[OOC: I should have said! Crushing dents armour, or might even crack it off. Consider it knight-bane.]
You slam down onto the servant’s shoulder Gisard, but as you heave the club back up you see the battered servant is clinging to it!
It hops off the ground and deftly slips between your legs, the momentum sending you tumbling forward!
Margulis falls off your hat with a terrified bleb. Okay, a tiny geckos doesn’t show a lot of emotion, but you get it at least.
The servant’s shoulder slumps inhumanly, as if it’s skin holds beneath it nothing more than pillow feathers.
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NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
edited July 2019
Bran, seeing Scout in danger, kick-backflips off of the oncoming servant! The rogue opens some space with the maneuver, forcing the servant in Darsdo's vague direction.
Geth, roll 2d6+5 for Defy Danger (DEX, +Vampire Triumph)
Defy Danger (DEX, +Vampire Triumph):
2d6+510 [2d6=4, 1]
Nips on
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NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
edited July 2019
Mid-backflip, the emboldened thief slaps the barbed-whip form of the Genteel Cane at the servant accosting Scout. Once it finds purchase, and still airborn, he reels himself in toward the servant to double-knee drop on it.
You tear it apart like a vanilla donut! Yes, that is my description! It’s dead before it has chance to retaliate.
The servants can be slain with little damage (less than your maximum), and empowered as you are by the imp of the Nameless Deck, you can make short work of them! So long as you roll above 6, you attack with impunity.
Speaking of, Darsdo jogs towards you, then giving you a salute jogs on and one-handedly leaps over the crumbling crystal wall and performs a flying karate kick on the servant battling Gisard.
Gisard, you witness an unknown lobster-like creature ask the prone servant if it knows what it is cooking, then falls sideways on it with its elbow cocked. That’s a strange fighting style.
You burnanate the servant! It runs off ablaze and collided with another!
Those that remain begin to flee to the outer edge of the area.
Only two stand guard over the portal. They don’t appear to be any different than the others.
2 servants remain.
No more will be porting in.
You have passed the final test of your skills.
The frogfolk samurai is on the opposite side of the portal to you. She hefts an orb into a socket, and the portal explodes into life, knocking her prone.
It reveals a shimmering image, like the reflection on a rippling pond. It’s of a throne room...
Above the portal a sigil hovers. Bran, you know it to mean ‘only one passes’.
Important points:
Hiroki is currently without any gear.
Pomme is out of all relevant ammo.
An adventurer unknown to you, part of Eliza’s children, is unconscious far behind Hiroki. They’re a sort of lava-person.
"If Eliza's dead, maybe that guy isn't in her thrall anymore?" Gisard muses out loud.
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GrogMy sword is only steelin a useful shape.Registered Userregular
edited July 2019
Holly is struck by a sudden memory- not her own, but another of the lives of the Prince of Blades. Blood-soaked memories of vicious duels and legions of thralls at her beck and call.
Vampires can draw a person into their possession as a thrall by charming them by spending time alone with them, when their will is weakest. Next they force them to drink a drop of their own blood, though by that point they’re already charmed, and do so willingly. Now they’re a thrall, and the vampire puts little effort into maintaining their control of them.
Should the vampire be slain any thralls are freed, but will be weak and confused for some time afterwards.
A suitable ritual or divine healing could speed this process up considerably.
Gisard
The vampiric giblets ignite in holy blue flame, and a huge black shade bursts forth and encircles you Gisard!
Then it evaporates, leaving twinkly blue-white sparkles behind that vanish when they touch a surface.
The air is cleared, not even the sense of smoke is left behind.
Eliza will not rise again! Smart move Gisard.
Bran
You’re still out beyond the crumbling crystal wall.
Darsdo’s awful crustacean claws slam into the top of the wall, then his head pops up.
“We have triumphed together! Nothing can stop us now! Say, looks like she needs a hand, you go check it out, I’ll be your wingman!”
Darsdo puts and awful arm around your shoulder and walks with you to a fiery looking woman who is beginning to stagger to her feet.
“...Where am I now?”, she growls.
The woman looks to be made of cooling magma, with a name of fire in place of hair. She’s dressed in an obsidian scale mail tunic, with a dozen daggers made of various gemstones strapped to her hip. She’s roughed up, but has no major injuries. She carries a bag that looks to have been designed in your home city! It has something round in it, amongst other things. Is there anything significant about that kind of bag?
You’re in near range of her. Darsdo is directly next to you.
[OOC: You fought so well against the servants I couldn’t justify their continued fighting. They were supposed to keep piling in no matter how many you slew, but it turned out not to be that interesting.]
