"Bah, with most of my workers run off somewhere, repairing the room would be of little use to me now unless you plan to take up their positions as well. Though I doubt any of you understand the intricacies of such complex machine work. No, what I need now is raw materials. Any mithral hammers I once had have long since been melted down to make the light, delicate parts some devices need. Still others need incredibly durable material so they can withstand a number of powerful blows. If you can provide me with 5,000gp or the equivalent in mithral or adamantine, I would gladly trade you my Clouded Vision token. If not, I'm afraid the only other thing that might suffice is six of Marzalee's grub's, which I could trade to the Nightpeddler for the materials I need. I don't know why she's so damned stingy with them; she can always just make more. It's like she wants everything to break down around her." As he talks, he lowers his sword, not sheathing it but no longer pointing it at you all, and moves a bit further into the room. Though much of his face is hidden by his cloak, you can see that his skin is a smooth, gray color. From his leather belt hangs a few keys as well as, oddly enough, what appears to be a hand with keys for fingers.
”This Marzalee. What can you tell us of her, and what she usually asks for in exchange of Grubs?”
"And what exactly is a grub? I am assuming it's not a common insect."
Kaldwell kept quiet, and really hoped that by 'grubs' he didn't mean some kind of child. Some things were not condonable.
"An insect, yes, or at least close enough. But not a common one. You see, Marzalee is the only Storykin in the realm with the power of creation. If you know how, her grubs can be turned into just about anything. Certainly the rare metals I need. Unfortunately, she's oddly possessive of them. Insists upon keeping them all to herself, probably to be used as raw materials for her 'artwork' or some such nonsense. As if art could ever be more important than my beautiful machinery! I'm afraid if you want to get some from her, you'll most likely have to do it stealthily."
"How big are these grubs?"
”And what magical abilities does she have? Do you know if she can see through invisibility? Any information you can provide will increase our chances of bringing you the grubs.”
"The grubs are roughly the size of a house cat. As to Marzalee's ability, I do not believe she has the ability to see through invisibility, but I have never bothered to test that theory. As a craftswoman, I know she tends to favor using constructs when forced to fight, but that does not mean that she cannot fight. As a giant ant, her stinger has poison in it, though I believe she prefers to use some silly scepter she carries around instead. She makes her residence in a place called the Manmolds on the other side of the realm."
"Do the grubs dream? Is that how they find their final shapes?"
Delroy looks sideways at Yattle "That's a weird question...." he says under his breath.
"Anyway, in what part of this land can we find this place you call the 'Manmolds'? Can you give us directions?" Delroy asks.
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Kaldwell gave Yattle a Look as well, but asked, "It does raise the point - are these grubs sentient?"
The man joins other members of the party in giving Yattle a weird look. "What? No, of course not. They don't choose a form; either Marzalee or the Nightpeddler decides and then molds them into whatever they want. And no, they're not sentient unless they're formed into a Storykin, at which point they've of no use to me unless they plan to come here and work." He also gives directions to the Manmolds.
"Well let's see what works better with Marzalee, fire or friendship."
Delroy asks the man "Did this Marzalee and Nightpeddler using these molds to create all of the people here in this realm? If someone dies here at the workshop, do you get them to create a replacement?" Delroy digs for some more information to understand the nature of the inhabitants a little bit better.
Yattle thinks on the Forge, and the tattoo of a blacksmith disappears, fading into the familiar golden motes.
The man snorts at Delroy's question. "Hardly! We were around long before they learned this ability. And the only reason to go to Marzalee as far as I can tell is if you want her grubs. Or I suppose if you think yourself some kind of hoity, toighty art connoisseur. It's a long journey through that blasted wilderness to get there. As for dying here, I'll have you know my workshop is very safe! We've been accident-free for so long, I threw out the sign!"
The group then bids the man farewell, making their way back through the ruined workshop where Ongaur looks briefly hopeful that you've come to tell him it's time to destroy the Ticktock Man. You move past him back into the bar where Voricose glances up but says nothing. Then back through the hole in the wall created by Yattle and passed the hard at work azers before starting the long trek down the steps of the mountain.
Once at the bottom, your phantom steeds and chariot appear unmolested. The group of you pile back in and turn South, in the direction of the Demon's Fen. After a few hours, your ride disappears and you all set about making camp for the evening. The ground here is noticeably softer than what you had seen in your journey thus far. It hasn't progressed quite to state of being mud, but you have to a bit more careful to avoid getting your bedrolls and, for those of you without the permanent ability to fly, yourselves dirty. A quick fly-up from Yattle tells you all that you're only a couple of miles from a wide-open area where they could see the glinting of a large body of water.
