Argus nods. "W-we had hoped to make it through the hedge m...maze before M...M...Mictena caught up with us. But alas, that is impossible. It seems a confrontation is n-now in...nevitable. It is best if we are rested before that happens."
The psychopomps look at each other, which would be a comical sight if things weren't so serious. Umble turns back to the party. "Mictena? Oh dear. Her garden is called Deathbower and she can move it around at her whim. Inevitable, indeed." The nosoi manages to look distressed and is lost in thought for a few moments. "Wait here." They leave and it is not long before they pass over the strangely close horizon.
After several minutes, they return and Thoot holds out a belt to Ray. Umble clears his throat. "We are sorry that Mictena is so misreasonable. She will be most unhappy with us for helping you, but your cause is just. Perhaps this will help; it will strongify one of you."
Ray only needs a few seconds to determine that this is a belt of giant strength +2. A fine gift.
Umble looks very worried.
Argus considers the belt in Ray's hands, then nods at the occultist. "You should wear it. M-meaning no offense, Raybin, but I am physically stronger than you. It might put a little more power behind your s-s-swing. Could make the difference."
As he studies the belt's fine craftsmanship, the corner of his mouth twitches in the ghost of a smile when he hears Argus mutter "not a bloody knight" under his breath yet again.
After a moment, he sighs and clips it on. "Feels like it aught to go to Argus, but if you insist, I'll wear it. Been thinking about expanding my studies toward Transmutation anyway, and this would make a great implement. That's a ways down the road, though. We gotta survive tomorrow, first."
He looks at Umble and Thoot after snapping the belt on. "Thanks for sticking your necks out, both of you. I hope you don't get in too much trouble for all this. I gotta believe Pharasma led me here for a reason, you know? I dunno if it was Her that kept us alive in Roslar's tomb--I kinda doubt it--but maybe She knew. I hope so. Anyway, we better get some rest."
Umble and Thoot agree to keep watch over your camp while you rest so that you can get back to Deathbower as quickly as possible. As usual, you have no idea what time of day it is when you awaken, but you are all as refreshed as you can be.
Argus wakes first. Normally he would kneel to face the dawn for his morning prayers, but instead he decides to face the Spire. Even though a servant of Pharasma is out to kill him and his allies, several have also helped them, and besides. It seems rude to turn his nose up at the host of their current realm, even if She probably has no idea about or interest in their presence.
He whispers his prayers to the murky gray, then sits with his journal, scribbling down some ideas for a song. His flute still lies at the bottom of his pack, unused for weeks. He tries not to think about it; technically his attempts at music sheets qualify as his daily devotions to the Eternal Maiden, but he feels guilty nonetheless.
He is still scribbling as the others begin to wake.
Once Ray wakes up, he sets immediately to work divesting his mental energy into his implements. He finds it incredibly difficult to pay attention; his mind keeps drifting toward the surreality of his situation. Pharasma sent Her servant to harangue him and push him toward Roslar's Coffer, then shoves him in a coffin while the town dies
(while Auranya dies)
and he can do absolutely nothing to stop it. What... what the Hells was the point? Now he's a fugitive in Her realm, chased by one of Her more powerful servants.
Least it ain't Mother Vulture, I guess.
And now his vision is all screwed up. This stupid mist is making it hard to see.
Bob lands on Ray's shoulder and gently buts his head against the occultist's temple.
[color=blue]"Hey,"[/color] he mutters, [color=blue]"you missed a thread."[/color] He jerks his beak toward the shield bracelet, where a single psychic thread drifts just beyond mortal perception, as if in an aetherial breeze. It isn't a major problem, but it's a strand of power that might mean the difference if--scratch that, when--it comes down to a razor's edge today.
The raven that is not a raven gently buts his head against Ray again and says no more.
Ray wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his filthy, tattered shirt, nods, and refocuses his attention.
Once he's done, he dons his implements and double-checks to make sure both the blasting rod and the adamantine warhammer are within easy reach. He then shrugs on the heavy, armor-plated trenchcoat he wears and waits for the others to finish their preparations.
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Dellan is up not long after Argus. He finishes his ablutions fairly quickly, prostrating in the direction of the Spire and whispering his daily mantras to the Lady of Graves.
