As the group round the corner a very strange sight greets them. Rows of wooden pegs line the earthen walls, some hung with tiny, filthy cloaks. In the center of the room stands a rickety table held together with twine, covered with a filthy red-checked tablecloth and heaped with mounds of dirt and twigs and gravel, apparently arranged to form some sort of map. Sitting at the edge of the map, weighing down a scrap of paper, is a bloodstained ivory statuette of what looks like a crouching
reptilian devil. A bulging burlap sack sits under the table.
Behind this is a whirling portal, glistening and glittering. Inside is perched the rook. Black as night and silent as death it simply stares back at you. Surrounding it you spy a pristine lake or pond of some sort and two lonely pitch-black swans gliding silently along the surface.
Before that stand four of the ugly little creatures you've seen before along with a grotesque insect with more eyes than you can count, slicing mandibles, and six hairy yet sharp legs. The beast is the size of a man and atop it's back is perched a singular mite more hideous than the rest. His face is covered in purple warts and his teeth are obviously gapped.
This mounted monster quickly turns to face the party as the portal fizzles out of existence behind him and groans in frustration as he urges his companions to attack.
Three mites rapidly spin about drawing their blades and sneering at the adventurers before their pure black eyes bulge foreword nearly exiting their disgusting little heads as each fixes their glare on a different member of the party.
Lina and Brental feel the creeping doom fall upon them but their will is strong, they know that this is just a mind game of the cruel fey at their hearts and are thus able to resist. Meneas seems thrown however. Maybe it's the poison, or the trauma from the centipede before, or even being away from his beloved horse companion but somehow the normally unshakeable cavalier is very much so shaken by the bulging eyes of his foe. Hands shaking he finds himself barely able to keep hold of his weapon.
Seeing the statue he's been searching for all this time Mekmek cries out with joy! The little kobold puffs up his chest and charges the nearest mite headlong.
His over-eagerness catches up to him unfortunately as the mite is able to duck out of the way of the kobold's obvious direct thrust leaving the kobold wide open for a retaliation.
The mite leader prods and kicks and screams at his beast pointing directly at the party and cursing in his unfamiliar tongue. The menacing creature clacks its mandibles together in response and with amazing grace and dexterity, given the small space, hops between the melee in front of him and pounces at Meneas, arms outstretched and jaws wide and drooling!
Despite all his supernatural fear the cavalier lifts his blade to meet the bug and, with much effort, manages to push the creature back where the mite leader angrily jabs at it with his spear and points emphatically at the cavalier.
Meneas curses, shivering as fingers of dread dance up his spine. He takes a half step back before pushing himself forwards once more, slashing at the spider before him with an edge of desperation that throws his blows away from the spider. Growling and biting his lip in the hopes of shaking off the fear that suddenly eats away at his insides, he steps just out of the way to allow Vodnykel to stomp the insect into the ground.
Despite the impending violence, and the mites’ baleful magic, above all Lina is brought up short by the portal, which holds her attention completely for a dangerously long time. It’s only when it closes, leaving no sign of the giant rook or her kidnapped companions, that she’s able to shake off her fascination and focus on the fight that’s broken out around her.
It’s not an aiudara, she scolds herself, you’re not going anywhere that quickly. Unless it’s a planar breach… I mean, obviously, but also, in a more extensive sort of sense…
Turning her attention to the mounted mite that’s menacing Meneas , Lina responds unnervingly, with a wide smile and her laugh tinkling like tiny silver bells as she lunges with her dagger, exploiting the moment when she sees the gremlin realize he’s maneuvered himself between her and Mekmek.
She puts considerable force behind her blow, but her angle's off, as is her timing to charge her laughter with magic without leaving herself open to attack, and her voice just doesn't take.
She turns her motion into a sidestep so that either Brental or his mammoth can hopefully get a better strike in.
That portal...
Brental has no idea what to make of the manifestation that greeted them alongside the relative mundanity of a squadron of eye-bulging, bloodthirsty fey. But clearly Mekmek is prepared to engage with the mites over his idol, while the gap-toothed apparent leader and his hideous mount whirl on them.
The druid watches as his companions advance into the room and gets a sense of what kind of strategy will be necessary to take this creature down. With a quick word and a few gestures from his master, Vodnykel expertly steps into a flank with Mekmek. Thought he kobold's attention may be focused on the mites, he threatens both it and leader's mount equally well. The mastodon roars and attacks. This was no time to offer half-measures!
For his part, Brental sees the situation and decides that his club will be best suited after all. He gestures quickly in the air and whispers as he reaches to grab the gnarled wooden staff. As his hand touches it, green energy ripples down it as vines spring forth from nowhere and wrap around the bark. The druid rounds about and cuts off one of the leader's means of escape while stepping in to flank with Meneas.
The mite that expertly foiled Mekmek's attack casually slips his foe, steping back behind the lines of his own companions before fixing his gaze on the mastodon which had been absolutely tearing his leader's pet to shreds with its massive tusks and tree-like legs slamming the beast around and cracking its carapace in several places causing red-orange goo to leek incessantly from the mindless beast.
The mite opens his eyes wide and bulges them out at the creature in an attempt to hinder Vod's devastating barrage.
This time, as the tentacles of dread start to wrap around Vod's mind his alien nature is able to prevent the spell from taking hold as it should and he trumpets bravely facing down his foe.
Meanwhile the other mites move around in a flanking pattern around Mekmek and begin to savagely lash out at the poor kobold with this wicked blades.
