Brimble notices Colin struggling. Having wrestled the pack from the corpse, he kicks off Kubanu and swims quickly to the alchemist. He grabs the man none-too-gently by the collar, gets him floating, and tries to calm him with logic... because he really doesn't want to club him over the head. ”Do everyone a favor and stop thrashing! There could be predators. Blood and splashing could bring’em in. So calm down, I got you.” Once Colin quiets, he resumes his steady swimming pace, trying not to agitate the water more than necessary.
Em and Brimble manage to make progress towards the only immediately obvious structure . As they get closer, Brimble's darkvision makes out that it appears to be a large circular column of worked stone, perhaps twenty feet in diameter, mostly smooth, but there are deep grooves carved at regular intervals into its surface that could serve as very adequate handholds. A ladder, going up! That's the best news you've had in at least five minutes, Brimble.
The column goes upward (and presumably downward into the water as well) another fifteen feet before there is an edge of some sort, a landing perhaps. As far as an immediate destination goes, it promises to be better than staying in the cold water.
Argatha has a wiry arm around Phantrel's shoulders, keeping the man's head above water at least as he kicks towards the column. Raka is doing the same with the near-panicking Xira. Colin, last man to hit the water, is the last in need of immediate rescue, though Brimble is heading towards him.
As Em gets her hands on the first 'rung' of the ladder, something under the water brushes against her calf. Something smooth and slick and clearly in motion-- a touch and then gone again.
Whatever else, you are not alone in the water down here.
"Xir, can ya hold on to somethin'? Or someone? I think Colin's still down there."
Xira coughs and shudders, but Raka's voice steadies her, drags her attention back to where it should be. I--I think so. Yes. I can. But Raka-- She breaks off and shakes her head. Her life is more important than the cards, as are the lives of those around her. Get a grip, girl.
She strengthens her grip on the body beside her. One of the indentured miners she never spoke with much, she sees. Grimacing, she shoves her rock into a shirt pocket and starts following Brimble's example of removing the pack from the poor woman. I'm sorry. Gods keep you safe in the afterlife. Though they'd failed to do so here.
After a few moments spent watching their four swimmers, Xira takes a deep breath and tries again. She's still a bit wobbly, but she achieves forward motion while still keeping her head above water.
The kobold uses his tail to swim speedily toward the struggling alchemist.
I--I think so. Yes. I can. But Raka-- She breaks off and shakes her head.
Raka hesitates and turns back to look at Xira. A heartbeat passes. Whatever Xira wanted to say either died in her throat or she decided not to say it. Guess it'll have to wait. Raka was just about to dive back under the water when Colin's head breaks the surface with help from Brimble. Oh thank the stars. She's pretty sure that means all of them survived the plunge.
She looks around and, for the first time, fully registers the bodies and gory bits floating around them. "Oh f***. These're the other miners, aren't they? Carver an' them, who sprang the trap."
"Great find! Let's get out of this water." I don't like swimming among the dead, he adds purely to himself...
Argatha tows Phantrel to the discovered ladder just as quickly as he can. (double move)
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Em's squeal might be audible to Lord Highcliff, high above, if he hasn't yet collapsed. She frantically climbs out of the water a few feet, her chest heaving desperately as she struggles for breath. "Hurry!" She calls out to the others, momentarily at a loss for words. She doesn't want them to panic at the thought of a predator, so all she says is "you can't get over here fast enough."
Em reaches out with a hand, ready to help Phantrel up.
From her vantage, Em might have an easier time locating Carver's backpack, but her mind is fixed entirely in the present. Any thoughts of a future in which supplies might be helpful are distant and fleeting.
"Em, since when have you been afraid of the water? We live in a coastal town!" She starts swimming for the handholds Em has so effectively pointed out, though not in the same kind of hurry.
However, with the corpses of the other miners in the way, she isn't able to make any progress.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Coughing up water, Phantrel manages a spluttered "Thank you" to Argatha as the man hauls him up and starts to swim towards a nearby platform. Able to tread water at least, the half-elf is no longer a complete dead weight as Argatha continues to swim, navigating a path through the bodies. He is grateful for Em's hand up out of the water, offering his thanks once more. His other hand remains firmly clutched around the sword hilt.
He hasn't had chance to respond to the voice in his head but sorting through his jumbled thoughts he recognises that it is Lord Highcliff's name the sword has been using. Lying panting, dripping wet, on the platform, he is just about able to form coherent thoughts once more. "I am not. Auric is... Auric is dead," he projects solemnly. "I'm sorry. I was not sure if you could tell this? But yes, we would welcome your help."
She looks around and, for the first time, fully registers the bodies and gory bits floating around them. "Oh f***. These're the other miners, aren't they? Carver an' them, who sprang the trap."
"Yes." Still clutching the pack, Xira awkwardly extends one leg to push one unfortunate worker (or what's left of him) out of Raka's way. "C'mon. They're beyond feeling pain or ire now."
