“You sicken me.” Bruq bleats with a disgusted face and he spits in front of his feet. “To do such a thing is beyond cruel. It’s inhumane, but you are no man, of course. You are a beast, a spawn of an evil dragon that ran away from his master.”
Not impressed by the words of the satyr, Dargothoth looks back with an uninterested gaze, infuriating him even more.
“I don’t talk about how the smell of your fur sickens me, satyr, so why should you talk about what sickens you?”
Lyssa presses her hand firm on Bruq’s chest to stop him from dashing into combat. His eyes always betray his intentions.
“This is not what I had in mind when I asked you to tell us who signed that letter. Maybe you should refrain from sharing other information before I don’t want to hold him back anymore.”
The priest looks at her and somewhere deep down in his heart he thinks he feels something resembling sadness. Is it because she expresses her distaste as well? But when that thought crosses his mind, he reminds himself that he shouldn’t care about what these worms think of him.
“You should be the speaker”, he says to Lyssa, fully ignoring all the things they said to him. “If we need to draw a map of the place, I would rather have a pirate captain be the cartographer than anybody else from this gathering of oddities. Wouldn’t you agree?”
As easily as she became upset with him, her mood changes quickly, being rather flattered by his remark.
“Well, I guess that’s true”, she says and she holds her head up high. “Can you give me the rest of the stuff, Oslando?”
The half-elf hands it over and looks at her and the cleric. “By your logic it would mean Bruq, Mero and I will be the explorers. I guess two of us are good at tracking.”
He turns and looks at Mero. The puppet tilts his head to make eye contact with Oslando.
“I guess that means you don’t think I’m good at exploring and I won’t disagree. I did find my way out of a forest during a blizzard and navigated myself all the way to Crimson Gulch after that descendant of Thrones came to visit me, but I see where you’re coming from. If you go in there first, I’ll go in next after you think you’ve sprung too many traps.”
They both seem to agree with the plan and look at each other.
“Who wants to go first?” Lyssa smiles and she holds the quill in an elegant manner.
“So, before you start moving, you’ve got to tell me everything you see and feel, okay?” She repeats the instructions for the second time and Bruq nods understandingly. “Tell me when you turn, so I know which way you’re walking. If you don’t have any questions, we can start.”
He shakes his head and walks up to the door.
“Just stand on the tile in front of the door, right?”
Before he receives an answer, he is already teleported away. The last things he sees are the cyan blue sparkles that titillate his skin before everything turns completely black.
“Can you hear me, Bruq? Say something.” Most of them wait anxiously, not knowing if the letter they read spoke the truth or that Bruq is gone forever. Dargothoth doesn’t wonder. He just stands there and observes his surroundings, but he sees nothing special.
“Yes, loud and clear and with a lot of echoes. You want me to start telling what I see already?”
Her shoulders loosen a bit as she hears his voice and she looks at her hands.
“Give me a moment”, her words ring throughout the maze and she walks over to the chest. She kicks the lid, closing the chest, and lays down the map. She needs one hand to draw and the other to keep the paper from moving, so she puts the speaking stone on the chest, next to the map.
“Okay, I’m all set, Bruq. Tell me what you see.”
(Arcana 18)
“It is unnaturally dark in here. I recognize the chilling feeling of a spell that does this. Usually I can see pretty well in the dark, but now I can only see the tiles on the floor. Every square is outlined with a thin and bright red glow and in the distance I can see the crystal, I think. What do you want me to do now?”
She hovers with the quill above the paper, thinking quickly what strategy would prove most useful.
“I think the tiles are outlined so I know on which tile you are in the maze. So, walls should be right on top of the red light. Can you feel around to see if there are any walls?”
Her speech is very loud to Bruq, accompanied with a slight static noise in the background.
With his arms stretched out he feels around to prevent himself from running into walls. “I can feel the door behind me. Do you hear me knock on it?”
Lyssa looks at Oslando, who’s standing closest to the door closes his eyes for a second and holds up his index finger, bidding silence from his companions. He nods.
“Yes, we hear the knocking, so I can place you on the map.” She takes a piece of gold from her bag and places it on the map to represent the current explorer.
“In front of me is a wall and to my left there is one as well. I don’t feel anything to my right.”
She draws thin lines with the blue feather, not really requiring any cartographing skills at all.
“I’m going to move one tile to the right”, he says and a short silence follows. Lyssa holds her breath.
“So, the tile I was standing on is to my left now. I can feel the wall of the maze behind me, but there are no others walls around me. Where do you want me to go?”
She ponders the options. Although it looks like a simple board game from her perspective, she doesn’t want to play like Bruq is just a pawn, risking he’ll get hurt if she’s careless.
“I think it’s safer to walk close to the wall than to just enter the maze… I guess. So, walk to your right again.”
The same silence.
“Same wall behind me and a wall in front of me. You got that? Should I go right again?”
She moves the golden coin and continues drawing lines. “Yes, go ahead. You’re getting near the corner of the maze, just two tiles left. Look out that you don’t run into the wall.”
As he moves over to the next outlined square, his hand touches the smooth surface of an invisible barrier. If that would be the only thing, he would be safe. The light around the tile beam up towards the ceiling, trapping him as magic walls around him start to vibrate.
(DC 14 versus constitution 5)
“I think I have found one the the traps, guys”, Bruq says in panic as he punches his fists in vain against the redness around him. As the pointlessness of it all gets through to him, something else also goes through him: dozens of pale red needles pierce him and Bruq produces an agonizing scream. The needles pull back into the red barriers, their colour changed to the shade of Bruq’s blood. The barriers vanish together with the satyr.
donderdag 28 februari 2019
maandag 25 februari 2019
Chapter 2.23: The Enochian Tower
“These are your rules for my Way of Blood”, Oslando reads out loud. “There are three types of roles to divide amongst you. There will be one speaker. There will be one runner. All others will be explorers.” He scrapes his throat, removing the somewhat squeezed sound he is speaking with. “Explorers and runners are allowed to enter the Way of Blood by stepping on the enchanted tile in front of the closed door. Behind that door you’ll find a labyrinth of forty-five by forty-five feet with invisible walls, filled with traps that can’t be disabled and reset themselves quickly after they’ve sprung. The explorers walk through the maze and need to tell the speaker what they feel. Where are the walls? Where are the traps? As the speaker takes notes on what he is told, he can guide the explorers to parts of the maze he has no information of. Eventually, if the explorers don’t bleed to death, they will find a safe way to the object that makes this maze possible: the Enochian Crystal.”
He stops for a second to look up at Alexander and he stares back at him with a pleased smile. The other look less happy about it.
“When the speaker knows the exact way to the crystal without activating the traps, the runner will enter the maze. If the runner gets to the crystal unharmed, the magics of the room will be dispelled: the traps deactivate and the walls disappear. When an explorer or a runner activates a trap, he or she is teleported out of the maze and back in front of the door. Are you ready to sacrifice your own blood for this angelic prize? Enter my labyrinth and claim it. I’ll see you at the other side. Yours sincerely, Vanessa Dorgomonos.”
That last name startles the priest. “What did you say? Repeat that name.”
They all stare at him, not used to Dargothoth reacting so heavily to something. Even in his disguise he doesn’t appear human when it comes to emotions.
“It says 'Vanessa Dorgomonos'. Does that name ring any bells? Is that someone who is waiting for you in the crystal?”
Oslando looks at him. The cleric lets his head hang, staring endlessly as if the floor wasn’t there.
“It does ring a bell, indeed”, he says slowly, “but I don’t know if she is trapped in the gem. We shall see.”
He walks up next to the half-elf and quickly scans the rather short document. “Maybe it’s wise to divide the roles. Since my crystal is the only one left, I think I should be the runner. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt, do we?”
He looks at Lyssa, who is stilling getting used to this other appearance, although she has known as Alexander for most of the time.
(Persuasion 13) (Intimidation 17)
“Care to enlighten us?” Her voice quickly climbs up an octave.
“Well”, Dargothoth answers, “I think, just as with the prizes in your room, combined with the information we have about how only one of us can hear a voice every single time, some disaster will happen if, for example, you would pick up this crystal instead of me.”
She slowly shakes her head. “You know I’m not talking about you being the runner. What does that name mean to you? You obviously know it. There’s no point denying it or changing the subject.”
A confident smirk appears on his face. “Just like how you change the subject when the others want to discuss your drinking problem?” He doesn’t blink as he stares her in the eye condemningly.
“Please? Pretty please?” She quickly blinks her eyes to sway him, but he doesn’t give in. “Now, you listen closely, Dargothoth”, she speaks with a dourness in her voice and her whole demeanour changes. “We need to trust each other with this kind of information. Almost every time we got near one of these things, something from our past came back to haunt us. Except for Oslando, for some reason, but that’s not the point now. If you don’t start participating in a healthy way instead of being the toxicity that Hadriel suspects you are, I will charm you in very unpleasant ways and will make you spill the beans, all of them. We will know so much more than what you are hiding now and you’ll regret not cooperating. So, what’s it going to be?”
Finally, some signs of emotion appear on his face, although it wasn’t the one Lyssa was hoping for. He smiles, something that doesn’t promise anything good. It changes the whole trustworthy appearance of his human form in into something creepy.
“It pleases me to see how you and I don’t shy away from unethical means to achieve our goals.” His pearly white teeth change shape for just an instant, showing his true razor-like fangs before appearing normal again. “But I will tell you. In this form, you know me as Alexander, but the people of Mill’s Hollow knew this human only by this title. They called him father Dorgomonos. After a plague took away almost half the population of Mill’s Hollow, the only family that he had left before he died was his daughter, Vanessa.”
He points to the door with his silver sceptre. His face hides this desire to find out what awaits him.
“And if her soul is waiting in that room for her dad to come and save her… Well, I can’t imagine which wrath I will receive first; the one of the deity I took a high priest from or from the girl who saw her father die at my hands, disguised as her recently deceased mother.”
