Demons. Why'd it have to be demons?
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Well you get to test it - I can see that hitting you in the ass and causing you to fall in the pit in a, um, most undignified manner.
Huh, I was thinking of maybe an extending ladder type thing you walked on. How much spring would have to be in the launch thing to launch you and follow you in a launch? You come back to the fork in the hallway, one way leading back the way you came and the other back into the unknown.
But how do we outsource production and sell it to cash-rich adventurers then? Potion making is difficult, time consuming and expensive. Selling magic items someone else makes is easy, fast and lucrative.
Mesdoram follows, then gets the hook set and tries to swing across the pit trap on your way back out.
Maybe we should invent some sort of pit traversing device, like a portable bridge. How much do you think it would cost?
Farming or hiring farmers? Farming's hard: much better to raid tombs and merchant shipping. Mesdoram grins suddenly. Remind me to tell you about this one cutter my friend Balthe and I raided - it was filled with harem slaves bound for Katapesh. Now that was a great fortnight! But why get paid only once by Whyren's? If we get the reward, which we will, and sell them blue corn, which we can, we get paid twice. He starts rubbing his hands together. In fact we can secure a stipend of Whyren's for our tavern. Since we're suppliers maybe we can get it at a discount and sell it for less than everyone else - we could get all the buyers looking for a good deal! I wonder if we could corner the market? I've done it before by intercepting all the pepper trade ships out of Sargava. Not that it mattered once I lost my ship and fort. I'll show them, yes I will.
Mesdoram stares at the deed. The Pahvalian family was the family in the valley right? We should probably grow the blue corn. In fact, this gives me an idea. How do you feel about hiring farmers?
Mesdoram doubles down on his own attacks.
Mesdoram drives his sword home into the side of the demon - the first attack diving deep and causing a screech of pain. The second one doesn't dig home quite as much and barely seems to prick the demon.
It was there! We were in a dead end! Stop berating me and...uh...is that a vrock? I think that's a vrock. The release spores and can stun anyone near them.
Mesdoram moves around checking as well.
Just for fun:
Mesdoram pushes aside one of the bone totems with a brief Whoops! and shouts in triumph. A switch!
Mesdoram catches the rope on the back swing and swings over, then pulls out a dagger and rams it into the wall then ties the rope there so they can escape.
Damn dungeons. Always with the traps, corridors, levels and monsters. I miss the Shackles - I once found a buried treasure there on a beach under the shade. Dug up the whole thing with a single shovel with a nice breeze blowing. He sighs at the happy memory. There's nothing better than a beach, a buxom blonde, a bevy of baubles and a bottle of rum to relax you.
My plan? Why do I always need to come up with a plan? He looks at the ceiling, the pit, and the rope. Well, we could swing across. How graceful are you?
Mesdoram eyes the pit dubiously. Given the spacing of those stalagmites I'm not sure we can traverse the spikes without getting hurt.
I do. Mesdoram pulls out his traveler's any-tool and quickly manipulates it into a four pronged grappling hook of masterwork quality. There you go. It can also be a trowel or a level if you'd want it to be.
Mesdoram looks exasperated. Are you telling me you forgot the name of a whole island? Where you slept with a demon woman? And went on some crazy magical drug trip? He'll point at the nearest passage. That way, I suppose. Let me get my collapsible pole.
Mesdoram peers at the wall. What the hells is that?
Mesdoram dances across the spikes on his way to the monster.
His sword slams into the monster, gouging out earth that had replaced a rib. Try to relax. The worst that can happen is gangrene and your foot rots off.
Mesdoram gags at the slight of the bloated, rotting tongue trying to lick Rameth. Is there any limit to who you're willing to get down and dirty with?
Mesdoram's sword pierces the mohrg again but it swivels quickly away from his return thrust.
Mesdoram analyzes the mohrg quickly and advances himself. He thrusts forward with his rapier towards the monster's intestines. Seriously, he's been a real b$+&! about it.
While not as overwhelming as Rameth's massive blow his own sword cut pierces the intestines and a gusher of blood and pus erupts out of the beast.
Mesdoram pulls out a flask of alchemist's fire. No bet. I say we flame it now.
Go home, you're drunk. I visit the Temple of Calistria for my brothel needs and frankly it's damn sight better than bedding a demon. Which, need I remind you, you did three months ago. Mesdoram pokes the collection of body parts dubiously with his sword. So, you ever hear of a Mohrg than could make a golem?
Seriously?! Why does everything we run into have to drip ooze or ichor? Has no one heard about blood?
That had to hurt! Glad it wasn't me. Mesdoram stabs again.
Two more wounds appear and a greenish fluid, apparently the animating chemical, gush out onto the floor. Yuck!
Flesh golem! Fire and ice slow it down! Mesdoram, not for the first time, wished he practiced more with his crossbow. He circles in to attack the creature from the north, allowing Rameth to flank.
His rapier digs in.
I did no such thing - unlike you, who picked that club up off some monster probably. Look at it - it has ogre written all over it; three knobs and made out of...pine or whatever.
This is a traditional basket-hilted sword from the highlands of Andorian! My grandfather gave me this sword!
That's ridiculous - clearly if we get eaten it's because you brought a stick to a sword fight.
Well that was less complicated than it could have been. At least the minions in here should be harmless.
Mesdoram ripostes!
The zombie he's attacking seems to explode under a flurry of blows.
Mesdoram dodges to the side and tries to skewer one of the zombies himself.