As she approaches the column, Em's shriek brings her head up, and Raka's reply furrows her brow. Em has never been afraid of the water, therefore--
"Em, what is it?" Xira calls, trying to pick up her own pace, with limited success.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
L
Colin was desperately glad to see Bumble and he tried not to panic, he really did! But the water kept going into his eyes and up his nose and there were corpses of the freshly floating about! Part of him worried that some of these might rise up as undead if not properly buried, another part of him laughed - he would drown before that could happen. Problem was the laughter came out all wrong and he took half a lungful of water in the process.
"Em, what is it?"
"You're in danger! Hurry, please." Em wonders if asking nicely makes it more likely she will be listened to. She hopes so.
It's not the easiest for Phantrel to climb with the sword still gripped in one hand, but Em grabbing at his wrist and hauling him helps him manage it with only a few scrapes and bumps to show for it. He lies sprawled at the top of the column of rock, barely able to take stock of his surroundings as he's more focused on sucking down air and trying to communicate with the strange voice only he can hear. He's barely aware of a large bronzed-looking column of metal that rises out of the stone platform and keeps going upwards. Em, too, might only notice this in passing, far more invested in watching the water desperately for signs of danger that might hurt her friends.
Brimble makes it to Colin, who is struggling indeed in the water. Fortunately for the scholar, the small kobold is managing to swim well enough to help him get his head above the surface. Air is lovely, even if it's dark air hundreds of feet from anything you know and smells faintly fishy and moldy.
Xira makes it to the column as well, gingerly clearing a path for Raka among the corpses, and Argatha's rescue-swim of Phantrel has brought him to the column as well.
From her vantage point above the water, Em can see... something... sinewy twisting towards Raka, beneath the dark surface. Raka has no such good view. Em barely has time to shout a warning before....
...Raka feels something grab her foot! Or try to, but her own kicking motion wrenches her foot free. There was the pressure of teeth through the leather of her boot, but whatever it was didn't get the chance to actually bite down. This time. She can just glimpse a silvery-green body, long and eel-like, and a fin slicing through the water's surface next to her....
A second later one of the bobbing corpses jerks sharply. For one dreadful moment you think that poor miner might somehow still be alive-- but from above, Em can see it's just getting yanked about by a long fish-like shape. The body moves side to side in the water as a predator's toothy mouth roots hungrily in the soft flesh of the ruptured belly. Another body starts 'thrashing' as well. If Em had eaten her orange, she'd probably be at risk of losing it right now.
I am not. Auric is... Auric is dead. I'm sorry. I was not sure if you could tell this? But yes, we would welcome your help.
Can one 'hear' a silence? There is a pause, at any rate, before further communication from the voice. After Phantrel has taken two more heaving, drenched breaths, the voice resumes.
I help to you. Do not fight.
And then it feels like a thousand needles just jammed into Phantrel's hand.
The words of the weapon not withstanding, instinct alone might make him drop the sword-- only to find he cannot. His fingers seem convulsively locked around the grip right now, as if some primal signal is ordering 'HOLD' no matter his own desires. Phantrel is a man who thinks very much in terms and images of the earth and the growing things that he tries to coax out of it, and the image that flares through his mind just now is roots. Root tendrils, many-branching, burrowing through soil in fine lines, a tracery of webs that move through every available path and, sometimes, break apart rocks to make a path where there is none.
It feels like something is putting down roots inside Phantrel's own nervous system.
He can feel its passage upwards, from his hand up his wrist, then arm, shoulder, into his chest, then darting in lancing lines down his spine, up into his skull.... It's chill, as if cold water had just been injected into his veins, and swift, so terribly swift.
Then there is a feeling that is, if possible, even more disconcerting: whatever is now in his skull is... taking stock of him. Learning him. Examining him, as critically as he ever examined a damaged plant for viability, or potential. Weighing him, not entirely kindly.
The voice that speaks is the same voice, but now much more fluent and smooth. better. I'm modifying your language centers for ease of communication. Let's see. Hm. Not much of a warrior, are you? No matter. I'll make improvements.
How long is twelve seconds? Or how long is six? For Phantrel, right now, they are an eternity. Even if he is inclined to scream, his body doesn't respond to his wish to do this any more than it did to any impulse to drop the sword. The only thing that comes out is a feeble groan, easily construed by any of the others as a weary exhalation from the near drowning.
The roots crawling through his system burrow everywhere. You have some propensity for magic. I'll stimulate that lobe a bit. I am called Thunder-Follows-Lightning, by the way. Please stand by.
After a time that Phantrel can't measure, can't sense, he realizes he can move his own limbs again. He gasps down air, staring blindly at the ceiling. What just happened?
Improvements. You're welcome.
