More clumps of tiny Observer pieces clutch feebly at Abnaki's ankles, greeting him as the Declarative over and over. Gradually, they lose their last vestiges of motion and energy, moving slowly, then twitching, then ceasing.
'goodbye Declarative'
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Small pieces of the Observer still rain from above, finally landing after the huge impact of the Observer's fall. Two of these pieces retain lenses and just enough energy to function. They land upon Abnaki's shoulder, blink at him, listen to him, and say, "Hello, Declarative." "Hello, Declarative."
In the glowing light of Sun-heated tea, the lenses of the Observer seem lit by some internal heat, some anger. "I had precisely one friend. One peer. But she is dead, as our earlier conversation indicated." The claw does not reach out to your outstretched hand. Instead, it reaches with exact form to the second tea cup. It splashes the sun-tea into a receptacle near the speakers of its primary mouth.
It stops midsentence. All lenses point toward the receptacle. "A choice? To be metal without thought, without observation?" After several long, quiet seconds go by, you hear an ominous groaning, like a massive tree about to fall in the middle of a storm. The Observer crumbles into a mass of individual bars, wires, shafts, pulleys, and sheet metal. The multiple lenses go still and blank. As the bulk of metal settles into place, you see several emergency units go online, lurching toward anyone in the immediate area. (the equivalent of twenty or so large golems in a group, very hostile, which you have to deal with or flee from)
Turning to Abnaki and Abnaki's questions, the Observer continues,
**
The teakettle shrieks like the dead. The smaller golem simulacrum pours it competently and mechanically. The tea is glowing yellow.
At the tea steeps in the teakettle Sunlord, the Observer looks at each of you in turn. ** Abnaki, one of the primary lenses extends toward you for an unervingly long time, then stops. ** Samen and Gabriel get the same eerie treatment, but with smaller lenses mounted upon retractable metal poles. You are observed with clinical detachment. The smaller voice speaks. "Humans. Archaic species, thought extinct. Low chance of breeding population surviving all this time. Magic, but a permanent effect with no lingering signature. Time magic? Advanced transfiguration? (pause) Confirmed as NOT illusion."
An arm as big as several carriages thuds on the ground. From the largest pincer-appendage, a smaller compartment opens, and a medium-sized golem walks out of the compartment. An attempt has been made to produce something elen-like, but the attempt has failed. It has a wide, thoroughly artificial smile on its face. A wire runs from its neck back into the compartment. "To make tea, one must use a heat source to heat your water." The golem recites the words of the recipe with false enthusiasm, making eye contact with none of you. It may as well be speaking to an empty room. Without another word, it holds up ewer of water. From three separate lens apertures, narrow beams of red light strike the surface of the water. It quickly steams, then boils. The beams of flame(?) cease, and the golem rests the ewer upon the ground. "Water should be heated to boiling if a stronger, darker brew is desired." Abnaki has provided a generous heap of red clover for the tea. The golem carefully picks up every purplish flower with its smooth, delicate hands. From some hidden cache, the golem produces a fine mesh net of white threads. "Let the leaves steep for 10 minutes. Mint is not desired, so move to next step." It turns toward the teakettle. The golem pours the boiling water into the top, then adds the bag of red clover. Opræterius remains silent.
The Observer speaks loudly, like a person that is hard of hearing. The Observer's hearing, however, is excellent. The machine pauses upon hearing your question. Again, that smaller voice, forming briefly as a pair of eyes and a chattering mechanical mouth that rises closer to the primary set of lenses and speakers. "An archaic phrase, meaning 'reason for existence.'" The large primary lenses readjust and focus on Abnaki once more. It scuttles very close now. You feel like a blade of grass. It settles its bulk onto the flat, stone-shaped ground.
The many lenses set into the skin of the creature all flicker toward you.
A smaller voice, still mechanical, says, "No, you're not part of me, and not one of my workers..." Several more clangs and you can now see a living scrapheap, covered in lenses and claws. A thousand golems and other mechanical bric-a-brac have been soldered and welded together. The creature's mind is clearly just as fractured - it holds conversations with itself about updates from other lenses.
