Hey all, just thought I'd start up a bit of a blog from the very first HypoCon, here in Michigan! Day 1 has been an absolute blast. After we arrived in the accommodations - which are amazing - we received our T-Shirts and settled in to a game of Star Wars d20 (run by me). The boys ate it up, and in the end the Vault of Daritha Xim was looted and the crew was being chased by the vicious gangster, Ostain the Hutt! Then it was time for dinner. The lasagna was incredible, as was the Hoth Bread (cheese bread) and Tatooine Bread (garlic bread) - not to mention the Alderan Bread (left over crumbs)... and the Sweetwater Death Star Donuts to follow were huge enough to destroy us all. The Force was not with us and the meal won. This was followed up by Chris's fantastic Call of Cthulhu game, set in 1921 Detroit of all places! We've managed to begin an investigation into the death of a strange professor, and have restored the car that he crashed. One should always bring a good mechanic along! A special shout out goes to John, who we wish could be here. We miss you buddy. Bring on HypoCon Day 2! Looking forward to some old school AD&D, the brewery tour, a catered dinner and Ryan's Pathfinder game - set in his very own Ravenloft PF conversion. Man... loving, loving, loving HypoCon!
Oh right, Arimar's knowledge stems from his newfound goddess but he does his best to translate it into words and actions that the oread warriors can use to their benefit.
Arimar watches as his friend undergoes what appears to be something of an internal struggle. He weighs the benefits of bringing more of Sarenrae's blessings against the utility of being able to heal with his hands at a later date and decides that Benaiah is worth at least half of his daily blessings - and more, Dawnflower willing, if he doesn't need to use them any further before nightfall. "I'm glad Sarenrae's healing light has brought a smile to your face," Arimar notes, putting a hand - an ordinary hand - on the newly healed Benaiah's shoulder again, "It has been too long since I've seen that. "I wanted to talk about this new... delivery mechanism your using for your potions," he continues gravely, "You must realize that we've noticed that you aren't exactly drinking them anymore. You and I both have had our fair share of illicit substances from time to time, recreationally. However, we were ever skirting around the edges of addiction. I fear, my friend, that you have stopped skirting around the edge and crossed right over." Arimar sighs, but then smiles. His face shows no disdain and he tries to stay as nonjudgemental as one can in such a situation. "I'm worried that you might one day get into a battle that you cannot win," Arimar squeezes hard on his friend's shoulder, "And I fear that it might be because you think you are fighting alone. I have always fought with you, and now Sarenrae has given me the strength to fight alongside you. This new body of mine is strong, Benaiah, and encased in steel. I will happily place it between you and harm... together we can face down our foes and be victorious every time! "So, what do you say, can we face off against this powdery nemesis and put it behind us?"
By the way, I've been updating the document. Please feel free to add in your own thoughts on the various houses and our positions with them! I'm still counting the Vanderales as 'neutral', since we don't know whether they blocked our deal with the Mindurians under duress or not.
Great work, Ishbaad! Man, you can put the play-by-poster in front of a computer screen and make hime roleplay in person, but you can't stop him from PbPing all over the forums if given half a chance. ;-) Love it.
Pharamol and Ishbaad get lost in a long conversation that ebbs and flows between dragons, military formations and logistics and the finer points of proper use of a cavalry regiment and what that means when the combatants are all aerial. "Aerial battle is distinctly different from that on the ground," Command Pharamol notes at one point during the discussion, "Three dimensions must be considered at once. You cannot be flanked as easily when you can also travel up and down. However, you must also take care because your enemies can come from any direction. You must use your mount's eyes as well as yours if you would hope to see where your enemies are coming from." The chat continues for a long while, at the end of which the commander smiles and moves to the doorway to have a private chat with an aid. When he is done, he returns to Ishbaaad. "I believe you are capable of the task I have for you. I believe you are the one to tame this mount. Her name is Cindrix, and she is a white dragon. Being a true dragon, that would typically mean she is evil to the core, but Cindrix has suffered greatly at the claws of her own people. You see, for a dragon, she is somewhat of a simpleton. This has resulted in some cruel treatment from her own kind. As such, she defected and joined the dragon legion. "However, her first combat for us was not a stellar experience. Her mind is ill suited to the tactical situations required. She needs a rider to form a bond with and to guide her. Triaxians, though, are more adept with dragonkin than true dragons. You, I believe, will have the aptitude required to ride Cindrix as a mount rather than an equal companion like we are used to." Commander Pharamol pauses while this sinks in. "Would you like to meet her?"
@Surf/Marco: Ran out of time, dude. Have stuff to post - will have to wait!
"That went well," the smooth, even feminine voice of Pharasma notes to her fellow god, "I take it none of that invalidates the hold that I have over this mortal. My agreement still stands, yes?"
"Go f@#$ yourself," he finishes, before praying and meditating upon the teachings of Sarenrae, asking her for guidance in his daily spells.
