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The Hundred-Handed One blinks a few more times, getting his bearings, and sees the world has at last settled into a pleasantly NOT-weaving state.
He takes a look around, making sure he knows what he knows.
It looks like the big bowl of pudding is somehow stuck inside a big blue ball. Alright, good work there.
The big ye olde giante has a hold of the ye olde giante rocke, and him and the other human are beating nine bells out of him. But he's not out yet.
And the Big Bad chicky is holding off everything that MagicMan can hurl at her, though Jugs is keeping her shield down.
Well it doesn't take a genius to figure this out.
Eoten and Tiger have Rocky under control. No need to help there.
But since he seems to be one of the few people who can reach out and touch the bad-magic lady, a hand shoots up, up, and away at her, just barely making it inside his reach.
And then it starts with the punching.
The punch lands solidly, so it continues with the grabbing,
One ancient hand gets good hold, so it finishes with the squeezing.
The lone hand has a grip like iron, and the elastic arm begins wrapping up the villain like some ancient serpent, cutting off her life-giving blood flow.
Kada'vrus crumples in Dunwich's grip. The rockpile crumbles from Eoten's hand, landing on the street in chunks, and the vaporous villain is trapped in Sinclair's sphere. From various corners, doorways, and windows, townsfolk peak out as the dust settles.
A woman who was in the clutch of one of the skeletons cut down by Gylfir limps toward the group, "You are an unusual group to come to our defense, but you must go. Una will surely send someone to learn Kada'vrus' fate."
The woman wears thick cotton tights, short pants, and long jacket, something like George Washington might have worn. He clothes are clearly richer than those of most of the peasants, but still faded and threadbare.
"Where might we find Una's current location?"
Gracie looks around to be sure no peasant is still in danger while the others ask for directions.
Eoten eyes the rubble with disdain, then lumbers to where the village spokeswoman addresses their number.
At her warning the brute rumbles a menacing chuckle;
hlǣfdīġe = lady, mistress of household
abrecan = break, conquer
"Is there perhaps a large, ominous castle you can direct us toward?"
Sinclair appraises his successful bottling of the threat as being very clever of himself.
Then, he turns his grin to the local wondering their intentions and replies, "Yes, we're looking for a backdoor into Una's stronghold. Might you be able to help us?"
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No one had told Briareus what to do with the limp form of the villain, so he held on to her, certain something would come up.
He sidles next to the Deadman and asks, "What does 'abrecan' mean? Does it mean 'eat'?"
As the battle seems won for now, he takes pause to concentrate on the magic in his Ring of Aphrodite. In moments he relaxes and the harms and coarseness of the battle leave both his mind and body.
No one had told Briareus what to do with the limp form of the villain, so he held on to her, certain something would come up.
He sidles next to the Deadman and asks, "What does 'abrecan' mean? Does it mean 'eat'?"
As the battle seems won for now, he takes pause to concentrate on the magic in his Ring of Aphrodite. In moments he relaxes and the harms and coarseness of the battle leave both his mind and body.
"'Break' if my Old English holds up. I used to hear the Englishmen yell it and some other words while raiding. Usually after trying to block an axe."
"In school we looked at the first stanza of Beowulf in old English. The only word I remember is 'hwaet'. Which I think means, 'oy!'"
The Hypnotist finishes up with the last of the would-be sacrifices. The poor girl had part of her scalp ripped clean by a skeleton. Thankfully, that seemed to be the worst of it.
He lifts himself off the ground, dusts his hands off and beckons to the local.
[b]"I've left them in their slumber to heal, wake them as you see fit."[b]
The woman looks about as if afraid that someone, or something, is listening. She whispers "You must be stangers to this land, for all here know that Lady Una resides in her citadel. It is said that there she has a magical sanctum, the Alloy Adytum. There she works her most powerful magics. None but Una are permitted to enter, and those few who have tried never return. Her Citadel is 50 miles from here, there is a road and the tracks go there as well. It isn't hard to find."
She gestures toward the strange mountains that twist toward the sky in the distance.
Another villager calls out in your direction, "Rada, those skeletons destroyed the conveyor belt for the smelter. We will never be able to meet quota now, and we have to get a load of spears out by morning."
And another, this one who was not in the square but seems to have come from further afield. "Those things stomped all through tubers. The harvest will be ruined."
