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Samen: High enough check to: 1) You can triangulate the position of the center of the spell so there's no missed turns or wasted time. You and the party won't be surprised by the wielder of the spell, either. If Dove's intelligence is correct, you are expecting an agent of the Cauldron Lady (typically combines brutal fire magic with powerful mind control) 2) For the 40: You gather a bitter taste upon the air; it makes you recoil in disgust. There is a sharp lemon of arrogant Gem magic, with the bitter dust of necromancy peppered in. There is also several blips of fire magic nearby (aside from that of the Cauldron Lady's agent)
Just beyond the threshold of the unfriendly door, there begins a series of intense, targeted spells -- melting those of the Cauldron; beheading those of the Warrior; and crushing any who speak of Silver-Bringer, the traitor-god. And yet with such a crew of phantom, human, and fungus, it is simply like you are not there. The price of their narrow focus--which surely made these powerful deaths-spells easier to cast--is a total blindness to those who are not part of their enemy cults. You enter the halls, all four of you like invisible phantoms, unseen by the ugly magic that buzzes around you.
Though the sensation is roughly as unpleasant as having a cold bucket of water dumped on your head, there is no further attack or enchantment. The entire set up of bypassing barriers, having a new way open before you, and the unfriendly door strike you as more subtle than your typical traps - another of Dove's machinations?
Samen, your Sight naturally follows the flow of the hate-spell. You trace its many fine tendrils growing under the city, like a hidden network of ant tunnels, or a fungal infection. You see Qzz skipping merrily ahead of you, and realize the comparison is unfair to fungus. With Dove's peculiar instructions in hand, you circle the entire Temple twice, weaving between certain gaps in the Circle of Candles that always surrounds the perimeter. When you are finished (and feeling mildly ridiculous), there is a plain, unadorned door...where you swear there was no door before. Oddly small steps take you down. The door is unlocked, but somehow unfriendly to the touch.
"Given a few more seconds, Samen likely already knows 'the thing' better than I do, with that strange mind of his." He shakes his head, realizing perhaps the irony of those last few words. "Yes well. Your excellent timing and positive attitudes are what I treasure most in our relationship. I have dragons to placate." And with that, he walks around a different corner, his eagle-guard protecting his back as he slides into the gloomy streets.
"You won't be destroying an 'it'. You'll be destroying a person. This is powerful enough magic that someone is actively channeling it, or it would go out of control. Kill them first, then nullify the curse."
"Someone endebted to the Cauldron Lady. Hers is the power that wanes as the phoenix grows. I don't know who, specifically." He smiles and points to his own head, then says, "Of course, that could the curse working on me, since I have never been well-disposed toward the bloodthirsty tenets of that particular deity anyway. However, what I need from you is to stay cool-headed, think things through, and destroy the curse. It lies beyond the narrow tunnels you'll find below this armor storage."
You arrive at the Temple grounds. Now that you have longer to observe, the divisions between Cauldron and Warrior are apparent even here. It has not yet become aggression, but the simple fact that you see two distinct groups of people that should be united is worrisome. The courtyards of the Temple are a large town unto themselves, with many stone outbuildings housing everything from storage, to weapons, to forges, and, of course, many stairways. The smell of baking ashbread is everywhere. You spot the guard-captain you met earlier (Cordo's superior officer). He is dressed in full mithril plate, but still moves gracefully. He gives you a brief nod before lowering his visor and motioning to someone behind him, Lord Captain Dove looks older, and even frailer than ever. There is a Large scratch-scar, two thumbs widths at least, raked down the right side of his face, narrowly avoiding the eye. Blessedly, both those eyes are still clear and sharp as an eagle's beak. Dove gets to business without no preambles. "Have you seen the enchantment yet?" His voice is reedy, tired.
if you inspect, even taking 10 in spellcraft: You feel a nauseating swirl of emotions: fear, anger, confusion, and a desire to hurt those who do not share your beliefs. Your will easily triumphs, and the sensation evaporates, leaving you light-headed. You realize this magic would be most potent at night, and would linger on those with strong biases (such as Cauldron Lady vs Warrior) It's a simple but powerful spell, acquiring most of its energy from those it curses. A civil war carried out by people who don't know any better, and forget most of it after they sleep.