For a moment it seems as though the diabolical little gremlins may just bifurcate the small black kobold but he manages to pull himself back just enough to the point where the blades both cut him across the belly and back but more on the side than a direct hit. Still the kobold cries out in either rage or pain and stabs at one of his attackers with his trusty spear. His wounds prove to be getting the better of him however and his clumsy attack is easily parried by giggling mites.
Mekmek's chest heaves as he struggles to stay on his feet but a fiery determination is still set in his eyes. This kobold will not go down without a fight.
A strange whistling noise pierces the den as the mite leader points towards Brental and waves his spear at the last mite waving it around in a circular motion. The final mite gasps at the sudden attention of his lord but rushes to follow his command, circling around the small table and thrusting his cruel dagger at the druid's exposed back.
The mite lord's waving and wild gestures made the small monster's plan rather obvious, however and Brental cleverly kicks one of the chairs out at the flanking creature at the last moment making it stumble and completely whiff its attack.
The mite leader tries to take advantage of Brental's distraction but due to his quick thinking with the chair the druid is more than ready to fend off the insect lunging at him with its horrible sucking and clicking noises.
Meneas flinches unwillingly from the sounds and scents of battle. Dammit, Meneas, you've been in worse battles than this before, fight the fear! It's not yours! Unfortunately, he cannot push through it, and instead aims at the most vital places on the mounted mite with several quick slashes. Get rid of it get rid of it get rid of it.
The mite leader barely has time to whistle out a scream before Meneas has carved him in tice, trice, four separate bits of black stained corpse splatter about on the back of the mindless monster which he mounted!
The other mites all gasp and scream in terror as their leader falls in four sperate directions.
As the mite lord's blood splashes on Brental's face, he blinks with surprise. He nods at Meneas, who seems to have a knack for targeting the leaders of these groups. Brental has no idea that the knight is shaken, owing to the hood covering his face.
Then the druid and his trusted companion press the attack on the giant tick, tusks, trunk, and club alike flurrying against the beast. Brental hopes to take it down before it can manage to suck him or his companions dry, and then turn his attention to the mites (should they still care to fight after their leader has fallen).
Vodnykel's attacks tear and stomp away at the giant tick. Limbs are being ripped asunder or otherwise crushed into oblivion and yet still the beast fights on!
Raising its head to Brental the monster hisses and lunges but not in time as the aasimar brings down his enchanted club on the beast's head with devastating force! The creature's head splits like a pumpkin stuck with a bat and bursts into a shower or orange-red gore covering the victorious druid like confetti congratulating him for the kill.
This elicits a further scream of horror from the mites as they watch their greatest beast and master perish mere moments apart.
The melee is a bit too uneven for Lina to cast a spell to affect an area safely, so she waits for her moment and strikes wherever her short blade can be of most use. As the others make short work of the mite leader, she moves to try to relieve Mekmek of the mites trying to surround him.
Lina's blade flashes and a mite howls in agony and clutches its ruined eye, the cold iron showing its use here in getting through the mite's natural resistances.
The mites about Mekmek all begin converging on the tiny kobold trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers at this point. From their panicked yelps one can tell these creatures are not in a good headspace right now but they seem to refuse to give up their home regardless.
Mekmek manages to deflect two of the oncoming blows but a final attack slices the kobold's shoulder sending fresh blood dripping down his scaly arm. And yet, the kobold has no hint of fear in his eyes as he rounds on one of the gang brandishing their knives at him.
Your small friend squeals with delight as his mundane spear punches with such force it bypasses the mite's resistance and skewers the ugly creature through the heart.
Tossing the corpse off the spear Mekmek shifts his gaze and points farther down the chamber where another mite has sprinted inside the room.
"MAGIS!"
Brental wipes the tick's blood from his eyes and turns to face the remaining mites. At Mekmek's declaration, Brental translates for Meneas.
"More are coming."
The druid hefts his club and swings it at the next mite.
In these cramped quarters, the blow is not quite as solid as it could be, but the druid hopes it is enough.
Meanwhile the mastodon squeezes into the space his master vacated and sends his tusks flying at the mite that Lina injured.
The mastodon slides in some of the tick's goo on this cave floor and is unable to find purchase with his attack.
Brental swears the mite's oddly long head squishes a bit under the blow of his enchanted clubs. The crack and crunch of the blow are enough proof to Brental that the job is done and so he turns his attention to the next mite down the line before the first one has even properly finished dying.
Yet another mite appears from around the corner and bulges its eyes out at the druid as it gives a desperate war-cry.
Once again the druid proves far too resilient for such petty magic to take effect and he simply shrugs off the creature's pitiful attempt.
Meneas mind twists in the grip of his dread and he lashes out at the nearest mite once more, his shaking movements sending his blade askew - if he manages to strike the mite, it is purely from luck at this point.
Brental is wounded in the back of the leg as he makes his way further into the den by the injured mite cutting into the muscle of his calf.
Lucky Meneas is indeed for, in spite of his apparent fear, his blade connects with the injured mite's back severing the creature's spine and leaving it to lay twitching on the floor in a muddy puddle of its own blood.
Just as this mite goes down, however, another one shows up to take its place at the other end of the den.
Your small friend squeals with delight as his mundane spear punches with such force it bypasses the mite's resistance and skewers the ugly creature through the heart.
Tossing the corpse off the spear Mekmek shifts his gaze and points farther down the chamber where another mite has sprinted inside the room.
