We need to leave this place. Too much happens without us even being aware!" Urzok points out, his rage brimming by the end of his sentence before it settles again. Whoa, that was fast. I... need to keep that in line.
"Now that's a blade," he says in admiration while Jevar has a go at it. "This beauty has served us well, but I think this is something I want to use for a bit."
He nods his head in agreement with Shakur. "After what we've been through, I need sleep and more of that magic. My... my head doesn't feel right," he confesses.
________
Jevar turns the blade over in his hands.
Fascinating, this blades power was forged in, not provided by any rune. But... just a moment ago it made me feel like that wrapped creature was standing behind me again. Be careful if you do use it.
He hands it over to Urzok.
"Well, uh..." Boodiddly is again at a loss for words as he hands the bottle over to Jevar. "Yeah, we should probably see Winter."
As the amnesiacs descend from the second floor of Briarstone Asylum, they find the camp of the now-leaderless Apostles in Orpiment completely empty—the various tents and bedrolls completely abandoned.
The amnesiacs backtrack through Briarstone Asylum toward the chapel, but stop dead in their tracks as they reach Briarstone’s library.
”Do that and the wound will surely open again. Here, let me do the stitching.”
“I think I know how to do stitches, Sister!”
Winter Klaczka and Wren Elbourne stand around the central table, which holds a wounded and unconscious—but breathing—Apostle in Orpiment in what appears to be a makeshift hospital. The two notice the amnesiacs enter. A wave of happiness washes over their faces and Winter clutches the silver spiral pendant around her neck and whispers a quiet prayer.
”By the grace of Pharasma!”
“I told you they’d make it.”
“We…hold on.”
Winter finishes stitching the apostle’s wounds and sets down her tools as she approaches the amnesiacs.
”I was growing concerned and sent Vaustin to try and find you all when you didn’t return after so long. He came back saying that the Apostles in Orpiment were all filing out onto the grounds; the fog practically gone.”
“Yeah, when they saw that the fog was clearing up, they seemed to snap back to reality, er, out of their religious zeal. Windows got broken and glass scratches sustained, but everyone just started running around happily under a familiar sky. They all have basically forgotten about Zandalus. And now Winter and I are trying to attend to the survivors’ wounds while—“
Right at that moment, the door to the library swings open and Vaustin York files in, drenched in a layer of sweat. He plops down in the nearest chair and starts chugging down a full waterskin.
”Vaustin! Open wounds! You're risking infect—“
“Yeah, I’m aware; just takin’ a break.” York’s eyes settle on the amnesiacs and he smirks. ”You missed all the fun. Fog’s gone and the patients are ecstatic.” He takes another swig from the waterskin. ”We found a boat at the dock; I’ve been spending the past few hours ferrying people back to Thrushmoor. It’s slow going, but I’m just glad we’ll be getting off of this damn rock.”
“Speaking of which…” Winter exits the library to the north, and a few minutes later returns with a journal—Administrator Losandro’s. ”I found Dr. Losandro’s body in her office—”
“She was trampled by the less-stable apostles trying to get out.”
“—which makes sense, she only died recently, but her body was completely devoid of internal organs. Curiouser and curiouser. I found this amidst her desk, it talks about a group of recent patients suffering from group amnesia that was brought here by Count Lowls.” Winter’s gaze goes off. ”Haserton Lowls, the count of Versex, appears to have abandoned his duties as one of the nation’s rulers. Royal Accuser Omari had reason to believe that Lowls had regular business here at Briarstone. She sent me along with other associates to investigate the asylum while she went on to Thrushmoor. It seems Lowls’s fascination with Ulver Zandalus and his admission of these amnesiacs—who I believe is you four—was his business. Whatever the case, it seems that you four have unfinished business with the count.”
York takes another swig. ”In that case, I’ll take you lot across the waves next; dawn’s breaking in the next hour or so, so we’ll go then.” The man stands up stretches his limbs. ”But I’m not cargo worker; I’m not making any more trips than I need to. You’re only allowed to take back what you can carry. Your stuff is back at the chapel still, if you wanna sort through it all.”
