“Yeah, bandages and ointments are great, but I’m hurtin’ here,” Thorn growls. “Hit me with the heal-stick.”
O.L.L.I waves his healing wand at Rennet, then Thorn.
Rennet: 1d8+1=6, Thorn: 1d8+1=2
Seeing that Thorn is still hurting, he decides to switch out a spell for some serious healing. He begins chanting in a rapid monotone:
"Boundaries have no boundaries. In other words, for any vector v, b(b(v))=0. If v is a basis vector, corresponding to a single face of the polytope, this is true because any ridge (face two dimensions lower than v) forms the boundary between two facets of v, and is therefore cancelled out in the calculation of b(b(v)). In the special case of the empty face, b(v)=0 already and for any linear map b(0)=0. In the special case of a vertex, b(v) is the empty face and again b(b(v))=0. The result follows as well for vectors other than the bases by linearity."
In the room: crates (some are on fire), some of which are still somewhat whole; open iron maiden, the hacked up corpse of the monster, two corpses in piecemeal armor on the floor (gnawed a bit, with weird rubbery skin and what you could swear are webbed fingers...) and a tangle of roots snaking out of the ceiling, curled up a bit from the smoke. You could swear you hear some frantic hissing and keening upstairs...
In the hallway: battered down door leading to a flight of stairs.
I wonder if he has a spell to cancel out the headache he’s giving me?
Thorn nods in terse thanks to O.L.L.I., the healing magic clearly effective, but the bariaur equally as clearly not enjoying the sensation. Then he looks at Rennet.
“I know what you’re thinking Balmy,” he says. “Madman like you’ll want to fan the flames. All well and good – I like fire as much as the next berk – but we’re still in here, and I ain’t gonna find what I’m after by sifting through ashes and rubble. We’d best put that fire out.”
...burn ...fire ... burn ... whispers Amn in his head.
He climbs awkwardly back to his hooves, and begins looking for something to beat the flames out with. If nothing comes to hand, he’ll take of his leather jacket and use that, with extreme bad grace.
Oh right, I'm the crazy one.
Rennet stomps out what flames he can, and gives O.L.L.I a pat on the...err...cube...for the healing.
Thorn rummages through the overturned contents, looking for something to smother the fire. There are some discarded weapons scattered in a rack, a few iron flasks, candles, some dried provisions. A bundled tent seems like a promising candidate until he notices that one of the corpses has a dark cloak. Figuring the tent could be useful to someone, somewhere or could turn a profit, Thorn pulls the cloak from the dead man.
The bariaur can't help but notice that this man looks like no human he's ever seen. His skin is fishbelly pale, but seems more dry and dessicated than it should. Little growths like extra skin mar the sides of his neck and his mouth seems a bit wider than typical proportions. Still, he doesn't need that cloak anymore and with some kicking and smothering from Rennet, the fire is quickly out.
OLLI searches through the remnants of the store room. A lot of basic supplies remain: dried provisions (fruit, salted meat, hard tack), shatter-resistant iron flasks, several iron rods (roughly 12 inches in length), coils of rope (hemp and silk), three lanterns, flasks of oil and a tent made of canvas, coated to resist moisture. The bodies on the floor wear finely made breastplates. One has a rapier and a dagger, the other has a greataxe. Neither seem too noteworthy. Potion flasks at their belts contain salt water.
The iron maiden contains little beyond gore coated spikes and a rotten smell.
A shattered weapon rack has a still serviceable halberd, a flail, several daggers on a bandoleer. Dusty and forgotten, wedged beneath a crate is an old longsword. The hilt is in bad need of reforging, several divots tell of spots wear gems and decoration used to adorn the weapon before being gouged out. The blade is tarnished, but retains its edge. Faintly, near the hilt, a nine-pointed star of some sort has been etched.
Thorn manages to shake of Aym’s suggestion (or is that his own inner voice?) that he begin stuffing his pack with fenceable junk, and kicks one of the corpses that O.L.L.I. is searching with a forehoof.
“Ugly berks,” he comments. “Tiefling? Maybe from Demodand stock? Or maybe something demonic and fishy?”
O.L.L.I searches his memory banks for any beings that match the corpses in structure
O.L.L.I turns to his associates
"The structures on the deceased beings' neck point to an aquatic origin, perhaps some sort of gill structure. Possibly the sea water potions were Potions of Air Breathing given their salt content, or perhaps the aquatic beings just needed a bit of salt water occasionally to keep their gills lubricated. Gremaire's work Undersea Empires mentions a race of amphibious beings that raid coasts using a seawater mixture to maintain their breathing on dry land."