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GrogMy sword is only steelin a useful shape.Registered Userregular
"You're correct of course, Gisard, but we must approach with caution. We could use another ally, perhaps you could offer to perform a ritual and speed their recovery?"
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NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
edited July 2019
"The belly of the beast, in a manner of speaking." Bran addresses the fiery woman, more directly than he's spoken to anyone in some time. He's blunt to a point, guile completely absent from his voice.
"My name is Bran, this is Darsdo. My other companions, over there, we'll meet shortly. Do you need assistance?" Bran leans heavily on his cane, barely concealing the collection of wounds he's recently acquired.
Her bag is a Messenger Satchel. On any other world, those words wouldn't hold much meaning. Where Bran's from, it's a story, a myth. The Messengers were, supposedly, a group of thieves and rogues that rose to such prominence and power that their very existence became whispered legend. As the liturgy goes, they first worked the streets, then the local nobles, up through the kings and lords of the land, eventually becoming the shadow hands of the gods themselves. What gods, no one would or could say; faith was in short supply in the circles Bran ran with.
The bag was a symbol of their station and work. The Messengers dealt in transport, of anything and everything hidden or secret. The fingerbone of a saint. The blood of a dread Count. The tools of a divine crafter. The hopes and fears of an emperor's lineage. The proof of an absent God's devotion. The bag could contain anything real or imagined, and the Messengers made sure those contents arrived at their proper time and place.
“I need... my... I guess they didn’t make it this far. I’m Cindra, I’m a vessel of the Fire Eternal. An Immolator, you could say.”
Seeing that doesn’t mean much, she causes a great flame to cover her hand, or at least she intended to. A small palm-sized ball of fire putter in and out.
“Do you have any food? I feel like I forgot to eat at some point. I’m starving.”
Darsdo wiggles his chitinous eyebrows at you, and motions you to hand her your last rations. With that she dusts herself off and gets up. She’s about a foot taller than you. She’s now in reach range. She’s neutral to you, and has no weapon save her failing innate elemental power.
Her bag contains an orb, not to mention whatever fantastic contents the Messenger had in there long before she got her hands on it.
What do you do?
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NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
Bran hands her his last rations, and sighs. "This tower, and Glamjin's trials, has taken its toll on all of us. Deep wounds, lost companions and the like. Come, let's confer with my other companions."
Bran pivots, and begins a slow cane-assisted walk over to the party.
As you look across to the stone circle and the raised slots around it, you notice the final servants are gone.
The portal ripples open in the circle, giving off a gentle blue glow. The symbol hovering above it reads ‘one may pass’ or something like that.
Cindra speaks between bites of your off salted snacks, “First, thank you. Second, this is awful. Last, wait up.”
Her blaze of hair lengthens as her hunger is slightly abated. Rifling in the Messenger bag, Cindra pulls out an orb. Wordlessly she walks over and plunks it down into a free slot. The symbol above the portal changes. Bran, you see it means ‘two may pass’.
Afterwards she falls in line with you, sluggish on her feet.
Two orbs have been placed around the portal. Two more are held by Holly and Hao-Gou. Gisard retrieved one more from the rocky monk.
Only five heroes can face Glamjin, only five can hope to bring an end to his terror and see through this story.
Rest, plan, confer, and ultimately choose who you must leave behind and who has the best chance of destroying the fae fiend.
Gisard, you have time to cast a spell, but if you rest here you will have to prepare your spells again, losing your extra prepared spells.
Margulis the gecko transformed elf counts as a person, so don’t jump through the portal with him on your hat, lest you accidentally leave someone important behind.
Is Gisard still purple from the wild magic or did that fade away immediately?
Gisard sits down on the floor. "PLANNING!" He gestures for everyone to come join him and share information. "Hmm, so we have... 3... 4... 5 orbs here. And it seemsss likely that only one person can pass through the portal per orb we have. We have here myself, Bran, Holly, Pomme, Hao-gou, Margulis (who is currently a gecko,) Scout, Hiroki, and Cindra. I suspect Pomme's moth will probably not count against the total, but Bran's demon card friend who is currently... practicing posing might."
"I also have these..." He lays out the 4 masks he's being carrying tied around his belt since the desert city. "They should make Glamjin unable to see the wearer, and aid in launching a surprise attack, assuming we have some means of harming him. I believe he is fundamentally a fae being, with the very specific weaknesses that entails."
"The gods also seem to be unhappy with Glamjin's existence. As we saw on the train ride, divine beings are attempting to break into his realm and fight Glamjin's forces. I conversed with a god earlier who confirmed that if we can find a way to allow them to enter this tower, they would try to aid us. I don't know how we can do that, but we should stay alert for such an opportunity."
