Don't Waste Your Time on Me...
The Cast
Zern- a duergar cleric of Asmodeus, on a crusade to
prove his Lord is the true god of the duergar; he was the first to be captured
(24 days ago) and knows almost everything about the camp.
Nosey- a half-elf paladin of Ao, whom she discovered while living as a hermit; she has an obsession with shiny objects, has found a pet spider, and has no respect for other faiths (for some reason).
Kian- a mild-mannered green dragon-born barbarian; he has been concerned for the fate of his pet mouse ever since his capture.
Frec- a halfling monk and man of few words; no one is yet sure what Frec is capable of, but he is generally friendly and surprisingly competent.
Angel- a drow, possibly cleric of Vhaeraun; no one knows why he was captured but he seems surprisingly charismatic.
Nosey- a half-elf paladin of Ao, whom she discovered while living as a hermit; she has an obsession with shiny objects, has found a pet spider, and has no respect for other faiths (for some reason).
Kian- a mild-mannered green dragon-born barbarian; he has been concerned for the fate of his pet mouse ever since his capture.
Frec- a halfling monk and man of few words; no one is yet sure what Frec is capable of, but he is generally friendly and surprisingly competent.
Angel- a drow, possibly cleric of Vhaeraun; no one knows why he was captured but he seems surprisingly charismatic.
The Voice Inside My Head
(I miss you...)
Jorlan, head of the Velkynvelve guard couldn’t believe what
he was about to do…
His hurried footfalls echoed on the zyrchwood, every step
bringing the drow nearer to his destination—his doom. The thought made Jorlan
shiver with terror. This was insanity! This plan could be the death of
him! Or worse! It was a fool’s errand!
And yet…
Images flashed across Jorlan’s mind, reminding him of his
dreams last night—the visions that had interrupted his otherwise peaceful
Reverie. He saw Menzoberranzan lit aflame, corpses of Demon Lords amidst her
ashes. He saw some bright Surface place explode with shadows, an unlikely
couple before Corellon’s alter. He saw the Demonweb Pits torn brutally asunder;
the exodus of a thousands of drow; the sealed gates of Arvandor thrown wide in
welcome…
The visions had been coming for months—ever since the
accident that had left Jorlan’s “pretty face” so badly scarred. Ever since he
had lost Ilvara’s favour… The scenes changed a little each time, but one thing
remained consistent: a man. There was single drow who was orchestrating it
all—the destruction, the redemption. His face was hidden behind a half-mask,
and his magical cloak absorbed the fire at his feet. Technicolour hair flapped
in the breeze: blue with mirth, gold with victory.
Jorlan knew His name of course, though he could not bring
himself to speak it—not even in his mind! That name meant death to any
Menzoberranyr... and Jorlan knew in his heart he should reject these visions!
He should reject…
But in the eyes of
that dashing spectre, the Hunter had beheld the most wonderful image of all:
He saw Ilvara, his former ‘lover’. Her body was broken and
bleeding. Her beautiful face was smashed on the right side—ironic, considering
the injuries for which she had spurned Jorlan. He saw her dead not once
but twice, and in ways so horrible it filled the drow’s soul with
ecstasy.
Damn Ilvara. He would do anything to see her ruined…
Even serve the Masked Lord!
With a few more quick strides, the once-proud elite warrior
drew up to the cage gate—the door to his doom. As he unlocked the slave pen,
Jorlan re-arranged his face, careful to appear as if nothing was amiss. Then he
turned to his subordinates, a pair of low-ranking drow soldiers, and gave order
to start distributing the prisoners’ rations. The guards obeyed at once—and why
would they not? After all, they had no reason to suspect that anything was wrong.
They had no way of knowing that they would likely be murdered, come dawn, for
this scheme in which they were unwittingly implicated. But Jorlan couldn’t
afford to have pity. There was too much at stake. As his subordinates fanned
out among the prisoners, the Hunter played along and began spooning bowls of
mushroom broth. All the while, however, he was scanning the cage, looking for
one prisoner in particular….
It didn’t take him long to find his quarry.
