With a grim determination and a pinch of bravado, the Happy Swords set out to kill Death. Or an avatar of death, anyway. The gargantuan skulls, predatory and nocturnal, nestled among the femurs and ulnas, stare sightlessly ahead as you spread out. Their hollow eyes give no sign of life. A chill is in the air, prickling your skin, making it sweaty and clammy. Every instinct in your body warns you of the danger nearby.
At the Captain's signal, the plan begins: the many magi of the Swords loose their ice magic. The result is undeniably pretty- the beams of translucent blues and purples streak over the ashdunes and collide with the Owlbone Road.
The concentrated blasts are effective almost immediately- the bones becomes brittle, and splinter into strange, surprised shapes as they break. In less than a candle, you have cleared a brutbreve field's worth of bone and gristle. One paladin accompanies each group of magi, consecrating the land as they go.
It appears Samen's idea could be a success!
It has been an exhausting candle's worth of work. Spells and prayers and shovelwork have left all of you tired. The scouts maintain the perimeter, but no one is looking too closely at their own feet.
Samen, you still see no changes at all in your Sight. The creature (is it a creature? a structure?) lies dormant, like a poison waiting to be sipped. Which is why it comes as a nasty surprise when a hissing tentacle of bone sprouts from the ash directly in front of him.
Samen spring back on pure reflex, avoiding its grasp. The bony appendage, all knuckle and teeth fused together, whips about mindlessly, searching.
More bone tendrils rise from the ground. You hear screams of horror as your fellow mercs are caught unaware. Roll initiative!
Samen snaps back at the tentacle. "Hey! No fair getting all animated now!"
Many of the Happy Swords react as quickly as the rest of you - some use weapons, and other use spells. One bone-tentacle is crushed to dust by a lucky merc wielding a freezing warhammer. Others are not so lucky - you count at least a half-dozen that are now being choked by other tendrils.
"Alright then, so be it. Let's be more direct about killing each other."
Samen charges up his staff with frost magic (+5 frost, and casting frostbite) and begins the process of shattering bones.
"Samen dear, if you're willing to have a slight bit of patience, you know I can help with that." Move action begin performance, standard cast haste on as many of the PC's that I can, and then as many NPC's as I can.
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Nearly everyone in the Happy Swords has a source of magic; rare is the fighter lacking an enchanted blade, and most thieves have a touch of invisibility or mage hand. Now, as the battles starts to rage, you see a terrible pattern - every strong burst of magic is met with an immediate reply by the awakening Owlbone Road.
Bone-tendrils grab these hapless mages, one by one, more bony fingers erupting from the ashen ground with every desperate spell cast and every magic blade swung. The company is decimated within seconds. In the space of ten heartbeats, the fight is over, and lost. Your various shadows and axes and curses and elemental companions give you away as well: you feel skeletal ropes wrap around your legs and carry you under the choking ash.
You hold your breath as long as you can, and struggle with all your might.
...
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Lungs bursting, painful, no choice but to breathe in the ash and death---
thump
you land in an incongruous chamber of mud and roots. Fungal-bloom faces peer at you curiously, their red-pucker sores and gangrene noses startling after weeks of ash and dust.
Each of you is covered head-to-toe in clinging mud. The feeling is oddly like being freshly birthed. You are too groggy to move or speak, as yet.
You hear ugly farting and gurgling sounds coming from these...elens. Samen realizes this is a language immediately, but the rest of you eventually understand they are communicating is some manner. The air is ripe is scents that rise and fade as the creatures talk.
Their body language is clear - they are waving their arms and smiling, pointing at all of you. They are happy you are alive.
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Samen, it takes another minute of listening, but finally you pinpoint the familiarity - the language of these elens is akin to the fungus people you met several weeks ago. The rotting people that live quietly beneath the Quiet Elder of Hearth...
---
LINK
---
You all blink bleariness from your eyes. In the sudden silence of the fungus elens, you hear squelch noises coming from the far corner of the chamber. Almost flapping sounds, like wings, but wetter, sharper.
The fungals start chattering again excitedly. Samen, with your new insight, you are able to pick out these words:
"We made Death live! We made Death live!"