Samen, after a few minutes of dreary streets, your eye catches a strange chalk drawing in a side alley. It has a small magical aura, but like a cave opening, it seems to suggest a slumbering danger within.
Despite the early candle, the gloom that greets you outside makes it seem more like suppertime. The darkness is almost what you would expect from dim, as Volcano is a mere bruised purple presence on the horizon.
As patrons shuffle in and out---some noisy, some smelly, most easily forgotten-- you see Cordo, the large guard you met in the lower levels of the Temple, sit down and order a pitcher of small beer. He nods to you, not attempting to disguise his presence.
The serving lady comes from the back room with roast beef sandwiches with a spicy brown sauce, and several kinds of fried potatoes, a wedge of cheese, and a pitcher of small beer. When the meal is coming to a close, she slips you what appears to be a bill. The receipt has been paid in full, and on the back there is the simple request Meet tonight to unroot the corruption of the Temple. It gives a time, and there is a drawing of the Arch you passed earlier. No signature, but a doodle of a dove in the corner.
My power is out at home, so I will likely be posting tomorrow. Eat some food and RP a bit, and I'll be back tomorrow.
Inside the Gritty Jinni Gin, the bland plankboard motif continues. The place is scrubbed clean, and the faint remnants of baked bread and fried potatoes still hangs in the air from a now-absent lunch crowd. You have the place to yourselves, for the moment. There are no decorations, nothing beyond round tables, wood chairs, a wooden counter, and the doors to the kitchen, and stairs leading up to the rooms. A matronly sylph comes from the back. She enters with a smile, black hair in a chef's bun, her eyes a curious, eager blue. "Oi! Dovie said we 'ad more comin' in. Find a seat 'n be comfy! Sammiches an' I'll fryee somepotatoesarright?" Without waiting for a response, she bustles back into the kitchen area, leaving the room quiet once again.
Kallik's phantom scolding manages to get Qizzvultz to eventually slow down, so their companions can catch up. It is, after all, impolite to force your friends to run if they're tired after a long day. After Marco has a chance to catch his breath, he says, "Well, thanks to that exercise, we're quite close now. I hope you'll be alright with basic lodgings. They're comfortable, of course, but Lord Captain Dove prefers to keep his allies safe by keeping them out of the limelight, and away from the fancier hotels. " A few minutes later, just as Marco's disc of flame looks ready to sputter out, he announces, "Ah, here we are my lords." You see a simple inn, wood plank with little in the way of decoration. The sign proclaims it Gritty Jinni Gin. You see the cheerful light of fires from inside.
although I guess I consider "Forged in Blood" to kind of be the prequel to this campaign, and I'm counting them together (and cheating, because I can't choose)
Man, it's been a real trip skimming the pages since you guys died on the Owlbone Road, just to make sure I picked up on all the things that have changed in the meantime. I can't choose between this campaign and New Beginnings (my other very long-running campaign, retired now), but these are easily my favorite DMing experiences of all time.
"Well, I've got another hungry customer to see to - enjoy your meat pies and come again sometime. Maybe get a leash for your pet lizard?" Qzz scampers away on all fours, low to the ground like a lizard, shifting a long silly tail to go with. Marco says nothing, just a pleasant smile on his face, as he gently urges the group to keep up with Qzz this time.
"You joking? The drakes are fine. Funny, weird, but more like kids than anything. Well, except..." He notices the green-vested runner with you. A representative of the Temple. He clears his throat. "Yeah. all the drakes are fine. It's just the cults--ah, not the true Temple, a-course--but those callin' themselves Cauldrons and Longswords that want to win so bad they'll ruin the city in the meantime."
"And you are familiar, mister smooth-pink-skin?" His smile shows no insult is meant - your money went a long way to soothing his temper. "Are you on of them drakes? You lose your scales and you're all gooey underneath?" He includes two meat pies for you and Samen. "Here. You look hungry, and these are about to cool down."
