Slavathras of the Deadlands's page

The short stay is to finish the tour, any insisted pleasantries and not rudely and abruptly depart. But still return to the caravan as soon as it seems reasonable so as to not lose face. Sorry, shoulda been more explicit about that.

A familiar, uhnpleasant voice surfaces in Rokan's consciousness,

::::, so, bald man, what EXACTLY is your play here? I assume I don't need to tell you that we are currently in the midst of very perilous circumstances::::

Rokan the Ascetic wrote:

Rokan smiles warmly and nods, accepting her offer.

I would appreciate that.

He turns back to his other companions and nods forward in a beckoning manner.

Internally he's shuddering at the prospect of being so near some of the slassans, as they'd previously been a threat to his objectives.

Remain calm, and learn from this meeting... he thinks to himself.

The seemingly interminable stairs which descend from the uppermost precipice of the Spire of Weeping Wounds, as well as the subsequent progression downward through the six monumental tiers of the impressive fortification which Arsione has identified as 'the Barbican', finally terminates in the dusty square at the base of the Citadel.

Before Rokan lies a small collection of buildings, some a single level, some of many architectural tiers, and similar in design to those observed elsewhere throughout the Kalidnay ruins -- white marble with some kind of glistening cladding on their uppermost structures, surrounds the open space, which contains a deep watering hole shaded by an elaborately-decorated pillared hypostle hall, as well as a collection of several colorful awnings that appear to represent some kind of open-air marketplace. Beneath the shade-coverings are assembled a motley collection of entities from several different species. There appear to be tribal humans, half-elves, and muls from the nearby desert wastes, red-skinned elf tribes from the Ceramic Desert to the west of the Kalidnay ruins, as well as others in fewer numbers that these aforementioned groups.

Rokan also cannot help but notice a half dozen of the distinctive purple togas which demarcate free citizens of Tyre among those gathered in the open space. Representatives of his home city state perhaps?

The strange elf's piercing violet eyes narrow noticeably as he examines the small company of Tyrians,

"Well, well, well," Slavathras almost whispers as he clucks his tongue, "isn't that positively... curious? I had no conception that our embassy from House Vordon was not the only such presence in this corner of the Tablelands. But it would seem I was mistaken."

Rokan perks up at the mention of the slassan's part in the awakening.

So, it was in fact they who started all of this...

He mutters mostly to himself, but Slavathras can likely overhear it.

Then why are we wasting our time with all of this?!

[dice=Init]1d20+41

Sebecloki wrote:

Arsione is going to try to step forward quickly to prevent Hamza from using his shadow abilities. What kind of check, or opposed check, do you think would be fair?

An initiative check, for starters. Beyond that, unsure. But I am going to bed, as it's almost 5am.

Rokan's composure breaks a bit as the lady approaches, and he takes several quick steps back as she reaches Hazma. Carry on, I'll be back here. I don't appreciate being incapacitated for no reason...

"I concur wholeheartedly with the psion, and shall support him from my stance behind his person."

** spoiler omitted **

Gotak is trained in the many ways of Power, whether arcane magic, druidic summonings, or psionic abilities. The stirring of wind and sand and dust is a sure sign of Power stirring, and when the vaguely feline-faced beauty thrusts his staff at her, she springs forward. "Wasn't this," she says as she lashes out at him with her open palm, "supposed to be fisticuffs? And bringing your companion into it as well -- that's just bad form."

"Hmmm...." the strange elf purrs, "I wonder how this will turn out!"

Jimbli Willit wrote:

Jimbli disappears.. reappearing within fifteen feet of Rokan.

"I've been spotted. A dozen many-armed big guys, an ettin, and a couple massive wolves beyond the barricade. Are you ready for a fight?.. I certainly am."

Rokan breaks his gaze from scanning the plaza to barely respond.

Hmm. I can be. I was hoping we wouldn't make a mess so soon, or announce our presence so loudly.

The strange elf sneers.

"Indeed, I would rather we had maintained our advantage of surprise as well. However, I suppose there is nothing to be done about it now..."

A few feet next to the bald monk casually lounges an elven woman.

A slight breeze gently plays with the long hair flowing down from her head, only parted by long pointed ears, every now and then shifting the light gowns which conceal as much as they reveal in typical elven attire.
On her arms are many different bracelets, some obsidian, some seemingly wooden, some of jade, some made from bones, all elaborately carved with different motives. She doesn't seem to carry much else, or if it's better concealed by her clothing than her figure.
The very image of fecundity and liveliness she at the same time fulfills and elevates all the prejudice elven women normaly face, giving off an unearthly and snakelike grace in every little movement.
Standing there staring at nothing in particular ignoring the environment she plays with her hair in a lascivious way and seems bored.

Not even the sudden appearance of the flying blue cloaked halfling seems to startled her, but a slight smile touches her face, revealing pronounced fangs where the canines would usualy be.

Remind me, why are we here again?

More hushed she adds:
Many-armed big guys doesn't sound bad, but probably they are too ugly, stupid and clumsy to be of any use.

"Sister Runner!" replies the mysterious minstrel of the Deadlands, "your memory is as elusive as your people! We are of course here at the behest of the regal Lady Almah of the Clan Athiratu-Astarte of House Vordon of the Free City of Tyr, investigating the sudden disappearance of joint caravan expedition of the winged pterran known as the kamistala'i and the anthropomorphic race of pangolins known as atodilophs, which had arrived recently at the lady's audience hall within Destiny's Chariot from some far southerly region, set beneath the yawning wastes of the Deadlands."

He gestures demonstrative to the haphazard fortification in the center of the Plaza of Power,

"I believe our associate in the Compact of the Broken Tablet, Jimbli of Raam, has just alerted us those responsible for the dispatch of the southern travelers, apparently a tribe of mutant tareks. I have heard reports of them beforehand... one faction seized the Great Gate of Battle, the primary aperture of the outer walls of ancient Kalidnay."

Slavathras frowns visible,

"I wonder what reason could have compelled them to so savagely assault this entourage, and come to think of it, the reason for these rare people's entrance into the ruins remains similarly obscure."

The story thus far...

Hearken strange, my name is Slavathras of the Lands of the Dead, Silan Tilak of the elves who are the Makers of Thought, and Mind Shadow according to the Compact of the Company of the Broken Tablet…’

Thus have I heard...

In the early days of the Age of Heroes, the dolorous form of Destiny's Chariot came to wander amongst the interminable reaches of the Great Alluvial Sand Waste's most south-easterly reaches, an exceptionally barren corner of the Lands of the Seven Kingdoms on the Continent of Hargalor which dominates the southern hemisphere of this blasted world.

This fabled moving palace was once the luxurious summer domicile of Kalid-Ma, sorcerer queen of the vast, ancient, and terrible city of Kalidnay, it was rescued a millennia past, following the vast city's sudden destruction at the hands of Borys the Dragon Emperor of the Million Isles and his accomplices among the sorcerer kings of the other Seven City States of the Tablelands. Before the final assault, in which Borys massive army of undead minions breached the Citadel of Kalidnay, the palace of Destiny’s Chariot was rescued the agents of the city’s House Vordon before their hijra to the north, to seek the shelter of the Ringing Mountains.

Some stories of the time, if they can be believed, recount that the trader Ah Pteh-menes of House Vordon arranged to have Destiny’s Chariot borne on the swift currents of a mighty subterranean torrent which surfaced in the famed Subaqueous Bazaar of Kalidnay’s Trade District.

Whatever the truth of these, and other tales of the ancient world, the redoubtable merchant enclave, though given birth in the lost city of Kalidnay, was reborn in what would, in our latter days, become the Free City of Tyr. For many years, they served Kalak and his Templars, and were the scourge of the Free Men of the Ringing Mountains, who occupied villages near the ancient elemental shrines of the Rhulisti, including Amlitkayek of the Eternal Flame.

But just as they had been reborn in former times, so they faced ruin in these latter years, for the end of cruel Kalak's rule in Tyr brought the simultaneous abolishment of human bondage.

And thus Clan Ashtarte-Athirathu of House Vordon found itself impoverished, fallen from their recent majesty, and dispatched its favorite daughter, the Lady Almah, alongside her ever-dutiful major-domo Garavel, and my own humble person, to restore the forgotten trading post known variously as Kelmarane or Kell’Tamm-Hammath. This lost possession of House Vordon lay far off, in the vicinity of the Lost Oasis, and, with the reclamation of this prize, the fortunes of the beleaguered clan stood in the gaze of a fresh up-surging, like a desert fountain thought dried up by the weltering sun.

Destiny's Chariot wended amongst the dunes in a strange journey astride the ruins of its birthplace, when its grand progress was arrested by unexpected apparitions in the distance, portending an unexpected life still stirred within the devastated city state.

What more, the caravan was halted by the admonitions of Faalcuun the Magnificent, a former apprentice of the supposedly long-dead sorcerer-king Dregoth of Giustenal. This terrifying, decrepit t'liz, a horrible remnant of a half transformed dragon, restored to a pale semblance of life as an essence-drinking undead abomination, dispatched its herald Nalcaros of Ebe from the cyclopean pyramidal Green Age vessel known as the Pavilion of Mercy to stop the progress of House Vordon before the ruined city.
Lady Almah dispatched a delegation to parlay with Nalcaros, the herald of Faalcuun, and likewise an undead creature. He belonged to a forgotten race, the gnomes, and stood as a brutal testament to the violent age of the Cleansing Wars.