‘Angel’ Melarn was seated near the cage door, looking every
bit the model prisoner his name implied. Jorlan sighed, rolling his eyes. None
of these kids were innocent—he’d bet his boot on it! And this one perhaps least
of all… Yet, he had a job to do. And thus, under the guise of administering
rations, Jorlan bent over the boy and whispered a word so vile it nearly burned
his tongue:
“Malla’gelend!” he whispered. ‘Most honourable
heretic’.
It was a term Jorlan had heard in exchange between the
dissenters of the Spider Queen, back when he had stalked the cults like prey.
Now, he could only hope it was enough to convey his traitorous—his
sacrilegious—intentions.
The comprehension was dramatic and immediate. The Hunter
watched with mild amusement as Angel’s eyes grew wide, and his breath hitched
ever so slightly. He was stunned, clearly—and, were Jorlan still a kin-killer,
he might have ensured the heretic never breathed again! As it was, however… the
Hunter was now the hunted. Jorlan didn’t want to think what would happen to him
if this child gave them away now… But fortunately Angel didn’t flinch, didn’t
otherwise draw attention. Good. Jorlan had hoped he could trust a (heretic!)…a
Nightshadow…to keep his cool. It was a cult of assassins, after all. And so the
elder drow pressed on, before he could lose his nerve:
“If I could offer you a means of escape,” he hissed to the
cultist, “would you take it?”
Angel did not respond right away, and a heavy silence
descended. Jorlan felt fresh terror clamp around his heart, fearing he might be
betrayed! But then the young drow grinned, and when he turned, his eyes
sparkled with an almost supernatural amusement. Now it was Jorlan’s turn
to feel his breath hitch: he’d
seen that look before! That wild sort of passion! He’d seen it in his dreams—in
the face of…!
(Vhaeraun)
The likeness was suddenly quite startling—so much so that
Jorlan nearly lost his nerve entirely! His heart pounded so furiously that the
Hunter began to fear his comrades might overhear it.
But the eyes remained crimson; the long hair, silver. Jorlan’s
question still lay hanging in the air between them: a chance of escape, would
you take it? And from Angel’s lips fell only a pair of words:
“Hell yes!”
…
“Not GOOD enough!” the fat orc roared.
Everyone in the cage winced in unison, and their would-be
diplomat covered his ears. The move was reflexive, but it did no good of
course: Ront wasn’t screaming with his voice. Rather, he was letting the
assembled prisoners know of his displeasure directly—via Stool’s Rapport
Spores. Kian sighed, thinking to himself that this might be the one time their
telepathic link was inconvenient. Sure, they avoided the risk of alerting the
guards, but...Kord’s Hammer! They’d all have raging migraines if this kept up!
In the centre of the cage, Angel shook off his daze, and
turned back to face the raging orc. “’Not good enough’?” he inquired, with
admirable calm about his person. “And which part still displeases you, sir?”
That earned him another, more audible roar of rage, and a spray of spittle to
his face. But the drow brushed it off, as he had several times before.
Kian had to admit, he was rather impressed at Angel’s
restraint. As a barbarian, he was a man of action, not flowery words. The
dragonborn wasn’t sure he could even endure one of Ront’s
tantrums before punching the dumb orc right in the nose!
Angel had been playing negotiator for several tense minutes
now—ever since the distribution of their nightly rations had been completed.
Apparently Jorlan had approached his fellow drow while the other prisoners had
been distracted, and the pair had struck up some sort of deal. The elite
warrior was now agreeing to help the prisoners escape—Kord only knew why! Kian
wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. But there was a catch in this
grand escape: they had to do it tonight. Already, the door to the prisoners’
cage had been left unlocked, and the quaggoths in the neighbouring pen had been
relocated elsewhere in the camp. According to Angel, Jorlan had also agreed to
delay the arrival of the new guards following tonight’s shift change, but only
for a short while. The rest would be up to the prisoners. Thus, it was of the utmost
importance that they get their act together! And fast! Because shift change was
fast approaching…
Thus, the group had descended back into an eager discussion
about escape routes. Kian and Angel had both advocated the waterfall as their
surest means—and had enjoyed a generally good response. There had, however,
been a few holdouts. Some folks were hesitant because they had not personally
seen the pool at the falls’ base. The savvier prisoners knew Velkynvelve was
about 100ft in the air, and the thought of dropping so far into a pool of
unknown depth made a few of them rightly nervous. Others, Kian suspected, held
reservations for another reason entirely: they were trusting a drow. In fact,
they were trusting two drow—one of whom had been their captor all
this time! It was, the dragonborn supposed, mighty suspicious. Considered
objectively, the whole scenario sounded like a trap. But Angel’s intelligence
on the waterfall was sound; and with his charismatic zeal, the caster had won
over most of his doubters.
