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Ouroboros: Sand. Ouroboros is lying on hot sand. One eye caked shut with blood and grains of the sticky stuff. Armour the same as he remembers wearing before, no weapon, no backpack or supplies. Oh, and the raptor. Now gently nudging at his shoulder. Far off in the distance he can just about make out the huge dust cloud of the caravan. Moving away from him. It’s gonna be a long ride to catch up... A small head perks up from its position lying on the saddle.
Salt and BZZT:
Ouroboros: There is a sense of pressure behind the Tiefling, a huge shadow suddenly looming over him, cutting out the glowing lantern light.
The third massive rocky fist never connects as the Tiefling slumps to the floor, consciousness swiftly fading. A view of some huge clawed feet and a soft gravelly growl of My Chair is all he gets before the world goes utterly dark.
Ouroboros and Gerome: Gerome and Ouroboros can make it back to their rooms reasonably unmolested - though they do see a massive winged figure shoot across the sky and into the carapace atop Bettie.
Evidently they have come back during mealtime, the feeding bay is packed with a huge variety of races vying for the attention of the few crew members delusional/crazy/stupid enough to volunteer for the position of server under the stone-skinned behemoth of a cook who even now is producing dishes at a rate his poor beleaguered staff can barely keep up with. The general cacophony is intense, easily loud enough to reach their rooms and make sleep difficult/impossible. Past experience supplying the information that loudest tends to get served first - and whilst many have started a brawl over this - it's the rock-faced Cook who usually finishes them.
Gerome and Ouroboros are close enough to witness the cacophony of activity the blast of sound causes. Lizardfolk are rushing to mount their dinosaurs as a huge contraption of cages is lowered from Sweetie. A large centaur woman standing authoritively atop it, shouting orders and securing cables. She leaps to the ground with twenty feet still to descend and impatiently secures herself into the harness, beginning to pull almost before the last of the cables have been removed. At this sight someone amongst the Lizardfolk whoops in triumph and a virtual stampede of dinosaurs heads out towards the downed Chimera, parting around the Tiefling and Gnome like water would a stone. The blonde centaur somehow easily keeping pace pulling what must be near a tonne of metal and wood.
A beam of light sweeps along the sand to the right of the bike, the ground beneath it bubbling into molten melted glass and scorched sand. Where it touches the creature flesh itself boils and burns, an entire half of a wing near instantly sheared away... The strange pull on their flames cuts out as quickly as the monsters flight does. Falling into a spinning, screaming crash atop the dunes. There is no blood, whatever that light was it seems to have cauterised as it cut - but the thing is grounded now. Roaring in frustration as the bike pulls to a safe distance... Yet as that roar subsides another voice can be heard - along with the appearance of a small - but quickly growing - black spot in the sky...
Salt barely has time to consider regret as the creature barrels ever closer, a plume of flame erupting from the dragon’s maw to glass the sand behind the speeding bike, an outstretched claw brushing past the frame with the first failed swipe - but there is no way the second will miss. They are doomed. ... ... ... ... Or, you know? Maybe not? Daphne has finished charging
The shot connects...and Longstrike-enhanced eyesight lets BZZT see the projectile shatter like porcelain against the supernaturally tough foe. On the plus side though - there’s an audible hum of something charging emanating from atop Daphne. And you only have another few hundred feet to cover... On the bad side? Now it’s only 200 feet away. And gaining.
As the beast draws near both Salt and BZZT can feel it - an inexplicable sensation in the black flames of their mythic power. A juddering and shuddering as something disrupts the formerly constant ignition - as if a high wind sought to blow it towards the twisted beast in ferocious pursuit. That’s why that thing is following them!! It’s not interested in their trespass, it doesn’t care about the caravan...it just sees weak holders of mythic power. And it hungers to add their strength to its own. 500 feet now separates them from the beast...450...400... The thing is getting nearer with every deranged beat of its wings. The strange pull it has on your power getting stronger and stronger... Just another few hundred feet before they enter Daphne’s effective range and theoretical safety...
