Aicard continues his onslaught for his demonic blood demands it and it is so easy to give in to the urge. Hungry teeth snap at the harpies, eager to taste their blood, thirsting to end their lives.
Targrish's amulet shimmers in the light and he strikes out at his target.
for
for
Vashta and Orozomoc finish off the wounded harpy, then Targrish and Aicard begin to assault the final foe. A series of brutal blows takes her out as well!
The tiefling growls as he shakes off the desire to drink the blood of the freshly slain harpies. Calling on the gifts of his tainted blood has its price, and right now, he bitterly regrets giving in to it for this fight.
With disdain and disgust he inspects the slain, but he cheers up when he finds the Harrow card. "The songbirds are no more and this here card is now ours." He wiggles it between his fingers and shows it to his companions. "Oro, Vashta, would one of you care to call this card yours?"
"The Stairs are safe, and the Shoanti should be happy with that--at least for now." Targrish grumbles. "This place draws villains and monsters like rats to a rubbish pile."
Vashta smiles and gestures to Oro. "I'm sure it would look good in your hand, darling."
"She we go tell the Shoanti then?"
The Shoanti are grateful that you have defeated the sentries blockading the stairs, but the leaders of the mercenaries are still holed up within the complex's interior chambers. They ask you to return and root them out.
After you have healed up, you make your way back to the landing halfway up the Storval Stairs. The stairs cut deep into the cliff at this point, and walls tower fifty feet or more overhead on either side. A massive landing, fifty feet to a side, offers a respite from the climb. Twenty-foot-tall doorways are set into the walls—one to the north and one to the south.
Bloodstains and scorch marks mar the ground and walls here, as though fights on the landing were both common and recent.
Vashta's eyes grow wide. "Look at that," she murmurs. "And they say size isn't everything."
She looks around.
"But perhaps there's another way in?"
Aicard invokes the favor of the gods and bestows a sense of heroism upon himself. What nagging doubts and fears linger in his head dissipate when the spell takes effect. He also draws a magical veil over himself that protects against extreme heat. "Let's do this."
A search around the area reveals a few other points of interest. Twin statues of Runelord Karzoug flank the Storval Stairs to the north and south. There appear to be entrances to chambers at the base of each statue.
Targrish points to the entrance at the base of the north statue. "Time to finish cleaning up."
You enter the chamber at the base of the northern statue. The domed ceiling of this circular room reaches a height of twenty feet, while a single, strange niche framed in silvery metal sits in the otherwise featureless west wall, directly opposite the only entrance into the chamber from the east.
The niche in the wall is framed with a layer of silvery skymetal known as siccatite. This patch of metal is exceedingly hot. The niche itself appears to be capable of holding a crystal-shaped object. The frame radiates transmutation and evocation magic.
Vashta frowns as she can't make heads or tails of the frame. "Any ideas, Targrish, dear?"
Targrish studies the niche.
"I can't make any sense of it. Probably some Thassilonian relic--best not to mess with it. It's a liable to capture our souls as anything else."
"Or find the crystal, dear," Vashta says looking around. "Perhaps that's what our invaders were looking for."
Aicard weighs Oro's words and then gives voice to his feelings on the matter. "I take it that smashing the thing isn't an option? Some treasures are worth losing."
Aicard's parted lips remain so for a second or two as he weighs the implications of smashing the magical weapon in the light of Oro's musings. "Fair enough. Before all of 'this' started, I'd have laughed at you at the mere suggestion of this being a possibility, but now? I'm not so sure it's that outlandish a notion."
"Very well. Let's check on the other chamber." Targrish leads the way to the other statue.
This circular room contains a malodorous collection of filth and partially-gnawed bones. A single arched opening allows entrance and exit to the east, while the domed ceiling reaches a height of twenty feet. The walls of the room are also caked in mud, but a patch of filth directly opposite the entrance is also covered by a rime of frost.
Two more harpies stand guard here, halberds at the ready. Behind them is a third harpy with a commanding presence, wearing a makeshift crown and wielding a sharp scimitar. "Intruders!" she squawks. "I am Queen Kawlinawk. This place belongs to us! Leave at once or we will cut you down!"
"We would love nothing more than to leave as quickly as possible, Queen, dear, but I'm afraid we need to make sure your lovely Stairs outside are free to travel. Perhaps we can make a deal?"
Vashta flashes a smile, despite the filth.
Kawlinawk narrows her eyes. "What kind of deal do you have in mind?" she says warily.
|
"Great Queen, we are emissaries of the Shoanti people, who have lived on these plains for generations untold. As your majesty has recently taken roost here, it has ruffled some feathers among them. Would it be possible, do you think, to live in peace with them?"
"We cannot know what your grace intends for these lands, but at a minimum, there would have to be no extorting travelers, nor the enchanting and devouring of sentient creatures."
"But perhaps you could work together -- I'm sure the Shoanti would appreciate an alliance for the common good."
Aicard is impressed by the queen's mighty claws and curly mane. That, and the sharp set of teeth, which behooves no further explanation. It's this that fills Aicard with an idea so terrible that he can't help but whisper it to his companions. "Perhaps I could offer her a week of passionate companionship with me? A genuine exchange of, eh, culture and the things we hold dear in life might be the remedy this situation needs. Besides, she'd quickly come to realize that messing with us would be a bad idea. No? Ok."