…Most.
“Ront will NOT sneak away like filthy coward!!” The orc
screamed again, apparently in answer to Angel’s query. “Ront mighty orc
warrior! Will PROVE power to puny drow! Smash them all into PUDDLE! Even if
Ront have to start with THIS ONE!” As he spoke, he bore down upon Angel,
menacingly. He cracked his massive knuckles for effect, and drew near enough
that Kian considered leaping to the elf’s defence.
But if Angel was intimidated, it certainly didn’t show on
his face. “’Smash’ me if you like, sir,” he replied coolly. “Better than what
the drow have planned for me, god knows. And it will do
nothing to change the facts: the waterfall is your surest means of escape.”
To this Ront grumbled, and Kian twiddled his claws
nervously. That could be a grunt of conceit… or it could be a sign he was about
to take the elf’s head off! But before the orc could do either, Eldeth spoke up
from the back row: “And how else would ye propose escapin’ anyway?” she asked,
voice shrill and accusatory. As she spoke, the young shield dwarf regarded not
only Ront, but his ‘friends’: Buppido and Derendil, who were also murmuring in
protest. There was a general sound of agreement from the crowd, and soon
similar shouts and demands erupted from all sides of the cage:
How? How did the trio intend to escape if not by waterfall?
How did they intend to deal with the guards? In what twisted reality did
fighting here spell anything but death?
In the end, it was Buppido who spoke up:
“Why not take the southern watch-post?” he asked with a
squeak of eagerness, hands twisting earnestly in his lap. “There is never more
than two guards on duty. I-I have watched them! Yes. Ohhh so carefully! Lord
Buppido sees all!” Then the derro’s eyes flickered strangely, and his
face grew wild. Before Kian could even blink, the man was on his feet and half
way across the cage. He took Angel suddenly by the wrist, and examined the elf
appreciatively, as if sizing up a cow for slaughter. “Two nice, easy drow
guards…” Buppido whispered, hungrily, “Easy to kill you know! Fragile limbs…
Skinny little elf bodies… Delicate constitutions… All the
arteries so close to the surface…”
He poked and prodded at his captive specimen as he rambled
and, to his credit, Angel endured longer than Kian would have expected. But, as
a clawed finger ghosted across his neck, the drow boy let out a yelp and tore
himself from Buppido’s grasp. Immediately, he leapt to the defensive, eyes
flickering from derro to orc—as if reconsidering their offer for a practical
demonstration! Kian leapt to his feet as well, eyeing the pair as they
moved in to attack. This was bad! This bloodthirsty duo clearly didn’t care
about escape. They just wanted a massacre! And, if someone didn’t intervene
soon—!
But, before anyone could do or say anything more, an
unexpected voice suddenly cut across the prisoners’ minds:
“STOP!”
The voice was a soft soprano, light and cheery. But its tone
of authority was enough to bid derro and orc to freeze in their tracks.
Everyone in the cage suddenly looked around, searching their midst for the
speaker—Kian among them! That voice… the barbarian had heard that voice before,
of course. But… Surely… that person would never…!
From her position against the far wall, Nosey sighed and
slowly drew to her feet—still completely naked! In fact, she caused a few folks
to cast away their gaze in embarrassment as she stood (Angel among them). “Those
sound like fighting words,” the half-elf chided, pushing away from the wall. She
easily crossed the cage as she spoke, and took up stance pointedly in front of
Angel—shielding him from attack. “But I’m certain you couldn’t mean that,
right Mr Buppido?” she continued, flashing the derro with her big, green eyes.