A big, scuttling...machine tromps around the vertical rock face. It is still too far away to make out details.
For a moment. During the night. Feel a presence. Of something Alien. it Watches you. Then it leaves. Night passes strange. But safe, under. The absolute silence. Safe and snug. In your cage.
No worries :) It was a pleasure everyone! See you around the boards!
You are very welcome! I will mark the campaign inactive tonight.
Nempura, the bubble of breath and melody holds true, but rather than buoyant, this magic somehow seems dense as you and Burne are pulled into the depths of Rushing Waters. Down, down. You see a few deepwater fish, even an anglerfish...down. Then the peaklight from above fades, and your darkvision suddenly seems inadequate in the absolute darkness. You cannot truly tell if you are still moving. You do not know what secrets are hidden down here, but you are not alone; Burne tightens his grip on you, and he sings on.
Sóng Thần is suspended in the air for an impossible moment, time stretched long by fear. Nempura, Burne kisses you, the warmth and breath and sound all mingling together. Your harmony merges into a living thing, protecting the both of you with ice, mist, and stream, a sphere of song that surrounds you. But only the two of you; this is a magic that allows no outsiders. Everyone--Kapelo, Nempura, and Oak, but especially Freya--hears Yorse say one last thing,
I think Freya normally posts on weekends? I'm happy to leave it open until end of day on Sunday, to give everyone their farewell post, and then a final closing post from me. I've enjoyed this while it lasted, and if nothing else it gave me a chance to develop more about the undine culture and the south than I might otherwise have done. Rushing Falls, for instance, is a fantastic addition that came almost entirely from Nempura's player. Well wishes to you all - I doubt I'll be starting another table in the near future, but who knows what 2022 and beyond will bring.
Burne, freed from the choking spell, rises unsteadily to his feet. He grabs Nempura's shoulder. Speaking with urgency despite his injury, "Nempura, the assassins-" He coughs, clearing his throat. "This was not the only attack. I just felt...my father die. His song has been silenced..." Words fail him for a moment. And in that moment of quiet grief, a dull roaring sound begins to fill the air, like the crowd at a brutbreve arena. Burne looks behind you, eyes wide with sudden fear, toward River. "Sóng Thần..." Outside of the town, you see a wall of water rising impossibly high, like an elemental out of legends.
Burne cradles Nempura's face in his hands, gentle but commanding, his voice stronger now. "Chi. Sing with me. Protect your friends, and help them breathe." He begins a note, tentative at first, waiting for your harmony.
That's fair. I think that bringing in brand new characters into this current story won't work, and we don't have enough PCs anymore. I've enjoyed the game while it lasted, and I'll still try to leave it with some kind of ending note, so stay tuned before I make it inactive.
Ok crew, We've lost Badhbh,
Nempura, I know you've always been a consistent poster. Freya, I think that lately you said you've been busy for the foreseeable future due to work, is that correct? So if we have 1 consistent player
I've really enjoyed what we've RPed so far, but it's tough to keep going when players are leaving so frequently. I've never had this much turnover at a table before. What do you both think? At this point I would need a consistent player to get us to at least 3. I've had success in the past when my players have suggested new blood from other tables on the boards. Can either of you think of such a poster? Anyway, just my thoughts for now!
I truly appreciate you taking the time to let us know. Hope everything is ok.
Kapelo finds a fine dagger, a few trinkets upon a silver bracelet, and a slender white wand-
-that fires off another barrage of ice-spikes as the ifrit's unfamiliar hand activates it with obvious hostility. Ducking quickly with a fencer's grace, Kapelo evades the spell entirely.
You hear a pained glurk! from the empty space before you. A defensive spell of some kind--all you see is a flash of cold light--goes off,
and a few sharp ice-needles pierce Kapelo, but he avoids most of the effect. And on the ground, face-down, lies a dying undine mage.
Nempura's gambit is successful: you all notice a shape of absence as the water crashes around a fleeing elenoid form, boots splashing.
