"Delightful! Even in death, the Blessed of Hearth are powerful foes of the Dark." Growing impatient with the language barrier, and his inability to reach his old language spanning spells, he muses on how he could solve it. "Samen," he begins. "Or whatever you want to be called now that your mind is a triumvirate, do you know the name of the language these things speak? I feel I can decipher letters far easier than words, but I need a spark of recognition to start my magics, a name will suffice."
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"We can call it whatever we wish. Let us call it Myconian."
We died... Now we deal with Myconians... We need to figure out how long we've been dead, whats going out in Hearth, many things
Abnaki, your lips form Words that beckon magic rather than sound, and the spell fills your eyes with cool, blue understanding. You see the mycos in a different way - you begin 'reading' their shifting body language as silent words that add meaning to their seemingly disconnected nouns. Each twist of the hand or shortening of a leg carries a tiny meaning. The young myco, Qizzlvutz, shifts constantly, a babble of youthful energy. Learningto shifts slowly, the consideration of wisdom and the pain of old age evident in every word.
"Ah, I (see) by the (look) on your face that you can (understand) me better now. You (are) very easy to (read). You are (banishing) the dark branches before our eyes! How?"
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Abnaki sighs heavily, and sits upon the ground. He pats the rock beside him, indicating that the Mycos should join him. The earth jiggles slightly under his touch, unnerving him. He will use a boost version of his cantrip as a 1st level spell to impart the same bonus on Learningto.
"The world above is filled with all sorts of wonders. My friends and I have met living gems, spoken with new Elder trees, fought with the aspects of a god, and were eventually bested by a road of bone.
It must be hard for you to imagine a world without ceiling or walls. It seems to stretch on, on forever. And yet at some places, it ends! One of these places is a great city of Elen, called Hearth.
A city is a strange thing you see. Where you must carve places to live out of the earth, we must do the opposite. The default state of your world is stone. Ours is of air. So to create dwellings, we must build them for ourselves. When there are lots of dwellings together, they become a village. A large village is a town. A large town is a city. Cities have streets to help El's get from one place to another faster. Cities have separate places for each El, you work in one place, learn in another, and sleep in a third. But most importantly, when that many El get in one place, they give to a city a... mind of it's own.
The mind then of Hearth, is one of order. The type of El that live there value order dearly, and use it to create rules to protect other El. The greatest of these El from Hearth were known as the Blessed.
Just as the heap is your "god," we have our own. The Blessed of Hearth were chosen by the gods of our world to be strong; strong and resilient to the dark. Even in the great emptiness of the up there is Dark. The Blessed protected us. I, in turn, protected the Blessed.
But the Bone road was too much for us. It brought us deep into the Earth, and smothered us. Even our Blessed ones were no match for it, and that is how you found us. But even in death, the Blessed of Hearth are powerful and resourceful. The spirit that is bound to the little Mycos, it is one of our Blessed. She was skilled in both spell and blade together. And she was kind. Have hope my friends, that her kindness and strength will be your strength as well. Have hope, for if that is lost, no strength of arms can ever hope to succeed."
Abnaki's tale draws a great crowd of mycos into the chamber; some shift tall legs, while others shrink down, making room for each other, as hundreds of them strain to listen to the master griot. They stare with rapt attention as they imagine a world with no ceilings.
The very stone around Abnaki responds to his words, showing trees and clouds in subtle patterns across its granite face. Stalagmites become miniature Elders, rising proudly from the ground.
Hroof Hroofa, feeling inspired and ready for action, is sending runners to fetch his strongest warriors. Now is the time to strike with strongest weapons!
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Qizzlvtz couldn't be more thrilled. Their phantom was a thing of wonder and a hero. The elen she traveled with were amazing. Wiggling in blissfully ignorant happiness at their luck.
For the moment Kallik's internal panic is her own. Doing her best to not argue the point. The actual blessed who know what they are doing are back in Hearth. Cause its defiantly not her. She is foul mouthed and temperamental. Not to mention dead and that magic she had doesn't feel like she can reach it anymore.
Keeping her hands on the axe, that one link to her twin. Sharp points dig into her palms in an alarmingly familiar way. Biting the inside of her mouth to not yell in anger. A large part of her want to go hide in Qizzlvut's mind again, maybe the others will forget about her. But that won't work. I'm dead but still here... Turning to look down the tunnel, to many faces are looking at her. Krz?
Sissy? Are we ghosts now? Krz sounds sleepy.
Learningto tentatively moves closer to the glorious, powerful phantom. There is awe, and perhaps a bit of fear, in her expression as she observes this phantom that can effortlessly banish the curse of the dark roots.