"Finally, I've now become fairly certain the amulet I was carrying around likely contains a copy of the mind of the vampire lord who was Eliza's sire. I left it with one of the teleportation orbs in the other room, and the fact that it hasn't followed us through to this area means that it has probably decided to ditch us and follow its own agenda. I had previously thought it might simply want revenge on Glamjin for killing his original self, but I now suspect it was eating bits of my knowledge the whole time I was carrying it, perhaps as fuel for some kind of ritual to allow the vampire to be reborn, so if we see it again we should consider it an enemy."
It faded pretty quick Gisard, leaving only a set of purple scales on your otherwise pale chest in the shape of a looping river.
Margulis says, “Bleb.*”
Pomme rolls their rifle off their shoulder and lays it on the stone ground. They stretch experimentally, not used to the lack of weight.
“I’m not going to find a single bullet before we face that monster Glamjin, I can feel it. My spear is still good, so I’ll be where you need me most.”, they declare in a clear captain’s voice, “When this is over, and we win, which we will, I’ve a few ideas to really shake up my army’s battle tactics.”
Cindra just nods to you Gisard. She’s obviously mentally catching up to what you’re putting down.
Pomme unpacks their Adventuring Gear (3 uses), and puts it by their feet. If you want it, they’ll hand it over, otherwise they’ll make use of it wherever they end up.
The Masks
One goes to you Gisard.
One goes to Bran, and another for Holly.
There’s really only the choice of who to bring when it comes to the last mask.
Hao-Gou cannot wear one.
*”I completely agree with your assessment of the situation Gisard old buddy, and no hard feeling about my personal predicament.”
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GrogMy sword is only steelin a useful shape.Registered Userregular
"We don't know what will happen on this side of the portal when we succeed, Pomme. I believe you would be best placed to lead those that remain here through that uncertain future." She holds out Fa'Amin's Key. "This should see you through any obstacles in your path."
She turns to Hiroki and presents Sweet Eleanor, hilt first. Words aren't necessary for the understanding between two swordswomen and the travesty to see one with such skill go disarmed.
"Now, to strategy. Given one person must go unmasked, I volunteer myself. The astute among you may have noticed I am adept at drawing attention- I will keep Glamjin busy while the rest of you move into the ideal position, then we will strike. Agreed?"
Pomme holds your outstretched hand with both of their’s for a moment before taking the key from you.
“It has been a pleasure to serve with you mon squelette madame.”, their voice wavering.
Pomme wipes a tear from their eye, but quickly regains their officer’s composure.
The frogfolk samurai, now clad in rough toga cut from Pomme’s garb, bows to you. She takes the blade, and slings it over her back as if it were a thin claymore.
Cindra watches the rest of you for a response to Holly’s plan.
Darsdo finishes flexing and approaches, running his claws over his red shell as if he had hair, “Sounds good, but Bran should be in the spotlight, he’s obviously the most capable here honey. Swap that whole plan around. Say, you’re looking a little thin there, you eating right?”
He turns to see if Cindra has enjoyed his joke, but she merely raises a scorching hand.
“Tough crowd, but I can take the heat.”, he says with a wink.
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GrogMy sword is only steelin a useful shape.Registered Userregular
"Oh my, this one is awful Bran. Hold a moment, have you changed your hair?"
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NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
edited July 2019
Bran slumps to a seated position, obviously laboring under some rough wounds.
"Oh, yeah, that." He blinks at Holly, his eyes showing only a faint twinkle of golden sheen.
"My last...companion, was very fashion forward. Also a bit controlling. Darsdo here is a bit more direct. And arguably, potent."
Bran figuratively disappears into his own feelings for a moment, then snaps as if from a reverie.
“Subvert the narrative he has designed.
Do not take the gift you desire when offered.
Find him at the liminal edge where his sun has yet to rise anew, and drive a mortal blade through his heart.
Pythagon drove those words into my brain when I met him, and had wits enough to ask him a meaningful question. So, I'm all on board with Gisard's plan, with Holly being our front-lady, but...
...
are we missing anything?”
Bran turns his head to Darsdo with a weak smile on his face.
"I know we just met, and your enthusiasm is admirable, but I'm more of a 'strike-from-the-shadows' kinda guy. Despite all those fancy moves you saw back there, I'm better at putting a knife in someone's back than standing in front of an audience."
It is an excellent sandwich considering the trauma it has endured. It has a few grains of sand in it, but you don’t find that a hassle at this point. The sandwich consists of two thick slices of buttered honey glazed giraffe-bread with a couple of chunks of horse steak, hippo crackling and a few pieces of ostrich breast cooked in a tangy sauce. Looks like Lizardfolk don’t really go for salad.
GrogMy sword is only steelin a useful shape.Registered Userregular
While the others chow down on delicious meat sandwiches, Holly can only pace in anticipation. Abruptly, she approaches Cindra.
