A Curious Request, part 4
Log Info
- Title: A Curious Request, part 4
- Emitter: Whirlpool
- Characters: Ashes, Silmeria, Zaxx, Edinaz
- Place: Dragonier
- Time: Wednesday, April 28, 2021, 10:02 PM
- Summary: The battle continues, fighting the wight while trapped in the elevator cage. Edinaz lands a solid blow, reducing it to mush. Which, becomes an issue when the cage sticks and everyone has to crawl through it. The entire party becomes covered in rotting entrails. Then it gets warmer, and warmer, the rotting flesh beginning to stink until it's impossible to draw breath. More wights pass by, ignoring the group because of their smell. A choking, cloying, disgusting reek that the very lungs rebel against. Breath after agonizing breath, they advance to discover the wights have already unearthed the Star Metal. They are forging it into a giant golem. Nearby, the Void Dragon supervises the relentless work. All are doomed.
-=-=-=-=-=-= Appearing, in Order =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Ashes 5'11" 177 Lb Hobgoblin Female A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face Silmeria 5'8" 126 Lb Human Female A sweet-looking blond human in a long black dress and breastplate. Lysos 5'6" 105 Lb Human/Tsuran Female Dark eyes, dark hair, olive skin, a jotun-sized chip on the shoulder. Zaxx 5'2" 152 Lb Shadow Elf Male Compactly built, bald man with dark skin and pointy ears. Edinaz 6'10" 296 Lb Half-Orc Male Grey-skinned half-oruch, extensive black ink. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-= As the GM =-=-=-=-=-=-=--=--=--=--=--=---=--=-- Whirlpool 5'0" Otyugh I am stinky! -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
Previously
"It's ok." Ashes says, maintaining her monotone and sounding unhurried. Again she touches her Holy Symbol and makes an appeal, "Feiu of the Tears, a little more healing."
The cold, clammy, earthy sensation fills the elevator cage again. The ache of wounds diminish, small ones close over, as the Mourner stands there and stares. It's oddly comforting.
"...All right then," the Speaker says, as the silver fire around her pistol diminishes, and the weapon is lowered. "We're doing well, but... We should probably end this quickly."
The barrel of the gun rises to her lips, and Silmeria whispers a soft, fervent prayer. The silver inlay around the barrel glows a bright, cherry-red, and the opening seems to catch fire. Her eyes rise back to the Wight, and a small, bitter smile tugs at her lips. "...Quickly it is, then."
Zaxx wonders a bit why the Vardamite's gun only switched color and has more difficulty with the hitting business. Only one bolt does anything meaningful.
Now
GAME: Whirlpool rolls 1d20+16: (13)+16: 29 GAME: Whirlpool rolls 1d20+11: (16)+11: 27 GAME: Whirlpool rolls 1d8+8: (7)+8: 15 GAME: Whirlpool rolls 1d8+8: (7)+8: 15
Edinaz swings hard and fast, driving in at the hands. He's angry now, feeling very much not like dinner. His cuts strike shoulders, severing arms in bundles, ending the unlife of the thing in a welter of limbs. He doesn't say anything -- he's too mad.
"Definitely going to have a few nightmares about that one," Lysos comments, slumping down to her rump and raising her arms to press the heels of her hands to her eyes. "Stars above, I need a drink," she adds, her voice trembling a little bit.
"That does sound lovely," Silmeria sighs, as the glow fades from her gun. The Speaker pats the barrel, in the manner that a knight might show affection for a favored steed, and straightens, loosing a relaxing sigh. "Unfortunately, I expect the nightmares to only get worse from here; we've not even caught sight of Heth's broodling yet."
Ashlee nods, happy to have managed to find a corner to stand back in. She looks around at the group. Everyone seems healthy, her efforts having an effect. The elevator cage gets her attention next. There's a control box. It has buttons, levers. They invite some fiddling.
The Mourner fiddles with the controls.
Edinaz wipes his swords off slowly, then sheaths him. "I am /not/ dinner," he says with feeling.
"I think he just wanted a hug." Ashlee says in monotone.
There's a sound. A cranking, grinding clank as the elevator, with the flip of a few switches, starts to grind its way inexorably downards again.
The horrible monster has slumped to the ground, deceased once more, and it starts to melt. Slowly.
Soon, you're ankle deep in ... gross that's sloughing off the sides of the elevator platform. Ashlee trusts in her boots. They have been through a lot. Lava, ice, sewers, undead sludge. She still steps as close as she can to the corner in the hopes she doesn't have to stand in Hans too much.
- Clank
- Clank
- Clank
Down.
"It's going to be a wet landing." She looks for a 'stop' button, in case there's more than one option for exiting the cage. Edinaz secretly wishes that it was /these/ boots he could have given to that gnomish collector. That'll learn him. He nods to Ashlee. "Yeah." He tests the cage sides for climbing up on.
"Better a wet landing than a rocky one," Silmeria says, idly -- and futilely -- kicking some of the gross off her old, worn, indubitably comfortable boots. They've seen more miles and stepped in more variations of ick than the Speaker has time to count, and this is merely another hazard of her calling.
Still, it *would* be nice if foulness didn't squish so horribly around the seams, just once... Grind. Clank. The elevator stops suddenly about five feet from its intended destination. What this means is you will need to get on your hands and knees. In the gunk. And slide into the tunnel.
Great.
Edinaz looks around. "Fuck." He gets down, wraps his cloak around his mouth, and then leads the way hating every moment.
Lysos scrambles to her feet before the... gross... can do much more than soil her boots, smacking her elbow on the edge of the console Ashes fiddled with in the process. Swearing and clutching at that elbow, she nearly tumbles again when the elevator comes to a stop. And she looks at the gap. And the floor. And... "I hate this place."
