"Thank you for helping us," Silvia says, crossing one arm across her body and bowing at the waist to both of the psychopomps. "I'll remember what you did, and hope we can see one another again. A long time from now, preferably."
She turns and hurries to catch up with Ketra, falling into stride next to her. "What sorts of 'things' do you think we'll see out here?"
Once on the road, Garret yawns and asks, "It has been a long morning/day/evening/??? Can we get a bite to eat and rest? If we run into anything threatening now, I have very little in the way of spells to aid our cause anyway."
Ketra mulls over Silvia's question for a moment, then says "Giant Teeth. Flying giant teeth. Big pearly whites with itty bitty wings." She gives her best poker face before breaking into a grin "Honestly? Hopefully nothing until we come across those faeries that want teeth, though I wouldn't mind meeting a skeleton or two before then just so we can get some teeth as an offering and don't have to give up our own."
"What do you think? This place has been so bizarre so far, I can't imagine what's in store for us."
"I wouldn't say no to a rest, especially before we have to tackle all these strange waystations."
"Don't let the kid fool you," Zsofia says. "He needs a nap too, or he’ll get all cranky. Me, I could keep going all night."
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Wallace nods his head appreciatively as the others share their thoughts honestly. "Let put some space between our entry and ourselves, then set up some sort of camp for the nig- er, a rest," he proposes. "Thirty minutes of marching sound reasonable? I'll take the first watch," he offers. We're battered for sure, but we can't stay right at the entrance. That's suicide.
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Nodding, the weary halfling follows along, considering the strangeness of their situation and still melancholy over the passing of his parents.
After a short march you finally stop to rest, the overwhelming nature of the day blanketing you with fatigue. That impossible moon, Groetus itself, seems to leer down at you as your scrounge the scarce plant life for more of those pale berries Sanduro discovered before. It isn't much, but it quiets your hunger enough for sleep to claim you.
Silvia cracks a smile at the mental image of giant, flying teeth flitting about. "Maybe the flying teeth count for extra?"
When it comes time to settle down for the "night," Silvia volunteers for the first watch.
Garret would prefer to go to sleep early and get the full 8 hours, then wake up and do the last watch with some spells to use if he needs them...
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You sleep fitfully, half-heard whispers echoing in your ears and ghosts swirling in the mists that even fill your dreams. When you awaken you find those impenetrable mists have pressed in closer, obscuring everything more than five paces from you in blank grey nothingness. You rise and gather your things in the disquieting stillness, when suddenly you hear a faint rattle of armor and a grunt--coming from the mists off to your left, off the Road.
Straining your eyes, shapes begin to take shape. Misty, half-solid figures loom out of the fog, their forms incomplete and almost dreamlike. Slowly the mist parts to reveal clusters of round hide tents nestled amongst the burnt-out ruins of a village. Weaving between the structures are tall, broad-shouldered bearing spiked axes and curved swords, grumbling and muttering in a gutteral language. Orcs...dozens of orcs, milling about in the labor of war. Blades are sharpened, arrows fletched, and tents collapsed as the company makes ready for a march.
Emerging from the nearest, and largest, tent are three orcs with the bearing of warchiefs. A woman, rangy and whipcord thin bears a crows-beak helm decorated with blue feathers and a crossbow. A heavyset warrior with a barbed ranseur and thick shield follows her, and the third is of medium height, bare-chested and covered in jagged golden tattoos. A stylized symbol depicting a clawed hand is branded into his chest, and the other two have a respectful, indeed almost reverential demeanor towards him.
"They're closing in on us, Targhed," the woman warns. "My crows have tried everything but cannot shake Crownbreaker off our trail. Damn me, we wanted the Tyrant's attention and we sure as Hell got it."
"The paladins have betrayed us!" The heavyset orc growls. "The plan was working until they turned aside at Suceava. If they'd just taken the gods-damned town we would--"
"Enough, Gûrnar," the tattooed orc--Targhed--interjects. "We don't know what happened at Sucaeva and it doesn't matter. Vrekan is dead and Yrgrun has vanished. Our flank has collapsed, the original plan is a smoldering ruin...but we can still spit in their eye before this ends." Targhed grins fiercely and the brand on his chest begins to glow like embers. "Nurski, pull your Crows back, we'll need them and it won't take Shakkar long to figure out where we're going anyway. Abandon the tents, they'll only slow us down. We'll overrun the garrison at Ulbaer and strike at the Drowning Ring."
"With Shakkar on our trail we'll be trapped," Nurski says quietly. "Is this to be our last stand, then?"
Targhed nods. "Yes, my friends, we will not survive this. We missed the Tyrant's heart, but we can still twist the knife. We will smash the Witchgate at Ulbaer and then--then we will kill Shakkar Crownbreaker!"
