Game Thread Chapter 3: Feed the Devil, Eat the Snake - Page 8

PlaidPeregrine · #**106** Oct 30th, 2022, 05:47 PM

Thistle Marmalade Brambleweaver

The plinth's story was very upsetting.

Thistle stepped back, craning her neck to really take in each curve, each figure, each torturous carving of the Queen's retelling of what had happened. Sigur's outburst caused the Gnome to startle, forcing her attention to the pained outcry. Though she did not know who 'Eldrake' was, the Knightess seemed to have a personal connection, one way or another, to these clearly crafted stone panels. She watched as the demon's sword went flying across the room and into the wall and made no motion to go after it. Instead, Thistle stepped away from the plinth to approach Sigur as she started to collect herself.

"Before he was King, before he was even married, HE made a promise that wasn't his to make. There's nowhere in the story saying that there weren't other brave people to fight these snakes. Perhaps more would have died before defeating their enemy, but they could have succeeded without this man and his ill-gotten sword. Maybe he didn't want to be a hero, but only wanted to be a King." Thistle frowned deeply as she remembered how she did not have to truly make the choice between saving the child or saving the village. "The choice was heart-wrenching in the dream the Queen placed me in - save the child I was entrusted with or the village with other children, the child's family. If I didn't have Moss Paw, and if that child were of my own flesh and blood - the choice would not have been the same as what the King did. He promised the devil a child he did not have yet with a wife he possibly had never met. Of course the choice for him was easy. He didn't have love for the child, or love for his Queen-wife who wasn't even a Queen or a wife."

This bothered Thistle greatly now, promises made to the air and to brimstone. The devil found one who was ambitious and possibly in love with having a crown more than anything else - more than saving the lives in a kingdom and being a true hero, more than his wife, and more than an unborn child that he did not have to carry nor care about.

"I will not take the crown if it is offered. I said that when we met in the tavern, and I stand by it. If I were the Queen, I would shoved him into the lake with all my might." The small Forest Gnome stated surely, if not with a touch of anger that she must have caught, like a brief chill, from Sigur's outburst. Maybe it's that she found a way around making one of the most difficult choices there was to make. Or maybe it's because the man-before-he-was-King did not find the strength to find other options, other people, other heroes.

"Let's see what's waiting for us at the top of the stairs waiting for us. Roofs? Are you good? Are you ready?" Thistle drew in a breath; a resigned sigh released slowly as though this negativity could vanish as easily as morning dew on a summer's morning. Gathering herself, she collected her staff and her wits before walking toward the stairs where Flyde was practicing and playing. Glistening water creatures scampered along besides her.

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ElderOblex · #**107** Nov 8th, 2022, 03:00 AM

Throw the Baby in the Lake

"Who’s Janny?"

It was like the first kick on a door. The hinges shook and the door was dented, but it held. Roofs tried to deflect. Hey Thistle, where’s your lamp? Need for this plinth an’ stuff.

Bad move.

The plinth was like a wrecking ball slamming through the door and smashing it to splinters. Like a break in the log gate holding back a mountain’s worth of rainwater. As the tiefling looked at each of the four sides, her head spun and black pupils dilated as the memories rushed in, crowding her mind. She blinked.

Roofs’ hand drifted to the stone jug. Janny, sensing what was happening, moved away from the plinth and circled around the blue demon-devil-kin. It looped around her friends, around Thistle twice, then disappeared into the jug’s dark mouth.

Roofs stared at the devil's outstretched arms. Then the queen's arms, around her baby. Blink.

"Flyde the Uneaten!" Bitterroot cried, a dimension away.

The lake. The baby. The devil's mouth. Blink.

The wand. The killing.

Thistle and Sigur and Flyde saw Roofs kneeling in front of the stone jug one moment, not quite looking at the plinth in front of her.

Blink.

The next moment they saw her being sucked into the jug, all traces of her presence suddenly gone in a dizzying whirl of motion.

OOC

lostcheerio · #**108** Nov 9th, 2022, 10:40 AM

Into the Jug

Roofs, you are floating in a large cave. The largest you could ever imagine. Black stone surrounds you and gold veins ripple through the walls. You smell minerals and dirt, cleanest water and the cold depths of the earth. You are not cold. Far away in the cave you see high peaks like underground mountains, and up above you see a place expanse, glittering with jewels, like a night sky but right there. A moon rises but does not rise, as it's pale stone, an abruption in the rocky walls. The nature of this place is somewhere between real and unreal. You can touch it, but it's too beautiful and strange. And you yourself: beautiful, strange. You are not fully formed, a spirit, light and wondrously animated. It's nothing to fly or zoom or pop from place to place. You are a mote. Cares fade, and memories fade. What other life has there ever been but this?