Through the crowd, you catch a glimpse of what is making those wet sounds. Earthworms made of mud? Clay snakes? No. Worse. More obscene. More like slimy witch-fingers the size of crocodiles. These undulating things, brown and slick, quest blindly around the floor as the fungals coo and smile.
One final glimpse, off to the left - a small group of particularly deformed elens kneel together. With an air of reverence, they scoop great handfuls of mud from the walls of the chamber, and slather it on something.
A long, skeletal tendril. A piece of the Owlbone Road.
All around these reverent elens, the others chant and smile. "We made Death live!"
***
***
Sticky slick humid, dreams of drowning in mud and darkness...paralyzed, no breathing, no breath-
You gasp as your head emerges from some earthy prison. Were you...buried alive?
Your lungs burn as you breathe.
Your heart is loud as it pounds.
Slowly, you come to the realization that your body feels...disused, like a cold manorhouse full of dusty floors and covered furniture.
Your eyes blink away dirt and time. Blurry images of happy elen faces swim in and out of focus.
You hear an exultant voice rise above the murmuring that surrounds you. In a plehgmy tone, it declares, "Death, alive! Death, alive!"
There are many other voices, plainly not speaking Common or any other tongue you've come across (except Samen). A mood of excitement is in the air - there are hushing sounds and shuffling feet as the noise dies down.
"Calm, please, child," says Learningto. "Patience, observing, gratitude." Her shifting indicates encouragement. Your mentor has always been kind to you, understanding of the difficulties in the isolated life of a Believer. Seeing so many people gathered in one place is strange and exciting.
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GASP!
Breath? Hahaha!
Who? How? No!
Finally, my dear we are together. But not alone? Oh, it's you.
Together. Forever. Mobility! Unbound!
GetOutGetOutGetOUT!!!
Now now, don't fight it. This is what you've always wanted but been afraid of. We are one now, with no barrier between us. We can finally FEEL each other. TASTE each other.
And us. Hahaha!
AHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Don't you see? You've toyed with wearing many essences, but now you ARE many essences. Many voices. Embrace us. Feel us. BE us.
AHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Noisy. Be still.
This is just the beginning, sweetie. A first step. You're always touted your adaptability and curiosity. We are something new now. ENJOY it!
AHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Too noisy! Sleep now!
.....
Don't worry, he'll come around. Having the body was nice, but having him along will make things more interesting. Let me drive for now, I'm used to legs.
Hmph.
Samen rolls around on the ground in violent seizures for a bit before going still. He arises with uncharacteristic grace, confidence, and hunger in his eyes. A faint wisp of unidentifiable elemental magic comes off his body like steam. His eyes glow a pale deathly blue color. His tattoos glow just as brightly.
"Now wasn't that an interesting experience! Did any of the rest of you make it?"
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"How long? Crave." little blue and brown puffs of gas bubble out of them.
Qizzlvutz, your mentor's shifting, like branches in the stories, waves you forward, still encouraging. Still speaking in Common (or sky-talk, as many others call it) she says, "Now, time." Her legs shrink, showing she is staying in her place. It is your time to go forward.
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Gabriel rises, pulling himself free from the overgrowth, black ichor seems to stick to the ground and himself like glue. He pulls himself free of it, te black ichor detaching itself from his flesh. Free of the shadows, Gabriel looks...Different from prior, though his form is still lithe there's a bit more vigor in his eyes, his flesh loooking less like burned wood and more...alive , his ifrit flame dances a bit more, sparkles a sky blue.
He looks around silently trying to gather himself, take in his surroundings, he was always ready to die... but rising from it was a different story. I'm alive...and released... this is... He sits back down thouggh away from the shadowy corruption, still in shock
Gabriel, you stumble upon Osna's body. His eyes are growing mushroom caps, and he does not move. His tongue is coated in moss.
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Once again Abnaki delved too deep. The magic of the mud called to him, cloying, all encompassing. As he was pulled from it, he clung to the primal ooze, trying to learn it's secrets.
It flowed into him, the now familiar feeling of having one's very essence altered. He left his old stories in the mud. In return, he pulled a few base words that make up the underpinnings of the world with him.
