“Mero!”
They try to reach him, but the fire blocks their path. Purple and red flames are wrapped around the puppet’s smouldering body.
“I’m alright”, Mero shouts. “At least, I think I am. I’m not in pain.”
They can barely hear him above the fiery racket. A dark smoke mixes with the flames.
“Well, that’s surprising”, Oanoa whispers inaudibly. He can she past the blinding light and watches how his nephew’s flammable body is consumed.
“If he comes out of this even just a bit different, I swear-”
Oanoa puts his finger against his own pouted lips and Dargothoth loses the ability to speak.
“Your explosive reactions are tiring, cleric. Go stand over there.”
He gestures with his other hand to the corner of the room and the draconian gets pushed all the way to the back. The priest tries to resist, but it’s futile. An invisible and invincible force holds him in place.
“Don’t disturb the ritual, Dargothoth”, Lyssa says, pleadingly. “Who knows what will to Mero!”
The cleric growls.
“Are you feeling anything already?” Oanoa speaks loudly, but he doesn’t get a response. “Mero?”
The silence persists.
“I… I think I can feel my life slipping away.” Mero’s voice sounds broken. “The flames feel cold. I remember this feeling… I think this how I felt when I died. Am I dying, uncle?”
The flames no longer dance in random patterns, but swirls around the puppet in perfect spirals. His body is charred and pieces of him lie burning on the floor.
“Oanoa, you have to help him!” Bruq stands idly by while the Beholder only observes.
“No, you won’t die. I won’t let you, nephew.”
With most of his chest falling to the ground in ashes, a big hole appears where normally a heart should be. A thin ray of a bright silvery white light source escapes and illuminates the entire room. Another one appears and another one, all growing wider by the second.
His scarecrow-like appearance is no more, only ashes on the ground. The shackles that were supposed to keep him in place make a loud noise as they crash on the hard stone floor.
(Perception 15)
They can’t recognize any contours in the now enormous source of light, but as the brightness decreases, a shape forms. They can recognize a humanoid, standing over six feet tall, but no further details become visible.
“Mero? Is that you?”
Bruq walks towards the glowing silhouette. The mysterious appearance turns his head to the satyr, who stops and looks at him with squinted eyes. It feels like looking at the sun. His eyes burn.
“It is you, isn’t it?”
Before any form of response can follow, an orange stone appears in front of the being and it draws his attention.
The others look at Oanoa, who is mumbling while moving his fingers from one crooked angle to another.
“I’ll keep you safe, nephew”, he says, gruntingly. Every muscle in his body has tightened, all helping him to make the casting of this powerful spell work.
The white humanoid reaches out to the stone. It reacts with a bright orange flash. Both Mero and the peculiar source of light have disappeared. All that remains is the stone, now floating above the Beholder’s right hand. A liquid-like white swirling can be seen within the orange edges of the crystal.
“I’ve got you, Mero”, Oanoa whispers. “You’re safe at last.”
maandag 29 juli 2019
vrijdag 26 juli 2019
Chapter 3.24: The Plane In Between
Mero stands against a metal pole, his hands tied together with the same kind of chains that keep his new body in place. His precious hat lies on the table.
“I’m sorry we have to do it this way”, his uncle says as he waves his hands through the air to move the chains. “I don’t want you to run away or something like that. I don’t know what will happen to you if we disturb the ritual. You need to stay within the circle.”
(Arcana 15)
The puppet looks down and sees the dark red and purple markings on the floor. They are made of powders and pastes used in many rituals, but the glyphs drawn at the edges of the circle are new to him.
“What does the circle do?” He looks up and stares Oanoa in the eyes.
“It prevents your soul from leaving when your body disappears. Souls normally don’t go anywhere on my plane, but I just want to be sure.”
Dargothoth takes a few steps towards them and inspects the symbols.
“Why is it that the souls don’t go anywhere?” Oanoa doesn’t look up when the priest speaks. “Can’t we die in your pocket plane?”
The Beholder laughs loudly, but he feels his reaction isn’t the socially acceptable one. He stops.
“You can die here, of course. Normally, on any other plane your soul is collected. On your plane a soul is directed to one of the planes of the afterlife. In Abaddon, it is collected by the Reapers and brought to-” He shakes his head. “I digress. Souls don’t leave my plane, because there is no one who collects them. Still, I would rather skip the hunt for someone’s essence if I can just keep it trapped in here.”
“And you said it always works?” Bruq looks at him with his eyebrows raised. “It has never failed?”
Their host shakes his head.
“Never. Every time I perform this ritual, it always gives the desired result.”
“And how often do you transfer souls from one body to another?”
The tone is Oslando’s voice is filled with suspicion.
“Well”, Oanoa says as he scratches the back of his head, “not too often, but I did it more than once! Maybe two or three times… You aren’t question my capabilities, are you?”
Even though his face stays friendly, his words sound stern, almost bitter.
“I don’t”, the half-elf responds calmly, aware that he might be walking on thin ice. “I just want what is best for Mero.”
“So do I”, Oanoa says immediately. “I want my nephew to live. I have no other relatives I can talk to. I have my brother Iavolof, of course, but we can’t see each other while he remains in Abaddon. It will work. Trust me.”
The loudness of his voice subsides.
“And even if you don’t”, he adds, almost whispering, “this is going to happen. It needs to happen. His current body would be destroyed in just a few days, hours maybe, if he enters Abaddon, a plane where fire is the dominant elemental that rages through the realm.”
(Intelligence 15)
“So, if I summarize everything correctly, you are going to transport his soul into an object to keep Mero alive and keep his body going?”
Oanoa answers Dargothoth’s question with a firm nod.
“As I mentioned, yes.”
“Well…” The cleric squints his eyes and looks at the puppet. “Doesn’t that make him an undead creature? Or, even worse and more specific, isn’t he a lich? I think your answer to my question is almost the exact definition of a lich.”
(Wisdom 13)
The Beholder’s jaw drops. He doesn’t know what to say, neither does Mero.
“But undead have no soul, right?” Oslando walks up them and puts his hand on his small companion. “Mero has one. And, more importantly, undead are evil beings. They’re corrupted, mindless and seek destruction of all living things. He’s nothing like that!”
Oanoa raises hand to silence them. His gaze doesn’t move away from the ground. He opens his mouth slowly, but doesn’t speak immediately.
“Undead don’t have souls, cleric.” He sounds like he’s choosing his words very carefully.
“Liches do”, Dargothoth responds immediately. “They store them in phylacteries.”
“What are phylacteries?” Bruq tries to mingle himself into the conversation.
Oanoa answers before the priest can do it for him.
“When a ritual is performed to prevent someone from dying, basically to become immortal, their souls can be stored into a magical object, like an ancient heirloom or an enchanted weapon.”
“Or a magical gemstone to power a constructed body.”
They all stare at Dargothoth after he finished his sentence.
“Puppet”, he says without paying attention to the others, “do you have any idea how you were brought back into this world? How this ordinary body can hold a soul that should have passed to the realm of Nerull?”
“I… I…” Mero shifts his gaze from his friend to the Beholder. “I don’t know. The halflings brought me back, but they… Uncle, am I really undead?”
Oanoa shakes his head quickly.
“Of course you’re not! You are, how should I say this, ‘differently alive’? You have a will of your own, you are not evil. You lack all the characteristics of the undead.”