Once he's done, he waits for the others to finish their preparations, leaning against his shield as he watches Argus write and Raybin concentrate on his trinkets. He wonders with a small pang of jealousy why Pharasma sent a servant to Ray, who isn't even devout, when Her loyal servant suffers daily to enact Her will and is rewarded only with a terminal illness. When he sees the tears in Raybin's eyes, Dellan quickly turns away, his thoughts igniting burning shame in his cheeks.
He has been dancing around the answer for days. He has said it multiple times, but he realizes he never truly accepted it: Pharasma doesn't care. She doesn't care about him, or Her servants. She doesn't care if they slaughter or heal or ignore everyone else entirely. Provided he does nothing truly anathema to Her task of maintaining the Cycle, he doubts She will ever even remember She bestowed magic to him.
He could probably tear Mictena apart with his bare hands and Pharasma wouldn't even blink. He's not even remotely important to Her. All He is, is another faceless servant in Her service. Queen What's-Her-Face (Carnal? Carnivore? Carnabarna--Carnassial, that was it) said as much when they spoke to her in the den of the tooth fairies. Pharasma does not care. Does Shelyn care about Sir Argus, or is he just another pawn of the gods? He puts so much faith in Her--even more than Dellan has put in Pharasma--and he walks such a precarious path for it. He wonders if the half-orc finds the pain and the inconvenience and the suffering worth it.
He sighs as he stares at his hands, cracked and leathery, almost as pocked and sore-scarred as his face, and raises one finger to gingerly touch the disease-deadened left side of his mouth, which droops in a permanent frown. Not for the first time in his life, he finds part of him wishing his father had never had him resurrected as a child. Certainly Katia would have preferred if Nell had been brought back instead. She loved Nell. She never loved him. He was The One Who Should Have Died Instead. Father never even particularly liked him; why was he the one brought back?
He stares out at the impenetrable mists and mutters, "Would you have tormented little Nell the same way you torment me, Mother? Hm? I was just a child, and you screamed and thrashed and foamed at the mouth about Father being a murderer, and I was eight years old. Nell was even smaller. Would you have traumatized him the same? I suppose you would have. I don't think Katia knows what Father spared our brother by bringing me back instead. I don't know if you will ever find peace; I doubt it. I think I could kill Father a hundred times over and your rage would not be sated. I think, deep down, you are not really angry at being murdered. I think you are afraid to pass on. I think you are afraid to accept that you are dead. Revenge is just an easy excuse to avoid the Gray Lady's judgment and leaving us behind. What you do not seem to understand, Mother, is that if you had just left, taken the path to Her Spire as you were meant to, my memories of you would have been kind, and loving, and would have lent me strength when I was feeling small and weak and scared. Instead, you became my tormentor. I think the worst part of it is, despite all the pain and fear and anguish you have met upon me... I love you. You are my mother, and I will love you no matter what horrors you visit upon me, what cruel jabs you take, I will always love you."
He doesn't cry, even though he wants to. He won't give her that. She hasn't earned it.He stands, shrugs on his items, and says to the empty air, "I will probably die today. If I do, I will meet Pharasma without fear, and move on to my final judgment. I ask that, if that is the case, you do the same. Do not seek out Katia, if she lives. Do not torment her as you have tormented me. Just... go. Go to your final reward. Leave your hate and rage behind and find peace. If not for yourself, do it for her."
He looks around, waiting a moment for a response but knowing full well there won't be one. He shoulders on his pack and hefts up his shield. He feels... better. He feels so much better. It is shocking how much better he feels, having gotten all that off his chest. "Good talk," he says with newfound cheer, and moves over to his allies to head out.
Amanteia feels as if she hasn't slept at all. She senses the magical energy (that she still does not quite understand) coursing through her body, so she knows she got her required rest. But the weariness is bone deep. The responsibility that has been placed on her and her companions' shoulders is too much. What hope do they have fighting Mictena when they have to rest after fighting her gardeners?
It's all so absurd, but she looks at each of her companions' faces, and she sees the same weariness, the same doubt, the same fear.
After having been in the realm of the dead for entirely too long, is this the day that they all finally meet the requirement for being here?
She thanks Umble and Thoot for their kindness, places Somnius on her shoulder, and joins the others.
Dellan swears he hears the metaphysical equivalent of the intake of breath that someone takes before speaking, but it is followed by silence, as if the potential speaker thought better of it.
