Yattle sends their fiery spirit soaring around where it can easily be spied once more, and slowly drifts deeper into the garden.
Delroy spits out the pear.
"Not real food I don't think." he says, wiping bits of fruit off his tongue.
"Artificial and fake like the rest of this place."
The fiery spirit goes flying further into the garden. A relatively short time later it returns, having reached the border without being disturbed. Its wings drooped sadly, having failed to have been found.
Yattle moves further into the garden. Though nothing actually changes, suddenly the air feels much colder, the sun, less bright. The garden quickly gives way to a forest of columns. A wide, crimson-stained stone dais creates a massive forum in the columns' middle. At its center sits an attractive wooden writing desk.
Kaldwell considered this. It sort of made sense that fake creatures would desire false food, he supposed. He looked at the Unicorn. "Would it be possible to ask you a question or two? As you can see, we're strangers to this world."
Kaldwell wanders off in the direction the unicorn headed. When he asks, the unicorn gives a slight shrug. "The answer is yes, you can take as many pears as you want. I wouldn't recommend them though; they taste frightful. I don't understand how that beast can stand them."
"Thank you," Kaldwell said politely, "But I was actually wondering if you might be able to about the Songstress' Tokens, and if you happened to know of any."
Yattle has misgivings, but is always willing to hear out reasonable proposals. "Are there any other outsiders here besides me and my companions?"
The unicorn tilted his head to one side. "Songress? Tokens? No, I'm afraid that I have no idea to what you are referring."
Kaldwell nodded, although he wasn't sure he believed the thing. Normally, Unicorns were bastions of truth and purity - but this place didn't work on all the same rules as the real world, and he wasn't even sure that this was a unicorn.
"Do you know any of the stories about the person who made this place?" Delroy asks the unicorn.
Interesting. It seemed odd that the creature wouldn't know anything about this when the rest of the world did, but either it was an exceptional liar or telling the truth. Kaldwell nodded along with Delroy's queery.
"Well come on out and take your pick!"
A cone of ice blasts at you, catching you off-guard as a gray-skinned crone materializes on the dais. Her eye-sockets are empty and jagged teeth punctuate the palpable hate that roils off her twisted form towards you.
Kaldwell grunted in surprise as Yattle yelled, and began to head towards the noise. "Yattle? Is all well?" He spotted the other creature as he approached, and tried to identify it.
Eirnar read's Delroy's future...
I sense you warding off a magical attack, I best do something about that!
He then swiftly issues an inspiring prediction, You will be surpisingly assaulted by magics, but you'll luckily pull through most of you anyways
Kaldwell is able to recall that mute hags are vulnerable to fire as Eirnar wards his allies.
Yattle hurls themself aside from the Hag's frigid blast, eyes blazing with rage as they gather their power to scorch her from the earth!
Fire: 5d6+12 => 15 + 12 => 27 + 13 Empower => 40 => 60
Bludgeoning 5d6+ 17 => 9 + 17 => 26 + 13 Empower
There's a scream on anguish that echos in everyone's mind followed by a hissing voice. I shall not fall again! Not to the Storykin and not to you! She looks badly burnt but still quite lively.
Lokhir then dashes forward to get a better look at what is going on and casts Haste on the group.
The goblin's eyes go wide and the scream of anguish before he quickly murmurs, "Me, uh, go back there. Unikorn need stretch legs." He then hastily moves towards the far end of the garden, away from the commotion.
The mute hag changes position, lifting her hands. They took everything from me. But in my rage I have found a new power! And with that, an icy cone errupts from her fingers.
Yattle twists away from the worst of the blast, but still winds up crumpled in a heap!
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Eirnar immediately ends his lifelinks to avoid a worse fate when his turn starts.
Delroy grimaces, but avoids the worst of the blast of cold.
He moves forward (double move, counting bushes as difficult terrain) to close up into melee against the hag.
As he jumps up the stairs to the platform, he unslings and readies his flail.
The unicorn gives a whinny of fear as the ice just barely misses him and immediately gallops after the goblin.
Eirnar channels and tries to move back to avoid a second blast.
Kaldwell collapsed before he could get a word in. His Token in one pocket turned to dust, causing the old man to revive even as he collapsed. "Fire! Use fire!" He staggered back to his feet, woozy and unwell looking.
Yattle jolts back to consciousness, not even rising before they fling another ball of fire straight for the hag, the gathlain's skin weeping with lava as their body strains to contain those energies!
The hag screams in pain. She's starting to look fairly rough but remains standing. You thought to lure me out and kill me, but I will not be fooled again! I will reclaim what those traitorous Storykin took from me!
”That was uncalled for.” Lokhir said, as he nimbly dodged to the aside. Banter stopped though, as he focused on chanting the words of power needed to ward him against the cold and to make his blade come to life with flame.
Kaldwell staggered closer to the action, but wasn't able to reach the attacker.
Lokhir and Kaldwell continued forward despite their wounds. The Mute Hag tattoo faded from Lokhir's arm, dulling the creature's claws slightly.