As the amnesiacs pass into the library Jevar feels a weight lift off of their collective shoulders.
It is... good to see those of sound mind. Though... I admit we may have suffered heavy damage in that area in our recent battle.
He winces and puts his hand to his forehead as a flash of sharp pain races through his head, like an instantaneous, sudden migraine that's gone in a moment.
We... finally discovered their leader. The poor soul's body was just a proxy for the actual nightmare. We defeated it, for now. When we did the fog instantly thinned.
He nods towards the journal she brought out. May I get a look at that, please?
He speaks with a deep weariness...
”...Oh. Now that’s some interesting stuff.” Boodiddly finally takes his nose out of Chains of Night and pulls on Jevar’s sleeve. ”Look, this might explain how the Tatterman got here. If Zandalus was being tormented by it with nightmares and someone tried this ritual, they’d summon it!”
The gnome bounces happily at the thought of leaving the island. ”That’s wonderful!” he exclaims, then catches himself and turns to Winter. ”I mean, not that we’re not happy to see you too, but I bet you’re just as eager to not be here anymore as we are.”
He nods towards the journal she brought out. May I get a look at that, please?
Winter glances at Elbourne, who gives a brief shrug. ”Very well. Take a seat and I’ll see what I can do; it’s the least I could do, after all.”
Urzok is tight lipped around Winter, offering only a nod in thanks for her healing. Bet Lowls will talk when I've got the Jagged Blade to his throat. We'll get him to tell us everything we need to know about how we got here and is involvement.
Getting up, he towers over York. "Thank you. We'll grab what we can so we can leave at dawn."
He heads to the chapel and begins going through their equipment.
Urzok takes Jevar by the arm. "Human... do you feel it too? My head... it's like there's a bank of fog inside, sometimes a raging fire. Do we need to find a healer or is this something time will fix?" he asks in hushed tones, his grip tightening. Realizing he still has him by the arm, he let's go. "Uh, sorry, this place..." He waves a hand in the air.
After Jevar's response, he speaks at a normal volume. "I've also got a favor to ask," he says, pulling out a pair of sheathed weapons. "I'm no good with weapons beyond using them, but you're handy with caring for them. Would you be able to put the runes from Red Destiny onto my sword here?" he asks.
________
Urzok takes Jevar by the arm. "Human... do you feel it too? My head... it's like there's a bank of fog inside, sometimes a raging fire. Do we need to find a healer or is this something time will fix?" he asks in hushed tones, his grip tightening. Realizing he still has him by the arm, he let's go. "Uh, sorry, this place..." He waves a hand in the air.
Jevar grimaces, realizing how obvious it must be to others. A wizard, losing his mind. This can't look good...
Yes, it's affecting me more than I'd like to admit. Winter seems proficient at reducing the affects. I think we should take all of that help that we can get before we leave here.
He rubs his arm were Urzok had grasped it.
After Jevar's response, he speaks at a normal volume. "I've also got a favor to ask," he says, pulling out a pair of sheathed weapons. "I'm no good with weapons beyond using them, but you're handy with caring for them. Would you be able to put the runes from Red Destiny onto my sword here?" he asks.
Jevar eyes the weapons. Yeah, absolutely. I'll give it my best shot. I have a lot of alchemical and crafting work saved up for some free time. Tacking this on will be nothing.
Boodiddly has snatched the violin away from Jevar, as a +1 boost to Performance will come in pretty handy as he gets into higher-level compositions.
As the gnome snatches the instrument that is clearly far too large for him, he begins plucking at the bowless violin , he notices a slight buzzing from the instrument—it’s in tune, but clearly buzzing.
*
After several minutes of sorting through the remainder of their gear in the chapel, the amnesiacs make their way outside of Briarstone Asylum and to the south, where a short dock has been built and a moderately-sized rowboat is moored. Vaustin York sits in the dinghy with both oars in hand.
”Ready to go?”