Arimar, you have so much yet to learn, Sarenrae views him from the crystal clear waters of one of Nirvana's many vast and pure lakes, But it will not do to have Urgathoa causing you such pain and confusion at the same time. You have chosen me, it seems, but she will not let you go so easily. The beautiful blonde goddess strokes the pool gently with a finger and sends a gentle ripple out to one who might yet be saved. The Dawnflower then sits cross-legged and meditates long and hard, sending her consciousness ever downwards... down to a place where she was not welcome... down to the apocalyptic wasteland of Abbadon. "Urgathoa!" she shouts when she knows that she will be heard, "We have business to settle. No more shall the mortal known as Arimar be a pawn for us, ripped from one side to the other. We settle this, and then the matter will be done. We meet," Arimar would not like this if he knew, "At Pharasma's Spire in Axis. Abadar shall bear witness." Having delivered her message, Sarenrae's consciousness drifts back to the heavenly realm. She hugs herself in a comforting gesture as though to rid herself of the vileness of Abbadon. She stands and makes for her Realm to prepare. Urgathoa will have heard her message, and she was never one to back down from a challenge.
"Hmmm, the stealthy approach would appear to be the least favorable option, then," Arimar muses, wiping blood from his nose with the back of his sleeve, those damn headaches are back, "I say we forge the invitations and go in through the front door. That way, they'll direct us to the party location once we're inside. "As for disguises, shall we go magical, mundane or a mixture? I think I'll be okay with a mundane disguise - been doing it most of my life - and that way, at least one of us won't have to continually chug down potions. Either way, I would suggest a mundane backup disguise for all of us. The only thing we need to achieve is to not look like ourselves. "How long do you think we need to stay at the party for, Gwendolyn?"
"Thank you, that feels much better," Arimar smiles, "Still, it feels like two knights are jousting inside my head. One wants to save me, the other wants to kill me... and to the victor go the spoils. But - oh, yes - I am also getting physically stronger. Much stronger than could be explained by half a day's extra input." Arimar vows to meditate long and hard on what was happening to him. First, though, he had something to admit, "I was a cleric of Urgathoa you know. Right up until last night." Arimar rubs off the make-up and alchemical skin covering his tattoo as though he needed to show proof. A skeletal and decaying fly with blood-soaked wings, the unholy, profane symbol of Urgathoa permanently stains his arm. "This morning, though, I prayed... I prayed to Sarenrae, and I think she answered. My spells are... different... but they are there." The confused man shakes his head, trying to make sense of it all - but he cannot. "What can you do for me?" Arimar snaps out of his reverie, "Oh, right... yes... my companions and I have been thinking long and hard about Keoki's predicament, as well as our other friend's. My companions and I would like the opportunity to discuss restoring the Fountain of Bethesda with you. Our sick friend would also like to discuss matters, and we all would like to meet with you. She believes she has a strong case to bring for why she should healed first," why am I telling her this? "And it may be that my friends will refuse to help if she is not guaranteed some place in line - beyond a generalization that 'all shall be healed' - but..." what are you doing, man? "... I want you to know..." don't say it you idiot! "... no matter what they decide..." are you out of your f+@~ing mind? "... I personally will do all that I can to help restore the Fountain." Fool.
The others continue the conversation. Arimar agrees with Malgrim, though he remains only dimly aware of which words he used to do so. The group discusses and decides to go shopping in preparation for the party. He nods and mentions that he can go himself to the Temple of Sarenrae to let Khania know of their decision. Again, he isn't conscious of the words he used. Then he knows only darkness as he passes out on the cot.
"I belong to no-one! Wha...?" Arimar starts. The room is deserted. It seems everyone left before he passed out. "Good," he notes, "Wouldn't do to have too many questions... at least not before I have answers."
"Great plan, Benaiah," Arimar compliments his old friend, "Simple is the way to go. Gwen, I take it you either have or can scope out the place before we go in tomorrow night? "So, all that remains is to rest up for the night and talk to the Mouth in the morning, yes? Anyone have any objections to putting some Pathfinder chumps in the way? Not sure if he has connections in the society, so we could perhaps even parley ours into a favor. Perhaps."
Arimar thanks Khania profusely for her help, gladly leaving the gold behind. As she retires, Arimar remains. "I don't feel any different," he grouses to the nearest statue of Sarenrae, "It all seems the same as before." Then he remembers the bread. He looks over to where it was before. The acolytes have yet to clear it away. Even from this distance, Arimar can tell that it has seen better days. It has been hacked apart, removing the protective crust and the inside was likely to be hard and stale. Still, Arimar approaches the table and cuts himself a slice. He places the day old bread in his mouth and gives it an experimental chew. "By all that is holy!" he exclaims, "It's f!@@ing delicious!" Caring not who he wakes, he tears into another few chunks of the bread with a vigor he has never felt before for food. Well, not since he was a six year old, starving street urchin anyway. The man's stomach, unfortunately, is not up to the task his mouth has set for him. Gobs of bread soaked in stomach acid erupt from Arimar's mouth and sully the pews. The vomit tastes terrible, but simply the fact that it tastes leaves Arimar still smiling. The man pockets a hard, dry chunk of bread and wanders out into the night.