Nalcaros ushered our heroes into his master Faalcuun's presence within the heights of the t’liz’s throne within the Pavilion of Mercy, where Dregoth's former apprentice revealed deep mysteries to those gathered hastily before his awful personage.

For the ancient city of Kalidnay had been reawakened -- the black orbs containing the minds of the sleeping sorcerer-queen and her five greatest Templars had been reawakened, and with them the Great Orrery, a colossal black ring that hung in the heavens above the ruins, and offered an open gate to dark powers wishing to enter Athas.

What more, this unanticipated stirring of the ancient sorcerer-queen's hateful spirit had drawn emissaries of the other sorcerer-kings of the Tablelands, who hoped now to secure the power for which they had felled their sister over a millennia ago -- the greater seed, an obsidian orb of great power which derived from a world accessible only through the portal of the Great Orrery.

And so it was that the Shadow King Nibenay, Hamanu, the Lion of Urik, and the Dread King Dregoth had all sent their most trust worthy servants to wretch power from the ruins.

And they should shortly descend upon the once sleeping city...

In addition, Faalcuun revealed to our heroes that the source of the greater seed, the Great Orrery, and other obsidian wonders of the Green Age was not, as they supposed, the halflings or the other powers of the age, but a species of ancient malevolent entities who wandered the stars, known only by the name of Stoneburners.

These entities, and their ancient rivals, the Glassmakers, were in fact responsible for all psionic, as well as many of the most potent magical arts of Serinbaal the Lands of Torment.

Strengthened by the fell powers of Faalcuun, channeled from the sun within the Pavilion of Mercy, our redoubtable heroes decided to attempt an ingress of the city, whereby they would quiet the minds of Kalid-Ma and her Templars stirring in the four Talons of the Mother, and the Great Temple of the Eternal Queen at the heart of the recently slumbering city. By disabling the pylons at each of these locations, the threat to the Lands of Torment and their inhabitants would be at least temporarily halted.

Based on the expert guidance of your trusty narrator, our heroes resolved to attempt an entrance to the ruins through the Riese, the name of the vast subterranean complex within the ancient diamond mines which tower above Kalidnay, and were once ruled by the implacable will of the High Templar Khnum-Khamunkephres.

However, upon arriving at the dead fire-mount, our valiant heroes found the complex not so abandoned as they might have expected -- and instead interrupted a gruesome sacrifice made by the servants a mysterious soul-trading fiend who now ruled the mines. This mysterious entity, known only as the Master of the Aerie, had apparently arrived recently from the City of Brass preaching the bloody gospel of Ymeri, Elemental Princess of Fire, and quickly converted the mutated remnants of Kalidnay’s population which inhabited the diamond mine, as well as the distorted psionic creatures which governed them, to the teachings of the Cult of the Auroric Inferno.

Helping the heroes was a small party from a distant world, deposited in Serinbaal by the Great Orrery, and led by a mysterious draconic sage known as Tlamtlistillit the Shadowborn. However, these new travelers vanished as quickly as they had arrived, spirited away by some power possessed of this mysterious spell wielder known as the Shadowborn.

However, their quick intervention allowed the emissaries of Almah to save several intended sacrifices -- including a halfling warrior and druid, and a noble elf maiden of the Serpent Sing tribe, one Amunet-Ra – from the greedy mouth’s of the Master’s Fire Drakes.

The intellect devourers, once the masters of the mines and the misshapen remnants of ancient Kalidnay’s people until the arrival of the Master, parlayed with our heroes. On behalf of the enigmatic Master, they sought an alliance against a mysterious threat -- the ‘serpent spiders’, a race of extra dimensional wanderers who had recently come to the dark places beneath Kalidnay, and vied with the devourer's own Master for control of the ruins of the ancient city-state. These serpent spiders had installed themselves in vast arcologies beneath the Rift of Baltoush, a deep ravine south of the ruins.

Among those saved from peril, the halflings revealed that they had joined an expedition from distant Raam betrayed by disguised dray -- apparently a new race of shape-changing draconic beings sworn to Dregoth of Giustenal. The dray were adherents of a terrible cult known as the Children of the Endless Gray that had infested Raam and other city states of the Tablelands. A society of skin-stealers, the cruel ritualists of the dray flensed one of the caravan guards in the sight of the other captives. These dray had then traded the captives to the morlocks, intellect devourers, and their mysterious Master who now ruled the mines in return for safe passage.

And so it was revealed that Dregoth's servants had already entered the ruins at the behest of their terrible master, but our heroes possessed no means of revealing the dray's arcane disguises.

At the urging of the rescued elven maiden, Amunet-Ra, our heroes made a short journey to a forward camp of the Serpent Singer tribe, which resided within a ruined temple. There, one of the leaders of the tribe, the Dreaderseer Anubisemonekeh, parlayed with our heroes, and agreed to exchange the desired knowledge of aura-reading, which might reveal the presence of the disguised dray, in exchange for their provision of ancient knowledge from the kreen tomb that lay astride the temple where were gathered the elves.

While meeting with the elves, a mysterious stranger, known as Cae, arrived on the scene, claiming to hail from Balic by the shores of the Estuary of the Forked Tongue. He sought, or so he said, to reunite with his departed mistress, Arsinoe of House Nicephorus of the city-state of Balic.

And thus our heroes resolved to enter the tomb of the ancient kreen, servants of the Red God Dargulin, an ancient allay of the corrupted pyreen Rajaat.

A fierce melee with flying abominations at the entrance of the tomb dispatched one of our redoubtable heroes, who had no time to mourn.
Our heroes were again assaulted by the forces of the serpent spiders -- a party of xulgath and their animal servants. After a fierce melee, the remaining xulgath druid Troodon began to reveal much of its new masters and their desires. The serpent spiders were a race of shape changers and dimension-skippers that hailed from a distant world which had also been visited by the power of the enigmatic Stoneburners who had taught Rajaat the defiling arts, and the abomination of nature bending to the ancient halflings. Their legacy on the far off world of the serpent singers had been adopted by a race of colorless dragons who had drawn upon its power to shape themselves and the other races of mortals in their own image. Chiefly, this power, as in Serinbaal, was channeled through obsidian orbs. However, the dragons’ corruption of fiends with their mutagenic abilities proved their undoing, and the resulting abominations, known as the dramojh, and driven their former masters from the Lands of the Glistening East before installing themselves as rules of all. The serpent spiders, known as the slassans, were created by these dramojh, the warping of great subterranean serpents with the mutagenic powers of the dragon’s Stoneburner artifacts. After the destruction of the dramojh at the hands of a crusade of giants, the slassans were freed to pursue their own destinies. They divided themselves among several Chromatic Societies, and drew upon the power of the phase heart, an ancient dramojh artifact, to travel to the world of Serinbaal to seek after the remnants of the tenebrian seeds, the black orbs of the Stoneburner’s power, on other worlds. And so they had arrived on Serinbaal in Kalidnay. The Yellow Chromatic Society of the Ochre dome had awakened an ancient Stoneburner within one of the obsidian orbs, and had quickly used their newfound powers to rise to the head of serpent spider society. The Azure and Vermilion Domes of, respectively, the Blue and Red Chromatic societies had decided to pursue a different, less warlike course in their explorations of the Lands of Torment.

Venturing deeper into the tombs, our party encountered a group of agents from Nibenay seeking to punish smugglers from this region who had trespassed on their trade routes, but they quickly passed by…

Within deeper chambers of the tomb, within the resting place of Klaa’Trah-Yee the Keeper of the Keys, one of the Templars known as the Six Fingers of the Red God, the redoubtable servants of Almah combatted grievous tomb guardians, bathed in a residual living vortex of the kreen dark lord Dargulin, and then ascended a network of caverns above the tombs.

Here, they encountered the Soordogum Tribe of myceloids, who had succumbed to the power of Kchac'Thraa, an undead servant of Dargulin who had recently awakened. The wraith and its myceloid spokesperson Shraagroom the Sporulator convinced the party to enter an elemental grotto and dispose of a troublesome earth drake.

When they had arrived via a magical portal in the grotto, the party discovered that there were not one, but two drakes, and that they were companions of a mysterious druid from Yaramuke known as Itko. The representative of a clandestine criminal society that served the former serpentine lords of Yaramuke, he proposed to allay and dispose of the wraith. When their double-cross had been negotiated, the group was assaulted by an automaton servant of Kchac'Thraa.

The party returned to the great chamber of the myceloids and an intense melee ensued where the apprentices of the wraith were destroyed. Having dispatched the wraith’s immediate forces and sealed off the chamber from reinforcements, they then entered the Chamber of Convocation, where they discovered the myceloid shaman Shraagroom parlaying with the terrible Reapers, soul-stealing entities of the Gray. The party struck a deal with the caneloth, a hyena-headed monstrosity, and a renewed assault commenced that ended the reign of the wraith with its detonation of a powerful incendiary device which collapsed a vast portion of the tombs.