He stops for a second to look up at Alexander and he stares back at him with a pleased smile. The other look less happy about it.
“When the speaker knows the exact way to the crystal without activating the traps, the runner will enter the maze. If the runner gets to the crystal unharmed, the magics of the room will be dispelled: the traps deactivate and the walls disappear. When an explorer or a runner activates a trap, he or she is teleported out of the maze and back in front of the door. Are you ready to sacrifice your own blood for this angelic prize? Enter my labyrinth and claim it. I’ll see you at the other side. Yours sincerely, Vanessa Dorgomonos.”
That last name startles the priest. “What did you say? Repeat that name.”
They all stare at him, not used to Dargothoth reacting so heavily to something. Even in his disguise he doesn’t appear human when it comes to emotions.
“It says 'Vanessa Dorgomonos'. Does that name ring any bells? Is that someone who is waiting for you in the crystal?”
Oslando looks at him. The cleric lets his head hang, staring endlessly as if the floor wasn’t there.
“It does ring a bell, indeed”, he says slowly, “but I don’t know if she is trapped in the gem. We shall see.”
He walks up next to the half-elf and quickly scans the rather short document. “Maybe it’s wise to divide the roles. Since my crystal is the only one left, I think I should be the runner. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt, do we?”
He looks at Lyssa, who is stilling getting used to this other appearance, although she has known as Alexander for most of the time.
(Persuasion 13) (Intimidation 17)
“Care to enlighten us?” Her voice quickly climbs up an octave.
“Well”, Dargothoth answers, “I think, just as with the prizes in your room, combined with the information we have about how only one of us can hear a voice every single time, some disaster will happen if, for example, you would pick up this crystal instead of me.”
She slowly shakes her head. “You know I’m not talking about you being the runner. What does that name mean to you? You obviously know it. There’s no point denying it or changing the subject.”
A confident smirk appears on his face. “Just like how you change the subject when the others want to discuss your drinking problem?” He doesn’t blink as he stares her in the eye condemningly.
“Please? Pretty please?” She quickly blinks her eyes to sway him, but he doesn’t give in. “Now, you listen closely, Dargothoth”, she speaks with a dourness in her voice and her whole demeanour changes. “We need to trust each other with this kind of information. Almost every time we got near one of these things, something from our past came back to haunt us. Except for Oslando, for some reason, but that’s not the point now. If you don’t start participating in a healthy way instead of being the toxicity that Hadriel suspects you are, I will charm you in very unpleasant ways and will make you spill the beans, all of them. We will know so much more than what you are hiding now and you’ll regret not cooperating. So, what’s it going to be?”
Finally, some signs of emotion appear on his face, although it wasn’t the one Lyssa was hoping for. He smiles, something that doesn’t promise anything good. It changes the whole trustworthy appearance of his human form in into something creepy.
“It pleases me to see how you and I don’t shy away from unethical means to achieve our goals.” His pearly white teeth change shape for just an instant, showing his true razor-like fangs before appearing normal again. “But I will tell you. In this form, you know me as Alexander, but the people of Mill’s Hollow knew this human only by this title. They called him father Dorgomonos. After a plague took away almost half the population of Mill’s Hollow, the only family that he had left before he died was his daughter, Vanessa.”
He points to the door with his silver sceptre. His face hides this desire to find out what awaits him.
“And if her soul is waiting in that room for her dad to come and save her… Well, I can’t imagine which wrath I will receive first; the one of the deity I took a high priest from or from the girl who saw her father die at my hands, disguised as her recently deceased mother.”
donderdag 21 februari 2019
Chapter 2.22: The Enochian Tower
Lyssa’s song almost gave way for them to discuss her drinking behavior, but she almost immediately changed the topic of the conversation.
“I only have drinking problems when I can’t drink”, she said laughing, masking any truths her companions spoke to her. “I hate to admit it”, she continues, changing the subject quickly, “but I’m quite curious what the Way of Blood holds for us. I can’t really imagine it’s something positive. I guess it won’t mean we’ll regain the blood lost in the past battles. If it does mean that, well, I’m glad we saved it for last.”
(Intelligence 7) (History 20) (Intimidation 8)
Mero pulls the white robes of Alexander, gaining his attention. He slowly turns his head and looks down, raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner. “Why is it that you can shapeshift? You’re no druid, no transmuter, you’re a cleric. Also, you’re a dragonborn, not a changeling or shifter. I don’t understand.”
Dargothoth sighs and closes his eyes for a second.
“That’s because he’s a sivak”, Oslando says, making them turn around to see his serious face. “The sivak dragonborn were created by the evil dragons to serve as their soldiers. Coming from a slightly more pure bloodline than the regular dragonborn, they have additional powers, like shapeshifting, but he only gets to shapeshift into someone if he has killed that person before, which means we are basically looking at someone who has died long ago.”
The priest squints his eyes, displeased with the information the half-elf is providing, but it doesn’t stop Oslando. If anything, it pushes him to share more of his knowledge.
“Like most dragons, magic can’t put them to sleep and they have some kind of magic resistance, although I haven’t really noticed it in our past encounters. Why is that? Is it because you don’t serve an evil dragon god? No Garyx? No Tiamat? The sivak dragonmen, in contrast to their fellow draconians, are one of the few who remained the capability of flight, making them the perfect scouts, but, somehow, this one got away.”
The priest walks towards him, his eyes and voice turning back to their original nature.
“You forgot a couple of details”, he hisses from deep within his throat. “For example, we don’t require a lot of food, but we are always hungry. Right now, I could really eat something that isn’t a fucking purple berry. Something mixed, like a half-breed.”
The half-elf looks back at him, dead straight in the eyes, not moved by his threat.
“Too bad I am not a child.” Oslando steps to the side and walks past him, through the waving surface of the mirror and into the Way of Blood.
“Sorry”, Mero says, “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was just curious.”
The priest shakes his head slowly. “Well”, he hisses, softer than before, “now you know.”
Dargothoth and Mero follow Oslando through the portal, but Lyssa and Bruq still remain in the main room.
“Well, that was intense”, the satyr says. “I could almost taste the tension in the air.”
Lyssa nods. “He was right about one thing, though”, she whispers, not knowing if they can hear her through the glass. “I could really use some proper food instead of these transformed mistletoe kernels.”
“No you don’t”, he responds. “You should be grateful that I give you these. Doesn’t wine come from these type of fruits? It’s almost solid alcohol and you’re complaining about them?”
She looks absolutely flabbergasted. “You are totally right”, she stammers and is silent for two seconds. “Can I have another one?”
The Way of Blood. The room is dimly lit. A couple of torches hang on the wall and a faint blueish light glows at the end of the fifty feet corridor. From where they stand, they can just see the door all the way in the back. They are in the area before the hallway, a small and claustrophobia-inducing space they can barely fit in all together. The only thing noteworthy, ignoring the mold on the dungeony walls, is the chest in the corner, covered in dust.
(DC 11 versus strength 3)
“I claim the treasure”, Lyssa exclaims, her voice echoing throughout the entire corridor, and she pops open the lid. An eerie crackling noise sounds behind her. The others see how a glowing sigil appears on the wall. It lights up the entire room with a purple glow as the noise grows louder and louder. The siren turns around and she’s pulled harshly towards the walking, crashing into it with speed. A thin bolt of lightning, coloured by a mixture of white and a deep magenta tone, shocks her body. She falls down on all fours and coughs.
“Dear gods, are you alright, Lyssa?” Bruq rushes to her and gets on his knees. He reaches his hand to her and, after she has shaken her head fiercely to numb the pain, she grabs it.
“Well, shiver me bloody timbers”, she swears and gets up. “You guys owe me for taking the blow. The treasure is mine!”
Oslando shakes his head. “You should’ve been more cautious. You can’t just run to every treasure or shining object to still your obsession with riches. I thought you learned from the last time you were near a chest. You know, when a mimic almost bit of your hand. I’m not going to buy the hook to replace your hand next time you do something stupid.”
She pouts and looks at him with puppy eyes. “I’m in pain, Oslando, can you give me a break, please? I know you’re right, just calm down.”
He walks over to the chest. “I am calm”, he says softly. “I don’t want you to get hurt, especially when we can prevent it so easily.”
He goes through the few things the chest contains and shows them to Lyssa. She observes the items and is rather disappointed. A piece of paper with a big square drawn upon it, a blue quill, a grey stone with a blue symbol on it and rolled up piece of parchment, sealed by red wax with a celestial symbol on it.
“Well, at least this one sparkles a bit”, she says as she takes the small rock. While she ogles at it, Oslando breaks the seal and scans through the piece of parchment.
“What does it say?” Bruq awaits the half-elf’s response and sees how Oslando’s eyes shiftly move from left to right.
“There are rules and instructions on it and they’re supposed to help us get through a deadly maze.”
“I only have drinking problems when I can’t drink”, she said laughing, masking any truths her companions spoke to her. “I hate to admit it”, she continues, changing the subject quickly, “but I’m quite curious what the Way of Blood holds for us. I can’t really imagine it’s something positive. I guess it won’t mean we’ll regain the blood lost in the past battles. If it does mean that, well, I’m glad we saved it for last.”
(Intelligence 7) (History 20) (Intimidation 8)
Mero pulls the white robes of Alexander, gaining his attention. He slowly turns his head and looks down, raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner. “Why is it that you can shapeshift? You’re no druid, no transmuter, you’re a cleric. Also, you’re a dragonborn, not a changeling or shifter. I don’t understand.”
Dargothoth sighs and closes his eyes for a second.
“That’s because he’s a sivak”, Oslando says, making them turn around to see his serious face. “The sivak dragonborn were created by the evil dragons to serve as their soldiers. Coming from a slightly more pure bloodline than the regular dragonborn, they have additional powers, like shapeshifting, but he only gets to shapeshift into someone if he has killed that person before, which means we are basically looking at someone who has died long ago.”