The mists rush in suddenly like waves crashing on the shore, and the unnatural stillness of the Boneyard returns, only the Road beneath your feet visible once more.
You have never seen that orc leader, Targhed, before. Yet somehow he seemed familiar to you, like seeing someone you met once at a party years before.
Ketra takes two steps back when the orcs appear, rubbing at her eyes in disbelief. The fact that they have the appearance of shades only partly allays her discomfort. Were they dead? Or were they something else?
She stays as silent as possible watching the orcs, waiting for a chance to run. But when they don't seem to spot the group, she settles to watch and listen. Afterward, she comments "Dead orcs? Maybe whatever destroyed Roslar's Coffer got them as well. But... this is wild. They were working with paladins? Or is this all just their imaginations?"
Sanduro would have spent an hour before going to sleep trying to heal Zsofia's injuries with Treat Deadly Wounds.
"Targhed?" Sanduro mutters to himself in confusion, unaware that he has risen to his feet or that he is speaking out loud.
That tattoo of the clawed hand - what is that, the symbol for his tribe?
"Did anyone recognize any of those names? Or the symbol on Targhed's - the big orc's - chest? Who is this Crownbreaker they're fighting, or the Tyrant?"
While hardly a unique symbol among orc tribes, the clawed hand is perhaps most famously associated with the Fireclaw tribe, a now-extinct fusion of clan and fire-cult that was one of many tribes wiped out during the Shining Crusade.
The lich known as Tar-Baphon the Whispering Tyrant ruled an empire that suffocated the central Inner Sea region for 600 years. During that time the lich built many defenses both mundane and magical--one of the most feared were the Witchgates, potent teleportation traps that whose reach extended for miles. Dozens of overlapping Witchgates protected the lich's domain during the Shining Crusade, claiming thousands of mages and elite troops in the early stages of the war. These traps would redirect anyone attempting to teleport without pass-key in the area into a variety of fiendishly cruel and inventive deathtraps.
With Lastwall preoccupied by the orcs of Belkzen, the project to find and destroy the remaining Witchgates stalled out not long after the Shining Crusade ended. Estimates in Lastwall guess that perhaps half the Witchgates--possibly as many as fifty or sixty--still remain.
The Shining Crusade raged for 73 years and the rolls of history boast literally thousands of champions (both humanoid and more monstrous) who took part. Shakkar Crownbreaker was a powerful undead commander of undead and orcish armies.
By contrast, the name Targhed Wreathed-in-Fire is intimately connected to an orcish uprising against the Whispering Tyrant almost forty years into the Shining Crusade--an uprising that failed, but gave the Crusade a crucial opening for a renewed offensive.
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Working WITH the Paladins? I don't think Orcs are always Evil, but... there's no way Lastwall would arrange something like this, right? Wallace frowns at the scene, taking it all in and shifting uncomfortably. "Tyrant? As in the Tyrant?" he asks the others, hoping they heard it too. "Must be a really old memory or something then, right?"
"Sorry, Wallace, I'm not familiar with this scene or the principals involved," says Garret, wishing he had a more formal education--or had at least paid more attention to his ma's stories...
"What tyrant Wallace? Someone famous?" Ketra doesn't verbally capitalize the name, not immediately recognizing the significance. "You think these orcs didn't die then recently? Because if they died a long time ago, why would we see them here?" She rubs at her temples "The way this place works still doesn't make any sense to me."
After a moment longer looking in the direction that the orcs had appeared, she shrugs "They faded away in any case. Maybe... maybe lets just keep our heads focused on getting further along the Roads. Before Mictena decides its time for us. Sound good? Because it sure sounds good to me."
"So nobody recognized the orc leader, Targhed? He doesn't seem familiar to any of you?"
Sanduro's confusion at the apparition is obvious but probably no greater than anyone else's, although for different reasons. "He seemed familiar to me, but I don't know why."
Sanduro finishes packing up his bedroll and checks over his bow and quiver. Just fifteen arrows left. I need to keep track if we get into another fight - I don't want to run out before we make it home.
In a few moments, he's done and ready to go.
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Wallace's face reddens a little. "Maybe I'm grasping at straws here, but the Shining Crusade is a bit of a passion of mine. Or, the history of it, anyways. 'The Tyrant' is a common title of sorts for Tar-Baphon, the primary aggressor. General Arnisant's final battle was with him and, if memory serves, the General perished, as did the Tyrant. Or was sealed away. Honestly, I've read it both ways and I'm just not enough of a historian to really say more than that," he explains. "If those Orcs were talking about the same Tyrant, they must have been here for a long time."
