Hesa's abrupt appearance behind the creature is met with an immediate shift of its attentions, though it seems to benefit the darkness little as the quills rip into its body. The small, shadowed shafts stick from the side of the creature like scattered blades of grass as its tendrils thrash back and forth.
It is perhaps these distractions that allow Torel to close with the beast, however, throwing his shoulder into the undead flesh of the vasuthant has about as much effect as attempting to halt a glacier with his bare hands. His progress checked, the rippling surface of the creature abruptly erupts in a tentacle that throws him to the ground and just barely allows the druid to avoid the full force of the blow.
As Torel rolls hastily backwards in an attempt to avoid the burning heat of the thoqqua, the words of Simon ring out into the tunnel. And while they stay true, the burst of brilliant light lances out at the creature and abruptly seems to bend. Circling the creature once, it flickers and breaks apart, motes of light seeping into the shadowy mass and dying to the music of the discordant hum.
Morgan, upon opening his eyes after the teleport, merely has the rather disquieting sight of a rock wall that looks as if it would take people materializing within it poorly an inch from his nose.
Thamm was astonished. Nothing he'd seen before had taken this much abuse. On top, he knew dark things shouldn't like light, but the paladin's trick was shrugged off like it was nothing. His first spell had only seconds more to go before running to its end. Time to stop playin' friendly. Cho activated his empowerment mechanism.
It was an interesting spell-trick he'd picked up recently, and could attach to other spells. It was hard to maintain and could only be done once before he had to reshape it the next day, but worth it in tight spots. He spoke the activating codes before casting the same spell a third time. This casting produced jaws with massive, wickedly serrated fangs that flew next to their cousins and tore into the shadows.
Struggling to keep his bearings in the center of the crushing, cold cacophony of the Vasuthant, Erut hears Voice’s reassuring chant — Friends are coming — and for once feels grateful for the crystal’s presence.
From within, he feels the beast twitch — in pain, he hopes — and with a shout tries to bring his hand axe to bear in the hopes of loosening the creature’s crushing grip.
But even lifting his arm is difficult, though he is able to get more force into a second blow. Throwing all his weight behind the swing, Erut attempts to throw himself bodily from the clutches of the creature.
After Thamm completes his casting, the creature's tendrils lash out over the low slung thoqqua and Torel upon the ground to strike the wall just before the warmage. Even as the shards of rock are settling to the ground, however, all present once more hear the rising discordant whine and Thamm feels an immense weight slam into his chest as the sound abruptly stops.
Nearly thrown back to the wall, it is only the terrible suction as the creature's tendril pulls the mage inexorably into its body that prevents the impact. That is little comfort to the mage as he desperately tries to stall his progress. Nearly curled into a fetal position as the tendril draws him down its length, his hands clench and his breath fails him, though.
Erut's rage sustains him against the brutal pressure and he feels his weapon tear at the flesh at nearly the same moment that another presence can be sensed within. His desperate last minute attempt at escape is unfortunately blocked as he feels a renewed pressure clamp down upon him.
Meanwhile, outside of the black hole that forms the creature's innards, Sinwa desperately dances around the other tendril as the creature attempts to strike out at the second creature that caused it such pain.
Battle swirling between the cracked and striated walls, the darkness hides little from the band of intrepid heroes due to the sorcerous efforts of the magician Morgan. Vaulting ceilings range from twenty to thirty feet in height, with peaks and valleys as steep as any mountain range. The floor of the cavern, on the other hand, is fairly regular, but nearly covered in dense rubble, shards of rock and powdered gravel making for treacherous footing.
Thamm grunted in shock as he was forcibly pulled into a pitch-black nightmare of tentacles and discord. Cho mentally kicked himself for not withdrawing as soon as he'd finished the spell. The abomination's grip was crushing - now his only practical option was to try and survive long enough for his allies to slay the thing. Suspended in night, his thoughts went to a potion in his backpack...
Safely returned from his extradimensional jaunt, Alton returns to the business at hand. Watching the Eagle Knight take wing brought to the ranger a measure of hope and joy that only a soaring bird can demonstrate.
Alton hustles into the chamber and fires a shot into the inky blob of darkness.
The mind-addling effect of her blinking made it difficult to focus on her immediate surroundings. Shaking off the effects of vertigo, Sinwa deftly jumped from side to side on the uneven ground; avoiding the lashing tentacles of the Vasuthant.
As she danced about like a whirling dervish, yet more turbulence assaulted the air near her spikey ears. Her spirits were immediately boosted as she caught sight of the soaring Itzcuahl landing a savage blow to the undulating mass of shadowy flesh before her. Followed immediately by the "fwip!" sound of a deadly arrow buzzing right past her into the yawning darkness. Blessed Goddess! Allies!, mused Sinwa joyously.
As the darkness of the vasuthant draws the warmage into its deadly grasp, the eagle's holy strike deals a devastating blow and a single arrow deftly pierces the hide of the creature. The deadly looking rents the eagles claws inflicted slowly begin to develop an icy, pallid looking rime that would likely glow with a golden hue were it not for the complete absence of light in the thing's vicinity.
Erut’s head feels as though it is caving in. Vessels in his ears and nose have ruptured, sending rivulets of slick, salty blood into his mouth. He spits it out, but even that action seems tiring, and his tiny axe seems to grow heavier each moment. The Vasuthant’s discordant hum still fills his ears, but it seemed duller now, as if far off.
One of us must be dying, he thought, as he marshals his remaining strength for what may be a last attack.
The sheer, umbral vastness of this abomination of nature overwhelmed Sinwa's senses. It was difficult for her to visualize just what form this beast took, as its whipping tentacles both blurred vision and made her head duck to-&-fro. As a result, she could not tell how many of her friends were actually fighting this thing ... or were trapped in the tunnel ... or were dead, for that matter.
Still, the undulating darkness seemed considerably slowed and hurt from her explosion of celestial porcupine quills. Perhaps it was near death, but there was no way to tell for certain. Her gut feeling, bolstered by the surge of warmth she felt inside of her, was that the Forest Queen was urging her to continue hammering at this deadly sponge-of-light.
For a brief moment, her thoughts flashed back to a quieter moment back in her teens. It was a bitterly cold and snowy morning in late Uktar. Sinwa and her gnomish druid mentor, Haradra, were walking hand-in-hand in the dangerous pines of the Urlingwood. The grizzled old gnome was wearing a particularly tall and pointy red cap that day, and it took all of her composed might to keep from giggling her head off that frosty autumn day. But the wisdom imparted upon her that day, was now resurfacing as most applicable to this very moment ...
[Haradra] "Ya wanna fight like a Tree Arm, Sinnee? Then listen up. When a **** wants to kill ya - and he hits ya once. Ya hit him back umpteen hundred times. Relentlessly. Ya don't stop until that boob is paste, I tell ya. Paste!"
... and paste is what this beast who swallowed Erut would soon become. Accompanied with a prayer at the speed of thought, that the stalwart grimlock would not follow suit.
Ceasing the jittery blinking for a brief moment to collect her senses, Sinwa slowly backed away as she prepared for yet another sending of Mielikki's divine wrath.
Above the din of combat, Sinwa's ear perked up as she heard the faint-yet-fair cant of Druidic yelling for a welcome ear. It was Torel!
Just then, she finished the nuanced jowl-&-tail movements needed to send a massive salvo of abrasive sand straight into the broadside of the whining and humming Vasuthant. Capping off the sand's departure with yet another booming bark of doom - more flying death issued forth from the shaking body of the wilded blink dog druidess.
As the scouring blast of sand rips at the hide of the shadowy being it shudders once and then bursts, much like a rotten fruit. Powerful muscles convulse once more upon the duo trapped within and then they are spewed forth to fall heavily upon the ground. The remainder of the creature's noxious innards slowly spread through the air upon being freed of the constraining skin and as weightless in true death as they were in undeath.
With the death of the vasuthant, the unnatural blackness that had covered the cavern slowly dissipates and the light of the thoqqua shines for another half a minute or so before fading away with the creatures.
Thamm tasted a sudden wave of sand and grit, then suddenly the crushing was simply gone. In it's place was a bunch of insubstantial and wafting tentacle-husks his summoned jaws continued to snap at. He scrambled to get out of their grasp - it was no longer deadly, but still not pleasant.
"GAH! THAT WASN'T FUN!" Comments were now punctuated with kicks to dead tentacles. "Like that? You lucky she sanded yah to death before I got out and tied you into more knots than a southern dwarf's beard! If I'da gotten me club ready I'd be showin' ya now where the sun REALLY don't shine!"
Some more comments in Orc left untranslated for the possible child audience followed, then Thamm remembered someone else had been snagged too. Erut got a quick glance to see if he still breathed. "'Ey! You dead?"
Slighly covered in sludge from the flow of Vasuhaunt guts Torel quickly moved into the main part of the cavern. He checked the condition of Erut and Serina/Thamm. Seeing Erut the worse off he began with a time delayed healing spell. Glancing over at Alton, Torel commented quickly Check the room while we tend to the wounded. We need a minute.
Seeing Simon emerge from the cramped space he quickly consulted with the paladin before proceeding with administration of more intuitive healing. He checks the two of them and find them a little frail and weakened. Consulting with Simon on a plan of action the woodsman and paladin go about healing the strength sapping effect of the Vasuhaunt.
Stepping through the tight corridor into the chamber of the undead, Simon sees that both Erut and Serina-as-Thamm to be alive, though of questionable travelling condition. Bending on his knees, he places his hands on the porcine form of the witch, he prays: "Lord Torm, put healing into my hands that we may continue to do battle against the forces of evil."
Thamm comments roughly, "Thanks, lawpriest. I'm still sore but I'll hold up." A thumb was jerked Erut's way. "Might wanna check on him though, he don't look so good."
... 5, 6, 7, .... and 8!, counted Sinwa as she finally caught Morgan's head bobbing amongst the steep crags of the back-cave's jagged floor. "We're all here! We all made it! Woof!". Her elated comments died drastically down in volume upon utterance of her last word. With focused peering, she glanced deep beyond Morgan's position for fear of yet more deadly dangers coming out of the stonework.
Satisfied for the moment that the cave was emptied of immediate danger, she whipped her neck back around. Catching Simon and Torel dutifully attending to the slowly-moving Erut and the highly-animated Serina. Those two seemed to be the worst off, although that was hard to tell with Serina angrily kicking tentacles and goo all over the place.
Trotting over to her fellow druid, she watched Torel adminster his healing talents. His analytics and diagnostics were impressive, even without the mending blessants of Mielikki. As she went to offer assistance, she opted not to at the last moment. Simon & Torel had the situation well under control. So instead, she watched and learned ...
With the feisty war-witch back on her feet, Simon turned his attention to the downed warrior of the darkness. He thought back to their first introduction, back at Sarent Hall, near the Sembian border. He had thought him to be an interloper of some sort, seeing as how the guise of the blind man didn't quite hold up.
Pointing his finger at Erut, Simon once again calls down the blessings of the Golden Lion: "Return to this man his strength, that he may fulfill his life's duty."
Scouting along the broken walls of the cavern, Alton notes that almost all the walls have jagged heaps of rock at their base. The walls themselves are cracked and striated, but seem solid-- and unbroken. The only location in the room that the ranger finds with a possible exit is the upper left corner of the room, where the wall has literally been beaten into rubble that spills into the room. Though even here, there is no visible exit, only the possibility of one should the mess be cleared away.
His peremptory sweep also picks up occasional stray body parts, mangled and crushed, as well as a number of bodies and skeletons in similar straits. He notes a number of these still have equipment adorning their limbs and torso and a few weapons scattered between as well. Of the bodies lying against the back wall, the newest and only recognizable one appears to be a drow.
As he makes his way into the farthest room of the complex that he can easily reach, he notes that the rubble here is far more recent than most in the cavern. The cave behind the short tunnel is surprisingly clear of the debris that fills the cavern, though there are a number of the skeletons and bodies that he found earlier here as well. Moving along the line, he notes some oddities in the shape of some of the skeletons that are abruptly answered as he comes to the last body, adorned in numerous trinkets and keepsakes of bone--presumably that of his companion corpses.
Well-preserved, the ranger is just dropping to one knee to examine the apparently elven corpse when it abruptly sits up, letting out a hoarse scream as its wild eyes open wide, pupils so dilated as to nearly obscure the iris.
As Torel feels the presence of the elder Druid approaching he feels very much like a student again as she watches him work. The druidic magic takes time to heal the damage but the damage is healed. As Simon quickly heals the strength of the grimlock. Much like those in the church always asked for a speedy recovery or quick responses to their problems. Torel simply smiled and tended to Cho and Erut as a druid in his grove; slowly tending the wounds and mending that was broken in its own time.
A little unnerved, Alton's first reaction is to clamp the elf's mouth shut with his hand. (Moon Elf)Shhhh...I'm not here to hurt you and I might even be able to help you. I don't know what else is down here, so when I let go you're going to have to stop screaming, OK?(/Moon Elf)
Flailing at the hand, the creature... well, woman, Alton thinks, tries to scramble back away from the ranger. Her lungs still working hard and the muffled sound of now clearly terrified screaming coming from behind his hand, merely covering her mouth was not going to work for much longer.
Matted filthy hair lies beneath the elven woman like a cloak and smudged dirt and filth creates hallows in the cheeks of an otherwise well-fleshed woman. The dirt and tattered state of her clothing was, in fact, the only reason that Alton had mistaken her for a corpse upon seeing her.
... and then the sound and pressure and pain were gone, as the Vasuthant collapsed with an awful tearing sound. With a lurch, Erut felt himself drop to the floor below the floating, fetid carcass of the beast.
Still dazed, he continues his thought. Hmm. I had assumed it was me.
Serina, or Thamm or whoever, is next to him and apparently had the same idea. "No, I suppose not," Erut replies, to both Thamm and himself, as Voice scrambles over to him.
Then all the group is there, scouring the cave, warily eyeing their defeated foe and — thankfully — administering healing magicks to his weakened body. Erut can feel strength returning to his limbs and his bruises, which had turned much of his grayish skin almost Drow-black in places, growing less tender after the ministrations of Simon and Torel.
"My thanks to you both — to all of you — for beating that thing; I would not have survived mu ... he cuts himself off at the sound of the unfamiliar scream and jumps to his feet, his body still smarting.
Alton has little trouble forcing the woman's hands down and pressing her against the wall so that her struggling will not jar loose his hand. Restrained, she continues struggling for only a little while longer and then abruptly goes limp, her eyes staring without sight into the distance though tears trickle slowly down her cheeks.
Hearing the scream from the back part of the cave, Sinwa broke her attention away from the scrutinized monitoring of Simon and Torel's caring ministrations. A few quick 'doors later, she finally found the scouting Ranger. He seemed to be wrapped around a female humanoid form, which caused the druid to react somewhat puzzled. Realizing that Alton was trying to subdue the woman, Sinwa did her best to cover his back and scan around the back cave's walls-&-rocks.
Barking out loud, she apprised the group of what she saw. "Back cave! One woman - maybe more!"
Within moments, the group carefully made its way over the treacherous footing of the cave's rocky floor.
Oh, c'mon now don't cry...I'm not going to hurt you, but you have to be quiet - do you understand me? The ranger goes through the litany of languages - mindful of the LAST time he tried it.
When the druidess in Blink Dog form appeared and called out an alarm - Alton turned to his lupine friend No, she's just frightened and I'm trying to get her to stay quiet. I might have been too firm, though...
Despite the ranger's hasty assurances, the woman continues to stare blankly ahead, apparently lost to the world. Her tears create tiny tracks of cleaner skin down the mess on her face and neither the appearance of the blink dog nor the efforts of Alton seem to provoke a reaction.
At the sound of a quickly muffled scream from the direction that Alton had gone scouting, Itzcuahl took quickly back to the air.
That was no monster...only people make such sounds!
After a short flight, he lands and attempts to regain his human form.
Unfortunately although his form ripples, his concern dulls his focus enough to prevent his transformation.
Early in his training as an Eagle Knight, these transformations had been much harder to control. Although rare these days, he knew that sometimes the lure of his animal form was still hard to resist.
For just a moment after his failed attempt, Itzcuahl felt the rushing pulse of the predator's instinct flow over him. Unbidden the eagle, unrestrained within him let out a triumphant call. The eerie ululating wail of the great eagle echoed far too loudly in the confined space, as if every raptor that ever was had called out in chorus.
As the hairs rose on those who travelled with them, more than one member of the group began to wonder if perhaps the man who could turn into an eagle was really an eagle who could turn into a man.
In the span of two heartbeats, the spell passed and Itzcuahl fully regained his senses.
One by one, the group moved to the back part of the cave. Some lingering back near the main chamber, perhaps to keep a wary eye on the more shadowy niches and the tunnel whence the group came.
Once the girl fell limp in Alton's arms, Sinwa cautiously advanced towards her. Her nose sniffing rapidly, trying to discern if this woman actually *smells* like an elf.
Suddenly, a tremendous blast of sonic trumpeting sharply broke the cavern's stilled air. Sinwa nearly jumped out of her skin, sharply turning around to catch Sid arching his feathered chest and screaming a cacophonic eagle cry up towards the hidden blue skies. She had seen it before back in Waterdeep. This heralding call was not a sign of trouble, just unavoidable pent-up frustration.
Glaring at him while whispering aloud, her retort fought for ear space as the remaining echoes made their way through the nooks-&-crannies of the cave, "Holy Heavens, Sid! Pipe down! You want even more trouble?"
Seeing the clearly frightened and apparently distraught elf made Alton feel very uneasy. The fear, the hopelessness - it was the complete opposite of the way the free peoples should live. And to think that he caused the reaction of hopelessness. He tried his best - did what he thought was the right thing to do, but it obviously wasn't enough.
Alton withdraws from the quietly sobbing elf, in shock and sadness. He mumbles to Sinwa I'm...going to examine the other corpses I found...can you take care of this?
As Alton is looking back towards the cry, he feels a jerk in his hand and feels the girl begin to struggle again, though she is not able to escape his grasp. Still, as he turns back to her, the sounds coming from behind his hand sound more like whimpers than screams, despite the wild eyed stares that she is giving the eagle and the other members of the group as they filter into the small cave.
As he draws away from the girl, she scrambles backwards as far from those in the room as she can get, wedging herself into a corner. Her hand reaching into the tattered remains of clothing that were probably once robes, she brandishes a battered looking metal object in the air and mumbles something to herself then shuts her eyes tightly and goes completely still.
Seeing the bit of twisted metal in the elfmaid's hand, Simon quickly sees it for what it is- a holy symbol of some kind. His teachers at the temple, however, never included a lesson in cross-cultural theology, leaving the priest unaware of who the symbol represented.
Thamm's confusion gives way to chuckles as Cho realizes what spell the elf girl is attempting. Addressing the terrified maid with hands on hips: "We can still see yah, doll. We're all living and breathing 'ere. There was one big bastard back there," a jerk of the thumb towards the previous chamber "who wasn't, but we convinced 'im to stop movin' too."
A thought struck Cho at that moment, realizing this was no drow elf. "Wait - can she see in the dark? Or is she good as blind down here? Maybe a torch or something would calm her down."
"This cavern is sealed off, so I believe we can venture some light." With a touch, Simon causes a portion of the rock wall to softly glow with a pure white radiance.
Pulling further into herself if possible, the woman buries her head in her arms, the matted lengths of her hair shifting to fall over her face as she whimpers and murmurs to herself. Though difficult to hear and at least partially gibberish, fragments can be made out for those who speak Elven. "...not real life loss and... death and dark and death and danger and dark and... no more, no more... can't take... dark and dark and danger, flee, and death and dark..."
Not wanting the girl to feel threatened, Sinwa sat on her haunches and cocked her head innocently from side-to-side ... as if to show she is interested in the girl, but not a threat to her.
Stopping her intense sniffing, she proclaims to her friends, "She's definitely an elf, no deceptive appearances here."
Whispering out of the side of her droppy jowls, she catches Serina's ear. "Perhaps a comforting face of a woman would help here. Shall you or I?
Itzcuahl rose from his perch and began to shift from eagle to his hybrid form. Walking gingerly toward the group he tried to stay out of the elf woman's line of sight, hoping to avoid upsetting her further.
"I am sorry my friends...my cry was...unexpected.
Is she ok? I shall wait in the other chamber if my presence is disturbing her."
Great Qotal! Give me the strength to avoid these lapses of control in the future, I beg of you!
Somewhat relieved to find out that the elf girl was already...disturbed, Alton moves to join Itzchual I'll join you - I saw some drow corpses as well as some older skeletons. I'm sure the elf woman would be better off if we didn't crowd around her - and as a group, we'll more productive.
Thamm rolled his eyes. "Gimme a moment, I'll get her." With that the half-orc walked out of the terrified girl's sight.
As soon as he was out of her visual range, Cho imagined a female moon elf, slender and graceful, with hair of sheer midnight. Her smile was motherly, and her arms well suited to embrace and comfort. And as Cho spoke the commands to shift Thamm's breastplate into a robe of leaf motif and silver tracing, and faked some arcane gestures, the half orc slowly melted into this elven matron. She needed a name, thought Cho; Medeshianne would do nicely.
Not the best disguise, but done in a hurry. Medeshianne entered the chamber where the younger priestess was still cowering. She approached with her arms open, offering sanctuary through her posture, and spoke in High Elven. "Shh...shh...be calm, child. You are among friends. The darkness will threaten you no more."
Finished with Cho he lets the mage help the rest of the group. He offers a hand to Erut and pulls him to his feet. I guess we get the dirty work. Seeing the Grimlock move with a stiffness he does his best to help him along as needed. As the conversation with the screaming woman Torel instinctively looks in every direction except that of the sound. Many times the Zhents would use noise as a diversion and attack from another direction in silence. He knew the rest of the party could handle a scared woman.
Best to wait till she is calmer, we dont need to scare her more.Torel whispers to Erut. Torel had waited many times for appropriate timing, this was a moment to wait.
While it took some time, the appearance of the elf Medishianne did seem to connect on some level with the elf woman. Still, merely coaxing the child, for so she nearly seemed due to her state of mind and despite an age that was likely over five times that of the oldest member of the group, to open her eyes took some time. Calming her to the point where she would venture away from her corner took longer still, however, after perhaps a half an hour of soothing conversation the elf was coaxed back to the "pallet" of rotting clothes upon which she had been sleeping.
In the meantime, Alton, Itzcuahl, Simon, and Morgan, joined by Erut and Torel, completed their examination of the bodies and skeletons that were outside of the small cave where the trio of women were clustered. Most having at least some proficiency with searches and tracking, it didn't take long to catalogue the three intact skeletons and single body available to them. In addition to those, and the items, gold, and gems found upon them, they located enough body parts to put together at least three more.
Much of the equipment of the corpses was, as could be expected, mauled into uselessness, in some cases very nearly crumpled into a ball. One example made Erut eminently glad that he did not wear heavy full plate that was prone to warping into interesting new shapes while being worn under pressure. Still, it was possible to identify two of the full skeletons as elven, though drow or surface elf it could not be said, and the body as definitively drow. The last remaining body appeared to be a solitary halfling, and while a few of the body parts identified were small enough that they could safely label them as belonging to halfling, gnome, or quite possibly goblin given the nearby settlement, for most the race was indeterminate..
With the males of the group out of the discussion, Simon tried to help with the preliminary examinations, but his understanding of anatomy was limited to the gross physical features. After confusing a medium-sized arm bone with a small-sized leg bone, Morgan in no uncertain tones told him to excuse himself.
Without that much to do, lays his hands upon his sore allies and blesses each with a portion of Torm's blessing.
"You are strong, daughter, and will be well. My name is Medeshianne. May I know yours?" Slowly Medeshianne tried to ease the girl's pain, as Cho analysed how to work into the elf's trust. Finding out where she was from and how she got where she was now could prove invaluable.
Medeshianne's questions, while inserted deftly, do not receive a great deal in the way of response from the elven woman. Her name is apparently Pelifia, however, the changeling has to extract that from the limited amounts of blank eyed speech that she gets as a response to her questions. She also gets the impression of a great length of time, on the elven scale, among the babbling that any mention of her captivity provokes. More detail is hard to make out among the ramblings of the cleric though and details on her origins seem to bound between half the major elven centers of civilization on the continent without concentrating upon any one.
The elven woman, Pelifia, rambled on for quite some time. Serina did a capable job at slowly calming the elf, while still pulling out of her some minor and relevant bits of information. It seemed quite odd that this seemingly mindless undead would hold her and potentially others as prisoners in this desolate cavern. Something didn't add up right ... and only Sinwa's canine facade could hide her skeptical demeanor on this unfortunate woman's plight. For the interim though, Pelifia seemed genuinely addled.
Standing back up on all fours, Sinwa slowly made her way closer to the calming, but still babbling cleric. The elf's knee was half open wound and half scabbed over. An injury that looked old, but kept getting its healing process interrupted. Sitting back down on her haunches near Pelifia, Sinwa dutifully licked the woman's knee. Hoping that she was aware of the comfort and healing benefits that a dog's saliva could help for such an open wound.
In as calm a voice as she could muster in her canine-delivered wood elf dialect, Sinwa offered further solace to the stressed cleric. "(Elf)Come ... no need for further talk. You are safe and in the presence of caring people. Amongst those you see here, are a priest of Torm and druids from the blessed Mielikki. Have you need to share blessings with any of them, just ask. But for now, we have prepared food and water for you. And a soft pile of clean blankets to rest upon.(/elf)"
As Simon approached the gathering of women, Sinwa had him help her set up the blankets, some waterskins, and a selection of the group's better allotment of jerky, cheese, and hardtack.
After a quick yet voracious consumption of the food and drink before her, she was out like a light within minutes. Her telltale patterns of sleeping breath indicated to the group that finally, the cave was at peace.
______
As Sid, Alton, Erut, and Torel finished cataloguing the goods and remains of the cave, the other four members of the fellowship congregated together to discuss what Pelifia had blurted out in her diatribe of madness.
Within the circle of 4, Sinwa spoke aloud some of her concerns. "This Vasuthant was capable of holding prisoners? I think not. Something is not right. And as soon as the boys finish up over there, we need to see just how many entrances and exits exist in this cave. I sense the rubble in these various corners may hold some answers..."
Erut, breathing easier now, holds the splintered remains of what he takes to be a small skull in front of his face, as if it would suddenly explain what transpired before the group came here.
"This makes no sense," he remarks. "When we came upon this thing I guessed the Drow had summoned it and left it to kill any pursuers. But did it kill them, too? Perhaps they weren't expecting to find it.
He tosses the skull into the pile and whispers, lest the elven woman overhear. "And why she's still alive I have no idea."
Simon replies, "Agreed. The vasuthant is an aggressive, almost mindless creature. It is possible it was saving her for later, it is not likely. I will see about her aura.
Alton responds, Some of the rubble can be cleared. If this is a Drow staging area, it's doubtful that it would have a huge undead monster that attacks anything that moves to guard it, and have huge piles of rubble that need to be cleared and replaced every time they go out for a raid. Unless they all have some kind of warding against the undead...
If they did, there's at least one dead Drow here - maybe something in their stuff might be useful?
Mumbling a few words of the arcane, Morgan scanned the area for magical emanations. "Agreed Erut. Something here does not make sense." In adventuring, things were rarely simple. "Where are the rest of the drow group though? I can't see them just leaving this thing here after it got one of them."
Serina comments, "From what little I could make of her speech, it seemed like she had been trapped here a long time - and that is by the standards of the Fair Folk, mind you. Besides, from the size of the cave I don't think the darkness could've fit into that room. We shall have to see her lucid before useful information can be obtained."
Alton states, I'm reluctant to leave the woman alone. Whether she means us weal or woe, no one in that state of mind should be left alone the way she was. But we can't go back to Dagger Falls, unless Morgan can teleport himself and her there and back.
Perhaps there's a magical cure for her disturbed mind?
With Pelifia sound asleep on some clean travel blankets, Sinwa cast a blessing of Mielikki's Guidance to ensure the young woman finds the dreamlands quickly and with golden grace. With any luck, the young woman would recuperate from a blissful rest ... and awake with some semblance of coherency.
Morgan and Erut returned from the far west corner of the cave. They confirmed that the pile of rubble in that direction may indeed be covering a further path into the Underdark. The removal of said rock would require some effort in order to see if there were any hidden tunnels. Nobody had quite ruled out that other concealed portals may exist as well.
Since the cataloguing of the bodies, skeletons, and gear was still only partially complete, the group decided it would be best to redouble their scrutiny of all this debris & detritus. As well as take a break to soothe over their new aches-&-pains ... and to catch a quick bite.