All who look behind them can see it now. An insane and gargantuan three-headed monstrosity all but thrumming with the self same power twisting through their own hearts. Barrelling through the sky at ludicrous velocity towards the party, its size and stature only seeming to grow as it closes the distance...
The bike is still plenty fast, but it’s clear that the top speed - absent the nigh supernatural effects of Gaia - has dropped by more than half. Salt and BZZT suddenly lag behind the sprinting raptor mount of Ouroboros and Gerome. The time between them and safety almost looking to double. And now BZZT can see it without the aid of Longstrike. A faint dark dot on the horizon - angling itself towards the suddenly struggling prey... ... Might have been worth it though. The familiar tremors of moving Titans are strong enough to reach even out here. Followed swiftly by that same mammoth cry of alarm Salt and BZZT heard whilst battling storm-spawn atop Bessie’s neck all those days ago. The size of the beasts in question making their actions abundantly clear. Bessie, Bettie and Sweetie have circled shockingly quickly, probably surrounding the younglings in their crèche at the centre. Presenting a near impenetrable wall to any predator insane enough to try. A mad, mythic Chimera? Yes, that might be mad enough to make the attempt. Daphne though? She has not circled. The walking fortress - suddenly festooned with what looks like hundreds of red lights - has strode out of the group, taken 7 massive strides forward and turned to present what is for all intents and purposes the broadside firepower of several battleships. The bridge between her legs clearly marking out a slightly closer line of safety.
A Chimera, Lion, Goat and Roaring Red Dragon heads twisted with unnatural rage, coming straight for you. And something tells the deep-gnome that this is not a fight they want to be having. The thing looks...unnaturally big. And pissed off. And...oh...oh dear... Positively burning with mythic power.
Gerome: Gerome couldn’t see anything when he first turned his head, whatever it is the thing worrying Storm Fury is too far away to be seen.
Or it would be - if not for his own little passenger, itself slowly humming with danger. Gerome finds himself able to see what approaches as if it were flying right past a window. A Chimera, Lion, Goat and Roaring Red Dragon heads twisted with unnatural rage, coming straight for you.
Perhaps excited by the bloodlust of its new owner the raptor mount of Ouroboros brings its own twin scythes to bear. As Ouroboro’s blade bites deeply into their necks so too does the ferocious beast he rides rips through where a living creatures bowels would be. The dual attack causing such catastrophic damage that the foul energy coursing through the burning corpses has not a hope of keeping them alive. A bloodied Tiefling sits upon a snarling engine of death, knee deep in the swiftly crumbling ashes of his former foes.
The flaming corpse manages another 2 faltering steps in Salt’s direction. A progress only halted by the undead’s far too slow acknowledgement of its sudden lack of a skull. It slumps to the ground, almost immediately beginning to sputter and crumble underneath the gently cooling rain. The remaining pair almost seem to flinch back from the damp air, their fires dulling and choking...but never quite managing to die as long as the base creature clung tenaciously to existence.
Nevertheless they charge the dino-mounted tiefling...
Both striking true - though the fiendish resistance to fire means Ouroboros takes less damage than he should. Still...there is a great deal of pain.
Revenge time? OBs turn.
A sense of muted satisfaction emanates from the bike as the creature is torn apart by vicious barbs Salt could swear were not there when it was impaled. Momentum carries her a good 20 feet away from the screaming undead - and leaves it standing in the open, heavily damaged, square within the sights of a certain gnomish sniper... BZZT's turn!
And with that round 1 is over. 1 Combusted lies strewn upon the ground, another writhes impaled on the ram of a thundercycle. Yet 2 more remain to potentially wreak havoc amongst the party. We reel around to Salt’s turn as round 2 begins.
At the same time Ouroboro’s scythe hits home his dinosaur blurs into savage action -
Leaving burning chunks of what had formerly been a walking corpse strewn all over the swiftly dampening ground before wheeling to face another. At the same time the falling rain brings hisses of dampened flame and moans of what seems like pain...