"I have been pondering something. This place, the precipice of my revenge, has always been my destination, but I have made a great many friends along the way- not all of them present. You, I do not know. Can I trust you here, with those that are left?"
Cindra furrows her brow, her eyebrows bursting into dancing flames. She thinks deep before replying.
“No. I’ve been told since I was born I’m the vessel for a greater power, I’ve got more titles than I care to mention, and I let the people I was with down. I’m not the World’s Core Incarnate, I’m not even on my world any more. So no, I can’t keep anyone safe.”
She gets to her feet, and looks down into your empty sockets.
The rippling portal reveals a throne in a dimly lit space. No one sits upon it. The area beyond is dimly lit. You hear a faint noise when you get close, but cannot place what it is. You might have seen a shape, or two very close to each other, pass by the edge of the portal. It’s unclear.
This is the final confrontation. There is no turning back.
What do you do?
Those Left Behind
Pomme takes a twenty paces away from you and rests their spear across their shoulder. Their hawkmoth Fleur takes point a good twenty feet above the mousefolk ranger.
Cindra plants her feet on a taller petrified stump, and idly tosses a flame in her left hand. She nods to Pomme, who nods back.
Hiroki pads to the opposite side and slowly draws her blade. She’ll be staying, it would appear.
NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
edited July 2019
Just moments ago...
Bran, mask slung to his hip, finishes applying a dose of Serpent's Tears to the mechanisms of his Genteel Cane. He is studious in his work, quiet and focused. The rogue studies the weapon and, satisfied that the poison has worked its way in, gives the cane a light flick of the wrist.
"Holly, Gisard, Hao Gou...my friends. I fear not death, for I am with you. Let's kill this tsaghratsu."
He grasps the mask with his off hand, and brings it down over his face. Even through the mask, you can tell the thief is winking capriciously at you.
Bran points the cane at the portal, arm fully outstretched.
"Darsdo, my man! Let's get this party cranked up!"
The Thief dives in!
Through the portal, Bran crouches low, seeking purchase in any bit of cover or shadow he can find. His eyes scan the room keenly, and the rest of his senses open themselves up to the possible cues here.
What is about to happen?
What should I be on the lookout for?
What here is not what it appears to be?
You hear the rousing sound of applause all around you Bran.
“Ladies and gentlemen, those amorphous and transgressive, please welcome our penultimate act! The Songbird!”
The applause swells, and you hear crowing, shrieking, and unknown words being bellowed wildly. There’s laughter in there that’s just not right...
A throne is some 40 feet before you, set on a theatre stage. Suddenly thick, heavy red curtains are drawn across the stage, removing the throne from your view.
A single spotlight blasts the far left of the stage, and an otherworldly figure (and what a figure!) glows against the severe light. This person slowly walks to the centre of the stage. Her eyes are closed. She takes a breath. Suddenly pink lights rush across this strange space, and you realise you’re crouched in-between rows and rows of seats.
Odd, fae creatures murmur and babble as they watch the stage. Intermingled between them are exhausted looking beings of every description. You’ve seen these lot only once before, in the first moments of your adventure. It all comes back to you...
What is about to happen?
When the singer finishes her act, Glamjin will take his throne and address whoever arrives from the portal. He expects at least four, but he’s had less before.
What should I be on the lookout for?
There are six spiral staircases to the far left and right that lead up to the rich seats. As below, there are creatures watching the show sat there.
There’s chandeliers up top that can be swung from, or dropped with a well aimed arrow or something Gisard can muster. The chandeliers are over the audience.
There are rows of lights manned by servants ten feet behind you Bran, high up above. They won’t leave their post for any reason.
There’s a side exit that links around to backstage (it says so on the door).
The beings watching the stage do NOT look right, even for the things you’ve seen, so diplomacy is out of the question. One of them is in a glorious satin gown, but is punching their head every five seconds, for example. Another’s head looks like melted cheese and is openly weeping while clapping well after others have stopped.
There’s nothing else you can see.
What here is not what it appears to be?
Your vague memory of that one job reminds you that stages tend to have a trap door in the middle. Other than that there is no great secret here. Glamjin does not think he needs such things at the heart of his domain.
Endless_Serpents on
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GrogMy sword is only steelin a useful shape.Registered Userregular
Holly sits astride Hao-Gou, deliberately not looking at her comrades should her attention give them away. Instead she is content to watch the show unfold, awaiting her chance to steal the spotlight.
The voice of the Songbird wavers for the slightest note, then she continues stronger than ever, perfectly timing a change of song without finishing the first. You swear she’s looking right at you Holly.