"MAGIS!"
“Quaeso, nolimus?”
Lina tosses a quip over her shoulder as she circles around where Mekmek and Brental have one of the mites outflanked, trusting that they can deal with it easily.
She didn’t miss the slash Brental took as he repositioned himself, though, and the obnoxiously, recklessly brave Mekmek is taking quite the beating, and she worries that as more mites start arriving that the adventurers might face death by a hundred tiny cuts in the cramped quarters.
For now, they work to her advantage, and the ruthlessly tactical part of her mind seizes the opportunity she sees as the new arrivals squeeze into the passage. Enough of this, she thinks.
Pointing her hand and rattling off a quick incantation, she calls forth a burst of fire that crackles and hisses off the walls of the tunnel, recoiling to catch the mites full on.
As the flames channel forth from Lina's outstretched hands they wholly consume the mites before her. Each mite runs off screaming in a tiny smelly fireball before each collapses in a heap of smoke and smoldering flame.
"HA! Et quasi draco se aequum est!" Mekmek exclaims in awe.
Lina barely has time to take in the compliment before the smoke clears and three more mites appear to replace the ones she just burned through.
The oncoming mites all attempt to cast their Doom spells on the front-most party members but with the battle so well in hand the elf and aasimar are easily able to shrug off the effects of the spells.
The flanked mite then stabs out at Brental from behind trying to capitalize on the man's injury but no, Brental is too experienced a fighter for such an obvious tactic and casually deflects the mite's dagger with his shield.
Mekmek does not waste his opportunity though and thrusts his spear with great force at the mite's back. Brental see's the tip of the spear burst forth from the creature's chest in a spray of red-black gore before the creature slumps forward and Mekmek lets loose another proud war-cry!
Brental is likewise awed by the gout of flame that springs forth from Lina's hands, as he is by Mekmek's facility with that spear.
"A quidem draco! Tu quoque!"
Brental begins to see the balance between him, Meneas, and Lina. Especially considering Lina's magic vs his own: hers was showy, flashy, dangerous. His was subtle, subdued. Both quite effective in their own ways. He would compliment her further if the occasion called for it, but he presses on towards the continued onslaught of mites. As he swings his club around, he is momentarily thankful that Wisp is not witnessing this. They were well past negotiating now.
Torn between drawing his wand and pressing the attack, Brental steps forward towards the latest mite to enter the place while leaving room for the others to join. He swings his club down hard.
Vodnykel pushes nimbly past Mekmek and Lina, eager to get into the fight. He lifts his trunk, kicking aside Mekmek's most recent kill, and blares a peal that sets the roots nearby trembling before stabbing into the next mite in the path.
In a deadly onslaught Brental and his faithful companion press the attack against the remaining mites. The first nearly pops under the heavy blow from Brental's enchanted club. The second is torn asunder by Vodnykel's sharp tusks, rending the monster into gory chunks as he charges through.
Meneas moves forwards, keeping up with his companions with some effort, but he does not push into the hallway where Lina's flames flicker and die.
“Similes hydrae sumus!”
Lina encourages the others, the sibilants conveying the Draconic equivalent of purring satisfaction as she basks in and returns the others’ kind words.
She does hope they’re nearly through, though, because she’s down to her last proper spell, and one of her cantrips for the day won't work on the strange spirits of fey. She rejoins the melee, slipping past Meneas and between Brental and his pet, slicing down at the remaining foe.
The tunnels aren't designed for elf-sized people, though, and the stooping posture they force her into throws her aim off. She glares at her opponent as she adjusts her stance, refusing to be phased, and explains her quibble in Common to make sure she includes Meneas, "Because we're like a four-, er, five-headed dragon, you see."
The final mite glances about franticly but seems utterly resolute in its defense of it's home. The creature takes a safe hop back and reaches behind it lobbing at dart at Lina from it's back pocket which buries itself painfully in Lina's thigh.
Mekmek puffs his chest out at the compliments and advances on the last mite as quickly as possible, squeezing into a corner and lashing out with his spear piercing the final mite through the throat ending the melee.
"Stulte-stulte hydrae capita solum attendunt." the little kobold coos as the final mite gurgles to the floor and a silence fills the den.
Mekmek seems utterly exhausted for a minute after, absolutely covered in wounds caused by the mite's blades which seem to be effecting him more now that the heat of combat has worn off. Still the soot-scale strides up to the little table with the odd assortment of items open it and grasps the the blood-stained ivory statuette of what appears to be a small draconic devil.
The kobold lifts the idol up with a mixture of happiness touched with fear and glances back at the party speaking in broken common again now.
"Mekmek can't thank enough... This statue, Ol' Sharptooth. Returning it will save whole clan... probably. Mekmek has never fought beside such strong, brave warrior-fighters before. He is proud to call you tribe-kin! When return to cave whole tribe will give you such praise!"
“Thank you, we’re glad we were able to help,” Lina says, wincing as she pulls the last mite’s dart out of her leg before crossing back to the middle of the now quiet room.
She suspects the worst, given the sight that greeted the adventurers before all hell broke loose, but she looks around for any trace of Signy and Wisp, tentatively calling their names out down the tunnel from which the last mites emerged before desperately checking for any sign of the vanished portal accessible to her mundane senses.
Of all the days not to prepare a cantrip to detect others’ magic, she remonstrates with herself. There’s nothing she can do about it now, so she takes a quick look at what’s on the table.