You all settle down for the night, Lokhir taking his quick, 2-hour nap as the rest of you much on food provided by Eirnar. Once that is done, the rest of the group takes their turn to sleep as Lokhir stands on watch. Nothing disturbs you're slumber.
In the morning, you notice two things. The first is that the air has a noticeable briskness to it that wasn't present before. It's not enough to really bother you, but it does encourage pulling cloaks a little tighter around shoulders. The second thing you notice is that Delroy, oddly enough, seems to have an old blanket sown to his heels. It neither hurts nor seems to impede his movements in any way, but it's there.
"Terrible dreams last night....."
"The members of my old squad were dying, each in turn, and no matter what I did I couldn't prevent it."
"I know those men are still alive. Most of them retired out of the guard on pensions ... but it still feels like I lost them."
Eirnar consults the book, trying to think if perhaps some creature is responsible for Delroy's misfortune.
Delroy doesn't seem to notice the blanket.
”Hold still big guy. Let’s take a look at this...”
Lokhir examined the blanket with great interest. He had never seen anything quite like this.
Kaldwell brewed his own magic, making the Half-Orc a cup of coffee. He carefully brewed it with cinnamon and some sugar. "Won't get rid of the sleepy's," Kaldwell said cheerfully as he sipped his own mug, "But it'll keep you awake for now."
"Careful about strange gifts Delroy. Was this in any of those nightmares?"
As Delroy moves around and the rest of the group tries to figure out what has happened, you all notice an additional detail: Delroy does't seem to have a shadow. While no creatures spring to mind, this does seem vaguely reminiscent of a story....
As he examines the blanket with interest, Lokhir focuses, careful to try to ignore the variety of magical auras from the bounty hunter's items. Once he does this, he detects a strong magical aura on the thread connecting the blanket to the half-orc's feet and another around his whole body like an aura.
There's an old Shoanti tale parents would use to try to scare their children into being home by nightfall. In the story, naughty children who stayed out playing too long would find themselves confronted by a terrifying, avian creature. Though instead of attacking the children themselves, it would devour their shadow. Though physically unharmed, the children would spend the rest of their nights plagued by dreams of the creature's sharp talons and beak, unable to get a good night's rest for the remainder of their days. Generally that's where the tale would end, but in a few cases, a brave warrior of the tribe would hunt down the creature who ate the child's shadow, killing it and retrieving it from the bird. When attached back to its original owner, the child would once more be able to sleep peacefully and, of course, never disobeyed their parents ever again.
I think we have a bird to kill, if Delroy is ever to get a good night's sleep again...
Eirnar similarly tries to discern magical auras, right after telling his tale.
”If this means that Delroy never disobeys us again, then what choice do we have? We must help.” Lokhir said. ”But how do we track this bird?”
"Eirnar, that sounds like a story for children. I just need a nap."
"We could talk to some of the other Storykin. See if this bird nests somewhere well known?"
"Stories have power in this place, I think. Certainly over the creatures here. Perhaps over us as well. Yattle is right, though. Asking is likely to get us faster answers than hunting on out own." Kaldwell hoped he was wrong about the idea. There were a lot of stories that did not end well.
Delroy yawns.
"Look ... I'm sure I'm going to be fine. Let's just head to this fen place and we can look for tokens and answers there."
Eirnar summons his phantom chariot and the group continues to head in the direction of the Demon's Fen. As you all move closer, the ground grows softer until you reach the edge of the Briar where the area opens up into a fetid swamp. Here you're forced to leave the chariot behind as the weight of all of you merely causes the wheels to sink deeply into the soggy mess beneath it. The low flat area is sparsely dotted with trees yet somehow the Demon's Fen appears darker than the forested Briar you had just left behind. The air is stagnant and heavy with the smell of decay as all except Yattle and Eirnar are forced to trek through the muck. Every once in a while you'll see a light off in the distance as something floats and bobs before disappearing.
After trekking through the muck for a cold, miserable ten minutes, you see a large body of water in front of you. Black and reeking of mildew, this frigid-looking lake spreads out from the broken terrain of the swamp. Its still surface reflects the distant shore. A single, rocky island rests in the center, capped with sickly grass and tangled growth and glowing with dozens of flickering, colored lights. An ancient, withered suspension bridge runs from the island to the banks. A gorgeous song— part lullaby, part dirge—pierces the otherwise haunting silence before dissolving into sobs.
Moving closer, you see at the foot of the bridge a colorful creature appearing to be a very large snake with wings. Once upon a time she was no doubt beautiful, but now her slumped wings hang at her mangy sides as tears stream from her eyes to collect in a shallow, rainbow-hued pool around her. She does not seem to have noticed you yet, too busy grieving.