"Glad we are finally of one mind," the skinny necromancer favors Mistress Lanvi with a smile, "By all means, please be about your business. We'll start investigating the Fountain of Bethesda and see if we can't work out an approach." Arimar shakes his head at the decadence of the Alabaster District. Did he and his companions really want this kind of opulence? What is the point of it all? Lanvi has it, and all it takes is an illness and she's suddenly depressed and dissatisfied... and realising, no doubt, how few true friends she has in this life. Arimar had always been taught that people respected someone with power... but what he was coming to learn was that not many people like someone with power, especially if that someone has more than they do. "Gwendolyn, I think it's time you clued us in on what you know about Lanvi's Handmaiden. We received some funds recently, and in Keoki's absence, you might as well get a fair share of them." Arimar pulls out the purse and makes five equal piles. "After this, I'll make the donation to the Church of Sarenrae. Two thousand should be more than enough to help them help the poor for a while. "As for the party, yeah, disguise self would be great. What kind of party is this, exactly? Do we need costumes, noble regalia, or should Malgrim start polishing his Hellknight armor?" Finally Arimar adds, "And let's see the Mouth tonight. I'd like his view on getting those chumps at the Pathfinder Lodge here to go in. Seems like a suitable kind of revenge."
Arimar walks the night time streets of Magnimar, keeping a wary eye out for foes. The Way was unlikely to have rallied by now, but they might still have agents watching them. A lone target could be a tempting one indeed. Reaching the Temple of Sarenrae, Arimar unceremoniously raps once upon the great wooden double doors. A shy acolyte answers and he greets the acolyte by showing her the large bag of gold. "Kahina. Now." Arimar is kept waiting a frustratingly long time before Kahina shows up, fully dressed but the state of her hair suggests that it has been hurriedly made after being roused from bed. High Priestess Kahina has a stern look on her face, the look of one who has a lecture planned. Before she can launch into it, Arimar speaks first. "I am here to give you a portion of that gold, as we discussed. However, it is not unusual for a donor to ask for services in return for their donation," the necromancer's smile is almost apologetic as he shrugs and continues, "You see, I have thought long and hard about those who raised me. Oh, I won't tell you who... but they were powerful and had access to a great many clerical resources. Not as powerful at healing as the Church of Sarenrae, mind, but nevertheless they could arrange most any kind of healing if the occasion called for it. "You see, I was taken in as a six year old child after the priests of Pharasma - curse her foul name - mutilated me by burning my tongue and throat with hot coals. My saviors adopted me and healed me, but said that they could never restore my sense of taste or return any sensation to my gullet," Arimar strangles himself momentarily, his hands closing worryingly tight around his throat. All the while, he feels no discomfort - at least, not until his throbbing temples demand fresh blood. "But I have learned much about religion and clerical spells in my years of life," his face darkens, "Much and more besides. They said they could not heal me, and even knowing there were means that should have been able to, I trusted that they knew those means would not work. However, I am sure now that they lied; I am sure now that they could have healed me. Princess be damned, they should have healed me and yet they did nothing. I have gone through decades of life not even being able to remember what taste feels like. Sixty eight years of being denied this simple thrice daily joy that so many experience and rarely even appreciate." Tears of anger, frustration and regret flow freely down Arimar's face as he turns to Kahina. "Please," he sobs, "Please cast regenerate on my mouth."
15 Rova, 4716. Dear Diary, Our GM totally went mad yesterday and posted his inner thoughts as though in-character... as himself. He killed most of my friends, too, but it's nice that he left me my 'Fido' alias to play with. Perhaps that was by mistake. I sure hope he doesn't read this! Fido? Fido?!?! Anyway, it seems that someone called 'Gwendolyn' has taken over GMing duties so far. She's not as good at setting the scene, but has a very good handle on the single NPC she's introduced so far. Looking forward to more from her. She might even be PC material. I hope the GM enjoys his new meal plan, and that he doesn't get too grumpy while his body adjusts. I might send him a decent recipe that makes turkey mince sing. Sign, I tells ya! Time to sign off, Damien. Kick-arse Turkey Burgers: 1 lb Ground turkey
* Kikkoman is the best for this. If you don't have it or can't get it make sure your soy sauce is naturally brewed. 1. In a shallow bowl or plate, make a pile of breadcrumbs (while your hands are still clean). Might as well use all 2 cups. Set aside a clean plate for putting the finished patties onto. 2. Grate the zucchini (peel and all) into a large-ish mixing bowl. Do not grate the mushy, seedy center of the zucchini in, or it will be a sloppy mess. 3. Grate in the carrot also (peel and all), then add the finely diced onions, garlic, egg, soy sauce (seriously!) and ground turkey. The soy sauce adds salt to the mix, but if you like it especially salty, add some salt to taste here. 4. Mix the turkey and other ingredients with your hands until it all combines and comes together. If it is sloppy, then add some of the breadcrumbs until the mix feels firmer and pliable (like play dough). 5. Make patties out of the mixture. Make whatever size suits you. Once each patty is complete, dredge it in breadcrumbs and place on the clean plate you set aside in step 1. 6. Fry up, grill, however you like to cook your burgers* - but do so on a medium heat. Make sure it's cooked through - if you have raw turkey, egg or veg in the middle, it will truly be gross. A meat thermometer should come out at 170ºF (make sure you take it off the heat first, and get the thermometer in center!), or just man up and split one open to check. 7. Serve up like a burger, bun it, have it with rice and beans, whatever you like. F#+!ing delicious. * It's a delicate mix, so don't get too frisky with the burgers or they'll fall apart.