“Except that I don’t breathe, need to eat or drink, bleed when I get cut… I can go on. What is wrong with me? I don’t want to be a lich, uncle.”
“You are not a lich!” Oanoa’s voice echoes loudly throughout the entire room. A vein bulges visibly on the side of his bald head.
“Let’s just stay calm and think about it”, Lyssa says. “Mero, what do you think? What do you want?”
“I don’t-”
“It doesn’t matter. This is going to happen. Right now.”
The Beholder turns his eyes towards the circle on the ground. It ignites into a bright and colourful flame.
“I’m sorry we have to do it this way”, his uncle says as he waves his hands through the air to move the chains. “I don’t want you to run away or something like that. I don’t know what will happen to you if we disturb the ritual. You need to stay within the circle.”
(Arcana 15)
The puppet looks down and sees the dark red and purple markings on the floor. They are made of powders and pastes used in many rituals, but the glyphs drawn at the edges of the circle are new to him.
“What does the circle do?” He looks up and stares Oanoa in the eyes.
“It prevents your soul from leaving when your body disappears. Souls normally don’t go anywhere on my plane, but I just want to be sure.”
Dargothoth takes a few steps towards them and inspects the symbols.
“Why is it that the souls don’t go anywhere?” Oanoa doesn’t look up when the priest speaks. “Can’t we die in your pocket plane?”
The Beholder laughs loudly, but he feels his reaction isn’t the socially acceptable one. He stops.
“You can die here, of course. Normally, on any other plane your soul is collected. On your plane a soul is directed to one of the planes of the afterlife. In Abaddon, it is collected by the Reapers and brought to-” He shakes his head. “I digress. Souls don’t leave my plane, because there is no one who collects them. Still, I would rather skip the hunt for someone’s essence if I can just keep it trapped in here.”
“And you said it always works?” Bruq looks at him with his eyebrows raised. “It has never failed?”
Their host shakes his head.
“Never. Every time I perform this ritual, it always gives the desired result.”
“And how often do you transfer souls from one body to another?”
The tone is Oslando’s voice is filled with suspicion.
“Well”, Oanoa says as he scratches the back of his head, “not too often, but I did it more than once! Maybe two or three times… You aren’t question my capabilities, are you?”
Even though his face stays friendly, his words sound stern, almost bitter.
“I don’t”, the half-elf responds calmly, aware that he might be walking on thin ice. “I just want what is best for Mero.”
“So do I”, Oanoa says immediately. “I want my nephew to live. I have no other relatives I can talk to. I have my brother Iavolof, of course, but we can’t see each other while he remains in Abaddon. It will work. Trust me.”
The loudness of his voice subsides.
“And even if you don’t”, he adds, almost whispering, “this is going to happen. It needs to happen. His current body would be destroyed in just a few days, hours maybe, if he enters Abaddon, a plane where fire is the dominant elemental that rages through the realm.”
(Intelligence 15)
“So, if I summarize everything correctly, you are going to transport his soul into an object to keep Mero alive and keep his body going?”
Oanoa answers Dargothoth’s question with a firm nod.
“As I mentioned, yes.”
“Well…” The cleric squints his eyes and looks at the puppet. “Doesn’t that make him an undead creature? Or, even worse and more specific, isn’t he a lich? I think your answer to my question is almost the exact definition of a lich.”
(Wisdom 13)
The Beholder’s jaw drops. He doesn’t know what to say, neither does Mero.
“But undead have no soul, right?” Oslando walks up them and puts his hand on his small companion. “Mero has one. And, more importantly, undead are evil beings. They’re corrupted, mindless and seek destruction of all living things. He’s nothing like that!”
Oanoa raises hand to silence them. His gaze doesn’t move away from the ground. He opens his mouth slowly, but doesn’t speak immediately.
“Undead don’t have souls, cleric.” He sounds like he’s choosing his words very carefully.
“Liches do”, Dargothoth responds immediately. “They store them in phylacteries.”
“What are phylacteries?” Bruq tries to mingle himself into the conversation.
Oanoa answers before the priest can do it for him.
“When a ritual is performed to prevent someone from dying, basically to become immortal, their souls can be stored into a magical object, like an ancient heirloom or an enchanted weapon.”
“Or a magical gemstone to power a constructed body.”
They all stare at Dargothoth after he finished his sentence.
“Puppet”, he says without paying attention to the others, “do you have any idea how you were brought back into this world? How this ordinary body can hold a soul that should have passed to the realm of Nerull?”
“I… I…” Mero shifts his gaze from his friend to the Beholder. “I don’t know. The halflings brought me back, but they… Uncle, am I really undead?”
Oanoa shakes his head quickly.
“Of course you’re not! You are, how should I say this, ‘differently alive’? You have a will of your own, you are not evil. You lack all the characteristics of the undead.”
“Except that I don’t breathe, need to eat or drink, bleed when I get cut… I can go on. What is wrong with me? I don’t want to be a lich, uncle.”
“You are not a lich!” Oanoa’s voice echoes loudly throughout the entire room. A vein bulges visibly on the side of his bald head.
“Let’s just stay calm and think about it”, Lyssa says. “Mero, what do you think? What do you want?”
“I don’t-”
“It doesn’t matter. This is going to happen. Right now.”
The Beholder turns his eyes towards the circle on the ground. It ignites into a bright and colourful flame.
dinsdag 23 juli 2019
Chapter 3.23: The Plane In Between
Before them, covered with a thin layer of dust, stands a five foot tall body made out of metal. It looks more like a young adolescent than a true grown up man, but at least it doesn’t look like a child. Small bolts and cogwheels hold the construct together. Its thin grey limbs are covered with copper and bronze pieces of armor, just as it torso. Within its chest is a small excavation the size of a small gemstone.
“That looks a lot more sturdy than you are now”, Bruq jokingly says, but the puppet doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes a few steps forward and looks up at what could be his new face. Its eye sockets are hollow and lifeless, but he think that will change soon.
“I don’t know what to say”, Mero stammers, dumbstruck. A gust of wind raises him into the air so he can look at the head on eye level.
“Well, you can say what you think about it.” Oanoa laughs nervously. Although he thinks his nephew will be better off in this new mechanical body, he’s not sure what he will think of it.
“It is perfect!” Mero’s voice is filled with glee. “It look so much more mature and strong. Now I don’t have to worry anymore about every blade and arrow puncturing my scarecrow body.”
Oanoa can see the joy in his artificial eyes. It warms his heart to see him so happy, especially after what he must have been through, even he doesn’t remember most of it.
“Can I switch bodies now, please? I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m ready!”
The Beholder is pulled away from a melancholic trip down memory lane and as he focuses his vision again, he stares straight into Mero’s eyes.
“I see no reason to postpone it”, he says with a smile on his face. “You’ve earned it. If you can carry the body to the other side of the building, we can start the ceremony there.”
He looks at the other companions. They all inspect the metal body. They estimate the weight at five to six hundred pounds, something they really don’t want to carry after their encounter with the spectator.
“I’m kidding!” The Beholder laughs with his eyes closed, arms wrapped around his belly. His laughter transforms into coughing. He hunches forward. They observe this rather sickly attack he’s having while his tattooed eyes keep staring at them.
He inhales loudly and stands up straight.
