02/11/746 A.E. Winter Black.
Aarkon inspected the bell tower, the stone archway, and the spiral staircase leading up to the top of the 30-foot structure. Only through the archway might someone normally be able to get in and ring the bell, so he carefully traced a Glyph of Warding there. Thankfully, the area was small and he didn't need the 2,000 GP of diamond dust to extend the area of effect. Doors, archways, drawers and the like all were easily warded in such a fashion. The monk of Athena opted for the tactic of Paralyzation this time. Anyone not speaking the correct password when moving through the arch would have the spell's power unleashed upon them. He hoped it would be enough.
Renann carefully search the town's well nearby the tower. The mayor's son had been found there, murdered, and the bard wondered if there was any connection. Levitate and a magic light aided the bard in his quest of discovery, but all he ended up doing was confirming there was nothing extraordinary about the well. Still, that in and of itself could be useful to know; it might even make a nice song verse someday.
Others were here or there, close by perhaps, some a little more distant than others. All of them were waiting for something to happen. The murders had been occurring every few days. Nothing might happen tonight at all. Still, they waited, watched, and listened.
Hours passed and no particular notice was taken of the fact they slipped into the next day.
02/12/746 A.E. Waiting.
Renann saw it first. A fog. Eerie, it was. Unnatural. It was like nothing he had ever seen. No one had predicted fog that night, yet toward the outskirts of town where the village cemetery lay, he could see it rising. In fact, there was something back lighting it, some form of illumination. This is it, he thought, as he quickly rushed toward the cemetery. "Come on my new friends. Let's go!" he screamed as he charged ahead.
The others, perhaps not accustomed to his voice, took a second or two to figure out who had called out. Then more time figuring what the call was about. Then a wee bit more looking at the fog for themselves. It scarcely took thirty seconds since Renann yelled, but that can be a great deal of time under the right conditions. This time, it allowed the new bard opportunity to get sixty feet ahead of their swiftest member.
When Renann arrived, he saw an odd column or shaft of light flitting about the fog, and pairs of green eyes nearby where sounds of ruffled feathers could be heard. And an odd chanting. Odd? No, wait. He recognized it. Someone was casting a spell. It sounded archaic, typical of those practitioners of arcane lore. Then it happened.
A brilliant streak of light flashed forth, striking several tombstones, including the one the bard stood near. Immediately following this flash came the clap of thunder that rolled over the village of Winter Black. A Lightning Bolt. A big one. Yet, Renann no longer considered its properties so much as the bard simply experienced them, first hand.
Some would say it was unfortunate. Other would claim it was lucky. It's a point of view thing. This night, at that time, in that place, or 'above' that place, rather, on some other planes of existence, the fabric of reality was a little weaker than normal, a little more easily opened. The planar gap larger than normal this time, it stayed open longer than normal. And so the electrical energy from the spell poured into the universe stronger than normal. It wasn't normal, but it was, well, deadly.
In one blinding flash, it was over for Renann. My, that was unexpected, he said, but he no longer had a mouth to really say it. Still he heard, YES, WASN'T IT? A tall, robbed figure smiled at him, for he could do little else, and proffered his bony arm to the bard. Oddly, Renann felt no fear or anxiety of anticipation. Perhaps his spirit's lack of adrenal glands had something to do with it. Oh well. These things happen. YES, THEY DO INDEED. COME, WE MUST AWAY.
Back on Orlantia, things were heating up. Well, not everything. The cherry coloring to the back of that tombstone was rapidly fading, so it could hardly be described as heating up so much a rapidly cooling down. But you know what I mean. Just a little late, their good fortune paid for by the bard's young life, they arrived and hurled themselves into the fog and fought as they do, just as they have been trained to do.
This time, however, they discovered more illusionary magics at work. The birds they fought jumping from headstone to headstone were more images, perhaps mirrored from some real source. Connecting with them, their swords or other weapons seemed to break them into shattered fragments of light that quickly faded into nothing. Yet one bird was real, and it departed, heading toward the tower. Aarkon, Ryo, and Gillmesh stood over the body of Renann. The three of them looked at the dead bard, knowing full well he was beyond their help after a strike like that. Was this the next victim? Yet not one of the three adventurers saw any three mysterious objects around the body. But there were, nevertheless, even if it didn't occur to the trio what they were.
Aarkon broke into a dead run back toward the bell tower. His fantastic speed over matched Lytha's who was also heading back, though she started much closer. The bell sounded out then. "DONG, DONG, DONG." When he arrived he discovered the glyph had been tripped, yet no subject was to be discovered. It had failed.