The amnesiacs uncomfortably sit down into the rowboat, which goes much lower into the water from their weight. After checking to make sure that the dinghy is still seafaring—which it is—York proceeds to shove off from the dock. York steadily rows through the water, not speaking a word as he focuses intensely upon the rowing. Two hours pass and the boat approaches the nearby landmass with several small buildings. The sun begins to rise over the horizon and shimmers over the waters of Lake Encarthan’s Avalon Bay. Slowly but surely, Vaustin York and the amnesiacs grows closer and closer to the town. The rowboat eventually approaches a small island off the coast of the fishing town—but still connected by a bridge—and the dawn breaks over the horizon of Avalon Bay.
*
*
*
*
”Can’t linger for too long; gotta head back for more.”
York kicks off of the shore of Thrushmoor’s southwestern island and proceeds rowing back over the waters of Avalon Bay toward Briarstone Isle.
The amnesiacs walk toward Thrushmoor proper when across the way they see a semi-cylindrical standing stone, standing 12 feet tall.
The amnesiacs, somehow, recognize this standing stone as a Star Stela, one of Thrushmoor’s two standing stones. The magical Star Stelae have confounded researchers for years; no one has been able to figure out their purpose, and citizens of Thrushmoor have just accepted that they are there and they mostly just ignore them.
The amnesiacs continue to star at the Star Stela and they feel that the standing stone looks familiar. At one point, Boodiddly snaps his fingers and pulls out one of Ulver Zandalus’s many charcoal drawing. In the drawing there is a large monolith that sits in the center of the image—and the likeness to the Star Stela is uncanny, though the surrounding environs in the drawing does not seem to match the coastal town of Thrushmoor.
With little else to do , the amnesiacs make their way toward the central marketplace of the town of Thrushmoor.
*
“Doom is coming! The second vanishing is upon us! Pray for your salvation that the Briarstone Witch doesn’t take you!”
A clearly crazed man in shoddy clothing and wearing a signboard across his shoulders loiters around Thrushmoor’s marketplace. Many of the market-goers roll their eyes at the ugly man and ignore him, though enough listen to him to encourage him to continue his doomsaying. The amnesiacs attempt to go about their business in the market, selling their various wares, which takes the better part of the day due to the merchants and non-merchants alike who seem to be eyeing everyone in suspicion.
*
The amnesiacs finally find someone to buy the last of their wares as the sun begins hanging in the sky of late afternoon. They are about ready to begin perusing the marketplace once more for items to buy when a sudden though crosses their minds: They will need someplace to stay for the night.
Jevar focuses on the stones intensely. He'll take this unusual and unnecessary focus throughout the rest of the day, even as they simply sell their stash at the market, as a way to avoid feeling the damage to his sanity. There's still work to be done. And lots of it. No time for that...
He leans down and traces his fingers along the inscriptions on the base of the stone, then looking up the the full height.
I seem to recall that those from the Sincomakti School of Sciences in Rozenport have studied these stones at one point, and scholars from the school have theorized that there was actually a third Star Stela that was destroyed when Iris Hill—the ancestral estate of Versex county’s counts and countesses—was built by Count Haserton Lowls I two centuries ago.
He gets up when the gnome snaps his fingers and looks over his shoulder at the drawing he retrieves.
Hmm, this doesn't look like Thrushmoor. I wonder where else in the world one might find one of these stones.
While I'd like to hunt down some formulae and spells, I think it's best we secured lodging for the evening. This little town only really has the Silver Wagon. The Stain, an old tap house, rents out a pair of rooms but they cost extra.
Urzok also rolls his eyes at the doomsayer. I've had enough of this garbage, we already killed one cult leader with a nightmare living in his head. Isn't that enough?
"Let's go to the Silver Wagon, sounds like it'll be easier. I'd rather just get rest and not have to deal with any back and forth right now," he admits, having had a long day of back and forth with irritating merchants while his head is in bad enough shape as it is.
Boodiddly tests the instrument and is excited at the unexpected sound of buzzing coming from inside. ”Don’t worry, it’s not wasps,” he says with a grin. Peering inside reveals nothing, so the gnome flips the instrument over and starts shaking. ”Probably.”