“Sorry for that”, he says with a raw sound in his voice. “Maintaining an entire pocket plane with so many portals is quite demanding, especially when I have visitors to take into account. Can’t have you disappearing or dematerializing now, can I?” He smiles again as he inspects their worried faces. “No need to panic, I assure you.”
He snaps his fingers and a soft metal ringing echoes around them. His nephew’s new body disappears.
“Come with me, please. I’ll take you to my ritual chamber.”
Thick wax candles ignite spontaneously when they enter the room. Their light shines on the big scrolls of parchment laid across the stone desk. Small parts of metal are spread across the entire floor. In their quick gaze they recognize them as components for the spectators Oanoa has been building.
At the other side of the room, tied with chains to a big wheel, is Mero’s new body. It’s strapped so well it almost looks like it’s standing on its own.
“How are you going to transfer the puppet from his current ragged state to the new one?” Dargothoth looks at Oanoa, who has his back turned towards him, and makes eye contact with one of the tattoos on the back of his head. The cleric is genuinely interested in what the Beholder is planning to do.
“It’s quite easy”, he answers haughtily. “I just need to burn his body in a magical fire and capture his soul in a crystal to power his new body. Always works. Never fails. Extremely painful.”
“That looks a lot more sturdy than you are now”, Bruq jokingly says, but the puppet doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes a few steps forward and looks up at what could be his new face. Its eye sockets are hollow and lifeless, but he think that will change soon.
“I don’t know what to say”, Mero stammers, dumbstruck. A gust of wind raises him into the air so he can look at the head on eye level.
“Well, you can say what you think about it.” Oanoa laughs nervously. Although he thinks his nephew will be better off in this new mechanical body, he’s not sure what he will think of it.
“It is perfect!” Mero’s voice is filled with glee. “It look so much more mature and strong. Now I don’t have to worry anymore about every blade and arrow puncturing my scarecrow body.”
Oanoa can see the joy in his artificial eyes. It warms his heart to see him so happy, especially after what he must have been through, even he doesn’t remember most of it.
“Can I switch bodies now, please? I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m ready!”
The Beholder is pulled away from a melancholic trip down memory lane and as he focuses his vision again, he stares straight into Mero’s eyes.
“I see no reason to postpone it”, he says with a smile on his face. “You’ve earned it. If you can carry the body to the other side of the building, we can start the ceremony there.”
He looks at the other companions. They all inspect the metal body. They estimate the weight at five to six hundred pounds, something they really don’t want to carry after their encounter with the spectator.
“I’m kidding!” The Beholder laughs with his eyes closed, arms wrapped around his belly. His laughter transforms into coughing. He hunches forward. They observe this rather sickly attack he’s having while his tattooed eyes keep staring at them.
He inhales loudly and stands up straight.
“Sorry for that”, he says with a raw sound in his voice. “Maintaining an entire pocket plane with so many portals is quite demanding, especially when I have visitors to take into account. Can’t have you disappearing or dematerializing now, can I?” He smiles again as he inspects their worried faces. “No need to panic, I assure you.”
He snaps his fingers and a soft metal ringing echoes around them. His nephew’s new body disappears.
“Come with me, please. I’ll take you to my ritual chamber.”
Thick wax candles ignite spontaneously when they enter the room. Their light shines on the big scrolls of parchment laid across the stone desk. Small parts of metal are spread across the entire floor. In their quick gaze they recognize them as components for the spectators Oanoa has been building.
At the other side of the room, tied with chains to a big wheel, is Mero’s new body. It’s strapped so well it almost looks like it’s standing on its own.
“How are you going to transfer the puppet from his current ragged state to the new one?” Dargothoth looks at Oanoa, who has his back turned towards him, and makes eye contact with one of the tattoos on the back of his head. The cleric is genuinely interested in what the Beholder is planning to do.
“It’s quite easy”, he answers haughtily. “I just need to burn his body in a magical fire and capture his soul in a crystal to power his new body. Always works. Never fails. Extremely painful.”
vrijdag 19 juli 2019
Chapter 3.22: The Plane In Between
“Mero, get up!” Oanoa shouts as he looks down at him. “You’re so close to victory. Don’t give up now.”
The puppet has fallen to his knees. He is shaking and can barely lift up his head to see what is happening.
“Uncle”, he says so softly that no one can hear him, “I don’t want to play this game anymore. I don’t want my friends to get hurt.”
(DC versus wisdom 14) (DC 12 versus dexterity 4)
The gazer with the black eye shoots an orange beam of energy past Mero at Lyssa, but misses her completely. Its other glass eye turns to Dargothoth.
With the little strength left in the sorcerer he can see how a blue ray hits his draconian friend right in the head. His scales turn white with frost and his jaw freezes shut.
(15, 14 and 18 versus AC)
“No!” Mero pushes himself, staggering. “Stop hurting my friends!” He looks up. “Uncle, make them stop!”
Oanoa shakes his head. He is far away from Mero, but the puppet can see every detail of his many eyes. They stare intensely at him. He is challenging him.
“You make them stop, nephew. You need to show me you’re ready.”
A small ball of fire appears in his hand, one he has summoned so many times before, but this one is different. It grows rapidly and now a big flame is contained between his fingers. He hasn’t cast this spell before, but it feels familiar. He has seen Hadriel cast it, but that’s not where he got this spell from. He knows he can cast this. It feels like he has done it before.
He squeezes the scorching energy he’s holding and it unleashes three thick fiery tendrils. They find their targets immediately and encase the three gazers in flames.
His uncle was right. He has the power. If this all was just a test, he knows he passed it.
As the fire above his palm disappears, so do the tendrils. The only thing left of his three targets are the coloured crystals, floating in molten pools of metal.
Mero sits down, exhausted and in pain. He looks up and sees his uncle smile at him.
“I knew you could do it”, he whispers. “You are ready.”
“If you could change one thing about your body, what would it be?”
Mero has been expecting this question from Oanoa. He has asked himself this question so many times before, but now that it’s finally happening, he doesn’t know what to say first.
“I want to be taller. I don’t want to look like I’m a child’s toy. I want to be made of other material. I want my hat to still fit me. I w-”
“Mero, slow down”, his uncles says with a smile. “You’re going too fast, even for me.”
The puppet scratches the back of his head.
“I might be a little overexcited, ha ha.”
“I think it’s more than a little”, Oslando says. They all laugh, even Dargothoth can’t keep his face completely straight.
“If you could choose one thing, only one thing… What is the first thing that comes to mind?”
A silence falls shortly. The only thing interrupting it are their footsteps.
“I want to be able to protect my friends”, Mero says and turns to his allies, looking at Dargothoth. “I don’t want them to get hurt again like Hadriel did to you.”
They all stare at the cleric now, waiting what his response will be.
“You have to choose what you want”, he answers. “We won’t stay together forever, but this body could be yours for the rest of your life. If it will be the new you, the permanent you, you have to be selfish and make sure you’re happy. Don’t think about us.”
They nod in agreement. They can’t recollect the last time the priest was so sincere and altruistic.
“If you’re happy, we are happy for you”, Lyssa adds. She smiles at him and he smiles back.
“I don’t want to look like a child anymore”, he says with hints of sadness in his voice. “I think I was a grown man when I died, but I think this body can’t handle all the complexity. It feels like my whole life has been reduced and dumbed down to something simple, something that these leather patches can contain. I’m done with that.”
Oanoa stops walking and the five companions and the succubus princess follow his example.