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With articulated assistance from Torel, the two druids handed out a spread of culinary delights prepared by Mercy, Mikkel, & Darse just prior to the group's departure. With bittersweet emotions, Sinwa proclaimed to each person who greedily grabbed for the homemade delights, "This is my last batch of goodies from the kitchen of Sarent Hall. Enjoy it now ... for the rest of this spelunking trip may be rife with cave 'shrooms and white lizard meat."
Placing the rest of the aromatic treats on a table-like pack in the middle of the gathering, the group rummaged through Mercy's care package. Besides Mercy's own homemade goat cheese, sourdough pumpkin bread, and beef jerky ... the group also found some exotic Shou Lung gingerbread and a few cornmeal tortillas sprinkled in cinnamon and sugar. Sinwa smiled. Mercy apparently remembered *and* liked this traditional Maztican recipe given to her by the druidess. Sid and her shared a quick wink and a smile.
A small underground stream coursed some fresh water through a little nook near the center of the cave. The group filled their waterskins and wooden bowls and sat in the cave's center to break some bread ... and let off some steam.
Not to be caught off guard though, each person took turns keeping watch and poking around in the cave's many shadows.
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Before drinking from her wooden bowl, Sinwa let out a mildly audible commencement. "Cheers everybody. May our mission be swift, silent, & successful."
Simon sat with the assembled group and took the time to dust and polish his armor again. Funny how the darned thing was always getting dirty. Probably had something to do with how he wore it all the time.
Watching his friends and teammates break for a meal, he remembered how often people really had to eat. The sustaning magic of the ring he wore wasn't a frivolous trinket, but allowed him nearly the whole day and most of the night to pursue his duty, something that most of his peers in Tantras found to be excessive. "The need for food and rest are reminders that we are not gods, but flesh and blood." It always struck Simon as odd how even the eldest priests of the order seemed to have forgotten how Torm the True slew the Black Hand in their harbor. Admittedly, Bane had returned, but it diminishes the fact little- under sufficient circumstances, even a god can taste the bitter draught of death.
And if he failed in his duty, then the innocent might die. And so the ring stays on...
[Serina]"From what little I could make of her speech, it seemed like she had been trapped here a long time - and that is by the standards of the Fair Folk, mind you. Besides, from the size of the cave I don't think the darkness could've fit into that room. We shall have to see her lucid before useful information can be obtained."
In between bits of gingerbread, Sinwa listened to Serina speak. While watching her, something seemed ... off ... but she couldn't put her finger on it. Well, claw on it. Being in this form for so long, one almost forgets which limbs one was born with.
Responding back to the gregarious witch, Sinwa pondered other alternatives. "In her current state, we may get more useful information from those corpses and skellies. Often, the voice of madness just breeds untruths - whether intentional or not. Her words may actually set us on the wrong trail. Rrrroowf!"
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[Alton]"I'm reluctant to leave the woman alone. Whether she means us weal or woe, no one in that state of mind should be left alone the way she was. But we can't go back to Dagger Falls, unless Morgan can teleport himself and her there and back.
Perhaps there's a magical cure for her disturbed mind?"
Taking a drink of water from her bowl, she didn't notice until finished that she clumsily splashed the Ranger. "Rrrr ... sorry. Not used to my tongue being so long and loose." She smiled at him weakly, with a tinge of embarrassment. Casting an eye at the moody and taciturn Morgan, she continued Alton's train of thought. "What say you Morgan? You have the arcane "oomph" to get her back to Lord Morn if need be?"
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[Alton] (DSL)Well, it looks like we have something in common - and a very uncommon thread for us surface dwellers. Who taught these gestures to you two?(/DSL)
She watched the good Ranger sign fast & fluid - better than any non-Drow she had ever met. He clearly was not a novice at the difficultly-nuanced form of communication. If she could respond back to him with hands, he'd find her version was much more stilted, harsh, and functional. Peering at him closer, she looked at his skin. Whimsically, she wondered if maybe he was half-drow, half-human.
"Ah yes, Drow Signing ... for those of you not familiar with what the good Ranger is doing, he's speaking with his hands as the Drow do in the silent depths of the darkness. Where did I learn this? Let me tell you a story about one Nullafae Despana, a Drow ranger and spellthief that to this very day, is still fighting the good fight leagues away near Mistedale ... " Sinwa could see Alton's eyes perk at the story. She knew he was a reknowned Dales' militiaman - although she didn't know his home Dale or the unit he fought with. Although the more she wracked her brain, the more his name sounded familiar...
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Gently picking up the orange-&-yellow morsel with her pointy canines, she laid it down in front of Simon. It was a piece of rice candy wrapped in wax paper - imported from far away Shou Lung. Darse was fond of them, and apparently Mercy nabbed a few from under his watchful gaze and placed them in the group's care package. "Can you unwrap that for me? Take half if you wish. Say .... you amongst all of us carries the most clout in representing our group's good intentions. Pelifia, if she is indeed a cleric and knows even a smidgeon about theology ... should know that. When she awakens, your face, as well as Serina's elf guise, might be the most welcome upon her gaining consciousness."
She watched as the contemplative paladin unwrapped the tart piece of candy ... thought for a moment, then took half. He carefully placed the other half on Sinwa's paw. She smiled at him.
Torel sits down next to Erut aware that the Grimlock can 'see' him dispite being blind. Ones story is always a tale of lessons or hardships. Some are a random turn of events that take one out of natural elements. I am curious Erut, how does your life take you from the Underdark, to the surface and back again? Torel looks with a questioning glance unsure if Erut can see his expressions.
[Sinwa] "This is my last batch of goodies from the kitchen of Sarent Hall. Enjoy it now ... for the rest of this spelunking trip may be rife with cave 'shrooms and white lizard meat."
"A depressing prediction...let us capture the drow raiders quick, both to finish our task and to taste true cuisine again. This meal shall be cherished - thank you."
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[Sinwa] "Cheers everybody. May our mission be swift, silent, & successful."
"Indeed. I know we can make it so." And the elf drank deeply.
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[Alton] (DSL)Well, it looks like we have something in common - and a very uncommon thread for us surface dwellers. Who taught these gestures to you two?(/DSL)
"Among those who fight the drow, learning these gestures is a vital part of training. I'm sure Lord Morn sees to it that some soldiers in his employ have learned it from the Cormanthor elves or followers of Elistraee."
Cho didn't know nor much care how Alton and the others learned the drow hand signals. He figured Alton would assumed Serina had learned it from some veteran in Randal Morn's employ. He certainly wasn't going to tell them that he'd learned it through a year of careful study of the less experienced Drow raiding teams that he had, one by one, infiltrated and destroyed both just before and during his return to Randal Morn's service as a warmage. Somehow, it didn't seem that his new comrades would appreciate the story.
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[Sinwa] "In her current state, we may get more useful information from those corpses and skellies. Often, the voice of madness just breeds untruths - whether intentional or not. Her words may actually set us on the wrong trail. Rrrroowf!"
"That is also an option." Medeshianne cocked her head to one side, an expression both thoughtful and conciliatory on her face. "It would probably be best to turn down no avenues of investigation. While Pelifia's words taken at face value may mislead, useful clues may still be gleaned from what she has to say."
Trotting over to the little cave spring to refill her bowl, Sinwa stopped by the resting and deep-in-thought Itzcuahl. After licking him on the face to cheer him up, she sat next to him on the cold stony floor.
Breaking the silence, she queried her friend. "You're stuck, aren't you?" He nodded solemnly in response. "I remember a few years back, your control over your changes were much more chaotic. At least you are getting better at it."
She cocked her head to one side and gave him a comforting look. He clearly looked uncomfortable in this dark, underground element. She urgently yet quietly wished for this mission to be over with soon. Itzcuahl's heart and soul was in the skies, whether those skies be in Maztica, the Dales, or Shadow's Edge. Even Sinwa felt the tugging draw to be near again to the flora and fauna of topside Faerun. The two nature warriors just stared into each other's eyes for a moment. No words were needed to describe their mutual frustration. The moment shared and now complete, she picked her water bowl back up and mumbled out of the side of her jowls, "Misery loves company, eh friend?"
[Torel] I am curious Erut, how does your life take you from the Underdark, to the surface and back again?
Erut, who had been absentmindely whittling down one of the thighbones found in the cave, pauses at this query. This man, and his comrade, had now saved him from death twice in two days. Once, chimed in Voice. The Dragon was faking.
But even so, they were clearly of the Pack now, and deserved as much honesty as he could supply.
“I followed a man above, and now follow him again below,” Erut replies. “Jama Stonewalker, a comrade-in-arms of Sinwa and Morgan, once rescued me from a fate at least as bad as what awaited that elf-woman. And after that first salvation, he offered me a second, granting me haven in the world above.”
“Now he is gone on whatever mission we ourselves are pursuing, and I joined him to honor his gift to me, and repay it if I can. But his group and ours are separated — I don’t know his fate. Hopefully it is better than this creature’s,” he says, waving the bone about.
“I didn’t know where we were going — I certainly didn’t expect to be headed back to the Underdark.” He snorts, admiring the irony. A week after fleeing the Night Below, he pokes his head back in once — and nearly gets it crushed within five minutes. If that’s not an omen …
Overhearing Sinwa's and Serina's protestations over white lizard meat, he sighs involuntarily. He liked lizard.
Alton responds Spellthief? So THAT'S why she was so good at harrassing mages and spellcasters...she was a better tracker, but I was a better spotter. We worked well as a team - better once she taught me her people's sign language. But I always thought she was a just a ranger. She must have taken some of her deceptions with her from that dark place.
Did she ever talk to you about the details surrounding her departure from the Church of Lolth? She never told me, but I've always been curious...
Alton begins to distance himself from the actual conversation and delve deeper into his memories of the now-spellthief. He remembers the exhilarating days they spent tracking drow patrols around the ruins of Myth Drannor. And the nights...
She was also quite beautiful...she had that scar on her right side, a dagger had found its way into her. She damn near pulled that drow's arm off in her rage, and kept the blade as a souvenir. Funny, how I could have such fond memories of her even when her skin is just as black the full-blooded Drow we hunted together for those two years we spent together.
Torel nodded at Erut on the side, he glanced over at the woman who was now in the party's keeping. Death is something that all will face. Having been a prisoner of the Zhents, and then a skirmisher under Lord Morn death was my life and duty.
Torel took a deep breath and considered the past years in service. On the other hand I would have done it without payment, army, or assistance. Turning his head slightly toward the Grimlock he added Life can be taken away without death.
Sometimes we are given a second chance, but what are we supposed to make of it.
He flipped his sword to point vertically up in front of him. Following the line of the blade he rested on the holy symbol that was built into the hilt. A moment of consideration and he rested it at his feet. His face stood like iron but the memories were there.
[Alton] Funny, how I could have such fond memories of her even when her skin is just as black the full-blooded Drow we hunted together for those two years we spent together.
Looking up from the finely detailed plate mail he was rubbing, Simon says to the ranger, "There are tests that tell what is inside the heart of a person, such as spells. Skin color is not one of them. Have you not heard the tales of the drow ranger? Once, near Baldur's Gate, someone was telling me about him - Drizit, I think his name was. He adventures in the name of good, fighting brigands, pirates, and his own."
Looking a bit cross with the paladin for his chiding, Alton retorts Of course I know that - she and I are still close. But don't you find it the slightest bit ironic?
Dale Reckoning 1372, Marpenoth 2 - An entry from the personal writings of Simon Lodish, servant of the True:
We have broke for the midday repast, leaving me with more time to reflect upon the events that have unfolded.
Our initial foray into the Lands Below did not go unnoticed, as we were faced with a not-so-clever trap. Combined with the ease with which we followed the drow, one might assume that this particular band of drow was less devious than the rest of their kin. Or is it that they are more devious than any of us can imagine? To answer that question leaves me with a feeling of dread.
We did not simply awake the bats, sleeping upside down in the caves. Nay, something far worse: darkness incarnate, a massive vasuthant. Its cold grip nearly cost us two of our party, but fortunately, the magics of our group proved to be far stronger than the evil energy that gave it unlife. The beast blocked the narrow passage, and while the fighting druid Torel was able to keep it occupied, it still engulfed the grimlock and the witch. In these narrow tunnels, it is to be expected that one's movements would be restricted, but to stand there helplessly, watching others getting hurt...I almost lost my mind. Ever do I remember the words I spoke to my god- words of duty, words of responsibilty, words of sacrifice for others. I cannot fail in this.
Then there is the matter of the elfmaid we found in the beast's lair. She seems to have succumbed to the madness surrounding her. We barely got her name out of her. As she rests, the party wonders why she was the last one alive in a room full of the remains of others. I only know what the True tells me, so I choose not to speculate as of yet.
[Alton]Looking a bit cross with the paladin for his chiding, Alton retorts "Of course I know that - she and I are still close. But don't you find it the slightest bit ironic?"
Simon shrugs. "Irony is what you make of it Dalesman. One can see it simply as the way it is."
Noting the frustration in the ranger's stubbled face, "I apologize if you took offense by my statement. I had no intention to do so. But consider this: if you really believed that who she is and the circumstances of her birth have no bearing on the other, then why would you even mention it?"
[Alton] "Spellthief? So THAT'S why she was so good at harrassing mages and spellcasters...she was a better tracker, but I was a better spotter. We worked well as a team - better once she taught me her people's sign language. But I always thought she was a just a ranger. She must have taken some of her deceptions with her from that dark place."
Taken aback, Sinwa lurches her head at an angle. I'll be danged ... what a small world. The good ranger's last comment was more true than he knew. Nullafae was a *lot* more than just a ranger and a spellthief. The rest of her talents and professions ... cast her in a bit of an ugly light. Never one to be a rumormonger, she bit her tongue for the moment.
[Alton]"Did she ever talk to you about the details surrounding her departure from the Church of Lolth? She never told me, but I've always been curious...
Shrugging her narrow canine shoulders, Sinwa proclaimed, "She was one of the few "enlightened" ones of her people, I guess. She spoke of moments of epiphany. But there was never one deciding factor. Probably doesn't help either that her family - House Despana - was obliterated one-by-one in some pointless internecine squabble. I can't recall the exact House responsible for it. But it sounded like her family grew too powerful, too prosperous ... and too quick for their own good. As a result, some rival house took umbrage. And where there's envy, there's fuel for treachery. And so the cycle goes." Just recanting that odd little memory was depressing. Sinwa's jowls seemed to droop just a bit more. Finally, she added on an upbeat note, "At least she finally saw the light. Or as others of her kind call it, she "found" Eilistraee. Last I heard of her, she was travelling with those who Harp. Still teaching topsiders the ways and means of her evil brothers and sisters. That's got to be a weird way to live." Sinwa just shakes her head. She gave Nullafae a lot of credit for the lives she saved and knowledge she imparted to the good people of the Dales. But at her heart's core, she couldn't understand the drive that such a person could have in working feverishly to destroy the culture and people she was spawned from.
[Alton] "She was also quite beautiful...she had that scar on her right side, a dagger had found its way into her. She damn near pulled that drow's arm off in her rage, and kept the blade as a souvenir. Funny, how I could have such fond memories of her even when her skin is just as black the full-blooded Drow we hunted together for those two years we spent together."
It was all coming back to her now. Alton was indeed name-dropped by Nullafae on more than one occasion. Except it was never by his real name ... just by his "pet" name. As the ever-chatty Nullafae had coined him, "... my wild ranger lover!". Sinwa was overcome with giddy glee - oh, the stories she had heard about him! Nullafae was reknowned for her savage carnal exploits, and cycling through men as if they were resources to be drained and exploited. Apparently though, she did fall for this "one ranger" in her life ... who seemed to have some staying power in her heart ... and obviously, her bed.
Already, Sinwa was turning red with embarrassment. Thank goodness for her charcoal-coloured fur - lest she had some explaining to do!
Getting back up on her feet, she knew now was a good time to walk over and talk to Torel. Feeling a bit sassy with all the other's listening in on the conversation, Sinwa gave one last parting shot (albeit, a good-natured one) to the Dalesman as she walked away. "Just be thankful she didn't pull *your* arm off, Ranger Alton. I hope those 'back scars' of yours healed up just fine."
Young Kern Hillsmont put his mug down wrong - it slipped over and clattered onto the bartop surface. No problem, really; there wasn't a drop of ale left in it. The plastered youth glared at the overturned mug as though it had wronged him somehow. The inkeep had a worried look on his face every time he turned to look at the boy; Old friend? wondered Dennis. No matter. The halfling bounded up onto the seat by the human as though he had no care in the world - fitting contrast - and signalled to the barkeep for an ale, halfling-sized please. His immediate purchase resolved, he turned to the sullen drunk at his side. "Hey, aren't you a bit young to have the kind of troubles that calls for that kind of drinking?" asked Dennis.
"Huh? Who're you?" responded Kern.
Medeshianne kept staring quietly into her bowl, giving no sign that Cho had started suddenly out of his daydream. So lost in reverie was the underlying will that the fake personality he'd created was left in charge of the body, as though on autopilot. The changeling kicked himself inwardly - he should be paying closer attention to his companions, studying them as they were opening themselves up to conversation now.
It was odd, though. He'd been reminiscing back to the days when he first assumed Kern's identity more often, recently. What did happened to that boy? Probably still living in that cabin in the hills with his dear Terava, and more than likely doing so without concern for what his parents thought. By the Hells, it'd been years; he likely had children now. Cho never knew. It had taken him all of an hour to skip town when Kern fessed up.
While the group sat and kvetched, Itzcuahl found himself sitting apart from the others.
While they chatted, he meditated on his failed attempt to resume his human form and subsequent wild eagle call. He knew that his actions had led the already damaged elf to a place of dark fears.
I've wrought enough damage today...better that I stay safely distant...
Never before have I felt that I was a monster...
Am I a thing to be feared?
Guide my steps Qotal, I have lost my footing on the path...
While they ate and conversed he kept a silent vigil around the perimeter of the area the group had chosen to rest in.
Alton gave a small sigh, Sometimes I wish I was better known as an archer and spotter, than Nullafae's "Wild Ranger". And I'm sure SOME of the stories were exaggerated a bit.
Who else did you know during your time in Cormanthor?
Turning to Simon, the ranger replies The irony is that as much as I come to identify drow as targets on sight, I have shared very special moments with a woman who looks very much like them - even though I know her heart beats to different rhythm.
I wouldn't expect you to see my life the way that I see it.
Simon replies, "Nor I, you. But I still fail to see the complexity. Either she is good of heart, or she bears malice. What she looks like on the outside is of little import. I suppose we could simply agree to disagree on this 'irony' business."
[Alton] "Who else did you know during your time in Cormanthor?"
As she walked towards Torel and Erut, Sinwa stopped and turned back to face Alton. Her memories of those she fought with in the depths of Cormanthor were flooding back to her. With sadness, she hesitated. Most of them were dead. Courtesy the Auzkovyn Clan and their bugbear warrior slaves.
With her black-brown eyes turning wet, she responded. "There was a druid circle working out of Mistledale. The Oaken Ring of Stone. They were the ones who welcomed me ... and for that matter, Nullafae ... into their arms. Leafsister Amblecrown Poe was the High Druid. She, and all of the other druids of that order ... are now gone. Mielikki bless their souls." Turning back around, she strolled up to Torel. Her canine face blank.
Shaking her head, she regained her focus. Seeing as how he had just finished his meal, she requested Torel take her haversack off its mounted harness. They then went about making a few trades and redistribution of spell components for their divine gifts of casting. She then had him use his human hands to pull out a small piece of burlap wrapped in twine. Unwrapping it, he found 3 long rainbow-hued feathers. They seemed to pulse with a subtle glow. And were clearly unlike any other feather that Torel had seen before. With hushed excitement, she proclaimed, "They are for you, Brother Torel. Feathers of the Couatl. Leafsister Poe, who I spoke of earlier, gave them to me near Myth Drannor. They are good luck! And, if need be, can enhance your divinical power whence channeling our blessed Forest Queen. Use them wisely, and may they serve you well!"
Sharing a smile with him, she then went back to her pack. With her own teeth, she pulled back the right-side flap of her haversack and yanked out a gnarly-old thigh bone, albeit a small one. Truth be told, it was a kobold thigh bone. It was the first creature of evil she had dispatched in defense of her mentor's druid grove. Dropping it unceremoniously in his lap, she then licked his face. After telling him the story of its origin, she then cut to the chase. "Yer gonna need this. Especially if we run into more of those horrid mockeries of life.", she nodded back towards the remains of the Vasuthant.
Sitting down, the two then discussed the best ways they could deal with the undead in the future.
Torel blinked at the three feathers that were given to him. He knew of the Coutal but only in myth and legend. To actually have a feather was something else indeed. (druidic)Thank you Tree Arm(/druidic) I did not know that one could be graced with such gifts. To grace another is quite a deed itself. I do not quite know what to say.
Placing two of the feathers in his spell pouch the third he wove into his right armband. As he was just finishing the bone was dropped in his lap followed by warm nose. He responded with a scratch before listening to the druid's story. Afterwards Torel admited that he failed to see the connection of fighting undead and the bone. Sinwa explained the spell to him and Torel planned on 'brushing' against the spell in the morning, to see if it would help him in the day's events. .... run into .... The words mulled around inside his head. He turned to look at the entrance to the cave where the shadowed mass had attacked them. How do drow pass by something that big without a fight?
Standing up he looked over at Itzcuahl who seemed to be holding form in that of an eagle. He walked over to the were-eagle and offered a left arm to keep a ruse up for Pelifia in case she woke up. Something bothers me about the drow passing through here. How do they pass without the same fate that we encountered? Two sets of eyes are better than one, perhaps we could figure out if they were attacked, or which way they went.
After Torel walked away, Sinwa sat down for a moment on all fours, and stared at the sleeping elf. Speaking to the whittling grimlock, she expressed her mounting confusion. "Indeed ... this elf's life is more of an enigma than the deaths of these bodies. The more I think, the more I'm convinced that the Vasuthant was in league with our drow quarry. It may not have been as mindless as we first thought... "
Staring down at the warrior's throwing axe at his side, she could see the Suthwood joining was loose around the meat of the blade. No doubt from the vigorous close-quarters chopping that Erut employed to free himself from the creature's innards. She recalled seeing the vasuthant's savagely torn insides right after Torel pulled him out of the mess. "You'll need to twine-up your axe - it's a bit loose. When we get some free time, I'll warp the wood to tighten it up." As Erut pulled his axe out to inspect the problem, she added, "You know, any lesser man would have succumbed upon being swallowed like that. Lord Jama was right ... you are one helluva warrior. He was very fond of you ... "
Sinwa stopped abruptly. Catching herself, she wondered why the hell she was talking as if Jama was dead. Shaking her head, she quickly corrected herself. "He still *is* fond of you ... pardon me."
A dark, foreboding feeling washed over her. Excusing herself, she got up and walked over to one of the skeletons. Picking out another thigh bone from the pile, she then placed it in her pack. For some reason, she could not help but feel a complete lack of mortal connection to Roryn, Jama, Maer, and Locke.
"So they don't like the girl ya brought home? That's a hard break."
Kern just grunted. Understandable speech was getting harder and harder for the drunk boy to produce. The occasional mumble of "cursed fools" and "I love Tarrie" could still be eased out of him, but otherwise he communicated nothing but anger out of his posture and expression.
"Hey there friend, can't choose your parents after all. And they probably think they know the best. Think, mind ya." Dennis hesitated. At this point, he'd been running a few cons through in his head, but the halfling was starting to feel a bit sorry for the boy who couldn't get his father and mother's blessing on his choice. I wonder...haven't really confided in anyone since Big Bro..."So what d'ya plan to do?"
"Why d'you care?!" Suddenly angry, and coherent, Kern turned on his smaller drinking companion. "Jes-jes who in'd'Nine 'Ells d'you think you are, anyways?"
He was met by a disarming smile. "Right now? Darin' Dennis Brookjump, at y'service. But," and here his look turned conspiratorial and his voice went down a notch in volume "it can be Kern Hillsmont if it needs to be."
Kern stared at Dennis, clearly not getting something. The patrons who had been alerted by Kern's outburst raised a few eyebrows, but turned away muttering about 'hafling riddles'. Dennis scanned the whole tavern, making sure no one was listening too closely. That done, he motioned to the confused Kern to lean in closer, which the drunk youth dazedly obliged.
"My real name is Cho, and I think I can help you."
Medeshianne perked up to Sinwa's comments on the Vasuthant. "It is quite the mysterious miracle that Pelifia has lasted as long as any elf would term such. And that we did not find more drow remains here. I dread to think what kind of necromancy the wicked drow could employ to use this creature in their dark agendas. Then again, the maid did attempt a simple spell that allows one to pass by the undead without being noticed - they may have simply used that."
[Medeshianne] "It is quite the mysterious miracle that Pelifia has lasted as long as any elf would term such. And that we did not find more drow remains here. I dread to think what kind of necromancy the wicked drow could employ to use this creature in their dark agendas. Then again, the maid did attempt a simple spell that allows one to pass by the undead without being noticed - they may have simply used that."
A candlelight lit upstairs. Arching her eyebrow, Sinwa slowly verbalized what she was thinking. And quietly to boot. "Um ... did anyone check through her gear? She might have items of magick that help shield her. Not that I want us to take her things ... moreso to get a feel as to who she really is. I fear her nonsensical jabbering may not be sufficient for us to understand her reasons for being here. In essence, her accoutrements may tell us more about her than her words."
As soon as she finished speaking, her eyes slid to her left corner where Simon was seated. She had a slight feeling that the Tormite might not approve of rifling through another's belongings ... without asking, that is.
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[Alton] "Oaken Ring of Stone...can't say I've heard of them - but did you say was?
"Aye. 'was' ... as you know, Ranger, the surrounding lands of Mistledale are still horribly infested with Drow. For every pocket of those wretched creatures we killed, two more would pop up. The Druid Circle and our allies were stretched thin. Attrition whittled down our numbers. From what I heard from a local Harper, Leafsister Poe fell in the Battle of Peldan's Helm ... protecting that small hamlet from a hoard of bugbear assassins and yochlol. She didn't go down alone though. A score of the miserable beasts lay dismembered at her feet. Such is the might of an elder druid wilding as a dire grizzly..."
Sinwa thought back to her last visit to that little forester's hamlet of 80-odd folk. She had arrived there about 2 settings of the sun after the big battle.
She could see the exact telling of the battle concerned the proud Dalesman. Morosely, she told him what she knew. " ... upon arrival there, I actually saw little evidence that the battle took place at all. What you heard was mostly true. As soon as reinforcements arrived ... Harpers, mind you ... their vanguard actually saw Leafsister Poe as she fought in her final moments."
The druidess stopped for a moment to scratch a cave flea behind her ear. "Let's see, where was I? Oh yes ... the two heroes that saved the day were Harpers by the names Cointok Maas and Meree Gingerstone. The former, a famed fighter tactician hailing from the Moonsea. He could trip an 8-legged basilisk without batting an eye. His nickname was "Potato Head", for obvious reasons of course. And Ms. Gingerstone? You may have heard of her - a shadowcrafting illusionist out of Shadowdale. She has not a lot of friends left in those that Harp, from what I hear. Apparently, when fighting with her, one couldn't tell the difference between her illusions ... and her killing magicks. Since she was partially mute, you could see where the problems would occur."
Realizing she was babbling, she stopped for a moment. The she summed-up the battle for the studious ranger. "Anyway ... they never found Poe's body, or the 30 that fell with her, after the final mopping-up of the Drow's lackeys. If you ask me, she may still be walking the fair soil of Faerun. Albeit in some disguise ... or ... a new body. Our Forest Queen works in strange ways. Once from soil we are, against from soil we shall spring. Nonetheless, the town is still standing. Although the Peldan's are even more distrustful of strangers now. If that's at all possible."
Her final words abruptly ended as she could see the sleeping elf turn over. The woman was still restless.
Cointok was the most vicious player of lanceboard I've ever met in my entire life. I've never seen anyone decimate his opponent from as many directions - and I've been on the receiving end of it many times. I swear, the Crimson Strategist must favor his play somehow...
I've met him once or twice, when I was passing through towns, while gathering provisions.