"Good point," Arimar notes, Arimar hopes they can hear him.
"'Accomplish something worthy of praise, and maybe then you will be praised'," Arimar recites quietly to no-one in particular after Benaiah has his say, "Oh, sorry, friend. That wasn't directed at you, it just came to me when you said what you said. It's something that was drilled into me by the priesthood. It's a load of pig shit, if you ask me. Take my advice: be yourself happy with what you have done and what you are doing, f@@% everyone else."
"You two... ugh... are lovely... ah... I can't believe Malgrim... there, no, there... passed on such a wonderful... oh, got it... opportunity. I hope he... mmmm... gets somewhere with that tight-wad... yeah, that's it... handmaiden...... what the... What's that dear? Oh, seems you're welcome to join in..."
The Mouth:
"Go f+&@ yourself, and you can tell your employer the same," Arimar spits on the ground, "That moment was a defining moment for me and there were many witnesses who did nothing. You know who did something? Urgathoa. You say I'm bound to an evil goddess? I say again: go f*@+ yourself. You and your employer know less than nothing about my situation. To separate me from the Pallid Princess would be to separate me from my own beating heart. Even before I knew what a god was, she was a part of me.
"As for what I want? Enough coin can get you both power and whores to warm my bed. Give me that. Lots of it. A f*+! load of it, and I'll do whatever you ask. But first, what I want is for you to go f$+# yourself." Perception, DC 20:
A small pool of saliva appears at the Mouth's feet that wasn't there before. "Money," Arimar states flatly when all can hear, a sour expression suddenly appearing on his face, "Lots and lots of money. Give us that, and we'll get this Grimorium Verum for your Collector. Should be fun, a jaunt around the Plane of Shadows... assuming that's where you're angling that it is."
Arimar once again marvels at the different tone Keoki is taking. Referring to himself as a savage, though, he would have to ask the real Keoki what this was all about when he returned (assuming he returned). "A hit? You're sure? There are more cards in the deck to bust you than will help you... and the dealer is showing a four," Arimar looks at the firm expression on Keoki's face, and the impatient expressions on the other gamblers' and flips over another card in front of the strangely - and suddenly - cosmopolitan tribesman.
"Four of clubs, 18," F+!~! The dealer can't hide his disappointment as he deals out the remaining players. One busts, some money to offset my losses at least, one is showing 21, a Werewolf, but most are sitting on their mid-high teen hands after seeing Arimar's 4. I need to hit or I pay everyone but the fat slob who busted. "Dealer hits," he says with a heavy air.
"Queen of clubs, twenty two, dealer busts," Arimar flips over his hidden 8 of diamonds, curses silently one more time as he passes out the winnings. "Next hand, bets in," he calls out. Arimar doesn't even check to see if Keoki wants cards before dealing him in again.
Ace of spades and nine of diamonds, this one is luckier than Desna's right buttock. "Twenty," Arimar manages through gritted teeth as he deals himself a face up card.
"Dealer shows king of diamonds," he announces. At least that'll make me some money from these other players. Everyone makes bad decisions when the dealer has paint. Arimar follows the face up card with one face down. Most players either bust or sit in the high teens. None manage a Werewolf this time around. Grinning, Arimar flips the final card.
"Queen of diamonds, dealer shows twenty. Everybody loses," he tries to avoid a smug grin as he takes in the winnings. Keoki's not the only one who has caressed Desna's ass tonight. "Last hand," he calls. He'd been winning a lot more consistently before Keoki sat down, and he knows when the winds of luck show against him. Besides, he was seen to come in with Keoki and the man would probably leave with him too. It would not do to win too much money with a friend at the table... or at least, someone the crowd perceives to be a friend. "Next hand, bets in," he calls in a monotone, much calmer than before. Yet again, he deals Keoki a hand without asking.
"Eighteen," he calls out, rubbing his chin with interest, "Nine of clubs and nine of hearts. Would you like to double down?" I have a feeling he'll say 'yes'. He'll probably win and take twice the winnings, too.
"Dealer shows six of clubs," dealer hides his disappointment. :
Arimar gives little away as he checks his facedown card and waits to see if Keoki will indeed double down.
"Together we made quite the formidable pair on the streets of Magnimar, did we not?" Arimar says, unknowingly finishing Benaiah's thought, "That reminds me, though, you still owe me the obsidian for wantonly destroying Ballipho the Braindead. You know some alchemists are able to direct their fiery blasts away from their allies." As an afterthought, Arimar turns to their employer, "You know, while we're here it might be a good time for you to commission that rescue ship to seek out the Audacious."
Loving everyone's posts in the wake of Jorvik's death. I'm going to miss this format... if not the time it takes. Thanks again everyone for making this such fun, and also thank you for the kind parting words earlier.