With no astronomical features to mark that passage of time, it is difficult to tell how long it takes to return to Deathbower, but you arrive sooner than you think you should have. It is clear from the outset that something is different. The flowers that were colorful and vibrant "yesterday" have begun to wither and wilt. The previously thick, full hedges are likewise showing signs of decay.
As you approach the threshold, a low rumble courses through the ground.
Amanteia borrows the rod from Ray and uses it to surround herself in mage armor.
Without even looking at her, Ray takes back the rod as he stares blankly at the Deathbower, using the other two daily charges to cast shield and heightened awareness.
As he pockets the rod, he swallows and says, "I think she's less than happy with us, guys."
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Dellan sighs. "Yes, Ray, I would say so." He reaches over and touches both the occultist and the paladin on the shoulder, whispering a prayer of protection over each of them.
"We should not tarry. This spell will only last a few minutes. Whatever is rumbling, we will meet it soon, I am sure."
I hope they survive. Whatever happened to the town, they can figure it out, I know it. I just hope I get them there.
At this point, the idea of him surviving the next few hours--or even the next few minutes--is so astronomical as to not even register as a possibility. But maybe the others...
Argus nods gratefully to Dellan and grips his cold iron glaive a little tighter. "Let's finish this."
He leads the way back through the entrance into the Deathbower to face whatever awaits them.
As you pass through the archway, you are somewhat surprised -- and maybe relieved -- to not see the gardeners waiting for you. However, the extent of the decay that is taking over the garden is much more apparent now that you are inside it. The sweet, ripe smell of decomposition threatens to overcome your senses. Has the lack of gardeners for less than a full day really led to this degree of decay?
You pass through the brick courtyard and the willow grove; there are no signs of the combats from the previous day. Now that you aren't near death, you take a few moments to look around in the grove. Amanteia detects a few sources of magic in the tangle of weeds that have popped up out of the ground since yesterday. She finds a ring, a scroll, and a gem.
Ring of protection +1
Scroll of false life
Not wanting to hold them up with his usual rigamarole, Ray uses his arcane senses to try and suss out the gem's properties with a quick glance.
Ray nods. "False life. Handy spell." He offers it to Dellan or Amanteia. "I can't touch necromancy stuff, it's not in my wheelhouse."
Once the magic items are sorted out, Ray frowns. "Wonder where they came from. This whole place is giving me seriously bad juju. It all feels... hinky."
Argus raises an eyebrow and glances at the other two, mouthing the question, "Hinky?" At Dellan's shrug, the paladin returns his gaze to Raybin. "I agree, R-Raybin. This is an unsettling turn. We should p...press on quickly. Be r-r-ready for anything."
Glaive ready, he leads the way further into the Deathbower.
Amanteia considers the ring and the gem. "One of you should take the ring; you are all in physical danger far more often than me. As for the gem, I suggest I carry it since my repertoire of usefulness is rather limited compared to yours. I will save it for Mictena if at all possible."
Argus nods. "G...good thinking. Raybin, you are in the thick of it most often alongside me, but your defenses are considerably less. You should take the r-r-ring."
Ray shrugs, nods, and puts the ring on.
"Agreed. Come." Argus leads the way.
Several large trees grow along the north edge of this long swath of greenery, and beds of dark purple flowers have been arranged to resemble a giant spider web. Gaps in the hedge lead south and east.
Eying the web-shaped flowers suspiciously, Argus begins leading the party southward, trying hard not to step on the flowers as they pass through. He doesn't trust them.
Ray holds out a hand, halting Argus before he goes too far. "Lemme look 'em over. Seems weird."
The flower arrangement doesn't seem to be any more than a decorative display.
Ray scowls and shrugs. "Seems fine. Weird, but fine. Still, your instinct was a good one. Try not to step on them, just in case."
Argus nods, keeping against the bushes and sidestepping the flowerbed as best he can as he moves southward.
A long pond of inky, still water stretches across the north end of this large clearing, just south of a gap in the high hedges. A wooden bridge crosses the pond at its central, narrow point. A large, dense knot of shrubbery carefully pruned into a triangular shape eight feet high stands south of the pool, with another clearing beyond it. A few stone birdbaths stand around the pool.
Standing on the bridge is a thin, tall woman in a crow mask, with several gravestones floating in the air around her. Near her, perched on the railing of the bridge, is a large black bird. It looks similar to the witchcrows, but it is clearly not one (for one thing, it is roughly as tall as a dwarf). The bird notices you enter the clearing, and positions itself between the woman and the party.