"Argatha! Raka could use that corpse that's floating next to you to protect herself. I hope." Em figures that since most of the creatures are attacking corpses, they'd probably prefer easier prey than Raka. She spares a glance backwards. "If things get worse I'll need that weapon, Phantrel," she says grimly. The prospect of diving back into the water isn't thrilling, but Em will do what she must, and Phantrel doesn't seem to be in any state to fight.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
"You're in danger! Hurry, please."
Bit of an understatement there, Em...
When the eels-or-whatever-they-are start their feast, for a few seconds Xira has to focus on keeping her own lunch south of her breastbone. Don't do it. Vomit might work as well as blood to attract them.
Fortunately, that same stern inner voice quells Xira's initial frantic impulse to go to Raka's aid. I'd wind up needing rescuing myself. Again. The thought grates.
But if she climbs-- She turns the thought into action even before it finishes, slinging her liberated pack over one shoulder and swarming nimbly up the handholds. As Xira reaches the top, she joins Em in scanning the water below.
"Are you all right, Phantrel?" she calls over her shoulder. "D'you need help with anything?
Even if he wanted to relinquish the sword - and having been clutching it tightly up to this point to avoid losing it in the fall and the water, he probably doesn’t - Phantrel finds that he physically can’t let go. His arm thrums with magic, knowledge, power, spreading throughout his body.
On top of his near-drowning experience, which in turn is layered upon the bone weariness he’s feeling from the hard physical labour of the mines, this is an intense experience. Phantrel has no real concept of whether seconds or years have passed but for his aching body it certainly feels more than long enough. So too for his aching head.
He sits up, coughing, which is promptly followed by a headrush and he just about manages to lean forward far enough before vomiting over the edge of the platform and into the water. Dizzy and achey, it’s a closer run thing than he’d like as to whether he, too, was going to follow it into the water.
Exactly what just happened he’s not sure. And the how of it can wait. But the weapon is now speaking more clearly so either it has drawn from him the ability to speak the common tongue or… he can now Dwarven? His head isn’t clear enough to tell, but logically he assumes the latter, else why would Thunder-follows-Lightning, as he now knows the blade is called, not have taken the linguistic improvement from Lord Highcliff? Unless he had denied the sword? Now there’s a thought.
But the sword had promised ‘improvements’ and though it’s taking a while to order his jumbled thoughts and sensations, Phantrel does feel different. And somewhere in his soul he knows that Thunder-follows-Lightning spoke truly. Whatever his new gifts are, there will be time to assess them later.
Th-thank you, he manages, slightly stunned. For the gifts, I mean. You’re Thunder-follows-Lighning, he adds redundantly. The swordcane is presumably well aware of its own name.
Right now, he realises, focusing once more on what is happening without rather than within him, they need to establish where they are and get out of there. Some of the others have managed to get to the platform too, but not all of them.
And from Em’s shriek and the ominous movements in the water, there is something in there other than the survivors and those who met their end that needs taking care of immediately. Whatever they are, his befuddled mind can’t make out exactly what type of creatures lurk beneath the dark water.
Xira’s words drift into his consciousness. Am I ok? Phantrel has no idea how to answer the question. He wants to laugh but fears he might throw up again. He settles for ”I’ll live. I hope,” which doesn’t come close to covering everything that has just happened and feels an awful lot like tempting fate given the current situation. He rises unsteadily to his feet.
”I… don’t know if I can give it to you, Em,” Phantrel says a little dazedly. He flexes his sword arm (he has a sword arm now?!) to try and get some feeling into it. ”I don’t think we have the time to explain properly now - I’m not sure I truly understand everything myself - but since Lord Highcliff’s death… we have a bond. The sword and me, I mean.” His lips move, trying to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. ”But for my part at least you’re welcome to wield it.”
Is that acceptable? he asks Thunder-follows-Lightning. I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot after your generosity. Phantrel looks over to the three dark shapes in the water. [i]Regardless, unless they come a lot closer, I’m going to need to rely on another kind of weapon. He can feel that the blade was not lying when it said it was unlocking some magical gifts but for now without time to study and explore them, he will have to rely on more mundane means. He considers retrieving his sling - when was the last time he had used it? - but his hand still seems incapable of letting go of the sword. He identifies a spell that he can cast and with his other hand walks through a new, yet strangely familiar, motion and thrusts his hand outward. A small jet of ice flies out at the creature circling close to Raka.
Phantrel wobbles semi-upright as the world spins around him. He tries to focus on what is going on. The shapes in the water are dark until they twist and turn revealing pale undersides... they are... fish? Or eels? Something like that. Phantrel sees no legs, at least, but cannot be sure of much else.
'But for my part at least you’re welcome to wield it.'
Is that acceptable?
...you... do not wish to wield me? It's hard to tell if the sword sounds confused or annoyed or a bit of both. But I have improved you. You are now capable of bearing me into battle. Yes?