It falls on the ground, the animating force driven from its body. I hope none of the farmers see us covered with dead friends and relatives.
Why do I only get to take the lead half the time? Shouldn't we agree on a head partner? Wait, is that a contradiction?
Well, maybe. The question we have now is which hallway do we take? I vote demon. Mesdoram points down the hallway running to the left.
Mesdoram scowls. Yeah, my guess is the boy is the Butcher of Korvosa and the demon is Aroden. Notice how the tunnel's different from that cave back there with the plinth? And see how he's the only one with any detail early on? This is how he views the world. He looks at the long mural. Gods only know what the hells that sun thing is though - or how he got out of the chains but couldn't leave the cave.
Mesdoram studies the carvings and shudders. Shit, shit, shit. You ever meet someone disconnected from their emotions before?
Sounds good/ Mesdoram spends some time collecting the water into glass flasks as well. Then he heads back out to the farm with Rameth. Once there he spends time prowling around the land.
After a bit of time he calls Rameth out to a small patch of land where he points at a ring of bear earth that looks like it had stones set on it at one point, hidden from the road behind the corn stalks. Does that look like a mill to you? He then grabs a broom out of his haversack and busies himself sweeping the loose dirt around - revealing a large stone hatch with a heavy, rusted iron ring set into the top. The Eye of Aroden is carved, well faded, into the stone.
Mesdoram shakes his head. I don't even speak Varisian - I certainly don't know about any crazy kid's story.
Mesdoram shakes his head, but picks up the cup as part of his generally larcenous nature along with the book. Nothing in here I'm afraid. Let's check the back room. Mesdoram pulls out a cane from his handy haversack and pushes open the door with it. Since nothing comes to decapitate him, and the room is dark, he pulls out his ioun torch and lets it hover over his shoulder as he moves in.
Mesdoram snorts. If Aroden shows up as a result of anything we do we'll be hailed as prophets and saviors by all of humanity. I think we can take our chances. He'll join you in looking around the chapel and flips idly through a copy ofThe Past and Future of Humanity on the pulpit itself. It's beautifully illuminated, with rich inks and gold leaf on every page and contains two columns of text - one in the familiar Chelaxian and another in a script that Rameth does not recognize. This is Azlanti - not Old Azlanti but the more modern remnant. I've never seen this style of prayer book before.
Oh great, a mohrg. That's just spectacular. And here we are without a cleric. Mesdoram glares at Rameth. Normally I'd blame you but this was my dumb idea. After letting the boy play with Trip for a while, Mesdoram squats down to get eye level with him. You said your parents watch all the grown ups. What do your parents look like now?
Mesdoram rolls his eyes at Rameth's brand of persuasion. Your pardon, sir, but my name is Mesdoram Blackfeather and this is my companion Rameth. We've been hired by the Whilwren's Distillery due to the interruption in the delivery of the Royal Blue corn from this valley. He'll point out at the fields full of half-harvested corn nearby and the distance where plenty of corn remains in the fields untouched. Frankly, we're more concerned now than before we left. Much of the fields left are untouched - there should have been teams harvesting corn weeks ago and we've only seen one person in miles. And a farm we came to showed evidence the farmers were murdered and the children kidnapped. Now if you're in need of help, we can provide it now as peacefully and quietly as possible. Otherwise we'll have to go back to Magnimar and collect a Justiciar, his guards and tear this place apart until we find out what's going on.
Mesdoram looks after the man surprised as Trip barks in delight at frightening a man away. The sounds of Trip's tail scraping back and forth against Rameth's pack is cut through by Mesdoram's rejoinder. Well, I get that a three headed dog is kind of unusual but I'm riding a sabertoothed tiger and I don't get a single look? That's just insulting. Smiley lets out a growl that sounds suspiciously like cranky agreement. Soooo, up to the farmhouse I guess?
Mesdoram gives Rameth a wry expression. No average child in a farm could scrape together 40 gold pieces and hide it from his parents; being a merchant's child turned smuggler he knew how hard it was to hide valuables from people you shared every day with. More than likely the parents cannily hid the money there since the average cutpurse didn't raid children's rooms. Besides which to him stealing food is the ultimate theft; gold is only worth what it can buy, worthless in itself, but good food is precious beyond rubies. But in the end he grins since theft never bothered him - he'd once stripped dyed silk sails from a noble's galleon he raided and left them to row to safety on a day when the Inner Sea was sending them out into the dangerous ocean. It wasn't a death sentence, exactly, but it surely made an otherwise easy journey hard going. He'd had the sails cut up and sold to the whores of Port Peril for dresses. With cured, corn-fed pork belly? When was the last time you had good bacon? Because I can tell you the sort you get in most ships stores and on the trails is second-rate stuff. The good farms never let the best cuts out. He'll use the spring loaded dagger from under his right arm to cut the sacks down and drop them into his handy haversack. Then he'll get back on Smiley and start loping down the lane as Rameth keeps pace.
Mesdoram frowns. It's not...not precisely zombie tracks. The depressions are too uneven. See here? He points at some of the footprints on the ground. The treads have uneven depths in places, like someone or something was miming walking and not sure exactly how far to press the feet of the adults into the ground.
Mesdoram calls you from the depths of the house. When you arrive he looks concerned, pointing out the blood stains leading out of the house through the back door. Something odd's going on here - see these footprints? A man and a woman looked like they herded some children out of the house but their steps are wrong, even for a wounded humanoid. Their steps are shuffling, dragging in places like they're drunk.
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