However, enough remained to allow the surviving heroes to rescue several elven artifacts from the myceloid chambers, and return them to Anubissemonekeh of the Serpent Singers in exchange for aura-reading abilities.

The collapsed mass of the kreen tombs, a great hole in the Iridescent Desert and the Rainbow Rise which divided the glittering sands of the former from the heat of Magsaphuron the Lake of Magma to the east, was quickly founded as a new settlement known as Cthasm. This strange admixture of myceloid, xulgath from the depths, white gnomes, human traders from New Kalid astride the ruins, and others from both the surface and subterranean worlds, had become the greatest nexus of peoples since the fabled days of Kalidnay’s Subaqueous Bazaar. Now, they all gather around the great pit known as the Doom Drop to seek their respective destinies…

Hamza turns to the elf, "Just because I said it wasn't pleasant doesn't mean I wish to be elsewhere. Alaka is also awful in many ways, but it's my home. Actually, I kinda like it down here. Reminds of where I grew up."

He pauses, looking over their group, thinking. "Now that I think about it, why don't you stay here with their royal personages? We're going to attempt diplomacy, and I feel like arriving with a pair of massive earth drakes might send the wrong message. We need Itko due to his extensive experience and knowledge. "

Should I bother rolling diplomacy here, or are you gonna have Slavathras do what he wants regardless of my result?

You can roll -- it's unlikely to have any impact on him given his his Charisma score, just like the last time we had this issue. He's not interested in going anyway, so he'll be happy to comply. Remember, we already learned that Slavathras is afraid of the Reapers who it is believed Shraagroom may be in communication with.

"That sounds like a splendid idea little demon. You run along and don't worry any on my account. I shall assuredly maintain our defenses from this removed vantage."

Everyone else agreed that we're moving on?

The elf snickers,

"Just the shambling mystic's shrine? This whole cursed city and its forsaken climes are awful. We should seek other regions if our party desires a pleasing environs."

Perhaps it is enough that we've trapped and incapacitated them to gain a bit of that leverage. We can keep using our powers to trap them until the negotiation is done.

Rokan offers.

The elf nods in agreement,

"I assure you, wrathful demon, that there shall be more than enough blood spilled in the coming days to slake even your bottomless thirst."

HERE is an updated image with the wall in place.

"So, that's that. What shall we do now, estimable associates of the Broken Tablet?"

Slavathras of the Deadlands wrote:

Rokan the Ascetic wrote:

Rokan hears Tyren's idea and snaps to attention at the possibility that it expedites their exit from this place.

Bard, if you think you can convince him to turn his myceloids against the defiler, that's all the less energy we may spend on this endeavor of dubious benefit.

"That's assuming, of course, my ascetical friend, that the fungus men will prevail in a conflict between them and the mechanical servants of the Inimitable One."

"Nevertheless, it may be worth the attempt. Shall we proceed?"

Tyren smiled, "Ah, yes. That's right; we ought to offer them salvation while we're at it. But yes, I very well might be able to convince their necromancer; after all, I have what he wants."

"Well, they may believe that they shall prevail, even if there is no good warrant for such a conviction."

"However, as I have already stated, I am uncertain if the myceloids actually cherish such hopes or insurrection against their new masters, or if this notion is in fact a fond imagining of the Serpent Singers who repeated it to me, among them the Dreadseer Anubis Semonekeh with whom we discoursed at the entrance to this awful mausoleum."

Rokan hears Tyren's idea and snaps to attention at the possibility that it expedites their exit from this place.

Bard, if you think you can convince him to turn his myceloids against the defiler, that's all the less energy we may spend on this endeavor of dubious benefit.

"That's assuming, of course, my ascetical friend, that the fungus men will prevail in a conflict between them and the mechanical servants of the Inimitable One."

"Nevertheless, it may be worth the attempt. Shall we proceed?"

Slavathras of the Deadlands wrote:

Were we to adopt this course, I would advise we seek first Shraagroom the Sporulator in his Chamber of Convocations. He is the nearest to a true leader possessed by the Soordogum Tribe, and we would need to secure his troth first in any attempt to turn the fungus men against their new masters."[/b]

Hamza nods, "That's who I suggested we go attempt to parley with first. Would you care to accompany me, to make sure I don't make any mistakes? The rest of our allies can deal with incoming horde, should negotiations fall through."

The elf grimaces noticeably at Hamza's suggestion,

"Me? Accompany you northward to the Convocation Chambers?"

Hamza, please roll for Perception and Sense Motive.

Hamza turns to Slavathras and asks the elf "In your estimation, what are the chances Shraagroom would be open to negotiation? While I do not doubt our ability to slay the mushroom hordes, it would be both a waste of time and resources. They are not our true enemy."

"It would, indeed, present a most serious and extended labor to completely annihilate the Soordogum Tribe. At the same time, I cannot honestly claim that any expectation of parlay is not simply the wishful imaginations of the Dreadseers of the Serpent Singers, who have desired intently for a long age to reclaim their relics from these ancient caverns."

"Nevertheless, I think I can claim with some justification from my many travels that I possess some verifiable intuition in such matters. Were we to adopt this course, I would advise we seek first Shraagroom the Sporulator in his Chamber of Convocations. He is the nearest to a true leader possessed by the Soordogum Tribe, and we would need to secure his troth first in any attempt to turn the fungus men against their new masters."

Can someone clarify what exactly is halting the myceloid horde at this point, I need to figure out if they can somehow get around the current obstacles.

Hamza Mīnakshi wrote:

Now that the immediate danger has passed, Hamza looks to their allies in Itko and the drakes. "We have held up our end of the bargain so far. However, I believe the dread wraith has fled the battlefield and gone into hiding, fearing for it's unlife. I do not suppose any of the three of you have the ability to track our prey or otherwise assist us in reaching it?"

"Know Hamza of the House Mīnakshi, that the fiend known as Kchac'Thraa the Inimitable has not yet appeared before us in its full powers, but rather merely in effigy within the visual displays perched atop the automatons that only just now have fled down the corridor to the west."

"During my prior visitations to this dolorous clime, I have had the opportunity to explore more of its terrible reaches. I am certain that the fiend resides below us, within a large volcanic shaft which connects this chamber, the spawning ground of its chief ally and mouthpiece, Shraagroom the myceloid seer, with the ruins of an ancient forge works. This devilish smithery once spat forth the most awful weapons in the service of a terrible conflict at the close of the Blue Age."

The druid gestures northwards,

"Otherwise, I know that the summoning chamber of the fiend lies to the north. Here, he draws forth his most terrible powers, and invites visitations from the dreadest inhabitants of the Elemental Strongholds and the Endless Wastes of the Gray."

Itko then points to the west, where the mass of myceloid reinforcements is quickly approaching.

"These have arisen from the maw of a vast beast which nests in an great chamber at the end of yonder causeway."

He then returns to the pointed edge of Hamza's question,

"I am happy to provide additional intelligence regarding these areas, and render what service we may. First, we must deal with the new forces dispatched by the fiend. I see within their number several of the behemoth shroomamoths created by the sinister experimentations of...

The mysterious elf interjects, having now materialized once again before the other members of the Company of the Broken Tablet,

"During my previous sojourn in the ruins of Great Kalidnay some several years past, I had intelligence of this tribe of mold men."

"In shot, the druid speaks truly. Before the apparent intervention of the kreen wraith known as Kchac'Thraa, this clan, whose name is the Soordogum Tribe by the Serpent Singer Elf Hunter-Seeker scouts from which I received this intelligence, had arisen from the depths of the earth beneath the Rift of Baltoush, the great riverine rift which lies to the south of the present-day ruins of Kalid-Ma's former metropolis."

"The Soordogum Tribe is lead by three potenates among the myceloids."

"The first is Shraagroom the Sporulator, an ancient mystic who dares to convene regularly with the spirits of the dead and the dangerous entities that inhabit the varied Elemental Strongholds of the Inner Planes. I would surmise that its is this entity which awoke Kchac'Thraa the Inimitible from its ages-long slumber, an ill-considered gambit to expand the tribe's powers and domain within its newly-chosen hunting grounds within the caverns abutting the Tomb of the Tra'La'Yee the Keymaster of the Red God. Indeed, Shraagroom's tempting of the nether regions has likely resulted in his tribe becoming the servants of Kchac'Thraa and its minions. If I had to guess, I would assume Shraagroom is ensconced within the great domed hall known as the Convocation Chamber, which lies to the north of this cavern, the latter which the Hunter-Seekers of the Serpent Singers referred to as the 'Spawning Grounds' or the 'Sporulation Chamber'."

"The second of the myceloids leaders is the Breedmaster Oolugooth, to whom Itko just referred. It is responsible for the creation of the Soordogum Tribe's many warbeasts, including the lumbering shroomamoths currently barreling towards our position from the west. The Hunter-Seekers also communicated to me that Oolugooth has created a number of myceloid mutations, including misshapen berseker thugs they dubbed "Shriekers."" The Breedmaster is said to make his lair in the gullet of a great beast which resides within a cavern to the west, and the termination of the weird causeway known as 'the gullet'. The Hunter-Seekers believed the entirety of the The Gullet and The Maw might well be part of some gigantic elder monstrosity burrowed within the earth beneath the ruined city. In other words, let us proceed with all due caution."