At the far end of the chamber, you see Hroof Hroofa and other spiky soldiers are assembling large pieces of metal. They are crude, but clearly recognizable as weapons salvaged from Heap. Eagerness and pride show in their shifting as they start to bring these unsheathed weapons toward you, to conquer the newly cleansed tunnels beyond.
The rest of the crowd watches the whole spectacle, eyes wide in the presence of these powerful heroes that Heap has summoned.
"Put your weapons away for now. No telling what ancient curse will afflict us if we violate the command. If it becomes necessary, we can greedily consume our enemies."
"If you insist." Abnaki puts his spear across his back. He's not really sure how you're supposed to sheath it, he usually uses it like a walking stick.
Kallik shrugs and lowers her axe. I think I am a ghost. You better still be alive. Looking around then back to Samen, "What are we doing? I don't know if I get to leave without that one." waving her red clawed hand at Qizzlvtz.
Hroof Hoofa looks ready to argue with Samen, but immediately changes his mind when Abnaki agrees with him. Learningto translates for him. "Hroofa Hoofa (says) he will (follow) the storyteller. The one who glows (Samen) is untrustworthy, but the storyteller can be (trusted)."
Learningto turns back to Qizzlvutz, to see how the little one is getting along with her powerful, angry phantom.
Yes, I'm sure I'm still alive. Although there are many rumors of the Court of Gems coming here soon and taking over everyone's mind...but I'm sure it will be okay!
Very well...But lets not consume anything. we need to get back to Hearth Gabriel keeps his weapons sheathed but has his hand ready to grab one
The axe, now stowed on Qizzlvutz's back, gives the small myco a playful psychic shove. Heroes always go first! Let's go!
And the first step is taken. No sudden attacks from killing black tentacles; simply a funereal silence. A musty smell, feeling somehow older than the rest of the myco's warrens, pervades the path ahead.
The cleansed tunnels are- disappointing. There is a feeling of the mundane here, or something previously sacred, now fallen. The long, straight halls are made of granite. The coarse stone is strangely dry to the touch after the humid warrens of the mycos.
Every hundred yards or so, there is a blank plaque made of steel affixed to the wall. You find them suspiciously unexceptional; despite your various Sights, you feel you are missing a sense or a color that renders the rectangles of metal meaningless. The blank plaques stare back, offering nothing.
A few random objects in the halls, here and there. A table made of chalky white wood. An empty picture frame. This place seems te lie somewhere between museum and mausoleum. A few snatches of tuneless music haunt the air about you, inviting you to look more, walk more, see more. Stay here...
Trailing behind Kallik hopping in the streaks and puddles of red ichor she leaves in her wake. Kallik?... Seeing no reaction. [i[Who? More Phantom?[/i]
"Full of care, young one. These halls are not meant (for running and jumping)." Learningto's words are not a rebuke, as much as a gentle reminder. Her expression is full of apprehension. Thus far, she is the only myco besides Qizzlvutz to venture into the granite tunnels.
Abnaki will stick his head through the wall to check the backside of the plaques. He's still not comfortable putting his whole body through stone.
Samen takes in the exquisitely bland setting with awe. They rub their hands together in glee. "Well this is new! Essence of banality. We must taste it. It belongs to us, and we will own it."
They recklessly touch some of the gray artifacts and try to consume the magic before it can consume them.
Abnaki, your brief glimpse within the stone shows that these plaques are not entirely flat - they have depth, and go further into the stone-
There is a loud, static buzzing for a moment as Samen touches the first plaque. Both he and Abnaki receive a coursing shock that leaves you numb for several seconds.
...rid yourself of magicks, in this quiet place, said the runes above the entrance.
The surface of the metal plaque begins moving, showing small figures in bas relief in the steel. It seems to be showing some kind of conference, or gathering. The tiny elens wave their arms and argue around a triangular table.
The ghostly snatches of music are louder now, playing a blend of melancholy strings and warbling voices. The sound comes in and out, suddenly louder then quieter. The air heats up pleasantly, only to cool back down.
Qizzlvutz, despite your mentor's words, you scamper ahead, too curious to do otherwise. You hear nothing of what is happening down the hall with your new allies. Up ahead...
You see an opening to your left - a large alcove containing a strange display: a skeleton stood straight and hung by wires, presented on a raised platform. Three steel plaques adorn the wall above the skeleton.
Suddenly, a loud voice in a strange, barking language starts talking. The voice seems to be coming from everywhere. The steel plaques seem to come alive, writhing and shifting like a myco would. In your imagination, they are trying to escape from the wall and attack you.
And just as suddenly, the voice dies down and the plaques become still again. The skeletal display remains on the dias, unmoving.