Sinwa smiled. Not only was she impressed with his broad knowledge of the Dales, he seemed to know anybody who was anybody. "Tis a small world, Ranger Alton. I'm surprised we never ran into each other in my brief sojourn through the Cormanthor. One day, when danger is light, we'll have to have a sit and talk about ye ole' Velvet Veil Tavern in Ashabenford. A ranger with well-traveled boots like yours surely must've made a stop or 2 at the Veil." Seeing the ranger's eyes light-up, she knew right away that he was familiar with the place. What man wouldn't? The exotic dancers, especially that one Tabaxi seductress, were renowned throughout the lands. Although Sinwa was one of the few outsiders who got to catch first-hand, the secluded back room where the dancing Satyrs held court for the bored and lonely local ladies!
As the two shared the last little piece of gourmet from Mercy's timely care package, they nodded a silent "cheers!" to each other. As soon as the group cleaned up their mess, the elf was stirring yet again. This time, looking like she may be waking up.
As the mysterious incantatrix Morgan kept to the shadows, examining the Weave in this locale, most of the others in the group participated in a leisurely lunch, taking the opportunity to forge bonds of understanding to supplement those formed through circumstance. The mage's work on the outskirts of the group was not unrewarded, however, as he encountered several items that subtly distorted the Weave upon the corpses... and at least one aura of faint conjuration and one of abjuration upon the elven woman.
With Pelifia stirring, the field meal complete, and Morgan finishing his aura search, the hustle-&-bustle of resuming the mission ran amok through the group. "We have items to inventory, portals to find, rocks to clear, and a victim to address. Time to get moving. Morgan, what say you on the auras within this cave?"
Medeshianne made her way over to the sleeping elf. Inside, Cho recognized that being the first face she saw when she awoke among sane company (for the first time in far too long) would make a massive impression, and it was not an opportunity the spymage would waste.
After getting help from Torel to secure her back on its harness, Sinwa made way over to the rubble in the far western portion of the cave. Inspecting the stones carefully, she employed her keen scent and knowledge of tracking spoors to look for the tiniest of clues.
After a long meditation, Itzcuahl came to terms with his inner struggle. He knew that he had frightened Pelifia, but it seemed clear that he was only responsible for a small portion of her suffering.
Now in his eagle form he approached her recumbent form ever so carefully. A soft crooing sound emenated from deep within his chest, almost like a cat's purr. Keeping his talons and sharp beak safely away from her, he gently rubbed at the underside of her hand with the top of his head.
As those searching for clues to the location of the drow circled the cavern they found that the only signs of recent battle were their own. There were certainly other signs of battle in the area, but the most recent was at least a few weeks old and possibly more than a month--possibly where the drow had died, as it was one of the freshest corpses in the area.
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As Pelifia wakes her body stills completely, an apparently instinctive reaction as she fails to even open her eyes. They slowly creep open after a slight delay, however, and she immediately pulls her hand back, clutching it to her chest. She does not seem so alarmed as she was the previous day, however, and the sight of Medeshianne seems to soothe some of that as well, though she remains silent as she stares at the pair in her inner sanctum.
Clearing the pungent smell of the corpses out of her nostrils, she turned to Erut, Alton, & Torel. "Rrrrowwf! No tunnel behind the rubble it seems. And these dead drow bodies are a few weeks old ... at least. Seems our quarry's spoor just went *poof*, into thin air."
Speaking in a serious hush only the four of them could hear, she commented, "Seems our mystery elf holds all the answers here." The searchers all looked on as the elf-clad Serina and Itzcuahl greeted Pelifia back into the realm of the conscious.
Meanwhile the gear of the deceased drow caught Sinwa's eye again. Whispering, she mused, "Guess we ought to see what we can salvage from these remains. No need to leave dangerous gear around for opportunists who happen along now that the shadow creature is dead."
As Pelifia woke Medeshianne was ready to greet the elf in their tongue. "How did you sleep, daughter? I pray you feel better now." Between the smile and the disarming tone, Cho was sure that Pelifia would not stay defensive towards his new personality for long.
But first, introductions. "This is Itzcuahl, another friend. He is currently in bird shape - a long story there - but is actually a human, and protects you as we all do." Inwardly, Cho hoped he'd got the name right - even though the language base was like nothing he'd heard before, the pronunciation was simple enough when broken down. And now in Common: "Itzcuahl, meet Pelifia."
Moving her puzzled glance from one part of the cave to another, she responded quietly to Alton's concern. "Until our friends are able to get more information from Pelifia, we may need to more thoroughly search this cave and the access tunnel with a fine-tooth comb. Might as well start now, if the drow murderers are still on the move, they're probably getting closer to home."
The horrid thought of finally catching up to the raiders once they've been subsumed into their main hive of evil ... made Sinwa gulp.
Taking the time that Medishianne and Itzcuahl were spending to soothe the damaged mind of Pelifia, most of the remaining members of the group began to spread their search efforts beyond the immediate vicinity of the vasuthant's cavern.
As those more practiced in identifying subtle clues, traps, and other minutia slowly worked their way outward along walls and into the tunnels and other chambers of the cave complex Simon and the stouter members of the group began the laborious process of removing the rubble from the northwestern corner of the room.
Each task was time intensive, however, it was those searching for clues to the drow's location in the exits south of the cavern who first encountered success. As Pelifia was coaxed into disjointed speech with interjected attempts at lightening her mood and those digging pulled rubble out of the way Alton and Sinwa examined the entrance chamber. It was soon apparent that the latest drow tracks disappeared shortly into the tunnel leading further into the complex. The crude arrow trap that the roguish ranger had disarmed earlier confirmed the presence of the drow that far at least, however, within the tunnel there were tracks only to the point where it became clear there was only one path.
The more important discovery, however, found after the pair had given up on the tunnel, was a secret door. Cleverly blended into the stone near the ceiling of the chamber on the far west side, it was found only after half a dozen passes by the ranger--largely due to its location.
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Medeshiane's inquiry and manner did not elicit smiles from Pelifia, however, she did respond, "I... slept well...?" slowly and with great care. Her eyes, focused upon the torch the pair had brought revealed churning thoughts that could nearly be seen behind the opalescent orbs. Her eyes were clearly unused to the light, the pupils contracted almost painfully small, however, she seemed unable to tear her gaze away.
As a result, the introduction and subsequent antics of Itzcuahl elicited little reaction. However, she did lightly murmur, "Bird... not darkness and... humans...?" in questioning tones that showed little comprehension of her situation or the explanation of the eagle's presence.
"Or perhaps we missed something earlier in the cave. Or the Drow could have fled magically without having to face this thing," Erut says, as he pads off to help Simon move rocks. "If this is the same raiding party that's struck before, they must have an easier passage than this one."
Quietly, he rumbles to the priest, "Maybe she can tell us her intended path, and how these dead bodies got next to her when that creature couldn't fit in the chamber."
He wasn't sure he trusted that one, he thinks … and then stops at the sound of a quiet "aha!" from Alton in the other chamber. "Wait — I think they found something."
Not finding any drow tracks in the cavern Torel is distressed enough to mention it so that the searching for another exit.
When the way is found Torel adds his own comments. Perhaps the choice is best left up to her if she wishes to join us. Although I do not know if her nightmares may act up at a bad time to hinder us.
She's not quite lucid...but at least she's not babbling. We can work with this. Then again, if I was introduced to a bird that proceeded to bow at me, I'd question my own sanity too."Not darkness. Exactly. We brought light. Humans are here. Would you like to meet them?" It was as good a time as any to start introducing a framework of safety and trust to the young elf - she'd need the structure to rebuild her mind around. Once that was done, questions could be properly plied. Medeshianne offered a hand to Pelifia, hoping to lift her to her feet so she could meet the others.
Morgan was doing his best to avoid Pelifia, her condition pulling at memories he still wasn't ready to face. Instead he busied himself with seeking out the magical emanations around him and locating their sources focusing more attention on the task than was needed. It was a job he could easily loose himself in. Let the others talk amoung themselves, all he wanted was the bliss of being lost in magic. Far better than being lost in the crush of memories.
Moving over to Sinwa after finishing his search, he spoke to her in a quite voice."There are a few items of magic amoung the bodies." Glancing over the woman again he added, "She's got magic on her too. Some sort of protection, and something else. It's pretty weak though. Might be why she survived."
"Meet... humans? Humans and light, light is dangerous darkness. Dissappearing, no light." As she lay her hand on Medeshianne's and passively allowed herself to be pulled upwards her gaze passed over the corpses and the she let her speech die off. As the changeling pulled her gently towards the exit though, the elven woman's breath caught and she tugged back, her free hand darting under her robes.
Pulling out her holy symbol, she again swiftly uttered the words to the hide from undead spell, this time touching Medeshianne and hesitantly reaching out towards Itzcuahl as well. Upon finishing, she again allowed herself to be drawn towards the darkness of the exit though she seemed tense and ready to fling herself back.
"Shh, it's okay, it's okay. The darkness that threatened you is destroyed. Watch, I'll bring back some more light for us."
Medeshianne switched her grip from Pelifia's shoulders to her hand, and knelt down to search for a suitable object on the floor. A little chunk of metal, crumpled into almost a perfect marble, presented itself - probably a fragment of some poor victim's armor. A quick casting and she brought forth a cantrip that turned the metal chunk into a tiny star, granting excellent illumination to the area. With the magic light in one hand and a worried elf in the other, Medeshianne made her way towards the tunnel out, switching from Elven speech to common as she did so.
"Everyone? How goes your search? I hate to interrupt, but it's time proper introductions were made."
Alton comments, I found a secret door - stinkin' Drow never had to deal with that undead thing - except maybe the first itme. Wish you were really an elf there, Serena - you could have found it right quick. Or a Dwarf.
I see I'm going to have to instruct my comrades on how to not utterly destroy one's cover in a single sentence. No matter - she's less than perfectly aware anyways.
Cho's annoyance was never let on, though, and Medishianne never showed any sign of responding to being called Serina. For ease of understanding, she switched to Common. "Pelifia, this is Alton Newcastle, a woodsman and and scout. He is one of the eight you see before you; comrades in a quest to bring justice to a band of drow. There in the armor is Simon Lodish, battlepriest of the True and a human warrior of great skill and faith. The fellow without eyes is Erut the grimlock; a native of the Night Beneath and a good fighter to have at your back in a pinch. The tall human is Torel Silvanus, noble guardian of the forests. With the exotic hair is Morgan, a skilled mage. And Sinwa Unseen you have already met - she is a druid currently wilded in that dog form. Leaving Itzcuahl and I."
Being slightly light blinded from Serina's light spell, Torel blinked to adjust to the very vibrant light source. Well met indeed, Medi. Slightly brighter than before but a slight blessing for the time being. Pelifia I hope you are doing a little better. You have slept for quite a while, you might want to get a little something in your stomach.
Torel shifted his off hand to block some of the direct rays from the marble to his eyes but then lowered it once his eyes adjusted.
[Simon] "Lady Unseen, you summoned a servant of the woods last night to aid us with our wounds. Perhaps it would be willing to bear her into town?"
Sinwa got a kick out of the big lug's stiff, proper formalities. While she was accustomed to such talk from the citizenry of Shadow's Edge, she wasn't from those who mired around with her in the filth and gore of combat. Grinning and shaking her head, she thought for a moment. "Aye. I could indeed have a sacred servant of the Forest Queen escort her safely back to Lord Morn. But it's a magick I would need to prepare in the morn ... for its not in my current repertoire."
Pointing a paw over to "Medeshianne" while whispering, "I think she might be making some headway though. We may very well need Pelifia ... at least for the short term. Pray to those that are beneficient, that her mind regains clarity."
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[Alton] "I found a secret door - stinkin' Drow never had to deal with that undead thing - except maybe the first time. Wish you were really an elf there, Serena - you could have found it right quick. Or a Dwarf."
Looking up at the well-crafted secret door, she sniffed profusely, trying to smell if anything was closeby on the other side. Looking back over to Serina, she could see her caring and tender ministrations were obviously taking time. Worrying that that was an asset the group did not have, she woofed over to the witch with a concerned stare. "Seri ... er, Medeshianne ... we need to hurry. The Drow descend even deeper into their home territory. Time, and terrain, is not to our advantage."
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After seeing Serina nod in response, it was hard to tell if she was bothered by the rush request. The old woman had quite a poker face even while clad as a beautiful elf maiden. Undeterred, Serina went through the patient process of introducing the group to the frightened and addled Pelifia.
Bowing to the elf, then seating herself on her haunches in a humble & not-threatening gesture, Sinwa spoke in elven. Albeit, in a heavily affected sylvan elf accent.
"Well met, Lady Pelifia. Sinwa Unseen of Shadow's Edge at your humble service. 'Tis a pleasure to meet you. We hope soon, to return you to the warm light of the forests above."
After the introduction, Sinwa saw Morgan motion for her to come over by his side next to the corpses. He was kneeling beside one with an intent gaze focused on his continued detections.
[Morgan] "There are a few items of magic amoung the bodies." Glancing over the woman again he added, "She's got magic on her too. Some sort of protection, and something else. It's pretty weak though. Might be why she survived."
Morgan looked quite uncomfortable. She had a feeling what was bothering him, but he was not one to talk about such things in such a large group as this. Nodding in gratitude to her friend, she responded back. "Nice work, Morgan. If you wish to throw some of the items in my haversack, that's fine. I realize we don't have time to identify all this stuff at the moment. Any potions or clear-cut items that look moderately safe?" Sinwa sniffed around curiously at the stinky drow bodies, hoping to see something interesting poking out of a pocket or two ...
Her eyes skipping back and forth between those in the group, her eyes widened in the glimmering light of the spells Medeshiane had cast. Most of the words bandied about seemed to roll over the elf, yet she seemed to catch occassional fragments of the conversations.
Torel's comments, following the greetings of Simon, garned an almost completely puzzled look by Pelifia. "Sleep and something in...?" she trailed off uncertainly, one hand coming down to rest upon the flat of her stomach as her eyes drifted down to a rusty, single edged sword leaning against one wall. Her eyes widening slightly in alarm, she took a sudden step back from the martial druid and nearly tripped over Sinwa.
The sudden distraction the blink dog druid presented seemed to clear her mind of the panic that Torel's comment had generated, however, she was clearly growing more uncertain as those in the group moved in to introduce themselves.
Sinwa was right - they lacked the advantage temporal. And given Pelifia's reaction to Torel, there was probably a limited window of opportunity to gain useful answers from her too. Medeshianne turned to the Pelifia, speaking again in Elven.
"Yes, food will do you wonders. I brought some from the surface. Now Pelifia, while you eat, could we ask you some questions?"
Peering at the rations quizzically, Pelifia says, "Food...? It is for..." Trailing off she hesitantly accepts the bar, then seems to forget about it as she turns her attention back to the light and the people around her.
As she nods, half to herself and half to the question that Medeshiane raised the forgotten grain cakes slip out of her hands to land upon the cavern floor.
Watching Pelifia's extremely odd behaviour and responses, her concern deepened. Excusing herself from Morgan and his cataloguing of the corpse's belongings, Sinwa walked over to Torel. The muscular druid was rubbing his chin, clearly trying to discern what affliction the elf was suffering from.
"If we put our heads together, Leafbrother ... we might be able to figure out what ails her."
Quicking picking up the food off the ground Torel turns to Medeshianne Help me get her seated upright so she doesn't fall over.
Getting the elf settled he turned to the rest of the group. We will be a couple of minutes, it is not safe to just leave her here, you could check the door for 'deterants' while we do our best here. He turned back to the seated elf now, starting to speak he considered his words this time realizing the error in his prior statement and offered the food again. YOU eat this, it will make you feel better. He studdied her a moment to consider his options as he and Sinwa conversed in Druidic about a possbile diagnosis.
The brusque and rather patronizing manner of Torel as he essentially forces Pelifia down and attempts to push the food upon her isn't quite countered by the more gentle manners of Medeshianne. Upon being offered the food, Pelifia shows no interest at all this time, pushing herself away from the druids as they talk over her head in a foreign language.
Medeshiane is hard pressed to even keep the elf in place and soothes several attempts to scurry back towards her hiding place in the face of the examination. Unfortunately, despite the difficulties that the "checkup" causes with their patient, neither Sinwa nor Torel can identify the problem that afflicts Pelifia as neither are experts in diseases of the mind.
Shooing away the martial druid Torel, Simon seats himself about 5 feet away, facing Pelifia he begins to converse with her. "My dear, that food is for you. Perhaps if you ate some, it might make you feel better. Don't you want to feel better?" Despite the rocky floor, he manages to get comfortable and smiles at the bedraggled elfmaid.
Medeshianne shot Simon a quick and grateful smile - apparently his church had taught him well, probably for purposes of serving as representative. Seating herself next to Pelifia, Medeshianne waited for the opportune moment to start making inquiries.
As if guessing Serina's thoughts, Simon nods his head. Indeed, there was ample training in the art of negotiation. The temple, trained all of its knights in conflict resolution, mainly to work with feuding nobles to resolve differences. However, there wasn't much difference between nobles and the people that served them: all people want to feel special, to feel like their opinions matter. If Pelifia could understand at least that we saw her as special, that would be the basis for a further understanding, though with what goal in mind remained to be seen...
Seeing Pelifia's uninterest in food brought a small pang of sympathy in Erut. As he recalled, it was some weeks after his escape from the alhoun that he was able to eat actual food again.
Perhaps this elf had been entombed so long, deriving sustenance of a sort from whatever god she'd followed, that she'd forgotten what food was.
The usual grimlock way to detect liars was to sniff their heads for telltale signs of sweat. But Erut was pretty sure that wouldn't be productive in this case. Best let the priests handle it.
He stands below the spot where the door was found. "Alton, do you need a boost to examine that entrance?"
[Torel]He studdied her a moment to consider his options as he and Sinwa conversed in Druidic about a possbile diagnosis.
The two druids spoke together in hushed Druidic like a pair of analytical doctors. Their eyes coursing over the elf's features while still keeping a comfortable distance from the nervous woman. "... Good point, Torel. Her elfin eartips would be a bluish tone if she was suffering from the addled sunder.
The two, having run the gamut of all their known diseases and afflictions, finally gave up. Turning to the group their results in the Common tongue, Sinwa announced the bad news. "Torel and I's expertise covers more corporeal afflictions, not so much those affecting the mind. Now, she may be suffering from something spawned by ill-intended magick. Feeblemindedness, an evil curse, or even intellect loss via siphonage or draining. It might not hurt to attempt a restoration, or dispelling on her. Let me look her over some more with Morgan's help. For residual magickal dweomers and what-not."
Alton comments I suppose they have the ability to levitate - I've seen a few Drow do that before, but not often. That would make accessing this door a piece of cake for them. Unfortunately for us, we all can't fly. Assistance would be much obliged.
The secret door is approximately seven feet off the floor, located at a spot where the ceiling is perhaps fifteen feet high at most. As Alton and Erut examine it, they note the trigger is likely to be higher than that, but could probably be reached if Erut holds Alton up--though given the height it will still be difficult.
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While the paladin's manner, and some of the group heading off to other tasks, thus reducing the number of people in the cavern, calm Pelifia, she continues to display a marked lack of any interest in the food that is being pressed upon her. Her responses improve marginally as changeling elf and human speak with her and both estimate that given the time constraints she in about as receptive a mood for questions as they are likely to encounter.
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Sinwa and Morgan, upon consulting with each other, determine that there are still only the two faint magical auras upon her, one of abjuration and one of conjuration. As she recently renewed her hide from undead spell, Morgan is fairly certain that the only unknown is the threads of conjuration magick woven into her aura.
"Thank you, Morgan. Aye, I agree ... that conjurative aura is intriguing. Too bad it's source is not coming to light."
Sinwa motioned to 'Medeshianne' to excuse herself and come over to where Morgan, Torel, and herself were standing. Once she calmly pardoned herself from Pelifia and glided over to the trio, they gave the witch some ideas that her and Simon might wish to employ.
Even though her abilities at assessing mental afflictions were dim at best, she did learn some basics from Haradra in dealing with diseases such as Mindfire and Cackle Fever. Straining to recall their few-and-far-between conversations about such things, the druidess shared her best diagnosis for communicating with such a victim. "Obviously, her mind is severely troubled, perhaps even damaged. Complex questioning may not work on her. But we need to hurry, both to better assess her situation and to resume tracking our quarry. For now, I would gently grab her attention as best as possible. Smile ... soothingly hold her shoulders and look into her eyes. Then calmly mention key words and phrases to see what kind of visceral responses she gives you. Speak to her in her native elven. Mention words like "drow", "vasuthant", "lizard", "poison". All creatures associated with our hunt and our recent combat - although 'poison' is important since that may be the source of her problem. We also need to inquire about the god she worships ... and where her friends might be. Just keep her attention focused on your words and your lips. And hopefully, just hopefully ... she spouts like a fountain."
Sinwa shrugged her dog shoulders and cocked her head. She regretted not spending more time studying herbalism with the druid apothecaries back in Rashemen ...
Medeshianne carefully studied Sinwa and her suggestions. In whispered response: "Good ideas, yes, and they will be all attempted - save for vasuthant inquiries. Under no circumstances will the words vasuthant, darkness, shadow, or anything of the like be heard from me. The poor girl doesn't need a relapse." That said, she returned to the task of questions as Simon made an inquiry.
"Yes, daughter, you do remember what home is like."
Though short, Erut made an excellent stepladder and a set of broad shoulders provided a solid platform for Alton's examinations. As the ranger worked above, Erut wondered aloud what might lie on the other side.
"So far, they've left us a crossbow bolt and some undead monstrosity," he says. "Careful, they might be trying to outdo themselves here."
"Home..." At the word, a slightly wistful look enters Pelifia's eyes and for a moment she seems nearly lucid. As she continues to speak, however, her voice ranges from longing to a touch of fear or hesitance. "Valleys in mountains and hills... like the hours of day. Half-dark only and... safe, so no dark and dark and..."
Medeshiane quickly interupts the tangent with the next question posed by Simon before she is lost back into the seething tangle of emotion that the group originally found. "Your home sounds beautiful, daughter, why did you leave it?"
"The great forest... and the elves below. And they came and came and shouldn't come and we came and we came and then we were below and..." Turning her head, she shies away from the precipice on her own this time, pulling her knees up to her chest and rocking slightly as she shakes her head. Gentle questioning along this line about the "elves below" and dropping the name drow elicits much the same reaction, talking about the "great forest" and stopping the "elves below".
Continuing in those lines, the group gets little reaction when they slip "poison" and "lizards" into the conversation, however, inquiries into the god she worships gets a violent reaction. Torn between sobbing and anger, she goes on at length about the dissappearance of love and life and gods, going so far as to throw her holy symbol away from her at one point during the attempts to soothe her. Upon doing so, she immediately repents of her action and scrambles across the floor to the battered silver object where she drops into silence, her matted hair hiding her face as she kneels over it.
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Alton and Erut in the meanwhile, find no immediate traps or dangers upon the secret door carved into the chamber walls.
From her days spent in the Cormanthyr, many of Pelifia's word-shards seemed to share a common weave. From her cautious and seated position some ten feet away from the elven priestess (now kneeling silently in the center of the cavern floor), Sinwa spoke to her as Medeshianne helped sooth the emotionally-distraught elf.
"Pelifia, is your home in the depths of the beautiful Cormanthyr? Did these Drow steal you away from there?"
While Pelifia held her hands to her head and sobbed, Sinwa subtlely mouthed a whisper to Medeshianne and Simon. "Slave raid?"
Slowly approaching the elf girl Itzcuahl was able to make surprisingly gentle inquisitive sounds emanate from deep within his eagle's chest.
"Crooo? Kralooo?"
Hoping against hope that the girl was comfortable enough now with the group to let him in he tried to establish a mind link with her. Perhaps her inner thoughts would be more revealing than her verbal communications.
{mindlink}Pelifia... can you hear me? I'd like to be your friend...{/mindlink}
I can't force her to accept this form of telepathy, so this will only work if she's willing, but I figure it's worth a shot...
Itzcuahl's cooing caressed everyone's ears. Sinwa smiled. She was glad to see his spirits were back up. Looking over at him, she could see in his predatorial eyes ... a familiar soft glow. He was trying to "talk" to someone! She had hoped it was Pelifia ...
The blink dog's inquiry does not seem to penetrate the woman's silence unfortunately, however, before anyone else can go over to try and rouse her to speech again, Itzcuahl makes his attempt at communication.
The unexpected mental voice of Itzcuahl clearly startles Pelifia, as she looks around wildly, but the were-eagle hears a questioning echo of his thought layered under a dozen others. {{...friend?}} Unfortunately, the sheer number of fragmented, disjointed thoughts, all in one "voice" overlaying that single thought, is nearly overwhelming when heard at once. Particularly with the dark tone that many of them possess, echoes of past suffering, the mere presence of the elven woman's mind is an assault upon that of Itzcuahl.
Assaulted by the cacophany inside Pelifia's mind, Itzcuahl staggers a bit before regaining his mental composure.
Great Qotal! Sacred one, show me the path through this troubled mind
In his mind's eye, Itzcuahl's human form stood calm and still, his soul a beacon in the darkened soulscape of the cave that had become the poor elf's entire universe.
As a storm of spirits raged around him, he felt the presence of the ancient Coutals who served as the manifestations of Qotal, although their presence was faint.
{mindlink}Yes, we are friends. These new people, the outside ones...we all want to be your friends.
I am Itzcuahl, an eagle knight from the lands west of Evermeet.
I am at your service lady, will you let us help you?{/mindlink}
As both eagle and elf stilled in the outside world, neither moving or making a sound that any of those watching could see, within the shattered mind of the elven woman the eagle knight flew the tempest winds of her consciousness and found the eye of that eternally roiling storm. And as he settled himself to the ground and called out his offer, he was rewarded with the sight of an elven woman seemingly stepping out of the ether before him.
A far cry from the pitiful wreck they had found within the cavern, she was still recognizably the same woman. However, within this tiny, sheltered portion of her mind she did not cower, nor did her eyes carry the glint of insanity behind them. Her hair was a shining mass of ebon threads that flowed down her back and the dirt and torn clothing that clothed her in reality was conspicous in its absence. However, despite this, she carried about herself an ineffable aura of sadness and acceptance that was as visible in this place as her porcelain skin might be in the caves.
Stepping forward and raising her hand, she ran it gently along the weathered features of Itzcuahl's face, giving him a sad smile. {{I thank you for your offer, kind stranger, and your presence here. However, I feel that we do not have long before my madness overtakes us even in this sheltered portion of my soul.}}
{{Time and care in the green light of the surface,}} she projects, her eyes closing in wistful longing, {{will heal my mind. You have questions that you wish to ask though. I urge you, ask now, while it is within my power to answer.}}
Looking down at the hunched over Grimlock holding him up, Hey, maybe we could send your crystal in to scout for us? Or maybe Sinwa can turn into a mouse?
"Pelifia?" Medeshianne noticed with a little alarm that the girl was unfocused and nonresponsive - and Sid in quiet concentration. "Sinwa, what is our feathered knight doing?"
[Medeshianne] "Pelifia?" Medeshianne noticed with a little alarm that the girl was unfocused and nonresponsive - and Sid in quiet concentration. "Sinwa, what is our feathered knight doing?"
Sinwa's tall, pointy ears perked as she saw the silent eagle knight's eye glow a subtle cerulean hue. Wagging her tail with premature excitement, she responded to Serina while keeping a close vigilance to Itzcuahl's eyes,"Sometimes ... one's mouth betrays one's words ... but rarely does the mind do so. Seems Itzcuahl has found Pelifia. If all goes well, mind-to-mind, they will communicate. Now we wait."
Walking closer up to Itzcuahl, she monitored him while in his state of psi-trance. He clearly looked like he was concentrating more intensely than normal. She prepared herself to shake him out of it in the event the link went sour. For with the addled mind of Pelifia causing Torel and her some concern in its alien state, Itzcuahl's mental health could be the next victim. And the druidess refused to sit by idly and let that happen ...
[Alton]Hey, maybe we could send your crystal in to scout for us? Or maybe Sinwa can turn into a mouse?
Erut murmured an assent. There was at least one trick he knew to avoid a repeat of the last incident, when the crystal neglected to notice the enormous monster blocking the corridor.
His ears, meanwhile, were rotated nearly backwards trying to pick up what was going on between the eagle-man and the surviving elf.
[Sinwa] "Sometimes ... one's mouth betrays one's words ... but rarely does the mind do so. Seems Itzcuahl has found Pelifia. If all goes well, mind-to-mind, they will communicate. Now we wait."
"Very well, then wait we shall. What news on the passage?" Simon asks.
[Morgan]"I wonder if it feels like magic does?" he mused.
Having felt the warm psi "connection" with Sid on a number of past occasions, she thought about the comparison for a moment. And like the others, she swapped her vision from Sid to Pelifia, and back again, to watch & see what transpired.