"The third of the myceloid's leaders is the assassin known as Iglulloorsh the Ravener. According to the reports I received from the Hunter-Seekers, this terrible entity operates invisibly, and possesses powerful poisonous weapons which it employs against the enemies of the Soordogum Tribe. It is probably guarding Shraagroom in the Convocation Chamber. Any assault on the tribe's seer will be contested by this deadly body guard."

"The Dreadseers of the Serpent-Singers, including the venerable Anubisemononekeh with whom we held audience in the ancient Temple of Atiamenkhet before entering the halls which the elves refer to as the Mortuaries of the Mantis Priests, we of the opinion that the myceloids had perhaps regretted arousing the ancient kreen from their slumber, and that they might be persuaded, with the proper aid and encouragement, to turn upon their new masters. I am not sure if this speculation on the part of the Serpent Singers was occasioned by their feverish desire to reclaim the ancestral heirlooms currently lost within the depths of these dreadful caves."

I'll let anyone else post their actions for this round who wants to -- in Round 7 all the rest of the foes in this chamber die if Miqeo keeps up the effect. You have one free round to prepare for reinforcements..

"And stay dead!"

"Come on you fools, filled finish them off, the reinforcements will be here soon and it sounds like they're a veritable horde of the fungal terrors!"

"Quick, we must finish dispatching these foes and somehow remove our persons from this cavern... I can already hear the approach of their reinforcements."

"Aye, we are turning the tide fellows, press on!"

"Friends, we fare well in this melee thus far, but I fear our enemy has yet to fully unveil his terrible might!"

"Incoming!

The elf shrieks as another large force of the lumbering fungus men joins the melee, descending from another chamber in the cavern complex to the shadow-strewn, and moss-enshrouded western side of the cyclopean space.

Pasted the additional myceloids into the battle map. Let's try to get everything set up. I pasted in Itko and Taalik. The map is getting pretty crowded, so we need to know where everyone is, because OOP and such are going to become an issue soon.

Better yet, from all of your storied alliances, if you could draw reinforcements to match Hamza's, perhaps we could come out of this relatively ready to return to original goals. Anything to speed this along. Rokan joins in taunting the elf, but as usual towards his own goals.

The peculiar runner simply sniffs in a mixture of irritation and disgust.

Slavathras of the Deadlands wrote:

Tyren Lourofesh wrote:

Itko Boranchakara wrote:

Tyren Lourofesh wrote:

Itko Boranchakara wrote:

Tyren Lourofesh wrote:

Tyren, fascinated by the suggestion that the grotto was both alive and maintained its intercontinental network via romance, at once stepped toward Itko. "When you say it is wooing the world...Do you suggest, then, that this world has full agency over the space around it? Is it as though the air which we breath is like an appendage, with which it can move things about as it wills?"

"The planet upon which we all endeavor to sustain our lives, such as they are, is itself a living thing, a female presence whose thinking and speaking faculties are contained within the endless crystalline nodes that penetrate the inner spaces of Athas. These are connected by ley lines which run between the endless forest of spires which emanate from the great geodesic moon which occupies the center of the planet. This is the 'brain' of Athas, and the winds which you reference are its breath."

"I see...I see. I must endeavor, then, to study the language of Athas. It is not only fascinating, I believe, but right to know the language of the one to which I entrust all my charges."

But while he was ruminating on these words, he noted that Hamza, their enigmatic master of shadows--the one with courage, that is--Had already opened a portal to his home-realm and returned. He waited expectantly. "I suppose I ought to have mentioned this earlier, but...If this is a tomb, no? That contains corpses? I'm no fan of desecrating the bodies of the dead--indeed, it's the opposite of my occupation--But if our needs are dire, I can request of the dead their assistance in eliminating this threat."

"Well, since our presumptive foe, the kreen wraith Kchac'Thraa, is itself a member of the living dead, and a master of their kind, I am doubtful whether your proposition is a winning strategy.

...

The weird elf chuckles derisively,

"And we don't imagine this immortal worthy might have considered this very obvious plan, do we clever one?"

Itko Boranchakara wrote:

Tyren Lourofesh wrote:

Itko Boranchakara wrote:

Tyren Lourofesh wrote:

Tyren, fascinated by the suggestion that the grotto was both alive and maintained its intercontinental network via romance, at once stepped toward Itko. "When you say it is wooing the world...Do you suggest, then, that this world has full agency over the space around it? Is it as though the air which we breath is like an appendage, with which it can move things about as it wills?"

"The planet upon which we all endeavor to sustain our lives, such as they are, is itself a living thing, a female presence whose thinking and speaking faculties are contained within the endless crystalline nodes that penetrate the inner spaces of Athas. These are connected by ley lines which run between the endless forest of spires which emanate from the great geodesic moon which occupies the center of the planet. This is the 'brain' of Athas, and the winds which you reference are its breath."

"I see...I see. I must endeavor, then, to study the language of Athas. It is not only fascinating, I believe, but right to know the language of the one to which I entrust all my charges."

But while he was ruminating on these words, he noted that Hamza, their enigmatic master of shadows--the one with courage, that is--Had already opened a portal to his home-realm and returned. He waited expectantly. "I suppose I ought to have mentioned this earlier, but...If this is a tomb, no? That contains corpses? I'm no fan of desecrating the bodies of the dead--indeed, it's the opposite of my occupation--But if our needs are dire, I can request of the dead their assistance in eliminating this threat."

"Well, since our presumptive foe, the kreen wraith Kchac'Thraa, is itself a member of the living dead, and a master of their kind, I am doubtful whether your proposition is a winning strategy. Would the dark one not simply seize control of your undead servants and turn

...

"That raises an excellent question -- what is our plan of attack? Remember, I'm not leading from the front!"

Itko Boranchakara wrote:

Tyren Lourofesh wrote:

Itko Boranchakara wrote:

Tyren Lourofesh wrote:

Tyren, fascinated by the suggestion that the grotto was both alive and maintained its intercontinental network via romance, at once stepped toward Itko. "When you say it is wooing the world...Do you suggest, then, that this world has full agency over the space around it? Is it as though the air which we breath is like an appendage, with which it can move things about as it wills?"

"The planet upon which we all endeavor to sustain our lives, such as they are, is itself a living thing, a female presence whose thinking and speaking faculties are contained within the endless crystalline nodes that penetrate the inner spaces of Athas. These are connected by ley lines which run between the endless forest of spires which emanate from the great geodesic moon which occupies the center of the planet. This is the 'brain' of Athas, and the winds which you reference are its breath."

"I see...I see. I must endeavor, then, to study the language of Athas. It is not only fascinating, I believe, but right to know the language of the one to which I entrust all my charges."

But while he was ruminating on these words, he noted that Hamza, their enigmatic master of shadows--the one with courage, that is--Had already opened a portal to his home-realm and returned. He waited expectantly. "I suppose I ought to have mentioned this earlier, but...If this is a tomb, no? That contains corpses? I'm no fan of desecrating the bodies of the dead--indeed, it's the opposite of my occupation--But if our needs are dire, I can request of the dead their assistance in eliminating this threat."

"Well, since our presumptive foe, the kreen wraith Kchac'Thraa, is itself a member of the living dead, and a master of their kind, I am doubtful whether your proposition is a winning strategy. Would the dark one not simply seize control of your undead servants and turn

...

Turning to Rokan, Hamza replies "I am unsure how long I will be, though it should not take too much time. And while there is always a chance something could wrong, I do not foresee any complications. I am going home after all."

The elf just nods, smiling sublimely,

"Then, by all means, please be about your task! The dread demesne of our mutual foes awaits!"

"And I as well!"

The peculiar elf with his peculiar spine-laden armor fixes an expectant gaze on Hamza.

Amunet-Ra plants her feet firmly on the ground in a broad stand, cradling her crystalline tooth like sword like a baby in her arms, her eyes sparkling with displeasure.

Interesting news you have there, cowardly crouching in the shadows,a name better suited to you. Maybe someone whispered to many #
Stolen secrets into the hyenas ears? But just because some great warriors died in battle my tribe won't falter. We're still under the same hill, which is our territory, so you will trade with us and pay customs. As it is rightful tradition. You city dwellers always think only those perched inside some walls have rights.

Slavathras frowns at Amunet-Ra,

"Well, my tribe do not dwell within city-walls, and I agree with the estimation of the druid as to your people's claims in regards to this remarkable interplanetary cynosure."

Aah, okay, cool. That'll be a fun revelation for Tyren later.Tyren snorted, "Too far in my suspicions, you say. We live in Athas, friend. There is no such thing." He frowned, "Well, strictly speaking, if it's a temporary portal, I can't complain too terribly much. It's not as though we're allowing permanent access for anyone who should discover the portal's existence."