"Hmph. Our people in the Shoanti have been at odds for generations," Queen Kawlinawk squawks. "It's going to take a lot more than good intentions to secure an alliance with them. For now, though, I'll allow the four of you to move through this area uncontested. We have a tenuous agreement with the bandits who have moved in here, but I've begun to grow tired of their presence. So you'll be doing me a favor if you can eliminate them or convince them to take their operation elsewhere.
"Come back when they're gone, and then we can discuss next steps!"
"Of course, darling. Can you tell us anything more about these bandits?"
Aicard chuckles when the queen mentions the next steps. He eyes his companions when said chuckle finds no companionship, and then shrugs. "This place is nothing but steps!"
Queen Kawlinawk tells you that the mercenaries call themselves the Band of Blades. They are lead by an older human woman named Arodeth. Arodeth contacted the harpies when she and her mercenaries arrived and offered them jobs—if the harpies would help watch over the stairs and support the Band of Blades, they would receive regular tithes of treasure from the tolls taken. At first, Queen Kawlinawk found this arrangement to her liking since she could simply relax in her nest while her warbirds did some idle guard duty, but as time went on, she and her warbirds have grown restless, and they are ready to take the Storval Stairs back for themselves.
Queen Kawlinawk explains that the mercenaries are occupying the chambers both to the north and south of the stairs' landing. Arodeth herself will likely be found within the southern complex.
"We'll need to clear this whole area out if the Stairs are to be passable." Targrish grumbles. Fighting bandits, at his age. "Let's try to cut off the head of the beast. Afterward maybe we can convince some of the fighters that a quick trip to Kaer Maga to look for work is more conducive to a long life than staying here."
"Dealing with the head certainly makes sense," she agrees. "Perhaps we can persuade her to leave too. It makes more sense than throwing away her life by facing us."
You head up to the landing and proceed through the southern doors, hoping to get to Arodeth swiftly.
The ceiling of this long hall reaches up thirty feet. A ring of stones surrounds a large campfire in the center of the room, while a cauldron set over the fire bubbles and emits a savory aroma. Three jury‑rigged tables with equally shabby chairs stand elsewhere in the room, while to the east, several crates, bags, and barrels of foodstuffs are stacked against the walls.
Three mercenaries from the Band of Blades stand in this room, sword and shields at the ready. They assume defensive postures, and one of them shouts, "Turn back now, or face our wrath!"
Aicard looks unimpressed by the threat. He pulls a funny face in response to their promise of violence, demonic eyebrows squirming about in otherworldly ways. "We beat your friends that lingered outside silly, don't force us to give you a spanking as well."
Perhaps he shouldn't have used the word spanking.
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"Yes, darlings, we're not looking for a fight, but rather a discussion," Vashta urges.
She subtly casts charm on the one who called out.
The mercenary succumbs to Vashta's charm spell. He gestures to the others, and all three warily lower their weapons. "Very well. If you wish to talk, you'll likely want to speak to our leader, Arodeth. She's through these series of doors. We will escort you there if you are ready to do so."
Targrish keeps a wary eye on the enemies. He raises a bushy eyebrow, but follows into the next room.
Vashta follows, pleased her magic was so effective. Desna smiles.
The mercenaries escort you through a sparring chamber where a half-dozen other warriors are practicing their combat maneuvers. These men and women fall in line to join your "honor guard," eyeing you suspiciously. You cross the room to a door across the way.
This T-shaped room is lined with bookshelves. Rather than books, the shelves are instead filled with rows upon rows of narrow plates of stone or steel, stacked atop each other in messy piles. A table in the middle of the room holds stacks of these tablets, along with several notebooks and writing implements.
An old woman is at the end of the room furthest from the door, reading some of the tablets. Her dark hair has turned gray, and her face is weathered, but she has soft features and kindly eyes. She looks up curiously as you enter. "These travelers have requested an audience with you, milady," the charmed mercenary says with a salute.
The woman nods. "Very well. I am Arodeth, commander of the Band of Blades. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
"Lovely to meet you, my dear. You can call me Katria, a name that will do as well as any other. We come with an offer for you."
Targrish stands in silence as Vashta takes her accustomed place as negotiator. Arodeth is not what he expected, a kindly-looking old woman, all of them had learned through hard experience that a soft hand often wore a poisoned ring, as they say in Daggermark.
This may be the Countess of Barstoi all over again. Though, hopefully Arodeth's skin won't peal off in such an upsetting way.
Arodeth gestures for Vashta to proceed.
"We come from the Shoanti, who live outside. They say the stairs are no longer safe to travel. We would like to see if we can find a solution amenable to everyone, dear."
"The Stairs are safe enough to travel for those willing to pay our toll," Arodeth says calmly. "But we will not be abandoning our operation here. It is far too lucrative, not to mention the fact that this location is an ideal place for my research."
"And what research is that?" Vashta replies, deciding to see if that could lead to some sort of resolution that doesn't involve siccing Targrish and Aicard on them. Even though she can hear a voice in the back of her head -- the lingering presence of The Tyrant -- urging her to do just that.