The pistol shot tears free a ragged lump of smouldering flesh from the lead creatures shoulder before the pilot ram hits home. Unfortunately spearing straight through the midriff of the undead rather than deflecting it to the side. Nonetheless the mass of the bike combines with its velocity to carry the creature out of the group - its apparently bulky frame feeling shockingly light. An attempt at a retaliatory lunge by the speared undead is arrested via a supernaturally accurate snipers bullet blasting an eye out of its skull. Still though - the twisted thing clings stubbornly to the mockery of life burning through empty veins and does not fall. Unable to shift itself off of the bikes ram Salt’s passenger gives a moaning howl of what sounds like utter agony, the sound attempting to pound its way inside Salt’s brain () before it simply launches a handful of smoky flame at the driver.
The twisted flames hitting Salt full on the chest, a horrible sensation of endless burning pain trying to reach down to her very core. The other 3 combusted appear heedless of the disappearance of their companion, their heads universally turning to track the biggest collection of living things around - Ouroboros and his dinosaur. And of course Storm F- wait. Where’s the bird? No time to check that now - 3 flaming bodies charge across the sand towards the tiefling. Ouroboros being sparred their attacks by sheer distance alone - a full 50 feet remains between him and them. Then a single cold droplet of water splashes onto his nose. KRRRREEEEEEEE!!!
For clarity:
Tha beasties get...
There are 4 of the burning beasts in this particular wandering band. Roll initiative.
Salt’s gunning of the engine produces a sound suggestive of some raging monstrosity disturbed after centuries of slumber. The vibration through her body indicating a beast that trades stability for raw unfiltered power. What does Longstrike see?: At the base of the smoke - the oily gasses pouring from their bodies - walk the Burning Ones. Corpses aflame with an unholy blaze that cannot be truly quenched with anything beyond true death that nonetheless move with surprising surety of purpose and footing. The lens augmenting his senses brings the creatures into almost disturbing clarity - the properties of Longstrike working in such a way that BZZT can smell the unpleasant odour of blazing hair and skin as well as hear the-
BZZT’s muscle seize up as unnatural terror spikes in his belly. The creatures scream digging into his mind with daggers of fear and loathing.
Miles away, a thin dark line of pitch black smoke defiles the otherwise pristine horizon. Dirtying the lovely vista of near white sand and crystal clear skies stretching in all directions.
Gerome: Gerome's hand rubs against the still invisible body of his hidden companion and feels a small head nuzzling him back in return. A mysterious sense of light pressure envelopes his entire body - then every single grain of sand forcibly ejects itself away from his clothes, skin and hair. Leaving the gnome the only one now completely free of annoying, clingy sand particles.
Ouroboro’s raptor follows its new master, easily grasping a descent cable in dexterous claws to allow it passage down.
Inside the satchel there are 4 vials of oil and 6 alchemical flasks of what looks like perfectly normal water.
Gerome: The burning ones? A religious based term for the Combusted. A wandering type of undead creature that happens to be permanently aflame, they often form packs and have the standard hatred of unintelligent undead for living creatures. They can throw the fire that encases them and for hopefully obvious reasons do not like water. They also constantly emit clouds of thick and foul smelling black smoke that can often be seen from miles away.
Ankhegs are giant burrowing insects that live in colonies and spit acid. "Hoppers" is likely referring to an infestation of giant ticks. Though if Ankheg are present it is very unlikely that these will be - the two species do not get along and Ankhegs typically have both numbers and a modicum of intelligence on their side. A chimera is a flying lion with an additional 2 heads of a dragon and a goat. They are big, mean and very territorial.
Unfortunately for Gerome his attempted acrobatics go awry. A foot hits a foot trips a leg bumps an arm and sends him soaring/sprawling over the top of his intended target before crashing head first into the ground. The fluffy towel - having been thrown into the air via these shenanigans - slowly floating down to cover his face. The raptor - who has remained motionless through all of this - snorts in what sounds very much like derision.
BZZT:
As the warm rock descends into his innards so too does BZZT fall into comforting darkness, barely speckled with the faintest glimmer of twinkling lights. Feeling as if he were once more within the comforting closeness of his birthplace - but at the very same moment adrift in an aetherial sea. The Deep Gnome can only wonder as the impossibly distant lights seem to become a blinding blaze, his eyes seemingly adjusting to an ever greater degree of sensitivity.