The priest squints his eyes, displeased with the information the half-elf is providing, but it doesn’t stop Oslando. If anything, it pushes him to share more of his knowledge.
“Like most dragons, magic can’t put them to sleep and they have some kind of magic resistance, although I haven’t really noticed it in our past encounters. Why is that? Is it because you don’t serve an evil dragon god? No Garyx? No Tiamat? The sivak dragonmen, in contrast to their fellow draconians, are one of the few who remained the capability of flight, making them the perfect scouts, but, somehow, this one got away.”
The priest walks towards him, his eyes and voice turning back to their original nature.
“You forgot a couple of details”, he hisses from deep within his throat. “For example, we don’t require a lot of food, but we are always hungry. Right now, I could really eat something that isn’t a fucking purple berry. Something mixed, like a half-breed.”
The half-elf looks back at him, dead straight in the eyes, not moved by his threat.
“Too bad I am not a child.” Oslando steps to the side and walks past him, through the waving surface of the mirror and into the Way of Blood.
“Sorry”, Mero says, “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was just curious.”
The priest shakes his head slowly. “Well”, he hisses, softer than before, “now you know.”
Dargothoth and Mero follow Oslando through the portal, but Lyssa and Bruq still remain in the main room.
“Well, that was intense”, the satyr says. “I could almost taste the tension in the air.”
Lyssa nods. “He was right about one thing, though”, she whispers, not knowing if they can hear her through the glass. “I could really use some proper food instead of these transformed mistletoe kernels.”
“No you don’t”, he responds. “You should be grateful that I give you these. Doesn’t wine come from these type of fruits? It’s almost solid alcohol and you’re complaining about them?”
She looks absolutely flabbergasted. “You are totally right”, she stammers and is silent for two seconds. “Can I have another one?”
The Way of Blood. The room is dimly lit. A couple of torches hang on the wall and a faint blueish light glows at the end of the fifty feet corridor. From where they stand, they can just see the door all the way in the back. They are in the area before the hallway, a small and claustrophobia-inducing space they can barely fit in all together. The only thing noteworthy, ignoring the mold on the dungeony walls, is the chest in the corner, covered in dust.
(DC 11 versus strength 3)
“I claim the treasure”, Lyssa exclaims, her voice echoing throughout the entire corridor, and she pops open the lid. An eerie crackling noise sounds behind her. The others see how a glowing sigil appears on the wall. It lights up the entire room with a purple glow as the noise grows louder and louder. The siren turns around and she’s pulled harshly towards the walking, crashing into it with speed. A thin bolt of lightning, coloured by a mixture of white and a deep magenta tone, shocks her body. She falls down on all fours and coughs.
“Dear gods, are you alright, Lyssa?” Bruq rushes to her and gets on his knees. He reaches his hand to her and, after she has shaken her head fiercely to numb the pain, she grabs it.
“Well, shiver me bloody timbers”, she swears and gets up. “You guys owe me for taking the blow. The treasure is mine!”
Oslando shakes his head. “You should’ve been more cautious. You can’t just run to every treasure or shining object to still your obsession with riches. I thought you learned from the last time you were near a chest. You know, when a mimic almost bit of your hand. I’m not going to buy the hook to replace your hand next time you do something stupid.”
She pouts and looks at him with puppy eyes. “I’m in pain, Oslando, can you give me a break, please? I know you’re right, just calm down.”
He walks over to the chest. “I am calm”, he says softly. “I don’t want you to get hurt, especially when we can prevent it so easily.”
He goes through the few things the chest contains and shows them to Lyssa. She observes the items and is rather disappointed. A piece of paper with a big square drawn upon it, a blue quill, a grey stone with a blue symbol on it and rolled up piece of parchment, sealed by red wax with a celestial symbol on it.
“Well, at least this one sparkles a bit”, she says as she takes the small rock. While she ogles at it, Oslando breaks the seal and scans through the piece of parchment.
“What does it say?” Bruq awaits the half-elf’s response and sees how Oslando’s eyes shiftly move from left to right.
“There are rules and instructions on it and they’re supposed to help us get through a deadly maze.”
maandag 18 februari 2019
Chapter 2.21: The Enochian Tower
“The watchful eye of Phylakleps”, the new owner of the strange jar reads out loud. “Born From Stone, Warden of the Titanspawn.”
Bruq flips the tag hanging from the sealed lid over, but there’s no other information. The dark red colour of the ink tingles the darkest corners of his imagination, but he doesn’t want to think about the gruesome details for now.
“We’ll find out what it does, eventually”, Mero says to him, while he keeps moving his head from left to right to see if the eye follows him, “but for now you can keep the jar closed. Good idea?” Bruq nods as he puts it in his backpack and pulls out a piece of mistletoe.
“I’ll make us some goodberries while we stay here to catch our breath. In the meanwhile, we can all dread what awaits us at the Way of Blood.” He chuckles and moves the attention to Dargothoth.
“What?” The priest sounds annoyed. “I don’t know what awaits us. I can’t think of anyone who would like to speak to me through one of these crystals.”
Lyssa sits against one of the pedestals. She looks up to Dargothoth and away from her accordion.
“No family, friends, former lovers, former enemies? Nobody who fears you or died by the hands of the intimidating child-eating dragon?”
He quickly walks up to her. “They don’t see the dragon coming”, he says as his appearance starts to change. His height reduces, his scales crawl back in this whitening skin, blond hairs sprout out of his skull like little worms. She stands up reflexively, cautiously waiting what is going to happen further. His alter ego, Alexander Dorgomonos, stops moving just in front of her, leaning forward so he can feel her vibrant breath on his human skin.
“They see me and they follow. They hear me and they obey. It’s that simple, just like all the vermin crossing my path. There is no one alive that feared Alexander, because my wrath always came before realization. I’m a priest of war, Lyssa, and a damned efficient one. Just like any other, a deity commands and I follow without questioning. Who am I to doubt the plan greater than all of us and who are these lowlifes to prevent me from executing it? Or them?”
He lays his left hand on her back and presses the other against her chest, right where her heart is. Oslando draws his sword, just as Bruq jumps up to prepare himself for combat.
“But even the most cruel gods see when violence isn’t the answer.” A healing blue glow emanates from both his palms and Lyssa's heart beats faster by the second. She closes her eyes and lets her head fall back.
“That hits the spot”, she sighs. “I forgot how good it feels if I don’t have to do it myself. I can feel the tingling in…” She stops as the shapeshifter pulls his hands back. “Sorry”, she says and she coughs, her cheeks covered with a healthy red blush. “I really needed that. Thanks.”
She hugs him, pressing her entire body against him. “You are quite huggable when you lose your scales.” He frees himself of her grasp and creates a proper distance between them.
“You’re welcome.”
“I guess we both celebrate our victories in our own way”, Bruq says to the female captain sitting beside him. “I take a trinket to remind me of it, while you write and sing a song.” She smiles and nods.
“I guess that is true. The words always came to me, as if the salty breeze of the sea planted every cord in my head. I think every siren has that, but I don’t know many other sirens.”
They all sit in a circle, the center being a small campfire. They don’t need the warmth per se, but some of them do need camaraderie it created.
“Can you sing something for us?” Mero sounds excited. “If it’s not too much to ask for. I just think you have a very pretty voice.”
She looks at the others. She can’t make eye contact with the still shapeshifted priest, back turned towards her, but Oslando looks back at her, shrugging his shoulder.
“I have no objections”, he speaks stoically. “Just don’t do to us what you did to the shaman. Or the ogre… Or that demon back in the church. Just don’t enchant us, please.”
She winks at him with a teasing smile.
“I’ll try not to.”
Bruq quickly takes something out of his bag.
“Any objections if I join in with the music?” He holds up his wooden pan flute and shakes it in the air.
“If you don’t play out of tune, it’s okay. I’ll play my accordion and you can follow my lead.”
“I raise to you my parting glass, to bid you all farewell.
A toast to all my pirate friends. I’ll see you all in hell.
Our journeys have brought us nectars sweet in chalices of gold.
It brought us joy around the fire and stories to be told.
All hands ahoy, me scallywags, and sit down on your ass
for I have seen the black spot, mates, at the bottom of my glass.
Keep sailing ship and mopping deck and pillage every town.
Wrap me up in the blackest sail and let my body drown.
I wholly belong to mamma sea, on her bottom I will rest.
With an eye patch, a wooden leg and a bottle against my chest.
Mourn me not, don’t shed a tear, in the waves I’ll stay around
to guide me Shy Maiden dear, until save land for you is found.
But my glass is nearing saddened drought, the rest is yours to keep.
I’ll enjoy the next in another life, after the salts of the ocean deep.
But the last sips are bitter, friends, ‘cause I don’t want to go.
Salute your captain one final time, give me your loudest “yo ho”!
I’ll see you on the other side, as captain of the dead.
Sound the cannons and raise my flag, after my final wine of red.”
Bruq flips the tag hanging from the sealed lid over, but there’s no other information. The dark red colour of the ink tingles the darkest corners of his imagination, but he doesn’t want to think about the gruesome details for now.
“We’ll find out what it does, eventually”, Mero says to him, while he keeps moving his head from left to right to see if the eye follows him, “but for now you can keep the jar closed. Good idea?” Bruq nods as he puts it in his backpack and pulls out a piece of mistletoe.
“I’ll make us some goodberries while we stay here to catch our breath. In the meanwhile, we can all dread what awaits us at the Way of Blood.” He chuckles and moves the attention to Dargothoth.
“What?” The priest sounds annoyed. “I don’t know what awaits us. I can’t think of anyone who would like to speak to me through one of these crystals.”
Lyssa sits against one of the pedestals. She looks up to Dargothoth and away from her accordion.