O.L.L.I gathers the items collected into a pile. He then begins chanting in a rapid monotone:
"The Law of Contagion is the first Law of Magical Structure. Succinctly the Law states that a^b where a has been in contact with b either as an item or an actual subset of the other. Given that a^b, then by correlation what is done to b will be reflected in changes to a assuming that the experimenter is able to exploit the magical contagion link between the two. The power of the magical contagion is directly proportional to the importance of a to b and duration of contact between the two elements."
Thorn and Olli search their boneboxes for some clue as to the origin of the corpses. It's clear that they aren't tieflings like you've seen before and do not appear to be the typical residents of any outer plane. They seem more like humans that have been mutated or infected with something. The gills on the sides of their neck look rather awkward and their over-large mouths have two rows of teeth: one human and another pointed and piscine.
Of the mound of weapons and supplies, the battered old sword has an aura of faint transmutation, while four of the iron flasks have auras of conjuration.
The halls are silent while you work, the roots in the ceiling are uncurling slightly.
Rennet waits patiently, leering of touching anything the tainted creatures owned.
The old sword's faint aura flares brightly for a moment, then returns to a faint but steady glow. A tickle goes through each of you; not painful or sickening, just a slight thrill that stands your hair on end (or gently thrums in your chassis, whichever the case).
You each hear a voice, seemingly right next to your ear.
Calm, serene, gentle: "Where am I?"
Grating, threatening, menacing: "Who am I?"
Flat, monotonous, stern: "What am I?"
MoDuLATing, disCORdaNT, HYsTERical: "WhOOO arrreee YOUU?!!"
Thorn’s eyes widen, and a shakes his head swiftly, then glances about at his companions. That wasn’t Aym, and if this thing worked like he though it did, there wasn’t anyone else in there. Did the others hear anything?
O.L.L.I picks up the old sword and inspects it for any clues to its provenance.
The odd mental chatter interests him and he attmpts to mentally contact the voices.
<mentally> "Can you understand this unit? Please give an indication of your location. Are you in need of assistance?"
Though tarnished, OLLI can tell that the blade is a composite alloy that technically shouldn't be able to exist: cold iron, silver and Baatorian green steel. A foundry on the Prime material would definitely not be able to make such a thing. Your best guess as to the blade's manufacture is either the Plane of Fire, the Outlands or one of the Outer Planes. The green steel of Baator is not completely uncommon in markets from Sigil and the Outlands, so that plane doesn't seem any more likely than the others. You rule out Mechanus as an origin: the mongrel alloy would never be manufactured there simply because of its nature. The hilt is wrapped with a hide you can't recognize and the empty sockets for gems and decorations give no hint as to their prior content.
The modron's question is silent, but the answer comes to all of your ears.
(Menacing, cold)"Here in your hands, I am. Ready for ruin."
(Hysterical, crazed)"wrEAk MAY-heM!!?"
(Stern, flat)"My present location would be helpful information."
(Calm, scholarly)"Do you know how we came to be here?"
Rennet
O.L.L.I replies to the sword mentally
<mentally> "Sentient sword. This unit is appellated Oil Lube Initiallizer, but may be called O.L.L.I for brevity. Your locus is currently in the planar city of Sigil. This unit had just discovered you among some items in a deserted tavern. Please identify yourself, or selves. Are you a single entity or a conglomeration?"
(Stern, monotone) "Sigil. So I am in the center."
(Cold, callous) "I was one, once, but now four. When I find who is responsible, I will bathe in their blood to my hilt."
(Gentle, noble) "I had one name, but now...
(Hysterical) "I I I I I knOW!! NamES, foUR nAMes to name uS!"
There is a pause. Finally, the calm voice stiffly recites something.
"Call me Eagle and I'll strike fear in the craven."
(Hysterical, wharbly)
"naME I SpARRow, foE to fELLoW feATHers."
(Monotone)
"Call me Owl, the seeker in the dark."
(Malicious)
"Call me Crow and I'll be your bird of slaughter."
“Sooo,” says Thorn slowly, looking at the others, and then the sword. “You did all hear that then … talking sword eh? Barmy one at that too by the sound of its squawking.” He’s talking quietly, muttering to himself more than addressing anyone else.
He clears his throat then addresses the sword. “Well Bird Blade, what can you do for us? What are you worth? Got any special talents? If I follow you, you see in the dark, kill birds, make the cowardly fearful – useful that – and like a bit o’ blood. About right?”