"I must confess, though, that the fabled City of the Seven Shadows is amongst those legendary locales of our tortured planet that I have long yearned, though not been able, to visit personally. Perhaps our desperate circumstances present a unique opportunity for a traveler such as myself."

Amunet-Ra wrote:

Since this is officialy Serpent Singers territory, you would have to offer something to my tribe in the first place.

"I find myself in the somewhat surprising situation of concurring with our estimable bardic associate. Maybe it's impolite to notice that even the traditional confines of your tribe's territories are not uncontested -- consider, for example the feral tribes of Sand Trawlers that contest the Serpent Singer's rule of the Iridescent Desert. In any event, this grotto is not clearly within the boundaries of your tribe's territories, and I fail to see its self-evident claim within the context of the present negotiations being conducted vis a vis its present serpentine caretakers and their druidic ward."

"Aye, and upon my last visitation to your illustrious shrine, I rather vividly recollect a pitched battle which transpired between these very same Sand Trawlers and the arrayed forces of your tribe. As I recollect the event, several of the Dreadseers fell in pitched battle with the besieging army. The great hoofed hyenas, the aendrusɑrkeses, of the Sand Trawler raiders tore several of your noble warriors limb from limb."

Since this is officialy Serpent Singers territory, you would have to offer something to my tribe in the first place.

"Your venerable tribe has long laid claim to the Iridescent Desert and the slopes of the Rainbow Rise to the west of the Kalidnay ruins. However, as we now find ourselves within this curious intra-dimensional demiplane, I am not sure how that stricture applies."

Tyren watched in bafflement as they debated an entirely fictitious story designed for the sole purpose of giving the ritual contract they bound one-another to power. "And what exactly makes you think making up fictional events about a group of people who technically did exist, but never did half the things anyone here mentioned, was a particularly good idea?" He looked to Slavathras, "We don't need your help. You've already given us our best tool for overcoming the Wraith. You can go hide in shadow and wait for us to defeat the Defiler."

He then looks to Hamza, "--But I agree with the Druid as well. I'd be hesitant to open a portal directly to the City of Seven Shadows. It seems, in my opinion, a steep enough price all its' own. I'm of the opinion we likely have enough manpower among ourselves to fight these creatures."

Just to be clear, none of the Twelve Champions existed, but all the other stuff is real -- there is a city-state of Celik and so forth, and all the tribes and other sites described exist. The Twelve Champions are tulpas like slender man that were conjured by the ritual. Thus, their actions are controlled by the stories told about them, so both Slavathras and the two druids are manipulating them by retelling the story -- their existence and intentions are based on consensus imagination, so currently the druids are overriding Slavathras because they've discerned this fact. However, all the other characters could weigh in against them in the opposite direction and shift the balance.

The elf effects of look of shock and outrage,

"What do you mean 'fictional events'? Do you not behold the shadows of the very heroes to which I have referred? Surely, you go too far in your suspicions, Tyren of the Free-City of Tyr."

Hamza turns to address Ito is it Ito or Itko? "You are correct, I am a noble merchant, but I am also a noble and a merchant. As I mentioned before, what I propose is an alliance between House Mīnakshi, yourself and your noble charges. Mīnakshi is one of most ancient of all of the houses within Alaka, also known as Che'el de' Barra Velg'larns or the City of Shadow Assassins. Along with a few other noble families, Mīnakshi helped found Alaka and to this day, is considered one of the more preeminent Houses. We are indeed merchants, but our other title is Lil' Su'aco xor Nindyn Vel'uss Venorsh M'elzaren. Which translates into The Wind, or Those Who Silence Defilers in Olathooble or Shadowtongue. We are assassins who specialize in killing mages who dare use the profane arts known as defiling." He calls forth his shadowy kama, which all those present note is dark red in color. "This is Vlossu'aco or Bloodwind, the ancestral weapon of Mīnakshi, and my badge of office. I am the Nizzre' Senger or Lightning Lord, one of four lieutenants of The Wind."

He pauses, letting these revelations sink in. "Here is my offer. I can open a portal to The Black, to Alaka. I will petition Zhennuilharn Arshes or Grandfather Thunder, leader of the Wind, to lend us a contingent of assassins to help us destroy Kchac'Thraa. In return, you grant House Mīnakshi access to the network of portals here, so that we may more swiftly carry our missions of death."

Slavathras of the Thought Makers sniffs contemptuously,

"And what exactly makes you sure either that this request will be granted, or that it will prove decisive in our impending melee with Kchac'Thraa the Inimitable? I, for one, share the druid's concern in opening a portal to the City of Seven Shadows."

Taalik Amun BrahmanaŚauca wrote:

Hamza Mīnakshi wrote:

Hamza listens with interest to Slavathras story, as he enjoyed a good tale. When it is over, he begins to reply, then pauses as first Taalik then Ito and finally Amunet take the storyteller to task. Something he was going to do himself.

Chuckling loudly, he finally responds "I think it is just that, a tale. It would seem you have one ready at a moment's notice, almost as if you are trying to manipulate us into doing what you want. But, I will tell you this, most of our number believes we should defeat Kchac'Thraa here and now. Which means, in your version of this story, you and Rokan play the role of Three Fangs, potentially going off on your own and breaking away from our company. If that is your decision, I will not stop you, and I will do my best to recover your remains. Though, I am unsure if any among us have the divine prowess to bring you back to life."

"Actually, friend Hamza," begins Taalik, cordially, but firmly, "I believe you have directly reversed the signification of the elf's tale to our current predicament. Three Fangs, like you, is a warrior who wishes to dispel a current threat, and Fleet Hands is a loquacious petty conjurer of the same sort as a our esteemed minstrel, who wishes instead to continue along towards the original goal of our compact."

"For you see, in the way that Slavathras told the tale, it was intended to warn against you departing to defeat the wraith, while the manner in which Ito and myself have conveyed the narrative teaches exactly the opposite deduction."

Ito smiles in clear agreement with his druid brother, and watches eagerly for Slavathras' reaction.

The native of Yaramuke reveals an even larger grin as a collection of a dozen ethereal figures suddenly collects around the elf.

They appear to consist of: a sage with a cowl whose face is mostly hidden by the garment's deep folds -- its high precipice tips slightly at the summit, in profile...

Slavathras looks with daggers before grinning with a maniacal rictus,

"Actually, my evergreen friends, I believe it is you who are mistaken. For my account of the death and second life of Three Fangs the Trackless is drawn directly from the shard of the Broken Tablet which I have already presented unto our impromptu sodality, and which was inscribed by the pen of Fleet Hands directly following the aforementioned events."

He proffers the shattered cuneiform envelope once gain to the view of all assembled,

"It would seem, then, that the records upon which you are dependent are in error, and result from the attempt of the others of the Twelve Champions of Celik to gainsay the advice of Fleet Hands which preserved their compact life and limb in totality so that they arrived whole at the menhirs which buttressed the trophy-bedecked gates of high-walled Oscalgarum."

As Slavathras completes his retort, the dozen wraith-like images slowly turn and approach Taalik and Ito.

Taalik Amun BrahmanaŚauca wrote:

Slavathras of the Deadlands wrote:

"And thus is came to pass that the grim scout and the loquacious illusionist persisted in their contention whist the rest of the Twelve Champions of Celik looked on in consternation and uncertainty -- in which way should their fellowship walk? In a moment further, Three Fangs had apparently lost his patience, though not his placid composure. And so the dolorous tracker gathered his mottled cloak about himself and began to follow the trail of the the Jarchi'Jaruud Adarginkhagan berserkers, a fairly un-difficult task considering the immense impressions left by the passage of the half-tarek raiders' monstrous one-eyed pachyderm steeds."

""Yay, see how it comes to be for thee!"" called Fleet Hands after the scout. "We shall see what comes of it, I am sure!" Unable to reach a resolution, the remainder of the Twelve Champions continued along the Yellow Road, until the sun had descended, and they set about camp while the two moons hung in the sky above them. Still, Three Fangs had not returned, but still the assailants of the Urikite caravan had not appeared again to trouble the journey of the Twelve Champions of Celik to high-walled Oscalgarum and its storied orchards of white apples."

"Gathered around the flickering illumination offered by their campfire, Gray Cowl suddenly assumed a grim visage."

"Quickly taking notice, Fleet Hands inquired, "He hath met a unkind, has he not?" and the gray-cloaked sage simply nodded solemnly in reply. As before, the mum scribe filled the empty space between the companions with remarkable depictions of recent events. They beheld Three Fangs carefully approaching the haphazard camp site of the Jarchi'Jaruud Adarginkhagan, where the half-breed tarek had spitted the survivors of the Urikite caravan in preparation for the evening repast. The gruesome odor of burning flesh seemed to waft from the curious nighttime mirage which had been conjured by the

...

The elf simply grimaces furiously at the druids, his mouth set and Slavathras' eyes blazing with an undeniable fire.

"And thus is came to pass that the grim scout and the loquacious illusionist persisted in their contention whist the rest of the Twelve Champions of Celik looked on in consternation and uncertainty -- in which way should their fellowship walk? In a moment further, Three Fangs had apparently lost his patience, though not his placid composure. And so the dolorous tracker gathered his mottled cloak about himself and began to follow the trail of the the Jarchi'Jaruud Adarginkhagan berserkers, a fairly un-difficult task considering the immense impressions left by the passage of the half-tarek raiders' monstrous one-eyed pachyderm steeds."