A rolled-up strip of paper pokes out from one of the f-holes, and the gnome eager pulls it the rest of the way. ”Um, does anyone know what ‘Auseil’ might mean?” he asks as he reads the unfurled paper. The gnome tucks the surprise discovery into his pocket and frowns, thinking furiously through his patchwork of memories through the trip to Thrushmoor.
”Yep, Silver Wagon sounds fine,” he agrees distractedly.
The Silver Wagon doesn’t seem to be a grand place, but it nevertheless has quite a bit of business despite the small town. The echo of music drifts up from the floor below as the amnesiacs enter the inn. Behind the front desk is a rather rotund woman humming to herself as she slices through the paper of an envelope with a letter opener and proceeds to read its contents.
”Just a moment, dearies.”
The woman spends the better part of a minute reading through the letter before folding it back up and placing it on the desk in front of her.
”Sorry ‘bout that. My name is Dena Gallegos , ‘n how may I help—“
Dena’s words stop short as she looks the group of men before her in the eye. The woman’s cheery face contorts into a hateful grimace as she eyes the men before her. ”You!”
Dena points her letter opener like a dagger at both Boodiddly and Shakur, alternating between the two of them. ”You have some nerve comin’ back here! Or did ya think I wouldn’t recognize ya?” She then points her letter opener at Jevar and Urzok in turn. ”And ya brought a couple o’ yer delinquent friends too? Give me one good reason I shouldn’t call some Hailcourse guards here to drag y’all back to the fort for havin’ the gall to show yer ugly mugs!”
Jevar is stunned as the letter opener is pointed his way.
Uh oh... maybe we should have asked around about our pre-amnesia reputations sooner. Nobody in the market pointed blades at us...
Have we met? I just need a room for my friend here... He gestures vaguely at Urzok ... and one other who hasn't yet joined us.
Just get the room, we'll sneak the others in later...
"Ms. Gallegos, we've changed!" Boodiddly pleads. "Completely turned over a new leaf and started our lives from scratch! Honestly, it's like we're completely new men! Surely someone as kind and business-savvy as yourself won't hold the mistakes of the past against us?"
Oops! Guess we'll have to figure out what we did later. Though apparently we've stayed here at least once before, so we probably didn't live in Thrushmoor prior to... whatever happened that took our memories.
Dena folds her arms, letter opener still in hand, as she glares at the gnome.
”Ya broke my wine rack in that brawl. I’ve seen my fair share o’ drunken idiots in my day, but you two were sendin’ things flyin’ with barely any effort and knocked out three other patrons and gave me this,” Dena rolls up her sleeve to reveal a scar that must have once been a long gash along the inside of her left arm. ”Cayden’d be ashamed o’ the carnage. I made myself very clear: you two are banned from this establishment! But it has been a year, so how’s this: if ya pay off your outstandin’ tab and pay for the damages y’all cost me, I’d be willin' to forgive ya.”
”...How much would that be?” Boodiddly asks sheepishly.
Well, that’s better than it could have been...
A wicked grin spreads across Dena’s face. She sets down the letter opener and pulls out a thick ledger and an inkpen. She proceeds to spend the next few minutes flipping through the pages, periodically turning to the side to write something down on a separate paper before returning to perusing the ledger. She slams the ledger closed and returns to the piece of paper and writes a few more things down whist mumbling to herself. She finally sets down the inkpen and reveals the parchment to the amnesiacs, which shows a string of numbers written down and some basic back-of-the-napkin math. At the bottom is a much bigger number that has been circled:
Urzok guffaws when Ms. Gallegos shows them the figure, banging on the counter with his fist.
"Shame I missed that kind of a night, but I'd rather have that number burning a hole in your pocket than ours. See you never!" he says, still chuckling to himself as he walks right out the door. Who knew the Gnome and the Human had it in them! What a day this is!
Once he joins back up with the others, he suggests the Stain might be more within their price range.