"Well, it may be hard to believe, Morgan ... but it *is* magic. Although Sid's source is actually himself. In essence, he is external to the Weave. And from my own personal experience, connecting with his psi-link is ... a wonderful experience."
Indeed. The Knight Itzcuahl is one of those rare & genuinely good people that grace this planet of Abeil Toril. While many in the group were socially gifted of tongue, decorum, and presence ... Sid alone stood out as the true standard-bearer for humble benefaction. Which in dealing with Pelifia's unique circumstances, may just be the group's best approach to communicating with her.
Still standing on the Grimlock's shoulders, Alton states I think we've found the passage the drow use - that explains why there's only a few Drow bodies in the chamber. Its a bit high though, so we'll have to do some climbing or flying.
As the two communicated mind to mind, Itzcuahl knew that this moment of lucidity might be very brief indeed. He tried to ask her the questions that he thought his friends would want answers to and hoped he was asking the right ones.
While they conversed he tried to give her a sense of himself, the feel of air on his body while soaring on a sunny day, the raw animal exiliration at flying and simply being alive he felt during the many long flights that had been required to bring him to these eastern lands.
It was his hope that after her long confinement, she might take some comfort in his own recent memories of freedom.
{mindlink}...We came here on the trail of a group of drow killers...do many drow come through this cave? Maybe with riding lizards?...
...What do you know about the drow in this complex? Did they support the undead beast we fought earlier?...
...How did you come to be here? Were you taken in a raid or are you a long lost adventurer?...
...How long have you been here? Where will you go now?...
...Is there somewhere we can bring you to heal?...
...Are there others in these caves that might also need our assistance?...
...Is there anything else you think we need to know?{/mindlink}
Whispering over to Torel and Medeshianne, Sinwa broke what she perceived as good news. "By the look of Sid's eyes, he's reached her. He seems healthy and without stress ... so they must be talking. Let's keep an eye on them though. Lest he be infected with whatever ails poor Pelifia. Rrrowwf!"
______
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Morgan still studying and inventorying the acquired cache of goods from the dead Drow. He seemed particularly interested in a broken spyglass, as his look of dissapointment was obvious while peering through its business end. Smiling, she called out to him without intent on disrupting the link between Sid and Pelifia. "Nice find, Morgan. You should be able to mend that spyglass, yes?" Both druidess and sorceror were fond of looking at the stars at night back home at Sarent Hall. Sadly, their last spyglass was absent-mindedly crushed under the mailed boot of Lord Locke during a particularly clumsy sleepwalking episode.
______
After talking with Alton, Simon returned to the group to break the news about the Drow's secret door. While still holding watch over Sid's well-being, she offered the paladin a mobility solution for the group. "Well, once Alton and Erut get a feel for the path ... and if they feel travelling up into the alcove and beyond is troublesome ... I can convert us all into birds for ease of movement. I'll leave that judgement to you and the scouts. The offer stands though."
"Torel and I were given magical tokens of communication by Lord Morn. Perhaps we can send out to him a request for anyone he can muster to pick Pelifia up at an arranged meeting point."
Inwardly, Cho decided it was high time to submit a written report to his lord on their progress thus far. Sending it with Pelifia, or whomever Lord Morn chose to collect her, seemed like a natural idea.
{{...my recollection of the years are hazy, but I do not recall many dark one's bodies--I have not been able to leave that alcove with only a few exceptions so I cannot tell you about the outside. The first was when I still felt hunger and the last...the last I saw a dark one's body was not long ago at all...}}
{{...as far as I know, the darkness...}} and the terror and voices intrude momentarily upon the conversation, fragmenting the vision before her "voice" steadies {{...attacked anything that came near...}}
{{...I was... chasing the elves from below from Cormanthor. We followed them to this location and then... my friends were all... I tried to help, but all I could do was flee... the entrance was blocked, but...}} As he listens to the explanation, Itzcuahl gets flashes of an entirely elven party within the chamber. ...an attack from behind, limbs and torsos pulped by the convulsive pressure as they are drawn into the creature... a futile attempt by Pelifia to turn the creature... ...Pelifia, just barely escaping into a dimly seen crack in the wall as the last of her companions are torn asunder...
{{...I was from Evereska, but I do not know how long I have been down in this... place. I can tell you that the thing that prompted the dark ones in their outbreak and drew us to ancient Cormanthor was a "merchant" organization that conquered a small human kingdom nearby...}}
At the question of where she would like to heal, Pelifia's tone gets more hesitant, as if afraid to ask, almost assuming the childlike tones that had prompted Medeshiane's maternal treatment. {{I... would like to go home.}}
It is upon that simple statement that the limits of which she spoke become apparent and Itzcuahl watches helplessly as the elven woman blurs, her form slowly seeping back into the surrounding storm that invades the battered, darkened cave of her soul, pushing past the fragile barriers that held the pair apart from her madness.
As the tides of darkness once more wash over the human form he has assumed in his mind's eye, he feels a wash of gratitude and sees a brief, associated image of an eagle and a matronly elf before the storm's intensity increases and he is flung violently into the tempest once more.
As Morgan looks over and through the spyglass, he notes several cracks in the interior lenses and several distinct bulges in the exterior that would prevent a simple mending from correcting the item. It is, however, at least in better shape than the one that had been destroyed earlier.
Itzcuahl knew that he was lucky to have found his center in the tidal surge of madness the first time.
He felt that he had learned valuable information in the exchange and perhaps made a friend.
Unfortunately he realized that he had tarried to long in that dangerous environment only when the spirits rolled over him.
He had been lucky the first time.
This time, too much of his mental reserve had already been expended.
As a thousand biting snapping slashing things tore into his soul self, he fell into a darkness deeper than any he had ever known...
Knocked back by the mental assault, those observing the eagle heard him give a low plaintive cry before being seemingly hurled to the ground with a wet smacking sound...
Simon comments "Then we should summon his men to escort her. And if the Eagle Knight has had any luck with speaking to her, then we will know where to take her."
With a slightly wet "thud", the eagle swoons and hits the rocky surface. "Sid, are you alright? Do you even understand us as an eagle?"
Looking rather sheepish being caught examining the spyglass, much a like child caught filching sweets from the kitchen, Morgan gave Sinwa a lopsided smile. "I think it might be a bit beyond me to fix right now."
He pulled a spare shirt from of his magical bags. Carefully wraping the damaged looking glass in it he tucked it back into the same bag. It wouldn't be much use down here, and wasn't in a truely usable condition, but he couldn't help wanting to keep it.
He was about to mention an excellent craftsman whom he knew could fix it when Ixcuahtl gave a soft cry and hit the ground hard."Itz? What's wrong?" He stepped briskly over the to where the eagle man lay on the ground.
"Sinwa! Is this normal?" He knew some spells left you incapacitated during or after casting, but this didn't seem the same. Given Ixcuahtl's strange anatomy he was even less sure of what to do.
As the eagle collapses to the stone floor, Pelifia remains still and unmoving for a few more moments and then silently slides into a boneless heap beside the black and white avian form beside her.
A subtle spark of shock seemed to light-up in Itzcuahl's dilated eyes. And without warning, her friend unceremoniously tipped over and thudded on the hard cavern floor. Being just steps away, she rushed over to the Eagle knight and rolled his body over on his back. Secondary to her concern, but still important, was Pelifia's simultaneous collapse. In her peripheral vision, she could see the other's rushing to her aid as well.
With her adroit and sensitive nose, paws, and whiskers, she hurriedly checked Itzcuahl's vital signs. Subsequently, she attempted to awake the unconscious Maztican in the least stressful manner possible.
Not having any luck on the initial attempts, she tried yet again. This time speaking aloud to those working on Pelifia.
"Praise all! He's stable, breathing, hard to tell beyond that ... he may need a restorative boost from Mielikki's soothing touch. Elsewise, he's deep in the realm of sleep and could be for quite awhile." Craning her neck around to look at Serina, she responded to her offer of assistance. "Aye, any help from Lord Morn to either heal or transport Pelifia out of here would be most welcome. I would so do with haste." And back she went to reviving Sid.
Running through a laundry list of those tricks that she could try without fingers, the wildshaped druid growled low in her throat in an involuntary sign of frustration. Despite all of her efforts, the eagle knight stubbornly refused to awake and from the sound of it the elven woman was in much the same situation. The mundane methods she had available in her current form were not accomplishing anything that she could see.
"Grrrruf! Dammit.", muttered the exasperated druid. After getting a similar diagnosis on Pelifia's condition from Torel, Sinwa sat back on her haunches and thought for a second.
Not at all thrilled about these chain of events, her frustration fueled a minor diatribe. "Serina, I'm having second thoughts about handing her over to Lord Morn's emissaries. We might be better served with me delivering her back to Dagger Falls and the rest of you continuing on the hunt. I'm sure Torel and Simon will care for Sid in the meantime. Via my shapechanging gifts, I can safely get Pelifia back to town ... then get myself back in here in short order. With my nose, my skills, and my tracking prowess, I can catch up to all of you in the relative blink of an eye. Besides, she needs a true caregiver to take her back to Lord Morn. Not some rough-&-tumble soldiers unaware of her special mental condition." Looking into the eyes of her various companions, she cut right to the chase. "Time is a-wasting. We *must* continue this mission. I'll be safe. And I'll be back before you know it."
Looking down at Erut, who is still holding Alton up, the woodland warrior can see the look of concern in his face. Well, Itzchual and Pelfia are in good hands - but let's not waste time, OK? Alton slips the crystal through the secreted door and hopes it doesn't run into another huge tentacled, undead monstrosity.
"I had been hoping to get a message to Lord Morn...but if you are going in person I'm sure you can report the relevant details to him. Be cautious, Sinwa. In fact...perhaps one or two of use should stay here to make sure you have company when you move to rejoin us."
Erut grits his teeth and reaches out mentally to his psicrystal, trying to strengthen the link between himself and the tiny construct.
This was far from his favorite activity — the prospect of “seeing” through the crystal was often enough to turn his stomach. But the crystal’s scouting ability was limited, and that limitation had nearly killed him today. Erut didn’t relish another ambush.
Silently, the connection is made. Erut finds himself looking out into the world of light — “light” being a matter of degree, of course, as the cave is shrouded in gloom. But the crystal’s senses pierce the darkness easily, and Erut gets his first look at his comrades.
Most of them are gathered around a small, feathered animal — Itzchual, he assumes — that is lying motionless on the cave floor. A second animal, with a tangled mess of fur and what seem to be sticks poking out of it at odd angles, is sniffing sadly at the fallen bird.
As always, Erut is fascinated and a bit repulsed by the creatures’ eyes. Always leaking ooze and fluttering for no reason, like lost insects. Creepy. These eyes seemed much darker than those of the Deep Gnomes and Duergar he’d seen below; there must be some reason for that.
Shaking his head, he again directs the crystal to Alton’s hand to scout beyond the door.
[Serina] "I had been hoping to get a message to Lord Morn...but if you are going in person I'm sure you can report the relevant details to him. Be cautious, Sinwa. In fact...perhaps one or two of use should stay here to make sure you have company when you move to rejoin us."
Nodding to the shifted witch, Sinwa wasted no time. "So be it. No - all 7 of you must go together. While I shift, I need someone to wrap Pelifia in warm clothes. Part of her journey back to Dagger Falls will be in the air. She's ill, and the cold Marpenoth winds will only weaken her."
As Pelifia was being prepared, Sinwa trotted over to Simon and Torel and sniffed them diligently. She could be seen concentrating hard, with her eyes closed, as she gave the paladin and druid an olfactory onceover. Opening her eyes, she announced her purpose. "By smelling those of you who don't shift form, I can better track you once I return. If both of you can remember, wipe your bare flesh on the ground from time-to-time, so I can pickup your scent easier." Facing back to Serina once again, she addressed the issue concerning Lord Morn. "If your device allows you to communicate with Lord Morn from here, tell him to expect a giant eagle landing near his quarters. Carrying an elf woman in its clutches."
Straining for a moment, the druidess shifted form from that of a Blink Dog to that of a Chultan Baboon. The popping of cartilidge and sinew caused a few of the more squeamish group members to wince. Morgan then helped Sinwa re-adjust her haversack to her new form.
Draping the now warmth-clad & comatose Pelifia onto her back, Sinwa nodded to the group and swept her hairy hand in the direction of Erut & Alton. As if to say "Go!".
And off Sinwa went. Back-tracing the group's path through the tunnel at as quick a pace as her simian legs would take her.
Torel maintains most of the discussion in silence, only speaking when needed. Having already frightened the elf somewhat he speaks as a type of healer than mental illness explorer. When Sid and Pelifia fall over in comatose he is there exploring vitals and doing his best but finds himself out of his league. When Sinwa begins to package Pelifia up Torel does his best to assist where needed. As she begins to change form he gives her a blessing.
A clear path, wind to fly, Silvanus to protect, and Mielikki as guide
See if you can get some spare healing herbs incase Ix has fallen under the same curse.
As the druid departs he turns to the comatose eagle. Pulling one of his new Couatl feathers out he simply lays it on the bird and prays while Alton and Erut fiddle with the secret door.
As Sinwa takes to the air outside of the cavern, the bundle that had been mostly limp up to this point twitches and the druid hears a muffled exclamation that dies away almost immediately. As she passes over the hilly terrain approaching the river, the movement grows worse and the groans and muffled cries continue to grow more frequent before leveling off, though Pelifia does not appear to be waking up.
______
Meanwhile, in the caverns, as the group prepares to move further into the depths, Itzcuahl begins to jerk and let out an occassional hiss. As the minutes pass from Sinwa's departure, the eagle's wings twitch and jerk more frequently and its beak occassionally opens and snaps shut in time with sharp inhalations.
Erut's concentration upon his crystal drowns out most of this from his awareness as he sends it further down the tunnel that was immediately behind the door. Sloping downwards gradually, it appears to be at least a couple hundred feet long, mostly straight.
Sinwa was happy to be back out in the fresh air once again. Unfortunately, this was not one of those times to indulge in the handiwork of her goddess. For in her clutches below, the giant eagle-clad druidess carried a comatose and extremely ill elven priest. Prior to taking to the skies, the druidess had taken care to carefully wrap Pelifia's exposed skin in warm cloth. And in the event she awoke en route, Sinwa cushioned Pelifia's upper arms where her eagle claws would be grasping. The last thing she wanted was for the priestess to try to wrench free and hurt herself while high up in the air.
Autumn was in full bloom below, and from time-to-time, armed groups and merchant caravans could be seen on the north bank traversing along the Tesh Trail. Or as some called it west of Dagger Falls, the "Zhent Route".
As she continued to hastily beat her wings with as much force and speed as possible, Sinwa's navigation sense told her that she was now in the general vincinity of that accursed Gregalevithix and his goblin lackeys. Taking careful measure to circumvent the pit of anti-magic, Sinwa's flight path bowed slightly to give it a wide birth. Realizing that her path back to the group would consist of land-bound leaps via 'dooring, the druidess was careful to note safe "leapfrog" points along the ground. Hoping to avoid any dangerous terrain and note the spots that would best expedite her bouncing speed back to the cavern.
______
Soon, the traffic along the west branch of the Zhent Route was growing. A clear sign that Dagger Falls would be soon within viewing range. At that moment, Pelifia began to stir. Her motions were weak, and consciousness never quite came to her completely. Sinwa prepared for the elf to thrash about wildly, but she never did. So the flight continued. Feeling empathy for the priestess for being in such a bad situation, Sinwa sang softly to her an old Sylvan Elf song she learned back home in Immilmar. The tone and inflection of the elven song sung through an eagle's beak up in the air .... came across with natural clarity. As if somehow the lilting sounds and the rushing air were meant to weave and make the song yet even more a delight to mortal ears.
Erut's stomach turns uncomfortably as Voice lurches down the tunnel, carrying his other-gaze with him. The crystal's senses were sharp, but short-range, and to Erut the wall of blackness that hovered perpetually in front of the tiny creature was unnerving.
So far, the space seems altogether empty, but Erut commands the crystal to proceed cautiously, bending his concentration to discover any movement or oddities that might signify a trap.
Voice travels slowly down the tunnel and notes nothing save stone and darkness, of a less virulent kind than that they ran into earlier, around himself. Reaching the limit that Erut wished him to travel he stopped, turned around thrice, and then continued back up the tunnel again keeping careful watch and staying near the walls.
______
Pelifia, as she is carried along by the singing eagle, continues to twitch weakly in Sinwa's grasp though the low sounds of her pain are almost imperceptible over the notes of the music and wind.
For those watching Itzcuahl, the eagle's reaction is not similarly drowned out, however, the sounds are more alien than those of the elf.
The sensory link with the crystal fades as Voice scurries back to the door, and Erut takes the opportunity to massage his temples, as if trying to knock loose the odd images that persisted in his memory.
He turns, letting Alton climb down from his perch as the ranger retrieves the small crystal. The others are skill huddled around the stricken man-eagle.
“Nothing is there, at least not that I could tell,” he says. “The passage descends for perhaps one hundred paces or more; there doesn’t seem to be many hiding places, either.”
Gesturing to the fallen Ixchuatl, he says. “But our pursuit is flagging. Who knows how long it will take until he wakes up? The group had now stopped (or been stopped) three times while their quarry presumably kept moving, he thought.
“If Ixchuatl doesn't revive soon, perhaps we should change tactics. If this passage is the way all the Drow raiding parties are using, another may be on the way soon. We could lie in wait and spring upon them when they exit; Drow aren’t the only ones who can use ambushes."
Simon asks, "In his current form, he is an eagle. How difficult could he be to carry? I say we continue the pursuit, leaving our scent behind for Sinwa to follow."
Alton concurs aloud And it is a big if, whether this is the only means of passage. This could be only one of a few - or many. I must agree with Simon on this.
Morgan also concurs "I've misgivings about moving Itz, but I agree that we should continue pursuit of the drow. We've been delayed a great deal already."
Erut sniffed questioningly at the newcomers’ ignorance. Everyone knew you didn’t take injured companions along on a hunt, didn’t they? A wounded comrade made his own way home rather than risk hampering a pack in combat. That rule didn’t quite apply here, as nobody was really home, but it didn’t make sense to drag a half-dead eagle-man along while hunting Drow.
But as Morgan weighed in, he acquiesced. As the only member of Jama’s lordship still present, Erut owed him more allegiance than these others.
“Fine, but keep in mind, we don’t know what’s wrong with him. He could grow worse. “
Torel also acquiesces to continuing, The task at hand out weights the needs of the few. Not that I always liked that mantra, but we should move on. I will take rear guard again.
Torel maintained his rather uncomfortable silence as there was work to be done. He wished he had the ability to help the eagle knight but the illness was beyond what he was able to help. Carrying the eagle in one hand he moved back up the passage to the secret door.
Sliding the hidden door open the rest of the way, Alton was able to boost himself into the tunnel, though there were a few unsteady moments. Clambering up into the tunnel, he noted the ceilings were quite low and seemed rough hewn, rather than formed naturally like the cavern he had just left. Unfortunately, this meant that there was little in the way of protruberances to tie the rope to, aside perhaps from the door itself. Even without the rope though, with a boost like he had gotten he estimated that even the mage would have little trouble pulling himself up.
Sure thing. We just need to keep moving. Alton reaches into the door to take hold of the unconscious form of the avian. I wonder if its lycanthropy, he's got. Should have asked him while we had the time...
Moving into the tunnel, one person at a time, Torel found that he was having a hard time keeping hold on Itzcuahl as he jerked within his grasp. Still, it didn't take long for the group to make the transfer into the higher tunnel and he soon passed the lycanthrope up to Alton. Stepping into the cupped hands of the grimlock, he was soon up in the tunnel himself to take custody of the disabled knight.
As Alton and Simon pulled Erut up via the rope, Medeshiane and Morgan moved further back into the clearly man-made tunnel. The two spell casters could see only a short ways into the gloom along the straight path, but were joined shortly by Torel and the remaining three. Allowing Alton to take the lead, the seven compatriots started down the tunnel with as much haste as their unconscious companion allowed.
After travelling perhaps 300 feet, the tunnel let out into a low, flat cavern in which both Torel and Simon were forced to bow their heads lest they greet a stray outcropping more personally than was perhaps wise. A short exploration revealed that the cavern was perhaps a hundred feet deep and three times that long, with three exits aside from the tunnel that they had just exited.
Moving around the cavern, Alton peered into the three exits from a fair distance. While it was difficult to tell given the absence of light within their lengths, from what he could see one led down slightly while the other two turned upwards slightly. None of the three betrayed any traces of movement that he could see, though a search of the remainder of the cavern did locate a scorched circle and the remanants of a camp.
Alton digs deep into his time with the Shadow Swords. Very rarely was he called upon to track the quarry, but those few times he did, he was quite good at it. Hoping to find that same bit of luck here, the ranger tries again.
A swift perusal of the campsite leads Alton to the barest smudges of ash and dirt leading away into the tunnel that seems to lead back towards the surface as well as a few scratches in the stone--presumably from the lizard mounts that the drow acquired by the river.
The slight taste of ash and cinders in the air was a relief to Erut — the Drow had at least broken their pace for camp once. Perhaps they weren't too far ahead after all.
Moving up to follow Alton, Erut falls back into his old habits — staying close to the tunnel wall and walking as softly as possible. Curious that the tunnel seems to be rising ... he thought.
As the group passes by the abandoned camp, they soon find themselves breathing fresher air as they travel up the tunnel. After no more than five or ten minutes, Alton notices light ahead and the group soon finds itself above ground again.
Consulting with Torel, Alton continues to follow the trail of the drow in the softer soil of the surface with little difficulty. The relentless pursuit of the drow soon finds the seven companions upon a narrow trail that leads north and south, though they find themselves travelling to the south. With care, the scout and rearguard keep the trail and travel for perhaps an hour more before the hilly terrain finally changes--with the addition of two small, stone buildings that stand perhaps fifty paces back from the road.
In addition to the buildings, there are ruins of perhaps half a dozen other buildings scattered in the shadow of the hills to the east. All are overgrown and lacking at least a wall or two, with those further from the sheltering stone of the hillside in worse condition. And, between the only two standing buildings that stone has been carved out, a stone door visible in the niche.
Taking in the stone building Torel slowly covers the area with his eyes looking at the ruins from a skirmisher standpoint instead of living quarters. Not really looking at Alton but speaking to him. Good place for a camp, good place for an ambush too. The tracks lead straight through. Then again if they camped not an hour or two before this there might be nothing here, either way it warants a search or a passing around.
Simon comments, Those of stealth could go in and investigate while Serina and I will be the support if something goes wrong. We risk further dividing our forces, though.
Perhaps, Serina and Morgan could disguise themselves as drow, use some of us as possible slaves, and the rest would hide and launch our own ambush. I doubt Serina and Morgan could get past the sentries, but they would create enough confusion that we could get the drop on them.
Simon replies If they agree to it, then I suppose we could try. I also have a magical disguise that can be used. But I dislike the idea of using our more fragile members as a distraction- no offense, sir and lady.
That last bit Simon had some difficulty signing. He essentially used the hand symbols for "begging" and "mercy" with the hope of communicating the human expression properly.
None taken. Appear ragged and disarmed, and I can handle the rest. We should back up a little, unless we're sure that we're not being watched..
Cho had to chuckle mentally at Simon's little stumbling over the matter of an apology in the Drow hand symbols. More creative use of the 'motivation' (I want) and 'no anger' symbol forms might have been easier.
Erut didn't realize the others were using that hand-speak again, and had to quiz Alton as to what was being discussed.
I have some capability for disguising myself as well, though it might not be necessary — if there are Drow inside, they've likely used my people as slaves before. Regardless, I'll be of more use close up than way back here."
Alton responds, Oh, so this might not be so bad. I'll volunteer to be a prisoner. I guess we could carry Itzchual over someone's back - he'll be an unconscious prisoner. Morgan, Serina, Simon can be patrol members, me and Itz will be prisoners, Erut could be either. I guess Torel can be a prisoner too, if that's OK. How does that sound?
Missing out on the hand speak conversation, Torel looks at Erut and Alton. Prisoner? I must be missing something here.
After Alton fills him in on the explination of what is going on Torel points out something Have you known drow to take prisoners? Every indication states that this bunch of drow don't. If we have the disguised walk in we could perhaps use that as a distraction to sneak around, then again we could have already been seen. Either way they would still have the high ground. I'm more for a sneaking around.
Alton muses Well, I'm of the opinion that there's always a first time for everything. If the drow disguises don't work, we were going to have to fight them off anyway. What's the worst that can happen?
Although you're right, we are a little exposed right now.
The occasional shoulder twitch reminded Sinwa that Pelifia was still alive. Having run out of elven songs to sing, the druidess continued to concentrate on visually mapping the land and river below her. Such an activity slowed her speed a little, but was worth the effort to expedite her way back to the fellowship.
Thinking to herself about her arrival in Dagger Falls, a slight worry crossed her mind. I hope Serina and Torel used that device to contact the authorities regarding my arrival. The last thing I need is the town watch to shoot at me as I land near Lord Morn's quarters...
The area surrounding the ruins was largely composed of lightly forested hills, though the trees thinned as they approached the ruins. While this left the number of trees interspersed with the ruins few, the patchy undergrowth that the companions had become used to during their time in the hills was as strong within that area as within the forest, perhaps a bit more dense due to the absence of any competition for the light.
Morgan responds, Thank Mystra. I was starting to get tired of always being the prisoner.
The last time he had been 'volunteered' to be the prisoner he woke up two days later in a dress after a skirmish with some irate fey. He still wasn't entirely sure Sinwa didn't have something to do with it. He consider his appearance changing magics and changes himself to appear as a drow.
Seeing the look of dismay on the remaining druid's face, Alton moves to assuage his fears Hey, stealth is usually my tactic as well - but in case the drow buy into the ruse, we can get in without a fuss. And if they don't, we'll take them down.
With all the shapechanging and disguising going on, Simon was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable with the party. It was one thing to conceal one's presence, but to hide in plain view as another?
It wasn't evil, but is it still wrong?
Without a further thought, he donned his floppy magic hat and willed to mind the form of a drow, basing it on the sorcerer's model.
Thank Goddess, breathed Sinwa in a sigh of relief. She finally seemed well out-of-range of Gregalevithix's area of roaming. The early afternoon sky was clear, chilly, and fairly calm. Good soaring weather all around. Her muscular feathered wings continued to beat hard. Cherishing every rare opportunity that allowed her to piggyback onto a friendly eastward tailwind.
Musing for a moment, she recalled a conversation with a travelling druid of Silvanus just a ten-day ago in Shadow's Edge. Apparently Daggerdale was home to the Circle of Seven Daggers. A rather newish druid circle comprised of those who worshipped both the Forest Queen and the Queen of Talking Beasts ... Lurue. Even though the tottering old wanderer was on a bender, his stories seemed to be rather lucid and complete. He mumbled something about them being scattered across Daggerdale - including some minor influence around the southern reaches of the Border Forest. Although his last boozey-breathed words seemed to indicate their primary concern was in trying to establish an influence over the southern Spiderhaunt Woods.
All of this knowledge was a bit over Sinwa's head. Her geographical knowledge of the Dales was fair-to-middlin' for a foreigner. But the mere mention of the Spiderhaunt meant nothing to her ... although it filled her with a sense of dread as it seemed remotely related to the spider-friendly quarry that her and her friends were in hot pursuit of ...
Who wants Sid? After handing over the Eagle Knight to one of the drow he holds out his hands to be tied. Make it something like a slipknot so I can get out fast if needed, and then lets get this over with.
Being tied up was never fun, but being tied up and bait was probably worse.
Erut thought for a moment before donning his own disguising cap — Drow certainly used grimlocks as slaves and servants, but it’s doubtful they’d do so on a raid into the surface. Fortunately Feiggan, his onetime employer, had forced Erut to learn the guises of a few common types of Underdark races before he ventured out to Shadow’s Edge, though he still was far from an expert.
He tries to remember that image, seen through a sensory link with Voice, as he weaves an illusion that slims his frame and darkens his gray skin to coal-black — or that’s the plan, anyway. Just in case, he pulls his hood over his disguised face, lest he got the eyes wrong again.
Holding out a smaller, but darker hand to Torel, Erut grasps the unconscious Ixcuahtl.
“So what’s he supposed to be? A companion to the woodsman? Dinner?
As the enormous eagle glided over the land, the hills slid apart to reveal the small city of Dagger Falls, nestled in the lightly forested land surrounding it and perched upon the river bank. Her approach to the city did not go unnoticed, however, the guards upon the wall, though tense, did not seem inclined to fire upon her.