Uncalled for? I ssimply offered your companion a bargain and they attempted to lure me out to my doom. But not again! I will not be tricked into my death again! She stepped backwards, out of reach of the approaching group and let out yet another blast of cold.
Now that your bloodthirssty friend is down, perhapss the resst of you will lissten to reasson. I will make you the ssame offer I made them: give me a pair of eyess and tongue, and I will give you one of what you seek. They need not be the oness taken from me, merely ones not of Storykin. If you wissh, I will ssimply claim them from your fallen companionss. No doubt adventurerss from Golarion have magicss to restore them afterwardss, do you not? After all, how could you hope to sstand a chance against that traitorous Zasssrion if you are not even powerful enough to accomplissh thiss?
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As he staggered towards the attacking creature and another blast of cold caught Kaldwell directly in its past, the old Half-Elf slowed, his steps becoming more difficult as he marched forwards. At this point it wasn't entirely clear if the old man was even aware of what was happening, or if the previous blast had scrambled his wits somewhat, but he tenacious kept going.
Exposed skin turned pale, then flushed as blood was desperately pumped to warm the skin. It wasn't enough to oppose the dire cold, though, not even for a heartbeat, and was almost instantly replaced with white. The old man came to a shivering stop as some part of Kaldwell's mind finally caught on to what was happening, but it was far too late. Ice covered the man's entire front in a sweeping wave of frozen agony, wrapping around and forming a thin layer behind him. Glasses turned cold and clouded as layer after layer of frost formed.
Finally, the old man stoped moving altogether for a moment, head bowed and hands at his waist. He began to tilt, a sharp CRACK! as the ice hold his boots to the ground snapped and Kaldwell topped to one side, lifeless.
Delroy staggers from the blast of cold.
The scouring blast of cold washes over Yattle and their flames gutter out with a brutal finality.
Seeing mere moments to sieze the closing window to salvage this combat and Yattle’s life, Eirnar acquiesces You have an accord! Quickly Lokhir, Delroy, grab Yattle and run them to me. Eirnar moves up as far as he is able and readies to cast breath of life if Yattle’s body arrives in time.
Lokhir picked up Yattle. There was much that he wanted to say. Much that he had prepared for. But now? Now it all died before it could leave his mouth. He looked at the dead Gathlain and marveled at how frail the body was. Was this really the Gathlain that rained down such destruction? When alive she seemed so powerful. Now all that was left was an empty shell.
It had only been a second or two, but he snapped out of it and took off running. Now was not the time for melancholy. It wasn’t too late to bring her back.
Eirnar delivers his spell and immediately tells Yattle Battle is over. We have an understanding
Lokhir quickly rushed the second of their fallen companions over to Eirnar, hoping to save at least one companion. As Eirnar cast his healing magic, the form stirred back to life but not yet consciousness.
As Delroy looks warily on, the hag moves to the still, lifeless body of the half-elf. Neatly she plucks first his eyes from their sockets and then rips his tongue from his mouth, placing them into her own empty sockets and mouth. The eyes start to roll and there's a sick squelching noise as the tongue begins to attach itself. With the sound of cracking bones, the old woman straightens, old wrinkled flesh seeming to inflate as it filled out and dark liver spots slowly fading and disappearing. Blackened scorch marks faded as new, healthy skin filled out the wounds. The white hair dotting her head falls out as new, dark blond hair grew in its place.
After a few moments, the hag of a woman no longer stands before you all, replaced by a matronly-looking human woman. She might be beautiful if not for the still hate-filled, all too familiar eyes staring at you all. Slowly and deliberately she reaches into a pocket, pulling out what appears to be a simple writing quill with a solid onyx black nib. She places it deliberately on Kaldwell's chest.
With her new tongue, she addressed the group. "This is the token you seek. That, with the remainder of the things stolen from me shall lead you to the leader of the traitors: Zassrion." Her voice is like honey poisoned with centuries of bitterness and anger. Her end of the bargain now complete, she turns and starts to move away.
Lokhir stood still and watched the hag depart, silently praying that she would leave peacefully. When it appeared that she would, he let out a breath that he didn't realize that he had been holding.
"Get the scroll. The sooner we are done with this place the better." He said, suddenly feeling shaky.
Eirnar plants his feet on in the ground and slowly, but surely, begins to heal before they leave. He reestablishes his life links on each of his companions, letting the boots slowly eases all of their massive wounds. After everyone is in better shape, he spends the 10 minutes reading the scroll that'll restore their companion... in a slightly different form.
As the hag continues to walk away, dark storm clouds start to appear above the garden. They give the area an ominous feeling but otherwise appear harmless so long as you're not afraid of getting wet.
Eirnar plants his feet, first healing himself and then slowly establishing links with his remaining companions to once again heal them. The winds start to pick up, tugging at the shaman's clothing. His healing done, he pulls out the scroll of reincarnation and begins to chant. His voice is occasionally interrupted by a flash of light followed by a crack of thunder at increasingly short intervals. The air grows heavy with the threat of rain. Enough to feel like a mantle pushing down on each of your shoulders. Thicker and thicker until with a final crrrraacccck the skies open and unleash their burden.