O.L.L.I speaks out loud, realizing that the others heard the sword.
"Fellow adventurers. It seems this sword is a sentient being. Furthermore this unit would theorize that some force has melded four sentient blades into one for some fell purpose."
Addressing the blade
"Sentient sword Owl/Crow/Sparrow/Eagle. Is there a way that this unit can be of assistance? This unit is a storhouse of planar knowledge, and this unit has access to many obscure references."
(Crow) "Wield me in battle and you'll see my worth. That is, if you know which end to hold."
(Eagle) "There are few creatures in all the Planes that won't feel my bite, for there are precious few blades like me."
(Sparrow)"WHaT arE YOU worRth, sHeep-MaN? yoU anD yOUR taG-aLOng?"
(Owl) "I think I have been more than forthcoming. It is only fair to witness your talents before revealing any more of mine."
(Eagle) "A worthy wielder is all I ask."
(Crow) "It's been too long since I've hacked off limbs and ended lives. If 'worth' you measure in money, perhaps we can hack apart a rich man together?"
(Owl) "I wish to see the Planes again, that I may remember what I was."
(Sparrow) "takE WInG, yEs."
“That’s Bariaur to you Bird Blade,” replies Thorn. “Give me that Box,” snatching the sword from O.L.L.I. and swinging it recklessly about (but with at least a medicorum of skill).
For a weapon as shabby looking as it is, the sword is well balanced and seems sharp enough. After a few swings, the grip starts to pivot in your hand and the balance shifts, forcing you to reign it in.
(Owl) "Your form is sloppy and reckless."
(Crow) "Some real action is what I need to see."
(Eagle) "You've got the basics down, but this isn't a real fight."
(Sparrow) "yoU hAvE lEss pATIEnce tHan mE, shEPheRd. tImE WilL tEll."
(Crow) "Don't the others want a try? Don't you think they covet me?"
(Eagle) "Don't listen."
(Crow) "Just show me you're better than the others..."
(Sparrow) "yOu'Re lIkE mE..."
(Crow) "... when the last man stands, I'll show him everything I can do."
(Sparrow) "... sEe YOUr otHEr, sQuaTtIng gReeDY iNsiDE."
Aboleths. Disgusting; filthy fleshwarpers. It’s been fun larking with these, but they need to know this is about to get serious.
Rennet mimes swimming around the room, looking for all the planes like a giant sperm. Giving up, he starts shaking his fist at Olli like someone looking for a pen.
As for the blade, Rennet points at dangerous object, shakes his head no, then mimics snapping it over his knee.
(Eagle) "I can understand your reluctance, sir, but I can assure you..."
(Sparrow) "gGo pISs UP a RroPE, bBuDDy!"
(Eagle) "... we are most eager to work with you and we will exercise restraint when necessary."
(Owl) "I will keep the others in check, there is no reason to fear."
(Crow) "Coward."
O.L.L.I. rummages in his sack for a quill and a fresh sheet of parchment for Rennet.
"Fellow adventurer Thorn. You are welcome to the sentient sword, only be careful. One should always be cautious when meeting powerfull new beings."
Piss up a...is that even possible...? Cute.
Rennet quickly jots down:
How committed are you to proceeding? These…animals (scratched out)…creatures (scratched out)…whatever…are befouled by a malevolent alien power I’ve encountered before.
Reghar rubs his temples, groaning.
"Stop talking! We kill something now?!"
The half-orc proceeds to sullenly root through the debris, looking for something to smash.
Thorn looks at Rennet like he’s crazy (again). “We ain’t breaking this thing. It may be more than half addled, but it could be useful … and worth a lot of money besides. Don’t fret, if we sell if, you’ll get yer share of jink.”
He looks about. “Now. We have a berk to find – or his cash safe at least.”
He trots back out the door and looks towards the broken door and the stair beyond. Looking at what Rennet wrote on his piece of paper might have been sensible … but he doesn’t do it.
The busted door remains as you left it, with fragments still stuck to the hinges and shattered remnants littering the floor.
“You lot comin’?” Thorn, Bird-Blade in hand, starts trotting towards the door.
Rennet turns the paper over and lays down a few lines in block letters,
RENNET
FORMERLY HUMAN
BURN OR BURY IN UNSANCTIFIED GROUND ONLY
then stuffs the note into his pocket. Returning the remaining writing materials with a nod of thanks to Olli, he strides after Thorn.