“After all, if you were making sincere threats against a
fellow drow nobleman, Sir Derendil here would be forced to stop you…”
Like magic, ten pairs of eyes flicked over to the quaggoth,
the self-proclaimed ‘prince’. Nosey merely smiled. Clearly, the paladin had
been hoping for this. Derendil stirred upon the floor, looking startled at his
sudden place in the spotlight. “Isn’t that right, Sir Derendil?” Nosey inquired
sweetly, offering the man her hand. For a moment, the ‘nobleman’ hesitated.
Then he took the half-elf’s offer and stood to his considerably massive feet.
“Wh-why of course I would!” the quaggoth
declared, “Er… What the lady said! Kith and kin and all that!” Then, without
missing a beat, he lumbered his hulking body to stand protectively in front of
Angel. Nosey grinned wider. Angel looked stunned.
At the sight of the larger creature, both Ront and Buppido
seemed to reconsider their advance—much to Kian’s relief!—and both fell back.
Behind Derendil’s guard, Kian noted Angel casting a curious glance in Nosey’s
direction, clearly wondering what the reclusive half-elf was planning. For a
moment, garnet met emerald, and the pair stared into each other’s eyes as if
somehow speaking without words. Then both elves smiled, and immediately leapt
into action.
“Of course,” Angel exclaimed, sliding (slightly) out of
cover to flash Derendil with a sly grin. “And I’m certain a
proud drow nobleman wouldn’t dare to question his kinsman’s
honour, right?”
“Naturally!” Nosey replied, before Derendil could so much as
open his mouth. “A proud man like Sir Derendil would never doubt his allies
like that! Would you?”
“Wh-why of course not!” the quaggoth stuttered, glancing
from elf to elf. Kian thought for a wild moment that he looked a bit like a
cornered animal. But the barrage only continued:
“And I’m sure you’re not afraid of a little water, right?”
“Nosey! You insult him!
Such a paragon would follow us anywhere!”
“Of course!”
“Of
course!”
“I-I would? I mean!
Of course!”
The quaggoth was putty in their hands.
Kian couldn’t believe it! The tides were turning! And in their favour!
The discussion went on for a handful of minutes, the fast-talking elves
double-teaming poor Derendil like a pair of diplomatic predators. It was
incredible! Particularly since Nosey of all people was the
instigator! But, while Derendil would now follow the party anywhere, Ront and
Buppido were another matter. The duo had halted their attack, fearful of the
massive threat that was ‘prince’ Derendil. But the duo was still grumbling
about the waterfall plan. It was clear (especially from a barbarian’s
perspective) that they were eager for bloodshed—and the thought of simply
slipping away into the night wasn’t doing it for them.
Kian sighed to himself, casting a furtive glance out towards
the guard station. The shift change would be happening soon—they were almost
out of time! The refugees needed a plan of action, and they needed it now! And
it seemed that Angel and Nosey realized this too. The elves shared another
meaningful stare, the likes of which a poor barbarian couldn’t hope to
understand. Then they spoke again—and Kian could scarcely believe his ears!
“Fine,” Nosey conceded, flashing Buppido a smile, “You’re
right: we are just cowards!”
“Playing it safe!”
Angel chimed in with a scoff, “What the hell were we thinking?”
“Let’s do it your way! The South Gate! We’ll take those drow
head-on!”
“And I’m certain,”
Angel finished with a smirk,
“That two proud
warriors such as yourselves would do us the honour of leading
the charge…”
…
Zern rolled his eyes as the sounds of giggling floated to
him from across the cage.
The source, to no one’s surprise, was that so-called
‘paladin’ of Ao—the one named ‘Nosey’! She was puttering about Ront, their fat
orc ‘champion’, and was painting ritualistic blood smears on his cheeks. It had
something to do with a stupid orc custom; Zern really didn’t care. Right now,
he was merely irritated, and wished Nosey would get the Hells on with it! This
‘ritual’ was delaying their escape… and something worse as well. It was
resulting in goddamn girlish giggling! Argh, how it irked him! Honestly,
that half-elf was incorrigible! She was so frivolous! So cheery! So… elven!
And, speaking of elves...