“I understand you completely, nephew. I think I will make you very happy. Are you ready to see how the new you is going to look?”
Oanoa has his hand on the door handle.
“Yes, please!”
His uncle opens the door.
The puppet has fallen to his knees. He is shaking and can barely lift up his head to see what is happening.
“Uncle”, he says so softly that no one can hear him, “I don’t want to play this game anymore. I don’t want my friends to get hurt.”
(DC versus wisdom 14) (DC 12 versus dexterity 4)
The gazer with the black eye shoots an orange beam of energy past Mero at Lyssa, but misses her completely. Its other glass eye turns to Dargothoth.
With the little strength left in the sorcerer he can see how a blue ray hits his draconian friend right in the head. His scales turn white with frost and his jaw freezes shut.
(15, 14 and 18 versus AC)
“No!” Mero pushes himself, staggering. “Stop hurting my friends!” He looks up. “Uncle, make them stop!”
Oanoa shakes his head. He is far away from Mero, but the puppet can see every detail of his many eyes. They stare intensely at him. He is challenging him.
“You make them stop, nephew. You need to show me you’re ready.”
A small ball of fire appears in his hand, one he has summoned so many times before, but this one is different. It grows rapidly and now a big flame is contained between his fingers. He hasn’t cast this spell before, but it feels familiar. He has seen Hadriel cast it, but that’s not where he got this spell from. He knows he can cast this. It feels like he has done it before.
He squeezes the scorching energy he’s holding and it unleashes three thick fiery tendrils. They find their targets immediately and encase the three gazers in flames.
His uncle was right. He has the power. If this all was just a test, he knows he passed it.
As the fire above his palm disappears, so do the tendrils. The only thing left of his three targets are the coloured crystals, floating in molten pools of metal.
Mero sits down, exhausted and in pain. He looks up and sees his uncle smile at him.
“I knew you could do it”, he whispers. “You are ready.”
“If you could change one thing about your body, what would it be?”
Mero has been expecting this question from Oanoa. He has asked himself this question so many times before, but now that it’s finally happening, he doesn’t know what to say first.
“I want to be taller. I don’t want to look like I’m a child’s toy. I want to be made of other material. I want my hat to still fit me. I w-”
“Mero, slow down”, his uncles says with a smile. “You’re going too fast, even for me.”
The puppet scratches the back of his head.
“I might be a little overexcited, ha ha.”
“I think it’s more than a little”, Oslando says. They all laugh, even Dargothoth can’t keep his face completely straight.
“If you could choose one thing, only one thing… What is the first thing that comes to mind?”
A silence falls shortly. The only thing interrupting it are their footsteps.
“I want to be able to protect my friends”, Mero says and turns to his allies, looking at Dargothoth. “I don’t want them to get hurt again like Hadriel did to you.”
They all stare at the cleric now, waiting what his response will be.
“You have to choose what you want”, he answers. “We won’t stay together forever, but this body could be yours for the rest of your life. If it will be the new you, the permanent you, you have to be selfish and make sure you’re happy. Don’t think about us.”
They nod in agreement. They can’t recollect the last time the priest was so sincere and altruistic.
“If you’re happy, we are happy for you”, Lyssa adds. She smiles at him and he smiles back.
“I don’t want to look like a child anymore”, he says with hints of sadness in his voice. “I think I was a grown man when I died, but I think this body can’t handle all the complexity. It feels like my whole life has been reduced and dumbed down to something simple, something that these leather patches can contain. I’m done with that.”
Oanoa stops walking and the five companions and the succubus princess follow his example.
“I understand you completely, nephew. I think I will make you very happy. Are you ready to see how the new you is going to look?”
Oanoa has his hand on the door handle.
“Yes, please!”
His uncle opens the door.
dinsdag 16 juli 2019
Chapter 3.21: The Plane In Between
“Bruq!” Mero shouts. “Where are you going?”
He sees his furry friend run for a couple of yards before he turns around. Bruq’s eyes are wide with panic and he points at the gazer with a trembling hand. He tries to say something, but he can’t even produce a single sound.
(Arcana 11)
Mero looks to what he’s pointing at. He can clearly see a form of magic around the gazer’s eyestalk, but he can’t really place what kind of spell it’s producing. It doesn’t matter. He needs to kill it and hope that will remove its effect on his friend.
He raises his hand and points three fingers at the gazer. While a purple energy starts to swirl around his fingertips, another automaton comes his way with haste. If he shifts his attack to the nearing threat, who knows what could happen to Bruq. But if he doesn’t, he’s going to take a hit himself.
He closes his eyes and raises his other hand. He is pulled back shortly to the white light he saw in his mind, how he split the ray of frost in two. He can feel a power grow inside of him, a power that wants to come out. His other hand becomes encased in purple energy as well and he release three projectiles to each gazer. The magic missiles crash on their metal skin, leaving holes behind, and sever some of their eyestalks.
(20 versus AC)
Lyssa looks at the battlefield. Pieces of the original spectator lie scattered everywhere and her allies are being chased by the pesky constructs. Bruq ran away, but he looks like he has calmed down a bit. She can still see traces of the panic that holds him. She sees Dargothoth fight off the metal monsters, while Mero and Oslando rely on their magical capabilities. It’s fascinating to see someone learn so quickly and perform them so well. She wants that too.
The siren picks up a metal shard and presses it against hot barrel of her blunderbuss.
Cyrzana told her that melting metal is always easier when you have the right components.
“Just hold a piece of iron against something hot”, she said to her, “and then cast your spell.”
She inhales deeply and whistles loudly. The high-pitched sound echoes faintly around them and seems to travel from her to the gazer closest to her. Its brown and grey metal glows and turns bright orange. Parts of him melt and drop on the ground, sizzling.
Bruq, his glaive out of reach, removes his bow from his back and pulls an arrow out of his quiver. He pulls back the string, but his trembling hand makes it impossible for him to even try to take a shot. He lowers his bow and closes his eyes. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
(13 versus dexterity 15) (17 versus AC)
When the satyr opens his eyes again, he sees Dargothoth swinging wildly with his sceptre, missing his small enemy completely.
Oslando is more lucky or, at least, more precise. His flaming blade splits his foe in two. As the metal falls to the ground and the green crystal stops glowing, the magical blue glow around his sword disappears.
(DC 12 versus strength 8) (DC 12 versus dexterity 8) (DC 12 versus wisdom 15) (DC 12 versus dexterity 9)
The half-elf draws the attention of two gazers. Although their faces don’t show emotions, he gets the feeling they will avenge their fallen brother. He is right.
They both turn one of their eyestalks in his direction and unleash their energy. A ray of frost crashes into him. It feels colder than the last one that hit him. His spell has wavered. He is launched thirty feet away by the telekinetic power of the other gazer.
They turn their other eyestalk to allies of the half-elf. An orange-yellow ray travels Bruq’s way, but his fogged mind has cleared up enough to spot the attack from far away.
Another blue ray is fired, this one directed at Mero. The crackling sound of this beam is loud, louder than the other ones that have been fired this combat. It hits him, hard.
“Guys”, the puppet says with a trembling voice, “I don’t feel so good.”
He sees his furry friend run for a couple of yards before he turns around. Bruq’s eyes are wide with panic and he points at the gazer with a trembling hand. He tries to say something, but he can’t even produce a single sound.