If the heroes care to ask about Una, Rada is hesitant, but ultimately says that the queen retires to her sacred sanctum, the Alloy Adytum, to rest. This pocket dimension can only be accessed from a large mirror overlooking the throne room in her citadel. None but Una are permitted to enter, and those few who have tried never return.
Rada can point the heroes toward Una’s citadel, some 50 miles to the south, but she remains untrusting for now and shares little else.
"I could help you repair the smelter, or at least give you the knowledge to do so yourself."
"Seven, do we have time to help these villagers?" Sinclair asks the Master Mage.
Seven floats to the ground, her cloak billowing in the wind.
"We do need to move quickly, but these people are no less deserving of our help than the people of Earth. I am not the Master Mage of this realm, but I am still a member of the Freedom League. These people don't seem to have much freedom."
"Worry not for our safety, for we have come here from....far away to deal with Una, as she threatens our home."
Sinclair nods to the Master Mage and then turns back to the villager, "Thank you for the advice. We shall be careful with Una."
"Please show us to the smelter. Perhaps, we can help you with tomorrow's quota, while we discuss what can be done to recover the potato crop."
"Perhaps it is best to send them away. Let them find their own way back if they are able."
She move her hands in two small circles, opening a circular portal to...somewhere else. The terrain through the portal is almost violently orange and covered in large sand dunes.
"Cast them through there. They won't die, and maybe they will learn something along the way."
The villager talking about quotas and worried about the smelter turns out to be a short balding man with a fringe of black hair and a pate that nearly shines. He wears the clothes of a laborer, thick wool pants and shirt, and a heavy leather apron. He wears goggles on his forehead with smoked glass lenses.
"Come with me, and I will show you what they have done to our conveyor. All this ore must be turned into swords and spearheads or the people of this town will be wiped out."
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Briareus taps his chin in ulfish thought.
"Pardon me, good friend blacksmith, but who, exactly, will wipe out this town?"
He points to all the heroes, asking for their attention.
"Now just hear me out now.
Right now our plan is to rush in to Una's citadel, right?
Now, attacking someone in there own turf is usually not a good idea. Just ask all them Persians at Thermopylae
But what if we make 'em come here?
Like, what if we don't do nuthin' about their quota? Then someone comes here. And we kick their aise.
Eventually the Big Bad is gonna get mad and show up. But isn't fighting her here, on neutral ground, better than trying to get her in her own place of power?"
"That seems like a good way to end up fighting her entire army, piecemeal, and eventually get overwhelmed. Should we find a way into the castle we may instead deal with what few guards there are, and then Una herself."
Gylfir shrugs.
"But should the rest of you find this strategy well enough, I will be sure to carry on the mission when we all die."
"I agree with Deadman. We are few, and while we could indeed deal with many, it would allow our target to escape. We should move swiftly and quietly like a snake."
As discussion touches on first Old English, then strategy on facing Una, the hulking brute casts a wary eye around the industrialised surroundings.
He pauses, reaching down to pick up the sundered hand of Cayrne, then approaches the blacksmith;
smiþ = smith
min = my
He drops the rock hand at the feet of the smithy, then emits a deep chuckle;
He jobs a brick thick thumb towards himself, then turns his beady eyes back down toward the blacksmith;
óretmæcgan = champions
alaÞ = ale
"Agreed. Remember. There's also an opportunity to rescue Eldritch who might be a prisoner in Una's stronghold. Now, let's fix this conveyor." Sinclair summarizes.
He nods toward the fellow and replies, "lead on, sir."
Grace frowns. "I can't think of ways we can help these people that will be quick. I want to help, but I also wonder, if there's a chance Eldrich is alive, how at risk he is once Una learns of the fate of her warriors? I expect this ritual they were doing is related to her, and I expect she'll know right quick there's been a delay." Her brow furrows, ambivalence and concern clear on her face as she is troubled by the dilemma. "We can take time to help these people now, and part of me wants to, but I am also worried... that if it gives more time for Una to regroup, what are the chances that just makes these people more in danger down the line? Whereas if we press forward... she's without the benefit of this ritual they were trying to do AND may not have time to further set up defenses. If we fail to stop her, they'll just hurt these folk more later."