The mess reminds her of little more than a cross between a picnic and a strategic map. She instinctively checks for anything that might indicate rivers in the faint hope of recognizing the area depicted, before turning her attention to the paper that ‘Ol’ Sharptooth’ was being used – profanely, she imagines, idly – as a paperweight for.
Meneas slumps against the wall, taking deep, steadying breaths to weather the storm of magically induced fear until it subsides. After another forty or so seconds, he manages to do so. "I hate when that happens." He says, finally.
Waving a gloved hand in the direction opposite the way they had come, he looks to Brental. "Do you see anything down there, beyond the light?" He asks, before turning to look about the hollow. Best get the bodies out of the way. As he moves to pile them up, he keeps a lookout for anything interesting.
Finally, after several long moments, he speaks. "What was that portal? Lina?"
As Mekmek secures the final blow, Brental stands at the ready for a few moments, waiting for more mites to emerge. When no more come cascading down the cramped passage, the druid wilts.
He glances at all their weapons, soaked in the blood of their enemies, and remembers what he said to Wisp before they tried--and failed--to negotiate.
"I did not come here to kill them."
"I do not see us as a warring party."
And yet...
The mites had made their choice. Brental did not know their reasoning, their story. He did not think himself or his allies callous for this slaughter. It seemed inevitable at this point, knowing what little he knew. Would that one of them had laid down their arms and broached a parley. But would Mekmek have honored a temporary peace, especially after his torture and the deaths of his companions? And would the mitflits have deserved it, after their treatment of him? The aasimar leans back against one of the walls, feeling less victorious and more sullen than perhaps ought be deserved after such an overwhelming conquest.
The kobold reaches forward for his tribe's idol with all the exhausted verve of a soldier having finally achieved their objective. The one of his comrades to survive their own slaughter. His broken common is earnest, and Brental smiles sadly, the corners of his eyes lightly wrinkled.
"You do your tribe proud, Mekmek. I underestimated you."
Brental realizes his word might go over the kobold's head, and thinks of trying to translate the word into draconic, but can't think of a reasonable translation that would not be construed as insulting. Dragons did not underestimate anyone, as far as Brental knew, even if they were occasionally slain. They thought too highly of themselves to admit being bested. So the concept of underestimating, thinking of something as smaller or lesser at first glance, would probably be foreign to creatures of such great pride. He lets the Taldane word stand.
He's gotten lost in his thoughts again, while there is work to be done. Brental feels like they have likely seen the last of the mites in this tree. They were all in rough shape--especially Mekmek--but Brental would set up a ward and tend to everyone's wounds as soon as they were certain that they would not themselves be ambushed. Until then he thumbs idly at the curative tree branch.
Brental joins his companions looking around the room, first renewing his magical detection and then drawing a sigil to keen his vision further. After Meneas recovers from the supernatural fright, Brental follows his hand beyond. "I'll take a look."
Brental leaves the pontification about the portal to Lina, who Brental imagines is much more well-versed in whatever in Avistan that thing was. Although he focuses his vision on scanning for danger, magic, and anything hidden, he keeps his ears tuned to what she may have to say.
Finally, after several long moments, he speaks. "What was that portal? Lina?"
Lina looks up from the papers she's examining and into the middle distance as she tries to remember as many details of the glimpse she caught through the portal before it closed. Was it likely another location on Golarion, or was it a link to another plane entirely?
She shakes her head in disappointment with herself. “Far beyond my abilities, and there are several things it could be, depending on where it could have led. I think - but I’m not that sort of mage: I can imagine that I might be able to sort something similar out with some dedicated research, but it would take years, probably.”
“It would involve a detour through at least one other plane –” She breaks off before she disappears down a rabbit hole that she's fairly sure the others will not be that interested in at the moment and that she only really has vague ideas about, and returns to the matter at hand. “In any case, even in legends, it’s very rare to hear of tracking someone through dimensional travel.”
“And I’ve been preparing my spells for more mundane problems,” she frowns, batting a loose lock of hair away from her face. “But… Brental, do you think you could check for any magical auras again in, oh, just under ten minutes or so? We could eliminate certain things that way.”
“Although on that note, anything that could either open a portal like that on its own, or use a scroll or what-have-you of sufficient power so carelessly, probably has the resources to deal with us as easily as we did these,” she reflects, gesturing at the dead mites.
Despite Lina's calls for the missing adventurers all that is returned to her is an echo of her own voice reverberating through the empty halls. Her search for a trace of her friends or the portal that spirited them away is just as fruitless so she takes to looking over the odd 'map' at the table.
It's immediately apparent to the elven woman that this tangle of branches here represents the Old Sycamore in which they currently reside. And then that must mean that the little pile of bloodstained rocks to the far right must represent the Soot-Scale tribe's den.
All this information leads her to believe that she would be able to find her way to the Soot-Scale den from here if she ever needed to.
The small paper that was being held under the statue of Old Sharptooth is a little more difficult to make out. It is written in scratchy charcoal and in Undercommon at that but with some focus and guesswork using Elven as a base Lina is able to extrapolate some information.
It appears to be a list of some sort with two columns. A 'Them' and an 'Us'.
Under 'Us' Lina can read 'Kobold Statue'... check. And then 'lots of... something... and money?'
Under 'Them' she can gather 'Magic... Magic something.' 'Lots of money again.' And finally 'Something... human... human ring!' Yes ring! And that first word might be 'shiny' upon further reflection.