Ryo, luckily, found the light source. A tube of hollow metal with a shuttered opening, apparently using a Continual Light spell cast on some metal disk inside it. Opening the shutters provided a useful column of directed light that could be, perhaps, used more covertly than the same spell out in the open telling all exactly where you were. Making sure it was safe, she used it to track booted footprints back from whence they came. If she couldn't find out where it flew, she'd damn well wanted to know where it came from.
Taking the lead, the ranger slowly and carefully tracked into the night. One hour, slow going, two, this tracking is not a fast activity, three, the darkness makes it nearly impossible, a testament to the ranger's skills she can do it at all, and more hours too, until the sun rose before she had finished. But the trail leads them to the side of the mountain on the other side of the woods.
Was that a concealed door in the mountainside? It looked odd. Investigating, they discovered it was and gingerly opened it. But eight well camouflaged Rock Toads sunning themselves on rocks that looked very much like they did seemed to take some exception to their presence. And giant rock toads are deadly and poisonous!
A fantastic battle ensued, the party trying to make their way inside, the sticky, poisonous tongues of the giant toads thwarting their attempts. The solid muscle of the darting tongues hit like a mace, only worse, the syrupy goop clinging to victim afterwards and burning the skin in a penetrating manner. It was awful, painful, horrible, but their training ignored it and they pressed on, marrying steel to toady flesh and proving the color of toad blood was unsurprisingly red, hacking at them as they knew they must do or die.
Toads died, Lytha fell, was healed, and Bell went down. Again healed, she was, and Gill and Ryo hacked into the amphibians with no mercy. Cyris and Bell used magic, stunning them, sleeping them, and Color Spray and Magic Missiles were used, too. Aarkon did what he could, batting the toads, healing fallen comrades and getting them back into action, for such tactics often were the difference between success and failure.
Gill finally broke past the monster guards and into the cave. Cyris worked on killing the helpless toads, the more active ones followed Gill, shooting their poisonous tongues at him.
Gillmesh heard casting in the back of the cave, turned the corner and saw a large, portly man there. Whatever he had cast, it was over and Gill could not tell what it was. He didn't really need to know. He charged. Yet, when he got there, he did not wish to slay this man. Man? What man? A strike from behind reminded him of the toads and he turned to fight them. He could hear Ryo doing the same without.
The man ran past Gill then, unconcerned what the warrior was doing. He attacked Bell with a scimitar; she seemed an easy target. A fatal and excited mistake, that. Oh, not that Bell was that dangerous. No. But a Sanctuary spell will not stand when violence is done by the caster. Perhaps he forget that. Perhaps he never knew. Whatever the case, as he hit Bell both she and the spell went down, and Gill once again took notice of him. Oh oh.
And Lytha, employing a rare tactic for her, summoned the antithesis of life energy and cast a Cause Moderate Wounds spell on the fat man. He screamed in pain as she grasped him and she clung to him, not wishing him to get free of her Lord's justice.
Lytha had begged Corellon to spare the child's life. She pleaded with her Lord, calling for divine favor. But she had not been answered then. If Corellon would not spare the child, Lytha would see to it Corellon's justice would make this man pay the ultimate price. "Die!" she screamed, clinging to him like a bloody badger, mad beyond all belief. But even a badger may be cut down, and the scimitar sliced into her side and the elven priestess fell once again.
Aarkon was healing Bell, the rogue quickly mumbling something about her potion of Fireball. The monk, wise beyond his years, knew that meant to run like hell when Bell started tossing around fire. Out of further magic, he had little else he could do anyway.
Ryo tried to drag Lytha out of the cave. The tall, portly man had managed to disappear, and Gill was covering the cave as any would with blind fighting skills, seeking him out. He listened, swung, tossed a dart, moved, stopped, listened again. His pace was measured; he almost began to use the sound bouncing off the cave walls to help him locate his target. Listen, listen, there! He shot out three darts in rapid succession to blanket the area where he had heard a soft click.
"Ughhhhh!" the sound of a fat man falling against the wall, then the sound of one slumping to the floor. A crack of illumination now showed where the man became visible and had been trying to make good his escape through a secret door. Gill went over, and with one more duty yet to perform, he made sure it was over using one more quick and simple thrust.
The battle was over, with Bell one swallow away from engulfing everything in flames, but just in time she instead pushed the stopper back in the bottle. Wounds were bound. They rested. They survived. They had won. For Jessica, for Renann, and for the others, they had won.