You can lead a…horse…ram…whatever…to water…
The stairway creaks and is a little tight for Thorn, but the bariaur manages.
Upon seeing the penthouse, you can guess where all the renovations in this place went. It's a single large open space with smooth hardwood floors and some rather fine furnishings. A dying fire flickers in a fireplace on the right wall, a few half-burnt papers still spilling out. Directly opposite from where you stand on the stairwell you note with some shock that there are two open windows, with glass (glass! in this place!) and curtains. Tucked into a corner is a large bed covered in fine sheets and pillows, which have been thrown around and disturbed. You can't be entirely sure, but it looks like there may be a person laying in those sheets. An end table and a night stand sit by the bed, stacked with books. A large dining room table occupies the rear of the room with a few chairs tossed around it. Various powders and pouches sit by a banker's scale along with some scattered valuables.
Your attention, however, is quickly drawn to the pale ash tree growing in the center of the room, where the floorboards have buckled and bent to accommodate the flora. You hear a quiet hiss and one of the branches moves a tiny bit, seemingly under its own power.
Thorn’s eyes flick warily between the apparent figure in the bed and the overly mobile tree. Enoch? he silently wonders, against the background of Aym’s whispers of gold and blood.
“Anyone know anything about trees?” he asks the others. He recalls the roots moving sluggishly in the room downstairs – they didn’t do anything particularly dangerous there, but that wasn’t to say things wouldn’t be worse up here.
Thorn’s eyes flick warily between the apparent figure in the bed and the overly mobile tree. Enoch? he silently wonders, against the background of Aym’s whispers of gold and blood.
“Anyone know anything about trees?” he asks the others. He recalls the roots moving sluggishly in the room downstairs – they didn’t do anything particularly dangerous there, but that wasn’t to say things wouldn’t be worse up here.
It doesn't seem to be particularly old or massive; though the branches are long, you would estimate that they couldn't reach you if you kept about five or six feet back.
Thorn waits for his companions’ reactions before proceeding further into the room… for a moment or two at least. His short tail swishes impatiently, and he fiddles absently with the sword in his hand.
O.L.L.I examines the hissing tree
"Fascinating."
O.L.L.I's eyes are drawn to the burnt papers spilling out of the hearth. Burning information always seems like blasphemy to him, so he tries to calculate if he can approach the hearth without being attacked by the tree.
O.L.L.I examines the hissing tree
"Fascinating."
O.L.L.I's eyes are drawn to the burnt papers spilling out of the hearth. Burning information always seems like blasphemy to him, so he tries to calculate if he can approach the hearth without being attacked by the tree.
O.L.L.I
The fireplace is a approximately 20 feet away from the tree.
Thorn waits for his companions’ reactions before proceeding further into the room… for a moment or two at least. His short tail swishes impatiently, and he fiddles absently with the sword in his hand.
Eagle: "Careful of that tree."
Owl: "Are those illicit substances on that table?"Sparrow: "wIlL yoU gET mE A PREettY sCABbarD?"
Crow: "Let's kill something. That scrawny one gave us attitude. Let's kill him."
O.L.L.I turns to his companions
"In an entry from Tarsheva Longreach's book, A Visitor's Guide to the Abyss she describes the Viper Trees popular in Azzagrat. The trees are apparently quite dangerous up to a distance of ten feet and are deathly afraid of fire. The oral histories common on the planes indicate that the species as a whole are the bastard offspring of Niddhog the World Serpent at the base of Yggdrasil, but such an origin (like most things on the planes) cannot be substantiated. They are deathly afraid of fire and are not mobile."
O.L.L.I indicates the hissing tree.
"Taking into account who we search for, where he comes from and the fact that large trees usually do not root in buildings or hiss, this unit would posit with a 98.667% chance of accuracy that that tree is indeed a Viper Tree of Azzagrat."
O.L.L.I pauses his monotone delivery.
"This unit will examine the hearth and collect the partially-burned parchments. This unit would suggest that you allow him first entry, since he is immune to the Viper Tree's poison."
O.L.L.I moves towards the hearth, making sure to keep the tree at a good distance.
“Shut it blade,” says Thorn forcefully, holding the sword up before him. “I’m in charge, right? We’re not shiving anyone till I say.” He lowers the blade again and turns his full attention (for once) to O.L.L.I.
He strokes his beard with his free hand, then, when the Modron starts talking percentages, returns his thoughtful gaze to the tree. “Yeah, sounds like you got the dark of it Ol,” he says. “Right I’d say you are about this bein’ a Viper Tree … though why a proxy of ol’ baboon face’d be partial to trees from the Dark Prince’s realm …” the bariaur shrugs.