This is an ahmuuth psychopomp. Ahmuuths are responsible for helping mortals destroy undead and dispatch renegade souls evading the goddess's judgment.
Ask your questions!
Giant raven! Thankfully not a spell caster. Since they eat a lot of carrion, they get a +4 to saves against ingested diseases, but they don't have much else special about them.
The woman notes your arrival and speaks. There is a lilt to her voice, but it doesn't diminish its authority. "Welcome, travelers. My name is Aydie. I wish to speak with you if you would allow me a few moments."
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Dellan leans in toward Argus and quietly mutters, "Giant raven. Not a witchcrow, thankfully. Still have some nasty talons."
Dellan appraises the woman with the tablets momentarily, then mutters, "She is an ahmuuth. Her task is to aid mortals in the destruction of undead, and hunt down wayward souls evading the Cycle of Rebirth."
He considers her again, then turns back to Argus. "I know you are slightly better with people than I, but... May I try talking to her first?"
Argus frowns, considers the young oracle for a few moments, then nods, stepping aside to let Dellan through.
As Argus steps up by him, Ray mutters, "I hope he knows what he's doing."
Bob snorts from his shoulder. [color=blue]"Yeah, like you ever do."[/color]
Argus isn't sure what the raven said, but he assumes it was something sassy. He glances back and smiles at Ray's scowling reaction. Definitely something sassy.
"Dellan is imp...pulsive sometimes, but his heart is in the r-right place. Give him a chance."
Ray grunts and shrugs noncommittally. He's not sure he agrees with the paladin's assessment, but the battered old half-orc hasn't gotten them killed yet, so he might as well give them the benefit of the doubt.
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Trying not to glance behind him, Dellan steps forward and rests his shield on the ground against his leg. He bows slightly and makes the spiral symbol with his hand.
"Of course, honored servant of the Lady of Graves. You probably know who we are already, but if not, this is Raybin, Argus, and Amanteia. I am Dellan, a mortal servant of Pharasma. If I may be so bold as to presume, I am aware of the Ahmuuths and their sacred duty to hunt wayward souls.
"If I had to guess, I think perhaps your purpose is to see if Mictena is correct in her assessment. She believes we are abominations in violation of the sacred Cycle, and I suspect you wish to assess the veracity of this. If this is so, all I can do is tell you how we arrived here, and what we know of it. We are... somewhat wary of the denizens of the Deathbower, as they have been unsurprisingly less than hospitable, but we are willing to put our weapons at rest" he turns and gives a meaningful look at his companions "and tell you our tale, if you would be willing to promise nonviolence until our tale is told. Would that be acceptable?"
At Dellan's word, Argus immediately stows his halberd and clasps his hands in front of him, at a sort of reverse parade rest.
Ray scowls at Dellan and Argus. This kid better know what the Hells he's doing, he thinks grumpily, and hesitantly stows the adamantine warhammer back on its frog before crossing his arms and keeping alert for danger.
Argus nods encouragingly. "He's r-right. We never intended to be here in the first place. We wish no violence w-with the psychopomps--in fact, we have aided them where we could. Dellan helped put the town of R-Roslar's Coffer to rest. Our intention is to r-return to the Material Plane to find who destr-royed that town and stop them from hurting anyone else."
At a jostle from Argus' elbow, Ray says, "Huh? Oh. Yeah. No beef with the psychopomps. Just wanna get home."
Amanteia pokes her head around Argus's imposing form and raises a hand in greeting. "We don't want to be here any more than Mictena wants us here. Maybe you can help us return home?"
You cannot see the top half of Aydie's face due to the crow mask, but your words certainly seem to have an effect on her. She does not speak for what feels like ages, studying each of you in turn. (It may be Dellan's imagination, but she seems to linger on him longer than the others.)
Finally, she sighs. "I have what you would call a quandary. You are living beings. My purpose is to work alongside the living to destroy the undead, and so it is nearly anathema for me to kill you." She pauses, and you see her lips push together tightly. "However. You are living beings in the Boneyard. This is in defiance of Pharasma's natural order. Mictena is furious; she has, perhaps unfairly, blamed you for this perversion. I can offer you merciful deaths, and thus restore your souls to their natural progression. I fear Mictena will not be as kind. Surrender to me now and save yourselves undeserved suffering."