________
Silvia has already drawn her pistol and nearly fired it before she realizes that the orcs are an illusion. She listens carefully to their conversation for any useful information or clues, before she spits on the ground in disgust and turns away. "They're just orcs, and long dead ones at that, if Wallace is right. This must be some kind of deception, everyone knows that the orcs of Belkzen were the Tyrant's creatures as much as any skeleton or zombie he raised."
"You really think so Wallace? I can't imagine orcs willing to fight against that guy. Unless orcs were completely different a few hundred years ago or whatever it was." She shrugs as she walks "Maybe Mictena'll spot those orc spirits and realize they've slipped through the cracks. Might buy us some time?" She looks out ahead, hoping to find the giant flying teeth that might be out there.
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The phantom knight nods when Wallace explains the Witchgates. "Aye, the damnable things were hidden throughout the Whispering Tyrant's lands; all our campaigns were conducted overland, though our mages quickly found other means to outmaneuver foes, teleportation was predominantly the weapon of the enemy."
About the names and symbols depicted in the vision he is less knowledgeable. "The Crusade spanned an entire lifetime and consumed four generations of Taldor's best and brightest. The Red Shrikes served in the later stages of the war, and I certainly don't recall any alliances with orcs! The tuskers has started to break off by then, they saw the way the war was going and their loyalty and courage diminished along with the prospects of victory."
Puzzled and perturbed by the mist's cryptic vision, you resume your travels down the Road. Time passes, though you aren't sure how much, the mists swirling and shifting to reveal the Road before you. It never branches intersects with other paths, leaving you with little choice but to follow the path. After a while you feel hunger and eat, and a while longer you are starting to feel weary when a massive shape looms up in the mists before you...
It's a castle, tall and narrow, rises from atop a hill and barring the Road, which leads directly to its gate. Constructed of weathered wood and ivory-colored stone, the building is studded with thousands upon thousands of teeth, arranged in neat rows and ever-widening spirals. The castle’s only windows are high and narrow. A tall gatehouse leads into a courtyard, its floor paved with yellowish bricks and old teeth.
Sanduro shudders as the details of the teeth pixies' castle come into view. "I know we have to stop here long enough to earn the favor of the fey who man this keep to gain safe passage, but if we have to spend the night, let's make sure we keep one of us awake at all times to stand watch."
Zsofia snickers and nudges Ketra with an elbow. "The kid just doesn't want to go to sleep and then wake up only to find he has to gum his breakfast like his old toothless grandma!"
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With at least a somewhat eager audience, Wallace can't help but to start gushing about the Witchgates and their role in the Shining Crusade. He becomes even more excited when Garmid has some firsthand information to share.
A castle built of ivory and studded with teeth quickly turns his mood serious again, however. "Agreed. We're interacting with these gatekeepers by necessity only. We'll be gambling with our lives every time we do. I advise we share only what we need to, lest we increase our own risk unnecessarily. I'm sure Mictena isn't the only denizen of the Boneyard trying to improve their rank." Which is a perversion of any bureaucratic system! Those who prove themselves worthy through honest, just action should rise, not snakes in the grass.
Ketra listens to Garmid and Wallace's explanations with interest, despite the old subject matter. "Sounds like that was a crazy time. Magic everywhere and endless war... glad we're well past that." She crosses her arms, mind wandering to the villain behind the destruction of Roslar's Coffer. Magic on an incredible scale. Maybe he'd found some old magical weapon from the time of these Crusades.
Her thoughts turn as the castle emerges out of the mist. She looks down at the paved road ahead and winces "Gross." before noticing that the tooth based decoration continues onto the building proper. "Double gross." When Zsofia nudges her, she looks over at Sanduro "Hey I don't blame him. These faeries really like teeth. And we didn't find any spares to satisfy them before getting here so..." She puts a hand on her hip "Easy for you to say so Zsofia, they're not exactly going to have an easy time taking on of yours."
Peering over the castle again, she suggests "So, do you think we could pry up a few of these to have some to trade in later? Or is that just going to get us on their bad side?"
"Sounds like that was a crazy time. Magic everywhere and endless war... glad we're well past that."
I don't know if we are. The orcs have never stopped pressing on our borders, and it sure seems like there's still plenty of horrible magic to go around."
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Silvia's anxiety grows visibly as they approached the aptly named Palace of Teeth. She tries to cover it by crossing her arms, but her shooting hand never quite seems to actually rest there.
"It's worth a try," she says in response to Ketra's suggestion. "I'm not giving them any of my teeth, that's for sure."