"I wouldn't want to risk any more of these villagers lives by bringing the fight to them. We bring the fight to her, catch her by surprise, or something close t' it. Briareus isn't wrong though... Say, Smith.... are these weapons picked up by any one? Does someone from the village bring them to her?" The Hypnotist turns a wry smile towards his friend Briareus. "What do ye remember 'bout the Trojan War?"
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"I wouldn't want to risk any more of these villagers lives by bringing the fight to them. We bring the fight to her, catch her by surprise, or something close t' it. Briareus isn't wrong though... Say, Smith.... are these weapons picked up by any one? Does someone from the village bring them to her?" The Hypnotist turns a wry smile towards his friend Briareus. "What do ye remember 'bout the Trojan War?"
Gylfir opens his mouth and a vague approximation of Briareus' voice from about 5 minutes ago tumbles out.
"A Trojan Horse? Yeah, Idunno. That things was...very specific to the time. Ya gotta remember Troy was just so frickin' happy that Achilles was gone, they'd've eaten that thing if it meant never seeing that guy again.
But this Una broad, she seems more like t' put the whole thing to the torch rather than take it in to her sweet inner sanctum. So I think we should just get there, get invisible, and see how it goes.
I mean, I'd -like- to sneak in, especially if she does sleep in the nude, because hey, when is that not good? But, ah, these evil overlord types tend to do away with things like sleep, so that's not really a given."
Going back to his normal register, he continues.
"We had this discussion not long ago. I do not remember being so forgetful as a mortal, but perhaps things have changed. Is this the 'evolution' theory I've heard so much about?"
"In fairness pretending to be couriers carrying a wagonload of goods is different from climbing into a giant horse."
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The Hundred Handed One shrugs and concedes the point of waiting for all comers. Not the first time he's been wrong. Not the last.
As his buddy asks about the Trojan war, he was about to retort when SUDDENLY he starts hearing -himself- give a talk about that he gave not too long ago. He stares agape until the Deadman finishes, then breaks out into a big smile and guffaws.
"Ha! Did I really say dat? Did I really say dat about her kickin' back in the buff? Ho' man, dat is some funny stuff right there I don't care who you are!"
After he spends a moment laughing, he taps his chin some more.
"But, ah, yeah, the Knight broad has a point. If we could just imitate messengers and be all 'oh yeah, we're gonna bring all these here goodliest weapons into the castle right quick because of how very ligit messengers we are. Totally.' then ya, I think that would work.
And seeing as how we don't really have an organic way in to the castle except by our wits, that might be a better plan.
Let's keep running this by the villagers an' see what they think."
Silver Tiger looked around the group pointedly, then at the villagers and said "Yes, because we definitely look exactly like these people."
While waiting for the smeltor, Sinclair hears all this discussion around him. Finally, he turns to address everyone. "Please. Focus. Help the villagers, first. Second, get into the stronghold. Remember I can turn us invisible."
"Maybe we can use the thugs who pick up these weapons and MAYBE deliver them to her stronghold. But, we will only know that AFTER helping these folks. Please. Focus." he turns back to the smeltor with a sincere smile.
"It's interesting that you're telling us to focus considering that you are not focusing on our task at hand."
Sinclair arches an eyebrow at the reply from the fellow who usually speaks like a fortune cookie. And, doesn't take the bait to refute his comment. He keeps smiling at the local smeltor, ready to help him.
"Invisibility" Mac utters as he assists the smeltor. "With the sort of power she commands, I'm sure invisibility is just a thin sheet that she can see right through. Truesight, kid. The Sheila has probably mastered it in spades. I bet it tickles her ear whenever someone even so much as mentions her name. Now I'm not here to argue, but I feel we should learn from those we help, as they know more about this realm. and her capabilities, then we do."
Eoten balefully eyes his assembled companions as they debate and conjugate;
He looms over the smith then jabs a brick like finger towards the ruined stone hand;
bridds = young birds, chicks
maca = make
ne = not
"And I just want to be sure Eldrich doesn't die in her hands while we're trying to fix a machine that will, in fact in the end, help arm her warriors. I'm not against helping people. I just want to be sure, you know, that's actually what we're accomplishing."
She looks over at Briareus. "Don't suppose you brought those leftovers, before Eoten starts eating peasants?"