”Is this the price, Jadrenka? Is this the price of service to Baba Yaga? We each accepted this quest as a means to our own ends. Yet it threatens to consume us. Why were we so blind to think that… that… That there would be no other cost… Why was I so blind?” Ishbaad trails off, staring at his hands, then to Jorvik’s body, then back to Jadrenka with moisture rimming his eyes. Jadrenka looks amused as Ishbaad struggles with his new situation. "Price? No, this is not the price," Jadrenka solemnly shakes her head, "But you should not expect to find the Queen of Witches, traveling as you are across the planes and all of reality in her legendary Dancing Hut, and remain completely unchanged by the experience! "Baba Yaga left that dragon scale in the pit for you," Jadrenka says with certainty, indicating the silver sliver that Ishbaad holds in his hand, "But why there? Did she mean for you to go down into the pit and suffer the effects, or was it ever your destiny to do so and simply a place for her to leave the scale where she knew you would be and none would follow?" A low groan can be heard from the side of the cavern. The philosophical discussion is cut short as Jorvik's body releases the breath it drew a minute ago. A spasm overtakes the corpse and its eyes flicker open momentarily. All, even Jadrenka, are taken aback by the sheer frosty malevolence evident in those glowing orbs. The whites are gone, replaced by a pale, deathly blue. Just as suddenly as they opened, they close again, but the occasional jerk wracks the corpse. "Hmm," the old crone looks casually - too casually - over to Jorvik's twitching corpse, "The Blood of the Deathless threatens to overwhelm him, even as it works to return him."
Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight wrestles the corpse that had moments earlier managed to suck in a single breath. He pours liquids down its throat and mutters assurances and instructions to it. All the while, the liquid pours out freely onto the stony ground of this open cavern. It mingles with the blood there, belonging to half-elf, monstrous centaur and giant-god alike. Not one drop finds its way down the dead body's crushed esophagus. A gnarled, withered old hand grasps the goblin's shoulder. The strength of that grip is incredible and seems to snap Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight from the delusion that had come over him. He sees properly for the first time since he heard the breath. The very still, crumpled corpse of Jorvik is below him, and spilled potions are all around.
Jadrenka simply reaches into her robes and retrieves a silver chain. At the end of the chain is an spiral silver medallion, encrusted with white gems around a central deep blue ice diamond. Kostchtchie's eyes and mouth go wide. "Yes," Jadrenka answers his unspoken question, "A fragment of your soul - the fragment that was your mortality... and can be again. I need only release it." Jadrenka strokes the torc at the end of the chain lovingly, grinning cruelly all the while. Kostchtchie holds very still, unsure what to do. In the end, however, bloodlust wins out and he pulls back his hammer to strike, hoping to end Jadrenka before she can do anything. Jadrenka holds the necklace up to her lips. "Be free." These whispered words are simple enough, but carry with them power formed by Baba Yaga herself. A swirl of ice trails from the medallion and strikes Kostchtchie in the chest. His mortality returned, the spear wound dealt to the demon lord by Ishbaad suddenly explodes in a fountain of blood. A veritable geyser of frosty liquid coats all nearby moments before Kostchtchie falls to the ground with a deafening thud, quite dead. "Too soon..." Jadrenka mutters, looking at the crumpled form of Jorvik, coated in the blood of the giant-god. Slowly, she hobbles over to the man, still holding the torc aloft. Almost imperceptibly, she begins a chant over the half-elf's corpse. "Standing up so tall,
"Bathed in giant's blood,
"Rise up Blood Speaker,
With that, Jadrenka breaks off a piece of the crystalline torc and crumbles it to powder. Slowly, she sprinkles the stuff over Jorvik's chest. Suddenly, the corpse of the half-elf, lying upon the cold, blood-drenched stone of the Chamber of Eons, takes in a sharp breath.
Kostchtchie replies, predictably, He leaps the final distance to menace Jadrenka directly and raises his mighty hammer to strike what will surely be a mortal blow.
Jadrenka smiles as Kostchtchie crests the lip once more. "Quite the wound you have there," she grins, "A mortal wound for most." Her musing is quite pointed, and she doesn't even try to suppress her chuckle.
The enlarged oread and demigod tumble into the blackness of the Eon Pit. Kostchtchie's mighty hand lashes outwards to smash into the wall of the pit, and sticks there. Their momentum is halted, and Ishbaad is almost thrown free of the spear shaft that he clings to. The grasping, flying Jadwiga does not help the situation. screams the demon-lord and would-be god, flecks of icy spittle flying from his mouth, Ishbaad looks down at his hand, which is wrinkling and sprouting age spots before his very eyes. While dangling precariously from the giant form of Kostchtchie, somehow, Ishbaad's eyes wander to the wall of the pit. There, inlaid and surrounded by the patterns carved in the stone, is a singular shiny scale... larger than a man's fist, the scale of an elder silver dragon. Ishbaad and Kuragin are suddenly slammed from the front and then from the rear. Dimly, they become aware that they have been swatted off Kostchtchie and into the opposing wall. The enormous frost giant once more ascends the steps of the Eon Pit.