Delroy plays 'Winged Serpent' card.
”Those lights. They are souls.” Lokhir said gravely, though with more than a hint of interest. ”If they're here, that likely means either they have some kind of unfinished business here or something is preventing them from moving on to the afterlife.” He continued ”We must be on our guard. That might be our fate if we are complacent.”
Delroy plays his card and it dissolves in the now familiar golden light as the weeping creature continues to cry.
"Souls of mortals or souls of these 'story kin'?" Delroy asks Lokhir.
"Maybe here we can get an answer to whether they are truly real beings."
”Or perhaps this is what turns into storykin...I hope that you are right that answers will be forthcoming.”
There does not appear to be any distinction between different floating orbs nor is there any indication as to if these souls are mortal, Storykin, or a mix of the two.
Kaldwell looked around for the sound of sobbing. That didn't sound like a good thing in this location. Souls and sobbing were not a sign of anything likely to end well.
Kaldwell sees more souls floating about but that seems to be about it. No one seems to be lurking in hiding. The sobbing serpent doesn't seem to have noticed you. The bridge to the island creeks and sways slowly.
Yattle drifts closer to the snake, unconcerned by its nonhumanoid nature, their body gently twisting to follow the corkscrewing angle of their neck as they ask, "Hello.
"Why are you crying?"
The winged snake looks up, sniffing loudly. "It'sssssoooooo sssssaaaaaadddd. There wasssss onccceee a beautiful bard. Ssshee wasss a radient ssssoul. Full of knowledge and ssstoriesss. Her voiccce wasss a choir of ccelesstialss. Full of kindnesss and wisssdom. But now *sniff* ssshe's *sniff* goooooonnnneeeeee!" She lets out a haunting wail that sounds almost like a dirge. After a moment, she pauses to look at Yattle with big, unblinking eyes full of tears. "Won't you ssstaaay a while and help take my mind off my griefff? I could ussse the company."
"Can any of you sing?"
Yattle drifts lower and closer to the serpent.
"I could stay a while, but my traveling companions are mortal, so it must be a short while by their reckoning, or that would make me rude."
"Most of my singing has normally started fights, not ended them." Delroy says back to Yattle.
To the Serpent he says: "I would like to hear more about this bard. Who was she and when did she go?"
"Why are you all ssso far away? Do you have no heart? Am I truly *sniff* sso monssssstrousss ssso as not to dessserve even sssssome sssemblenccce of comfort?" She continues half-wailing, half-singing as more tears drip down to join the multi-colored pool surrounding her. "You were too young and too kind for thisss cruel world, my sssweeet Sssssonnorae. I will ssssing in your honor for all eternity!"
Demon’s fen... We best be careful of her sweet song...
Figuring that it couldn’t hurt, Lokhir sang one of the few songs he knew. It was a song his mother sang to him as a child. It was a soft, sweet song that he knew by heart, though it didn’t carry any significant meaning to anyone besides him and her. The fact that it was in elven gave it a far more serious air than it probably deserved.
”...I hope that has done something to warm your heart, m’lady.”
”Would you be willing to answer some of our questions?” He asked, hopefully.
Delroy will walk closer to get a better view.
(+2 for sight based, +4 for traps)
Lokhir attempts to sing to Mourning Choir. Those he does a good job by his standards, his singing pales in comparison to the haunting music the weeping snake can produce. The effort does seem to warm her heart a little though. "There are no questionsss that need anssswering ssave the knowledge that the mossst beautiful of creaturessss isss gone. Do you not sssee how dimly the sssun ssshines? Even ssshe knowsss now is a time of sssorrow. Tell me, have you ever known sssuch heartbreak?"
"Sorrows such as this are hard to find in my home. When time and death are subjects of sport, no loss can bite so deep. Was Sonorae a mortal?"
"Sorrow is as unique as the people who leave us behind," Kaldwell added philosophically, and with a touch of sadness. "It is a fine thing that you keep her memory alive. Will you speak to us of her life?"
"Yesss, a mortal. The firssst mortal. Ssshe jussst wanted to sssafeguard her ssstoriess. Came here to live with ussss and sssshare her talesss. But sssoon we too wissshed to leave. But why? We were not worthy. We are not worthy. We ssshould all live in thisss retched ssswamp. It isss what we desserve. Esssspecially....essssspecccccially....after what...what we diiiii-hiiiii-hiiiiiddddd" She breaks down into a renewed bout of sobbing, tears streaking down her beautiful scales to join the pool below. She writhed in emotional agony, gaining a new layer of muck and grime. "Thissss isss what we desssser-hurve. I dessserve thissss poisssssonoussss feelingsss."