The last undine assassin falls to Freya's blade. Nempura's song becomes a personal melody, for Burne alone, a moment of intimacy that brings the male watersinger's voice out as well, weak at first but suddenly strong, shattering whatever curse or spell lay upon him. There is the sense of a fleeing presence, subtle. You all feel as though you are alone now.
Nempura: Unfortunately you are unable to pinpoint the origin of the spell, but you are fairly sure it is not coming from the dead or dying assassins you can currently see. This is an enchantment spell of some kind - either restricting his ability to breathe or perhaps his will to breathe, you are unsure.
Nempura and Oak quickly dispatch the last nearby assassin, brute strength and subtle knifework cutting him down where he stands. Kapelo lands a deep wound to the final assassin in the alleyway. Freya, your Sight picks up the searing purplish signature of evil magic being worked back down the alley, close to Nempura, Oak, and the undine noble.
Nempura, the assassins make their own attacks now, attacks:
Nempura, you look back and there is a look of panic on Burne's face. He is clutching his throat, only making faint choking sounds.
Nempura, your vigilance pays off - two more assassins slither from camouflage, running silently toward you.
Kapelo strikes with fritan quickness once, twice, slaying one of the assassins outright before they even have a chance to get past his defenses.
Kapelo: Unbeknownst to you, two nebulous forms, like moving water, glide toward you. Breaking their concealment, they strike, curved blades in each hand slashing, die rolls:
Kapelo's fritan quickness serves him well again, dodging two of the blades. The other two attacks hit flesh, leaving gashes to either side.
Nempura slashes with subtle and devastating results, leaving the first assassin unconscious but alive.
perception check DC 20 for kapelo:
You spot another of the seaweed-clad figures. The color blends now with the darker brown wood of the buildings, making it difficult to spot indeed, but your sharp eyes pick out one of them for certain.
Even in the face of overwhelming odds, the lone figure pursues its quarry. Charging past both Kapelo and Nempura, seemingly headed toward Burne, the assassin leaves an unprotected flank--
Kapelo
Nempura
and after a burning stab in the shoulder and a cold gash along the back, the blood loss becomes too much. The figure falls to the ground, barely conscious. The seaweed clothing is ripped now, showing the dark blue tones of undine skin.
Nempura, you clearly see the figure that Kapelo just injured - they are wearing a strange brownish material, seaweed perhaps, that covers almost all of their features, but they are certainly move with the fluid grace of an undine. There may have been other shadowy figures that flitted around into the nearby alley, but you are not sure.
Kapelo, you stab towards a drably clad figure. You feel the blow strike flesh, but the assailant makes no sound. You can tell, however, from their altered stance that you have inflicted considerable damage to their left side.
Sorry for another slow week - I officially closed/ended one of my other tables (the one that had slowed down so much, it prompted me to start this current table) I wanted to give the campaign a decent send-off rather than just stopping, so my mental energy has been elsewhere. I do much better with two tables, so I am anticipating more regular posting this upcoming week.
Nempura, you see an odd flit of movement out of the corner of your eye. But when you turn to look down the street, no one is there. Or...? Now the flash of a short blade-
I updated my other table -- my young son had appendicitis, but the surgery went very well (Wednesday) and he's actually recovering quite nicely. Anyway, that's why things were rather slow this week :)
Long few days, planning on updating tomorrow.
A dark coloring, like a purple bruise, blotches across Burne's blue features- shame. His words cut suddenly into the momentary silence. "Of course I will help you, chi." Sighing, as if realizing there is no turning back, he turns to include Freya, Kapelo, and Oak. "I will help all of you." "Now, if this inquisitor you told me of is cursing people to sleep from a great distance and somehow sending messages even after you have killed him, you will certainly need more powerful magic of your own before you go to his lair. Come, I will keep my promise and help you." And with that, the youngest living Swiftstream son bids you to follow.
Once away from Thuy, Burne will interrupt any hint of thanks from anyone and say, "And now what, Nempura? Are you leaving? Did I just ruin my engagement so you can leave your hometown defenseless and go running toward the heart of the enemy?" In his anger, he forgets there are two ifrit present as he insults their capital city.
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