“And good thinking about the poison,” he winks at Reghdar, “but if it’s fire they’re deathly afraid of…” Thorn smiles, and then abruptly bursts into flames.
O.L.L.I glances at Thorn's flame-wrapped body with apprehension.
"Fellow adventurer Thorn. Please wait until this unit has had an opportunity to collect any flammable clues. Burning a large tree will expose us to a 76.934% chance of a structure conflagration. The best outcome of that would be us escaping unharmed without any clues. The worst could see us melted."
What the hell is the point of a good "told you so” if you can’t tell anyone?
Rennet waits for Olli to do his thing, inching closer to the lump in the bed while keeping one eye on the tree.
Wonder if those books are salvageable?
With surprising grace the branches begin to coil and snap at OLLI and Rennet with the mouths at the end of each limb as they move around it, though they cannot reach either adventurer.
Gingerly lowering his bulky metal body, OLLI picks up three half charred pieces of parchment. Several lines are legible and seem to be a table written in Abyssal; the first column contains a location, the second contains an object or action, the third contains another location. Some rows are crossed off for some reason and others have been obliterated either by fire or ink.
Drawing closer to the bed, Rennet notes red-brown splatters and stains on the wall and floor. He can tell that there is indeed someone laying in the bed, one arm lying limp to the floor. The flesh of the limb is pallid, but Rennet can tell that it was once a deep mahogany color and is twined with colorful coils of tattoos: snake scales, monsters, an eye on each finger. There are three books stacked on the night stand, though Rennet will have to get closer to take a good look.
Thorn grunts at O.L.L.I.’s suggestion, but waits by the door … for a moment, while the Modron and Mouthless skirt past the tree.
“Flames don’t burn objects unless I want ‘em too,” he mutters after a moment, and moves into the room himself. Despite his bravado assumption that the tree will not attack him if he’s aflame, he still skirts around the edge of the room, out of the reach of its snaky branches.
Assuming he gets past the tree in safety, he begins investigating the objects on the dining table at the far end of the room.
O.L.L.I collects the burned parchments gently, searching the hearth for any scraps that may linger. He calls over to Rennet
"Fellow adventurer Rennet. Please obtain the books by the bed for this unit's perusal."
O.L.L.I scans the parchments he has obtained, deciphering the Abyssal notation and storing the imformation in his memory banks for later cogitation.
Rennet offers the "just a minute" sign without looking over his shoulder, and then attempts to use his scythe to peel back the blankets around the body without approaching.
Thorn
The street value of this table is enough to make Thorn's mouth water, even if he weren't hosting the vestige of a wrathful and greedy dwarf queen.
OLLI
1. Sigil, Golden Bariaur Inn; Lit match; Abyss
2. Abyss, Naratyr; Magically animated skeleton; Acheron
3. Elysium, Eronia; Cup filled with wine; Outlands, Tir na Og
4. Sigil, Hall of Records; hair of a Fensir, cold iron scissors; Yggdrasil (Hades, Ysgard)
5. Sigil, Foundry; an extreme prejudice; Plaguemort
Rennet
Reghar eagerly starts to gather dry wood from downstairs, bundling it up with a crazed gleam in his eye.
DM:
This was tough. The idea of short changing his companions didn’t sit well with the part of Thorn that still sometimes thought wistfully of the hills of Ysgard and the companionship of his flock … but there was a lot of jink here … and he’d have to give most of it back to Ambereye … though if he could trust ol’ one-eye he’d be getting some of that back. Then there were those drugs. He couldn’t help thinking that O.L.L.I. and that balmy Rennet wouldn’t approve.
Glancing about at the others, hoping they’re absorbed in their own tasks, he carefully reaches for the rectangle of paper on the scales, twists the sides together so that the ivory powder cannot escape. He places the paper packer carefully into the pocket of his jacket, a finger on the scales so that they do not tip suddenly. The flask of sannish and pouch of devilweed follow, then he scrapes the brown powder back into its packet and pockets that.
Finally he puts the dagger into its sheath on his bandoleer, completing the set, and begins putting the other valuables into his pack, at which point he calls out to the others.
Thorn stands at the table, quiet for a few moments, then begins taking stuff from the table and putting it into his pack. “Looks like we’ve hit the motherlode,” he calls out. “So I’d be guessing that that,” he gestures to the body on the bed, “is Enoch?”