Flying over the city, her absence of a day or so did not appear to have given time for many changes, though she did see a mournful crowd gathered around the desecrated temple of Lathander as she passed overhead. Within a few minutes she found herself circling the small compound from which Randal Morn ruled and settled to the ground, placing her bundle carefully upon the hard packed earth.
As she did so, three soldiers walked over, accompanied by which she presumed was an officer judging by the finer cut of his clothing. Given that even Randal Morn had not dressed ostentatiously, however, it was hard to say for sure what influence this man wielded.
Neither wishing to forego the protection of his armor, nor able to use the hat to hide its metallic jangle, he left it as part of the disguise. Elves typically favored lighter armors such as chainmails and leathers, but he decided on using a story of horrific scarring to explain his plate armor. Also, not knowing the tongue of the dark elves, he decided to always use their silent language, with the ruse of a speech-inhibiting curse.
The physical aspects of the disguise in place, there was only one step left to take, but Simon was unsure whether to take it...
Thinking to herself as the tall wooden walls of Dagger Falls scoped into her vision, she figured somebody in the Guard would hold back firing on her purely based on the way she was carrying Pelifia. Birds of prey tended to carry their kills differently. She prayed that at least one hesitant archer would hopefully give the clarion call to "hold fire" until she made a humble landing and declared her intent.
______
Sighing a breath of relief that she didn't get the pincushion treatment upon reaching the innards of the town, Sinwa slowly circled and landed just outside of Lord Morn's compound. She immediately and carefully attended to the comatose Pelifia. Ensuring her resting body was fully laid out, she carefully checked her upper limbs and shoulders for any claw marks or signs of travel trauma. Once satisfied, she lifted her beak to face a greeting party of 4 soldiers issuing directly forth from the compound's direction.
Standing proudly, but not threateningly, she addressed the arriving group with immediacy. "Well met, Soldiers of Daggerdale. I am Lady Sinwa Unseen. A mission operative of Lord Morn, and mission partners of Serina Skyfire & Torel Silvanus. I request of you immediate help from one of Lord Morn's healers. The elf woman I bring here is in dire need of care. If Lord Morn is available, it would be best if we spoke regarding his mission. For I must be off with haste once a caretaker assists my charge."
Satisfied with his appearance — or at least his comrades’ estimation of it — Erut shoulders the fallen Ixcuahtl, taking care to avoid the long talons. With our luck he’ll wake up now, surrounded by Drow soldiers, he thinks.
Erut addresses the others. “So do we go straight to the buildings, then?” He tried to recall the Drow’s tendencies — whether they announced themselves whenever possible, or arrived stealthily even when invited. Probably whichever is more irritating.
A thought occurred, and he shifted into the Drow’s spoken language. “Can anybody else speak Drow?” Erut knew he was no actor, and despite his dislike for the Drow he also knew they weren’t stupid.
Yes Erut, I do know the tongue. So, shall we share stories? Lies can betray each other.
Medeshianne appeared pensive for a moment, and then reached into her pack. Almost forgot - these might prove useful. Imagine I am a priestess of whichever drow deity we find they worship first.
Out she pulled a silver spider, with a Drow woman's face cast upon it - the holy symbol of Llolth. It was followed a bit later by the mask-seal of Vhaeraun. Speaking the command words and faking spell-gestures, Cho slipped from Medeshianne to...Sibriel. Yes, Sibriel would do. She would be the stereotypical drow priestess of nightmare: long-haired and beautiful and cruel beyond measure. Now what house was Sibriel? Cho reminisced through what he knew of Drow families - preferably an unimportant clan that would not draw attention - as skin blackened and hair turned white.
Erut rumbles quizzically as Sebriel/Cho waves her hands fruitlessly in front of his eyeless face, then remarks, “I think we’d better talk; whispering will do.”
Crouching next to Torel and Alton, Erut continues in a low voice as he binds the hands of Torel and Alton in a Gnomish knot that could be undone in a quick yank. It took a few tries, but eventually he managed a passable Grimmer’s Hitch.
“Torel is right; these Drow haven’t been taking prisoners, so we have to have a reason for keeping him and Alton alive. We could say we found them beyond the secret door, and need to find out if they stumbled upon it or if the Duke’s people know about that passage.”
“If these raids are organized, they’ll probably know we aren’t part of their force — they haven’t had any casualties that we know of, so they won’t be fooled by us pretending to be wounded or lost raiders. “
He recalled the stories of House Teken’Tyl — the Delvers of the Pits — a minor house in the Northdark weakened by infighting the previous year. Its nobles had fled many places, including the Darklands, where he had met a few, and the Deep Wastes that lie beneath the Dales.
“What about House Teken’Tyl? We could be trying to make our way back to our holdings,” he said. “But if you know another Drow house near here, that could work well.”
Sibreal could recall several prominent drow Houses, however, the lesser houses slipped her mind for the time being. Jaerl was almost certainly far too prominent, being the preeminent House upon the surface, as was Auzkovyn, the other name that came to mind when she thought of drow upon the surface. The remainder were almost always called spider-kissers by the major factions upon the surface and she hadn't truly had enough contact with the cities within the Underdark to truly be familiar with the lower eschelons.
Erut, however, had a bit more luck in his reminiscing--several Houses came to mind, though he thought that House Teken'Tyl would probably do as well as any. He did recall another clan that he had encountered--merchants that wandered a fair ways but were reputed to have their base of operations in this area. Yggastra, yes, that was the one.
The drow equivalent of a polite greeting at a building, he couldn't say off hand. The caravans in which he had encountered most of his drow had few buildings and were generally mixed company as well. Given the propensity of the drow for treachery and traps, he thought that sneaking was likely to be more dangerous than an open greeting, however.
______
The eagle's speech did not appear to startle the soldiers, however, her words did provoke a minor narrowing of the officer's eyes. Whether it was mistrust, anger, or some other emotion, Sinwa couldn't tell, but her speech did provoke the response for which she was looking.
"Yert, go fetch Father Gareth," the officer commanded curtly, gesturing to the youngest of those with him. Watching for a few moments as the man nodded genially and set off at a trot, he turned to Sinwa and gave her a stiff half bow, straightening as quickly as possible, as if bending his neck even that far had hurt.
Speaking in a low, gravelly voice, the middle-aged man said in a respectful enough tone, "Morn is out of the city, so you won't be speaking with him if you're leaving as soon as you say. We were expecting a messenger from him in fact, the reason I'm here."
"I'm Ulys Marn, incidentally, commander of the garrison here in Dagger Falls. If you've got news Randal should hear, I can get it to him when he returns. If you were expecting something from him, I can tell you now he didn't leave it."
Torel does his best to hide the knots around his wrists This could be all for naught but lets get this over with. Mielikki and Silvanus protect us.
Torel steped in behind Alton. Simon could be a survivor from a church and Alton and I could have been trying to track him down and save him, but we could just be bad at our job, might instill some superiority in their head, so they wont know what hit them till it's too late.
Erut tells the others of his recollections. "House Yggastra are merchants and I think they have a home in this region," he says. "The Teken'Tyl fell apart a year ago and was said to have fled many places, including here. Perhaps the merchant group — there must be some surfacers who trade with them."
As Yert scuttled off to find Father Gareth, Sinwa listened to the gruff Commander Marn. His demeanor was less welcoming than she anticipated. But due to Lord Morn's earlier desire for secrecy, she got the impression that his top-most righthand man wasn't even aware of the details of her group's mission.
Looking warmly into the old veteran's eyes, she tried to discern if there was anything amiss about his words. Maybe he was just a bit on-edge about the recent rise in Zhent activity as of late. Regardless, she realized that it would be best to to be careful about the exact message she wanted relayed back to Lord Morn.
[Erut]Erut tells the others of his recollections. "House Yggastra are merchants and I think they have a home in this region," he says. "The Teken'Tyl fell apart a year ago and was said to have fled many places, including here. Perhaps the merchant group — there must be some surfacers who trade with them."
"Whichever is more present in the slave trade. If the Yggastra are more stable, then they'd probably be a better choice. Are they primarily Llolthists or Vhaeraunites?" asked Sibriel in Common. Sibriel Yggastra had a nice ring to it.
Watching Ulys Marn as they waited for Yert to return with the father, Sinwa went over the encounter up till now in the back of her mind. While the man's behavior did seem to indicate a certain distrust, it seemed too... personal, almost. His attitude had seemed to take a turn for the worse when she gave her name and title and there had been a few pecularities in his speech that she were tugging at her subconscious.
While the druidess turned giant eagle shifted back and forth while waiting, the body of a bird of prey not built for standing upon level ground, there was plenty of time for thought. Yert's arrival seemed to take an abominably long time and it was nearly 15 , possibly as many as 20 minutes after he left that he finally arrived with the penitent priest. The guard seemed unwinded, Gareth, however, was not so lucky. Breath coming in harsh gasps and sweat beading upon his forehead, the priest was clearly worn.
Yert quickly rejoined his two companions, a quick joke about an offer he had made to carry the father earning a reprimand from Ulys. The interplay did not distract the father, however, and he quickly went over to Pelifia, dropping to one knee as he pulled back the blanket wrapped around the woman. Tilting his head up, he asked, "Lady Sinwa, wasn't it? Could you tell me how this woman came to be unconscious?"
With a little judicious tinkering, Alton is able to jam the locks on the manacles so that they close, but the clasp does not catch. While he's not entirely sure that he can fix the damage later, they should do to fool any casual inspection.
With that done and the other "prisoners" bound by Erut, the group is more or less ready to attempt their gambit and enter the ruins. With Erut and Sibriel quickly coming to a decision on the family they would impersonate, the only decision remaining was how they would approach the ruins.
Impatiently, Sinwa finally just plopped her giant eagle body down to the ground. The wait for Father Gareth was long, and her legs just weren't built for such a long stand. Under the austere gaze of the silent Commander Marn, the druidess maneuvered her hooked beak to deftly adjust the coverings of the the unconscious Pelifia. While the sky was still clear, the autumnal winds were kicking up, bringing in some bonechilling western winds from the Desertsmouth Mountains.
While Sinwa didn't expect the red carpet treatment upon her return to Dagger Falls, she did at least expect that Morn would keep his men apprised of the importance to tending to his mission operatives. She was concerned that perhaps mentioning Serina and Torel may have caused the gruff commander to have a negative bent towards her. He may not have liked either of Morn's servants - it was hard to tell. But from further small talk with the Commander, she got the distinct impression that he wielded some sort of dislike directly for *her*. Hmm. Do I know this man or his kin from my past?
______
[Father Gareth]Tilting his head up, he asked, "Lady Sinwa, wasn't it? Could you tell me how this woman came to be unconscious?"
As the portly cleric dropped to his knee to feel Pelifia's brow and check her pulse, Sinwa noticed that he himself looked like he could use some rest and healing. Since he seemed steadfastly concerned with Pelifia over his own discomfort, the druidess got straight to business.
"Aye, Father Gareth. Oh, and thank you for your speed in arrival. What we have here is an elven woman of undetermined age. She's suffering from an extreme malady of the mind and psyche. Her unconsciousness came about from an attempt of a colleague of mine to speak with her core mind. A backlash occurred, knocking them both out. Illnesses of the mind are outside my demesne of healing. But clearly, she is suffering when she is conscious ... and she may yet be a danger to anyone trying a similar feat to communicate with her inner self. Physically though, she seems sound and healthy. There is also the possibility that she is suffering from an exotic curse. Perhaps even a divine panacea, restoration, or curse-killer spell could cure her."
Sinwa looked up to see Commander Marn and his soldiers rubbernecking to check out Father Gareth's appraisal of the elf. Speaking aloud so the whole group could hear, she informed that as to how this elf's illness related to her visit. "The elf woman, Pelifia, was found within the borders of Dagger Falls. She, along with what looks to be the bodies of her companions, was either held hostage or trapped by a particularly savage Vasuthant - a huge beast of the unliving. Some many leagues west of here along the River Tesh. The Vasuthant has been vanquished and poses no more threats. Yet my fellowship and I continue in pursuit of Lord Morn's mission. Speaking of which, I must leave soon to rejoin my companion."
Turning back to face the laboring Father Gareth, she respectfully requested his further assistance. "Father Gareth, will you, under the auspices of your church or Lord Morn's protectoratep, take care of Pelifia while I resume my mission responsibilities?"
“Yggastra, then,” Erut tells Sibriel. “The ones I knew worshipped their Spider goddess.”
Draping Ixchuatl over his shoulder, Erut takes up a position behind the Alton and Torel. He draws a wicked-looking spear from the magical quiver on his hip, the better to “guard” the prisoners, and raps its hilt on the stone.
To Morgan and Sibriel, he says, “You’d best call out to whoever we see; I won’t be able to get their scent until we’re almost on top of them.”
"Very well. Sibriel Yggastra, as far as you should be concerned - and you need names too. I suppose that means this goes in front-" the spider was affixed visibly to her sash, then the mask went hidden into her pack, "-and this stays out of the way. We follow Llolth, unless they prove to be followers of Vhaeraun the Rebel. Then we follow Vhaeraun."Some drow have that ooze-god, but I'm pretty sure his followers are utterly mad, so no point to that kind of act.
At this point Sibriel had more or less formed herself into a complete act. Arrogance oozed from her tone and she seemed ready to give the 'slaves' a good sharp kick if they came into range. The stereotypical sadist of Llolth really wasn't that hard to do. "We captured Morn's two little toy soldiers and their pet while they were out sniffing trails. They'll be taken back to the slave block, or the altar if they're found unfit. Now move, wretches!"
(DSL to Alton)For acting, you've been my favorite kicking post. A warning, this may hurt. Act like you hate/fear me especially.(/DSL)
That sounds about right, Erut thought, prodding Torel with the haft of the spear. "Call me Pharatlab,"
Pharatlab meant "student of treachery" which seemed appropriate enough given the circumstances. He had known only one Drow with that name, and was pretty sure he wouldn't run into him again.
Trudging ahead, Erut recalled cutting the braggart in two while the would-be Drow assassin was spouting off his family tree.
Signalling to move out, Simon tried to stay within the shade as he led the march toward the cave, with Serina's newest face, Sibriel, pushing both ranger and woodswarrior roughly along.
Whispering to his compatriots, "I will be called Veldrin."
Marching forward, the newly minted group of drow walk down a heavily overgrown path, barely discernable, towards the cluster of buildings and ruins against the hillside. Within a minute, they find themselves standing before the closed door carved into the hillside, with the two intact building to either side.
The larger of the two buildings, both clearly crypts or mausaleums from the ornamentation and construction, bears a large set of double doors barring entrance. The smaller of the two on the other hand actually appears to have been sealed shut, smoothed plaster making the doors look nearly like the walls around them save for where it has cracked and crumbled along the bottom edge.
The remaining ruins, all in varying states of decay, are scattered farther out from the hillside. As the six companions pass by them though, they see few hiding places and none of them appear to bear any signs of life.
______
As Father Gareth looks over Pelifia, Sinwa casts her mind back, searching for some trace of Commander Marn. Unfortunately, while his dislike seems clear, she recalls nothing of the man, encounters or even simple rumor. Truthfully, she wasn't even entirely sure that the man had recognized her personally, though he clearly was reacting emotionally towards her.
Her thoughts interupted by the cleric of the Martyr's question, she gave a quick and concise summary of what she knew.
"Well, I am afraid I am no expert on the mind, nor do I know of such a healer within Dagger Falls. I will care for the woman though, while I may not be able to heal her, I will do what I can to alleviate her suffering." Gareth looked down at the elf one more time and sketched a quick sign of healing over her head. "Unfortunately, right now, that is the best that I can do-- I must pray to Ilmater that he may guide me in this on the morrow. I will try some of what you suggest, I recognize the name you spoke, yet I recall little about the creatures."
All was still, yet Erut sniffed at the air, lest it give away a hint of a Drow ambush. Perhaps there was no one here after all.
"At least we got some practice playing Drow," he murmurs, crouching in front of the carved door. "As to our new choice, the door in the hillside seems a more obvious path for our quarry, yet these Drow seem to enjoy leaving deadly tricks in obvious places." He runs a hand absentmindedly over one of the fading bruises of his encounter with the vasuthant.
Bending low, he sniffs again, trying to pick up a stray scent, but to little avail.
Forgive me if I dont think we are out of the woods yet.
Torel peers at the doors and waits to move for a few moments before taking a look of his own for the drow's trail. He makes sure to leave a few scents for Sinwa to follow as this would be a cross road for her.
If a few minutes pass Torel will look at the rest of the group We have come this far, the ruse might get us a bit further if the doors are clean.
The time spent waiting does not provoke any immediate response and neither Erut nor anyone else in the group can detect the scent of any drow within the immediate vicinity. Erut does, however, note the distinct odor of a decaying body or bodies upon approaching the stone doors set into the hill side--possibly drow, though it is difficult to tell after death.
A quick review of the traces the group has been following for all this time reveals that the group of drow they were tracking did go through the doors in the hillside. While they passed close enough to the crypts, it doesn't appear that they approached them unless whoever did so hid their tracks more ably than the remainder of the company.
None of the doors that are visible have any visible locks in place, though the smaller one with the family crest to the south was sealed shut as the group had noted earlier.
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z --------------------------------------------------- | | |r| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |H|H|H| | r | | |r| | | | | | | | | | | | | |R| | | | | | |H|H| | s | | |r| | | | | | | |R| | | | | | | | |2| | | |H|H| | t | | |r| | | | | | | | | | |R| | | | | | | | | |H|H| | u | | |r| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |d|H| | v | | |r| | | | | | | | |R| | | | | | | | |1| | |H|H| | w | |r| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |H|H|H| | x |r| | | | | | | | | | | | | |R| | | | | | |H|H|H|H| | y | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |H|H|H|H|H| | z --------------------------------------------------- Characters/Objects Terrain NW N NE R = Ruins d = door \ | / 2 = Larger Crypt H = Hill \ | / 1 = Small Crypt r = road W-- * --E / | \ / | \ SW S SE
Sinwa listened closely to Father Gareth. Upon his admittance of being somewhat unfamiliar with the Vasuthant, she chimed in with as much detailed minutae about the beast as she could recall. Hoping that the Ilmaterian might glean from it some nugget of insight as to how to best deal with the broken psyche of Pelifia. As he nodded thoughtfully in reply, she noted he had a grey teardrop tattoed to the side of his left eye. While the clergy of the Adorned were not extremely familiar to her, she did recall that such stigmata indicated that Father Gareth was a man long in the service to the Broken God.
Ultimately though, she was heartened to hear of his acceptance of her request. By the way he tenderly administered to the elf woman, Sinwa could tell she was in caring hands. As two able-bodied men assisted Father Gareth with placing her gently on a burlap stretcher,the druidess took a moment to speak with the kind cleric of the Adorned. "Thank you, Father. Whence I return, perhaps I too, can provide more insight to her condition or possible cure. I'll be sure to drop by your temple first thing, upon return to Dagger Falls. Hopefully more sooner than later. May the blessed intertwined lights of the Crying God and the Forest Queen find a guide to our hearts and souls."
Turning to face the combined gathering of the Ilmaterians and Commander Marn's contingent of soldiers, Sinwa calmly spoke aloud. "With Pelifia in the caring hands of Ilmater's temple, I must be off to continue Lord Morn's work. Is there any last thing I can provide for you before I return to my fellowship?
Feeling a bit awkward in his own manacles, Alton remains quiet, accepting the verbal abuse of Serina-now-Sibriel. If into the hill is where they went, then that's where we'll go.
Erut nods. The tracks-to-the-door seemed a bit obvious, but neither of the crypts seemed like a real alternative here.
Reaching out for the door, he pauses and looks behind him at the Ranger. "These Drow seem leery of pursuit. Should we not examine the door first? I'm not certain we need to keep you tied up anyway at this point; the ruse was to get us past that exposed ground."
"If you're on a mission for Morn, go on with it. The cities will survive without aid from--" Breaking off, Ulys waved her off, though he stopped and said with a slight twist of his lips, "I'll notify Randal you were here. If he needs to contact you, I'm sure he will through Father Gareth or another."
Shaking the manacles off his wrists, Alton feels as if he really had been imprisoned and now experiencing freedom. What a strange concept... As he gathers his wits once again, he grabs his magical goggles from his pack and moves to the door to examine it for traps.
Alton quickly made a thorough search of the door leading into the stone of the hillside, however, no traps were apparent and the doors were apparently unlocked. Despite this, however, when pulled upon they failed to open, pulling out only marginally before halting with the sound of metal upon metal. Further searches find no hidden locks or clasps, yet the doors stubbornly refuse to open to the efforts of the group.
Sinwa was not sure what the coy commander's game was all about. But she was not enthused. After exchanging pleasant bows and goodbyes to Father Gareth and his assistants, she turned to face Commander Marn and stretched to her full feathered height before him. Boring her steely predatorial eyes into his, she proclaimed, "Thank you for your assistance, Commander Marn. My group and I will return as soon as possible with news for Lord Morn. I'm certain you and I .... shall meet again."
Even as she bowed, her eyes stayed locked on to his. Back home in Rashemen, such a salutation delivered as such showed a sign of thanks or respect ... but also a polite way of expressing doubt or distrust. Such was the influence of Shou Lung culture in her native homeland.
______
Before taking off to the air, she gave a last-minute word of warning to the Commander and soldiers around her of the swarm-eaters that her friends and her encountered farther up-river. To the best of her ability, she gave the distance and location of the event. Figuring any merchant caravans or boats associated with Dagger Falls would appreciate the heads-up warning.
______
Within moments and away from the others, Sinwa unfurled her impressive wingspan for a quick stretch ... then arose into the chilling winds above the town. Once outside the walls of Dagger Falls, she arose to a breathtaking height to get a clear long distance view of the River Tesh and the path she was about to embark upon.
Sinwa wants to get a good view of anything obviously problematic awaiting her on her trip down the river. If nothing is seen/heard, she will soar down to the river banks, cease her Giant Eagle form (back into her Blink Dog form), activate blinking, and then Dimension Door like crazy back to the party. Later, I'll post her movement rate of 1 8th level DDoor + running speed on her SEA and MEA per turn. She'll cast Lesser Restoration on herself if she runs into any fatigue issues either en route or near the party.
Lockpicking not work? Sibriel smiled and perused the door, eyes glinting. She then gestured to Alton Get those back on. "Perhaps a little more force is required?"
"Smash it," Erut agrees. Granted, breaking down the front door wasn't very subtle — but the Drow weren't always subtle.
He recalled a group of well-to-do Drow who had arrived at a Deephaven gem merchant after closing time. When the matron found the door locked, she proceeded to burn down the building. Only the intervention of a summoned water elemental averted a total loss; by then the Drow had lost interest.
Ulys Marn met Sinwa's gaze levelly, nodding in acknowledgement of her promise as he fingered the well-worn sword hanging at his waist. The implied slight that Sinwa gave with her bow did not seem to register--but then, this might have been her current animal form. Cultural subtleties were difficult to express when not in her natural form.
As the commander turned to stride away, her quick interuption turned him back with an impatient frown. However, he listened patiently upon hearing about the dangers they had encountered and thanked her for the news. As he turned, he said in an aside, "Watch out for the fey in the woods. The years under the Zhents have hardened them. They're more than cruel now. The boy has a way with them, but they might ignore him and go for the rest of your group."
His brief warning given, Commander Marn strode away even as Sinwa beat her great wings and pushed herself roughly into the sky. Her perusal of the river and forested lands surrounding the town as she spiraled up into the air saw only a few distant shapes flying between trees.
The skies were cloudless, cold, and refreshing ... the air so clean and pure that Sinwa's lungs couldn't breathe enough of it. Soon, the size of the walled town below was now but a speck on the brilliantly coloured landscape. All around her, the druidess watched the familiar v-shaped flocks of migrating birds heading south from the cold-lands above. Off in the distance, directly towards the direction of her friends, she spotted the occasional object moving above the trees. Normally, such a sighting would cause her to fly closer to investigate. But now was not the time to satiate one's curiosity. Especially since these shapes may turn out to be nothing of great concern.
Sinwa knew she had to get back to her friends as soon as possible. Thankfully, that thought was now solidly entrenched. And so began her speedy descent down to the westward path she had earlier plotted along the River Tesh.
______
Once she successfully landed on the well-worn merchant's path known as the Tesh Trail, her body transformed back to the blink dog guise that she initiated earlier in the day. The re-shifting of her flesh was extremely uncomfortable this time; as her armor's pistons and gears of wood took on a visibly more prominent and artifice appearance. She knew she looked either extremely ugly, scary, awkward ... or even worse ... all three. Learning to acclimate this new armor was going to take some time.
Shoving such vanity nonsense to the back of her worries, she immediately started to blink in-&-out of reality. Once in a state of blur, she pointed her wet nose in the right direction, and rapidly began a rather bizarre combination of locomotion down the river. Every time she would "dimension door", she had to shake off the weakish disorientation by physically running until she felt recharged enough to try it again.
As she ran, the mused to herself the final words of the taciturn Ulys Marn. The "boy", eh? These Daggerdalian forests seem rife with interesting folk. Add to that a copper wyrm jester, a hidden city of gobbos, some displacing insect men, and a bushel of evil fey ... and it looks our visit to the Dales will be anything but boring.
Sibriel took one last good look at the door. A spell of shattering was what she had in mind, but if the door was too sturdy, something else might be required.
Sibreal's appraisal of the door left much to be desired as she gave the matter further thought--her expression turning to one of disgust, she finally decided that it likely wasn't even worth trying. While they did show some damage, perhaps from previous attempts at entering, stone doors of this size would need to be wafer thin to even approach the weight she required. The gouges wouldn't begin to remove the amount of weight she required. The frustration in her current mindset is nearly enough to make her lash out at the "slaves" in front of her...
Sinwa's loping stride and ethereal jumps rapidly covered the ground over which she had just spent so much time flying. There was, however, a considerable amount of that ground still remaining and it wasn't long before the flickering of reality began to have an effect upon her. Diving in and out of the Material Plane, greyish streamers of mist slowly curled across her vision and the world seemed almost to ripple before her.
The pace at which she was travelling beggared even that of wind walking, an experience that she had only had once or twice and it seemed clear there would be a price to pay later. Almost simultaneous to that thought though, she rounded a bend in the path, her claws scrabbling at the dirt upon the ground and she saw a familiar rift in the cliff wall ahead of her. Within moments, she found herself staring up at the exit her companions had followed, tongue lolling and her body blinking in and out of existence almost uncontrollably.
"Damn it all! Damn it all twice! That wall is a bit too much for my spells. Perhaps muscle and steel would do better, unless one of you has a spell for the job." Can't break it. What about you?
There's probably something on the other side holding the doors back. I hear metal grinding against metal, so it sounds like a physical obstruction, rather than a magical one.
While there is a perceptible give to the doors, and a minute crack does open up between the two stone portals as the group tries once more, the give isn't enough to create an actual opening through which Alton can peer. The give is enough to show that the doors are at least several inches thick, however.
There is essentially just a little 'v'-shaped crevice when you pull upon the doors. The far side of the two doors are still flush against each other.
"Perhaps a little elbow grease is in order." With that, the stalwart paladin steps up to the doors, silently calls on the favor of his god, and pulls on the doors, muscles bulging and straining underneath his armor from the effort.
The paladin's firm grip upon the door strains as he pulls back with all his might, the stone portal groaning under the onslaught. As his muscles begin to burn with the prolonged effort, he is forced to slump back against the gouged and broken stone that he is trying to shift. However, while the doors remain in place, they did seem to give more than might be expected--so it seems there is hope.
“Maybe if we try together,” Erut says, as he stows his spear and slips his long, rough fingers around the door’s handle. Bracing his feet against the other portal, he waits for the others to take position, and heaves …
Sinwa was exhausted. Her glazed eyes, ragged gait, and aether-steaming coat did not betray that reeling feeling. Plopping herself down on a comfortable bed of grass just outside the cliff wall rift, she pulled her tongue in and took a few big, deep breaths. Ceasing her blinking was much more of a huge relief than she thought it would be. In less than a minute, her pan-sensory attunement with the real world realigned itself with her state of consciousness. Smiling, she savored once again, the full-breadthed sense of touch of her paws on the ground.
Calm and collected, she took one last look up into the sunny, early afternoon sky. It was comforting too, to see Simon's deep footprint at the front of the gap in the wall. Sniffing the immediate area around the opening, she caught the signature smell of her other friends as well.
"Well, goodbye sun ... hello deep, dark, & dank Cavern of Doom."