(Arcana 11)
Mero looks to what he’s pointing at. He can clearly see a form of magic around the gazer’s eyestalk, but he can’t really place what kind of spell it’s producing. It doesn’t matter. He needs to kill it and hope that will remove its effect on his friend.
He raises his hand and points three fingers at the gazer. While a purple energy starts to swirl around his fingertips, another automaton comes his way with haste. If he shifts his attack to the nearing threat, who knows what could happen to Bruq. But if he doesn’t, he’s going to take a hit himself.
He closes his eyes and raises his other hand. He is pulled back shortly to the white light he saw in his mind, how he split the ray of frost in two. He can feel a power grow inside of him, a power that wants to come out. His other hand becomes encased in purple energy as well and he release three projectiles to each gazer. The magic missiles crash on their metal skin, leaving holes behind, and sever some of their eyestalks.
(20 versus AC)
Lyssa looks at the battlefield. Pieces of the original spectator lie scattered everywhere and her allies are being chased by the pesky constructs. Bruq ran away, but he looks like he has calmed down a bit. She can still see traces of the panic that holds him. She sees Dargothoth fight off the metal monsters, while Mero and Oslando rely on their magical capabilities. It’s fascinating to see someone learn so quickly and perform them so well. She wants that too.
The siren picks up a metal shard and presses it against hot barrel of her blunderbuss.
Cyrzana told her that melting metal is always easier when you have the right components.
“Just hold a piece of iron against something hot”, she said to her, “and then cast your spell.”
She inhales deeply and whistles loudly. The high-pitched sound echoes faintly around them and seems to travel from her to the gazer closest to her. Its brown and grey metal glows and turns bright orange. Parts of him melt and drop on the ground, sizzling.
Bruq, his glaive out of reach, removes his bow from his back and pulls an arrow out of his quiver. He pulls back the string, but his trembling hand makes it impossible for him to even try to take a shot. He lowers his bow and closes his eyes. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
(13 versus dexterity 15) (17 versus AC)
When the satyr opens his eyes again, he sees Dargothoth swinging wildly with his sceptre, missing his small enemy completely.
Oslando is more lucky or, at least, more precise. His flaming blade splits his foe in two. As the metal falls to the ground and the green crystal stops glowing, the magical blue glow around his sword disappears.
(DC 12 versus strength 8) (DC 12 versus dexterity 8) (DC 12 versus wisdom 15) (DC 12 versus dexterity 9)
The half-elf draws the attention of two gazers. Although their faces don’t show emotions, he gets the feeling they will avenge their fallen brother. He is right.
They both turn one of their eyestalks in his direction and unleash their energy. A ray of frost crashes into him. It feels colder than the last one that hit him. His spell has wavered. He is launched thirty feet away by the telekinetic power of the other gazer.
They turn their other eyestalk to allies of the half-elf. An orange-yellow ray travels Bruq’s way, but his fogged mind has cleared up enough to spot the attack from far away.
Another blue ray is fired, this one directed at Mero. The crackling sound of this beam is loud, louder than the other ones that have been fired this combat. It hits him, hard.
“Guys”, the puppet says with a trembling voice, “I don’t feel so good.”
donderdag 11 juli 2019
Chapter 3.20: The Plane In Between
The big eye of the spectator remains dim, but the four smaller ones start to glow again. The metal body falls apart in smaller pieces and magically moves across the ground to the four gems. They shape a similar construct as before, only smaller. Within five seconds, four smaller automatons float in front of them. The original gems are their central eye now and crystal orbs are on their four eyestalks.
“Why have one spectator as a child when you can have four gazers instead?” Oanoa laughs. “Grandchildren, show them what you’re worth!”
(16 versus AC) (DC 12 versus strength 9) (DC 12 versus dexterity 10)
The gazer closest to the half-elf jolts towards him. It keeps biting as it moves towards him. Oslando notices the glowing yellow in his peripheral vision, but there’s no time to parry his attack.
“Shield”, the eldritch knight shouts. Instantaneously his body is enveloped with an unseen force. It almost feels like a blanket wrapped around him.
The gazer tries to bite him in his arm, but his protective spell bounces the foe right off of him.
Dargothoth isn’t as lucky. The gazer with the green eye turns one of its crystal orbs to the priest and fires a ray of greyish energy at him. Although the priest tries to run towards his enemy, he is pushed back further and further with every step he takes.
The gazer’s other eyestalk noticed how Oslando deflected one of its mechanical brethren. A light blue glow fills the glass eye and a thin, crackling ray comes his way.
Oslando recognizes what’s coming towards him. The colour and sound are similar to what he has seen in combat when Mero casts this. The half-elf just cast one spell and now he is ready to cast the next one. A flash of what is coming for him crosses his mind. The icy touch of snow, the sharpness of breathing cold air, a shiver down his spine.
The ray of frost hits him on his flank, but it’s less painful than he expected. It feels like his body was ready for what was coming and absorbed a part of the blast. The same blue energy can vaguely be seen around his flaming sword. The spell stored the cold damage in his blade, waiting to return the painful favour.
(DC 12 versus wisdom 21) (DC 12 versus wisdom 15) (DC 12 versus wisdom 17) (DC 12 versus wisdom 10)
The two other gazers, their purple and black eye glowing, attack the four men. The one on the left aims his glass eye at Mero and fires a similar ray as fired at Oslando. The one on the right fires a yellow and orange beam at the half-elf. They both miss, but not without any effect. They draw the attention of Dargothoth and Bruq. They are met with a different glass eye looking at them. No ray can be seen, but the cleric does not want to wait for it. He bends forward and averts his eyes.
The satyr on the other hand is not as wise as his companion. He feels a force hitting him, but can’t see what it is. The glass eye is the only thing he sees while everything around him goes dark. Something is staring back at him, something evil. He can feel it entering his mind and opening doors of repressed memories.
A giant tree walks somewhere in the distance. Its leaves are black, its branches are burning. Men are trampled. Children are crying. His family disappears in smoke.
Bruq drops his glaive and runs away.
“Why have one spectator as a child when you can have four gazers instead?” Oanoa laughs. “Grandchildren, show them what you’re worth!”
(16 versus AC) (DC 12 versus strength 9) (DC 12 versus dexterity 10)
The gazer closest to the half-elf jolts towards him. It keeps biting as it moves towards him. Oslando notices the glowing yellow in his peripheral vision, but there’s no time to parry his attack.
“Shield”, the eldritch knight shouts. Instantaneously his body is enveloped with an unseen force. It almost feels like a blanket wrapped around him.
The gazer tries to bite him in his arm, but his protective spell bounces the foe right off of him.
Dargothoth isn’t as lucky. The gazer with the green eye turns one of its crystal orbs to the priest and fires a ray of greyish energy at him. Although the priest tries to run towards his enemy, he is pushed back further and further with every step he takes.
The gazer’s other eyestalk noticed how Oslando deflected one of its mechanical brethren. A light blue glow fills the glass eye and a thin, crackling ray comes his way.
Oslando recognizes what’s coming towards him. The colour and sound are similar to what he has seen in combat when Mero casts this. The half-elf just cast one spell and now he is ready to cast the next one. A flash of what is coming for him crosses his mind. The icy touch of snow, the sharpness of breathing cold air, a shiver down his spine.
The ray of frost hits him on his flank, but it’s less painful than he expected. It feels like his body was ready for what was coming and absorbed a part of the blast. The same blue energy can vaguely be seen around his flaming sword. The spell stored the cold damage in his blade, waiting to return the painful favour.