You cautiously make your way down the rows of gawping lavishly dressed creatures. You artfully dodge passed them and across to the nondescript door leading around to the backstage area.
A few fairies (much altered by Glamjin’s malicious will) are nervously hovering around. A few lug equipment around, but the show is almost over, and the majority simply pray his Whimsicalness has been pleased with their work.
You spot a tired looking trio of musicians, fingers raw with playing. They’re elves you reckon. They’re sat facing the way in.
Bran, roll to Defy Danger, lest these bards spot you.
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NipsHe/HimLuxuriating in existential crisis.Registered Userregular
edited July 2019
Bran, faster than any tired musician could ever reckon, slips behind some stage equipment.
“Did you see something?”, says a fellow with a lute.
“I dunno. I suppose I see things most of the time.”, says another.
The last musician turns to the others, “I’m seeing you both right now.”
“That’s a fair point.”, says the first.
You’re in Bran, no one can interfere now.
You see a short staircase down to a dark tunnel. You’re certain (and right) that it leans to a trapdoor somewhere on the stage.
There’s also a ladder leaning against a wall that, with a bit of honed second-story-man skills, could help you up onto the rafters above the stage.
“Sh-shouldn’t the singer be stopping?”, you hear a meek fairy say, but no one is yet listening to them...
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GrogMy sword is only steelin a useful shape.Registered Userregular
Dilean Husker, or at least that's the name she was going by when she ran with the Havnravner crew in Ravnhavn. Gave Holly her first tattoo, a crow wrapped in briar up her left arm.
Holly doesn't look down at the bare black bone where it used to be. She stares impassively back at the singer, waiting for her true audience.
Posts
Geth, roll 1d4 for Damage
You slam down onto the servant’s shoulder Gisard, but as you heave the club back up you see the battered servant is clinging to it!
It hops off the ground and deftly slips between your legs, the momentum sending you tumbling forward!
Margulis falls off your hat with a terrified bleb. Okay, a tiny geckos doesn’t show a lot of emotion, but you get it at least.
The servant’s shoulder slumps inhumanly, as if it’s skin holds beneath it nothing more than pillow feathers.
Geth, roll 2d6+5 for Defy Danger (DEX, +Vampire Triumph)
(Trading full damage, 8 to the servant on Scout)
Geth, roll 2d6+3 for Hack & Slash (DEX)
The servants can be slain with little damage (less than your maximum), and empowered as you are by the imp of the Nameless Deck, you can make short work of them! So long as you roll above 6, you attack with impunity.
Speaking of, Darsdo jogs towards you, then giving you a salute jogs on and one-handedly leaps over the crumbling crystal wall and performs a flying karate kick on the servant battling Gisard.
Gisard, you witness an unknown lobster-like creature ask the prone servant if it knows what it is cooking, then falls sideways on it with its elbow cocked. That’s a strange fighting style.
You have room to manoeuvre Gisard, got any plans?
8/10 servants remain!
Geth, roll 2d6+3 for Cast Dragonfire (int)
Geth, roll 1d4+5 for Damage
Those that remain begin to flee to the outer edge of the area.
Only two stand guard over the portal. They don’t appear to be any different than the others.
2 servants remain.
No more will be porting in.
You have passed the final test of your skills.
The frogfolk samurai is on the opposite side of the portal to you. She hefts an orb into a socket, and the portal explodes into life, knocking her prone.
It reveals a shimmering image, like the reflection on a rippling pond. It’s of a throne room...
Above the portal a sigil hovers. Bran, you know it to mean ‘only one passes’.
Important points:
Hiroki is currently without any gear.
Pomme is out of all relevant ammo.
An adventurer unknown to you, part of Eliza’s children, is unconscious far behind Hiroki. They’re a sort of lava-person.
Geth, roll 2d6+3 for Spout Lore: Vampire Thralls
Vampires can draw a person into their possession as a thrall by charming them by spending time alone with them, when their will is weakest. Next they force them to drink a drop of their own blood, though by that point they’re already charmed, and do so willingly. Now they’re a thrall, and the vampire puts little effort into maintaining their control of them.
Should the vampire be slain any thralls are freed, but will be weak and confused for some time afterwards.
A suitable ritual or divine healing could speed this process up considerably.
Gisard
The vampiric giblets ignite in holy blue flame, and a huge black shade bursts forth and encircles you Gisard!
Then it evaporates, leaving twinkly blue-white sparkles behind that vanish when they touch a surface.
The air is cleared, not even the sense of smoke is left behind.
Eliza will not rise again! Smart move Gisard.
Bran
You’re still out beyond the crumbling crystal wall.
Darsdo’s awful crustacean claws slam into the top of the wall, then his head pops up.