Catching her breath back finally, she refamiliarizes herself with the group's signature scents. Then she takes a moment to sniff out the immediate area surrounding the gap in the cliff wall. Keeping a close eye and nose out for any possible creatures that may be following the group into the Vasuthant's cavern.
She then plunges into the narrow cave, hoping to make good time all the way up to the ceiling trap door.
Nearly every able bodied man straining, the heavy stone doors slowly shift outwards with a harsh grinding noise. Unfortunately, just as the four begin to feel it give, Simon's grip, already awkward due to the numbers aiding the attempt, slips and he tumbles backwards to sprawl upon his back. The abrupt absence seems to shift the balance in the doors favor, for as the group slowly releases their muscles it still stands stolidly before them.
Various dismayed comments follow, however, the stolid grimlock sets his shoulder to the task again almost immediately and all jump in to give him a hand. Within a few minutes, the battered doors give a final shudder and abruptly fall towards the group, the hinges on both sides giving way and bringing the entire mass of stone towards those in front of it!
______
Sinwa makes steady progress, taking the time to ensure she isn't straying from the path that the group has set. She discovers no signs of any beings that traveled the same path for long, however, and it doesn't take long for her to discover the group followed a path leading back to the surface shortly after.
Torel seeing hearing the hinges break jumps instantly out of the way of the falling stone. He looks back to make sure the door didn't land on anyone and then lets his eyes adjust to the darkvision and look into the darkened crypt.
Feeling the door's resistance suddenly fail, Erut backs away, thinking the task is done — then, at the ranger's warning, leaps to the side as the stone portal topples.
All four of those working upon the door scramble out of the way without much more than a bruise from a hard landing outside the range of the heavy stone slabs. As each rises to his feet, brushing off dirt and dust from the impact, the light shines into the corridor beyond.
Worked stone dresses the walls of the hallway that travels straight back into the hillside as far as the various sensory abilities of the group allow sight. Aside from the carved displays upon those walls, presumably exploits of the family interred here, five bodies lie outside of a closed door perhaps thirty feet back from the entrance. While it isn't truly possible to discern whether they are alive or dead from this distance, the pools of congealing blood in which they lie are a strong indicator of the latter.
The scent that Erut had noted only passingly rolls out of the now open crypt strongly, bringing the scent of death to the point where any can note it within the air. Entering will surely strengthen it to the point of nausea, yet there are only a few details that can be observed from outside the hallway. Each body is clothed only in a uniform and black tabard, which makes it easier to identify two of the corpses as female and the other three as male. Additionally, it appears that there is some type of design upon the tabard in silver.
A breath of stale air that carried with it the scent of death came assaulted Alton's sense of smell. Two kinds of dead lay in this tomb that he and his fellows just entered - the long dead, and apparently the freshly dead. Well, looks like the Drow went this way - you can tell by the fresh corpses.
Following the group's trail was turning out to be easier than she thought. Both Torel and Simon were very conscientious about leaving behind scent marks and the occasional rope fibre. After a number of minutes travelling along the edgy dolomite and limestone floors of the cave, she finally came to an upward slant that led up-&-out into a forested & hilly area of Daggerdale.
Smiling, she took a big deep breath of chilled air to clear out her senses and leave behind the ever-creeping odor of the deceased Vasuthant.
Immediately, she found Torel's sweat-markings, and her tracking resumed. Within minutes, she stopped to catch the eye-pleasing beauty of a nearby waterfall plunging into a crystalline pool. Since she had filled up on water back at the Vasuthant cave, she ignored the temptation to partake of the beautiful pond. Besides, such watering holes attracted beasts and fey of all stripes. And with Commander Marn's warning regarding the odd behaviour of the local fey, she opted to not linger. From a safe distance, Sinwa nodded a blessing to the sisters Eldath and Mielikki, then continued the pursuit of her friends.
The mid-afternoon sun was still high and unfettered by clouds. Her concern was in closing the gap with her friends. Especially since she was uncertain if they were still on the move. The idea of her still finding them prior to nightfall was not an ideal situation. With that concern in mind, she sped up her tempo just a bit. Her canine eyes, nose, and legs doing their best to coordinate awareness of the spoor while speedily and safely navigating the hilly woods terrain.
Drawing his sword Torel moves around to cover Alton's back and help out where he can but they seem to come up with the same conclusions. The question becomes 'Which wall did they walk through this time?'
"Something about this seems wrong to me." In fact the hairs on the back of his neck had been standing on end as soon as they had arrived, but he didn't want to say anything.
This was another crypt, then -- or it certainly was now. Were these dead Drow their quarry, or a rival group of pursuers, or just another group of bystanders cut down by the fleeing raiders? Only one way to tell -- see if they've still got their tongues, Erut thought
Retrieving his spear, he places Voice on the ground and together they edge into the cave, mindful not to get too close to the bodies just yet, lest there was some deadly trap that could yet be sprung.
The markings upon the walls in the immediate area have a generic look to them and don't appear to be labeled with a family name of any sort. Alton's search as the group heads in doesn't turn up a great deal, including a welcome lack of traps, however, all he and Torel can determine from the bloodstained tracks around the group is that there were likely more drow in the area--and that two bodies were dragged away from this mess.
From what the group can see, there doesn't appear to be any danger within the immediate vicinity of the crypts.
Peering amidst the now-desecrated tomb, Simon ponders whether or not he should magically resanctify this place. A quick mental check reminds him that he lacks the necessary magic to do so, and waiting to rest again would cause the drow to put more distance between them.
Glancing over at Alton, Torel watches as the skillful ranger takes stock of the room. The trail of dragged bodies are not something that bodes well for future use. The only thing that captured bodies are used for are sacrifice or something worse. See if the bodies have anything to identify them, we don't need spare change but anything that might be considered a momento we should try to take back to the families. He began to examine the bodies in hopes of trying to determine what caused their fate and how much lead time the drow had.
Turning toward Simon he can see the warrior-priest fidgiting somewhat about the sight before him. If you want to state last rights you are welcome to do so, but we have little time. We can cover them as the broken door will give us away. Torel had seen enough death at the hands of the Zhents to look around for a cloth to cover the remaining bodies. He helped to move the corpses and set them for Simon to speak words over.
Examining the more recently deceased, he notes the silver insignia emblazoned on the tabards they wore. And what do we have here? It appears we may not be the only ones looking for our group of marauders...
A closer examination of the silver designs graven upon the black tabards of the drow corpses reveals that they are actually spider webs. Aside from those tabards and the remainder of their clothing, they have clearly been stripped of anything of value, and the few other items that are found are little more than common, everyday items intended for travelling.
While Alton hasn't seen them often, the spiderweb insignia is common enough for him to identify as that of some group of Lolth worshipping drow.
The wounds that killed each of the drow are fairly obvious, as they still have the small crossbow quarrels sticking out of them. In addition to that, however, each corpse also has another jagged hole that passes through the major artery most humanoids have in their neck and up into the skull cavity. In one or two cases this seems to have been the actual cause of death--in the others, it was apparently just a safety measure.
Alton states Lolth worshippers. The question now is - are these the remains of our raiding party or these the remains of those who oppose our raiding party? If they are the raiding party, then it would seem a mighty force opposed them. If they opposed the raiding party, for what reason did they oppose them? This bears further investigation.
Rope filaments, Torel's sweat smears, and Simon's deep foot-sinks made for easy tracking in the spongy red soil of these hilly woodlands. Sinwa's concern was purely on tracking her friends at this point. For she fully trusted her companions ability to maintain focus on the drow raiders.
On one occasion though, she did a stop for a brief breather near a small copse of blue spruces. It was clearly evident that the drow had stopped here too. For there was telltale traces of a scuffle between two of the raiders. On one of the prickly conifers, she found a large splattering of drow blood and saliva. And right smack dab in the middle of the vile mix was a drow tooth. Smiling, she mused about her quarry's unique take on camaraderie and teamwork. Once a drow, always a drow. If we're lucky, more intense internecine squabbling like this will make our task all that much easier...
Recapturing her sense of urgency, Sinwa jumped back to the trail of her friends just a few steps away. Sensing the sun's rapid descent towards the skyline, she cranked up the intensity and speed of her tracking. Thanking the Forest Queen once again for Torel's consistent and conscientious help at keeping the trail fresh and easy to follow.
Gulping in great lungfuls of the crisp, hillside air, Sinwa's pace rapidly devoured the ground, catching hints of the group that grew stronger as she went.
For awhile, it seemed that the group ahead of her only consisted of Simon, Morgan, and Serina. For the residual lopes & gaits of Alton, Erut, & Torel made only a rare appearance in the moist autumn soil. Such was the impressive woods-stealthy skills of the latter group.
Noting that her friends footprints seemed to be getting fresher by the moment, Sinwa soon felt that she'd have them in eyesight. Although her worry for Itzcuahl was growing. She could not find hide-nor-hair of the Maztican's barefoot prints or shed feathers. At least she trusted those who were caring for him. A total cessation of their travel would have occurred had something bad actually happened to Sid.
With a myriad of worries running rampant through her thoughts, the druidess soldiered on the trail. Her nose and eyes working furiously, her paws deftly coursing over the rocks, fallen trees, and various grasslands.
The closed door around which the bodies were scattered held little in the way of decoration, though it appeared to be ready for some type of carving or etching. With the party gathered in the area that had thus far been deemed safe, however, all that could be seen further down the corridor was the stone walk. Though at the very edge of the groups perception, it did appear their might be a turn.
=====DD================== b b b = b b = ==================== =
Torel wasn't really trained in the search for clues or traps that most were engaged in, but he did his best in the spirit of the moment. As he walked along the wall, a glint caught his eye though and he bent to examine a small piece of metal that appeared to be stuck into a crack. Reaching down, it was the work of only a moment to free it, an action that seemed to cause a dim, but pleasant tinkling sound to ring momentarily.
______
Taking a position near the back of the modest crowd of adventurers, Morgan waited patiently for the group to move on. As he moved backwards to avoid the path of Alton as he made the rounds of the area though, stepping just outside of the actual crypt, he nearly fell as something rolled under his feet. Turning, he snatched it up irritably, but was surprised to hear a faint tinkling, as of silver bells that faded as he saw the smooth, carven rod he held in his hands.
______
As Erut examines the area, moving a short distance away from the group, a pleasant scent, probably unnoticeable to the others, impinges on his awareness. Following it, he eventually comes upon an almost unnoticeable alcove in which a small bag of some light, smooth material lies hidden. Reaching in to grab it, he dimly hears a light, silvery tinkling that fades shortly after he pulled two silver and crystalline constructions out of the bag.
______
Cho, in her guise as Sibriel looked upon the drow with a faint inner aura of satisfaction. They had fallen, while she yet stood and had the opportunity to prove herself. As she looked over the corpses though, she noticed that one almost appeared to be reaching for or perhaps throwing something. Upon following that direction, she saw a small pile of cloth hidden in a shadow and bent to pick it up, silver bells tinkling as she rose with what appeared to be a pair of gloves in her grasp.
______
Alton searched throughout the immediate area without finding much of use. The immediate hallway was clear of all but the drow, who had naught but their wounds and clothing to provide information, and the carvings upon the wall further down, which were not written in a language he recognized.
Entering the room behind the door in this section, however, he found an apparently unoccupied crypt with nothing save a small pedestal at the back. Moving forward, he realized that something was apparently resting upon it, and stepped forward to grasp a golden horn, engraved with sigils he did not recognize. As soon as he touched it, he heard a soft tinkling of silver bells that faded slowly to silence.
______
Itzcuahl briefly saw a vision of his friends, passing through chambers and racing through woods, then felt the vibration and heard a heady play of silver bells as he saw a tracery of actinic blue flare briefly beneath the feathers of his eagle form before fading back again...
______
Racing through the forest, perhaps not as fast as she could have, but close for the distance she knew she had to cover, the blink dog druid closed her eyes briefly to savor the wind upon her face. Moments later, however, she found herself tumbling end over end and winced as she stopped abruptly due to the "assistance" of a tree. Opening her eyes, she glared back in the direction of her fall and noticed a bundle of cloth upon the ground. Walking over, she grabbed it in her teeth with the firm intent to ensure it didn't trip anyone else, and was surprised to hear a silvery tinkling sound almost immediately upon doing so. Shaking her head to try and discern where the sound was coming from, a small pearl flew from an inner pocket of what was apparently a cloak and she noticed a small, golden brooch pinned upon the breast of the fine green weave.
______
Simon wandered the corridor of the crypt, committing the path to the area in his mind for that time when he did have the opportunity to come back and sanctify this resting ground. Coming upon a small alcove, however, he was surprised to see what appeared to be a bow, made of some sort of golden crystal. Wondering at the sight, he reached in and laid his hand upon it, hearing in the recesses of his mind the tinkling of many small bells...
As the beautiful sound of tinkling bells faded from her ears, Sinwa's spirit and smile lit up like a bright light. At that moment, A soft, rogue blast of wind blew a slight blanket of fresh bluish-white snow in her direction. Sniffing the beautiful crystals for a moment, she suddenly realized it was snow from Rashemen!
Well, I'll be ... , she beamed happily from ear to ear. Back in her childhood, she had heard rumours of a mysterious snow spirit who went by the name of Santa Balthanon. He lived somewhere north of the the Great Glacier in a wondrous palace of ice. Since the sharing of such fables were frowned upon by the Rashemi wychlaran, knowledge of the old spirit was rather limited in her hometown of Immilmar.
But at this very moment, she instinctively knew ... that it was him.
______
It took a few awkward moments, but she finally got the bundle of cloth and its wrapped wonderful treasures safely stowed into her haversack. Catching scent of one of Torel's trailblazes, she prepared to resume her tracking. Turning her head one last time, she caught a glimpse of the huge tree that unexplainably arrested her fall. The old weirwood didn't appear to be animated or a treant of any sort. Although it did have the unmistakable lines of closed sleeping eyelids and a mischievious grin etched across its trunk.
Nodding respectfully to the old tree, Sinwa then took off like a dart down the trail.
Fiddling the ring between his fingers he held it to the crack of light still comming in from the outside. Letting his normal vison take over he saw the engraving of Holly on both the inner and outer surface. He put up a half-smile and knew that no Diety did this. Sliding off his right-hand Glove he placed the ring on and then replaced the glove. Around him Torel noticed the rest of the group fiddling with new items that were similar to his gifts. The half smile turned full and something about this trip had finally gone right.
Gingerly fingering the runes that he could not understand, Alton reminices about pleasant childhood memories of gift giving and gift receiving as part of an old winter festival. The details surrounding the holiday were forgotten long ago by even the most aged of elves, even ancient Aelemar didn't know - of course, the mental fog of old age was always a suspect in cases of his lapses in memory...
Slipping the golden horn into his magical backpack, he goes back to investigating the crypt, with a small - but visible - smile across his face.
Sibriel savored the feeling velvet over her fingers as she slid the gloves into place. They were a perfect fit, and deserved all the preening Drow vanity could manage. "How nice...and they match my outfit perfectly."
Erut rolls the two crystals around each other for a moment, enjoying the pleasant crack of sound as the geodes banged together, before stowing them in a pouch with a similar stone. Elsewhere in the crypt he hears mild exclamations from his companions, who have apparently found similar treasures. Strange, but fortunate.
Noting Alton padding around the crypt, Erut stoops over the fallen drow and feels for any pouches or cases that might contain a clue to their identity. Carefully, he plucks one of the small bolts from a corpse and runs a finger over the fletching, minding the tip that might still contain traces of poison. Such weapons were often the hallmark of Drow, but bolts from Svirfneblin dart thrusters often seemed similar at first glance. Thruster darts had less fletching, though, and the tips of the Drow bolts were more wicked-looking.
Erut's detailed inventory of the corpses turns up nothing more valuable than some flint and a few other almost worthless trinkets, though most were survival oriented and readily available anywhere. Keen fingers do note cut strings dangling from several of the belts, however, indicating there was more there at one time.
As far as not finding anything of interest in the crypt so far (aside from bodies), I am assuming that you're staying in this first branch. When the group (or an individual) is ready to move on, let me know how far you plan on moving into the crypt.[/SBLOCK]
"They may have had purses, or something else, cut from them," Erut rasps, feeling the inside of their mouths to see if this crowd still had their tongues.
After his examination, Erut rises and makes his way to the rear of the cavern, taking care to move as quietly as possible. Though this violence seemed to have taken place some time ago, there was no sense in attracting unwanted attention.
Eruts fingers find no evidence of the same type of gristly trophies having been taken from these drow. The feeling of the damp, stiffened tissue between his fingers is far from pleasant, however. Shaking the feeling off though, he heads further down the tunnel, soon perceiving and then reaching the bend he had heard Alton mention.
He thought the quarrels were of drow make, given the fletching he had felt, however, the corpses did not match the pattern of death left by those they were tracking. Of course, they had only a very few murders to go off of at this point, but... He shook his head, having reached the bend and slowly leaned back against the wall, letting scent and odor do his seeing for him.
The corridor turned sharply just beyond where he stood and he "saw" a largely straight passage, broken only by two changes in the light echoes from his companions and himself. Perhaps ten feet down the corridor and then nearly at the edge of his perceptions were the breaks, and he assumed by their quality that they were portals or doors, though both were shut.
The last remnants of the Rashemi snow melted on Sinwa's muzzle. But the good feelings still lingered. Unfortunately, her energy level was diminishing rapidly after every labored breath. And soon, her entire focus was narrowed to just gaining ground on her friends. As the auspicious visit with the northern spirit was now safely sequestered in the depths of her fond memories.
She was able to make exceptionally good time in 'porting up a few hills that the group would have spent long, labored minutes in climbing. The fingerprints in the mud and the sweatmarks were getting fresher and more distinctive.
Her tongue felt longer and wider than a boat paddle. But knowing the end was near, her andrenalin rush helped her gain a second wind ....
Torel waited near the doors to take up a rear guard posistion and to hold the injured Itzcuahl in his left arm. Letting Serina and morgan take up posistion infront of him he watched as the party moved further down the corridor to find the source of the mystery.
I don't like this one bit. Death is one thing, but this is something else.
He rubbed his shoulder up against the wall heading down the path for Sinwa to follow. She should be returning shortly but there would be a little time before she fully caught up.
Noticing no hidden foes around the bend, Erut turns to the others and describes his impressions of the corridor ahead.
Holding one of the bolts he plucked from the body, he runs a finger over the fletching with an audible rustle. "It seems the killers were Drow as well," he remarks. "Drow never seem to need a reason to kill each other, but it's still strange. This lot still has their tongues; perhaps they were the raiders?"
Stopping for a brief moment at a tranquil pond, Sinwa noticed a couple of beavers working on dam maintenance. Standing up on their back haunches, the two buck-toothed mammals waved at the druidess with their stubby little paws.
"Oh my goodness ... not again.", cringed Sinwa. Worried that the duo were disguised agents of the prankster Gregal, she bolted down the trail at lightning speed.
The silence of the corridor made the quiet steps of those exploring the crypt seem louder than they likely were, yet they went uninterupted and unnoticed so far as they were aware.
As the sounds of jingling bells faded out of his mind, Simon fingered the bow he found. What an instrument of good was doing lying in a crypt was beyond him. It was almost a waste. Well, not any more...
Creeping up to the ranger at the bend in the corridor, Simon seeks the presence of any evil, using his divine gifts.
Sibriel pondered these tombs, while Cho racked his head to remember what he could about burial sites in the area. Obvious signs of magic were also looked for.
Erut gathers himself and removes his flail from its belt loop. The nature of their pursuit may have changed, and he suspected the killers-of-killers might still be lurking nearby. Bending to the floor, he tries his best to follow any trail that might lead to a door or further down the passage.
Erut almost thought he could detect the smell of the drow within the signs that noted they had passed this way, but it could have been a false impression generated by the corpses rotting behind him. Nonetheless, it did appear that a group of drow had maneuvered riding beasts down this tunnel away from the exit. As he moved beyond the bend, he noted that they bypassed the doors to his left and he thought that they did the same with the one on his right further down as well.
As he and the others moved further down the corridor of worked stone, a peculiar echo alerted him that perhaps as far again down as the second archway from where he started a set of stone steps led down into the darkness.
______
Given the area in which they were located and some of the general sigils and decorations that he saw upon the doors and walls, Cho thought it likely that they were in the Dordrien Crypts. He wasn't familiar with the history of the area that caused it to be abandoned, but he recalled that most of those who lived nearby gave this section of the Dagger Hills a wide berth. In fact, they avoided the area because of this crypt, from what he recalled--and more noteably, the fact that it was rumored to be haunted.
The only other thing he recalled about the area was that the crypt was one of three ruins left by the Dordrien, and somewhere further to the south there was supposed to be a town and keep, both somewhat more popular with the adventuring crowd than a crypt full of ghosts.
"I believe we are in one of the Dordrien crypts. Beware the undead; rumors place them here often,", whispered Sibriel quickly, punctuated with the drow handsigns for 'possible threat of ghosts'. She waited for Alton's signal to follow.
"The Drow seem to have moved straight on, past these chambers," Erut says, after acknowledging Sebriel's warning. "It could be a diversion, of course."
Odd that none of the beasts had been killed with the other dead drow in the chamber behind them, he thought. Perhaps those corpses weren't the raiders, or perhaps one group had turned on the other ... too many questions, but all presumably were answered in the waiting silence ahead.
With Alton alongside, Erut moves ahead towards the stairway.
For a moment. Sinwa panicked. The trail had been lost!
A few worrisome moments passed before she found a resumption of the trail some 20 feet off to an embankment on the left. An odd finding really - one of Morgan's buttons off his coat ... and a small downy feather of Sid's. The button was interesting, as it was made of black pearl. If her memory was correct, it was from the coat that Morgan's deceased sister had made for him just prior to her murder.
Gently picking up the button with her teeth, she carefully turned around and placed it into an access pocket on her custom-made haversack. Yes, I'm sure this came off by the friction of travel. I'll bring this back to him.
______
A stiff wind blew straight into her face as she crested a small hill. While she could not see the Band of 7 amongst the treetops in her view, the wind definitely carried a minute speck of their myriad array of scents. It was comforting to pick up their spoor from the air for once - and not just from the ground.
Hopefully soon, they would be within sight. Nose back down to the ground, she then went off hustling down the path ...
As Alton moves slowly down the second length of corridor, he notes at least one trap on the far door, magical in nature from what he can tell. The corridor itself seems safe, however, and as Erut moves right past the doors while following the trail he is forced to hurry forward in order to keep up. Despite his suspicions, an ambush fails to manifest as well and there seems to be little immediate danger.
______
As Torel moves down the corridor, he thought about the signs he saw upon the bodies. The rigidity of the bodies had indicated that they had probably died recently, within a day or two at most, though he hadn't seen anything to place the hour exactly. Moving up to Morgan and Sibriel, he quietly explained the situation, then dropped back to the rearguard again, quietly performing the task he had been assigned.
Turning to the resident arcanist, See that far door? It's magically trapped. Think you can dispel it? Last time I tried a magical trap, my hands started to melt.
Sibriel turned to Morgan. "Would you please? I lack that spell capability, and besides," she noted the stirring eagle, I'll be busy enough convincing him I'm not a threat.
Through a near blinding haze of pain Itzcuahl fought for conciousness.
First one eye opened then ever so slowly, the other.
With a further effort of will, he brought them into focus and looked up at the person who was currently holding him.
A Drow Elf!
These captors had done something to him. By the Gods his mind was on Fire!
What had they done with his friends? Where was Pelifia?
______
He must escape these murderous fiends and find the others!
With a startling burst of power the Eagle flung itself out of the arms of it's 'captor' and sped away as fast as he could fly in this strange corridor.
Careening off of the wall the Eagle fled as fast as his wings would carry him.
Blinded by pain and anguish his only thought was to rejoin his companions.
Sibriel watched lazily as Sid took off, squawking in panick. It was like a scene from a bad comedic play by Fate, right down to the desire to kick the playwright in the face.
Slowly and menacingly, she turned to Torel, and then to the nearest human-resembling comrade. This happened to be her "kicking post" Alton. "You. And you. Get the bird."
Standing rear guard was Simon, who heard the screech of the newly-awoken Itzcuhal. Dispelling the magical disguise, Simon stands to intercept the bird by the door.
Erut instinctively freezes in place at Ixcuahtl’s screech, ears swinging around almost backwards to pinpoint the source of the noise. In his disguised form, the Drow’s ears twitch oddly.
His alarm only lasted a moment before he realized what had happened; Ixcuahtl had awoken among “Drow Captors” and had fled. Had to happen sometime, he thought. At least they weren’t outside — the group stood a chance at recapturing the man-bird in here.
It did, however, pretty much shout “come look!” to any guardians that might lie ahead. Trusting the others to retrieve the rapidly retreating Ixcuahtl, Erut refocuses his attention on the corridor, weapon at the ready lest one of those doors open.
Morgan whipped around just in time to see Itzcuahl flying fast if drunkenly back the way they had come. "In hindsight we may not have thought this through enough."
"Get the bird?" What happened to "Oh no!" or "Hurry!"? I must admit, I can't wait for you to get out of this drow form you've assumed, Serina Skyfire. He spoke the the name of the witch with particular emphasis, hoping to remind her that putting on an act was only neccessary for an audience, not for one's travelling companions.
Alton hurried out the door and, cupping his hands, called out to the understandably confused Eagle Knight.
Torel shifted suddenly as the Eagle knight shifted out of his hands and with a flip and a flutter he rolled out of Torel's arms and was off in a buff of tail feathers. Torel muttered under his breath and regained his composure but not before the Eagle was already moving. Muttering under his breath he moved to the doors at all speed hoping to call the eagle back when they were out of the echos of the tomb.
Through the distraction of Itzcuahl's call and subsequent flight, Morgan saw a faint hiss of blackish, oily smoke hiss from the door in response to his spell. The flight of the eagle had taken it completely out of sight before most in the party could respond, however, Alton recovered quickly and dashed down the corridor just in time to see Itzcuahl skim along the ground unevenly before bumping into one of the drow corpses and launching himself upwards again.
Erut easily tracked the location of his companions by the sounds they made, however, he kept the majority of his attention upon the stairs just before him.
=====DD================== b b Ib = b b A = ==================== = = = = D = = =T = = = =S C= = = =M = D = = = = E= = = = = = = = = = s = = s = = s =
Itzchual! Stop! Alton continues his furious dash - hopefully, he can attract his attention without having to resort to restraining him. Like with the elf woman a while ago?
"I'm not sure. Give me a second." Morgan cast another spell, drawing his hand across his eyes and speaking in the language of magic. With all the commotion there seemed little need for stealth now.
Although his flight is a lurching and erratic one, the eagle is nonetheless moving at top speed away from the Drow 'imposters' who had captured him and done who knows what with his friends.
Damn! I forgot those herbs Torel requested. I hope Itzcuahl has awoken without harm, lamented Sinwa as Torel's last words returned to jog her memory.
It was too late now for her to turn back, especially with the group's trail getting warmer by the moment. The fact that the occasional shed feather was found amongst the party's spoor indicated that at least Sid wasn't dead-&-buried. She felt confidant that under Torel's care, Sid would at least not getting any worse ...
Rounding another small hill, Sinwa came across a wild herd of shaggy brown rothés sitting right on top of her trail. Annoyed, she barked a few times until the slow-movers finally cleared her path and let her resume tracking.
As Alton and Simon dash after the stray Maztican, the former shouting out for flight as he sees his new companion take off and head out into the white light outside the tunnels, the warrior druid moves forward at a more sedate pace. Uttering his prayers to himself as he comes, Torel reaches out and lays a hand upon the Shadow Sword ranger's shoulder, lightening his entire frame minutely.
The three that remained behind see the trio at the bend dash around the corner as Morgan's spell completes. As he watches the door, he senses no magical auras within his line of sight, however, as he waits for his arcane sight to focus, he notes a rising tide of magic, until the sickly gray aura of necromancy glows once more upon the door.
Hearing the echoes of the eagle knight's cry abruptly cease, Erut grew worried. He wasn't exactly sure how high the sky was in the open, but from what he understood it was pretty high, taller by far than the largest vault. Catching their companion (who presumably knew the sky better than they) was far from a sure thing.
"I guess next time we tie him up?" he asks Morgan.
Alton, hoping that Torel cast the spell he hoped for - the same one he saw Sinwa cast on Erut when they encounted the giant insects. Lifting one foot in front of the other, he felt some traction in the air as he put one foot over the other and broke out into a forward and upward sprint, hoping to close some of the distance between him and the panicked Eagle Knight. He reaches into his pack for a camoflauge net, hoping that if he could throw the net correctly, it would be heavy enough to stop Itzchual from flying.