“No family, friends, former lovers, former enemies? Nobody who fears you or died by the hands of the intimidating child-eating dragon?”
He quickly walks up to her. “They don’t see the dragon coming”, he says as his appearance starts to change. His height reduces, his scales crawl back in this whitening skin, blond hairs sprout out of his skull like little worms. She stands up reflexively, cautiously waiting what is going to happen further. His alter ego, Alexander Dorgomonos, stops moving just in front of her, leaning forward so he can feel her vibrant breath on his human skin.
“They see me and they follow. They hear me and they obey. It’s that simple, just like all the vermin crossing my path. There is no one alive that feared Alexander, because my wrath always came before realization. I’m a priest of war, Lyssa, and a damned efficient one. Just like any other, a deity commands and I follow without questioning. Who am I to doubt the plan greater than all of us and who are these lowlifes to prevent me from executing it? Or them?”
He lays his left hand on her back and presses the other against her chest, right where her heart is. Oslando draws his sword, just as Bruq jumps up to prepare himself for combat.
“But even the most cruel gods see when violence isn’t the answer.” A healing blue glow emanates from both his palms and Lyssa's heart beats faster by the second. She closes her eyes and lets her head fall back.
“That hits the spot”, she sighs. “I forgot how good it feels if I don’t have to do it myself. I can feel the tingling in…” She stops as the shapeshifter pulls his hands back. “Sorry”, she says and she coughs, her cheeks covered with a healthy red blush. “I really needed that. Thanks.”
She hugs him, pressing her entire body against him. “You are quite huggable when you lose your scales.” He frees himself of her grasp and creates a proper distance between them.
“You’re welcome.”
“I guess we both celebrate our victories in our own way”, Bruq says to the female captain sitting beside him. “I take a trinket to remind me of it, while you write and sing a song.” She smiles and nods.
“I guess that is true. The words always came to me, as if the salty breeze of the sea planted every cord in my head. I think every siren has that, but I don’t know many other sirens.”
They all sit in a circle, the center being a small campfire. They don’t need the warmth per se, but some of them do need camaraderie it created.
“Can you sing something for us?” Mero sounds excited. “If it’s not too much to ask for. I just think you have a very pretty voice.”
She looks at the others. She can’t make eye contact with the still shapeshifted priest, back turned towards her, but Oslando looks back at her, shrugging his shoulder.
“I have no objections”, he speaks stoically. “Just don’t do to us what you did to the shaman. Or the ogre… Or that demon back in the church. Just don’t enchant us, please.”
She winks at him with a teasing smile.
“I’ll try not to.”
Bruq quickly takes something out of his bag.
“Any objections if I join in with the music?” He holds up his wooden pan flute and shakes it in the air.
“If you don’t play out of tune, it’s okay. I’ll play my accordion and you can follow my lead.”
“I raise to you my parting glass, to bid you all farewell.
A toast to all my pirate friends. I’ll see you all in hell.
Our journeys have brought us nectars sweet in chalices of gold.
It brought us joy around the fire and stories to be told.
All hands ahoy, me scallywags, and sit down on your ass
for I have seen the black spot, mates, at the bottom of my glass.
Keep sailing ship and mopping deck and pillage every town.
Wrap me up in the blackest sail and let my body drown.
I wholly belong to mamma sea, on her bottom I will rest.
With an eye patch, a wooden leg and a bottle against my chest.
Mourn me not, don’t shed a tear, in the waves I’ll stay around
to guide me Shy Maiden dear, until save land for you is found.
But my glass is nearing saddened drought, the rest is yours to keep.
I’ll enjoy the next in another life, after the salts of the ocean deep.
But the last sips are bitter, friends, ‘cause I don’t want to go.
Salute your captain one final time, give me your loudest “yo ho”!
I’ll see you on the other side, as captain of the dead.
Sound the cannons and raise my flag, after my final wine of red.”
donderdag 14 februari 2019
Chapter 2.20: The Enochian Tower
“Well, let’s see if this works.” Bruq stands impatiently in front of the silver wall, searching the text above a hook that reads Way of Treasure.
“But what treasure?” He thinks about what kind of treasure would suit him. “A different glaive? Arrows? Probably a trinket.” As Oslando and Dargothoth hang up the Enochian Mirror, he hopes entering one of the Ways isn’t only for once. He is visibly relieved when the glass surface ripples, creating a doorway with a slurping, metallic sound.
“Friends”, Mero says somewhat cheerful, “do you think Hadriel will grow impatient if we take another rest? Not only for myself, but also for Oslando. That creature nearly took us all down with one spell. I mean, look at us.” He walks up to Bruq and points at his face. “He’s bleeding out of his nose and his eyes are all watery. We all need to rest.” It sounds very reasonable.
“You keep surprising me, small one”, Dargothoth hisses with a deep draconic voice. “You are wise from time to time…”
“Thank you.”
“But most of the time you speak like a child. Curious.”
Mero’s mask shows he doesn’t really know how to react. He doesn’t know whether this is still a compliment or an insult.
“Hadriel won’t get what he wants if we die”, Oslando says loudly, still brushing off the black soot on his armor. The metal has lost its shining glamour of when it was new. It is damaged all over and has seen many battles, but the amount it has seen in these last encounters is substantially more than it is used to. It shows.
“Celestial beings are immortal, aren't they. What is one or two extra days of waiting on a life that goes on eternally?” They all agree with Oslando.
“Let’s not wear ourselves down more than we have to”, Lyssa says with a smile and she looks at all of them, her gaze eventually resting on her goat-like companion. “What’s the matter?”
His hoof keeps tapping impatiently on the stone floor. “I want my treasure! Can we go already?”
“I don’t really know what it does, but if I’m honest, I don’t really care.” They all look at the right pedestal. A quiver made of green metal floats above it, slowly rotating clockwise to show off its shiny flawlessness.
“I could buy one similar. I don’t want this exact one, per se. But this…”
Bruq walks over to the other marble podium and he observes the curious object with his mouth open, struck with wonder.
(Investigation 18)
Within the glass jar, filled with a clear yellow liquid, floats a black eye with a long and slit-shaped pupil. The pupil glows with a deep and intense orange light. The eye is around six inches in diameter and it follows Bruq as he walks around to take it in completely.
“According to the size, I believe it is the eye of a cyclops. It doesn’t look like it belonged to a regular one, though. I’ve seen cyclopes before, but none of their eyes had a colouring like this. It must have magical properties, I don’t doubt that, but I don’t know what.” As the eyeball turns around in the syrupy fluid, the others observe the dark pink tissue connected to its backside.
“It looks alive”, Mero says, fascinated, “and even without its host, it remains functional. It must be magical.”
“But do you have a practical use for it?” Oslando's question makes Bruq stand up from his crouched position. “You have that miscellany, that collection of trivialities. What are you going to do with it?”
The raised eyebrows of the half-elf displease the satyr, even though the half-elf is just teasing him a little. “I have these things to remind me of former losses and victories”, he says in a serious tone, not blinking as he stares him straight in the eyes. “I don’t need - how many do you have now - five blades to still be standing at the end of a fight.”
Oslando becomes agitated.
“Well, maybe you wouldn’t need memorabilia of your losses if you had the quiver to enchant your arrows or whatever it does.”
The satyr walks up to him and pushes his index finger on his chest.
“Don’t you talk to me about losses, half-elf. You haven’t done me wrong and I respect you, but the ice is thinning and I don’t like to swim.”
Oslando doesn’t know what to say.
“I take these things as trophies”, Bruq continues, “I always do. It’s a hobby and if that makes me a hoarder, I really don’t give a ghoul’s ass.”
Bruq walks back to the pedestal and grabs the jar with the eye inside.
“Well”, Oslando says with a haughty tone, one that would be more fitting for a high elf, “why didn’t you take something of the shaman then? Or wasn’t that a victory?”
He turns around and stares at him again, eyes wide spread and curse words rolling off his tongue.
(Dexterity 6) (Nature 18)
“Catch”.
Still struck by the last remark, Bruq tries to catch whatever is thrown at him, but reacts way too late. The object bumps into his chest and falls on the ground. It looks peculiar. A small bird’s skull is bound with a thin rope to a piece of broken antler. It’s around 4 inches long and engraved wooden beads hang from across the twine.
“A shaman’s totem”, he says to himself as he picks it up. “You took it, because I forgot to take it?”
Oslando nods.
“It probably has some use or magical properties which we can figure out later, but for now you can use it as your trophy. You seem like the one who doesn’t lose his stuff. In your own words, you are a hoarder.”
Bruq smiles faintly, his emotions all over the place since he found the crystal.
“Thanks. I’ll keep it safe.” His friend walks past him and taps him twice on the shoulder as he passes by.
“I know you will.”
“But what treasure?” He thinks about what kind of treasure would suit him. “A different glaive? Arrows? Probably a trinket.” As Oslando and Dargothoth hang up the Enochian Mirror, he hopes entering one of the Ways isn’t only for once. He is visibly relieved when the glass surface ripples, creating a doorway with a slurping, metallic sound.
“Friends”, Mero says somewhat cheerful, “do you think Hadriel will grow impatient if we take another rest? Not only for myself, but also for Oslando. That creature nearly took us all down with one spell. I mean, look at us.” He walks up to Bruq and points at his face. “He’s bleeding out of his nose and his eyes are all watery. We all need to rest.” It sounds very reasonable.
“You keep surprising me, small one”, Dargothoth hisses with a deep draconic voice. “You are wise from time to time…”
“Thank you.”
“But most of the time you speak like a child. Curious.”
Mero’s mask shows he doesn’t really know how to react. He doesn’t know whether this is still a compliment or an insult.
“Hadriel won’t get what he wants if we die”, Oslando says loudly, still brushing off the black soot on his armor. The metal has lost its shining glamour of when it was new. It is damaged all over and has seen many battles, but the amount it has seen in these last encounters is substantially more than it is used to. It shows.