No one is able to figure out exactly what spell it was that opened that strange portal but a quick magical inspection reveals STRONG traces of conjuration magic here, certainly well beyond any of the party's capabilites of casting. Both Meneas and Lina do recognize from the strange brilliance of the portal that this was obviously a portal to the First World of some sort. You are also well-versed enough to know that there are many sub-realms within the First World and neither of you know what realm exactly this might be. Thinking about the sight of the two black swans floating silently upon the perfect pond though... that reminds both of you of something. A story you heard long ago. Meneas especially recalls a story his mother used to read him all the time before bed as a child. A story of a man lost in a strange place, with creepy black swans and a giant terrifying black-bird.
The corpses Meneas inspects reveal nothing other than the expected lootables.
Mekmek looks a little lost as he cocks his head to the side trying to understand Brental's words but in the end just shrugs and gives his best reptilian smile at the man. "Not sure what Shiny-Eyes mean but probably say Mekmek is great warrior-fighter so Mekmek say same. Way you smash big bug's head with grass-club? Awesome! Mekmek catch some guts in mouth by accident. Was most tasty-good!" the kobold licks his (lips?) and rubs his belly happily.
As Brental inspects the far side of the room he sees a damp space that is haphazardly cluttered with broken beds, chairs, wagon wheels, and an assortment of worn, tattered, dingy, and broken objects pilfered or salvaged from big folk. A row of bookcases stands crookedly propped against the far wall, the shelves filled with bits of bone, feathers, and dried centipede legs. Old window frames, cracked and splintered, hang upon the wall like works of fine art.
Nothing of value appears before Brental and the only magic he notices is the traces of magic left by the portal. The statue of Old Sharptooth currently in Mekmek's possession is, notably, not magical in any way. But with it's craftsmamship and the ivory it's made of you estimate its value to be around 250 gold.
Meneas tosses the last of the mites into the pile as he listens to Lina and Brental. "Well. S#!*." He remains still for a long moment, before slamming a gauntleted fist into the wall. Nevertheless, his voice is chillingly calm when he speaks again. "I did not expect that we'd face something as blatant as this. Portals to the First World are to be protected, not abused."
Taking a deep breath, he slowly takes his fist away from the wall. "I think we need to rest and recuperate soon, but do you two want to keep exploring this place? I think I killed the leader," he nods at the bloody mess that remains on the floor where he had done so, "but that doesn't mean they'll break down and flee. I mean, it's likely, but..."
Lina compartmentalizes ruthlessly, as her mind balks at directly confronting the likelihood that Signy and Wisp are long gone, barring an expedition to the First World, which presents obvious difficulties.
Meneas tosses the last of the mites into the pile as he listens to Lina and Brental. "Well. S~&#." He remains still for a long moment, before slamming a gauntleted fist into the wall. Nevertheless, his voice is chillingly calm when he speaks again. "I did not expect that we'd face something as blatant as this. Portals to the First World are to be protected, not abused."
She exchanges a look with Brental after he reports his findings about the traces of magic left. Before she can stop herself, she continues, hoping she doesn’t offend Meneas as she alludes glibly to the usual elven treachery strategy. “Well, it seems to have been a spell doing what it was meant to do, so I’m not sure I would put it quite that way. Mind you, kidnapping innocent explorers is another matter entirely. Our best hope of sorting that out is probably finding out who or what that was, to even guess at where they went.”
It’s probably a forlorn hope, unless a friendlier someone still to be found in the old sycamore saw or can better identify the fey bird, but she doesn’t say that. She does say, because it sounds like a vital consideration, “If the magic was as powerful as all that – towards the order of a gate spell rather than a teleport – that’s something else to consider.”
She adds it to her mental list of things to look into, both formally and otherwise, resolving not to leave legends and lore neglected in her magical research. There are some stories, after all … Could the First World be easier to get to than all that after all?
In the meantime, she summarizes her other findings as she continues to poke about, waving the paper she’s squinted at, before bending to examine the bulging bag stashed under the table. “This was definitely where the mites did their planning, and this seems to be a calculation of their resources compared to the kobolds’.”
She switches to Draconic to make that part clearer to Mekmek, and adds, guilelessly ,
Brental smiles warmly at Mekmek’s response. The little kobold was definitely proud, but also generous with his own praise. Brental liked that.
The magic Lina described was incredibly powerful, so it matched the near-dazzling auras that Brental witnessed as he began detecting magic.
”I don’t even know if my lodge’s Archdruid could cast a spell of this caliber,” he admits.
After finding little of interest from simply viewing the corridor beyond, Brental comes back to the core group.
”It’s mostly detritus,” he says with a wave of his hand back from where he came. ”To us, at least. Worn trophies and broken objects that may have interested the mites, but of little use as far as I can tell. I honestly can’t tell if it’s a rubbish heap or a mite museum.”
Brental then looks at the papers Lina is combing through. She’s getting a lot, but there are still missing pieces. ”Do you mind if I take a look?” he asks, reaching out his hand.
The mention of a ring immediately catches Brental’s attention. Svetlana’s wedding ring had gone through multiple exchanges. First Kressle’s bandits had stolen it. Then the mites took it from them. And now it was in the kobolds’ possession. Brental hopes that with the idol of Old Sharptooth in hand that perhaps they will finally be able to retrieve the ring—and without further bloodshed at that. He waits for Mekmek’s response to Lina’s question there.