Zern glanced to his side, where the prisoners’ resident drow
was hovering over the proceedings. He was still playing the part of the
charismatic leader, nodding in approval at Ront’s war paint. But to Zern’s wizened
eye, the boy looked decidedly uncomfortable. Hmm, but that was to be expected
perhaps, the duergar laughed to himself. Kid sure wasn’t used to evil master
plans, whatever he claimed to the contrary. And was there ever an
evil plan afoot! Why, Zern would bet his beard on it!
The duergar, of course, hadn’t been fooled by all the elven
theatrics a short time ago. Much though he hated to admit it, that
self-proclaimed ‘angel’ and the big green fellow had the right idea: the
waterfall sounded like a damn convenient escape route. Hells, Zern was annoyed
he hadn’t thought of it himself! Bah, but he’d been busy with other things, of
course! (Like ignoring Nosey…) In any case, Zern knew a bluff when he saw one.
No way in Nine Hells this
party was storming the south gate! And Zern also knew a dead man when he saw one…
Looking at Bupido and Ront, their fates couldn’t have been
any clearer.
“You intend to use them as bait, don’t you?” he asked
quietly, whispering in Angel’s ear. It was a direct accusation, and the drow
bit his lip in response. But he said nothing to refute his fellow ‘cleric’. And,
as far as Zern was concerned, that was an admission of guilt, sure as a
proclamation. “What’s your plan?” the dwarf pressed, careful to keep watch for
eavesdroppers.
Angel sighed; for a moment, he said nothing. Then, with his
own cursory glance around the cage, the elf replied at last. “Those two
buffoons charge the South Gate,” he muttered, in a voice so quiet Zern had to
strain to hear. “The rest of us hold back. We wait for them to draw the ire of
the whole damn camp, then we make for the falls. I’ve got a small stealth team
together to deal with the likes of your cart…” With a glance to the side, he
indicated a small quartet who was hanging near the back of the cage: the
dragonborn, the Halfling, and the two deep gnome twins. Zern quietly nodded his
approval. Yes, those four should be sufficiently stealthy. Though, if they were
talking about covert missions…
“And where will you be?” the duergar asked,
not bothering to hide his suspicion. Once more, Angel shifted uncomfortably
beside him. “What? You going to tell me the disciple of a roguish god isn’t a
sneaky bastard himself? You can’t fool me, elf! I know my pantheons!”
He was bluffing, of course: Zern didn’t know a damn thing
about the elven gods! Despite decades in the Underdark, the cleric had only
heard the name ‘Vhaeraun’ breathed once or twice (and rarely in good company).
He was merely guessing, based on the apparent similarities to Mask. But he
seemed to have hit right on the money, because Angel at last conceded defeat.
“You’re not wrong,” he admitted freely, “But I’ll be busy leading the team to
the falls. I need… a line of sight... on Buppido and Ront.”
And then, everything clicked.
“You’re going to give them away!” Zern exclaimed—and perhaps
a bit too loudly, because Angel glanced nervously around to ensure they’d not
been noticed. Lowering his voice again, the duergar continued: “You’re going to
use magic, give away their position! I know it, elf! I can see it in your
face.” The drow didn’t respond; but Zern, in his certainty, didn’t really need
confirmation. “You realize they’re going to die, don’t you?” he pressed.
“Of course I do!” Angel hissed back—and
this time the suddenness of the response made Zern startle! No longer evasive, the
drow’s crimson eyes were locked onto Zern’s with an expression of dead
seriousness. “I’m aware I’m leading them to their deaths! But it can’t be
helped… I’ve seen the likes of those two: they’re mad! They’ll never concede.
…And I won’t let the rest of us die for their stupidity.”
A heavy silence descended between the two then. Zern let it
lie for a moment, savouring it. Angel breathed heavily all the while, seething
with anger. It was… curious. Oh, Zern had heard of the drow and their legendary
temper. That bit wasn’t interesting. On
the other hand, this particular specimen didn’t seem to be directing his anger
outward. Rather, he seemed … Hmm.
The cleric let the silence hang until it became
uncomfortable; then, when Angel turned away, he delivered his killing blow: “I
like you, elf,” he muttered without inflection. “You’re damn cold-hearted.”
Then he watched out of the corner of his eye, and was unsurprised to see his
companion shiver.