Kuragin moans off to the side, letting those gathered know that he is at least alive. The bull thunders into Ishbaad. The inquisitor is a mountain man. His feet find a stable purchase that most dwarves would be proud of. Against a charging, armor-plated bull, however, he doesn't stand a chance. The massive creature rips right through him, all but ignoring the shock bomb flung by the goblin to plant its horns in Ishbaad's torso and carry him along for the ride. The oread is not so easily beaten, however, as he grabs on and twists the bull's neck violently to the side - using his own impaled body to aid in the movement. A snap of bone from within the bull's massive neck signals its death. Somehow, the oread tore at it in just the right way and snapped its spine. It takes a few moments to heal up and regain their composure, but the companions soon explore the rest of the large cavern. At one far corner, they find the following: Tiny pieces of quartz form an inlay of a crescent moon in the floor here, surrounded by a ring of runes. A few yards beyond the inlaid symbol, a small round table stands against the wall of the cavern. A wooden bowl filled with fresh wildflowers sits in the center of the table. Kuragin can read the runes immediately: "From one stage unto the next, let my light always guide your path." Behind the table is an archway, decorated with booming flowers and flanked by four wooden maidens. Inside the bowl are four tiny wooden figurines about 6 inches tall, all hiding within the flowers. Each figurine depicts a nude maiden performing a different task. One is standing, holding a bouquet of wildflowers. Another is kneeling, and seems to be washing her hair. The third one holds a triangular knot in her hands, and the last figurine is sitting with her head gazing upward. Jorvik recalls that these figurines resemble the carvings of the maidens in the room when they first arrived in Artrosa.
"Fjarn's teeth, this guy is serious!" Arimar shakes his head, as though struggling to believe it. "Since leaving the Pathfinders, we've been stuck at sea for weeks that seemed like aeons, torn apart by bunyips, been sold off in advance to some 'Collector', and I've been bonded in servitude to Pharasma of all deities. Why in nine hells does Idmon have to serve that f@&#ing god of all of them? "And now I have a bald, semi-functional mental defective complimenting me on my dick." Laughing so hard at this, Arimar doesn't even notice if Keoki is offended or not. "Lanvi," Arimar turns to their 'mistress', "Would that we'd never met. If I'd known all this would happen, I would have let Raim beat us senseless."
A burning desire overcomes the oread. It causes him to throw all caution to the wind. He doesn't even check to ensure that Aoife has indeed turned away before he starts unbuckling his britches and stumbling forwards. Only Aoife can see the murderous glint in Kyrisjana's eyes as she eagerly awaits the three remaining males and ignores the small girl with the large gloves.
"Argh!" Arimar cries out in frustration, "Raim, wait until we're all aboard first. Fido, stay about ten feet ahead of the shallop and tear through anything that dares to approach us without my permission."
Raim pulls ponderously upon the oars.
Aoife digs through the dried then sodden leaves, tearing at the ground. Appearing in the soil is a large tome. The True Journal of Tighearnán Limerick, the front cover reads. A strong hand lands on Aoife's shoulder and she spins around. It is her father. "It was all lies," he says reassuringly and wraps Aoife up in a hug. The child returns the hug with all her strength. "Never let me go, Aoife Limerick," says Tighearnán, liquid happiness pouring from his eyes.
Aoife rushes up to the filthy tree and begins to rummage through the near-sewage at its base. She finds a rock and holds it aloft... but then a long, writhing branch from the tree snakes down like a python and grabs her, lifting her into the air. Rather than resist, Aoife seems to be - tenderly - hugging the branch back, even as it constricts and begins to squeeze the life from her! All the while, the dark and alluring melody of the satyr continues.
"What is it you want to know? My dreams? My deepest desires?!" the image of Yelizaveta seems wholly affronted, "You, who champion the cause of Baba Yaga, the bringer of my torment, have invaded my most private sanctum - my very dreams - and you have the temerity to demand to know my desires? "Well, Jorvik Rybalt, half-breed representative of the Black Rider, Herald of my tormentor, I want to see you f$#*ing suffer!" she screams and plunges a clawed hand deep into Jorvik's chest. The pain he feels is nothing short of spectacular. However, the pain emanates not from his heart, where her hand still rests, but from his very mind. Visions of thousands upon thousands of women - Jadwiga all - whipping at his flesh assault his mind. Each lash feels like agony as they tear into his skin. All the while they cry insults that would have shaken the old Jorvik to his core. "Half cast!" "Unworthy!" "Your mother should have killed you at birth!" After what seems an age, the woman withdraws her hand and the visions are gone. All that remains of the pain is the memory of it. Jorvik slumps to the ground, exhausted but still able to move and speak - though only barely.