""Yay, see how it comes to be for thee!"" called Fleet Hands after the scout. "We shall see what comes of it, I am sure!" Unable to reach a resolution, the remainder of the Twelve Champions continued along the Yellow Road, until the sun had descended, and they set about camp while the two moons hung in the sky above them. Still, Three Fangs had not returned, but still the assailants of the Urikite caravan had not appeared again to trouble the journey of the Twelve Champions of Celik to high-walled Oscalgarum and its storied orchards of white apples."

"Gathered around the flickering illumination offered by their campfire, Gray Cowl suddenly assumed a grim visage."

"Quickly taking notice, Fleet Hands inquired, "He hath met a unkind, has he not?" and the gray-cloaked sage simply nodded solemnly in reply. As before, the mum scribe filled the empty space between the companions with remarkable depictions of recent events. They beheld Three Fangs carefully approaching the haphazard camp site of the Jarchi'Jaruud Adarginkhagan, where the half-breed tarek had spitted the survivors of the Urikite caravan in preparation for the evening repast. The gruesome odor of burning flesh seemed to waft from the curious nighttime mirage which had been conjured by the un-speaking sorcerer. Then, the scout set about besieging the half dozen or so berserkers then watching their place of rest. He enjoyed immediate, bloody success, for Three Fangs quickly dispatched four of the Jarchi'Jaruud Adarginkhagan savages with a blinding blizzard of swirling blades. Their hot blood stained the sand and steamed ominously in the heat of the late afternoon torpor. Then, the victory of the tracker was arrested by the arrival of the savages' witch doctor, so identified by the great skull which the shaman wore as a sign of his office, but more so by the strange servitor entities which circled its person. In a moment, the chanting cantor had immobilized the scout, leaving him easy prey for the remaining berserkers. The scene vanished as one of the cycloptic elephantaurs gored the tracked through the chest with an array of tusks sharper and stronger than knives..."

""And that," said Fleet Hands the exiled court jester of Celik, "is just how I had imagined the matter, and what should transpire." He said nothing for a moment. Then he offered, "luckily, I am apprised of certain reserved lore gathered from the traditions of Kalidnay, on the far side of the Yellow Road, and we may yet restore our associate. We should, I imagine, retrieve his surviving remains with all due haste on the morrow -- the Jarchi'Jaruud Adarginkhagan shall have consumed most, but not all, and but a lock of hair, or a scrap of skin shall suffice for our purposes.""

Slavathras then turns to Hamza and Rokan,

"And so that is the story of how Three Fangs came to be among the dead, and yet walked again among the living. What think you of this further tale of the Twelve Champions of Celik?"

He smiles expectantly, letting show some of this wicked incisors.

Slavathras sighs languidly, thereby effecting to his audience the convincing representation of a feral hunting cat. He then continues the narration,

"But I digress, for you see, first among the camp of the Twelve Champions of Celik who wished to pursue the mysterious assailants of the Urikite caravan was the inimitable tracker known as Three Fangs. This enigmatic son of the lonely hills which surrounded Celik was famed for the inhuman speed of his hands, which allowed him to wield three scimitars in battle, while possessing only two sets of fingers which which to grasp them."

"Long had his wont been to accompany caravans along the Yellow Road which leads from the confines of Celik's Court of Submission to the Canopic gates of Kalidnay -- the Gates of the Baboon, the Gate of the Jackal, the Gate of the Falcon, and the Gate of Man. Thus, we wished to see the nature and end of the mysterious assailants of the Bridge of Kohljaeger, known as either Brückesteg Kohljäger or Köprüg Khövsgöl depending on the tribal language under consideration."

"And so Three Fangs set about calming the plaintive cries of the Urikite breathing wagon, the narkabtum baltumbintunapistum, and attempted to deduce from its memories the nature of its company's assailants."

"However, Fleet Hands, a master of prestidigitation who had been banished from his former imperial patron's presence for indecorous comments made about the physical equipage of Sulṭāna's ninth paramour, objected furiously to the tracker's endeavor."

""Yea, I see,"" he offered, "neither the white apples nor the ringing walls of storied Oscalgarum, and yet we have tarried herein on this man-less bridge fording and empty gulch. Let us be gone, and quickly, that the oath might be fulfilled.""

"But Three Fangs simply scoffed at the beguilers protestations. "Friend, think you that those who cut down these travelers of the Red City shall leave us in peace? Nay, we must seek them out before they find our necks. In no wise shall we pass the Yellow Road in peace, or arrive at the gates which shield the white apples of our troth, but that we set about the hunt for those who dared this savage deed."

"Gray Cowl the silent then began to fill the hot air of the steppe in the mid afternoon heat with shimmering images blazoned upon naught but wind and the absence of its passage. The signs depicted a band of savage halfbreed-tarek desert tribesmen and their cycloptic elephantaur steeds assaulting the Urikite caravan. The latter's guardsmen, even equipped with the remarkable godbeast armor and armament for which the Red City was famed throughout the Tablelands, were unable to overcome the nomadic assailants. The brigands descended upon the company and their mounts gored and savaged the breathing wagon of the Urikites."

""Yes indeed master scribe," intoned Three Fangs solemnly, "I had divined as much from the bleating beast that lies here before my eyes and under my hands." The tracker set his pair of customarily-reserved lips determinedly, daring further contest to his intention. "The caravan fell to the Jarchi'Jaruud Adarginkhagan, a vicious tribe of the Oğuz Ozjolaji horse archers that has interbred with the tarek of the wastes, and cultivated fell beasts such as the cycloptic elephantaurs to do their bidding. Rest assured, they shall not halt their depredations of the Yellow Road at this one outrage, nor is it certain they have not already compassed us within their hungry gaze.""

Slavathras of the Deadlands wrote:

The mysterious elf reclines his head slightly,

"Ah, but this little dilemma calls to mind the misadventures of the legendary sodality upon which we shall all sworn our oaths."

Just to remind you of the story, in case the details got hazy:

Quote:

"Come ye seekers far and near, and hear a tale of the days of yore, before the sun turned red and the wide blue oceans silted over, in the distant Green Age of the world."

"In that time, the great city of Celik stood on the shores of the Dragon's Tongue, the highest and finest jewel of the Estuary's southern arm."

"In those days, Celik was ruled by the Sulṭāna Esmeray Khuban, a powerful seer. The eldest daughter of a savage horse warrior chief who had conquered the teeming city, she aided her sire's conquest through her spectacular visionary abilities before assuming the mantle of kingship upon his death."

"A long trade route, called the Golden or Yellow Road, now forgotten and unused, connected the bustling markets of Celik with other city-states whose names remain on the tongues of living men, such as Kalidnay, Balic, and Yaramuke, and others who do not, such as Angara and Kük Török. The Yellow Road reached well beyond the Tablelands, all the way to the dominions of the Kreen Empire, as well as many lands beyond."

"Blue agate and peerless sapphire and ocean-hued jade and other exotic stones came to Celik from the distant mountain climes of Tantanistān, while groaning black behemoths, the siksinááttsiwa, whose mighty roars it is said that could silence armies arrived from the sweeping reaches and fetid swamps of Ko'komíki'somma -- the Plains of the Moon."

"And so the treasures of the world poured into Celik, and were presented at the Court of Submission. This was the title given to the grand portico of the Sulṭāna Esmeray's Gilded House, a great palace set at the gates of the city where envoys from foreign lands could present their wares personally to the ruler or

...

"Well, they were originally herd beasts of the Ùĝsaĝgígga plains peoples, before the great open reaches of their homeland, the Maasai Mara, was devastated by the cataclysm that produced the Haljōhjärta. These Ùĝsaĝgígga were enslaved by the Galzu people of Urik, along with their beasts of burden... but I digress..."

"The Twelve Champions of Celik were divided by their varied desires. Some wanted to punish the perpetrators of the ambush, while others wished to pass over the Bridge of Kohljaegar without further delay."

The mysterious elf reclines his head slightly,

"Ah, but this little dilemma calls to mind the misadventures of the legendary sodality upon which we shall all sworn our oaths."

Just to remind you of the story, in case the details got hazy:

"Come ye seekers far and near, and hear a tale of the days of yore, before the sun turned red and the wide blue oceans silted over, in the distant Green Age of the world."

"In that time, the great city of Celik stood on the shores of the Dragon's Tongue, the highest and finest jewel of the Estuary's southern arm."

"In those days, Celik was ruled by the Sulṭāna Esmeray Khuban, a powerful seer. The eldest daughter of a savage horse warrior chief who had conquered the teeming city, she aided her sire's conquest through her spectacular visionary abilities before assuming the mantle of kingship upon his death."

"A long trade route, called the Golden or Yellow Road, now forgotten and unused, connected the bustling markets of Celik with other city-states whose names remain on the tongues of living men, such as Kalidnay, Balic, and Yaramuke, and others who do not, such as Angara and Kük Török. The Yellow Road reached well beyond the Tablelands, all the way to the dominions of the Kreen Empire, as well as many lands beyond."