Regardless of Phantrel's answer to this-- if he answers-- he finds new magics itching at the back of his brain. His hands move through gestures that he did not know ten minutes ago, but knows now, and then the air crackles with frost as he points towards the piscine shape assaulting Raka.
It's hard to aim at things underwater, however. The ice does not strike the creature directly. It rimes the water above it, for a second or two, and then breaks into tiny pebbles and shards of ice, a few frozen into Raka's wet hair.
Though the creature momentarily shies back from the sudden appearance of ice in the water, it seems like it isn't scared away from its meal so soon. It twists back towards Raka again.
Fortunately for her, it still seems to be going for her feet, which-- wearing the heavy mining boots that she is-- are perhaps the most armored of her, excepting her helmeted head.
The other two fish-eels-whatever are blissfully tearing into the meals they already found.
The water was very cold and it was rapidly leeching the heat from Colin's body. Already he could not feel his hands or his toes, he knew this was bad in an abstract sort of way. As his head bobbed up from under the surface he glanced at Brimble and hoped the brave little one didn't get sucked down by his dead weight. He tried to say something but it came out as a watery splutter!
"YAAAAAH!" Raka yelps when she feels something try to bite her from under the surface. By sheer luck, she pulls her foot out from its grasp just in time. It quickly tries again, but by then she has already started to move. "There's somethin' tryin' ta eat me!"
Brimble tries his best to help Colin float but his small size makes keeping the waterlogged alchemist above water a tiring effort. Time to try something different. He yells to Argatha and the others at the tower's base. ”Link arms and get back out here! Form a chain and we’ll drag Colin in!” While he's waiting for help, the kobold tries to find Carver's body among the dead.
HP: 8 / 8 | AC:15 / T:13 / FF:13 | CMD:11/9
Bullets (20):
Frost Spitter (1):
Effects:
Another nip against Raka's heel, but all in vain! She gets away..... for now....
Colin is still having a very hard time of it. Perhaps it's that alchemist's kit box, soaking up water and adding weight to him! Brimble is doing his best to help, but the kobold can only do so much to help the larger human.
Peering his hardest in the gloom, Brimble manages to see one of the as-yet-untouched bodies looks to have familiar gear-- Carver.
***
Argatha, seeing Colin struggling and guessing that Brimble might be too weak to haul him out, swims over to help.
vs DC 10
"C'mon Colin, let's go!"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
...guessing that Brimble might be too weak to haul him out...
Em blinks at Phantrel momentarily, then simply accepts that she's not going to get the sword out of his hands. Still disoriented and breathing hard, Em decides to listen to Brimble. Maybe if I had done so earlier, we wouldn't be in such difficulty. She jumps back into the water, grabbing at the handholds to steady herself. "Raka, can you get between me and Argatha?" She reaches one hand out to the woman, hoping she'll understand Brimble's plan.
Em realizes that she's gripping the stone like her life depends on it. She decides not to think about why.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
She jumps back into the water, grabbing at the handholds to steady herself. "Raka, can you get between me and Argatha?" She reaches one hand out to the woman, hoping she'll understand Brimble's plan.
Xira vents a short, sharp series of curses in Varisian, then follows her friend back into the water. After bobbing to the surface, she grasps Em's arm and turns to extend her own arm to Raka.
"You'd think the GMC could have issued us some bleeding rope!" she snarls.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
You have shared fine gifts with me, Phantrel agrees, aiming for an emollient tone. I am, though I have had no formal training with a blade. I am grateful and I meant not offence. It was merely a request that in challenging circumstances, it may to be the benefit of all if one skilled in swordplay would be permitted to wield you while I used my magic. Such as now. He looks towards the various members of the group still in the water.
The half-elf curses as his spell misses the target and instead leaves an icy trail on the surface in the creature's vicinity. Since we're being honest with each other, he adds drily to his new weapon, My magic? I use it to grow and nurture things. Mostly plants. Hence... Phantrel gestures towards the patch of frost.
Watching in bemusement as Em and Xira jump off the platform and back into the water, it doesn't cross Phantrel's mind to join them. He'd already proved a liability once - and that was before Thunder-follows-Lightning did whatever it had done to him.
"I've got a ball of gardening twine," he says to Xira, slightly surprised that it might come in handy right now. "It's not rope but it is pretty strong for what it is," he adds as he starts to tie it to the ladder. The knot seems secure enough so he passes the ball to Em in order for her to continue moving it along the chain.
It is unclear if any of your group are.... 'skilled' in swordplay.
Xira plunges into the water and uses her friend to maneuver, getting closer to Raka and extending an arm as far as she can reach.
With its potential dinner no longer right next to it, the fish-thing orients briefly in the water...
...and decides that dinner who doesn't SQUIRM so much is to be preferred. With a flick of a scaled, muscular body, the creature swims towards one of the more cooperative meals.
Argatha grabs the life-line of twine, and helps pull Colin to the tower.
In case it’s helpful or needed.