Just imagine, you have to press yourself to the floor and squuuuueze out through the gap between the top of the shaft and drop into the tunnel.
Actually, you don't have to imagine it since this is what you have ro do.
"It's Dragonier," Silmeria sighs. "Whatever it used to be... Now it's just foul from end to end, thanks to the Wyrm."
It might look poorly on her, as a member of the Dapper Dagger Dames, if she was heard to throw up in her mouth a little as she forces herself through the rot-slick opening, and into the tunnel below.
Perhaps her companions know better than to spread the story.
Ashlee waits until the others have gone, making her last. She debates feet first, or head first. Neither is appealing, landing on her head and blacking out this memory is slightly more. Yet, she must be practical.
Lying flat, squishing herself and feeling... it... seeping through her clothes as she wiggles herself through is unsettling and unpleasant. Her pets scrambling around beneath them doesn't help. Her armour barely compresses enough, that's not helping either.
She lands on her feet. "Let's get that dragon."
Bloopsplurgh.
The good news is that you all smell like wight now! Maybe that will cause them to ignore you?
Maybe not. But you are deeper in the mine, now, by far. At its absolute bottom level reachable by this lift, anyway, and it smells (and sounds) like you're in the right place. A great racket comes from deeper within down the tunnels.
Lysos holds her skirts tight about her legs and takes a few deep breaths, then a few more quick ones.. before she, too, follows through the goo. She lands somewhat less gracefully than the others. And it takes her a few moments to climb to her feet as she scrubs what she can away from her face, at least.
Edinaz is now a tighty-wighty, smelling fabulous no doubt. He certainly has wight rage, and imagines driving a mining cart into the crowd of wights to prove it. He creeps forwards carefully, mindful of the racket.
Ashes looks at Lysos. She shakes her head, "Don't, we'll only get dirty again."
The smell. Ignore. The smell. Hard to do and still breathe, but the ashen Arvec does her best. Maybe it will mask her true scent, perhaps it will help her hide. She could drop a bloodhound at thirty paces right now.
Staring ahead into the darkness, she moves along.
Now you find more wights.
They're ignoring you, at the moment. Perhaps its the stink. More likely, they're just busy. They've got their mining carts and they are pushing them towards the lift, slowly. They are full of earth that needs to be disposed of as they dig, dig towards the star-metal no doubt.
There's also a growing heat. It's getting *very* warm in here. Which ... is making you all a bit more .. ripe.
Oh good, because the only think better than stink is *hot* stink. Pressing her lips together, Silmeria eases her way down the tunnels. If the wights are ignoring them, then that means they can get to their objective more quickly. And if these are as fragile as those above, fighting through them might not be such a chore on the way back.
"Can you make this smell like roses?" Ashlee whispers quietly to Lysos, recalling her thoughts about making things look pink. Until the smell changes, if it can, she has no option except to endure it. She breathes through her mouth.
"The dragon will notice something is up when its wights get to that elevator."
Lysos makes a bit of a face, then shakes her head. "No.. I remember mams used to be able to use magic to make things taste different, but I never figured out how," she admits. "Best I can do is clean this off."
Edinaz rewraps his cloak around his face, so he doesn't spoil the funk by vomiting down his front. He hunts further on, looking for dragons or forewights.
As you grow closer, the heat is increasing.
In fact, it's getting overwhelming. You're all sweating by now and you find yourself hearing obvious sounds of work. This has got to be the place...
... and it is, but it's not quite what you were expecting. The druids told you that the dragon and his wights are searching for Star Metal. That part was right. What they didn't get right was that they'd already found it.
They aren'r diggijng the material out, they've converted the are around it into a foundry itself. Molten magma has been raised up from the earth and wights are already hard at work smelting it. They aren't extracting it -- they're forging it. This is their foundry.
And overlooking all of it, from a layer above the tunnel entry you've taken, is the drawgon. A black dragon.
It's not as large as some, of course, herad resting on its forelegs as it observes the wights placidly. It's scales are dark enough that the shadows itself seem richer for its presence, and the wights are mindless continuing their labor. What they're forging seems to be weapons, yes, but not of the regular sort. They aren't making blades.
They're making a golem.
"So this is how I die..." Lysos mutters to herself, barely vocalizing it at all as she stares at the dragon. She hasn't even clued into the golem yet.
Ashlee stares. She wants to go home. She saw the golem first, then the wights, then the dragon. The black dragon topped it for her. She really has no idea what the approach should be. Negotiation is right out, although they could have some amusement showing their skull faces to each other. Mostly, it, he, she, is in a great position to rain acid down on her and she's... not got a lot of useful spells.
And that's a lot of star-metal.
Edinaz pauses. "Fuck. Me. Running." He crouches down, trying to figure out how the hell to approach this. He pines for his bomb-necklace.
Suddenly, the stink and the dark and the uncomfortable and, yes, even the squelching takes a backseat in Silmeria's mind, as she presses herself against the nearest rock wall. Transferring her pistol to her shield hand for a moment, the Speaker reaches out to tap on Lysos' shoulder, pointing a finger at the golem under assembly.
A Starmetal Golem. Presumably, only the first of many. And a Void Dragon as the operations overseer.
There is no conscionable way to turn back, not with this. This madness *must* be stopped.
But when she gets home, perhaps a couple of weeks with only the incurably ill and inexorably-dying elderly to deal with.
Drawing in a breath, the Speaker looks to the furnace, then to Edinaz, and tilts her head, speaking a question that might spell the beginning of a madness to match the tableau before them.
"Master Edinaz... Do you still happen to have that holy water I gave you?"
Edinaz very quietly holds out the two flasks to Silmeria. Yes."