(DC 12 versus wisdom 21) (DC 12 versus wisdom 15) (DC 12 versus wisdom 17) (DC 12 versus wisdom 10)
The two other gazers, their purple and black eye glowing, attack the four men. The one on the left aims his glass eye at Mero and fires a similar ray as fired at Oslando. The one on the right fires a yellow and orange beam at the half-elf. They both miss, but not without any effect. They draw the attention of Dargothoth and Bruq. They are met with a different glass eye looking at them. No ray can be seen, but the cleric does not want to wait for it. He bends forward and averts his eyes.
The satyr on the other hand is not as wise as his companion. He feels a force hitting him, but can’t see what it is. The glass eye is the only thing he sees while everything around him goes dark. Something is staring back at him, something evil. He can feel it entering his mind and opening doors of repressed memories.
A giant tree walks somewhere in the distance. Its leaves are black, its branches are burning. Men are trampled. Children are crying. His family disappears in smoke.
Bruq drops his glaive and runs away.
maandag 8 juli 2019
Chapter 3.19: The Plane In Between
(Natural 1 versus AC) (21 versus AC) (9 versus AC)
“Guys”, Lyssa shouts nervously, “please take it down before it can attack!”
She doesn’t have to say that twice. The increasingly loud noise and the automaton’s sudden movements startle Bruq. He quickly tries to pull himself together and follows Lyssa’s instruction. He jabs his glaive forward, trying to pierce or damage the metal skin, but the spectator’s irregular pattern of floaty movements makes it hard to hit.
“You disappoint, goatman”, Dargothoth says and he forcefully raises his sceptre into the air. As always, the sapphire changes colour, but something is different this time. The red glow is brighter than usual and seems to encase his whole weapon. He brings it down with a wide swing and smacks the spectator on its flank.
The blow moves their enemy a couple of feet back, right when Oslando tries to chop off one of its eyestalks. The half-elf misses and his flaming blade hits the ground.
Above the battlefield, Oanoa still observes the fight.
“Your turn, my child. Show me that I didn’t waste my time on building you.”
(DC 13 versus constitution 21) (DC 13 versus constitution 7)
It’s almost as if the spectator hears the words of its creator and it goes in for the attack. Two of its crystal eyes keep track of its enemies’ movements, two other eyes turn to its targets of choice.
The eyestalk with the topaz turns to the draconian cleric. Dargothoth can see its increasing glow just in time and evades the yellow ray of light that shoots his way. The sound of the eye ray echoes throughout the entire training grounds.
This scene distracts Lyssa enough to miss how subtly the spectator turns its black eye towards her. The obsidian stone releases a ray of dark energy. As it travels through the air, it’s almost like they can hear people scream and cry somewhere in the background. That harrowing sound disappears when the black beam hits the siren right in the chest. She gasps for air as an unnatural cold gets hold of her body. She falls the her knees, hands on the ground to stop crashing into it.
(Spell save DC 14 versus 14 constitution)
“Lyssa!” Mero shouts and he looks at her with a startled gaze. He turns back to the automaton and walks right up to it.
“I don’t care if my uncle sees you as a replacement for his lost children. I will not let you hurt my friends!”
The sorcerer claps his hands together and a thundering sound accompanies an invisible but forceful push. Just when the spell is about to hit the spectator, its central eye glows with a bright blue light. Mero recognizes it, but can’t act quickly enough. It’s a spellcaster’s worst nightmare: spell reflection. The puppet is pushed back a couple of feet. He holds on to his hat and tries not to fall over.
“His eye is green, his eye is yellow.
I will withstand this metal fellow.
His eye is purple, his eye is black.
I want my strength and vitality back.”
The words escape Lyssa’s mouth quickly, but they sound pained instead of frivolous. Her breathing accelerates. A deep sigh follows. She calms down.
(18 versus AC) (9 versus AC)
Bruq has observed the slow floating patterns long enough to calculate his next attack. He pushes his glaive forward. The sharp blade cuts the metal skin. He feels he has hit something on the inside. His blade is stuck and the sound of metal scratching metal is accompanied by a thick plume of smoke.
“Much better”, the cleric says and he smiles insincerely at the satyr.
Dargothoth swings again, but the spectator falls to the ground. It’s engine can’t hold it up anymore. The draconian misses his target.
“Better than you”, Bruq says with a grin.
“Only because you screwed this up. I will break it.”
But the half-elf beats him to the punch. The flaming longsword cuts right through the metal and creates a large gaping wound across the front. They can see the small cogwheels turning through the smoke and wires hanging loose, sparks flying everywhere. His shortsword finds its way inside. The wheels start to turn slower as a layer of frost spreads across them. The crystal eyes stop glowing and the mechanical noises die away.
They look up to see what Oanoa is going to do. He keeps floating there and shakes his head slowly.
“If that would be all”, he shouts, “my creation would be a disappointment indeed. Don’t worry. There is a part two.”
“Guys”, Lyssa shouts nervously, “please take it down before it can attack!”
She doesn’t have to say that twice. The increasingly loud noise and the automaton’s sudden movements startle Bruq. He quickly tries to pull himself together and follows Lyssa’s instruction. He jabs his glaive forward, trying to pierce or damage the metal skin, but the spectator’s irregular pattern of floaty movements makes it hard to hit.
“You disappoint, goatman”, Dargothoth says and he forcefully raises his sceptre into the air. As always, the sapphire changes colour, but something is different this time. The red glow is brighter than usual and seems to encase his whole weapon. He brings it down with a wide swing and smacks the spectator on its flank.
The blow moves their enemy a couple of feet back, right when Oslando tries to chop off one of its eyestalks. The half-elf misses and his flaming blade hits the ground.
Above the battlefield, Oanoa still observes the fight.
“Your turn, my child. Show me that I didn’t waste my time on building you.”
(DC 13 versus constitution 21) (DC 13 versus constitution 7)
It’s almost as if the spectator hears the words of its creator and it goes in for the attack. Two of its crystal eyes keep track of its enemies’ movements, two other eyes turn to its targets of choice.
The eyestalk with the topaz turns to the draconian cleric. Dargothoth can see its increasing glow just in time and evades the yellow ray of light that shoots his way. The sound of the eye ray echoes throughout the entire training grounds.
This scene distracts Lyssa enough to miss how subtly the spectator turns its black eye towards her. The obsidian stone releases a ray of dark energy. As it travels through the air, it’s almost like they can hear people scream and cry somewhere in the background. That harrowing sound disappears when the black beam hits the siren right in the chest. She gasps for air as an unnatural cold gets hold of her body. She falls the her knees, hands on the ground to stop crashing into it.
(Spell save DC 14 versus 14 constitution)
“Lyssa!” Mero shouts and he looks at her with a startled gaze. He turns back to the automaton and walks right up to it.
“I don’t care if my uncle sees you as a replacement for his lost children. I will not let you hurt my friends!”
The sorcerer claps his hands together and a thundering sound accompanies an invisible but forceful push. Just when the spell is about to hit the spectator, its central eye glows with a bright blue light. Mero recognizes it, but can’t act quickly enough. It’s a spellcaster’s worst nightmare: spell reflection. The puppet is pushed back a couple of feet. He holds on to his hat and tries not to fall over.
“His eye is green, his eye is yellow.