“Celestial beings are immortal, aren't they. What is one or two extra days of waiting on a life that goes on eternally?” They all agree with Oslando.
“Let’s not wear ourselves down more than we have to”, Lyssa says with a smile and she looks at all of them, her gaze eventually resting on her goat-like companion. “What’s the matter?”
His hoof keeps tapping impatiently on the stone floor. “I want my treasure! Can we go already?”
“I don’t really know what it does, but if I’m honest, I don’t really care.” They all look at the right pedestal. A quiver made of green metal floats above it, slowly rotating clockwise to show off its shiny flawlessness.
“I could buy one similar. I don’t want this exact one, per se. But this…”
Bruq walks over to the other marble podium and he observes the curious object with his mouth open, struck with wonder.
(Investigation 18)
Within the glass jar, filled with a clear yellow liquid, floats a black eye with a long and slit-shaped pupil. The pupil glows with a deep and intense orange light. The eye is around six inches in diameter and it follows Bruq as he walks around to take it in completely.
“According to the size, I believe it is the eye of a cyclops. It doesn’t look like it belonged to a regular one, though. I’ve seen cyclopes before, but none of their eyes had a colouring like this. It must have magical properties, I don’t doubt that, but I don’t know what.” As the eyeball turns around in the syrupy fluid, the others observe the dark pink tissue connected to its backside.
“It looks alive”, Mero says, fascinated, “and even without its host, it remains functional. It must be magical.”
“But do you have a practical use for it?” Oslando's question makes Bruq stand up from his crouched position. “You have that miscellany, that collection of trivialities. What are you going to do with it?”
The raised eyebrows of the half-elf displease the satyr, even though the half-elf is just teasing him a little. “I have these things to remind me of former losses and victories”, he says in a serious tone, not blinking as he stares him straight in the eyes. “I don’t need - how many do you have now - five blades to still be standing at the end of a fight.”
Oslando becomes agitated.
“Well, maybe you wouldn’t need memorabilia of your losses if you had the quiver to enchant your arrows or whatever it does.”
The satyr walks up to him and pushes his index finger on his chest.
“Don’t you talk to me about losses, half-elf. You haven’t done me wrong and I respect you, but the ice is thinning and I don’t like to swim.”
Oslando doesn’t know what to say.
“I take these things as trophies”, Bruq continues, “I always do. It’s a hobby and if that makes me a hoarder, I really don’t give a ghoul’s ass.”
Bruq walks back to the pedestal and grabs the jar with the eye inside.
“Well”, Oslando says with a haughty tone, one that would be more fitting for a high elf, “why didn’t you take something of the shaman then? Or wasn’t that a victory?”
He turns around and stares at him again, eyes wide spread and curse words rolling off his tongue.
(Dexterity 6) (Nature 18)
“Catch”.
Still struck by the last remark, Bruq tries to catch whatever is thrown at him, but reacts way too late. The object bumps into his chest and falls on the ground. It looks peculiar. A small bird’s skull is bound with a thin rope to a piece of broken antler. It’s around 4 inches long and engraved wooden beads hang from across the twine.
“A shaman’s totem”, he says to himself as he picks it up. “You took it, because I forgot to take it?”
Oslando nods.
“It probably has some use or magical properties which we can figure out later, but for now you can use it as your trophy. You seem like the one who doesn’t lose his stuff. In your own words, you are a hoarder.”
Bruq smiles faintly, his emotions all over the place since he found the crystal.
“Thanks. I’ll keep it safe.” His friend walks past him and taps him twice on the shoulder as he passes by.
“I know you will.”
maandag 11 februari 2019
Chapter 2.19: The Enochian Tower
(7 versus AC) (14 versus AC) (15 versus AC)
Although only one of his zombie minions remains, the gnoll shaman seems very confident. He marches forward, stomping his quarterstaff on the ground. The gnoll skull on top of it shakes with every step. He looks at the heroes with his eyes wide open. Lyssa attacks. He sees the red bullet coming from a mile away and evades it with ease. It crashes into a tree behind him.
Easily distracted as these hyena-like demons are, the shaman looks at the flames for too long. The puppet and satyr fire away, simultaneously hitting their foe with an arrow and a bolt of orangy fire.
(Natural 1 versus AC) (18 versus AC) (18 versus AC) (Spell save DC 13 versus dexterity 12)
Oslando can’t help himself but look at the shaman while trying to fight the witherling. Both swings with his blades miss his target completely. He makes himself an easy prey for the undead gnoll. A quick jab with the spiked spear pierces through a weak spot in his armor, but - luckily for Oslando - only wounds him superficially.
Dargothoth, seeing the debacle happening, switches his focus from the shaman to the witherling, casting down a white radiance. It burns the foe’s few fleshy parts, engulfs him in fire and kills him.
The white gnoll has a big frown across his forehead. He is displeased. As soon as he is close enough to the half-elf, his guttural speech fills the air. He puts his free hand forward and spreads his fingers. Multiple red beams of fire shoots from his fingertips to Oslando. The flames are like hungry, blood-coloured snakes closing in on their prey, but instead of eating the brave fighter, they envelop him in magical fire.
(16 versus AC) (natural 20 versus AC)
He cries out in pain as he runs towards the laughing monster, who is still trying to set his hair and skin ablaze.
“You’ll pay for this”, he shouts, jaws clenched so his tongue isn’t exposed to the flames. Traversing the scorching heat, Oslando stops the shaman by chopping off the hand casting the spell and jamming his smaller blade in his armpit.
The half-elf breathes heavily. He is just inches away from the howling face sees the foam of his frenzied state dripping from his mouth. Both of their eyes are filled with anger. Neither has much power left in their worn-down bodies.
“Oslando, get on your knees”, Lyssa shouts and she closes one eye as she aims her blunderbuss. She holds her breath and it almost feels like time slows down. The half-elf drops to his knees, while she gets a clear sight on what she wants to hit. She pulls the trigger and one heartbeat later the bullet buries itself in the gnoll’s skull.
Oslando looks up, seeing the absent stare in the shaman’s eyes. His lower jaw hangs down toneless. Directly after impact, her new type of bullet explodes. His skull is blown to smithereens, covering the crouched down half-elf with blood and pieces of fur, skin and other undefinable body parts.
“Ha”, Bruq says mockingly as he lowers his bow, “you almost look like a witherling yourself.”
“Thanks for saving me once again”, the childish voice speaks in the mind of the satyr. While the others tend to each other’s wounds, he picks up the gem and looks at it with sadness in his eyes.
“No, Elaith, I didn’t save you. If you are in this crystal… I’ve failed your family.” He doesn't let his allies hear his broken voice.
“I am at peace”, the elven boy speaks and a reassuring glow emits out of the Enochian gemstone, apparently a prison for the soul of the recently deceased.
Bruq fights back the tears, while the lump in his throat prevents him from speaking words of comfort.
“There is no need to be sad. You did everything you could. It was impossible to stay around forever and protect everyone in the Echoing Grove. That is not your task. It never was, but you always took it upon yourself. You need to let this go, before it consumes you.”
There couldn’t be a bigger contrast between the adult wisdom of his words and the prepubescent voice he speaks with.
“You were family, Elaith. I… I don’t want to lose any more family.” The burning sensation in his eyes produces a single tear that runs down his hairy cheek.
“No, you haven’t lost me. I will become one with the shadow of the forest as soon as I am released from this stone. The shadows will follow you everywhere, Bruq. Don’t let me live on in grief when there was so much to be grateful of. You are my hero, the hero of the Echoing Grove.”
And the light dies. It becomes painfully silent in his mind. He puts the crystal away and grabs his chain. He rubs his thumb shortly over the wooden soldier, scaling off the paint even further. He takes it off the cordon with a decisive tug. With another tear he lays the toy to rest against the tree and walks back to the others.
Although only one of his zombie minions remains, the gnoll shaman seems very confident. He marches forward, stomping his quarterstaff on the ground. The gnoll skull on top of it shakes with every step. He looks at the heroes with his eyes wide open. Lyssa attacks. He sees the red bullet coming from a mile away and evades it with ease. It crashes into a tree behind him.
Easily distracted as these hyena-like demons are, the shaman looks at the flames for too long. The puppet and satyr fire away, simultaneously hitting their foe with an arrow and a bolt of orangy fire.
(Natural 1 versus AC) (18 versus AC) (18 versus AC) (Spell save DC 13 versus dexterity 12)
Oslando can’t help himself but look at the shaman while trying to fight the witherling. Both swings with his blades miss his target completely. He makes himself an easy prey for the undead gnoll. A quick jab with the spiked spear pierces through a weak spot in his armor, but - luckily for Oslando - only wounds him superficially.
Dargothoth, seeing the debacle happening, switches his focus from the shaman to the witherling, casting down a white radiance. It burns the foe’s few fleshy parts, engulfs him in fire and kills him.
The white gnoll has a big frown across his forehead. He is displeased. As soon as he is close enough to the half-elf, his guttural speech fills the air. He puts his free hand forward and spreads his fingers. Multiple red beams of fire shoots from his fingertips to Oslando. The flames are like hungry, blood-coloured snakes closing in on their prey, but instead of eating the brave fighter, they envelop him in magical fire.
(16 versus AC) (natural 20 versus AC)
He cries out in pain as he runs towards the laughing monster, who is still trying to set his hair and skin ablaze.
“You’ll pay for this”, he shouts, jaws clenched so his tongue isn’t exposed to the flames. Traversing the scorching heat, Oslando stops the shaman by chopping off the hand casting the spell and jamming his smaller blade in his armpit.
The half-elf breathes heavily. He is just inches away from the howling face sees the foam of his frenzied state dripping from his mouth. Both of their eyes are filled with anger. Neither has much power left in their worn-down bodies.