"The door isn't clear. There's still some foul necromancy there." Morgan was trying to decide if he should make another attempt to separate the spell into it's more basic, and considerably less harmful, parts again when he caught Erut's question.
"Uh... next time? Are we planning on making a habit out of traveling with an unconscious companion?"
At the incantatar's analysis, the pseudodrow frowned and took a look at the stone around the door. "Any way to possibly go through the stone around the door? A door is, after all, only one way through a wall." Quietly, she cursed her lack of more demolition-friendly spells.
[Morgan]"Uh... next time? Are we planning on making a habit out of traveling with an unconscious companion?"
Sibriel scowled. "Given our luck and choice of enemies? Our next unconscious companion will only need rope to stay on the stretcher. Let's not tempt ill fates, you two."
Morgan's examination of the door had revealed a moderately powerful aura, about on par with the strength of his own spells, from the arcane energies that flickered slightly as they flowed back through the matrices that governed their activity.
As Sibriel and the incantatrix discuss the issue though, with Erut turning his attention back to the only open route of attack, the grimlock hears a soft scraping below. At the edges of his hearing, he can't identify what is causing it, but it certainly sounds like movement.
Erut's warning silences the two mages long enough for him to strain his ears again, however, all that he hears from down the stairs before him this time is silence. For a minute or more, he listens and then finally detects the faint sound of movement again from below. Too soft to hear more than that, he can't identify what is causing the noise.
With Alton walking on air and taking the comotion away from the rest of the party Torel hear's Erut's comment to silent up. Sliding his sword from it's sheath he moves up closer to the front of the pack and listens
Torel, listening with Erut, detects the same movement that the grimlock heard, an almost shuffling gait that sounds as if it is a fair distance from the party currently.
"Something moves, ahead of us and down," Erut tells the two spellcasters, exhaling sharply in the direction of the staircase. Grimlocks could sometimes interpret crude hand signals like pointed fingers, but in close quarters found it more efficient to give directions by breathing. Other grimlocks would smell the signaler's breath and feel the currents of air telling them which way to go.
For good measure, though, Erut jabs the haft of his flail at the stairs. [color=olive "Whatever it is, it seems a fair way off. We should be wary, though."[/color]
The eagle, its flight stilted, labors for height and distance, narrowly avoiding capture as it strives to escape the imposters. Alton, his feet shifting slowly on the light currents of the wind, pauses for a moment to watch his companion and slowly comes to the conclusion that is as fast as he is capable of moving at the moment.
Looking down at the paladin some ten feet below him shielding his eyes against the sun, he realizes they will never the less need at least a little luck to catch the knight.
Watching his net drop to the ground nearly exemplified his hopes for catching up to Itzchual as he saw the swift Eagle Knight fly away on the wings of his animal form. Still, not one to give up easily, Alton breaks into a full sprint through the magically solid feeling air. Fresh out of ideas, all he can do now is try to stay withing yelling distance and try to calm him down as best he can.
Itzchual! Remember the gargoyle! We drove it off together! I am your friend - hear my voice!
The ranger's burst of speed rapidly brought him closer to Itzcuahl, however, as he caught up and passed the bird of prey, it immediately wheeled around and dived. Words failing to reach the eagle knight, Alton was forced to turn on his heels, his feet sliding along the air for a few feet, and take off after the confused lycanthrope. This continued for nearly a minute until Itzcuahl abruptly darted down and into the sparse forest further down the hill side and the Shadow Sword ranger was forced to slide to a halt or be brained upon the jutting limbs, the triangular, pointed leaves upon them just beginning the transformation to autumn's glory.
Listening to Erut motion for a falling back Torel agrees with him. I heard it too, I belive we have enough problems with the eagle now to worry about moving onward. Move back outside.
Torel backed slowly holding line with Erut as the spellcasters moved back to the main door. At one point he pulls his bow out of his quiver and sets it in his off hand, ready to pull an arrow should the need arise.
Erut murmurs an agreement and begins to slide back from the stairs, but places Voice on the ground and instructs the crystal to wait at the bend in the corridor, close to where the bodies were found.
Those remaining in the corridor, with the exception of Voice, move steadily back out of the corridor until they are standing once more before the set of double doors. Turning, they spy Simon watching steadfastly as Alton and Itzcuahl wheel wildly through the sky. It is only a few moments before they see the ranger slide to a halt, just before a set of low-hanging branches, the eagle rapidly dissappearing into the leafy foilage.
Though Erut couldn’t see Itzcuahl’s escape into the woods, the deflated posture of his comrades told the story. He sighed. This was why you didn’t take injured comrades on a hunt he mused. Sooner or later they’re bound to think they’re Drow captives and run away. Or something like that.
Now the group had few good options. The man-eagle might still be addled or injured, and they couldn’t very well abandon him. But tracking Itzcuahl could take hours or even days, and recapturing him on foot might be impossible. And the group had effectively announced their presence by tearing the door off of the Drow’s hidey-hole; that was bound to be discovered soon.
“This isn’t good at all,” Erut growled, realizing he was stating the obvious. “If the raiders are still in the area, they’ll notice their front door is missing and call for reinforcements while we’re off looking for him.”
"Let's put ourselves in his shoes. Claws. Whatever." Sibriel raised a finger. "The first thing he will do is seek out his comrades; he struck me very much as the type who does things like rescue friends from Drow slavers. He's a knight after all. Like many of us, he is a good tracker, and we did leave a very easy trail to track. That means as soon as he comes to his senses, he will find either us or Sinwa. If he finds us, that's good; we can tell him what's going on."
Then she thought of what kind of ... complications could arise should an addled and upset Itzcuahl would happen to tell Sinwa that the party needed rescuing and fast.
"The alternative is, well, not so good. But he'll catch up to us eventually. Our concerns are then twofold - that something should attack him, and that we should be attacked by whatever's down there." She gestured to the open door.
"I say we take care of that first, and then try to locate our druid. She'll be easier to find than he, and she can also search for him in ways we're incapable of."
You could always remove your disguises, Erut's hat can return him to normal, your magical abilities might be more difficult to replace instantly but for the current situation it might be helpful in showing him who we are.
Torel takes a few steps away from the door and thrusts his sword into the ground with the symbol of Meilikki faced away from him. He slowly begins to sing in Druidic in a soft calming mannor, hoping that the light and the sword will give away his true identity. His bow he sets on the ground next to him.
Great, now he can be anywhere. At least before, I had the silhouette of him against the sky. Unable to accept defeat, the intrepid ranger continues his pursuit of the eagle through the forest.
As much experience as Sinwa had at tracking via the gifts of her Goddess, she could not recall ever having to follow a spoor this long. The last time she spent numerous hours on a given trail was tracking down that infamous fiend, the Yawning Man, in the waning days of this Eleasis. Those were the darkest of all the dark days that ever plagued Shadow's Edge. Her raw memories were still fresh from just those events from just a few months ago. Thinking about them only brought back sorrow ... and continued frustration at being unable to locate her dearly missed fellow Lords of Sarent Hall.
______
Since so much of her tracking prowess was predicated on scent, she was finding that the constant rush of cold air through her long snout was beginning to chap and desensitize her nostrils. A brief stop at a mud pit allowed her to cram her nose deep into the thick, wet loam. Followed by a brief bit of shaking and snorting to release the soil back to its origins. This offbeat measure seemed to work - and she trusted her wildshaped instincts enough to follow through on what initially seemed like nonsense.
Following her friends trail was turning out to be easier than she thought. Torel, Simon, & Erut continued to leave obvious & helpful trailblazes behind. She found Erut's footsteps to be the most intriguing. For a blind man, he walked, nay ... stalked like a carefully precise feral hunter. At least his gait said so. Lord Jama loved this man to death - thinking him the greatest creature to come along since Volas Dyervolk. Sinwa's intrigue with this underworlder grew day-by-day. His past seemingly held many interesting stories and secrets. And his present seemed mantled by even more conundrums. Upper world Grimlocks just didn't exist ... at least not in Rashemen or Sembia ...
The occasional chuckle came about early in Sinwa's tracking. Usually from the clumsy handprints of Simon arresting his apparent falls. He clearly was having trouble staying upright while traversing the hilly terrain in his suit of plate. The laughs subsided in time though. For he seemed to be getting the knack of moving quickly and carefully through the brush as time went by. Perhaps it was assistance from the rangy duo of Alton & Torel. Or perhaps it was just the steadfast determination that only a paladin of Torm could conjure up in the loyal service of his god.
"Hrm ... I forgot about this thing, Erut responds, shaking his head in what he hoped was the action that dispelled the illusion. Torel's point was a good one — the sighted Itzcuahl might be spying on them from the trees.
Sibriel/Serina's comment seemed to make sense, too. "If we can't find him right away, we should press on. If our task was too urgent to wait for him to recover earlier, it's too urgent to recover him now. We should at least make sure the entrace is secure; we might find a place to hide ourselves while we discover what's going on."
Within the crimson, ochre, and brown leaves of the trees, the option of running did not exist and Itzcuahl rapidly begins to outdistance the ranger pursuing him. Undeterred, Alton continues to push through bushes and follow distant glimpses of eagle feathers or the occassionally broken branch--traces that are more frequent than he would expect from a woodswise soul like the eagle knight.
Alton! Think like a ranger, and imagine Ixa is a 'normal' bird. You are probably scarring the daylights out of him. It is time to try something new.
Torel calmed his being and continued the verse in druidic, while Ixa would not understand the words. They could be soothing at times, he could only hope the Knight would circle around and take a second look while not being chased.
As Alton moved through the forest, he caught glimpses of the eagle flying from one tree to the next, almost slumping against a tree while he perched, then spreading his wings and taking flight again almost immediately.
He's too fast - I'll never catch up to him like this, particularly while he's running on 100% adrenaline. I - no, WE - need a new plan... The ranger slides to a halt and climbs back down to ground, hoping that if he leaves a trail, the disoriented Eagle Knight can find his way back. I hope you'll come back to us, Maztican.
The scowl on the approaching ranger's face told Simon that Itzcuhal had escaped. Alton was a tenacious tracker, and had demonstrated his skill at his craft over the last two days. But chasing an eagle through the canopy of the forest would be like next to impossible. "Don't worry. His first instinct is likely to find a friend, and that would be the druidess. She will know us for certain."
Walking back toward the rest of his travelling companions, the blind warrior Erut tells of the noises coming from deep within the crypt. "I see. We have been distracted by the bird, but if something is coming toward us, we should face it here, where the light burns the dark things."
"Makes sense. I burn the dark things too." Sibriel gave the slightest of smiles and cracked her knuckles in anticipation of some explosions.
Inwardly, Cho was calculating the ramifications of Itz's disappearance. That the eagle knight would come back for them was obvious. The Sibriel identity may very well be a hindrance when he did. Back to Serina it was then. Hair grew ragged, and frame grew bent, and the drow disappeared under wrinkled skin.
Refusing to look behind himself for fear of getting caught by his airwalking pursuer, Itzcuahl continued to tear recklessly through the forest canopy. His beak, wing, joints, and eyes continued to be battered by the full gamut of branches and leaves in this Dales forest.
His mind & vision still groggy from connecting with the painful mindfire of Pelifia's alien thoughts, the Maztican knight now relied on his avian instincts for survival. Adding to his confusion, he was uncertain of exactly why he awoke amidst a mixed group of dark elf and humanoids. None of this made sense to him. All he knew is that he must find solitude and peace in order to collect himself and then rejoin his friends.
As his vision became clearer in his race through the trees, Sid focused on outpacing the peculiar, yelling windstalker. His off-kilter gut instinct told him that it might be a drow wizard. One who could fly, read minds, and speak the common tongue. And clearly, he was not in the state of mind to fight such a creature.
So he flew like greased lightning - now weaving in-&-out of the narrow breaks amongst the branches. Paying special attention to the path and direction he took. So that at a later time of his chosing, he would return to find his friends. And if neccessary ... avenge or rescue them.
Seeing Alton return unhappy and without eagle, Torel lets out what could be considered a sigh. He collects his sword from the ground. Looking at the party of six that remained there seemed some reorganizing that needed to be done.
Alton and Erut in the front? Serina, Morgan and Simon in the middle. I'll take rear? Seeing some deflated nods Torel wiped his blade clean of the dirt. Looking back to the forest he saw the eagle only for an instant as it reached the full distance from the party.
Meilikki will return you to us, you will remember yourself.
Simon asks "What we do next would depend on what this way comes. Erut, you said you left your seeing stone as an advance guard- has it seen anything yet?"
Alton grabs the camoflauge net he tried to use to snare the fleeing Eagle Knight off of the ground as he continue his beleagured shuffle back into the crypt. Stupid camoflauge net... he mutters to himself.
"It hasn't noticed anything. Nothing that it's seen fit to report, anyway," Erut responds to Simon. "What we heard was a fair way off. It's possible that it didn't hear us — although we did make a lot of noise in there — or perhaps it's trying to hide."
Readying himself to reenter the tunnel, he asks, "What about that warded door? Our quarry seems to have moved past it, and they may have had good reason to do so."
With his panic somewhat subsided and his vision returning to clarity, the soaring Itzcuahl took a moment to peer closely behind himself. The forest, air, and ground looked empty of pursuers. He breathed a big sigh of relief.
After a few more speeding wingbeats, Itzcuahl wheeled around and landed near a secure clearing by a rushing little stream. Parched and dizzy, the Eagle Knight drank deep for what seemed like an eternity. The fresh spring waters began to slowly revitalize him. Even though water was not a neccessity for him anymore, these strange events within his mind seemed to temporarily bring back his primitive needs.
Winging back up to the top of an old oak, he continued keeping careful watch down a main corridor of trees in the direction he last saw the windwalker. Off to his right, he noted a footpath leading down to that same corridor. Wondering aloud, he tried to find a correlation between the two. "Great Qotal ... this path ... is it the one my friends have taken from whence I came? I need your guidance, and I need renewed strength ... to find them and answer these clouded questions of mine."
Erut and Alton, the latter with several resigned glances over his shoulder, enter the crypts again with cautious footsteps. Making their way past the drow corpses, they soon find themselves at the foot of the stairs. The party, temporarily single file in order to stay away from the warded doors that had been identified earlier, stands behind with their weapons readied. As the pair in the lead descend into the gloom, the rest of the party see their heads dissappear into the darkness, then break into a trot to catch up.
The stairs are not well-maintained, however, they were built to last and the areas where they have begun to crumble do not degrade the footing over much. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, the two scouts find themselves in a cavern, lined with rough hewn alcoves in which bodies are presumably stored. A fact discerned by the occassional crypt that has been broken open to allow the skeletons within to slump forward or be spilled upon the ground.
The cavern opens up to the right of the two as they step onto the landing, with Alton just able to make out a figure in the distance by the dim light leaking from above.
Cresting a hill, Sinwa stopped for a moment and took in the sights from her high vantage point. A quick circular view was seemingly bereft of anything interesting to look at. Until she looked dead north from the direction she came.
Situated atop a nearby hill was a party of 3 soldiers and 4 horses. Focusing in her superhuman sight, she could see that the ragtag group was cleaning up camp. By the graces of the Forest Queen, bless you for burying your fire and your refuse., she thought with relief. A 4th soldier, in the same uniform, was draped over one of the horses. Obviously dead or incapacitated.
Intrigued, she beckoned her Goddess for divine guidance on seeing more that what met her faraway eye. The plea made with the sacred tongue, her Goddess responded. And flourished with a tinge of green, her sight expanded just a tad. Enough so, that she could make out the faces and heraldry of the clutch of soldiers.
Emblazoned on their black tunics, was a symbol she did want to see.
The hackles on her back stood straight up. She had never fought with the forces of the Zhentarim, but many of her friends had. And she knew that Lord Randal Morn and his Freedom Fighters were still cleansing their recaptured land of this horrid Black Network.
But the more she zoned in, the more she could see that these Zhentilar were battered, bloodied, and looking completely exhausted. The 4th draped soldier indeed, must be dead ... for it was caked in blood and missing an arm. Hooray for the good guys. And to ... Alton, Torel, & Serina will surely wish to hear of this. Which reminds me, I can't dally here much longer., she mused.
Confidant that the ragtag group of soldiers were not an immediate threat nor potentially involved in her current mission, she captured the location of their position by noting their placement by sun, height, & landmark. And off she continued on her trail. Thanking the stars that her friends now seemed to be headed on a normal footpath in soft clay.
As Sinwa dashed off down the trail, dissappearing into the light covering of leaves that separated the hillside from the surrounding forest, she was too far from the group to note a head turning in the direction of the hillside upon which she had stood. Abandoning the camp chores that he had been carefully paying attention to while the blink dog watched, he frowned to himself and rubbed a half-healed wound upon his jaw.
Stalking over to his horse with a careful grace reminiscent of a hunting cat, he loosed the reins from the hollow log upon which they had been secured and swung himself up painfully into the saddle. A few comments to the two still making camp received nods and after a short wait, he tossed a heavy bag to the larger of the two men. Hand caressing the hilt of the whip at his belt, he dug his heels into the flanks of the pale grey horse upon which he was mounted and entered the forest upon the other side of the hill from where the blink dog had dissappeared.
Peering into the shadows that cloaked the cavern into which they were heading, Alton could make out little about the figure. It seemed to be completely still, however, and quite a bit larger than most of the men he had encountered in his life, which likely made it a statue. However, he couldn't be sure at this distance.
Hearing Alton stop suddenly and tense, Erut sniffed at the air, but smelled nothing. He commanded Voice to stop skittering about, lest its motion give them away.
Nodding his head Alton holds up his hand at about ear level so that the rest of group can see him. Not sure what, a figure of some kind. I can't tell if its a statue or not though. Better to look silly stopping for a statue than to look stupid getting caught in an ambush.
I'm going to take a closer look. Alton pushes his back up against the wall and hugs the shadows as best he can.
Torel waits as Alton moves around the side of the spellslingers Assuming there is room. He watches in the opposite direction that Alton moved to be sure that there were not more than one 'thing' in the cavern.
Serina thinks to herself Wait for it...wait for it...the scout hasn't revealed anything yet. Sure, he can't protect a cover identity worth a damn, but he's good at his job. Wait for the signal...
By now, everyone's unique signature scent was fairly well ingrained into Sinwa's tracking instincts and processes. Every time someone had to relieve himself or sneezed on a branch, she pretty much knew exactly who it was.
Except ...
... something didn't quite add up right regarding Serina. It seemed that her core scent had changed fairly drastically from her conversion to Medeshianne. In addition, both smells didn't seem very human-like to her. And she sure as hell looked like a human to the druidess. Regretfully, Sinwa was coming to an uncomfortable conclusion. Hm. I can't put my paw on it ... but there's a strong possibility that our resident witch may not be human. Or ... who she says she is.
She *really* did like Serina. But for the sake of the safety of her friends, Sinwa started to think about what she could do to ensure Serina was who she said she was. And the same went for her companion, her fellow Mielikkite ... Torel.
Off in the far distance, an eagle-like screeing could be heard. After a dozen more steps, Sinwa realized she should've immediately stopped crunching through the freshly fallen leaves once she heard the sound. Oh drat. That could've been Sid! With the Tesh not too far away and the occasional pond-n'-lake dotting the landscape, she shook off the regret. Eagles were probably a dime a dozen in this forest.
And on she tracked - playing games by trying to step as many of her paws into Simon's deep bootprints as she went along.
Creeping forward into the gloom, the shadows slowly parted for Alton as he went from depending upon the light for sight to the darkvision granted by his training. As he approached the figure through the widening cave, it finally resolved into an impressive looking statue of granite. Shaking his head at the tricks one's sight could play, he stood more fully and was just about to wave over the other members when a flash of cold rippled through the cavern complex.
Hand dropping to his sword, he stared at the solid sheet of ice, like some bluish-white glacier covering the far wall and slowly turned, his eyes focusing on a shambling creature covered in a dull, white set of scales that moved out the darkness beyond his range of vision. Despite patches of hide and scales peeling off of the slim torso and wicked looking legs, eyes dull and cloudy, a palpable menace seemed to emanate from the creature as it slowly moved towards the ranger.
______
As the party waited tensely for the ranger to return from scouting, Erut heard the soft foot-steps and caught the cautious scent of the ranger as he moved forward to identify the figure. As his senses caught the figure moving out of its crouching position, however, he was abruptly subjected to an intense wave of cold that cut off his "sight" of his companion.
----------- -- -- ----- ---------- -- -- -- ----- -- T -- - ------- ---- -- SS I --------- C S -- SS A I E M -- C I -- I ------ -------------- ---- ---------- ----- ----------- -------
Surprised, Erut cuts short his breathing as the frigid air stung his nostrils and lungs. What just happened? A trap?
Springing forward to the wall that had sprung up behind Alton, hand on his flail. “Something is wrong!” he calls to the others, and yells into the blank, cold wall in front of him. “Alton! Are you there?”
The tableu stood for a moment after Alton had challenged the beast, with no response and the ranger began to think he would not receive one as it continued its slow progress towards him.
"What vile trickery is this?!?! We must break the ice quickly! No telling what is on the other side."
Your average mage carried many offensive spells, usually of the burning variety. If something could burn, it could probably melt. However, the white-haired Morgan HAD to be the odd man out and disdain the use of such "common" spells. Simon fervently hoped that Lord Morn's witch had something up her disguised sleeves.
The blue crystal almost illuminated the room with some of the light drifting in. As beautiful as it was there was still a ranger to get to.Torel mutters, A hole would be nice
This was, in nearly every sense, what Cho had been waiting for. A little combat to clear the mind.
Serina darted forward to a position nearer Erut. A quick scan of the wall would soon tell her what spell would best blow the thing to pieces...and then a pyromaniac impulse came to mind.
After some hand formations and a quick utterance of numbers to activate the spell code, two tendrils of flame appeared from Serina's hand and darted towards the wall, a few feet away from Erut.
Alton hears Erut's cry of surprise through the glacial wall as little bells ringing. Bells? OF COURSE!
The ranger reaches into his pack for the magical horn he found earlier and breathes through it deeply. The horn bellows out in a rich bass tone and fog spews from the bell. This should buy me some time, I hope. Alton whispers a silent prayer to the Helping Hand as he takes a step back and to his right.
Moving forward Torel pulls his sword out, seeing Serina still making her final adjustments on the wall he casts a defensive spell on himself and prepares to charge through the breech.
The witch peers at the glimmering wall of ice with a squint, arcane energies dancing about her fingertips as she sorts through the possibilities. Her face twists into an expression of concentration, then moments later the energies solidify and she lashes out with them at the wall that blocks her path.
Torel moves forward as the flash of the witch's spell flies past, the words to his spell upon his lips and ends up slightly beyond where Simon stood. As he felt the blessing of his goddess upon him, his skin hardened and acquired a grayish-brown cast to it. While his flesh was noticeably less pliant, it did not affect his movement and he ended with his sword in hand.
As the spell crashed into the wall, the sound of it intermingled with a deep, golden tone in a mingling wave of sound.
Taking the last two stairs in a single step and trotting into the room, the witch's energies, a reddish-gold burst of flame, lashed out into the wall with a crackling burst of heat. As the wash of fire vaporized a ten foot section of the wall, massive clouds of steamy fog rolled forth from the destroyed section and Alton, Erut, and Torel were all engulfed in the odd mix of hot and cold air and moisture.
He feels twin lances of heat burst from the witch’s outstretched hand, and suddenly Erut finds himself bathed in chilled vapor. The wall seems to be gone, however, and he can hear Alton’s movements ahead of him.
Quickly, but cautiously lest he slip on the wet rock beneath him, Erut pushes through the fog and casts about, searching for the foe that sprung this trap. The air grows frigid as he moves past the ice, and he winces at the stinging cold, his ears reflexively curling inward.
Alton’s attention seems fixed on something to the southwest. “What’s out there?” he asks, gripping the mist-slick handle of his flail tightly.
The roiling fog now emanating from the spot where the wtich melted the ice barrier was thicker than anything Simon had seen in many years. Cautiously, he steps forward into the mist, praying that the alto note of the horn was an indication that the ranger was still well.
As Erut stands within the heavy fog, senses casting about for the focus of Alton's attention, he hears a heavy tread as the scent of the grave intensifies. Despite the thick mist that obscures vision, the winged, reptilian creature is clear to his own unique perceptions. Particularly as it trundles forward at an impressive speed, nearly barrelling into Erut and Simon, the latter of whom catches sight of the creature only as it is nearly on top of him. A gaping maw, filled with strands of pus and rotted teeth gapes wide and snaps once at the paladin, catching an arm raised in defense and tearing the flesh, prompting a grunt from the stoic human.
As the beast rears out of the shadowy fog, Erut senses Alton stiffen, presumably in shock, though he stifles a cry.
For a brief moment, Sinwa thought she heard the rustling of tree branches behind her. Craning her neck backwards, she sniffed and looked around. Nothing. Although the wind wasn't much help, as it was blowing away from her facing. Shrugging it off, she tracked onwards. Pondering whether that eagle scree from earlier was actually Sid's ... especially since it came from the exact direction she was currently heading.
Knowing he has to push the breach Torel moved forward through the mist and found that whatever had cast the ice had moved up, He tried to roll out of the way but the vapor hid the creature too much.
Well, there's one way to fix that."Sorry about this, boys!"
With that, Lord Morn's witch called up a sudden breeze in the direction of the breach she had just caused - with her aim suddenly turned a bit to the left due to the sound of teeth on flesh where Simon had ran towards. The sudden breeze became a stiff wind, and the clouds of fog began to yield.
As the druid Torel moved into a position to flank the creature, a stiff wind sprang up, nearly pushing him into creature which he was attempting to avoid. Combined with the poor footing, it made his attempts at avoiding the attacks nearly impossible.
The beast smelled of disease and decay, certainly not the sign (nor hygiene) of a friend of justice. Thanking his god for his blessings against mundane illness, Simon pulls his enchanted blade from its place on his back and thrusts in the general direction the smell is coming from.
The combination of effects that was producing this blizzard in the cave caused much chaos, but Torel knew he needed to get in and around this thing. Moving cautiously he had only a second to react as the creature lashed out. Torel kept it's attention long enough to get around it.
Moving past the paladin, Torel dashes forward, abandoning attempts to avoid the creature's reach all together. Fortunately for him, the creature's rush to attack seems to still be affecting it, for it stumbles, one lowered wing impacting the ground with a sickening crunch that speaks of broken bone as it attempts to spin and snap at the druid.
Simon's thrust almost takes the creature in its awkward state, but unfortunately the sword glances off of the decaying hide, leaving him unable to bring into play the holy energies that are sealed within.
Those fighting the draconic creature before them hear a light clinking sound, as something hits the ground near Alton and Erut senses the ranger withdraw a short way from the group, still moving stiffly.
Erut twists to let the tumbling Torel past, continuing the motion to step back the way the Druid had come. He snals at the offensive stench of the beast. The smell of death-denied was all around it, a smell he knew all too well. At least dried-out corpses didn’t stink as bad; this thing still had the rot of the grave on it — amazing that he hadn’t smelled it sooner.
There was little point in subtlety; skillful attacks were wasted on the deathless. They knew no pain, but they could be broken like a living creature, their joints smashed, their necks snapped. With a howl spun he his flail about wildly before loosing it upon the creature.
Once, twice, he struck at the putrefying beast, and with his final blow swung low, seeking to tangle his enemy’s legs in the flail’s chain.
Serina darted forward a few steps and and began the casting of another spell, hand already in component pouch. The keen eyed would recognize the same focus and gestures from earlier in the day, and anyone in the party would remember the sound of invisible teeth gnashing.
The flurry of blows from the grimlock, unaffected by the poor vision the rest of the combatants suffer from, pound into the creature in quick succession. While the brutal blows seem to do less damage than the Underdark resident might expect, the placement seems right and he hears cartilege snap and flesh slough from bone. His last blow, aimed low to wrap around the creature's legs, takes advantage of the beast's earlier difficulties with balance and sends the creature to the ground with a strong tug upon the flail.
As the blustering winds disperse the mists that shroud the room, however, Erut has the disconcerting feeling that the winds are blowing away Alton as well. For as he feels the cool damp of the mists dissipating, the ranger appears to do the same, his scent and sound fading slowly. The last the grimlock "sees" of the ranger as he delivers a quick blow to the downed dragon, Alton is heading away from the exit and further into the chamber in the direction of the winds.