I will withstand this metal fellow.
His eye is purple, his eye is black.
I want my strength and vitality back.”
The words escape Lyssa’s mouth quickly, but they sound pained instead of frivolous. Her breathing accelerates. A deep sigh follows. She calms down.
(18 versus AC) (9 versus AC)
Bruq has observed the slow floating patterns long enough to calculate his next attack. He pushes his glaive forward. The sharp blade cuts the metal skin. He feels he has hit something on the inside. His blade is stuck and the sound of metal scratching metal is accompanied by a thick plume of smoke.
“Much better”, the cleric says and he smiles insincerely at the satyr.
Dargothoth swings again, but the spectator falls to the ground. It’s engine can’t hold it up anymore. The draconian misses his target.
“Better than you”, Bruq says with a grin.
“Only because you screwed this up. I will break it.”
But the half-elf beats him to the punch. The flaming longsword cuts right through the metal and creates a large gaping wound across the front. They can see the small cogwheels turning through the smoke and wires hanging loose, sparks flying everywhere. His shortsword finds its way inside. The wheels start to turn slower as a layer of frost spreads across them. The crystal eyes stop glowing and the mechanical noises die away.
They look up to see what Oanoa is going to do. He keeps floating there and shakes his head slowly.
“If that would be all”, he shouts, “my creation would be a disappointment indeed. Don’t worry. There is a part two.”
vrijdag 5 juli 2019
Chapter 3.18: The Plane In Between
(Perception 11)
As they enter the training grounds, they can see a small brown beholder floating. It has only four eyestalks instead of ten like Oanoa. They close in on it and it becomes clear this is not a regular beholder. Steam is coming out of its back and bolts stick out of its body. Its eyestalks are actually tubes with each a different kind of crystal on each end. Its central eye is one big translucent crystal with a red glow inside of it.
“This is my first attempt of creating a clockwork spectator. I think it looks rather dashing, don’t you agree?”
Bruq walks up beside Oanoa and turns to him.
“What’s clockwork?”
The confusion on the satyr’s face makes him laugh.
“Yes, that might require a bit of explanation. When you build something out of metal, you can power it with steam, rotating cogwheels and electricity. This automaton - that’s a different word for a clockwork creature - is powered by all of those things and some spare magic crystals I had laying around somewhere. Those are supposed to power its defense mechanisms, similar to the eye rays of real beholderkin. Maybe it all sounds a bit strange, but it’s just an artificial lifeform, just like how Mero uses his body.”
Oslando chuckles.
“Just an artificial lifeform”, he repeats. “You say it like it’s nothing! It looks as impressive as it is terrifying.”
A deep and humming sound emanates from its back as dark smoke blows out of two metal pipes. Its teeth move rhythmically but slowly, making bite gestures. The light bounces off the metal and makes it shine.
“We are going to fight that? But what if we break it?” Lyssa sounds genuinely worried. “Won’t that be a waste of your time? You have to rebuild it and everything.”
Oanoa shrugs his shoulders.
“I have a lot of time to kill, my dear. Don’t be worried about me. Just keep your eyes open and sharp.” He rubs his hands together. “This is going to be so much fun!”
(14 versus AC)
“You get to go first”, the Beholder shouts. “It only attacks if it’s attacked.” Oanoa floats above the training grounds, giving him a better view on the coming spectacle.
They all slowly draw their weapons while keeping their eye on the floating construct. The crystals at the end of the eyestalks quickly point from one of them to the other. It seems like they are scanning their opponents.
“I’ll take the first shot”, the siren says and she aims her blunderbuss at the spectator.
“Wait”, Oslando says quickly and she lowers the gun again. “Let us get closer first. We can jump on it when you have taken your shot.”
She waits and her companions walk up to the patient creature. They can feel a subtle heat coming off the enemy, accompanied by an annoying humming.
“Please”, Bruq says with a nervous smile on his face, “take your shot and don’t miss.”
She laughs with confidence and aims her gun again. With one eye open she looks through the metal sight of her weapon. She has a full and clear vision on her enemy, everything should work out perfectly. She pulls the trigger and a loud bang echoes throughout the entire pocket plane. The bullet crashes into its metal surface and small scraps of metal fly off of it. A small plume of smoke rises from the entry hole.
The automaton turns the four gems on his eyestalks towards himself, observing the wound. They turn around quickly and, somehow, they seem to look threateningly in Lyssa’s direction. The central crystal glow rhythmically with a bright red light, like it’s striking alarm.
“Well, well”, Oanoa whispers to himself, “time for things to get interesting. Show me what you got, children.”
As they enter the training grounds, they can see a small brown beholder floating. It has only four eyestalks instead of ten like Oanoa. They close in on it and it becomes clear this is not a regular beholder. Steam is coming out of its back and bolts stick out of its body. Its eyestalks are actually tubes with each a different kind of crystal on each end. Its central eye is one big translucent crystal with a red glow inside of it.
“This is my first attempt of creating a clockwork spectator. I think it looks rather dashing, don’t you agree?”
Bruq walks up beside Oanoa and turns to him.
“What’s clockwork?”
The confusion on the satyr’s face makes him laugh.
“Yes, that might require a bit of explanation. When you build something out of metal, you can power it with steam, rotating cogwheels and electricity. This automaton - that’s a different word for a clockwork creature - is powered by all of those things and some spare magic crystals I had laying around somewhere. Those are supposed to power its defense mechanisms, similar to the eye rays of real beholderkin. Maybe it all sounds a bit strange, but it’s just an artificial lifeform, just like how Mero uses his body.”
Oslando chuckles.
“Just an artificial lifeform”, he repeats. “You say it like it’s nothing! It looks as impressive as it is terrifying.”
A deep and humming sound emanates from its back as dark smoke blows out of two metal pipes. Its teeth move rhythmically but slowly, making bite gestures. The light bounces off the metal and makes it shine.
“We are going to fight that? But what if we break it?” Lyssa sounds genuinely worried. “Won’t that be a waste of your time? You have to rebuild it and everything.”
Oanoa shrugs his shoulders.
“I have a lot of time to kill, my dear. Don’t be worried about me. Just keep your eyes open and sharp.” He rubs his hands together. “This is going to be so much fun!”
(14 versus AC)
“You get to go first”, the Beholder shouts. “It only attacks if it’s attacked.” Oanoa floats above the training grounds, giving him a better view on the coming spectacle.
They all slowly draw their weapons while keeping their eye on the floating construct. The crystals at the end of the eyestalks quickly point from one of them to the other. It seems like they are scanning their opponents.
“I’ll take the first shot”, the siren says and she aims her blunderbuss at the spectator.
“Wait”, Oslando says quickly and she lowers the gun again. “Let us get closer first. We can jump on it when you have taken your shot.”
She waits and her companions walk up to the patient creature. They can feel a subtle heat coming off the enemy, accompanied by an annoying humming.
“Please”, Bruq says with a nervous smile on his face, “take your shot and don’t miss.”
She laughs with confidence and aims her gun again. With one eye open she looks through the metal sight of her weapon. She has a full and clear vision on her enemy, everything should work out perfectly. She pulls the trigger and a loud bang echoes throughout the entire pocket plane. The bullet crashes into its metal surface and small scraps of metal fly off of it. A small plume of smoke rises from the entry hole.