“We have triumphed together! Nothing can stop us now! Say, looks like she needs a hand, you go check it out, I’ll be your wingman!”
Darsdo puts and awful arm around your shoulder and walks with you to a fiery looking woman who is beginning to stagger to her feet.
“...Where am I now?”, she growls.
The woman looks to be made of cooling magma, with a name of fire in place of hair. She’s dressed in an obsidian scale mail tunic, with a dozen daggers made of various gemstones strapped to her hip. She’s roughed up, but has no major injuries. She carries a bag that looks to have been designed in your home city! It has something round in it, amongst other things. Is there anything significant about that kind of bag?
You’re in near range of her. Darsdo is directly next to you.
[OOC: You fought so well against the servants I couldn’t justify their continued fighting. They were supposed to keep piling in no matter how many you slew, but it turned out not to be that interesting.]
"My name is Bran, this is Darsdo. My other companions, over there, we'll meet shortly. Do you need assistance?" Bran leans heavily on his cane, barely concealing the collection of wounds he's recently acquired.
Her bag is a Messenger Satchel. On any other world, those words wouldn't hold much meaning. Where Bran's from, it's a story, a myth. The Messengers were, supposedly, a group of thieves and rogues that rose to such prominence and power that their very existence became whispered legend. As the liturgy goes, they first worked the streets, then the local nobles, up through the kings and lords of the land, eventually becoming the shadow hands of the gods themselves. What gods, no one would or could say; faith was in short supply in the circles Bran ran with.
The bag was a symbol of their station and work. The Messengers dealt in transport, of anything and everything hidden or secret. The fingerbone of a saint. The blood of a dread Count. The tools of a divine crafter. The hopes and fears of an emperor's lineage. The proof of an absent God's devotion. The bag could contain anything real or imagined, and the Messengers made sure those contents arrived at their proper time and place.
Seeing that doesn’t mean much, she causes a great flame to cover her hand, or at least she intended to. A small palm-sized ball of fire putter in and out.
“Do you have any food? I feel like I forgot to eat at some point. I’m starving.”
Darsdo wiggles his chitinous eyebrows at you, and motions you to hand her your last rations. With that she dusts herself off and gets up. She’s about a foot taller than you. She’s now in reach range. She’s neutral to you, and has no weapon save her failing innate elemental power.
Her bag contains an orb, not to mention whatever fantastic contents the Messenger had in there long before she got her hands on it.
What do you do?
Bran pivots, and begins a slow cane-assisted walk over to the party.
Cindra has joined the party.
As you look across to the stone circle and the raised slots around it, you notice the final servants are gone.
The portal ripples open in the circle, giving off a gentle blue glow. The symbol hovering above it reads ‘one may pass’ or something like that.
Cindra speaks between bites of your off salted snacks, “First, thank you. Second, this is awful. Last, wait up.”
Her blaze of hair lengthens as her hunger is slightly abated. Rifling in the Messenger bag, Cindra pulls out an orb. Wordlessly she walks over and plunks it down into a free slot. The symbol above the portal changes. Bran, you see it means ‘two may pass’.
Afterwards she falls in line with you, sluggish on her feet.
Two orbs have been placed around the portal. Two more are held by Holly and Hao-Gou. Gisard retrieved one more from the rocky monk.
Only five heroes can face Glamjin, only five can hope to bring an end to his terror and see through this story.
Rest, plan, confer, and ultimately choose who you must leave behind and who has the best chance of destroying the fae fiend.
Gisard, you have time to cast a spell, but if you rest here you will have to prepare your spells again, losing your extra prepared spells.
Margulis the gecko transformed elf counts as a person, so don’t jump through the portal with him on your hat, lest you accidentally leave someone important behind.
Gisard sits down on the floor. "PLANNING!" He gestures for everyone to come join him and share information. "Hmm, so we have... 3... 4... 5 orbs here. And it seemsss likely that only one person can pass through the portal per orb we have. We have here myself, Bran, Holly, Pomme, Hao-gou, Margulis (who is currently a gecko,) Scout, Hiroki, and Cindra. I suspect Pomme's moth will probably not count against the total, but Bran's demon card friend who is currently... practicing posing might."
"I also have these..." He lays out the 4 masks he's being carrying tied around his belt since the desert city. "They should make Glamjin unable to see the wearer, and aid in launching a surprise attack, assuming we have some means of harming him. I believe he is fundamentally a fae being, with the very specific weaknesses that entails."
"The gods also seem to be unhappy with Glamjin's existence. As we saw on the train ride, divine beings are attempting to break into his realm and fight Glamjin's forces. I conversed with a god earlier who confirmed that if we can find a way to allow them to enter this tower, they would try to aid us. I don't know how we can do that, but we should stay alert for such an opportunity."