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The Dunwich Horrors favors her with a lop-sided grin. "Oh sure ya. Dropped 'em just as we got out-a-th' gate. One tic."
Four arms elongate out to retrieve four grease-soaked bags that smell heavily of spiced mutton and yogurt sauce.
Not knowing how hungry Gracie is, he just drops them all at her feet. "Bon appetite," he says, getting the French wrong because he never did much get along with the French.
Silver Tiger opted not to follow the others to work on the mechanical device that allowed them to arm their enemies; instead, he would stay focused on the task at hand.
Not a fool, he opted to sneak through the town towards the Una's citadel.
"It's not, you know, the flesh of your enemies, but the feta is quite nice." She hands Eoten the bags.
"Eh, hang on... where'd Silver Tiger go?"
"He snuck off in the direction of the castle several minutes ago. He must be very confident in his skills."
"Especially since Una's citadel is 50 miles to the south." Sinclair adds.
Seven is briefly frozen as she takes all of these ideas in, pacing back and forth, doing some sort of calculation, muttering under her breath, deep in thought.
She returns to the group (sans Silver Tiger) and rolls out her thoughts: "This Trojan horse thing isn't a terrible idea. I'm sure Una is familiar with The Illiad, but she is also expecting this shipment. If I play Kada'vrus and Eoten can play Cayrne, we can say that Slymme didn't make it. Sinclair cloaks the rest of you, and we walk right in with her shipment of weapons. We lose nothing for helping these people feed themselves while we get the factory back together. Why walk or fly when we can take Una's train straight to her doorstep."
At the same time, four villagers are bringing food and drink to the bellowing giant. Two women, possibly tavern girls based on their renfair style dress, roll a barrel toward you. When they get to you, one of them pulls out a hammer and thwacks a bung from a hole in the barrel.
"Our best ale. The winter squash harvest was good, friend giant. I think you will like this."
And two spit boys bring something that isn't quite a roasted pig, more of a four horned goat, but it clearly has been roasted whole and smells herbaceous and delicious.
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"Well, since you went through so much trouble, it'd be rude t' say no," Briareus says gregariously as he tucks in to goat and ale.
"Tha's a fine plan, toots," he says at Seven. "Get 'em napping, catch 'em napping. Good job.
An' I wouldn't worry about 'Tiger. Achilles was the same way. Always going off for havok and glory. Couldn't keep him in the phalanx unless ya nailed down his feet, and you couldn't even do that!
Leave 'em be. He'll figure it out, I wager."
He takes another generous bite of goat and swig of ale.
"This ain't half bad."
"If we can truly help everyone and make good on our mission, I'm all for it," Gracie concedes.
She glances up at Dunwich. "Um, that's for Eoten, who wasn't with us when we ate, and didn't Seven say we shouldn't eat from another world? I mean, Eoten is from another world, so that's different, right?"
Having done her best there, she steps away from all people taller than herself. "Alright, I'm not a half bad gardener, so show me this tuber patch and let's see what we can get replanted..."
He finds a road paved in massive stones, flat enough but for two well worn ruts the width of a wagon apart.
Grace is led out of town on a road that fades from cobblestone to dirt, only a half mile or so. The road stretches into the distance. On one side is a field of low plants, something like peanuts or soybeans, but with dark red-violet leaves. These are undisturbed, but on the other side of the road are some more violently violet plants that look like tiny trees. Not in the way that broccoli sometimes look like trees, but more like if potato plants were more serious about their attempt to emulate tree-ness.
These have been ripped from the ground, crushed, broken, pulled from the ground, and otherwise ravaged. The tubers look more like turnips or rutabaga, but a deep green color.
The farmer gestures in futility at the field, "These were near ready to harvest. Without the harvest, many won't make it through the winter."
He moves to recover what he can, but this will take more than replanting.
Eoten accepts the offered Greek snacks from Gracie stuffing them into his maw with a wide grin;
As the villagers produce more fare, his smile widens as he lifts the barrel and pours a long draught of ale into his waiting mouth before setting in roughly down.
Chuckling with a nod of approval, the giant turns his eyes the others as they discuss the plan;
The brute looks quizzically at his own rough skin, then to the stone hand claimed as a trophy.
Min = my
þanca = thanks
cyst = excellent
bebregdan = to pretend
scinncræft = sorcerous magic that produces deceptive appearances :)