“Oslando, get on your knees”, Lyssa shouts and she closes one eye as she aims her blunderbuss. She holds her breath and it almost feels like time slows down. The half-elf drops to his knees, while she gets a clear sight on what she wants to hit. She pulls the trigger and one heartbeat later the bullet buries itself in the gnoll’s skull.
Oslando looks up, seeing the absent stare in the shaman’s eyes. His lower jaw hangs down toneless. Directly after impact, her new type of bullet explodes. His skull is blown to smithereens, covering the crouched down half-elf with blood and pieces of fur, skin and other undefinable body parts.
“Ha”, Bruq says mockingly as he lowers his bow, “you almost look like a witherling yourself.”
“Thanks for saving me once again”, the childish voice speaks in the mind of the satyr. While the others tend to each other’s wounds, he picks up the gem and looks at it with sadness in his eyes.
“No, Elaith, I didn’t save you. If you are in this crystal… I’ve failed your family.” He doesn't let his allies hear his broken voice.
“I am at peace”, the elven boy speaks and a reassuring glow emits out of the Enochian gemstone, apparently a prison for the soul of the recently deceased.
Bruq fights back the tears, while the lump in his throat prevents him from speaking words of comfort.
“There is no need to be sad. You did everything you could. It was impossible to stay around forever and protect everyone in the Echoing Grove. That is not your task. It never was, but you always took it upon yourself. You need to let this go, before it consumes you.”
There couldn’t be a bigger contrast between the adult wisdom of his words and the prepubescent voice he speaks with.
“You were family, Elaith. I… I don’t want to lose any more family.” The burning sensation in his eyes produces a single tear that runs down his hairy cheek.
“No, you haven’t lost me. I will become one with the shadow of the forest as soon as I am released from this stone. The shadows will follow you everywhere, Bruq. Don’t let me live on in grief when there was so much to be grateful of. You are my hero, the hero of the Echoing Grove.”
And the light dies. It becomes painfully silent in his mind. He puts the crystal away and grabs his chain. He rubs his thumb shortly over the wooden soldier, scaling off the paint even further. He takes it off the cordon with a decisive tug. With another tear he lays the toy to rest against the tree and walks back to the others.
donderdag 7 februari 2019
Chapter 2.18: The Enochian Tower
Their bones are sickly yellow, as if death stills tries to claim these creatures as his own. The few patches of fur on their hunched backs are losing their brown colour. Their hyena-like skulls rattle on their bodies, their muzzles wide open and their eye sockets filled with black smoke. Few strands of muscle fibers hang off their skeletal body, while most of their flesh was eaten by their hungry brethren. The long sticks they hold as weapons are spiked with sharp pieces of metal. They are creatures born out of the will of a mad, evil being and four of them are closing in on them.
(17 versus AC) (12 versus AC) (Spell save DC 13 versus dexterity 1) (24 versus AC)
“Take down the closest ones!” Oslando gives the command as he walks up to the monsters. He says it without fear. With his long black sword in his right hand and the wintery sword in his left hand, he observes the nearing enemies.
The blast of Lyssa’s gun sets one of the witherlings’ shoulder aflame. Her new bullets are effective.
“Awesome!” Oslando can hear her cheerful exclamation as Bruq’s arrow flies past him. It enters the decomposing chest of another reanimated gnoll.
“Keep going”, the half-elf shouts. “With his minions gone, he won’t stand a chance against us!” Before he can get to the two nearest foes, Dargothoth and Mero intervene. The sorcerer hurls a bolt of orange flames towards the left witherling and takes him down. His corpse slowly burns to ash by Lyssa’s and his own fiery attacks.
Dargothoth creates a bright white light above the fiend and shines down on him. He banishes the evil magic keeping him alive and the skeletal creature falls apart.
(Spell save DC 13 versus constitution 19, 7, 10 and 19)
Oslando looks past the two remaining skeletal creatures and sees how the gnoll shaman is coming their way. His white fur is speckled with black spots and red drops of blood. Boney jewelry hangs from his ears and around his neck. A torn red cloak waves as the wind crawls underneath it and he holds a wooden staff with a gnoll skull upon it in his hand. With his other hand he makes a fist and pushes it forwards, pointing at the killers of his minions. He roars, his hand trembling, and spreads his fingers.
A loud and deafening noise explodes between them, breaking off branches as the sound wave thunders from its point of origin. Lyssa presses her hands against her ears - Mero does the same without actual ears to cover - but Bruq and Dargothoth aren’t fast enough. The screeching sound echoes in their heads and they all cry out in agony. Although the ringing is only audible for a short amount of time, it does take its toll on them. The siren and the puppet seem reasonably fine, but Oslando, luckily out of range for this attack, sees blood dripping out of Bruq’s nose and Dargothoth’s ears.
(7 versus AC) (19 versus AC) (natural 20 versus AC)
“Change of plan”, he shouts as he readies himself to attack. “I’ll take out the remaining two. You kill the shaman before he can do that again. Heal up if you need to and then continue fighting.”
It feels right for him to strategize. The two witherlings jump towards him to attack, but he easily evades one of them and catches the other right on his blades. The fiend bites deeply into the half-elf's arm. He shreds the foul creature in two, but the skull is sticks to him even in death. He quickly shakes the almost fleshless head off. It makes a blunt sound as it hits the ground.
(21 versus AC) (Spell save DC 15 versus wisdom 9)
While the others participate in combat, Dargothoth follows up the half-elf’s advice to heal. With a faint blue glow around his claws he lays his hands on his head and a lot of the thudding pain ebbs away. The nauseating vertigo calms down and he can focus his vision again. He sees how Mero creates three glowing orbs at his fingertips, growing in size as a swirling purple restlessness inside them intensifies. Right before firing them, a gust of air swirls around him. Dried leaves dance around him and he rises up, about ten feet. Now that he has a clear line of sight, he hurls one of his magical missiles to the witherling near Oslando and the other two towards the shaman. The target seaking projectiles soar through the air and hit the white gnoll in the chest. The monster clenches his jaw.
“Lolth’s silky arse hair”, the dragonborn swears as Mero comes down again, “how did you do that?”
The wind calms down and the sorcerer’s mask shows signs of confusion. “I don’t really know. I just wanted to hit the shaman, but I couldn’t see him well enough and then I just started flying.”
He sounds just as surprised as he looks. While they have this inconveniently timed conversation, Bruq fires another arrow and hits the white gnoll in the groin. Blood drips down his leg, but his somewhat limping gait doesn’t slow him down.
Because Lyssa dropped the blunderbuss to cover her ears, she decides to her magic to fight his. Her lips move rapidly. No one can hear her clearly, but that’s probably for the better. Only the shaman can hear her whispers from all around him.
“From one of the trees on the green hill behind
your body will be hanging, fingers broken, eyes blind.
I’ll feed you your fur and make clothes of your skin,
burn your insides so you can breathe them all in.
I’ll cut off your legs and your toes, turn your frown upside down,
rip out your throat so in your own blood you can drown.
Then bring you back from the dead, fully unwilling,
all so I can enjoy the second time killing.”
Her words ring loudly in his head. It hurts. It feels like the words claw at the inside of his skull. He runs away from her and escapes the reach of her haunting song. He realizes what’s happening and presses his spare hand against his forehead. A light blue glow, just like the one that surrounded their cleric’s claws a few seconds ago, heals the shaman. He observes his enemies with a hungry glare. He roars and smiles.
(17 versus AC) (12 versus AC) (Spell save DC 13 versus dexterity 1) (24 versus AC)
“Take down the closest ones!” Oslando gives the command as he walks up to the monsters. He says it without fear. With his long black sword in his right hand and the wintery sword in his left hand, he observes the nearing enemies.
The blast of Lyssa’s gun sets one of the witherlings’ shoulder aflame. Her new bullets are effective.
“Awesome!” Oslando can hear her cheerful exclamation as Bruq’s arrow flies past him. It enters the decomposing chest of another reanimated gnoll.
“Keep going”, the half-elf shouts. “With his minions gone, he won’t stand a chance against us!” Before he can get to the two nearest foes, Dargothoth and Mero intervene. The sorcerer hurls a bolt of orange flames towards the left witherling and takes him down. His corpse slowly burns to ash by Lyssa’s and his own fiery attacks.
Dargothoth creates a bright white light above the fiend and shines down on him. He banishes the evil magic keeping him alive and the skeletal creature falls apart.
(Spell save DC 13 versus constitution 19, 7, 10 and 19)
Oslando looks past the two remaining skeletal creatures and sees how the gnoll shaman is coming their way. His white fur is speckled with black spots and red drops of blood. Boney jewelry hangs from his ears and around his neck. A torn red cloak waves as the wind crawls underneath it and he holds a wooden staff with a gnoll skull upon it in his hand. With his other hand he makes a fist and pushes it forwards, pointing at the killers of his minions. He roars, his hand trembling, and spreads his fingers.
A loud and deafening noise explodes between them, breaking off branches as the sound wave thunders from its point of origin. Lyssa presses her hands against her ears - Mero does the same without actual ears to cover - but Bruq and Dargothoth aren’t fast enough. The screeching sound echoes in their heads and they all cry out in agony. Although the ringing is only audible for a short amount of time, it does take its toll on them. The siren and the puppet seem reasonably fine, but Oslando, luckily out of range for this attack, sees blood dripping out of Bruq’s nose and Dargothoth’s ears.
(7 versus AC) (19 versus AC) (natural 20 versus AC)
“Change of plan”, he shouts as he readies himself to attack. “I’ll take out the remaining two. You kill the shaman before he can do that again. Heal up if you need to and then continue fighting.”
It feels right for him to strategize. The two witherlings jump towards him to attack, but he easily evades one of them and catches the other right on his blades. The fiend bites deeply into the half-elf's arm. He shreds the foul creature in two, but the skull is sticks to him even in death. He quickly shakes the almost fleshless head off. It makes a blunt sound as it hits the ground.