For the remainder of the party, the dissipating fog brings their first clear sight of the decaying dragon which they are fighting--but no sign of the friend who was trapped so briefly upon this side of the ice wall. Simon continues to receive the attention of the creature as it surges to its feet almost immediately after its fall, a snapping bite that moves with disconcerting swiftness for what appears to be a zombie.
With the clearing of the fog Torel takes view of the creature now between him and the rest of the party. On the ground no less either. As the creature rises he takes a glancing swing off the side of the creature which doesn't seem to phase the thing. A moment later he shifts his stance and grabs the creatures neck and in an acrobatic move flips the creature to the ground, and using his momentum rolls his legs up, handplants back to his feet bringing his blade down into the creature.
Feeling anger swelling up to a crecendo in him, Simon notices neither the blood dripping into his immaculately kept armor nor the ranger's disappearing act. His superior priests always taught that anger was a natural emotion, one that could be channeled to great acts of faith or to terrible perversions of it. With the undead beast before him, there could be no question which of the two he was channelling now.
"Foul beast! Feel the wrath of Torm the True!"
With that cry to the heavens and a quick swipe at the thing as it rose from the ground, Simon unleashed the righteous anger of his god and his own in a massive two-handed slice at the thing's rotten head.
Thanking her Goddess for the bright beacon of insight, Sinwa stopped for a moment. It just dawned on her. She found a way that just might help her find Lords Locke, Maer, Locke, Jama, & Roryn.
With a skip in her step and a gleam in her eye, she soldiered on down the trail.
In front of Serina, eight opaque blobs took the form of jaws - nasty, wolfish snappers that took off after the monster with a generally hungry demeanor.
A flurry of blows met the creature's rise, and though it managed to attack the paladin, the slashing blows of the party met with no little success afterwards. The paladin's blow nearly severed a wing and left a large portion of the zombie's flank lying upon the floor, while the druid's attack sent it to the floor once again and took smaller hunks of rotting flesh from its back.
Unfortunately, the snapping wolf jaws, upon meeting the creature's hide, winked out, one by one, the creature scarcely noticing their existence.
Supporting his weight against the crypt wall, Morgan staggered for a moment as he broke out of his involuntary reverie. His recent and casual interest in his heritage seems to have triggered monumental changes inside of him. On the surface, none of them seemed good. For his moments of introspective withdrawal to deal with these issues just took him plum out of action. On the other hand, his insights gleaned ... were powerfully enlightening. The surging knowledge of his blood's intricate matrices & lineage was overwhelming beyond all expectations.
Shaking it off, his vision unblurred as he saw the fight unfold. Racing over to the opposite wall to get support for his shaky feet, yet still be able to help his friends, the Incantatrix set about his casting of a magick. Flinging into the air a shaving of licorice root, his tongue coiled and spit a fleeting word in Draconic.
A slight yet edgy jolt stung his combatant friends before him. The group suddenly felt the effects had they consumed a 100 cups of coffee, sans the liquid of course.
The spell cast and his balance restored, Morgan's eyes zoned-in on the beast before them. Trying his best to identify that which they faced. And preparing a more lethal onslaught for this abomination ... as his sorcerous energies coursed back into his veins.
The blood sang within him, but Erut was getting concerned. Not about the repellent creature at his feet, which seemed to be getting the worse of the encounter so far, but Alton. The witch’s magically summoned wind had been powerful, but not so much as to blow away a full-grown man.
Erut looks at the the warrior-priest beside him, who had absorbed awful wounds, as he brings his flail down once again on the prone beast. “Alton’s missing; can you finish this?” he calls.
With that Erut spring away, almost sommersaulting with the added speed from Morgan's spell. He spat, trying to clean himself of the stink of the decaying creature and get a sense of where Alton had disappeared to.
"Alton?" he called, drawing a javelin from his quiver as he moved. "Where are you?"
Moving deeper into the cavern, he takes care to avoid the lurking column of stone in the center — that was what had attracted Alton's notice, and was a likely trap. Silently, he calls for Voice, which scurries forward past the still-furious combat.
As the clarity of the scene unfolds, Morgan's steely gaze locks onto the enemy menace through the mix of ice, fog, and steam. Muttering aloud, "What manner of a beast befalls us?"
Erut's flail slips through the guard of the creature almost lazily and crashes against the side of its head, slamming it into the cavern floor and knocking loose several teeth. However, as he turns away from the beast it lashes out with a claw that is entirely intact, raking at his hamstring though it does not quite manage to cut it.
As the creature once again scrambles to its feet the druid gets a firm grip upon the rear leg and tail in an attempt to hold it down without a reaction from the beast. That hold does little more than inconvenience the creature, however, as Torel feels powerful muscles surge, pulling him off of his feet and into a hard impact with the earth. It is only the creature's own relentless climb into a standing position that pulls him back to his feet through the grip he is forced to release moments later.
As Simon takes another brutal bite from the creature, however, a flurry of dirt strikes Torel in the face and the pair are treated to the sight of the creature dropping five feet into the dirt below it.
The creature was clearly a dragon from what Morgan could see, and judging from the patchy hide, a white. What had happened to it, he couldn't say, but the whites that he had read about of that size generally used their breath weapons frequently, a few spells, and, of course, their impressive natural weaponry. Whether it had any or all of those abilities still, he couldn't say though--the thing looked nearly dead to tell the truth.
"A white dragon! Watch its breath!", bellowed the Incantatar. He knew now, it was just a matter of seconds before one or more of the group would be subject to its throaty spew of ice daggers and bonechilling hate.
Torel thinks for a moment and looks at the hole that is now at their feet. He glances over at Simon and then looks pass him toward the wall of ice. Is it running or changing its victim? Looking over to where Morgan and Cho stood he tried to judge which direction the thing was moving. As he did he healed a few of his wounds from the ice burns. Serina, Morgan .. watch your footing.
Yet another bite from the rotting monstrosity, yet another flesh wound. But all these flesh wounds were starting to pile up, and in a moment of dizziness, Simon almost tumbles to the ground, awkwardly swinging at the thing as it shook off the spry druid.
With a sudden infusion of mystic energy in his veins, it doesn't take long for him to shake the feeling. Taking a long step to the left, the stalwart priest began another furious assault on the lump of flesh, hoping to take it down in the next 10 seconds. Infused with divine energy, his mighty blade swings downward, upward, then downward again slightly to his favored right side.
Alton was being dragged unceremoniously along the ground by his captor. He didn't even get a good look at him/her/it. I just hope I'm more useful alive than dead...
The powerful blow of the paladin took off the entire right side of the creature's head as it rose to its feet, struggling with the druid attempting to hold it down. Despite that, however, it still moved, confirming the paladins suspicions that this creature was an undead monstrocity--likely a zombie of some sort, though it was far quicker than any that he had encountered before.
Serina took a few hurried steps forward and brought her hands into the first position for the gestures of one of her personal favorites - if this was a White, the spell would turn the heat up past its liking. Her fingers quivered in anticipation - Morgan's spell left her uncharacteristically energetic for an old witch.
Torel waited and listened for the creature to emerge, know he may only have seconds to get to it before it decided to attack someone else. Morgan, Serina. you two may want to come over this way since we are going deeper anyways, It will allow Simon and I get get near you sooner as well.
A flinging piece of debris smacked Morgan right below the eye. Unflinching, he watched in shock as the dragon dug furiously into the earthen floor.
Flashing a gritty smile, the Incantatar's thoughts raced. Go ahead, dig your own grave, dragon. I'll provide the eulogy.
In the back of his churning mind, Morgan yelled at his friends to get out of the way. Knowing if worst came to worst, his sonic death knell would have to hurt some of them, in order to quicken the ending to this deadly combat.
The last Erut had seen of the ranger, he had been near the wall, hugging it if truth be told, but his movement had been along its length--not into the stone of the chambers walls.
Morgan's swift hands retrieved a little bell and a hammer from his belt pouch. His eyes furiously scanned the dirt floor for clues of the burrowing dragon's whereabouts.
As the tiny hammer struck the bell, Torel, Erut, and Simon all jumped out of the impact zone of Morgan's incoming sphere of sonic destruction. Crushed stone and rubble peppered the trio as they just barely missed the ground most damaged by the spell.
WHUMPF!
The sound wasn't so much as deafening as it was painful to the innards. The sharp bass tones of colliding air had all the hallmarks of a massively generated vacuum of nature. Morgan knew that for a moment, six different life forms had their heart skip a beat. Not knowing whether the scuttling Voice had a heart or not, the Incantatar hoped it whethered the wave without trouble.
Ultimately though, he hoped even moreso that a seventh heart had now stopped beating all together.
Hrm? Erut nearly barreled into the cave wall, surprised that Alton had vanished so quickly. Where had he gone? Aside from the flurry of activity and noise surrounding the delving monster behind him, the cavern was still.
Then came the answer. Above the sound of his own, furiously beating heart, Erut detected Alton's quickened, almost panicked breathing to the west, just beyond his perception.
"He's this way!" Erut called to the others, not knowing whether they could discern the lost ranger. As the cavern erupted with a deep, boneshaking noise, he pounced in Alton's direction, nostrils flared and weapons at the ready ...
Erut charges across the floor to near the location he heard Alton moving away from the group, yet oddly, while he still hears the harsh breathing some ten feet before him, he cannot perceive the ranger in any other way. The ranger's scent does not come to him and he does not hear his movement--though he does continue to move away from the group.
Erut searches the immediate vicinity with his own senses and listens to the comments of Voice on the matter, who neither hears nor sees anything out of the ordinary in the vicinity. As he is doing so, though, the harsh breathing continues to move further back into the cavern.
Once the dust settled from his sonic groundbuster, Morgan's ringing ears did their best to try and zone-in on the burrowed dragon. His concerns spilled over into his words, as he warned his friends to keep their ears and eyes peeled.
"Listen close. If he's digging through the ground, we should be able to pick it up."
Cautiously moving forward, the sorceror readies his steady right forefinger to unleash a deadly bolt of magickal force. All the while keeping a close eye on the vast circular crypt opening up before him.
Simon, following the advice of the white-haired sorcerer, attempts to discern the location of the now subterranean dragon with his hearing, but it is difficult to hear anything over the ringing of his ears.
Simon reached up and around his back into his magic knapsack, armor scraping against armor. That feat alone had taken him many weeks of painstakingly positioning and repositioning the bag on his back and shoulders so that even while wearing armor, its contents would always be at hand. As he opened the top leather flap, he thought of the healing wand he had in his posession. Normally, he relied on his own prayers and faith to see him through, but midday had passed recently and he had already expended many of the spells he had been gifted with.
Simon always disdained using such devices, since it signified to him that his own faith and strength of arms were wanting. It was, however, too dangerous a world to be caught unprepared for such events, which is why he carried one. It was, however, the same one he had since he began his journeys through Toril.
Calling upon the stored healing energies of the wand , Simon feels a small measure of his vitality returning.
Deflated and perplexed, Erut strains to hear the source of the breathing. He had assumed it was Alton. But the lack of a scent or the sound of any footsteps was throwing Erut off — Alton was both there and not there, a confusing state that the literal-minded Grimlock instinctively wanted to reject. Even Voice’s sight was useless. And yet …
Erut had never put much stock in illusioncraft — as with most of his race, he had to be convinced that illusions existed in the first place. But Freiggan, his old employer, had enjoyed them and often stocked caravans with phantom sentries to dissauage bandits. (He eventually had to modify the spells to include odor to keep Erut from walking through one of the “guards” and spoiling the effect.
He suspected some similar magick was employed here — but he knew too little of such things to unravel it.
Another possibility occurred: Alton could have become one of the deathless, some of whom seemed to exist in a netherworld beyond perception. Such creatures were rightly feared by Grimlocks, who were easy prey for such monstrousities. But Voice could sense such things, he knew — Erut recalled beating back the attack of a wraith, and hearing it howl in rage when the beast realized it could be detected.
”Sibriel, Morgan — I can hear Alton’s breathing, but that’s all,” he says, following Alton’s path as best he can.
He jangles his flail in the direction of the sound. ”He should be about here.”
"Careful out there, Erut. You're beyond our vision."
Morgan had enough of punishing losses in his life. The abandonment by his parents, the death of his sister, the countless heart-wrenching deaths of his Shadowan citzens. And while he was somewhat detached from this assorted gathering of heroes before him, he was not in the mood to see yet another creature lose his life in some unneccessary, reckless fashion. Especially this enigmatic Erut character. Lord Jama was one of the few people in Faerun that Morgan trusted and respected implicitly ... and by default, his friend Erut the Forgotten would receive the same honours even though it didn't feel quite right.
Still so, Morgan wasn't totally comfortable with this group. He longed to see Jama, Maer, or Sinwa back in the fold ... to provide some sense of familiar balance.
As close to the heavy breathing as he could get, the grimlock's gesture--unseen to anyone but himself due to the distance, though he did not know that--actually met with resistance. As the dangling chains of the flail passed through the air before him, he felt the slight change in momentum through his wrist and heard the rustle of metal upon leather before they slipped off of whatever they had encountered.
On of the first lessons that were taught to Randal Morn's troops was the concept of staying close to one another. Torel with a nod from Simon moved quickly after Erut in search of Alton. the speed augmentation that Previn had granted him allowed him to move faster than his normal self. He caught up to Erut in what seemed like two steps. He pasted the Grimlock to see if there was anything further down the cavern. He waits on the Erut's reaction before going further. The Grimlock seemed to have very acute sense of hearing.
The paralyzed ranger feels the Grimlock's flail poke him. I'M RIGHT HERE! he thinks to himself, knowing full well that - to his knowledge - none in his party can read minds. It does make him feel a little better, knowing that he's at least trying to stave off his imminent demise. He starts inhaling and exhaling as fiercely as he can, hoping to make more firm Erut's belief that he has tracked Alton correctly.
Even with all the group's movement, shuffling, and occasional jabbering, Morgan's danger sense was tingling. This bizarre, burrowing dragon was bound to rise any moment through the crypt floor. And odds were, it was either going to snatch someone and drag them underground ... or breathe-&-reburrow.
Timing was going to be critical. And so he steadied his aiming eyes and pointing finger. Ready to release his eldritch-spawned deathforce with hair-trigger urgency.
As Erut and Torel run after Alton, the silence of the cavern drops back into place for the time being and the companions settle into a wary watchfulness. All wait tensely for the reemergence of the zombie dragon from the pulverized circle of earth or beyond, but the seconds slowly tick by without more than an occassional shifting of soil or rock dropping from the ceiling.
______
As soon as the flail slips off of his frozen companion, Erut finally catches the barest hint of sound rippling off of a form before him and then Alton's breathing and the newly revealed creature are abruptly moving away from the grimlock at a run. The steps that are revealed are still light, however, the increased movement rate places it within the realm of the solid and something that Erut can sense, despite the odd lack of odor.
The sudden movement startles Erut, who was about to reach out for the obstacle he had found. He swings at the sound of footsteps, hoping to entangle the foe in the flail. But the move throws him off-balance, and the weapon merely clatters along the ground as the footfalls race off.
Furious, he spits in the direction of the fleeing enemy. "That way!" he roars as the woodsman Torel runs toward him.
Seeing Erut locate something unseen Torel calls upon the creatures of the underdark to aid him with his vision. Soon he has sight, sight in darkplaces and a shaping form of those things as seen by the bats. He follows quickly behind Erut. Right behind you.
Morgan listens to the commotion at the far end of the cave. The hindrance of his darkvision's range and the ice wall's remnants prevents him from getting a good eyeful of everybody but Sibriel and Simon.
Squinting his eyes, he tries to penetrate further into the gloom of the crypt. Cursing to himself at how the group has managed to yet again, break apart into disparate elements.
He knew now, he had to get to that other side of the cave faster than a speeding cheetah. Whatever was happening over there, Erut, Torel, and Alton were in dire need of help.
As the druid charges in the direction towards which Erut had pointed, an unassuming rock formation shifts slightly as he runs past. Within moments, a long filament of a glistening greenish-grey substance shoots from the surface of the rock, lancing painlessly into the flesh just behind Torel's elbow. Jerked abruptly to a halt, the ranger feels an inexorable tug as he is pulled back towards the rock formation that now gapes wide open, crystalline teeth bared and ready to take the arm which it has snagged.
The witch shuffled past the paladin, trying to keep a healthy space inbetween her and the last noted location of the undead wyrm. The same possible spell danced in her wrists, waiting to be cast.
"Simon, Previn, I'll cover you. Get over there and help - I'll burn whatever threatens you from behind."
Torel takes a blow to the side of the ribs witch is enough to knock the wind out of him. He feels his strength trying to be pulled out of him but he remains strong. It is in this moment of fighting that jaws climb out of the wall and attach to his arm. We could use a little more help over here.
Watching and listening for the tell-tale rumble of something burrowing, Simon barely notices the witch and the druid. Not until Torel becomes ensnared by the tentacled wall, anyway.
The warrior-priest now finds himself caught between a rock and a hard place, guarding the less robust Morgan against the reappearance of the putrid corpse of a dragon, or pulling the druid Torel out from the carnivorous wall. Muttering to himself, "If I wanted a dull life, I could have served in the temple's accounting department. But where does my duty lie?"
Deciding in that split-second that the undead monstrosity had already taken enough punishment at his hands and that Morgan was experienced enough to handle himself, it was time to bring justice to another part of the cavern. Rushing through the cavern and past Serina, Simon charges headlong into new danger!
The odd strand of fiberous material reels Torel in only a few feet by the hold upon his elbow before the druid is within range of the creature's bite. The crystalline teeth tear into his flesh with a grinding sound and he feels blood begin to leak down his side from the wound.
As Simon made way to the westernmost part of the crypt, Morgan found himself alone with the Witch. Mindful that he remember her disguised name, he whispered to her aloud as she stayed course and scanned the rocky floor for her adversary.
"I shall not abandon ye, M'Lady. But quick, let's cover each other en route to the others!"
Connecting his two thumbs together, Morgan fluttered his hands like wings and hissed a Draconic word of transfiguration. The crunching of bone and sinew could be heard as his skin turned porcelain white, his ears peaked, and slender grey wings blossomed out of his back and spine. Having only seen the Avariel Elves once on a merchant expedition to Silverymoon, Morgan never forgot their transcendant beauty. And at this moment, he needed more than that - he needed their speed and their ability to avoid the earth. For burrowers were often blessed with the ability to detect tremors.
Winging over to the other side crypt, Morgan's eyes never left Sibriel. Even though the commotion and throes of combat were abound with the remainder of his companions. He feared that the moment he left the Witch to deal with the dragon, that's when the beast would resurface and carry her off underground.
Erut moves to pursue the disappearing footsteps when he hears Torel grunt in surprise — then hears the unmistakable sounds of teeth tearing flesh. Though still winded, he moves quickly forward on the gift of Morgan's magick and soon senses the new threat.
"There's a beast in the wall! It has Torel!" he calls to the others, and rushes forward. He is nearly upon the creature when he realizes the javelin is still in his hand, and hurls it at the source of the beast's foul breath.
Erut's javelin is thrown accurately enough, however, he underestimates the power required to penetrate the tooth-lined maw and the steel head glances off the jagged protrusions. Mouth snapping shut belatedly, the creature, looking like nothing so much as a stalagmite with glittering eyes and cavernous mouth, glares in the direction from which the attack came, though its eyes do not settle directly on the grimlock.
In response, two more of the filaments materialize within moments from small protrusions ringing its head, lancing out towards the space where Erut stands. However, his luck holds, for the strands streak past his head and body by a foot or more at least.
Its attack thwarted by the lack of vision, the creature's attention turns slightly and two more of the odd appendages lash out far from it, stretching into deadly razors that fly towards the paladin. While he is able to dodge the second, the first lances straight into his torso. Oddly, he feels almost nothing as it enters, but moments after he is jerked forward nearly 20 feet by the filament.
One last filament is released by the creature in an attempt to further pacify the druid, however, he is able to jerk to the side and avoid the almost lazy strike--though not quickly enough to avoid losing another hunk of flesh to the rock structure. And though mostly occupied by the creature attempting to eat him alive, the druid is cognizant of the fact that Alton has gone further yet into the caverns.
Serina only nods, taking off at full tilt towards the grimlock's cries. Normally slow of foot (supposedly due to her age, but in fact due to the disguised armor she wore), the witch found herself moving with suprising deftness. That spell of Morgan's was quite the boon.
Serina, while considerably slower than the mage before her, makes as good a time as she can in her armor with only the slightest amount of her attention required to feign age rather than weight.
Being pulled across a cavern toward a tentacled rock monster would leave anyone slightly confused. Such was the case with Simon, as the grey of the rock and the darkness of the shadows become a sudden blur.
Through the filament, Simon can feel the monstrosity trying to peel away the strength from his bones, but it obviously did not know that the blessings of Torm were upon him.
As his captor speeds off into the cavernous depths, he sees his new friends attacked by a living stalagmite complete with teeth and writhing tentacles Tentacles - why is it always tentacles? he thinks to himself as he sees his friends shrink into smaller and smaller dots - as his hopes for a timely rescue begin to take the same proportion.
With the second Bite Torel grunts in pain and then spinning away with force from the 'mouth' he rips the strand from the false rock. In doing so he loses a bit of his footing but he tries to recover and roll away to get closer to Alton but the strands reach for him again.
Morgan continued to drift westward as he watched Serina race underneath him. All the while carefully scanning the eastern part of the cave with his aiming hand ready to unleash a blast of arcane hell.
"Details! I need a battle assessment!", bellowed the incantatar with his back to the fight. With all the commotion going on at the far side of the cave, he still had no clue what the group was up against.
Successfully snapping the odd limb off of the creature, Torel turned and sprang away with all the speed that he could muster after the uneven footing put an end to an attempt at an evasion pattern. Unfortunately, while one filament lay lifeless upon the floor, already beginning to dissolve, the other that had missed the druid earlier was still all too alive. Taking advantage of back turned to it, the stalagmite's strand lashed out into the fleshy meat of the Daggerdale resident's calf, nearly jerking him off of his feet.
By Mystra's Stars ... what kind of abominations lurk throughout Daggerdale's underbelly?, puzzled the Incantatar. He could not wait to get back to Shadow's Edge where at least the worst he would face would be bandits and the occasional corrupt official.
A sinking feeling just hit him ... he hoped that the other Lords had not passed through this same area. With Sinwa out in the wilds of the Tesh and the other four nobles Mystra knows where, he muttered under his breath again at how foolish these separate paths were becoming.
Big, ulgy, tentacles, and it is slowing us down in getting Alton. Again the strand tried to sap some of the strength from him but Torel resisted the effects. Shaking the effects of the physicaly drain on his mental focus he added And it likes to sap something out of you, feels like my muscles go cold everytime it touches me.
Erut heard the snap of sticky tendrils strike the rock near him, and realized the creature was — for now — blind to him. He could strike easily, though he'd reveal himself to the beast.
He longed to pursue Alton, and cursed the luck that had lured the group into yet another ambush. But Torel seemed the worse for wear. Moving to the side of the fallen woodsman, Erut draws a small wand from his pouch and focuses on drawing positive energy from it, closing some of Torel's wounds. He grips the Druid's shoulders, lest the beast try to draw him closer again.
"We'll have you out of here yet," he whispers to Torel.
Bringing his strength to bear, Simon grabs the thin filament and pulls with all his might...to no avail. Apparently his exertions against the zombie left him weaker than he supposed.
Still clutching the wand, Simon drops it to the ground with a clatter to redraw the two-handed blade he and his allies had come to count on.
Serina's movements brought her closer to the opposite wall - nice safe distance, she assumed. As the creature came into her sight, Cho racked his memories to see if it looked like something he knew. Running into difficult-to-kill tentacle monsters was starting to get repetitive; it would be nice if this one had a convenient weakness so that it could be slain quickly.
As Serina careened northwards, Morgan banked south as he flew perilously close above her head. As soon as he pulled up above-&-behind the sword-drawing Tormite, Morgan beheld a tall, stalagmite-shaped monstrosity. As it's cavernous mouth sucked hard at the air, a bellowing boulder-grating roar reverberated throughout the crypt.
The Incantatar's arcanic snap reflexes worked quicker than his own visual analysis of the beast. With uncanny dexterity, a whispering Morgan flicked a shard of mica at a flailing tentacles that snapped within inches of his face. A tremendous burst of silvery-white particles exploded right on top of the beast. If the group was expecting yet more sonic onslaught from the taciturn mage ... they didn't get it. The gitterdust executed amidst a sibilant tracing of sizzle as it coated all within its descending confines.
In his thick Calishite accent, Morgan fired verbal venom directly at the tentacled horror. "Release my friends and crawl back from whence you came, you wretched brute!"
As the shard of mica sailed from his outstretched hand, Morgan's perception caught up with his reflexes and he realized that he had just opened himself up to attack. The "tentacles" were actually the strands of a Roper, a powerful denizen of the deep with one of the longest grasps of any creature above or below the earth. The knowledge came a bit too late, however, as one of the strands lanced into his shoulder.
As the glittering dust fell upon the creature, outlining it in a shimmering curtain of golden specs, the creature's existing strands pulled powerfully upon all of those anchored to the creature. Erut feels the pressure through the druid, knowing he will either need to let loose his grip or move forward if he wishes to aid in Torel's next attempt at escape.
As those trapped by the creature struggle in its grip, Torel taking another vicious bite, the strands that are yet free wave and strike-- one penetrating the arm of Serina as she raises it to attack, another attacking the spot where Erut had stood, and the third rising into the center of the space between the group with an anticipatory tenseness.
Torel rips the strand off of him. and is torn between running after Alton and fighting the creature. looking at the mage support stepping up and Simon there to protect them Torel decides to go after Alton and succeeds in getting some distance away from the violent teeth of the Roper.
Morgan's right shoulder gently whips back as a gooey filament coils into him. It takes all of his intestinal fortitude to successfully fight off the tentacle's enervating drain.
As his wings beat furiously to avoid the beast's pull, he grimaces out what his eyes have now confirmed.
"Mystra's Bane! It's a Roper! We need fire - but don't loose magicks upon it!
These creatures were his old mentor's favorite effigy. A rather shoddily constructed one named Furley occupied the rakshasa's bedroom at night, keeping watch for assassins. It was that same bedroom where Morgan and his sister had their final showdown against the disguised fiend. ..... No ... he couldn't think about it any further. The pain, the loss ... was too great. And with his body being winched in closer to this roper's gaping maw, Morgan had more important things to think about.
Fire without direct magic, Serina could provide. She could provide a lot of it, and in a very quick and damaging delivery. She could fortunately provide enough grit to shrug off the roper's attack too - a mental note was made to thank Sinwa for that warding spell earlier.
Cho had recalled that the roper had an incredible reach, but this was a bit much. He'd been sure the distance had been more than anything could gap with its body alone. That single poised tentacle was what concerned Cho, however. There was no doubt the beast was waiting for something.
Yet another inconvenience in reclaiming his missing ally, the stony hide of the beast would not stop him from letting Torel and Erut continue their pursuit.
It was a bright Fall morning and he was playing outside with his dog and the leaves were as bright in his mind as the noonday sun. Suddenly a horn rings out - the horn that only the militia carry to warn of pending danger. That also meant every able bodied man was to collect arms and defend the town of Highmoon. I'm old enough to fight now! he said to his father. No, stay inside - protect your mother, that is far more important. And as good as he felt about being asked to protect his mother, it wasn't enough. After initial contact was made with the giant and his goblin horde, Alton snuck out through a side window with the bow and arrows he saved for 2 years to buy. He hurried to where the brave men of the Dale stood against the giant's squad of brigands. He hid in the alleys hoping to catch sight of his father - not that difficult a task, with his father's brightly colored shield - the same reds and golds of autumn leaves. And from the corner of his eye, he sees the colors of his father's shield flash as he charges a bugbear with his sword brandished. Swing! went the sword and the bugbear spews its blood in a geyser of red mist as it crumples to the ground.
Suddenly the ground starts to shake - its the giant! The giant bandit-lord pulls his giant spiked mace free from its sheath and slams it down onto the ground, knocking back and away men and goblin alike. Father is the first back on his feet and starts to look for cover - but didn't see the bludgeon coming from above. Father - or what's left of him - is impaled upon the head of the mace and leaves a bloody stain in the earth. It had to have been rage, for Alton runs out of the alley with his little bow and lets fly an arrow, the first time - but not the last - he fired against another sentient, all the while, screaming at the top of his lungs something incoherent. The other men started to get up and lead a coordinated attack against the giant. Not a stupid one, the bandit lord signals a retreat - while Alton watches his father's body as it slides off of the giant's mace.
Erut hears the sticky splwat