Bright though everything now seems the searing luminescence brings no discomfort - but details grows ever finer. Those tiny specks of light? They are stars. And around them, black against black, yet somehow visible - are planets. Gleaming red, yellow, blue, green and every shade in between. One such planet draws the eye more than any other. A sparkling mostly blue gem. A living world. Burning with the essence of civilisation. A desert? One of many strange waves of sand and purple clouds at least. And atop those sands... Wait... Bessie? Bettie? Sweetie? Daphne? So far away as to be indescribable. So familiar as to be unmistakable. Meaning that atop Bettie should be Solaris...and within Solaris should be... There is a weapon in his hands. As long as his own body and feeling curiously alive. BZZT feels himself lift the rifle into a comfortable shooting stance, somehow knowing that it aims squarely at his heart. The shot echoes in his ears, whatever strange projectile it spat traversing the insane distance in the blink of an eye... And BZZT is back in the ship. The ache of the black flame shot into his heart by...himself already beginning to fade. And the curious weight of a weapon resting against his shoulder... Welcome to Mythic Rank 1...Trickster. Ouroboros: Gaia promised power...and she delivered. The rock burns as it goes down. And the burning doesn't stop. Instead it grows exponentially. Ouroboro's can feel it licking at the inside of his skin, raw flame flickering in time with his heart. His eyes flick open - searching for Gaia, for BZZT, for anything familiar...
But he is alone in the void. Aflame. And the fire grows outside of him, expanding across the nothingness in waves of red and white - leaving Ouroboros alive and well at the center of it all. Something flicks into being as his fire passes through. A small ball of light? A star? Then dozens more. Hundreds. Millions. They cluster and spin and shine and dance around him in beautiful orbits, some so close that he becomes naught but a shining white blur... And time accelerates... Galaxies fire off into the nothingness, the wave of creation that started within him long past out of visible space. Stars crash and reform and explode all around as rocks in the darkness coalesce and grow to the point they attract more to themselves. Become planets. Bear life. LIFE! A thousand times a thousand times a million worlds spread across the infinity he made. The tiny things atop them ever seeking to play at the greater roles... But time is fast indeed here...and cruel. A reversal. The flame returns. Now a black sphere, pushing all before it. Contracting back towards the floating tiefling. Who feels himself extend a hand in readiness... On and on the compression goes. Life dies, snuffed like the weakest of candle flames. Hyper-dense points of blackness form in the tide of galactic rubble, bending space around them to draw in ever more sheer material. As the density reaches beyond comprehension light itself vanishes from the equation, unable to escape the sheer crushing gravity... Ouroboros is in the void once more...but now a condensed universe floats above his outstretched hand. All that mass and energy...all those lives...created just for him. And with the smirk of a conqueror Ouroboros can only watch as he swallows that pitch black sphere... It comes as no surprise to find himself back in the ship alongside Gaia and BZZT. The confidence of a creator god even now fading from his memory...but the knowledge that he ate a universe? That even now suffices his body with near unbelievable potential? That is going nowhere. Welcome to Mythic Rank 1...Champion.
Salt: Seconds after ingesting the stone Gerome suddenly glows with the same shade Markus does.
Gerome: The Jewel is warm against the gnomes throat as he swallows, gently heating his insides as it passes down his gullet - but nothing else.
For a few precious seconds at least, then the world goes black with a cacophony of thunder, all Gerome can see is darkness, all he can hear is endless crashing waves of sound. But it isn't just noise. There's...something else there. A rhythm? A tempo? A beat? WAIT! THERE! A sound he knows! The trill of a bird. A familiar goats bleat. Lashing rain steaming in unnatural sunlight. No...this isn't just noise...someone...something is singing. And - unbidden by any thought of his own - Gerome is singing along. Then the song rises. Beyond the petty constraints of the world. Now Gerome somehow knows that the sounds he hears are those of the stars dancing in the void of space, his voice somehow emulating their every spark and flutter. In fact...he's getting louder. His every other sense blinded Gerome can only wonder at how he knows that he is above stars now. In the place where galaxies play - their every action untainted by that minuscule thing called thought. And even here - where the void should be more silent than the grave - the song remains. Or...Gerome remains. His voice anyway. Where before he twinned with the song...now he is the song. And it is him. And everything. And nothing. And...he opens his eyes. Back in the engineering bay. Everything unchanged. Except for now he's played along with the song of the universe...and it's still playing in his head. And Salt's heart...and Alas's back...and Sash's arms. Markus even has the same song that he does now. Welcome to Mythic Rank 1...Marshal.