Argatha hooks Colin to the chain and swims the rest of the way to the tower - waiting there for the others for now (double move).
The string is stretched taut between rescuers and rescuees. Those of you who have the breath to spare hold yours as you watch and see if the thin line will snap.
"Not too hard! Gently!" one of you says, and the pullers, from the tower/platform, nod and grimly start a cautious, steady tugging against the water-buouyed weight of Brimble and Colin- Argatha swimming there under his own power.
For a few very tense seconds, it's unclear if the string will hold-- but it does, and in short order the pile of battered miners have scrambled up the ladder and can sprawl or sit or stand, as they each please, onto the flat surface at the top. It is tight, with seven of you, but workable.
Below, the fishy things continue to munch the bounty from above. If Brimble, or anyone else, has ambitions of trying to get Carver's body, it is a task that likely had better be done soon-- a glance around from the tower top reveals the sight of more piscine bodies incoming at the far edges of your vision, drawn by the blood and the promise of feeding.
You are alive. You are wet, cold from the drenching, shaken, out of breath, stranded Gods-know-where on the top of some sort of platform above a body of water bobbing with the corpses of those less lucky and soon-to-be-swarming with some sort of hungry fish..... but you are alive.
What now, bold heroes?
When you feel up to investigating:
Of possibly more immediate interest to you is the fact that there are MORE rungs, these ones made of metal sticking out from the pipe rather than carved into stone. The rungs go up the side of the pipe, towards the cavern ceiling that is about twenty feet over your head, now that you have time to actually really look around. You can see that the rungs lead to some sort of square in the cavern ceiling above you-- hopefully a hatch?
(It is no doubt a strange experience for Phantrel, to be able to recognize these runes and be able to read them. He is also probably reassured that his grip on the sword has loosened to, you know, normally holding something.)
As the group gathers, Em closes her eyes. She breathes deep. Her words, as her breath and her very consciousness, have been taken from her by untimely syncope and by terrors that have frightened her to the quick, but she will find them again.
Behind her lidded eyes, in the recesses of Em's mind, a golden sun sets on a sparkling summer shore. A tranquil breeze blows. Her dreams unfold beneath a roof of sleeping leaves.
"Have we not been called to a glorious expedition?" Em asks the group, her eyes snapping open. "And why is it glorious? Not because the way is smooth and placid as a southern sea, but because it is full of dangers and terror, because at every new incident our fortitude is to be called forth and our courage exhibited, because danger and death surround us, and these we are to brave and overcome." Tall and proud she seems, and her voice grows clear as a horn amid the field of battle. "This rock which surrounds us, the very earth under which our mortal frames now lie buried, is not made of such staff as our hearts may be; that rock is mutable and cannot withstand us, if we say that it shall not." Em's eye is full of lofty design and heroism, her voice rich and resonant to match the feelings she expresses. "When we win again the surface, and that sweet sea breeze which blows over my homeland, we will not have the stigma of disgrace marked on our brows, but the sigil of heroes, which will be blazoned on our breasts and burning in the fell fire of our eyes." Em opens her mouth to go on, but her words founder in her mouth. She stands, silent, dripping, shivering.
One thing is clear. As much as she is brave, Em is terrified.
Brimble wearily shucks both the packs he’s carrying then starts searching through Kubanu’s. He yanks out a soaked coil of rope and ties one end around his waist. He hands the other end to Argatha as he waves a claw at Xiramona and Phantrel to move aside. ”I’m going right through there. We need Carver’s gear. ” The kobold looks at Argatha, ”If I yell or run into trouble, pull me back, right?” He hyperventilates to revive himself. His claws dig into the rock beneath his feet as he gets ready for a leap and a likely swim.
One thing is clear. As much as she is brave, Em is terrified.
Though she drips and shivers just as much as Em, Xira gives her friend a reassuring hug and a smile. "Right you are, Em," she says softly, "But I think we need a breather before the next stage of our quest. I know I do anyway." She circles the bronze column, touches a rung. "At least we have a next stage, right?"
Brimble wearily shucks both the packs he’s carrying then starts searching through Kubanu’s. He yanks out a soaked coil of rope and ties one end around his waist. He hands the other end to Argatha as he waves a claw at Xiramona and Phantrel to move aside. ”I’m going right through there. We need Carver’s gear.” The kobold looks at Argatha, ”If I yell or run into trouble, pull me back, right?”
When Brimble pulls out the rope, Xira's expression says oh of course we find the rope now, without any need for words. But it's not as if they could have known any sooner. Even as she moves aside at Brimble's gesture, her lips part to ask if the gear is really worth the risk ... but then she presses them closed again. Safety lead, remember? He knows more than the rest of us combined.
"We'll watch your back, Sir Brimble." Xira gives the kobold a firm nod. "And Argatha will have you back up here in a trice."
While Brimble may not be the strongest swimmer present, there is one area he has a distinct advantage: about half the weight of even the lightest of the others, which should make him plucking him back from the drink an easy task.