Discussions of the First World further intrigue Brental, despite the implications of their companions’ planar abduction. After Meneas’ angry outburst, Brental looks at him curiously. ”Meneas, you serve one of the Eldest, correct? I forget which--I’m sorry if you told us previously. Does this represent one of their realms or natures?”
All told, Brental agrees that clearing the rest of the Old Sycamore is a good idea. ”While conserving resources is a good idea when we have extended treks like this, I would happily heal anyone’s wounds before we continue.” He looks specifically at Mekmek. ”Though I plan to do that when we finally decide to rest. It has been a long day already.”
"I don't serve the Hooded." Meneas replies automatically. "Well, I mean, if Ng were to appear before us right now and issue us a task, I would follow its commands. But that's partly because the Eldest are powerful beings who have potentially short tempers, partly due to my oaths to aid fey, and only partly because I revere Ng."
He pauses, shaking his head. "Sorry. I feel like I have to be clear. I've had too many priests trying to convert me from 'Eldest worship.'" Taking a breath, he flexes his fingers. "From what little I know of Ng, it wanders a great deal. Travel is part of its sphere of interest, but so are seasons." He pauses, thinking.
Brental tilts his head to the side listening to Meneas. "No offense meant. The Oakstewards are friendly with many adherents of the fey. I certainly won't be trying to convert you, or anyone."
Lina’s eyebrows twitch up for a bit and she glances at the mark on Brental’s armour again. It’s easy to forget that he’s an Oaksteward, which means that both of the gentlemen in the trio have strong feelings about gates and similar planar magic. Let’s not talk about Sevenarches, then, shall we?
Whatever’s going on there, it’s out of their hands, so she’ll try not to hold a grudge. As she opens the bag under the table, she adds, “I’m also happy to continue exploring a bit more. Mites aside, and low tunnels, it’s a lovely tree. Though now that it’s quieted down a bit, I’d appreciate a bit of help with the huge centipede first, and I think Mekmek might too. It would be a shame to let it go quite to waste.”
Of course, she and the young kobold have starkly different interests in the bug, but under the circumstances, she can’t deny him the opportunity to secure the hero’s portion.
Mekmek looks up at Meneas with a start when the cowled man slams his iron fist into the wall and speaks out in his best taldane. "What is wrong-bad Dark-Savior? Mite magic upset tummy? Mekmek will share delicious bug meat-food with Dark-Savior! Good meal-eats always make Mekmek feel better." the kobold nods sagely.
He then turns with excitement towards Lina and practically bounces around in renewed excitement. "Yes-yes! Fair-Dragon has right brain-thought! Big bug meal-eats get everyone's strength back! Then we explore rest of cave and bury Mekmek's friends. Then home with Old Sharptooth for praise-rewards! As for ring... Mekmek's tribe has stolen-taken many things from mites as they have from Soot-Scales... ring must be one of those things... if friend-kin want Mekmek can get for you!" Mekmek chirps.
Brental is able to read the list in full. It says, "Us" - "Lots of spears and coins," "kobold statue." And under "Them" it reads: "lots of coins," "magic dust," and "shiny human ring."
He is one of the Eldest, god-like beings of the First World with immense power.
His realms are that of seasons, wanderers, and secrets.
Overall, he is an enigma. He has cordial relations with Desna, the Lonely Prince, and a few others but most other deities are simply wary of him and keep their distance.
He is a traveler miving constantly from realm to realm for reasons unknown. Some speculate him to be the herald of some other god or of the First World itself.
Down in the pit the group carefully carve the centipede apart. Keeping the choicest bits for themselves and offering the useless excess to Mekmek who eagerly (and somewhat disgustingly) eats it up in quantities you would have thought impossible for a creature of his stature.
When all is taken care of down in the pit, Mekmek climbs out to the side where his companions were slain and smiles up at them sadly. "They knew risks. They were very brave-strong too. Bold Soot-Scale warrior-fighters all." His little scaled hand brushes against one of the female kobolds and at this point you note their matching bird-bone bracelets. "It is great honor to die-die for tribe-kin... Mekmek is envious..." his voice cracks a little and he quickly rubs his arm against his eyes and turns back to the others with his signature smile. "New friend-kin help bury now yes-yes? All kobolds must return to earth is Soot-Scale law number twelve!"
....
After the group is done at the chasm they carefully explore the rest of the lair. The final room has a wet-looking floor crisscrossed by several shallow trenches, each containing trickles of putrid-looking fluid. Six mounds of compost and dung, lie heaped about the room, each studded with small spherical eggs.
"I don't believe that Ng has its own domain, as such. It usually wanders, as you might expect a being focused on travel to do." Meneas peers at the collection of dubious "loot," before continuing. "So no, I don't think it's involved here."
Of course, you never know...
He sighs when Mekmek mentions burial. "Alright. Does anyone have a shovel?" Once the graves are finished, he returns with his companions to the outermost layer, before coughing at the stench of the composting dung. "Ugh. That's foul. Anyways, I'd guess those eggs are for the mites' pets."
Lina is grateful for Brental’s patience and willingness to piece together a full translation of the mites’ list, feeling a bit of embarrassment that she’s unlikely to ever have the dedication.