"Have you decided on a new composite name yet?" Abnaki asks the thing that rapidly is convincing him that his friend Samen is really and truly gone. "In any case, please don't poke that again, I don't have that many spell slots left."
An androgynous voice in an ancient dialect of High Ifrit says, "Please keep voices quiet and respectful in the museum. In the museum."
Ha! Can't hear my voice, stupid thing! That's one nice thing about being half-ghost with you, Sissy.
Hroof Hroofa and a handful of myco warriors follow Abnaki at a respectful distance. They show no inclination toward violence or greed currently.
Inching closer to the skeleton, Shifting rapidly between focusing on the bones or the plaques. But the noise and movement make them go still.
Kallik simply trails behind Qizzlvtz. Old habits of mindlessly following and letting the others do the thinking, the puzzle solving. Grabbing Qizzlvtz at the noise and putting them behind her.
You can understand that?
Neither Qizzlvutz nor Kallik understand the language spoken by the disembodied voice, but Krz says, Oh yes! I remember the best fortunetellers were guessing you would cross paths with a very VERY strong fire creature, so they thought you might be able to command it if you knew its language. Or maybe just talk to it. Anyway, this thing sounds like a boring demon with no personality.
The rest of the group catches up the Qizzlvutz. The halls are dark and silent once more. Hroof Hroofa exclaims in delight at the treasures of these ancient ones.
"(These) bones (are) not fire, air, earth, nor water. And mycos (do) not (have) bones. Hmm." She hums thoughtfully to herself, all manner of toots and whistles coming from her myconian anatomy.
Samen takes immediate interest in the skeleton. "No elemental essence, you say? We need to drag this thing back to a safe area where it can be studied properly without disembodied voices draining us."
"I (did not say) none. Just not one of us five elements. I do not (know)."
Samen sniffs closely at the bones. Without use of magical sight, it's hard to pin it down precisely. There are other senses, though. If smell is insufficient to identify an essence, he/they will gladly begin gnawing on them without qualms or reservations.
Samen (not Samen-Abby-Stof-we, but Samen), there is one crystal moment when you see what you could do - become this skeleton, fill it with life and flesh again, one pure essence, and leave the other two behind. They are anchored to this battered body, but you are not. One Samen again. One essence.
If you choose to go this route, you would be roughly akin to a Cleric of the Sun. (and you are approximately the only person/player who has played this setting who would have any idea what that means, even though your character doesn't). Not a worshipper, but spellcasting harbinger or champion. It would be a rework of your class, etc.
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And now in his undeath, he has found it, whatever it is. This is what he was looking for in his quest of tasting and mixing essences. This is his apotheosis. He eagerly leaves behind Stof and Abby in his wrecked husk and take a leap toward the future and the sun.
Upon contact with the skeleton, Samen's tattooed body shudders, and seems to deflate, all vitality fleeing him. A deep voice bellows from Samen's mouth, followed by a screaming tea-kettle note of rage, followed by slack-mouthed silence. Samen's body is once again dead.
Whatever escaped from Samen's body has turned to shining liquid gold, melting over the bones and obscuring them in light.
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The gold hardens and flakes away, cocoon-like, slowly revealing a new being. It is elen-shaped, though in some ways it is stranger than a myco; a myco at least has the markings of the gods. The being before you--disturbingly-- seems to lack any elements, any favor of the gods whatsoever. It is more akin to an animal, a being of raw flesh, rather than anything the gods sculpted from ash or pearl or cloud.
Its skin is some shade of rat-belly pink, like an unhealthy bird plucked of its feathers. It stands on two thick legs, like an intelligent gorilla.
It speaks. A sound like wet wine-glass music, thundering in volume, fills the chamber.
In the same language, the disembodied voice responds, seemingly affirmative.
The tingle of strong magic fills your ears and tastes sour upon your tongue. A spell of some magnitude is about to be cast. The metal plaques bubble with tension, picking up the ambient energy.
A purple flash of light, leaving behind after-images of yellow circles and blue squares,
a moment of nothingness in between worlds,
-and you are no longer undergound. The air is fresh, and cold. Dead Sky soars above you. Everyone has been teleported, including Learningto, Hroof Hroofa, and the five myco warriors. They look around, wide-eyed, trying to grasp at the 'ceiling' of Sky, taking it for an optical trick of some kind.
Taking in your immediate surroundings, you see you are close to a Quiet Elder, which means you are in Great Forest. Far to the south, you can see the tips of the Horned Mountains, so specifically you are in the southern reaches of Forest.
The Elder is a mile off or so to the north. You are in a clearing of tall grass. No other elens are about, save for yourselves.