Silence reigned again. Then, after a spell, Angel delivered
his closing remarks: “Of course I’m cold-hearted,” he whispered, voice as
toneless as Zern’s own. “I’m a drow, aren’t I?” Then he was gone. Off to
encourage his ‘champions’, or ready his stealth team, or some other bullshit.
Zern wasn’t fooled for a minute. Oh he was sure the boy would go through with
his plan! The guards would swarm; the refugees would escape; Buppido and Ront
would be lucky if they survived the night. But there was a streak of guilt in
this ‘angel’s eyes. He was hiding something….
Then again, what else could Zern expect? The fool was
a follower of Vhaeraun:
Of course the bastard wore a mask.
…
By the time shift change dawned, the refugees stood at the
door to their cage, ready for attack. Kian listened half-heartedly as Angel filled
Buppido and Ront with his false encouragement; as Nosey wished them good luck.
The dragonborn swallowed back bile, but said nothing, revealed nothing.
Nosey might be innocent in this convoluted scheme, after all.
Oh, Kian had no doubts about her intentions! She knew about the plan to use the
eager pair as a distraction while the rest of them escaped. But he also
suspected that Nosey, perhaps, still thought the orc and derro might survive…
Angel, however, betrayed no such delusions. His face was
stern, cold as ice. He knew exactly what he was doing—and that was what made
the barbarian so sick to his stomach.
Abandoning an ally to his doom… To lead them into battle,
then escape while hostile drow have them surrounded… Kian wasn’t sure why, but
it all left a bad taste in his mouth. It shouldn’t! He knew it shouldn’t. This
plan was logical. Buppido and Ront were going to get them all killed!
And yet…
And yet, for some reason, it filled the dragonborn with a
rage so profound he could not put it to words. A rage so profound that, for a
moment, he could almost see another figure superimposed where Angel stood.
Taller. Paler. Stockier…
Maybe when his memories returned, the barbarian reasoned.
Maybe then he would understand.
Then Ront and Buppido charged, their united battle cry
snapping Kian out of his musings. The dragonborn had no time to pour over that
sorry pair, and their unfortunate fate. He had his own mission to lead. The
entire team was depending on him! He wouldn’t fail them…
Somewhere at his rear, Kian heard the sound of the
scapegoats’ charge, magically amplified. He caught a glimpse of Dancing
Lights overhead, betraying the duo’s position. It was Angel’s doing,
Kian had no doubt. He was raising a ruckus so Buppido and Ront would have half
the camp after them…
Startled gasps erupted from the other prisoners, but they
had no more time for surprise or mourning than did Kian: Nosy and Angel were
already leading the dumbfounded group towards the falls. As for the rest of
them… Kian glanced at his side, where Frec, the Halfling monk, stood, looking
nonchalant about this whole affair. He glanced up, and Kian felt himself nod in
kind. The twins, as it turned out, wouldn’t be joining their stealth team.
Nosey had taken a liking to the pair, and had insisted on dragging them to
safety. That meant Kian and Frec on their own—to infiltrate the guard tower, to
retrieve the team’s gear. But that was all fine with Kian—and apparently it was
fine with Frec too! For the Halfling was already taking off across the
zyrchwood! Thus, with a heavy heart, Kian allowed himself one more glance over
his shoulder—at his retreating allies; at the glowing, screeching battleground
that was Buppido and Ront... Then he chased after Frec; and all dark
contemplations were buried like his memories.
With so much commotion, it took the duo no time to slink up
the stalactite nearest their cage and penetrate the guard tower. The lower
levels now were completely vacated—so vacated, in fact, that Kian began to get
a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. There were no guards. But nor was
there a cart. And, unless the drow had taken it upstairs for some reason…
But the pair climbed higher, determined to find their stolen
gear! Everyone was counting on them! Upstairs, they found a pair of guards,
both avidly watching the goings-on by the South Gate. They were so distracted,
Kian and Frec slipped through the shadows with ease. Tower infiltrated.
As they looked around, however, Kian’s sinking feeling
amplified. There was no cart here either. And that meant… their gear was gone.