"Blue agate and peerless sapphire and ocean-hued jade and other exotic stones came to Celik from the distant mountain climes of Tantanistān, while groaning black behemoths, the siksinááttsiwa, whose mighty roars it is said that could silence armies arrived from the sweeping reaches and fetid swamps of Ko'komíki'somma -- the Plains of the Moon."

"And so the treasures of the world poured into Celik, and were presented at the Court of Submission. This was the title given to the grand portico of the Sulṭāna Esmeray's Gilded House, a great palace set at the gates of the city where envoys from foreign lands could present their wares personally to the ruler or her representatives."

"One day, a haggard messenger strode into the Court of Submission..."

The elf rolls his opaque pupils in a slightly unnerving cascade, effecting an expression of at once crazed ecstasy and exasperation, the latter as if to say that clearly wasn't a major plot point you insufferable dolt."

Slavathras, also known as Silan Tilak, of the Clan of the Thoughtmakers continues his narrative,

"Know, oh my hearers, that in those days the armies of Kalidnay and Celik strove one against the other and mightily for power over the riches of the Yellow Road. Their clashes were many, and those remembered were twelve, the last of which was the stories battle of Qeteš Gitai. Here, the Scarab and Scorpion Legions of the Pharaoh Amenhersemif Tuau of Kalidnay, their hardened warriors fighting astride the lumbering great scarabs whose size exceeded that of an elephant, clashed with the cannonade of the Sulṭāna Esmeray Khuban's father, the Kakaɣan Yagmur Khuban. The latter's cohorts of mechanically adept Yeñiçeri inflicted devastating losses on the Kalidnayan legions even as their great siege weapons and redoubtable brothers at arms were torn apart by the Pharaoh Amenhersemif Tuau's seemingly endless forces. The two great armies fought to a stalemate, and resolved to do so no more, and erected a monumental stela to commemorate the both the Battle and the Pact of Qeteš Gitai. The two rulers resolved to offer tribute one to the other at the Harvest Moon every other year to renew the peace between the cities, and forestall the further shedding of blood."

"The messenger, according to his proclamation, had journeyed from the 'king' of Oscalgarum, a large town on the Yellow Road between Kalidnay and Celik famed for its seemingly ever blooming orchards of white apples."

"The domain of King Tarranat, the messenger explained, and in particular the hill fortress of Skeltarlim from which the orchards of white apples were surveyed, had been violated by the forces of the exiled king's son Gelboras, who had been cast out for a plot against the life of his father and older brother Osaridus."

"And so the messenger, having relayed his message to the Sulṭāna's representative in the Court of Submission, presented also the cracked tablet upon which the King Tarranat of Oscalgarum had ordered his request for aid to be inscribed to Esmeray Khuban, the ruler of Celik. In the course of his travels, the clay tablet and its envelope had been sundered by the assault of wild Oğuz Ozjolaji horse archers, a savage remnant of the Qirgünqüq Qazaqliq horde that had refused to take up permanent residence in their people's new possession of Celik."

"The emissary of the Sulṭāna observed the epistolary artifact and issued a summons to the divers peoples present in the Court of Submission, merchants, mercenaries, slavers, bounty hunters, vagabonds, minstrels, bankers, scouts, sages, and many, many others. To those that would take up the cause of King Tarranat on behalf of the Sulṭāna, they would be rewarded with a portion of Kalidnay's tribute, soon to arrive at the Harvest Moon. The ruler of Celik was inclined to offer aid, in the expectation that the greater part of the bounty garnered from the splendid white apples of Oscalgarum should be deposited in her own coffers. However, she was unable to send her own forces, lest the Pharaoh Nathifa Nes-maut Tuau, daughter of Amenhersemif Tuau, should view such as a violation of the venerable pact between her own royal father and that of the Sulṭāna."

"To the emissary's call, twelve answered, whose names are forgotten, but whose titles remain,"

"Storm Cloud, the great archer of the Niitsitapisiksikaitsitapi, who rode one of the bellowing black beasts known as the siksinááttsiwasuiáhkyaiyoa, and carried a bow that could launch a hundred arrows in one volley."

"Fleet Hands, a banished entertainer of the Sulṭāna, driven from the palace for indecorous comments regarding the ruler's husband."

"Grey Cowl the Silent, a master of the arcane arts, tutored by a sage of Celik after he was caught pilfering food from the master's tower. Though he was mute by birth, yet his numerous writings made great his fame."

"Sun Fear, the handmaiden of the blazing eye of heaven. She married the fiery miracles of her mystical rapport with the Elemental Stronghold of the Sun to the cool death issued by her twin hand cannons."

"Death Talon the assassin, a man said to be 'without a face' who lived half his life as a shadow. His was among the highest sought contract among the disputing nobles of Celik."

"Red Tusk the gladiator, a brutal man reputed to enjoy tarek blood in his veins. He was among the greatest champions of Celik's storied arena."

The healer known either as Basalm or Venom Kiss, the apothecary to the Sulṭāna's vizier, who was on occasion also an assassin."

"Three Fangs the tracker, whose blinding speed permitted him to wield three scimitars with two hands. He often escorted caravans on the Yellow Road."

"Whisper, the public identity of a mysterious masked man who represented a strange artisanal cult that venerated occult images of the deceased Qirgünqüq Qazaqliq Kakaɣans."

"Skullsnapper the pugilist, a famed brawler reputed to enjoy the advantages of troll blood who left a life of tavern combat to pursue a higher path as a concubine of the Sulṭāna's Great Harem."

"Shivers, a master of the mental arts who had perfected the installment of terror."

"And last, but not least, a traveler from the distant Kreen Empire known as the Rune Teacher, a tohr-kreen whose chitin was inscribed with elaborate tattoos, all of which produced remarkable effects."

"The Sulṭāna's emissary gathered Storm Cloud, Fleet Hands, Grey Cowl, Sun Fear, Death Talon, Red Tusk, Basalm, Three Fangs, Whisper, Skull Snapper, Shivers, and Rune Teacher in a circle around the broken tablet of the messenger from Oscalgarum."

"He spoke to them as follows:

"You are bound not by the will of the Celik's ruler, who cannot partake in this task herself, lest the Pharaoh of Kalidnay take umbrage and the Pact of Qeteš Gitai be thereby abrogated, but solely one to another in this endeavor."

"Therefore, you shall swear one to another upon this talisman -- never shall you break your fellowship as like the sundering of this tablet, lest you yourself shall suffer the same penalty. You must alone be loyal to one another and your task, not to kings, or queens, or creeds, or any other powers."

"And so the Twelve Champions swore, one to another, on the shattered tablet of the messenger of Oscalgarum. That so they should be rent themselves if they should break their troth to their fellows."

"Verily, it has come unto my hearing that, whilst plying the dusty road to Oscalgarum, the Twelve Champions of Celik came to strive amongst themselves, throwing into shadow the successful conclusion of their joint venture..."

"For it came to pass, that as the Twelve Champions approached the ancient Bridge of Kohljaegar, which crosses parched coils the Brineless Stream, all were assailed by a vision of sound and fury --- the ruination of an Urikite caravan, the high fleshy precipice of the breathing wagon's billowing enclosure dripping with fresh ichor, and the unsettling contraption exhaling heavily in the mid-afternoon heat, its minders absconded to some terrible fate and thus unable to salve its intense thirst."

Tyren listened to the two sides bicker, an eyebrow raising ever so slightly. It seems, then, that there isn't a general consensus on what the fate of this kreen should be. I'd say that should be death--As always.

"I'd like to remind everyone," Tyren said quietly, That we stand within ruins surrounded by the greatest proof history has given us that unrepentant defilers are the enemy." He looked around at his companions, " If we succeed here, it will be at little cost to our journey. If we fail, it will only prove we were never capable of defeating our ultimate enemies. There is little risk/reward to consider here. There are, however, well-documented reasons as to why Defilers cannot be allowed to exist. Ordinarily, I'd argue we should offer the Defiler a better path--But this one comes from beyond the grave, and yet still Defiles. For the uninitiated, the dead may pull from the Grey. It has already proven it cares not for the living, and by that measure, it should remain with the Dead. Now, it's true that ordinarily such a creature would be a difficult opponent, indeed, to slay. However, I have specialized poisons for slaying the undead. I can render it blind, unable to cast spells, with its own eldritch energies burning it inside-out, and a million other horrible fates. I cannot say
I can do the same about the droids, however, and the Kreen's apprentices are far too many for me to reliably handle before they overwhelm us. Similarly, this giant centipede may be something I can effect--But more likely than not, it's tolerant to venoms. I imagine that Jin can assist you all in overcoming the droids, but who among us is best-equipped for handling masses of incorporeal foes?"

The vituperative elf sprays spittle as Slavathras veritably hisses his reply to Tyren,

"You wondrous plan is to poison not one, but several incorporeal entities. And how exactly do you plan to do that? I have never heard tell of a toxin that possessed the ability to afflict in-bodied beings, such as that which you shall face in yonder caverns."