With the rising of the sun, the repairs to the A.I.V. Minneapolis were virtually complete. Jarmain had done well caring for the men, and all but two were up and around. Captain Saint asked the priest if he would inform his traveling companions they would be leaving shortly after midnight, assuming all was shipshape. The priest agreed and went ashore only to begin to learn what awful things had been going on. "Oh, I'm sorry," said a townsman, "but one of your friends has died," he said, pointing toward the temple. A wave of sickening fear washed through Jarmain's soul. Had his devotion to the crew cost him one of his companions? He rushed over, sick with worry, not knowing which one of his friends had met an untimely end. And there Lorianne showed him the body of Renann. "Who is this?" he asked, almost relieved. Yet, though less frantic, he desperately wanted to find his friends, and he took eagle's form and took flight. Heading in the right direction, thanks to the constable, he soon found them, bless those eagle eyes.
Back at the cave, they healed some more after resting, then decided to look a little further. The illumination came from a brown substance in the corner, later identified as Brown Mold. This would account for the extreme cold in the room. And trays of dirt and odds and ends filled the place. It looked like a greenhouse, only for growing cold plants like the Black Orchid. They surmised this man was attempting to cultivate the flower here. They found no evidence of success, however.
Cyris discovered what appeared to be something akin to an extra dimensional space, like a Rope Trick spell, but a smaller pocket in the wall. It was unusual. Cyris then found the mage's spellbook inside the pocket contained a variety of spells, including the one that made that extra dimensional pocket in the wall. Useful.
They also found the man's cloak, scimitar, wooden shield, ring, and 20 potions were all magic. Naturally, they took them. When Jarmain showed up, they partook in his ample healing and hit the trail for home, after closing up the cave. Ryo hunted down a stag when she cut its trail, but the rest just returned to Winter Black with the man's body.
"My lords and by the gods, it's Thisor Amethist!" exclaimed the constable. Slowly, after Ryo returned with stag in hand, the town settled down for a farewell party and heartfelt thank you for the band of adventurers for saving them from that mad druid.
They discovered the mayor's son was murdered, buried, and apparently his grave had been robbed. A close match, the druid stole then burned the body and made it appear he was dead too. They buried the mayor's son in the druid's grave, thinking it the druid.
Best guess, they felt Amethist went insane as he couldn't discover the secret of the Black Orchids after three years of trying. He had asked the mayor to tell him on three separate occasions, but the mayor claimed he did not know each time. Many simply suspected Thisor felt they were only protecting their livelihood and wouldn't share the secret, but in truth, no one knows why the Black Orchid only grow here or how it grows in the winter or how it manages to not wilt for months after being picked. No one. It could drive a fellow crazy trying to figure it out. In fact, it had.
Cyris surrendered some party magic items to Jarmain and Aarkon. "What? Why?" they asked. "I'm staying here. I'll keep this spellbook, and I'll take up residence with Mrs. Hudson, perhaps picking up where the sage left off. Besides, I'm a big man in a place like this. And I have some research to do. So at least for now, I'll be here if you need me." They didn't argue, his mind obviously made up.
"Please," Bell began, "let me take your daughter's body and you with us to Pedas. I feel so terrible such a delicate and beautiful flower like Jessica lost her life to this mad man." Overjoyed, Jessica's mother accepted and the arrangements were made. Bell clearly had a soft spot for children, and she was willing to pony up 5,000 GP out of her own pocket just for the attempt afforded by magic. Her empathy for the mother's plight was obvious. Bell was an odd character, in many ways, but few would fault her for this.
Renann was another matter. His elven ancestry made bringing him back beyond their current economic reach. Sadly, no bard was there to tell his heroic tale. Ironic, is it not?
Shortly after midnight, they left. The peculiar, Forest Imp watched them leave and was glad of their departure. He hadn't seen anyone toss around power like that for nearly 600 years, when that guy had enlisted him into service. It made him nervous while they were here and he was happy they were gone, but now that they were gone, he went about the frost-covered forest again, looking for Orchid seeds as he was wont to do. He would need them. He always needed them.
02/15/746 A.E. Pedas.
Wishing to find some greater order to it all, Jarmain, newly elected leader, hired a dwarf named Hordlark to help evaluate treasure, goods, help them around the city, and discuss matters. A bit of a fiasco in the final analysis, few liked his suggestions and it eventually ended badly.
One good thing that did come of it was all monetary treasure would be further divided such that the party would have a common fund to help pay for party needs. Food, lodgings, equipment they all needed, etc. and even healing potions would be considered group property. It was felt fewer arguments about who should pay for what would result once this practice was firmly established.
They divided, as they do in that imperceptible fashion of theirs, the treasure, and spent some time in Pedas. Jessica was successfully brought back to life and given back into the arms of a grateful mother. The mother and daughter eventually made their way back home, to Winter Black.
The others only then began to set their sights on their old plans again. Ekibar . . .
SESSION ENDS:
© January of 2001
by
James L.R. Beach
Waterville, MN 56096