Argatha and no doubt Raka join hands on the tail end of the rope formerly known as Kubanu's. Argatha may or may not be doing his best not to look down at Kubanu's body in the water, as he knew the man 'best', for a certain value of best-- at least, he spent a morning working with him in the dormitory.
(Phantrel, Raka, Em, and Xiramona are able to recognize another body in the water as Sulianna, one of Salt Spire's fisherfolk; the three women in particular can recall that once upon a time, when they had been little hellions of eight or so, Sulianna (then a sullen teenager) had been assigned to watch them one morning by Xira's exasperated parents. The three girls had spent a day alternately thwarting and being thwarted by Sulianna, and had declared the older girl to be their nemesis. And now she is dead, and it is better not to look as many-toothed mouths find her motionless flesh.)
Better, indeed, to watch elsewhere: to scan the limits of your sight for anything coming that might threaten Brimble.
Finally out of the water, Colin was too cold and dazed to initially say much to his rescuers, but little by little his strength recovered. "You saved me!" he croaked, "I... I... thank you!" he was incredibly grateful and would have said more, but he was shivering so hard his teeth rattled.
Some time passed and Colin felt strong enough to attempt to stand up, and stomp about to get the blood flowing to his extremities. He noticed the curious machinery and he recognised some of the runes. To anyone nearby he pointed out, "This is some kind of machine. Look these are controls, and emergency shut off, pressure control. That over there says maintenance access and this rune below the dark crystal says operating. Wonder what this machine is for?"
Colin noticed several of the party had gone back into the water and he fretted muttering, "I do hope they'll be all right."
Weapon Equipped = None
Sling Bullets = 10
Conditions = Light (shirt)
Melee: Attack: BAB +0, Str +2 Damage: +2
Ranged: Attack: BAB +0, Dex +3 Damage: +2
Called: Reroll a one on attack (1/1)
Healer’s Hands: (1/1)
Spells Memorized (Caster Level 1, Concentration +2)
. . 0 (11): Create Water, Light, Purify Food & Drink
. . 1st (12): Cure Light Wounds,
- - -
”I think I can help a bit if we want to try and grab some gear. I have a spell that puts creatures to sleep. Really useful when a lamb gets caught in something and is freaking out. Might work on these fish things too.”
If the party agrees, he’ll cast Sleep before Brimble makes his run. He'll target nearby fish.
He'll also shift his light spell to something on Brimble so he can see more clearly - if he wants it.
He then grabs the end of the rope, though it feels more like fishing-with-kobold than gathering gear...
vs DC 20
Once a path is cleared, the kobold dashes to the end of the tower then leaps. His legs bicycle as he soars above the water toward the half-orc’s body. His jump comes up a little short as he splashes down into the water several feet short of his goal. On balance, he’s satisfied with the jump. He really didn’t want to land on the dead woman’s body. He swims the rest of the distance to the overseer’s corpse.
HP: 8 / 8 | AC:15 / T:13 / FF:13 | CMD:11/9
Bullets (20):
Frost Spitter (1):
Effects:
xxx – xxxxx
Though Argatha does his best to quiet the minds of the beasts tucking into Sulianna, primeval piscine predators seem to be made of heartier stuff than distressed lambs. On the plus side, neither of the fish-things look inclined to so much as glance up (so to speak) from their meal, either at the magical energy of the spell or at the splash Brimble makes landing in the water.
To anyone nearby he pointed out, "This is some kind of machine. Look these are controls, and emergency shut off, pressure control. That over there says maintenance access and this rune below the dark crystal says operating. Wonder what this machine is for?"
Xira doesn't turn to Colin, since she's still scanning for Brimble-threats, but she too is curious. "If that's a pipe, maybe something to do with the water? Not sure what, though. A simple drain wouldn't need machinery."
Or maybe it was a way to feed the fish-beasts when they were short on convenient corpses. She keeps that idea to herself.
Colin studied the machinery, trying to divine it's purpose. He suspected it had something to do with the water, but what? Could it be a pumping station of some kind? If so to what end? The other question was did it still work? The maintenance hatch and the mineralisation suggested that probably not immediately. But say it was in working order, was that dark gem supposed to light up? What was the power source? Was it magic or something else? So many questions!
Argatha isn't surprised the spell didn't work. After all, fish are very different from mammals.
Once the rope is tied around the dead body, and Brimble of course, Argatha heaves! to pull them back quickly.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
The combined muscles of Raka and Argatha have no trouble whatsoever hauling up Brimble and his grisly prize, the kobold taking the chance to knot the rope around the corpse before signalling the two to haul upwards. The group is successful on their first try, which turns out to be a good thing - a few seconds later, everyone can now see a large rippling wake approaching . A bit later, the creature crests the water, revealing a large pale bulk-- it looks like the other fish, but much bigger. The other fish scatter from it, darting away and circling around to different corpses.