"Finally, I've now become fairly certain the amulet I was carrying around likely contains a copy of the mind of the vampire lord who was Eliza's sire. I left it with one of the teleportation orbs in the other room, and the fact that it hasn't followed us through to this area means that it has probably decided to ditch us and follow its own agenda. I had previously thought it might simply want revenge on Glamjin for killing his original self, but I now suspect it was eating bits of my knowledge the whole time I was carrying it, perhaps as fuel for some kind of ritual to allow the vampire to be reborn, so if we see it again we should consider it an enemy."
Margulis says, “Bleb.*”
Pomme rolls their rifle off their shoulder and lays it on the stone ground. They stretch experimentally, not used to the lack of weight.
“I’m not going to find a single bullet before we face that monster Glamjin, I can feel it. My spear is still good, so I’ll be where you need me most.”, they declare in a clear captain’s voice, “When this is over, and we win, which we will, I’ve a few ideas to really shake up my army’s battle tactics.”
Cindra just nods to you Gisard. She’s obviously mentally catching up to what you’re putting down.
Pomme unpacks their Adventuring Gear (3 uses), and puts it by their feet. If you want it, they’ll hand it over, otherwise they’ll make use of it wherever they end up.
The Masks
One goes to you Gisard.
One goes to Bran, and another for Holly.
There’s really only the choice of who to bring when it comes to the last mask.
Hao-Gou cannot wear one.
*”I completely agree with your assessment of the situation Gisard old buddy, and no hard feeling about my personal predicament.”
She turns to Hiroki and presents Sweet Eleanor, hilt first. Words aren't necessary for the understanding between two swordswomen and the travesty to see one with such skill go disarmed.
"Now, to strategy. Given one person must go unmasked, I volunteer myself. The astute among you may have noticed I am adept at drawing attention- I will keep Glamjin busy while the rest of you move into the ideal position, then we will strike. Agreed?"
“It has been a pleasure to serve with you mon squelette madame.”, their voice wavering.
Pomme wipes a tear from their eye, but quickly regains their officer’s composure.
The frogfolk samurai, now clad in rough toga cut from Pomme’s garb, bows to you. She takes the blade, and slings it over her back as if it were a thin claymore.
Cindra watches the rest of you for a response to Holly’s plan.
Darsdo finishes flexing and approaches, running his claws over his red shell as if he had hair, “Sounds good, but Bran should be in the spotlight, he’s obviously the most capable here honey. Swap that whole plan around. Say, you’re looking a little thin there, you eating right?”
He turns to see if Cindra has enjoyed his joke, but she merely raises a scorching hand.
“Tough crowd, but I can take the heat.”, he says with a wink.
"Oh, yeah, that." He blinks at Holly, his eyes showing only a faint twinkle of golden sheen.
"My last...companion, was very fashion forward. Also a bit controlling. Darsdo here is a bit more direct. And arguably, potent."
Bran figuratively disappears into his own feelings for a moment, then snaps as if from a reverie.
“Subvert the narrative he has designed.
Do not take the gift you desire when offered.
Find him at the liminal edge where his sun has yet to rise anew, and drive a mortal blade through his heart.
Pythagon drove those words into my brain when I met him, and had wits enough to ask him a meaningful question. So, I'm all on board with Gisard's plan, with Holly being our front-lady, but...
...
are we missing anything?”
Bran turns his head to Darsdo with a weak smile on his face.
"I know we just met, and your enthusiasm is admirable, but I'm more of a 'strike-from-the-shadows' kinda guy. Despite all those fancy moves you saw back there, I'm better at putting a knife in someone's back than standing in front of an audience."
“Sure. Sure, that’s cool. I just believe in you man, you can do anything.”, he says while giving you a pat on the back.
There’s a pause in the demon like a computer buffering (Scout explained this to you earlier though no one asked).
“Let’s do it! Me and you Bran, that’s two for the portal, leaving you slowpokes to pick the other three, right?”
"I have been pondering something. This place, the precipice of my revenge, has always been my destination, but I have made a great many friends along the way- not all of them present. You, I do not know. Can I trust you here, with those that are left?"
“No. I’ve been told since I was born I’m the vessel for a greater power, I’ve got more titles than I care to mention, and I let the people I was with down. I’m not the World’s Core Incarnate, I’m not even on my world any more. So no, I can’t keep anyone safe.”
She gets to her feet, and looks down into your empty sockets.
“But I won’t harm them. I’d sooner die.”
The rippling portal reveals a throne in a dimly lit space. No one sits upon it. The area beyond is dimly lit. You hear a faint noise when you get close, but cannot place what it is. You might have seen a shape, or two very close to each other, pass by the edge of the portal. It’s unclear.