After a few minutes of warily (perhaps even nervously) eyeing the tooth-studded castle your group approaches with caution. As you near the gates, the ironbound wood studded with hundreds of teeth that form a crude mural of a frowning face, the doors slowly swing inward on creaking hinges, though no one can be seen.
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Garret strides forward into the teeth of this next challenge, hoping he hasn't bitten off more than he can chew.
After a moment to pry a couple of teeth loose, Ketra follows after Garret. She steps past the sorcerer, looking ahead for traps and listening for faeries.
Quietly she mentions "Weird that there isn't anyone here to welcome us. Umble and Thoot made it sound like these places would be populated."
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"I'm sure we've been noticed, I think it is more likely that we are being appraised..." Wallace warns. Fighting against every instinct to have his sword drawn, he opens and closes his right hand into a fist. "Garret, I'll follow your lead, but, just in case, please don't stray far from my side."
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As Ketra and Garret lead the way into the castle, the gatehouse is strung with long looping strands of crisscrossing thread hung with dangling teeth, like macabre festival decorations. As you proceed under these strands both Garret and Ketra notice a thin tripwire strung across the hallway. A moment of closer examination reveals that several of the strands form a tooth-studded net cunningly hidden amongst the decorations.
"Awwww!" A chorus of tiny voices echoes around the courtyard, like a gaggle of invisible, disappointed children. "That cheat-cheat!" an indignant cry goes up.
Sanduro leans over to Silvia and mutters, "This is going to be awful, isn't it?"
"Absolutely," comes her reply.
"Wait a moment--there is a trap here," says Garret, suggesting that everyone clear out from under the net until it can be dealt with. "Uh, does anyone have skill with disarming traps?"
Calling out to the hidden voices, Garret says, "We come in peace, to negotiate with the gatekeeper of the Castle of Teeth, but we have no desire to be trapped under a net. Do you have someone who can speak for you?"
"Meddling with traps we don't understand is a recipe for disaster. Just step over the wire and don't stand under the net."
Ketra steps in, past the trap to see if she can spot the presumably numerous faeries ahead. When it becomes obvious that they're invisible, she gives an exaggerated shrug. "Well, nice to meet you too. A real cheat-cheat would be if we smashed in through the wall rather than walking in the front door, don't you think? I'd say spotting it means we got in fair and square." She grins "Anyway, can you show yourselves so we can chat?"
There is a pause, as though the unseen speakers are considering Ketra's request, and then from a variety of hiding place half a dozen six-inch-tall humanoids buzz into the air around the courtyard on prismatic dragonfly wings. Looking vaguely like naked, hairless goblins they grin maniacally and giggle like children--and each carries a pair of pliers sized for an adult human, adroitly handling the seemingly ungainly tools.
These diminutive beings are Tooth Fairies, madcap sadists from the First World. Wicked and capricious, these fey delight in spreading fear and pain, and have a perverse need to steal the teeth of humanoid creatures.
One of the diminutive creatures floats up to Ketra's eye-level, pointing haughtily at your group.
"Oi, oi, welcom to se Cuspíd Castle, se Chateau ohf Chompers," it grins widely, displaying its own array of mismatched teeth in demonstration. In an outrageously thick Galtan accent the snaggle-toothed creature sneers at you and preens for its audience. "We ahr se gendarmes ohf this leetle cornehr ohf se Dead Roads, an' by ordehr ohf Prince Uspid ev'ry mortahl must pay se toll!"
Sanduro eyes the disturbingly large pairs of pliers warily. Why do I think they don't want us to pay the toll by tightening bolts for them?
"What kind of toll?"
Coming into the room after carefully stepping over the tripwire, Garret adds to Sanduro's question, "Yes, a toll, we understand--what is the standard toll, and are there any unusual tolls we might interest you in? We do have some unusual tales of the world of the living that might not have reached your ears."
Ketra gives the fae creature a cagey glance "What kinda toll are we talking about? We're looking to get something kinda like a free pass from Prince Uspid, if that's who's in charge around here." Given the weird way they were talking, they were hard to make sense of. She hoped that they'd be satisfied with the few teeth she'd pried already, though seeing them up close made her think it wouldn't be that simple.
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"Se toll! Tis a trifling sing, yes? Se sing that gives us life, yes?" The tooth fairy gives Garret an appraising look when he offers payment in stories. "Splendid tales ahr a time-ohnerr'd currency with our people, we accept it gladly. In exchange, we will reduce se usual toll to merely a single, solitairie..." The fairy's wide smile takes on a sinister cast. "...toof."
"TOOF!" the assembled fairies intone as one, punctuating the word with a menacing clack of their pliers.
"Surely tis' a reasonable offehr? Aftehr all, you have so many to spehr..."