She does wonder what the “magic dust” might be, as any curious mage with an equally curious spell component pouch might. Something else to ask Mekmek about later, but for now, as she’s a woman of her word…
She doesn't need to see Mekmek enjoy his choice of the cuts of the verminous creature, but she watches with horrified fascination as Brental and Meneas carve out the monstrous centipede’s venom glands for her, trying to pick up some anatomical pointers for next time, but reminded again as to why she prefers working with herbs. Still, there’s no point in kicking providence in the teeth, as it were. She quickly searches her bits of alchemical odds and ends to find some stabilizers and preservatives, adding them to the vial of poisonous treasure and giving it a shake to let them start to work. Just like old times. She wasn’t in Daggermark that long, nor made any huge progress in the guild there, but it’s definitely left a mark on the witch as, preference for botanicals aside, she starts processing the venom with practiced ease.
After her bout of toxicological enthusiasm, in a further demonstration of typical elven mercuriality, Lina drops easily and earnestly into solemnity and sympathy as she helps Mekmek gather his tribe’s dead for burial.
She can’t quite bring herself to voice the thought of a reunion in the afterlife, but leaves it as a quiet suggestion. It’s the sort of thought she would appreciate under similar circumstances.
* * *
Once the graves are finished, he returns with his companions to the outermost layer, before coughing at the stench of the composting dung. "Ugh. That's foul. Anyways, I'd guess those eggs are for the mites' pets."
After the grim setting to rights of the areas the group’s now explored, Lina considers the last room, and decides that after all this she’ll need a bit of time away from the old sycamore. If she weren’t inside the tree, and a notably damp area to boot, she would consider burning the mounds of eggs out. As it is, she sighs, and resigns herself to a bit of tedium and unpleasantness, calling her caustic cantrip ready once more. “I can do my best to melt this nastiness away with acid. It might take a while, and you’ve already humoured my messier fascinations this morning, so I think it’s only fair for you to be able to enjoy the fresh air outside in the meantime.”
Mekmek nods solemnly at Lina's gentle prodding and responds in kind. "More... nunc... Fortasse numquam carus amicus A... Draco-Gloria Tibi gratias ago."
......
Brental is starkly uninterested in eating raw whiptail centipede meat, much less the eggs that Lina burns away, though a cooked portion could probably do for their next meal. Best to ensure that they had fully cooked out any venom that may have become entangled in the flesh during the battle and ensuing removal of the venom sacs.
Brental is solemn during Mekmek's return to his companion, especially the one he seems especially fond of. Brental would have guessed a lover, perhaps even a spouse if kobold's had pair-bonding rituals similar to marriage, but Mekmek says she was a dear friend and tenderly names her Fair-Dragon. In either case, Lina has the right words for the moment.
The druid agrees to help bury the kobolds wherever Mekmek desires. As has happened so many times in these last days, he retrieves his shovel and gets to work. His ritual includes, as always, the careful placing of a circle of stones and the casting of a continual flame on the central stone.
After they finish with the fallen kobolds, Brental also looks at the corpses of the many mites now stacked up in a corner in the room of the primary combat, added to the heap from above. A small handful had presumably escaped above and might return here. He brings this up to Meneas and Lina in Sylvan, so as to avoid ruffling Mekmek's scales.
Brental also looks at all of their injuries and begins making poultices to facilitate healing. "Once we are done, we should rest for the day before pressing back to the Soot Scales den. We are all injured."
Meneas shrugs slightly in response to Brental's question.
He asks simply, before turning slightly to look at the corpses.
The day presses on seemingly without issue as Brental patiently tends to the wounds of the party.
Lina finishes destroying the remaining eggs without major incident although Mekmek did insist on eating a few before Lina could destroy them. And, unfortunately for her, he did try to share at a few points and was quite vexed when she adamantly refused his gracious offers.
The kobold was just reaching for another egg when his scaly hand slipped deep inside the dung heap. His eyes went wide as he pulled, then pulled harder, and with one final growl a large sack erupted from the mass of excrement.
Riffling through the bag the party come across some rather interesting goods, a secret stash of the mites.
Returning to the common tongue for Mekmek's benefit, Brental begins discussing plans for the evening.
"I doubt that we have the time to make it all the way back to Oleg and Svetlana's this evening. We could potentially make it to a refuge with Tyg and Peri. Otherwise, even if the mites that fled do return this evening, this tree seems like as safe of a place as any to rest."
After successfully removing the venom sacs for Lina, the druid tries to secure anything else from the whiptail centipede and giant cave tick that he can. Waste not, want not.
Although it seems like Mekmek is gaining some strength back through his gourmand-like consumption of the centipedes, Brental insists that he take it easy and rest so that he can check on his wounds and help him recover. When the kobold insists on going for the eggs and pulls out another bag, Brental take a break from tending to wounds and digging graves to assess the items.
"I'm not particularly prone to craftwork, but I'm sure we could find a buyer. Perhaps even someone to do a bit more work with this alabaster."
Brental eyes the scimitar with particular interest: it's a fine weapon, much more well-crafted than the by-now well-worn blade that he rarely pulls from its scabbard.
"While my club is my typical weapon of choice, I would like to claim this blade as my own. If the two of you do not mind, that is."
The druid also returns to his ritual of detecting magic. With his sclera emanating a violet glow and a rune of guidance keening his vision, he tries to figure out what kind of magic is coming from each item.
It's a busy day. Porphyra would be proud.
Lina emerges from her clean-up operation rather drained, but putting a brave face on it, given Mekmek’s fortuitous find. She hands the loot over to Brental to take a look at, since once again her selection of spells for the day works against her curiosity about what the potions do.
Brental eyes the scimitar with particular interest: it's a fine weapon, much more well-crafted than the by-now well-worn blade that he rarely pulls from its scabbard. "While my club is my typical weapon of choice, I would like to claim this blade as my own. If the two of you do not mind, that is."