For a long moment it appears as though nothing is happening, but soon you notice a slowly growing pile of mud to one side of the dais. It still has a long way to go, but it appears Kaldwell's new body has started to form.
Elsewhere, Kaldwell feels something cold waking him from a warm and comfortable slumber. It's subtle at first, just a cool breeze across his face. As he tries to wave it off, it gets more insistent: a drip of water, the wet tongue of a long-gone canine companion, and finally, a cold dead hand slapping his face. As he lays on his back, blinking he sees before him a figure shrouded in mist with a hand outstretched. Instinctively he knows that if he takes it, he will be dragged away from his warm rest, back into the cold harshness of the realm of the living. Much of who he was will remain intact, but he will certainly not be the same person who he once was. Who's to say what might get left behind?
Delroy pulls his cloak up over his head to keep the rain off and crouches while we wait and recover.
Yattle returns to consciousness slowly as Eirnar's more gradual healing takes effect over the span of a few minutes.
Frustrated disappointment shines in their eyes as Eirnar explains, but they just look at Kaldwell's mutilated face for a while before responding.
"It should have been me to pay the hag's price. I tried to trick her and she tricked us back good..." **Hnngh** Yattle stretches out through a deathly knot, flames flickering back into life along their limbs. "Thought she was another predator though, not the Bard."
"This again, huh?" Death was something of a common problem for the average adventurer, and Kaldwell had done it before. He lay back for a bit, his eyes closed. It was tempting - oh so tempting - to stay, enjoy the comfort of this place, and then move on to whatever came next. He'd done decently, in his life. He imagined things in the next would be quite fine.
But as ever, the old man felt the pull of duty pulling him towards the offered hand. He cracked one eye as he looked at the hand then sighed, before reaching out and grasping it. "Dare I ask the cost this time?"
The flowers sang in the sunlights, gleaming off the petals as though the smith of the Gods themselves had forged each one. The young Half-Elf could feel the wind whisper against his skin, the warmth of the sun heating his hair, and the sound of her laughter as she led him by the hand. Her skin - so soft, like velvet in his rough, calloused skin - felt warm with life, her grip full of love. Her smile was glorious as she led him her parents house, she he could meet-
Kaldwell shook his head hard as the memory faded away. Meeting his wife's parents had been a...interesting day. An important day. They had...and she had...and then...
"Ack," he said as he furiously and hopelessly tried to hold onto the memory as it skidded away, slipping strand by strand through his fingers, "You're truly a total-"
It didn't get easier. He was strong, now. Powerful. His hair might be thinning but his strength, his skill, were untouched by age. It would be decades, maybe, before that faded. But as with every man in his position since time had dawned and mortal kind were made by the Gods in this place, at this time, he was powerless and he knew it. His strength, his training, his wealth were for nothing, because they had done all they could. Now he needed to wait and be patient, at a time when waiting and being patient was nigh impossible.
His wife touches his hand with hers, fingers taking his and smiles at him reasuringly. He had no idea how she maintained her calm like this. Maybe it was the experience of being on the other side of the door.
Finally, after waiting hours that might as well have been years, a man burst out of the room. Kaldwell recognised the look of semi-panic, the shell shock behind his eyes, and the slightly glazed smiled as he tried to line up the words. "It's a-"
This time Kaldwell growled in fury and grief as the memory of his first grandchild's birth slid from him. This one hurt, leaving a hole in his soul as well as in his mind. "You might be doing your job," he said after a moment, "But you best take of those. When I finally die for the last time I expect them back." The old man allowed him to be once more taken towards the world.
To keep them only would only bring you madness, little one. The figure intones softly. Before the old man could respond, the grip on his hand tightens, painfully so. Kaldwell is overtaken with a sense of vertigo quickly followed by the sensation of falling, faster and faster. Fast enough that the air seems to have its own physical form, sharp and cutting and tearing at him. Bits of flesh being ripped from him even as it tore at his mind.
Images of that first meeting with his parents-in-law. The careful balancing act of dealing with family that was not yet family. Of being yourself but perhaps not too much of yourself, at least at first. Of wondering if they'd find you worthy of their precious daughter's hand.
Flashes of a small child. Of seeing a new look of understanding in your child's eye. Of that sudden, inexplicable kinship from one parent to another. That deepening of a relationship that you thought couldn't get any deeper. Of once again becoming the teacher when you thought you had long-ago finished teaching your child.
The pain of the loss was great, but quickly the edge of that too fades. After all, how can one truly mourn that which is forgotten? Instead it's replaced with the empty feeling of knowing that there was some thought just at the tip of your brain. Just barely out of reach. Something important if only it could be recalled. Something is missing. Something is wrong. Something-
With a gasp, Kaldwell awakes, rain splashing against his face. But it isn't his body he woke up in. The aches and pains of old age are gone, but so too are the familiar callouses built up over decades of training. He is far bulkier and heavier than he remembered. Familiar scars from hard-won battles long ago are nowhere to be seen. Looking up, he comes eye-to-eye with the empty sockets of what should have been his body. Limp and lifeless in front of him. He is in the wrong body. And what's more, whatever body he is in now seemed to have nothing save mud protecting his modesty.