________
Jevar leans over and looks at the figure, his complexion going white on seeing it.
That's in.... silver, I hope?!
Remembering the act he bolts upright again and fake-chuckles at Shakur and Boodiddly.
Well, that's a rough situation for the two of you.
He follows Urzok out of the door for the time being. When out of earshot, he speaks to the half-orc. So, we could give it a few minutes and go get ourselves a room at the normal price. Those two can climb into the window at night. Or pitch a tent at the edge of town. Surely they don't intend to part with such an amount of wealth right now...
That's in.... silver, I hope?!
”Ha! It’s in crowns, dear!”
Dena proceeds to point at different parts of her math. ”The tab y’all racked up. Price o’ a new wine rack. Cost ta replace all o’ the wine that was destroyed. This ain’t even countin’ the other damages y’all’s brawl caused, or the business I lost because o’ it; word spreads quick in a small town. This’s just the easiest ta keep track ‘f.”
"I...I wouldn't dare...I..." are the only words Shakur has really said since arriving at Thrushmoor.
"Respectfully, ma'am, we don't have that kind of money. I assume this isn't just our...drinking tab you're accounting for." Shakur shakes his head before placing all of the gold and platinum he received for the day on the table. . "This may not cover all of it right now, but hopefully it's enough. I'm truly sorry about what...I...Yeah...What I did here. I promise I feel like an entirely new person and I won't send your cups flying again. Definitely not feeling up to any kind of revelry as of late, among a few other changes."
Dena looks surprised at the coins that Shakur looks askance as she grits her teeth. ”Damn. Now ye’re makin’ me feel bad. I didn’t think ya’d actually cough it up.” The innkeeper bites the nail of her thumb for a moment as she stares at the Pharasmin’s coins before shaking her head. ”Alright. Alright. I already paid for the wine n’ the rack—this was jus’ some revenge fer what I was put through. How’s this: I’ll forget ‘bout the wine n’ the rack if ya get that lunatic to stop it ‘bout the witch outside my inn—his ravin’ has been horrible fer business. But, y’all’ll still have ta pay off yer tab at the bar.” Dena rotates the paper back toward her and circles another number before rotating it back into view.
39.6
Shakur almost breaks down into tears as he looks at Boodiddly. "I've got this one. I feel like the thing was somehow my fault."
Shakur coughs it up. All of it. Before Boodiddly can intervene.
He wipes a tear from his cheek before realizing what he just agreed to as well. "Get rid of the guy outside? I mean, we've already dealt with worse at this point. What's a witch or something after THAT?"
Shakur knew he'd regret the answer after asked. He sits there, gulps hard, and looks to the others. "So what say we take this guy's word seriously and go after whatever it is he's proclaiming about? Think that'll be enough to get him to leave?"
What do you think they're doing in there Urzok? Probably giving away their money. I bet they'll expect us to cover it...
"HA! You think so? Why would they do that? She hasn't called the guard, and it isn't like any of the toughs here could handle us if she wanted to be slick about it," Urzok boasts. "Even if they did cough up the coin, that's on them. We split our earnings, they can do what they please with it. I'm eyeing up a new sword I saw at the smith's, made of silver! The rest of it is going to be saved for something nice, just don't know what yet." He smiles the entire time he talks about this sword, which is a lot more continuous smiling than he's shown before. "And the materials you need for moving those runes over, of course."
Curious, the Orc peers through the glass. "HOLY S~@%! HUMAN! COME HERE!" he shouts to Jevar, waving him in. "The Elf is crying! He's blubbering all over the counter and the Gnomes just watching him. Ain't he gonna pull him out of there? He can't lose face like that, what are they thinking?!" Pulling away from the door he paces back and forth.
"If they don't start making their way out soon, I'm pulling them out. We're gonna get jumped in the night for that coin if she sees him weak like that." He doesn't pull any weapons, but he adjusts his equipment to make sure to have Red Destiny, the Jagged Blade, and his longsword all prominently displayed. This'll make anyone think twice about coming at us.