It had clearly been shipped out already! So overwhelmed, the dragonborn nearly
cried out in anguish, despite the danger of their situation. Dammit! All this
was for naught! Now they’d be escaping with nothing but the clothes (rags) on
their backs. And Buppido and Ront—! But, as Kian was writhing inside, Frec was
still on alert. With a tiny elbow to his shin, Kian snapped out of his panic.
Frec, crouched low to the floor, pointed towards a pile of cargo against a
nearby wall. The assembled crates matched Zern’s description to a tee—clearly
leftovers that hadn’t fit in that rickety little cart. Likely it wasn’t
the best gear (that would have been loaded first!), but it
could be useful nonetheless.
Unfortunately, they also had the same stupid labels!
Kian wasn’t certain, but he imagined the glyphs were High
Drow, just as Zern’s had described. And Kian didn’t even speak Undercommon…! Needless to say there was
no way the barbarian could read it. Swiping the boxes would be a risky
business, and without knowing the contents… Argh! If only they’d brought Angel
with them! But his group was likely already over the falls. And, even worse:
they were well out of range of Stool’s Rapport Spores.
The situation looked grim—grim like everything had been
since Kian had come to Velkynvelve. Ever since… Ever since… Ugh, he couldn’t
remember! But… this…! The barbarian was finally at his wit’s end. He couldn’t
take much more of this. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He didn’t know what
to DO!
But, just as Kian was giving up…
Just as he was about to fly into a mad rage, to hell with
the consequences—!
Something unexpected happened.
…
…+…~*~…+…
+… Don’t be
sad, Kian! …+
~*… Everything
will be all right! …*~
+…You’re not in
this alone! …+
~*~…+…~*~
…
The dragonborn blinked, unsure if he had lost his mind.
The voice echoed across Kian’s mind, and Kian’s alone. The
barbarian wasn’t certain how he knew this... but he was strangely certain
nonetheless. It was a high voice, light; there was a song-like quality to its
tone, and Kian was certain he could hear the strumming of a harp in the
background. He couldn’t quite decide if the speaker was male or female but…
they sounded oddly familiar. Though, with
Kian’s jumbled memories, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it…
‘A-are you an angel?’ he thought back wildly—and
immediately felt stupid for doing so! Of course the speaker couldn’t hear him! That
was a crazy thing to think! And yet…
And yet sudden, bubbly laughter exploded across the
dragonborn’s mind. And the sounds of the harp music cadenced to a resounding
pitch.
…
…+…~*~…+…
+… It’s funny
you should ask! …+
~*~…+…~*~
…
the voice replied, its ethereal tone sparkling with
amusement.
…
…+…~*~…+…
+… But no,
I’m no angel. …+
~*… I can
help you find yours though.…*~
+…So just hold
tight, noble Kian! …+
~*…You’ll have
help soon! ...*~
~*~…+…~*~
…
Then, the voice was gone. The harp music ceased.
Back in the real world, Kian was still hiding in the
shadows, inside a guard-post, within the confines of Velkynvelve. He should,
for all intents and purposes, still be terrified—angry! …And yet he wasn’t.
Somehow he wasn’t concerned anymore. That voice… that mysterious stint of
insanity… somehow Kian was sure it would come through for him.
He didn’t know who.
He didn’t know how.
But someone out there was watching over all of them.
...
In terms of gameplay, this mostly covered our party's escape. Angel initially tried Persuasion checks versus Ront and Buppido, and was rather surprised both IC and OOC when Nosey's player stepped in to help. Despite high rolls, however, there was no convincing that pair. So the party eventually decided to use them as bait. The mechanics of their sabotage were Dancing Lights on Angel's part, and Thaumaturgy by Zern's player. It was enough to grant us a circumstantial +10 to our Stealth checks for the first minute of our escape. Kian's little encounter didn't actually happen in gameplay, but it made for a good explanation of an error at the table. This being our first time together, our group was still getting used to each other and the game mechanics, so we didn't realize Stool's Raport Spores had a range of use. It suffices to say, we didn't realize we were out of range until Angel had already rushed off to Kian's rescue, so we vaguely hand-waved it at the table and moved on. The 'ethereal voice' is a mechanic/Machina our DM invented later, however, so it seemed appropriate to introduce him here too, as better way of explanation.
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