The automaton turns the four gems on his eyestalks towards himself, observing the wound. They turn around quickly and, somehow, they seem to look threateningly in Lyssa’s direction. The central crystal glow rhythmically with a bright red light, like it’s striking alarm.
“Well, well”, Oanoa whispers to himself, “time for things to get interesting. Show me what you got, children.”
dinsdag 2 juli 2019
Chapter 3.17: The Plane In Between
“That would be amazing!” Mero jumps enthusiastically. “What kind of body? Is it taller?”
Oslando quickly walks up to him and puts his hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down.
“Is that safe?” The troubled half-elf looks at Oanoa. “Can you just do that? And how?”
Mero shakes his head.
“Don’t be a party pooper, Oslando. This is so exciting!” The pure joy in his voice is childlike, so innocent.
“Yes, it is safe. Yes, I can do that. Don’t worry about the ‘how’. It’s not that difficult. Maybe a bit painful, but it will only take a moment.”
Bruq taps Oslando on his back.
“If this is what he wants, we shouldn’t try to talk him out of it. Besides, I trust Oanoa. You do too, right?”
Silently, the half-elf takes the satyr’s hand away from his shoulder.
“Why do you do all these nice things for us?” Lyssa smiles sympathetically at their host.
“I can’t do much about all things evil in the dimensions I can see. I am restricted to actions within this observatory-like demiplane. I am tired of watching worlds burn, wars being planned and corruption spread. I can give you the tools to fix these things. I can help you from a distance. You are the instruments of good. I’m not pulling any strings, I merely push you into the right directions.”
Dargothoth nods his head.
“Indeed, you don’t pull any strings. We are not your puppets. I will not stand for an upgraded version of Hadriel, sending us on quests for a bigger plan. I will go to Abaddon, but I do this out of my own will and with my own intentions. Your need and desire to fix everything come second. You are nothing more than a sidequest in my journey. Do you understand?” His politeness made way for hostility very quickly.
Oanoa smiles at him.
“Of course, shapeshifter. I’m most certainly no Hadriel. You can do it exactly the way you want to do it. I’m just here to help, as I mentioned.”
How the Beholder keeps his temper while being treated so rudely fascinates Oslando and Mero. Being someone so ancient and wise, they guess it comes from an unlimited amount of patience.
“But there’s something I like even more than to help people, even if they are the heroes of vague prophecies.” He smiles again, this time slightly more mysterious. “I like to be entertained.”
As he says this, they can see a spark in his eyes. They don’t know if they’re going to like what’s coming up next.
“The problem is, sadly, I know everything that happens here. I control everything. So it’s a rare event the be surprised or entertained.” He turns his head to Cyrzana. “And if I get visitors, most of the time I find them more annoying than entertaining.”
The princes raises her eyebrows.
“You’re not very entertaining, either, old man. Voyeur.”
He ignores her and turns his attention back to his guests. A cheeky smile runs across his face.
“I will give you your new body, Mero, but you have to test something for me. I have been tinkering in my laboratory and built a mechanical variant of my spectators. I think I’ll send those to Abaddon instead of my actual children. They are precious to me, while this automaton is expendable. I would like to test it and you five seem like the perfect opponents for it. Care to join me on the training grounds?”
“Quick question”, Bruq says with his hand raised. “It can’t actually hurt or kill us, right? I don’t feel like fighting if I don’t have to.”
(Persuasion 21)
Oanoa shakes his head. “Before it can seriously hurt you or even kill you, I’ll call it back. You will be fine. Cyrzana and I will take care of the minor scratches and flesh wounds you might acquire.”
He can see the doubt in their eyes.
“I have shown you my very best intentions, granting you a place to sleep, guidance, magic, resources. See this as a way to test your new abilities in a controlled environment. It will help you prepare for whatever awaits you in Abaddon.”
“Alright”, the half-elf says. “You can have your entertainment if you promise you’ll guarantee our safety.”
The Beholder turns around and floats towards the door, ready to go to the battlefield.
“Of course. I promise.”
Oslando quickly walks up to him and puts his hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down.
“Is that safe?” The troubled half-elf looks at Oanoa. “Can you just do that? And how?”
Mero shakes his head.
“Don’t be a party pooper, Oslando. This is so exciting!” The pure joy in his voice is childlike, so innocent.
“Yes, it is safe. Yes, I can do that. Don’t worry about the ‘how’. It’s not that difficult. Maybe a bit painful, but it will only take a moment.”
Bruq taps Oslando on his back.
“If this is what he wants, we shouldn’t try to talk him out of it. Besides, I trust Oanoa. You do too, right?”
Silently, the half-elf takes the satyr’s hand away from his shoulder.
“Why do you do all these nice things for us?” Lyssa smiles sympathetically at their host.
“I can’t do much about all things evil in the dimensions I can see. I am restricted to actions within this observatory-like demiplane. I am tired of watching worlds burn, wars being planned and corruption spread. I can give you the tools to fix these things. I can help you from a distance. You are the instruments of good. I’m not pulling any strings, I merely push you into the right directions.”
Dargothoth nods his head.
“Indeed, you don’t pull any strings. We are not your puppets. I will not stand for an upgraded version of Hadriel, sending us on quests for a bigger plan. I will go to Abaddon, but I do this out of my own will and with my own intentions. Your need and desire to fix everything come second. You are nothing more than a sidequest in my journey. Do you understand?” His politeness made way for hostility very quickly.
Oanoa smiles at him.
“Of course, shapeshifter. I’m most certainly no Hadriel. You can do it exactly the way you want to do it. I’m just here to help, as I mentioned.”
How the Beholder keeps his temper while being treated so rudely fascinates Oslando and Mero. Being someone so ancient and wise, they guess it comes from an unlimited amount of patience.
“But there’s something I like even more than to help people, even if they are the heroes of vague prophecies.” He smiles again, this time slightly more mysterious. “I like to be entertained.”
As he says this, they can see a spark in his eyes. They don’t know if they’re going to like what’s coming up next.
“The problem is, sadly, I know everything that happens here. I control everything. So it’s a rare event the be surprised or entertained.” He turns his head to Cyrzana. “And if I get visitors, most of the time I find them more annoying than entertaining.”
The princes raises her eyebrows.
“You’re not very entertaining, either, old man. Voyeur.”
He ignores her and turns his attention back to his guests. A cheeky smile runs across his face.
“I will give you your new body, Mero, but you have to test something for me. I have been tinkering in my laboratory and built a mechanical variant of my spectators. I think I’ll send those to Abaddon instead of my actual children. They are precious to me, while this automaton is expendable. I would like to test it and you five seem like the perfect opponents for it. Care to join me on the training grounds?”
“Quick question”, Bruq says with his hand raised. “It can’t actually hurt or kill us, right? I don’t feel like fighting if I don’t have to.”
(Persuasion 21)
Oanoa shakes his head. “Before it can seriously hurt you or even kill you, I’ll call it back. You will be fine. Cyrzana and I will take care of the minor scratches and flesh wounds you might acquire.”
He can see the doubt in their eyes.
“I have shown you my very best intentions, granting you a place to sleep, guidance, magic, resources. See this as a way to test your new abilities in a controlled environment. It will help you prepare for whatever awaits you in Abaddon.”
“Alright”, the half-elf says. “You can have your entertainment if you promise you’ll guarantee our safety.”
The Beholder turns around and floats towards the door, ready to go to the battlefield.
“Of course. I promise.”
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