This is the final confrontation. There is no turning back.
What do you do?
Those Left Behind
Pomme takes a twenty paces away from you and rests their spear across their shoulder. Their hawkmoth Fleur takes point a good twenty feet above the mousefolk ranger.
Cindra plants her feet on a taller petrified stump, and idly tosses a flame in her left hand. She nods to Pomme, who nods back.
Hiroki pads to the opposite side and slowly draws her blade. She’ll be staying, it would appear.
Bran, mask slung to his hip, finishes applying a dose of Serpent's Tears to the mechanisms of his Genteel Cane. He is studious in his work, quiet and focused. The rogue studies the weapon and, satisfied that the poison has worked its way in, gives the cane a light flick of the wrist.
"Holly, Gisard, Hao Gou...my friends. I fear not death, for I am with you. Let's kill this tsaghratsu."
He grasps the mask with his off hand, and brings it down over his face. Even through the mask, you can tell the thief is winking capriciously at you.
Bran points the cane at the portal, arm fully outstretched.
"Darsdo, my man! Let's get this party cranked up!"
The Thief dives in!
Through the portal, Bran crouches low, seeking purchase in any bit of cover or shadow he can find. His eyes scan the room keenly, and the rest of his senses open themselves up to the possible cues here.
What should I be on the lookout for?
What here is not what it appears to be?
Geth, roll 2d6+1 for Discern Realities (WIS)
“Ladies and gentlemen, those amorphous and transgressive, please welcome our penultimate act! The Songbird!”
The applause swells, and you hear crowing, shrieking, and unknown words being bellowed wildly. There’s laughter in there that’s just not right...
A throne is some 40 feet before you, set on a theatre stage. Suddenly thick, heavy red curtains are drawn across the stage, removing the throne from your view.
A single spotlight blasts the far left of the stage, and an otherworldly figure (and what a figure!) glows against the severe light. This person slowly walks to the centre of the stage. Her eyes are closed. She takes a breath. Suddenly pink lights rush across this strange space, and you realise you’re crouched in-between rows and rows of seats.
Odd, fae creatures murmur and babble as they watch the stage. Intermingled between them are exhausted looking beings of every description. You’ve seen these lot only once before, in the first moments of your adventure. It all comes back to you...
Then the figure opens her eyes and sings.
Bran, no one can see you. You’re pretty sure.
What is about to happen?
When the singer finishes her act, Glamjin will take his throne and address whoever arrives from the portal. He expects at least four, but he’s had less before.
What should I be on the lookout for?
There are six spiral staircases to the far left and right that lead up to the rich seats. As below, there are creatures watching the show sat there.
There’s chandeliers up top that can be swung from, or dropped with a well aimed arrow or something Gisard can muster. The chandeliers are over the audience.
There are rows of lights manned by servants ten feet behind you Bran, high up above. They won’t leave their post for any reason.
There’s a side exit that links around to backstage (it says so on the door).
The beings watching the stage do NOT look right, even for the things you’ve seen, so diplomacy is out of the question. One of them is in a glorious satin gown, but is punching their head every five seconds, for example. Another’s head looks like melted cheese and is openly weeping while clapping well after others have stopped.
There’s nothing else you can see.
What here is not what it appears to be?
Your vague memory of that one job reminds you that stages tend to have a trap door in the middle. Other than that there is no great secret here. Glamjin does not think he needs such things at the heart of his domain.
Holly, you know that singer. But they weren’t just a singer last time you saw them. Name them now.
Bran, where are you headed? You need an advantageous position before the Maestro of Mazes arrives!
Sneak, sneak, sneak!]
A few fairies (much altered by Glamjin’s malicious will) are nervously hovering around. A few lug equipment around, but the show is almost over, and the majority simply pray his Whimsicalness has been pleased with their work.
You spot a tired looking trio of musicians, fingers raw with playing. They’re elves you reckon. They’re sat facing the way in.
Bran, roll to Defy Danger, lest these bards spot you.
Geth, roll 2d6+3 for Defy Danger (DEX)
“I dunno. I suppose I see things most of the time.”, says another.
The last musician turns to the others, “I’m seeing you both right now.”
“That’s a fair point.”, says the first.
You’re in Bran, no one can interfere now.
You see a short staircase down to a dark tunnel. You’re certain (and right) that it leans to a trapdoor somewhere on the stage.
There’s also a ladder leaning against a wall that, with a bit of honed second-story-man skills, could help you up onto the rafters above the stage.
“Sh-shouldn’t the singer be stopping?”, you hear a meek fairy say, but no one is yet listening to them...
Holly doesn't look down at the bare black bone where it used to be. She stares impassively back at the singer, waiting for her true audience.