Salt: The red crystal burns ever so slightly as it goes down, warming Salt’s guts but little else. There are a few precious seconds of nothing...then the balance of the world bucks like a frightened steed. Salt can see stars, see galaxies form and race across an inky blackness. Colliding with themselves and the darkness between to fracture into motes of light or a living antithesis of that searing brightness. A war of existence raging ever onwards, no player in the game even capable of thought.
A beat. Of her heart? Salt cannot tell. A red ribbon lashes from her outstretched hand (when the hells did she move?), stretching beyond comprehension to snag a floating mote of anti-light the size and density of a crimson giant star...and drawing it in. Past the level of the infinite cosmos, down through the scale of stars and their dances. The ribbon constricts the black star, wrapping and squeezing and compressing as it falls. The flame of nothing writhes as lesser things creep upon its being. A raging scream of thought and sensation stifled by the ribbons suffocation. It struggles now, a ball of teeth and fire and claws and blades, desperately wishing to return to what it had before. But the ribbon dances between its efforts. Never where the mote attempts to strike and never loosening that awful killing grip. Life came and went with such vigour that it lasted a mere few seconds. The mote is dead now, then it is simply not alive, a material, a gleaming hunk of some strange rock entwined in countless wraps of thin red ribbon. And still that terrible pressure continues. Lower even than material. Energy itself. A tiny black flame wavers in the palm of Salts hand. Resting on a single leaf of ribbon. Unbidden by thought that hand brings the thing that had been beyond everything to her chest... And is promptly back in the engineering bay. Exactly the same as she was before. Except for the mote of anti-flame she can feel burning next to her suddenly pounding heart and the sensation of being so much more than before of course. Welcome to Mythic Rank 1...Trickster.
Gerome: Gerome felt his little passenger tighten in approval at his honesty and then again in extreme interest when Gaia performed her little trick. Gerome felt a similar lessening of pressure to what Ouroboros just did as his little carry-on...ate the tiny traces of the black stuff he'd inadvertently gathered - and spat another of those crystals onto the floor. Apparently immensely satisfied with itself the tiny beast appears to have fallen asleep right after doing so.
Have fun explaining!
A scrabbling fight breaks out on the floor, neither fighter apparently having the inclination towards more words, feather and talon striving against scale and muscle. The sheer power of the combatants becoming clear when Alas misses an attempt to punch Sash’s head into the ground, leaving a fist sized hole in the metal beam. A smash from Alas’s tail sends Sash into the air, her wings opening outwards to force her back down at incredible speeds. And with a mad grin on his face Alas catapults himself up to meet her face first... Armoured helm crunches into bare skull and both combatants recoil, holding their heads and panting with exertion.
To Salt the book smells like musty old paper, the sprawling script inside not corresponding to any of the languages she knows or has even heard of.
Gerome: The tiny creature nuzzles the outstretched palm, then levitates over to his shoulder. A brief flicker and the creature turns invisible. It is still there, Gerome can feel the weight, as well as a comforting tickle at his chin, but no trace of it can be seen.
BZZT: A universal converter is a pipe-dream of every tech-head out there. Something capable of utilising and transforming any kind of energy or material input into whatever energy or material output the user desires at a one for one exchange rate. It’s more of a theoretical exercise to think about than a dream to be realised, something for puzzles and hypothetical equations. Except of course, if Gaia is telling the truth, somebody didn’t believe that. And it would certainly explain some of the stuff that she can do...though a universal converter has always been envisioned as a black box, a machine, a tool. Not the evident person speaking to Sash right now.