The enormous fish-eel-monstrosity casually bites at one of the worker corpses, taking in both the worker's legs with one swipe, and then swims onward, dragging the body with it.
Brimble is very glad that the others pulled him out before this thing arrived.
Though the sight of the creature is alarming, it seems like you are safe enough from it on top the stone pillar. The big one swims off with its prize, and the smaller ones resume their feast, long toothy snouts emerging from the water with flashes of antediluvian dentition in the soft light that comes from Argatha and Xira's glowing stones. For anyone keeping an eye on the water, within a minute or two you see numerous smaller fish joining in as well, catching the little scraps of meat and flesh that the bigger fish tear lose.
Colin, wisely, chooses not to watch the feeding frenzy, focused more heavily on the pipe and device...
On the top of the tower, Brimble unties himself from the rope as the massive fish takes an entire miner with it. I hope you choke on the helmet. He leaves the search of Carver’s body to the others. Instead, he spread-eagles himself on the stone for a brief rest and a chance to drip dry. He’d done enough hero-ing for the day. He seems to close his eyes… then suddenly points a claw at Xira, ”It’s just Brimble, not Sir Brimble. I work for a living.” He closes his eyes (for real this time) and takes a well-deserved rest while the group fiddles with the pipes.
Weapon Equipped = None
Sling Bullets = 10
Conditions = Light (shirt)
Melee: Attack: BAB +0, Str +2 Damage: +2
Ranged: Attack: BAB +0, Dex +3 Damage: +2
Called: Reroll a one on attack (1/1)
Healer’s Hands: (1/1)
Spells Memorized (Caster Level 1, Concentration +2)
. . 0 (11): Create Water, Light, Purify Food & Drink
. . 1st (12): Cure Light Wounds,
- - -
Argatha sits on the edge of the platform and watches the fish swarm - glad no one is in the water at the moment. Considering how long it’s been since anyone has been down here, he wonders if the fish are cannibalistic.
”These were good men and women,” he gestures to the dead below. ”Let’s take a moment, huh?”
He lowers his head and says a quick prayer to Cernunnos under his breath. He’s not a terribly religious man, not really. But he feels something should be done to recognize those that went before them.
<> <>
After a moment, he shrugs and looks up at the pipe, and the ladder going up the side. After refreshing the light on his shirt, he’ll climb up a bit, and take a closer look at the top while the others sort out the ancient Dwarven stuff. He’s specifically looking for traps or a hatch or something. He doesn’t interact with anything, and keeps his distance.
The rescue attempt goes more or less to plan, with the chain of swimmers hauling each other along and up to the platform, the twine providing a guide and a safety net. With everyone safely out of the water, Phantrel unties the end and rolls it back into a bundle. The discovery of proper rope in one of the salvaged bags is rather more practical as Brimble bravely returns into the wet, determined to recover Carver’s pack. While he himself is unsure what’s in it, he trusts that the kobold knows what he’s doing. He’d proved himself to be competent and taking his job as safety lead seriously so if he believes there are useful and important things in there, Phantrel isn’t going to argue.
In the general hubbub, for the first time he finds himself with a little time to breathe. Still feeling a little unsteady he takes himself to the far side and slowly sits quietly for a minute. He’s not going to be much use hauling on the rope, and besides Argatha and Raka seem to have that well in hand. Ditto Colin with the pillar, though he supposes that might be something he could help with in a way that not so many minutes ago it would be totally outside his body of experience. And while he understands Em’s rallying speech for what it is, surveying the carnage in the water Phantrel struggles to see much that is glorious about it.
Still, that’s Em - she’s always been a dreamer, but one who inspires others to follow her lead too. And here of course are Xira, creative and funny, and solid and dependable Raka too. He lets his mind, still aflame from its newly ingested knowledge, wander. It doesn’t seem so long ago since those three were girls, babes even. The half-elf measures time differently, of course, but he’s still seen more harvests than the three young women combined. Colin and Argatha still have their youth. He wonders quietly how kobolds measure the passage of time...
In other circumstances, what Phantrel would like to do now is sit down with a beverage - steeped nettles with mint is a nice calming drink - and try to unpack everything that has happened. Then again, he can’t imagine any other circumstances where these events could have happened. He’d had an ulterior motive for signing up with the GMC but this most certainly did not figure into his plans. Right now they look deader in the water than, well…
He sighs deeply, trying to clear his head, before standing and joining Colin at the pillar.
Taking Stock....
Taking Carver's gear from her is a gruesome task, but must be done (or Brimble risked his scales for nothing). The pack is easy enough to pull off, and her weapon harness with its weapons, but the armor means unbuckling it from her body and discovering the unpleasant knowledge that the armor was what was sort of keeping her torso.... together. Abdominal ruptures start leaking. Hold your nose, and do the task quickly.