Abnaki-Thrice-Broken. First by the fey, then by the insanity of the moon, and now by... whatever this was. Broken, but always reconstructed. What was he now? It didn't matter. It never did. He was still just Abnaki, regardless of how his mind and body warped. And his purpose was to provide respite. He stands on new, shaky legs, revealing a beautiful, yet terrible form, the last vestiges of elenity seemingly blasted away from it. "We all seem to have undergone some harrowing transformations, after spending some time dead. How are you holding up mentally? Are you all there? If any part of your soul is missing, tell me, and I will pull it back, as I did for-" Abnaki catches sight of Osna's corpse and pauses for a second. "-As I do for all of my friends."
Facing the strange creatures, he says loudly, "Thank you for your service. My name is Abnaki-Thrice-Broken. How long were we gone, and for what purpose have you rescued us?"
Gabriels eyes glaze on over Osna... He makes no verbal comments, too much going on to worry about one dead when everyone was moments ago. Actually... Quite the opposite... My soul seems to be... Whole and clean again. What was left of the shadow ritual has been taken by the fungus... Roll call who is awake?
Abnaki, the hush of the crowd remains as the squished-faces look at you in awe. There is no comprehension in their expression.
Two mushroom people, slightly apart from the crowd, seem to understand your words. The smaller one (a child? hard to tell) is getting ready to move forward, eagerness in their movement.
Abby answers Gabriel's question in the most unhelpful way possible.
"We're all here, though Samen isn't ready to embrace the situation just yet."
She struts over to Abanki and inhales deeply of his earthy musk. "You've changed too, pretty boy. That new essence you're wearing ... It's intoxicating."
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Recognizing speech patterns and mannerisms is second nature to Abnaki. Reaching out a hand to place on Abby/Samen's forehead, he gently but firmly says, "None of that right now. Later perhaps. Samen, I assume you can hear me in there. I'm going to need you to panic later, we're in a crisis mode right now, and Abbygailwy is not the ally I need right now. Right now I need my friend, the polyglot, the Mad Mage of Hearth."
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Bobbing up and down while a bubbly trilling noise comes out, not to say anything but to express joy. They stay low to the ground and watch the living ones for a moment. Still alive but busy.
Twisting and moving on four thick limbs in looping circles towards those who are not moving. Abruptly separating from the ground before thudding down. Popping up, much like a puppy, to investigate what they tripped over. Not noticing the thin line of liquid oozing out from a fresh cut.
Brown and blue gas pops out, "Clever plant." Scooping up Kallik's white a green axe and rising to almost four feet to do so. Standing still for a moment before quick strides take them to Kallik's lifeless body. Laying the axe down on her chest before laying down next to her.
Extending a limb, the injured one, towards the temperamental oread's face. The cut from the axe still oozing. Tracing the green lines. Tendrils twist into green hair. Caressing wooden flowers and beads. Lifeblood meets deadblood and the little mycos freezes.
What happened. Where am I? why can't I move! calm down. [/b]Who the Volc are you?[/b] Host! we are togeher now.1 Its going what! Host? I don't. wonderful.. I don't need a host. Why can't I move? Phantom. Spirit.
hello? I will help you are
[i]Np..no...NO!!
Flinching and curling into a ball next to Kallik. Brown and blue gas streams out of them, "jụụ, jụụ, biko. Kwụsị.
The eyes roll. "Oh fine, but don't think you're getting rid of me that easily." They wink. "I'll be back for you later."
The body shudders and lurches for a moment, like a toddler standing for the first time.
"You've changed again Abnaki." He looks around at the dead bodies of Kallik and Osna, and the living Gabriel. "We died too, didn't we? And the entire company along with us."
They survey their surroundings grimly. "We'd best get moving. No telling how much time was lost. But... which way is out?"
The most elen-looking of the mushroom people takes a few steps forward, her legs extending slightly to help with the task. There is a sense of great age about her, in the careful movements of her shifting body.
"Hailo, ones alive. I Learningto Elen. My people not sky-talk. What names?"
"Apparently, our name is legion, but this voice was known as Samen. Tell me more of your essence and language. We, too, must be learning to be elen again."
There is a slight delay as Learningto nods, absorbing your words. "Hailo, Same and Legion. Language sky-talk, like you."
Her brow wrinkles in a caricature of thought - the moldable faces of these people are extremely expressive. "Essens...elens? We *blorfk* elens." Her arms go upward in a grasping motion as she mentions elens.