All over this vast cave world there are bits of golden glow, small cavities and caves where other bright motes are resting. As you drift and look, you hear behind you, a rough old voice, screeching at you: "Hey, Rooty-toots! Over here! C'mere, ya doink!"

You turn to see, and there she is: Janny. You know her immediately, even though in this form she looks very different from the golden button that you've seen bopping around your life. You have never seen her before, and you know her like your own face. She lifts a withered hand to wave, and her wrinkled face busts into a wide grin. "Ah, you're in it now, girly! The dao's world, deep and wide! Well, we've been waiting for ya, haven't we Bert? Yeah, Bert and me have been waiting for ya and we're glad you're here."

They are old, Bert and Janny. Their bodies are coarse, tough, and they wear plain, coarse clothes, mountain clothes. Janny's got on bright blue pants but Bert's are brown and his t-shirt is white, stretched, stained. They have ropes slung around their waists and over their shoulders, tough boots. But both of them have halos of soft fluffy white hair -- Janny's a little more crazy-wild and Bert's a little more trimmed around the ears, but this softness, and their silly grins, are so welcoming. They're standing at the mouth of one of the small glowing caves, and they motion you in.

"This is us, in here," says Janny. Bert hasn't spoken yet, and he never will. Looking down at yourself you realize you are you, same dress, bare feet, cloak. You can step right into the cave along with Janny, and she shows you where to sit on a comfortable chair. The cave is like a cozy little house that's been overrun with things, furnished and appointed with a little kitchen corner, a bed covered in tumbled linens and pillows, a table buried under tools and gear. She climbs over a mess of papers, craft materials, ropes, interesting rocks clothes, and blankets up into a kind of loft, and there she sits with her legs dangling over. She drags a banjo into her lap and plucks it thoughtfully. "Well, my girl, are you ready to hear all about it? Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies." She winks and twinkles. "But seriously, you can ask me questions."

In the DungeonFlyde gives a little cry as Roofs disappears into the jug.

"Siht?!" he says, like a question. He rushes over to the stone jug where it wobbles to a stop on the floor, and scoops it up. "ROOFS!" he shouts down into the mouth of it. "Don't worry! We'll get you out of there!" He turns it upside down and shakes, whacking on the bottom of it enthusiastically. "Siht," he repeats, this time as an assessment. "Sigur! Thistle! You gotta do something -- the jug ate her! Did this ever happen before?"

It's never happened before.

Thistle, at the top of the stairs you have found a rectangular pool, full of liquid that's deep and murky. Your senses tell you this is not water or at least not fresh.

Sigur, you cleverly speculate on what "the body" might mean in this dungeon full of puzzles. Was there a body left intact from the skeleton baby attack?

OOCYou have my enthusiastic permission to not worry about meta-gaming here. Your PCs will likely worry about Roofs, but you don't have to make them worry to the exclusion of stopping progress on the story, Flyde's panic notwithstanding. You know OOC that Roofs is a warlock with a genie patron, and she's activated Bottled Respite, and have read what's happening with her, so it's ok to carry on with investigating the room. I promise Roofs will not miss out on anything too exciting (or deadly.)

Speaking of investigating the room -- please give me a Perception check as you look into the liquid at the top of the stairs. One person can roll with advantage or you can both roll separately if Sigur also goes up the stairs.

Yoshimi · #**109** Nov 10th, 2022, 09:43 PM

Sigur Borthi

Sigur stands amid the cracked and splintered bones of the infant skeletons, where the party had faced their first challenge what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"I trust her," she had said simply to Flyde, then turned on one heel and strode from the dreadful plinth chamber.

This wasn't any better. Though now inanimate, each delicate replica tells a story that Sigur struggles to avoid reenacting in her mind. As she prods at them with the tip of her sword, trying to find one that is relatively intact by the light of the torch in her other hand, a surge of memory nearly overwhelms her. Tiny hands, clutching her hair, pleading with her to follow. She closes her eyes and steadies herself with one long breath. "Nerves of steel to match blades of steel."

Crouching so as to be better able to do her job, she continues to rummage through the remains.