You descend carefully down the rain-slick obsidian steps. You hear many ifrits cursing the weather - few of Volcano's children enjoy rain. Sylphan urchins splash in the puddles, making a game of drenching ifrits in fancy clothing and running from their angry shouts, laughing breathlessly. Volcano is hardly visible in the murk. Is it merely the opaque weather, or is the fiery god weakening from the infighting of Cauldron, Sword, and Silver? Volcano is a house divided. It remains to be seen if it can still stand strong against the Dark. Northwest on the templeroad, traffic busy with lunch crowds, repair crews and self-important priests. The priests seem more radically dressed than usual, their garb clearing slanting toward either the Lady or the Warrior. The neutral Volcanic flames are nowhere to be seen. Marco makes the sign of the triangle as you cross under one of the Confessional Arches, this one made of bronze greened by age, the efreet all smiling as they are dismembered by holy blades. Qzz makes a point to walk around the Arch, rather than under. "Bad," they mutter to themselves.
The runner takes you up several flights of obsidian steps, up and down, up and down, as if the planners of the Temple made it maze-like on purpose. Finally, you come out a narrow side door, and you are outside. The air smells of wet cobblestones, and baking bread. It is raining. Not quite a downpour, but heavy enough to be unpleasant. Undeterred, the ifrit runner snaps his fingers loudly, and makes an arching gesture over all of you. A disk of dim flames appears above you, turning the rain to steam before it can strike you. The feeling of staying effortlessly dry in a rainstorm is mildly strange. "My name is Marco, my lords. It will be my joy to see you safely through th city." Qzz takes the opportunity to caper in the puddles, then blowing the excess water out of their noses accompanied by their favorite brown-blue bubbles.
The polite smile the runner gives you reveals nothing of his own opinions of two strange els and a Qzz. "Of course. I am sure we can find baked goods on the way to a nice tavern. Is there anything else, my lords?"
The green-vested runner, back from his errand, bows respectfully and says, "MY....lords? With your permission, I will accompany you, so Lord Captain Dove can contact you more easily."
Dove nods. "I shall provide you with such assistance presently. I will also relay further details, but please leave your social calendars free for the evening." With a small wave and an awkward half-smile, the sylph breaks the connection. Your eyes dance with faint afterimages from the bright, illusory light.
Twirling one of his rings absently, Dove then says, "Before you head out of town to Tribes of Peace and Breathless Valleys, I am wondering if you could do me one kindness. The civil war I alluded to...it has some nasty players hiding in the bowels of the Temple. The place is cursed against other faiths--Warrior, Witch, Father--but not against 'humans' and other unknowns. I am trying to put together a strong team that can bypass these traps and put an end to the strife within the Temple. Are you interested in helping?"
Dove is quiet for a moment, contemplating the many things you have said, and the many reports meandering through his mind. "The Quiet Elder is...unlucky. I apologize for the imprecise word, but since the Fey were made into bland plants under the assault of Moon, most oreads treat it as cursed rather than blessed. The oread population still lives mostly in the Stems, but the majority avoid the Elder itself. Only Dowanhowee and a few other care-takers truly live there."
"On the brighter side of things, the Gem hordes are completely gone, so we have our farmlands back. We have no idea how to march upon the city of Light, as it is presently surrounded by a magical bubble of some kind, of which I have received mixed reports. Though the idea of an organized attack is laughable, being that we still have our domestic issues to sort out." A brief pause. "In what ways have you...altered the world? What 'changes' have you noticed?" He rubs his left hand absently.
Dove shrugs, the motion made mostly with his wrists and palms. "Merely the preludes to a civil war." He arches an eyebrow. As ever, the sylph's sense of humor seems to slant toward the both gallows and deadpan. He sighs, the sound transmitted across the illusion is more like the rushing water. "The Cauldron Lady sect has become more isolated, secretive, and violent. It has crossed my mind that both Silver Bringer and Cauldron Lady are corrupt or stolen aspects of Volcano, and that the Warrior may be the only shred of virtue left."
And thanks for the concise summary, Samen!