(21 versus AC) (Spell save DC 15 versus wisdom 9)
While the others participate in combat, Dargothoth follows up the half-elf’s advice to heal. With a faint blue glow around his claws he lays his hands on his head and a lot of the thudding pain ebbs away. The nauseating vertigo calms down and he can focus his vision again. He sees how Mero creates three glowing orbs at his fingertips, growing in size as a swirling purple restlessness inside them intensifies. Right before firing them, a gust of air swirls around him. Dried leaves dance around him and he rises up, about ten feet. Now that he has a clear line of sight, he hurls one of his magical missiles to the witherling near Oslando and the other two towards the shaman. The target seaking projectiles soar through the air and hit the white gnoll in the chest. The monster clenches his jaw.
“Lolth’s silky arse hair”, the dragonborn swears as Mero comes down again, “how did you do that?”
The wind calms down and the sorcerer’s mask shows signs of confusion. “I don’t really know. I just wanted to hit the shaman, but I couldn’t see him well enough and then I just started flying.”
He sounds just as surprised as he looks. While they have this inconveniently timed conversation, Bruq fires another arrow and hits the white gnoll in the groin. Blood drips down his leg, but his somewhat limping gait doesn’t slow him down.
Because Lyssa dropped the blunderbuss to cover her ears, she decides to her magic to fight his. Her lips move rapidly. No one can hear her clearly, but that’s probably for the better. Only the shaman can hear her whispers from all around him.
“From one of the trees on the green hill behind
your body will be hanging, fingers broken, eyes blind.
I’ll feed you your fur and make clothes of your skin,
burn your insides so you can breathe them all in.
I’ll cut off your legs and your toes, turn your frown upside down,
rip out your throat so in your own blood you can drown.
Then bring you back from the dead, fully unwilling,
all so I can enjoy the second time killing.”
Her words ring loudly in his head. It hurts. It feels like the words claw at the inside of his skull. He runs away from her and escapes the reach of her haunting song. He realizes what’s happening and presses his spare hand against his forehead. A light blue glow, just like the one that surrounded their cleric’s claws a few seconds ago, heals the shaman. He observes his enemies with a hungry glare. He roars and smiles.
maandag 4 februari 2019
Chapter 2.17: The Enochian Tower
“Hopefully we can come back to the treasure room”, Bruq says as he takes off the mirror together with Dargothoth. After they rested for a couple of hours, had something to eat and something to laugh about, they left the Way of Treasure.
“It better be or else I’m going to break my Enochian gem to take the inhabiting soul as my prize.” Dargothoth’s words disgust Bruq. The skin around the satyr’s nose wrinkles, his eyes narrow and his teeth become visible.
“Maybe that’s not a good idea. Although I would really like whatever the crystal is going to offer, I would like nothing more than to escape this tomb.”
The cleric’s face remains emotionless. “I was joking, I think. You do this all the time. Why can’t you have me have a little go at it?”
Bruq shakes his head. “Because every time you start speaking, you remind us you are evil and the room grows cold, that’s why. Don’t think we forgot what Hadriel said about you.”
Lyssa joins them and guides the mirror to the wall. “But we won’t forget how you helped us in the few battles we fought together. Am I right, Bruq? How he heals our wounds and fights off those who try to kill you or me?” The siren winks at the cleric. He smiles a little. They’re all below him, of course, and absolutely unworthy to die for, but he’s not going to say no to four bodyguards on his quest for power.
“It would be nice if we get an easy task this time”, Lyssa says as she steps through the liquidized glass. She is just able to read the text above the entrance: Way of Woods.
(Intelligence 13)
“Well”, Bruq slowly starts, “based on the fact that I am a monster hunter and I think I’ll find my gem here, I don’t think it will be that easy. Way of Blood sounds more like Dargothoth than me and, if there’s any doubt about that, something called Way of Woods just doesn’t fit him at all. But, I agree, it would be nice.”
(Nature 19) (Perception 21)
Just as the other rooms, they wait in total darkness until something stimulates their senses. In this case, it’s the sound of a bird making a low whistle that increases fastly in pitch and volume before abruptly stopping.
“The sound of a blink hawk.” Bruq sighs with nostalgia. “That reminds me of home. I love the deep popping sound it makes when teleporting. They’re magnificent creatures.”
He looks up and the first thing that becomes visible is an ivory coloured bird, the size of a large hawk, flapping its feathered batlike wings and singing with its wide beak open. As it flies over them, it breaks through the blackness above them, revealing a bright blue sky. No clouds block out the sun. With every sound that echoes around them - the chirping of crickets, the croaking of toads, the rustle of grass - more of the environment unveils itself. A forest with high trees all over appears.
“This is uncanny”, Bruq stumbles. “It looks exactly like my home. It even smells like it.” He breathes in deeply and the pleasing petrichor enters his nose. He has always loved the earthy scent of his forest after rain.
“And I think I’ve already found what we’re looking for and it looks like you were right, Lyssa.” He points at the tree in front of him. They all see an eggless nest, not more than fifteen feet above the ground, with a glowing piece of crystal resting in it.
(Wisdom 16) (Athletics 22)
“I’m so glad you found me! You’re just in time!” The childish voice sounds small and the satyr needs to focus to understand what it’s saying. It speaks in the Common tongue, but his accent is Elvish.
“Okay, let’s do this”, he says and spits in his hands. After fiercely rubbing them together, he runs towards the tree and leaps. The goat-part of him comes in handy as he jumps several feet into the air and grabs on to the lowest branch. In a swinging motion, he launches himself upwards and with just a couple of easy manoeuvres he reaches the nest.
“I’ve got you. You can stop worrying now.” The stone flickers brightly with a high frequency, almost as if it was sounding the alarm.
“No, Bruq, I can’t. The witherlings came back for us when you left the forest and now they have found you. Their shaman is with them as well. Please, run before it’s too late.”
He recognizes the panicked voice, one he heard months ago. “Elaith?” His voice is filled with disbelief. “Is it really you? Are you… are you dead?”
The light fades as a frenzied roar echoes throughout the entire forest. Bruq climbs down quickly, lays down the gem at the base of the tree and readies his bow.
“We have company”, he speaks ominously. As he prepares himself to take the first shot, four skeletal gnolls appear on the hill before them. Behind these foul creatures, one white gnoll with a quarterstaff follows. He points at the five heroes. His next bloodthirsty howl shakes their lungs and initiates the zombie-like minions to storm down the hill.
“It better be or else I’m going to break my Enochian gem to take the inhabiting soul as my prize.” Dargothoth’s words disgust Bruq. The skin around the satyr’s nose wrinkles, his eyes narrow and his teeth become visible.
“Maybe that’s not a good idea. Although I would really like whatever the crystal is going to offer, I would like nothing more than to escape this tomb.”
The cleric’s face remains emotionless. “I was joking, I think. You do this all the time. Why can’t you have me have a little go at it?”
Bruq shakes his head. “Because every time you start speaking, you remind us you are evil and the room grows cold, that’s why. Don’t think we forgot what Hadriel said about you.”
Lyssa joins them and guides the mirror to the wall. “But we won’t forget how you helped us in the few battles we fought together. Am I right, Bruq? How he heals our wounds and fights off those who try to kill you or me?” The siren winks at the cleric. He smiles a little. They’re all below him, of course, and absolutely unworthy to die for, but he’s not going to say no to four bodyguards on his quest for power.
“It would be nice if we get an easy task this time”, Lyssa says as she steps through the liquidized glass. She is just able to read the text above the entrance: Way of Woods.
(Intelligence 13)
“Well”, Bruq slowly starts, “based on the fact that I am a monster hunter and I think I’ll find my gem here, I don’t think it will be that easy. Way of Blood sounds more like Dargothoth than me and, if there’s any doubt about that, something called Way of Woods just doesn’t fit him at all. But, I agree, it would be nice.”
(Nature 19) (Perception 21)
Just as the other rooms, they wait in total darkness until something stimulates their senses. In this case, it’s the sound of a bird making a low whistle that increases fastly in pitch and volume before abruptly stopping.
“The sound of a blink hawk.” Bruq sighs with nostalgia. “That reminds me of home. I love the deep popping sound it makes when teleporting. They’re magnificent creatures.”
He looks up and the first thing that becomes visible is an ivory coloured bird, the size of a large hawk, flapping its feathered batlike wings and singing with its wide beak open. As it flies over them, it breaks through the blackness above them, revealing a bright blue sky. No clouds block out the sun. With every sound that echoes around them - the chirping of crickets, the croaking of toads, the rustle of grass - more of the environment unveils itself. A forest with high trees all over appears.
“This is uncanny”, Bruq stumbles. “It looks exactly like my home. It even smells like it.” He breathes in deeply and the pleasing petrichor enters his nose. He has always loved the earthy scent of his forest after rain.
“And I think I’ve already found what we’re looking for and it looks like you were right, Lyssa.” He points at the tree in front of him. They all see an eggless nest, not more than fifteen feet above the ground, with a glowing piece of crystal resting in it.
(Wisdom 16) (Athletics 22)
“I’m so glad you found me! You’re just in time!” The childish voice sounds small and the satyr needs to focus to understand what it’s saying. It speaks in the Common tongue, but his accent is Elvish.
“Okay, let’s do this”, he says and spits in his hands. After fiercely rubbing them together, he runs towards the tree and leaps. The goat-part of him comes in handy as he jumps several feet into the air and grabs on to the lowest branch. In a swinging motion, he launches himself upwards and with just a couple of easy manoeuvres he reaches the nest.
“I’ve got you. You can stop worrying now.” The stone flickers brightly with a high frequency, almost as if it was sounding the alarm.
“No, Bruq, I can’t. The witherlings came back for us when you left the forest and now they have found you. Their shaman is with them as well. Please, run before it’s too late.”