"All you do is hide every time we get into a fight. You are nothing but a coward! If all you do is run away from every conflict, why are you even here? You have done nothing at all even semi helpful since I joined up. Other than run your mouth." Hamza lashes back.

Also, I don't think I'm being a jerk here as the DM, I'm pretty sure this is consistently how I've portrayed this character for over a year now. I recall Rokan insisting they take an alternative route into the ruins because he was sure Slavathras intended to use them as meat shields.

"Just because I am blessed with the necessary abilities to avoid battle may arouse your pitiable envy, but not my concern or sympathy, little imp."

"I have traveled these and distant lands for longer than you can imagine, and the druid here has spoken arightly when he described the rest of Athas as worse than the Tablelands by every measure. No soul that has ventured as far as mine would have survived assuming unneeded risk, and I have behaved in the present circumstances no differently than I have acquitted myself in my previous endeavors."

"My council is my own, and my ultimate ends bend towards a calling higher than the present circumstances which I shall not endanger with you or any other's concerns."

Hamza looks at Slavathras, perplexed "I do not understand your unwillingness to actually assist us in our fight versus the the Kreen wraith. Rokan mentioned the sorcerer kings, whom I believer are all defilers. Just like Kchac'Thraa. It is an immediate, imminent threat, one that if we do not defeat, will likely become just as dangerous as the sorcerer kings, for it too is immortal. As I asked the monk, if we were to just leave this place without destroying the wraith, do you honestly believe it will not seek us out and get revenge for betraying our admittedly tentative agreement?"

As Slavathras is an NPC, I can use diplomacy against him, so that's a 41.

His charisma modifier (which is super high, since that's his major stat, he has a similarly insane stat spread as these PCs, except he's a higher level character), added to his initial hostility to you telling him what to do, is way above DC41 to accomplish. He'll cast some spells to help you, but he's not getting directly involved, and you can't force him to do so outside of arcane compulsion or physical violence. You have a strong party, but you can see he disappeared into shadow form every time combat happened so far, so he won't be a push over if you decide to try to fight him about the issue. Also, unless you think I'm exaggerating, here's here's a link to a thread on Charisma optimization that I used in roughing his stats that shows a way for him to have 100+ easily, and he has most of these effects in place as that's his high stat. That's easily a stat modifier above 41.

The elf cracks a rictus grin and clucks in a highly provocative manner at Hamza,

"Your silver tongue has less sheen than mine little imp! As I already averred, I may be willing to offer some arcane assistance in your preparations, but I will not personally be participating in this dreadful melee. I have already offered some significant advice to you regarding the incorporeality of wraiths and the obstacle this ability represents to conventional battle strategies."

"I just want to be perfectly clear that I not contributing to this insane assault on the ancient wraith."

"When Rokan and myself pledged to my noble patron, the illustrious Lady Alma Bint Bar-Hammath of the Clan Astharte-Athiratu of the Merchant House Vordon of the Free-City of Tyr, as well as brokered an arrangement with Dregoth's former disciple Faalcuun the Magnificent, our first and only goal was to enter the ruins and close the Great Orrery, not to dabble in these other matters."

"I remain committed only to my first resolution. Our compact via the heroes of the Broken Tablet ensures that I will not oppose your melee with Kchac'Thraa the Inimitable, but neither will I personally participate in the carnage that will doubtless ensure."

"I will provide only guidance and perhaps what arcane assistance is within my power to fortify you for the combat, but not manifest directly to assault the enemy."

"And first and foremost I would call attention to the unique powers possessed by the species of free-willed undead known as wraiths, who are immune to most physical attacks, but are able still to attack their foes with magic, as well as their innate powers. You will need to possess a means to overcome the protection afforded by the wraith's incorporeality, in addition to that of his apprentices."

"Are we become so few?" Ri'Kli'Klek responds to Ehawee, sadly. "Are the great cities of the Tohr fallen, the clans of the Thri dead? We are, by nature, obligate carnivores. Little can we eat of plants, and so we have not taste for them."

Turning to the Drakes, he says, "It is not my thought to leave a Defiler active behind us, if perhaps we might destroy it. Who knows what death and waste he might wreak while we were absent?"

The weird elf laughs in an irritating pitch,

"Oh, by no means. To the west of our current location, beneath the precipitous drop of the Savage Cliffs, lies the Great Empire of the Tohr-Kreen. Its dimension are at least ten fold greater than that of the Tablelands, and its population at least a hundred fold greater than that of the Seven Cities. And yet the sorcerer-kings continue their pitiful internecine struggles, one with another, for the rule of this miserable stretch of desert, while the cold will of the Priests of Change who rule this great western empire hungrily eye the realms to the east, seeking new living space for their endless millions of subjects."

The mysterious elf named Slavathras, addressed as Silan Tilak of the Thoughtmakers by the Dreadseer Anubisemonekeh of Amunet-Ra's Serpent Singer Tribe, and who had taken the title Mindshadow when swearing the oath of the Company of the Broken Tablet, gazes fixedly at the True Drake princess Chanthavy-Chanvatey the Diamond Blossom.

The peculiar qualities of his arms and armament are a fair complement to the greater enigma of his person, origins, and designs. Slavathras' armor is composed of what appear to be the carcasses of several immense pangolins, a strange species of 'scaly ant eaters' distinguished by the large, protective keratin scales which cover their soft skin. They are the only known mammals with this feature.

Native to the torpid regions near the city-states of Gulg and Nibenay, the physical appearance of a pangolin is marked by large hardened overlapping plate-like scales, which are soft on newborn pups, but harden as the animal matures.

From the appearance of Slavathras' breastplate, epaulets, and helmet, all of the contributing animals were of an adult age.

These scale-like plates are composed of keratin, the same material from which human fingernails and tetrapod claws are made, and are structurally and compositionally very different from the scales of reptiles.

The pangolin's scaled body is comparable in appearance to a pine cone, and the warped fusion created by merging the exoskeleton's of at least three of the scaly ant eaters endows Slavathras' with an at once indelible, frightening, and ludictrous appearance, something like a predatory cactus or a feral, carnivorous porcupine.

Under threat, the pangolin can curl up into a ball when threatened, with its overlapping scales acting as armor, while it protects its face by tucking it under its tail. Presumably, Slavathras' armament would endow him with similar capabilities.

The scales are sharp, providing extra defense from predators or humanoid assailants.

His pique nose curls slightly in annoyance before the bard speaks,

"Well, if you insist, I shall address my query publicly your majesty!"

Slavathras' seems to quickly labor to regain his composure as he continues the question which, apparently, he had been attempting to issue surreptitiously, without the knowledge of his fellows among the Company of the Broken Tablet,

"It has been told in legend that the interior of Athas is hollow, and contains many strange and marvelous lands and peoples. I would know whether any of the gateways encompasses by this remarkable grotto, currently of your possession, leads to this interior world."

Amunet-Ra wrote:

Amunet-Ra paused for a moment, hearing her companions out and waiting what the mushrooms would answer.

She nods to Tyren, signaling him that she understood and shares a similar sentiment.
[dice=Bluff Secret Message]1d20 + 30

I am but a simple elf maiden, as you stated youself. Tell me oh great Shraagroom the Inimical, Blightwarden of the Purple Pox, deputy of Zuggtmoy, the Princess of Elemental Evil of Fungi, you must have lived a long time and possess invaluable knowledge? What is so special about this drake that it would hold you and your tribe here back or could even drive you away?

She then turns her head to jin En Mok and Rokan:
As far as i'm aware we did not enter any agreement so far, we are just discussing matters. I am wondering the same as you Rokan. They have some powers which could be dangerous to us though. The drake could have powers dangerous to them. We could have powers dangerous to the drake. Do you know this game stone - cloth - knife?

By its tone, the myceloid appears to reply hesitantly, weighing its every statement, treading a thin line between revealing too little and too much to its erstwhile guests,

"The grotto in which the creature resides is either peculiarly beneficial or hostile to life forms such as that of my own person and that of my attendants. It was an important component of the ritual gardens of the kreen who built this complex, where they cultivated potent flora with the knowledge of the ancient halfling lifeshapers."

"The earth drake Thunderclap, whose given name is Puthyrith-Rainsey in the Angkorian language of ancient Yaramuke, from whence it came, accosted my hive with duplicitous means and seized the powers of the grotto for its own ends."

"I wish only to return the favor upon the head of my unwanted guest."

"Its continued occupation of the grotto continues to endow Thunderclap with powers that would imperil my person should I lead an assault on its...

The elf laughs,

"Unless I miss my guess, I believe we now begin to circle the heart of the matter."

After resting, Cae will approach each member, offering a small blessing for the day.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

For those who accept: Fortune Hex will kick in upon entering combat.

Hex: Fortune(Su): The witch can grant a creature within 30 feet a bit of good luck for 1 round. The target can call upon this good luck once per round, allowing him to reroll any ability check, attack roll, saving throw, or skill check, taking the better result. He must decide to use this ability before the first roll is made.

The strange elf sniffs derisively,

"Bah! Sleeping Eilithea and shattered Morindalien -- neither of the Lunar Twins can hear your prayers or petitions! How little you know of such things! How empty your words!"