Samen tries to make sense out of this strange fungoid creature. "You brought us back. Why?"
Learningto looks at you intently, then her face lights up. "Heap is!" She points a finger, which elongates triple its normal length, to indicate the enormous pile of compost, dirt, bones, and offal. "Mysteries of Heap, many! Heap teller and giver, we listeners and getters. Knowledge."
A few of the bolder mycos, now seeing their elder talking to these strangers, slowly crowd in closer. A few of the younger ones look up with awe at Abnaki, both for his strong voice and odd looks (but perhaps not so odd to them).
You see a midnight-black root growing, slithering out of the Heap. It is approaching Learningto Ellen, and no one seems to have noticed it yet.
"Psychic residue of people, infused with magic, and half-formed memories, sculpted from trash, and easily imprintable materials," Abnaki muses to himself, already beginning to theorize.
"I wonder what other secrets live here. Or could be rebirthed like us." He begins thinking of a plan to translate, but his old spells seem beyond his reach. Hopefully whatever he left them with could find some use for them. Meanwhile, he would have to make due with what he had...
Gabriel, you notice whatever the spoiler in the previous post is describing
Qizzlvutz looks around with keen new senses; it is unclear whether the axe or her new phantom (yay!) are helping. Either way, their celebration is cut short by freezing horror. At first, Quizzl cannot believe it - how could a dark thing be here, in sacred Heap of all places?
With an elongated finger, Quizzlvutz signals alarm. "Dark branch, Heap!"
"Dark branch, Heap!"
The crowds start yelling in fear, running away toward exits on the far side of the earthen chamber. Panic swells in their wailing voices.
"Death. Rebirth. Existential crises and fundamental questions of reality. One thing remains constant; Something needs hitting with a stick."
Samen deals destruction in three ways - brute force; a draining, hungry touch; and a burst of absolute dessication.
The dark branch crumbles into nothing. Judging from Learningto Ellen's expression, she is utterly dumbfounded. "Heroes! Strong!" Her body language is full of punching exuberence.
Learningto looks over her left shoulder, even though nothing is there. She nods, and nods again. "Later, impatient one. Restful places first."
Samen's eyes glint with understanding, greed, and hunger. "That was... delicious!" They flex their muscles as it dawns on them the power at their disposal. More research will definitely be required.
Settling down the desire to consume Learningto, they instead barrage her with questions. "We don't need rest, we need answers. Where are we, how do we get out, what was that thing, and what do we owe you for our lives?"
Learningto nods. "Answers. Yes." Without another word, she escorts you from the Chamber of the Heap. The crowds, in awe of your strangeness and your power, give you a wide berth. They stare wonderingly at you, their eyes like blue and red flowers among the browns, greens, and yellows of their fungal bodies. The fuzzy texture of these colorful eyes gives the impression of a horde children's toys gathered about you. A few piping voices, like small balloons, are hushed by elders.
The tunnels outside the chamber are dizzying at first: a honeycomb of up, down, left, right, and diagonal exits dot the large room, roughly the size of a mansion in Hearth. Mycos are everywhere, carrying woven baskets, painting walls, dancing, talking, and going about business in a hundred different elen ways.
On the outer wall of the enormous Chamber of the Heap, you see tiers and tiers of small alcoves. Hunched mycos, presumably elders, are walking from alcove to alcove, wide smiles on their faces. Occasionally, they reach into a pocket or pouch and give the little ones something to eat. You see none of the details from this distance (the tiers reach up to the high ceiling among the stalactites), but the rhythm of birth and care is unmistakable.
"Nurseries. New Life." is all Learningto says about these structures as she leads you counterclockwise around the central Heap Chamber, passing a series of tunnels that smell strongly of food and spices. Phosphorescent murals meander all over the walls and ceilings, lending character to each entrance.
Even to Samen, who has made of study of changing his elen shape, the locomotion of the mycos is odd to behold. The dimensions of their body--thin, thick, long, short--seem almost infinitely mutable, allowing them to reach the awkward angles of tunnels with ease. You all feel like a bit like lumbering statues among these claylike creatures.
Thankfully, the path that Learningto takes remains on ground level. You enter a low, flat area, where many mycos are resting and reclining. The talking is low and hushed here, and many are asleep, making surprisingly elen-sounding snores.