He recognizes the panicked voice, one he heard months ago. “Elaith?” His voice is filled with disbelief. “Is it really you? Are you… are you dead?”
The light fades as a frenzied roar echoes throughout the entire forest. Bruq climbs down quickly, lays down the gem at the base of the tree and readies his bow.
“We have company”, he speaks ominously. As he prepares himself to take the first shot, four skeletal gnolls appear on the hill before them. Behind these foul creatures, one white gnoll with a quarterstaff follows. He points at the five heroes. His next bloodthirsty howl shakes their lungs and initiates the zombie-like minions to storm down the hill.
vrijdag 1 februari 2019
Chapter 2.16: The Enochian Tower
“Captain Valos used one of these powder cases during the siege of my ship. If I remember correctly, this is the one he used to blow the main mast to smithereens. The bullets inside the case are highly volatile and caused occasional explosions. He was almost unstoppable. If only I had found this kind of ammunition earlier.”
The usually uninterested Dargothoth joins the conversation. “Almost, you say.” He looks pleased. “How did you kill him?” A diabolical grin accompanies his intense gaze.
She looks at her boots to hide the redness across her cheeks. “I used the talent I was born with. As a siren I have some leverage when it comes to men in, you know, a romantic kind of way. Or just sexually. He let his guard down for just long enough for me to overpower him.”
No one can see the crystal in her bag flickering rapidly and only she can hear it. “Is that all you’re going to tell them, wench? You’re going to screw me, again? I could them a sweet story about you, me precious oyster. I’ll tell ‘em all the dirty things you do so well.”
She quickly jabs her elbow into her rucksack, trying to shut him up. “After every victory”, she says vociferously, talking louder than the voice inside her head, “I sang a song to my crew, most of the times on their request. I built quite the repertoire as the years went by.”
She stares into nothingness and the nothingness stares back at her. “I wonder how Vincent is doing", she whispers to herself so the others can't hear her. "If he's in danger... if he's dead, just like others. Or… what if he doesn’t miss me? What if he doesn’t need me at all?”
"Maybe you can sing one of these songs for us after we get out of this", Oslando says with a smile.
She smiles back at him. "I would like that."
“I’m very curious about your collectibles”, Mero says and he points to his chain. “When are you going to tell us the tales about how you got them? Are the stories just as exciting as Lyssa’s were?”
Bruq smiles as he looks past him at the four pedestals that still have objects floating above it. They are blurred and unclear to see.
“I can share one of the stories now while we regain our strengths. We can share the goodberries to quench our hunger and thirst. Any particular one you want to hear about?”
The satyr walks up to the wall and sits down, leaning against the chilly stones. He unchains the string of trophies and takes out a mistletoe to prepare the food. In the mean time, the puppet, cheerful as a well-fed baby, observes the trinkets.
“I’m going to listen to this story as well”, the siren says and plumps down next to them, cross-legged. “Just let me wet my pipe before you start, swabber.” She takes a greedy gulp of her precious wine.
Bruq, eyeing her over and trying not to question how intoxicated she is most of the time, slowly turns his head to Mero. “Decided which one you want?”
The sorcerer looks them over again. A metal bell without a clapper, a small leather bag with contents unknown, a dragon-like toy soldier, a crystalline monocle without the glass, a dark claw of an avian monster and a small wooden mask.
“I can tell you about the ogre tooth in my backpack if you don’t want to hear these stories.”
Mero shakes his head, making the tip of his prized possession on top of him dance. “I’ll take this one.”
“Few people live in my forest. Everyone thinks it’s not safe, but I disagree. The trees grant shelter, nature grants food and I grant protection. Rare plants grow there, powerful ingredients that can be used for bad things. Some gnoll shaman - gnolls are these hyena-like demons, quite mindless and bloodthirsty - came up with the idea he needed one of the plants to make a paste for a ritual. He needed it to paint his brethren with the symbols of their demonic god, but I didn’t let him. He was not welcome and he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against me in my own territory. Then he sent the witherlings.” He moves the trinket within his hand, a haze spread across his eyes as he continues his story.
“You know how witherlings come to be?” Mero shakes his head and Bruq continues. “When gnolls starve or get bored, they turn against each other. The victors eat the flesh and preserve the bones, only to bring them back from the dead with some wicked ritual. They don’t get tired, they need no food. They are restless and easily bossed around. They were sent to a home of innocent people. They were growing some of these plants for medicinal purposes. I spotted them just in time. They knocked down the door as I knocked down the first of them. It was a short battle, but a terrifying one for the eight year old wood elf who saw them come in. The boy became as pale as a vampire. I smacked the gnoll’s skull off before he could hurt him, but I can only imagine how traumatizing it was for him.”
Bruq sets down the wooden figurine. His skin is painted red to resemble dragon scales, his armor is grey and he holds a spear.
“I didn’t want payment, no matter how hard the parents pushed me to take whatever I wanted. The boy, Elaith, followed me outside and handed me the toy soldier. He always thought dragons were the toughest beings alive, but now he told me I was his spear-wielding hero. He wanted me to have it so I could remember I was his hero. I thought it was sweet, so I took it with me. I don’t really think it brings me luck or something, but it’s a nice thing to remember my home by, to remember why I do this.”
Lyssa smiles at him. “Ha, I thought you were this badass hunter who took his trophies from his defeated enemies, but you play around with toys.”
He looks at her judgingly. “At least I don’t need to fuck someone into his grave to steal his gun.”
The usually uninterested Dargothoth joins the conversation. “Almost, you say.” He looks pleased. “How did you kill him?” A diabolical grin accompanies his intense gaze.
She looks at her boots to hide the redness across her cheeks. “I used the talent I was born with. As a siren I have some leverage when it comes to men in, you know, a romantic kind of way. Or just sexually. He let his guard down for just long enough for me to overpower him.”
No one can see the crystal in her bag flickering rapidly and only she can hear it. “Is that all you’re going to tell them, wench? You’re going to screw me, again? I could them a sweet story about you, me precious oyster. I’ll tell ‘em all the dirty things you do so well.”
She quickly jabs her elbow into her rucksack, trying to shut him up. “After every victory”, she says vociferously, talking louder than the voice inside her head, “I sang a song to my crew, most of the times on their request. I built quite the repertoire as the years went by.”
She stares into nothingness and the nothingness stares back at her. “I wonder how Vincent is doing", she whispers to herself so the others can't hear her. "If he's in danger... if he's dead, just like others. Or… what if he doesn’t miss me? What if he doesn’t need me at all?”
"Maybe you can sing one of these songs for us after we get out of this", Oslando says with a smile.
She smiles back at him. "I would like that."
“I’m very curious about your collectibles”, Mero says and he points to his chain. “When are you going to tell us the tales about how you got them? Are the stories just as exciting as Lyssa’s were?”
Bruq smiles as he looks past him at the four pedestals that still have objects floating above it. They are blurred and unclear to see.
“I can share one of the stories now while we regain our strengths. We can share the goodberries to quench our hunger and thirst. Any particular one you want to hear about?”
The satyr walks up to the wall and sits down, leaning against the chilly stones. He unchains the string of trophies and takes out a mistletoe to prepare the food. In the mean time, the puppet, cheerful as a well-fed baby, observes the trinkets.
“I’m going to listen to this story as well”, the siren says and plumps down next to them, cross-legged. “Just let me wet my pipe before you start, swabber.” She takes a greedy gulp of her precious wine.
Bruq, eyeing her over and trying not to question how intoxicated she is most of the time, slowly turns his head to Mero. “Decided which one you want?”
The sorcerer looks them over again. A metal bell without a clapper, a small leather bag with contents unknown, a dragon-like toy soldier, a crystalline monocle without the glass, a dark claw of an avian monster and a small wooden mask.
“I can tell you about the ogre tooth in my backpack if you don’t want to hear these stories.”
Mero shakes his head, making the tip of his prized possession on top of him dance. “I’ll take this one.”
“Few people live in my forest. Everyone thinks it’s not safe, but I disagree. The trees grant shelter, nature grants food and I grant protection. Rare plants grow there, powerful ingredients that can be used for bad things. Some gnoll shaman - gnolls are these hyena-like demons, quite mindless and bloodthirsty - came up with the idea he needed one of the plants to make a paste for a ritual. He needed it to paint his brethren with the symbols of their demonic god, but I didn’t let him. He was not welcome and he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against me in my own territory. Then he sent the witherlings.” He moves the trinket within his hand, a haze spread across his eyes as he continues his story.
“You know how witherlings come to be?” Mero shakes his head and Bruq continues. “When gnolls starve or get bored, they turn against each other. The victors eat the flesh and preserve the bones, only to bring them back from the dead with some wicked ritual. They don’t get tired, they need no food. They are restless and easily bossed around. They were sent to a home of innocent people. They were growing some of these plants for medicinal purposes. I spotted them just in time. They knocked down the door as I knocked down the first of them. It was a short battle, but a terrifying one for the eight year old wood elf who saw them come in. The boy became as pale as a vampire. I smacked the gnoll’s skull off before he could hurt him, but I can only imagine how traumatizing it was for him.”
Bruq sets down the wooden figurine. His skin is painted red to resemble dragon scales, his armor is grey and he holds a spear.
“I didn’t want payment, no matter how hard the parents pushed me to take whatever I wanted. The boy, Elaith, followed me outside and handed me the toy soldier. He always thought dragons were the toughest beings alive, but now he told me I was his spear-wielding hero. He wanted me to have it so I could remember I was his hero. I thought it was sweet, so I took it with me. I don’t really think it brings me luck or something, but it’s a nice thing to remember my home by, to remember why I do this.”
Lyssa smiles at him. “Ha, I thought you were this badass hunter who took his trophies from his defeated enemies, but you play around with toys.”
He looks at her judgingly. “At least I don’t need to fuck someone into his grave to steal his gun.”
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