Ouroboro's new dinosaur nudges his shoulder, eyeing the handful of meat in his grasp. BZZT zips up to the engineering bay in time to catch the tail end of an excited Sash finding out just what Gaia is - both he and Salt can attempt an engineering check to know what a universal converter is if they want - as well as Markus' summation of where they might be able to find the materials to start repairing things. Solaris now lies at a very different angle, revealing a few panels that seem designed to slide open - clearly a proper entry point.
Gerome: The egg seems to pulse, a strange grey-green-silver light emanating from the fresh crack. Unlike the hatching of Storm Fury no egg-tooth breaks a creature free, instead an unnaturally straight fracture neatly separates the two halves of the shell, one half falls to the side in the normal manner of things, the other explodes into a grey dust that vanishes into the air.
Left hovering in the space the egg used to occupy is a small winged serpent, shining silver scales catching the reflection of rainbow shaded feathers, a pair of magnificent curving horns atop its head. Shining green eyes open, aware and staring at the gnome, a sense of understanding held deep within them.
Gerome: Crack
Making their way to Bettie’s cargo hold takes a little while. BZZT can manage it without a problem, as can Gerome once he gets himself cleaned up and acquires more boots. Ouroboros though... As soon as the Tieflings feet touch the sand there is a massive raucous cheer. The words are mostly in the Lizardfolk’s own language - but smatterings of common include the phrases “honey Master,” “lord of the bees,” and “the red dancer.” A large group of the tribesmen swarm him and an event best described as a “melee,” ensues. Ouroboros is subjected to numerous pats on the back and offers of congratulation, hoisted atop the shoulders of several burly lizardfolk, carried over to the fire - where he has a wonderful view of the lizard he set out to kill the night before - being spitroasted. There’s a general mash of happy words and cheers, the entire event taking less than 30 seconds, celebration and euphoria passing so quickly it’s hard to keep track of who’s doing what... At the end of...that. Ouroboros is standing outside the group of feasting Lizardfolk, a steaming hunk of meat in one hand...and the reigns of his brand spanking new Deinonychus mount in the other. He has no idea who gave him either of those things and - their duty now apparently done - the lizardfolk seem disinclined to talk. Falling on to the cannibalistic meal with a somewhat bestial frenzy, clearly they have been waiting to start eating for some time.
Salt:
The fallen aasimar can only recall generalities about the 7th City. That it was the domain of the Fey Archaeomancer. That it somehow went horribly wrong. And that for whatever reason - if you go in, you don’t come back out. Also that magic gets all sorts of twisty around there. Hidden check to see if Salt can read the book. NOBODY READ! SPOILERS WITHIN!!:
Ouroboro's can easily find the ingredients to make a monster of a meat sandwich - something that is very appreciated by the (is he already getting bigger?) young bird perched on his shoulder. Secrets, nooks and crannies wise though? Well the kitchen contains implements he's never seen before, including something that looks like a gigantic fish-knife and a strange hand-cranked drill-like thing bearing the inscription "The Extractor." But other than that there isn't really much to see, the mess hall is odd only in its normalcy.
Gerome's ball impacts the ground shortly after the drama. Suddenly - hesitantly - three blasts of a horn echo from high above.
Ouroboros: Ouroboros finds the mess hall empty, but the supplies are where they should be and it's an easy matter for him to find food for himself and Storm Fury.
Daphne - the rear placed armory - takes a few earth-shaking steps nearer, unprompted by any instruction, her massive neck curving down... A wall of flesh hovers just above the ground, somehow precisely stopping mere feet from Solaris. A gentle sniff - and a howling gale rocks the ship, knocks people off their feet and whips up a tiny sandstorm. Daphne rumbles, deep inside her throat, the sound enough to vibrate the air. Then her mouth opens - revealing the devastating flat ridges inside. But rather than eat the ship - a black tongue extends underneath it, holding the ship steady. Another rumble, this time from Bettie. Echoed by Bessie and Sweetie. Daphne raises her head, the hulk of the starship with her. Gravity strains against mountains of muscle...and loses. The ship is rudely deposited into the awaiting bay. Daphne raises her neck higher, giving one more mammoth outburst. Then once again, the titans still.
Gerome’s ball suddenly begins to slowly and steadily descend.
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