PlaidPeregrine · #**110** Nov 10th, 2022, 11:42 PM

Thistle Marmalade Brambleweaver

Thistle noticed that Roofs was knelt, possibly studying the bottom of the plinth to see if it turned, or she was praying for orange fizzy to appear in her jug. The not-faun, ram's horned woman had her own mysterious ways about things as all individuals do. When Flyde yelled in Gnomish, in a panic, and picked up the stone jug, Thistle scampered over to him, waving her hand about. "Hey there, Flyde! Tsop that now; if you break the jug, you could interrupt whatever she's doing if she's actually in there. Look, look - she didn't scream, or yell…" Knowing Roofs, she'd certainly express herself if something felt weird, like a sticky blade of razor grass getting stuck against her leg, or an imaginary feeling of a persistent butterfly landing on her horn when it was actually resting on the hood of her cloak. If anything, Roofs was not one to sit still and be quiet about a feeling of danger, or…well a feeling, was she?

"Flyde, please just put that down. If she's teeny tiny, you're shaking her up like a beetle, and if it's her magic, then…it's her magic. There's probably a secret pub in there and she's getting chips and some fizzy. I'll send a teeny tiny ice possum down there to fetch her if she's not returned shortly, promise." Thistle was concerned, of course, but Roofs had a magic about her, and the jug wasn't something she picked up inside this living puzzle. All she could do is put her faith in her friend and companion, then send something after her. "Keep an eye on the jug, and listen just in case she's trying to say something from inside of it. I'm going up the stairs to take a peek, and then will assist Sigur if she so needs me."

Once the Druid announced her intentions to Flyde, she brightly smiled at him with hope in her eyes before she turned to ascend the stairs, smile fading as she Perception Roll: 15looked to the surface of the murky liquid. Gesturing lightly with a wave of an outstretched hand, she tried to move the liquid back and forth to determine if it was water or not. Could she craft a simple, elegant swan to glide along the unbroken stillness? The Gnome certainly tried with a Druid's casualness about it all, lest she'd upset Flyde if he was looking up in her direction under the glow of green. From where she stood, Thistle followed the Queen's story and glanced around her immediate area atop of the world, practically, in such a strangely elevated area.

With the best intentions, the little Druid planned on returning to the bottom of the stairs and seek out Sigur to see if she needed assistance in finding a full set of baby bones.

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ElderOblex · #**111** Nov 14th, 2022, 01:21 AM

Dao Jug Not

Roofs stood in the expanse.

Not an expanse. Not standing. Floating. A cave? She followed the veins of gold. They reminded her of...

"Jack. Janny. I was... Where... Huh."

It wasn't freezing in here, unlike in the dungeon. She kept floating, looking at the mountains, beyond the horizon. How was she flying? Roofs had never flown before. Roofs was afraid of heights.

"It's so... light..."

Yes, Roofs felt light; she looped and swooped and did 360s and 1080s in the void like she was hopped up bat, and it felt effortless. Waking up used to be so icky, so troublesome. Eating was light. This, was light.

Yes, Roofs felt light. Cares faded. She hadn't felt this clearheaded in a looooong time. It was as if the memories were... No. The memories were there. Some of them, at least; they were still incomplete. Many yet unanswered questions. But they didn't overwhelm her.

Then behind her, a voice.

Roofs smiled. She knew that voice. She had always known it, even though she thought the voice was more... boyish? But she looked... old. Weird. She had always known her face. And Bert's?

Roofs followed them in without a word. She looked down, and was surprised she looked the same. Whoa. Did I teleport or something? Am I in... Janny's jug? The thought would've distressed Roofs, but it didn't. It just was. She looked around Bert and Janny's cave cabin. She looked up at the mote-who-wasn't-a-mote-anymore.

"You play the banjo?"

No, that wasn't a real question. Roofs was just remembering. Didn't Skail know how to play?

"I've... I've been here before, haven't I? That night when... when Skail died. I saw you... I think. My memories of that night are so hazy, incomplete. Kinda like when you're trying to look outside the window on a stormy night."

Roofs stood then. The chair Bert offered was more suited for them, so it was tall for her, but it was comfortable. But Roofs wasn't here for comfort. She was here for the truth.

"I need to know. Did I kill Skail? Did I really kill my brother? My mind is so... all over the place because of what happened that night. So maybe I did something so bad I wanted to forget that I did a Bad Thing." Roofs was half-surprised at the words coming out of her own mouth - or her dream-mouth or whatever - right now. She always suspected this, but never had the courage to form the thought in her own mind. Until now. In this place. This place that just felt... safe. Would she be able to forgive herself, if she knew? Would she just lose her mind and go apewild on her friends? The answers to those questions seemed to lack weight compared to another question she needed to ask. "So did... did you make me forget?"