“Of course,” she says, presenting the fine sword with a flourish to demonstrate its excellent balance. “It’s traditional, isn’t it? And we others favour different blades.”
Seeing that the druid has followed Meneas’ lead in the interval and started gathering the rest of the dead mites too, she gives a small shrug, especially as he also discusses his treatment plans. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate it, really, but his mother-henning will mean slowing down a bit.
By the time everything’s sorted, her resistance has entirely evaporated, and she’s ready to hole up in the sycamore to rest, or wherever else Meneas might suggest is a safer prospect. She has her spells for the next day to think about, and the progress of the reaction of her vial of venom, but she keeps an ear perked up in case Brental needs any assistance.
Meneas tilts his head thoughtfully, before shrugging and switching back to Common. "Maybe. I suppose you know as much as I on this, if not more. In any case, I agree that we're not making it to Oleg and Svetlana's."
He ponders. "I think we'd be safer - if only physically - with the two fey. I'm not sure, though. They could at least help us keep watch." At the druid's request, he waves a gauntleted hand. "I have no need for it." The hooded knight pats his own sword's hilt. "I'm better trained with this, anyways."
Once everything is settled, Meneas makes his way out of the Sycamore to go to Veil's side and check on the other horses.
Given the sheer number of bodies, Brental agrees that a small conflagration may be better than a mass grave for the mites. He watches as Lina and Meneas work, wary but recognizing that they are far less injured than him and Mekmek. He helps dispose of the bodies.
With the majority of the work done, Brental looks at the position of the sun in the sky.
"I would welcome the vigilance of friendlier fey, especially as we're missing some of our original number. Let's press on back to the Narlmarches. In the morning, we can accompany Mekmek back to his tribe's home." He stops, considering. He had only taken the briefest look at the map that Lina had studied a bit more. "Unless that would take us in the wrong direction."
Still spell-shocked after the day’s events, Lina isn’t even sure where to begin. If she’s dealing, notionally, with something that can cast even momentary portals…
She might need to consult with a specialist in conjuration, for all the good it will do her until – she can’t even really imagine being that powerful herself. She does know that shadows offer some possibilities for accessing other planes, but how, and which, exactly, is something that she’ll need to do much more reading on. Even if she’s only grappling with the very basics still, and not intending to prepare anything for tomorrow, she can at least look over her what notes she does have on shadow magic in her grimoire.
Though Brental seems to have things well in hand with parts of the vermin that she’s less interested in, she feels she can’t entirely ignore folks who’ve been up to the elbows in dead centipede for her, and she looks over from time to time when she hears a particularly frustrated murmur.
She's not much of a zoologist, but she has enough of a ... (semi-) professional interest in anti-coagulants that she knows more about the way around bloodsuckers like ticks than even she quite notices.
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Together, Brental and Lina make excellent progress processing the monsters into useable material. Hacking and slashing and carving away at the beasts yields;
Whiptail Centipede Legs, used for jewelry among certain bug aficionados and worth 12 Gold.
Whiptail Centipede Chitin, used to make any weapon or armor made of chitin material and granting any weapon made from it with the Trip Special Ability a +3 to trip manuevers and any armor a +3 to any escape artist attempt as the material is suprisingly flexable. Value of 60 Gold.
Whiptail Centipede Blood, used for some rather gross potions of Cure Light Wounds. Good quantity though so you estimate its value at 300 Gold.
Giant Cave Tick Fur, from the oddly hairy legs of the creature this fine 'fur' is often used in the construction of high-quality stuffed animal for children. This quantity you estimate is worth 12 Gold.
Giant Cave Tick Chitin, when used to make armor the clingy barbs covering the suit grant the wearer a +3 to grapple checks. When used to make a weapon with the Grab special ability this spiky material intrudes a blood drain effect meaning any creature grappled by the weapon will be drained of 1 Strength and 1 Constitution at the end of every round of combat the gapple is maintained as though the creature still hungers for blood. Valued at 60 Gold.
You two also attempt to harvest the antenna and whip-like tails of the centipede knowing that that's where the real money is at. But unfortunately these are surprisingly delicate procedures and what you do manage to recover in more akin to a gorey mess rayher than anything actually useful.
Once the others have returned from their dissections, Meneas looks at them from beneath his hood. "So, we're decided in going to our friendly fey folk? Or are we going to barricade ourselves into a room in the Sycamore?"
He examines Mekmek. "Do you know how to ride?" Doubtful. Most kobolds live underground, right? The hooded man gestures at Wisp's pony.
"Ermmmm." Mekmek replies hesitantly glancing over at the man-sized creature. He ponders for a moment before turning his attention back to Meneas. "Mekemk never sit on big grass-eating thing before but... if tall-things can do it, Mekmek can do it!" He holds his spear close and smiles congenially up at the cavalier.
After conferring with Lina on the location, Brental's brow furrows.
"If the Narlmarches are the opposite direction of Mekmek's home, then let's stay here at the Sycamore for the evening. It is a defensible position. We can still post a watch."
Brental retrieves his usual camping supplies, setting up a protective perimeter, just in case the mites, centipedes, or any other creatures decide to try to ambush them during the night. Knowing kobolds' typical propensity for making traps, Brental asks Mekmek for tips as he works.
Brental plans for a second watch, hoping to get enough rest to mostly recover his strength overnight.