Cordo and the other guards casually make a perimeter up and down the hallway, but you can tell from their posture they are expecting no trouble. The captain draws from his pipe now and then, exhaling through his nose, which makes it seem like his owl-eye mask is breathing fire. Ten minutes or more pass like this, when an illusory image appears before you. The image of an office room is superimposed upon the hallway, making it seem that Dove has transported half of his room onto half of your hallway. The effect has that slight transparency common to hasty illusion spells, though Dove himself, centered in the image, appears more clearly than the rest. Captain Dove stands attentively, arms behind his back. In a slightly tinny illusion-voice, he says, "Captain, would you be so kind as to give us the room?" The guards all nod, and walk up the nearby stairs to give you privacy. Dove looks at you with piercing eyes, his face curious but giving nothing away. The sylph seems the same as ever, pale skin stretched thin across bird-stick bones.
"I cannot say I recall two individuals fitting your description from the Happy Swords, gentle-elens. Might you introduce yourselves?"
Ha, it's been 2 years IRL since the Happy Swords took off. Had to look up what the heck the mission was :0
At the end of the corridor, the captain gets the attention of a runner in the green colors of a Temple mediator. The young el bows to the captain after receiving his instructions and jogs ahead. The captain turns to all of you and says, "Well, no telling how long this will take. Council members are bust little lizards, eh?" He pulls out a pouch of tobacco, packs a battered horn pipe with it, and snaps his fingers to light it. Taking a deep draw, he offers it to the rest of you. "Need food, water?" He takes a look at Samen. "A feather brush?"
The guards all quicken their pace now that they are away from the oppressive atmosphere of ghosts and dust. They walk past a series of holding cells--crowded, but not overly so, with members of all four races--without saying a word, though the captain uses his gauntlet to rap the knuckles of an ifrit who is clutching the bars. The ifrit gasps in pain and falls to the ground, cursing the captain.
The captain says, "The urns were broken during Moon's invasion of Hearth. We didn't know the extent of the damage, as most of the attendants of this place were killed."
The larger guard, Cordo, walks beside Samen (still watching his step!) and lightly punches you on the shoulder. It's a friendly gesture with hardly any force behind it. "You telling me you've been runnin' with the Hounds today? Heheheh!"
Samen: This is the former Hall of Oracles. Sometime in your studies at Branch, you came across mentions of the true practices of the older sects of the Cauldron Lady: prophecy was deemed too great a power to roam free, so all suspected oracles were burned in sanctified fire, with the smoke and ashes all captured and retained in a special urn. Certain priests were taught to commune with these half-dead oracles, to tease what information they could from them. The oracles, meanwhile, lived in a shabby pocket dimension where time never seemed to pass. Judging from the destruction, during the upheavals of the last weeks and months, someone realized what an evil and dangerous practice this is, and set out to ruin the whole Hall of Oracles from top to bottom. All you see are shards and scattered ash.
The captain only turns his head slightly to say, "You release any ghosts, Cordo, and I'll make sure they feed on you so the rest of us get away." This is said not as a threat, but a statement of fact. Cordo watches his step.
One of the guards, a bit more muscular and a bit less graceful than the others, steps on a large chipped piece of urn. It crunches beneath his feet with a fragile breaking sound...and a gentle echo of a weeping old woman follows, then fades.
The walls on either side of you are lined with shelves and small alcoves, like a columbarium. The style is old fritan, judging by the austere lack of decoration. All the alcoves, however, are empty. You realize the pottery underfoot must be the shattered remains many ancient urns.
All the guards give a brief start as you appear - none of them had any idea you were so close. The captain has already drawn his blade in pure reaction, and has to consciously stop himself from attacking. He takes a deep breath. "As I say, I don't like surprises." The point of the blade was not particularly close to you, so apparently he feels no need to apologize. He sheathes his longsword and waves for you to follow.
The captain looks at the strange human-angel-thing in front of him, glances down at the drippy-green-thing cavorting on the floor, and decides he would be very happy to offload these strange beings onto someone in higher authority. "Hmm. Ok, we can straighten things out with the Council." A pause. "Is there anyone else here with you? I don't like surprises, si?
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