Oh, we just have to go to the Wild Beaver Salon. "Rowdy bar with a mountain lodge theme, scantily clad waitresses & weekly karaoke." Very close to the Convention Center. :-)
Aoife's question hangs in the air as the quintet once again makes there way into another winding section of the Hut's hallways. This one also bends around and over itself, leading ever upwards. A long straight section follows, with similar carvings adorning the walls. Predictably, when the straight portion of corridor ends, a set of double doors greets the heroes. Looking for the symbol carved on the door even before it can be clearly seen, they note it is an upward facing half-circle resting on a horizontal line. Several arrows point outward from the circle. They do not need Kuragin's newly acquired spectacles to determine that this is a rune representing Dawn. Aoife pushes through the double doors and enters the room beyond. Flowering vines drape the walls of this chamber. Winding, pebble-strewn pathways weave through a magnificent garden of honeysuckle and lilac. A pale, warm light fills the room, emanating from a stone-lined pool of water in the center. The purple and orange reflection of the early morning sky glitters upon the pool’s surface. The reflection seems to be fed from yet another orb, and from behind it a third raven, also bearing a near-identical amulet, flutters forth to face the companions. She nods appreciatively at the two amulets hanging from the necks of those who have entered her domain. "You have been tested and not found wanting," she squawks to punctuate her words, Jorvik fancies that he hears admiration in her tone, "But this final test may be more than you can handle. "Before I aid you, you must first convince me you have the resolve to fulfill your desire. To prove your mental fortitude, you must face what I, the herald of the coming day, cannot. "Each night it visits—
“When you face this thing, you shall know its desire. In its desire, you shall find your own. Only by sharing this desire with me can I bind your fates. Once they are bound, I will be able to see your destiny.” The raven hops backwards to reveal a passageway hidden behind some shrubbery. At the end of the short passageway, a door - like a child's bedroom door - seems to invite the companions to open it.
"Well done!" cries the raven when she is presented with the bloodied tusks, "You have defeated the beast and solved the riddle more quickly than I could possibly have anticipated. Baba Yaga's Black Rider has chosen well for his champions." The raven dips her head and lets the amulet fall to the floor. "This amulet holds only one of the three clues you seek. It reveals the first ingredient for Baba Yaga’s kettle. Look for this key where time catches up to us all, and look for the Mother when the moon is full!" The raven flies up to the glowing orb in the blackened branches adorning the room and nestles down upon it. In an instant the orb and the raven both are gone. As the solver of the riddle, Aoife picks up the amulet and inspects it. The amulet bears a single rune in a language Aoife cannot translate. Kuragin and Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight both recognize it as having fey origins but written in neither Aklo nor Sylvan. It is then that Kuragin notices he still has the glasses from the library on him. Quickly, he puts them on his nose and reads aloud: "Dragon."
Left with little other choice, the companions continue along the passageway. It curves immediately after the door and the floor rises sharply. It seems as though this passage leads back over the previous one, despite being a continuation of the same corridor. Eventually, it leads to another set of double doors, with another curved hallway leading beyond. A symbol carved upon the door to this chamber resembles a downward facing crescent resting on a horizontal line with arrows pointing outward. A vertical bisecting line with arrows pointing both directions runs from top to bottom. It is yet another hag's rune, the symbol for night. Aoife pushes this door open, as she did the last, to reveal a pitch black room beyond. Wavering darkness devours everything that lies beyond the threshold, and not even Ishbaad or Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight can take in the room's features. Walking blindly into the room, the companions eventually see a pale red light. At its center is a faintly glowing blood-red orb that dangles from a black iron chain in the center of the room. The orb sheds light for 10 feet around itself before that light, too, is consumed by the darkness. Thick stone columns and wooden beams, entangled with pale moonflower blossoms, support the room’s high-vaulted ceiling. Shockingly, a pale albino raven appears from the darkness. The blood-red glow of the orb lends it a truly fearsome aspect, despite its small size. Around its neck is a leather thong and a near-identical amulet to the one its sister wore... the one now hanging from Aoife's neck. "Ah, I see you have met my sister, Moc. That you have her amulet is a sign that you do indeed intend to be Baba Yaga's champions. Well met and I am Rozum. You have convinced my sister of your intentions - which is good enough for me - but you have only shown us your strength. Now you must prove your wit! "To do so, you must find the answer to my riddle. "I mark night’s coming,
"The answer to the riddle lies within the passage of night. To find the path to what you seek, drink from the silver chalice within the grotto. Go now and do not return to me unless you can prove your worth." The glow from the orb extends itself somewhat, and those paying attention note that there is a passageway through the tangle of roots and branches, leading into another darkened room beyond.