Carver's helm is definitely not the standard issue helmet you all have been given. There is the gem embedded in the front that you have previously seen glowing, but the impact of the landing seems to have broken it. There are also a set of goggle lenses that can be pulled down over the wearer's eyes, a hinged gorget that can be pulled up over the lower half of the face and which seems to have some sort of sponges?? built into it, and there are also some wires and crystals built into the left side of the helmet's interior.
The other two packs retrieved from the water contain the same items that most of you were given at the start of things: a miner's lantern with enough oil for one day's shift, a full waterskin, leather gloves, a reinforced leather helmet, two tindertwigs, a signal whistle, a rock hammer (a small pick, basically), and a chisel. There is also the extra coil of rope in Kubanu’s pack which you have now retrieved and used. You can take any of it with you that you like, but most of it is redundant with your existing gear.
One of your immediate issues may be food: your entire inventory of food consists of one (1) orange, that Em squirreled away. But surely you will escape this place before food can become an issue!
”Let’s take a moment, huh?”
Em nods solemnly. She produces her orange and removes the peel. When she's done, the whole peel remains an intact spiral, a single husk. Em enjoys the little task for her fingers while her mind slows to normal speed, separating each of the eight peels. She gives one slice to each of the party, sparing the extra for Brimble with a wordless nod.
Em takes a throwing axe and a sunrod for herself. She checks the straps on her helmet and drinks a draught of water.
With the immediate danger somewhat subsided, the cavern becomes more quiet. Far, far above, you can still hear a distant voice repeating, Fara. Fara. Fara. Säkerhets åtgärd börjas. Fara. Fara. Fara….
There are other sounds: the splash and slosh of bodies being savaged by the fish, and, behind that, a more distant sound of water flowing into more water with steady dripping and trickles. (That noise seems to come comes from all directions rather than a particular point of the compass.) The pipe itself is silent– no sound of liquid flowing through it, no hum of mechanical vibration.
Colin sets himself to trying to figure out just what this does. Phantrel tries to join him, though seems a bit quiet and shell-shocked. Phantrel is still holding the sword, as he has no sheath-cane in which to place it. The sword is not currently saying anything to him.
It seems to be a reasonable deduction that the pipe carries water. But to what end? Colin fishes out his mess kit and uses the knife to chip away some of the calcification in order to try and get a better view of the runes and the controls; he studies the metal of the pipe itself; he studies the platform you are all standing on, he consults everything he’s ever read about dwarven communities that have been discovered and explored….
Colin knows the following things: dwarven settlements needed a great deal of water to function– not just the hygiene and drinking needs of the residents, but also industrial uses: cooling machinery, forming a slurry to transport ores, mineral extraction and separation, leaching, dust control, and many other uses. If local bodies of freshwater were not available, the dwarves would construct holding reservoirs, with extensive circulation and filtration systems to carry water to wherever it was needed. Such reservoirs have been found in other dwarven digs, though this one seems much better preserved than any other Colin has read about. Also, he once perused a leaked copy of a Pathfinder Society chronicle (the Society is a motley collection of scofflaws, mercenaries, explorers, freaks, and others who fancy themselves archaeologists) in which a Pathfinder theorized that dwarves supplied many of their protein needs via aquaculture, as traditional livestock management was often difficult in many of the terrains dwarves built in. The reservoirs could theoretically have doubled as holding ponds for fish (although the Pathfinder article did not address the question of sunlight, for without algae, an aquatic food chain would be under some stress).
Colin’s mind is quick and inventive. He had always assumed the dwarves– if they did rely on fish– carted it around the old-fashioned way– but it occurs to him that this pipe is certainly big enough to transport an entire fish. At least the mid-sized ones you saw, if not the behemoth. Why go to the trouble of fishing if you could use pumping action to bring a fish up to you?
At the moment this is a theory, but Colin is relatively pleased with it. A pity the pipe does not seem currently operational- the darkened crystal no doubt lights up when it’s working. Then he could test it. But if nothing else, there no doubt needs to be a power source in play to make the pumps operate.
One last thing Colin notices during his intense inspection: Some micro-thin golden lines run down from the control panel to the stone floor, towards one flagstone that is rather bigger than the others, about three feet to a side.
Meanwhile Colin isn’t the only one to roll a nat 20 Argatha scales the pipe-ladder, carefully, tentatively, his light going up above the others. The ladder and pipe both rise 20 feet and then, as could be seen from below, seems to end in a probable hatch. The hatch is metal, the same bronze, or bronze-appearing substance, as the pipe, and has a turn handle that only has a little calcification on it. Argatha cannot detect any obvious danger or trouble on any of it.
Below, Em peels the orange with almost a ritual solemnity. Perhaps later you'll wish you'd saved the orange, but for those of you who take a piece, the sharp-bright citrus zing on your tongue feels like an assertion of life, of color and flavor in this otherwise dark place, with the smell of the dead rising from the water towards you.