"Come with you?" Auraenos scoffs, swiping a flaming lock of hair from his eye, [b]"Not likely. You are the chosen of the Black Rider, not us. If this trial is to determine the worthiness of those following Baba Yaga, then we may not be safe. Better if you do it and tell us when you have found the exit. We will wait here." Auraenos's companions all nod in eager agreement. Ishbaad and Jorvik lead a reluctant Kuragin up the stairs, chasing after Ice Melts Quietly in Sunlight. Aoife follows and has to rush to take up her usual position at the front - where the danger usually is. Her instincts have been dulled to an extent that a mere two hours apart from her companions cannot possibly account for. It leaves her to wonder, yet again, as to the reality of her time in the window. Certainly, she seems not to have aged... but the girl feels as though she has lived two lifetimes. The companions open the ornate double doors and are confronted by a blank wall. It forms part of a hallway that stretches off a long way, over one hundred feet, in both directions. Carvings decorate the entire length of the hall. Most depict children in various states of capture, or at various points of preparation. A smaller number of paintings are of alien landscapes and foreign locales. Thematic to all are forests and frozen regions. A symbol carved upon the door to this chamber resembles an inverted half-circle with a horizontal line across the top and several lines exiting the circle. A single extended arrow points downward in the center. Kuragin instantly recognizes this as a symbol for twilight, carved in a style favored most by hag covens. There are subtle differences and variations, however, but he is unable to ascertain their origins. A slight chill wafts through this room, carrying the stale scent of carrion and peat. Beyond, an impossible forest seems to have devoured the entire chamber. The walls are woven from tangled knots of black, leafless trees, and fine flakes of rusted iron cover the floor, softly crumbling to dust. A pale light emanates from a fist-sized orb that rests within a nest of black iron branches in the center of the room, turning all forms into ebon silhouettes. The room’s only other exit, other than the ones the heroes are standing in, is a narrow passageway lined with jutting, leafless branches, almost hidden behind a tangle of dead branches at the rear of the room. A raven sits atop a branch and eyes the new entrants suspiciously. Amazingly, it opens its mouth and begins to talk in a birdlike voice not dissimilar to Zorka's, "So, you have entered the Hut of Baba Yaga and taken it into the reaches of the First World! *squawk* You must think very highly of yourselves, but I and my sisters shall be the judge of that. *squawk* "Baba Yaga is not here, but you can find her, never fear. *squawk* First, however, you must persuade me you possess the necessary to bear my knowledge. My question is a simple one *squawk*: "Born twins, they live not,
"*squawk* "The answer to this question lies in the chamber beyond. Bring me the answer, and I shall give you what you seek." As the crow speaks, Ishbaad notices a tiny iron amulet hanging from a leather thong around the bird's neck. The amulet is shaped like a crusader's shield, and the pattern engraved upon its surface appears to be some kind of spiral, formed from a mixture of continuous and dotted lines. Two toothlike daggers dangle from the leather thong also, smaller than and flanking the main amulet. The crow hops onto a different branch and indicates with its beak that the companions should use the exit at the rear of the room if they wish to accomplish its task and solve the riddle.
The hut begins to shake and become almost... blurry... as the miniature whirlpool inside the cauldron spins faster and faster. Ishbaad chances to gaze out the window. Perhaps he was looking for Greta, prehaps his mind was drifting back to the last thing he saw through a window in Baba Yaga's house, but his eyes are drawn outwards. Most of the crowd seems to be fading as though ceasing to exist. One man, however, Ishbaad can see in stark, clear detail. The man pulls his spectacles down an inch and, impossibly, stares directly into Ishbaad's eyes. He seems incredibly familiar.
Suddenly, Ishbaad remembers who he is, and the last thing he remembers saying to the man: "Uh… Gauntlets? Odd question. Sure, they come with just about every suit of armor. I’ve got mine right here… Wait, who are you? Why do you care about Tighearnán’s…" No sooner does Ishbaad remember this than the mysterious stranger, and indeed all of Whitethrone, are gone. Ishbaad is left with one burning question, no doubt one among many: How did this man find me here, in Whitethrone?
The sound of Ishbaad's voice cuts through the blizzard like a knife. The little girl stops suddenly, shocked at the change in tone. There is an echo to the voice, like it is coming from within a small room. The voice is all around her - as is the snow. Aoife feels as though she is in the eye of a whirlwind, her whole world spinning like the snows surrounding her small, child's body. A hand reaches through the wall of wind and snow... a massive hand. She reaches up and it grabs her. She feels the stony flesh beneath and realizes whose hand it is. The girl tries to let go and resume her flight, but the hand will not release her. Suddenly, Aoife is pulled through the window, shattering it. Glass falls about her and sprays everywhere. Aoife looks up to see that she is in an attic. Still holding her hand is Ishbaad, looking just as bewildered as she is. Both remember what had happened in there so vividly. It all seemed so real, but both know somehow that this, this is now the true reality. Neither are certain how they both became covered in fresh snow. Behind them, the shattered window gradually begins to reknit itself.
A pile of armor punctuated below by two familiar, spindly legs approaches Benaiah. "Would you like this on or off for your seaward voyage, Mister Benaiah Sir?" comes an uncertain voice from somewhere beneath a breastplate, "I think I know how to do the straps now..." The lad's voice breaks, and Benaiah realizes that he's crying and trying to hide it.
"Sorry, my hearing isn't what it used to be... you have keys to the hut?" Zorka has a double take, "Well, that should help, I'd say. I guess you're left with a choice - you could simply put the keys in the cauldron and see where it takes us, or free the cat first and get a better idea or what you're doing. Personally, I favor the fun approach... but you will need to rescue the cat eventually. At least here you know where the cat is. If we go elsewhere, wickedness knows which room the cat will be in - or even if that room will be available!" "Oh, and I did not see a child enter... mind you, I do not come out of hiding for just anyone!" Zorka scratches her long beak, "Mayhaps she entered and went another way or another when. It is hard to tell what is where in this place. You get used to it. As for any others, I did hear some scuffling around here before you came in, but they probably went out the way of the library or up to the attic - as none came through the map room - where I was." When Ishbaad asks for help into his armor, Zorka steps forwards, "In answer to one of your other questions, I often helped Sir Matveius and the others into their armor. I have grown quite adept at it over the centuries, and I would be happy to help one of his successors." Zorka works the straps with a speed that must be enhanced by magic and in very little time at all - just over a minute - Ishbaad stands resplendent in his new star-metal suit.
How did I just notice this? F&~@ing classic, Steve. Drakeardian has not created a profile. |