OOC

lostcheerio · #**112** Nov 16th, 2022, 03:17 PM

In the Jug

"Oh honey," Janny says. "I'm sorry. You did."

She listens to you intently from up on her mound of stuff, one hand wrapped around the neck of her banjo and one hand placed across the strings. She looks so sad and serious as she pays attention, all the twinkle gone out of her eye for now, replaced by a tear. Bert will put his warm dry hand over yours and pat wordlessly, sitting next to you if you'll let him. He smells like caves and solitude, contentment, the end of a day's hard work. When Janny answers you, her voice is full of emotion. The words hang there for a minute in the golden light of this cave. Janny is so forthright that it's almost painful, like a knife. You feel the enormity of what's outside this little niche where Herb and Janny seem to be living, the vast cave and all the little lights, the presence of the dao everywhere and nowhere, larger than all of it and yet invisible.

Then she says, with the same simplicity: "You did. But it's not your fault."

Like the swing of a pendulum, the blade that was so close to you is removed, and Janny tells you, with Bert silently affirming with his calm presence, how it was.

"Skail's death was not your fault! It was your father's deal, Roofs. He made a deal with the Dao for your brother's life a long time ago. We knew Skail too, you know. He was a brave kid. But marked. It was your father's deal. But when it came time to pay the debt, he couldn't do it."

Who is your father? Who is your mother? Austere, bossy, brutal, intensely loving, intensely proud? Perpetually agonized? Burdened? What did your father purchase from the Dao? Janny doesn't know, because she wasn't there. She only came after, for Skail, and then for you.

"The Dao doesn't go back on deals, of course. What's open can't be unopened. The boy had to go to the master, or your father would be taken in his stead. Since your father couldn't bring himself to pay, the Dao offered another deal, for you this time. You be the one to kill your brother, instead of your dad getting his hands dirty. The master accepts the original price, and then -- a second price: you belong to him."

Janny stays solemn for a few seconds, letting you process, but then she accidentally twangs on the banjo, and her face brightens. It's as though she just physically can't stay serious for this long, and though she tries to be responsible and sensitive to the emotions you might be experiencing, she is ultimately irrepressible, and her twinkle bursts forth.

"Hey! The good news is you got us, Roofs!" she said. "Me and Bert! We're servants of the Dao too -- we made a deal when we were living on the earth. But not a death deal!" Bert's tufty eyebrows lower and he shakes his head vehemently. "Naw, just a regular deal for our souls and such. Exploration! Knowledge! Magic! Show us the whole cave, genie, we said! Show us the whole thing, and when we go out, we'll go to serve ya! And here we are! Oh, we found every corner of that cave, didn't we Bert!" Bert nods enthusiastically. "And had a bit of magic! Like you! When we died, well who cares, here we are back in a cave and can fly and play the banjo and -- and be of service to the next little warlock."

Janny plays a few bars on the banjo and does some yodeling. Bert is silent but his toe taps. Then just a scootch more serious, she looks at you straight and honest. "It's what you'll do, when you go, Roofs. You'll come here. And be like us. A little speck of gold. And if you get your warlock in a jug, you can tell them what we're telling you." She lets it sit for a second. Outside in the cave there's a rumbling sound, and then a splash of gravel sliding into water. Then Janny continues: "But Roofs -- think! What a ride you might have, with the Dao's magic in you, and us by your side, before that happens!" she says brightly. "How much of the world could you map and explore -- how deep, how far? It's not so bad is it?"

Skail. Skail, your brother. You killed him. You remember the edges of it, the swirled and shattered version, in fragments and flashes: the ritual and the blood. It was you that was sacrificed, to your father's shrinking will. You to his cowardice, and your brother to his pride. How he squandered his children, both. How he lost them. And he let you think it was your sin, your loss. All those letters in your pack, demanding. How can you ever go back.

In the DungeonObediently, Flyde stops shaking and poking at the jug, but he holds it tightly in his arms as he sits down on the bottom stone step.

"I'm here for you," he says down the mouth of the jug. "We're all here for you."

Thistle, you climb bravely up to the top of the steps, and stare into the rectangular pool you find there. Smells wrong, feels wrong -- this is definitely not water. A harsh tang fills your nostrils and you know that this is acid. Not the most powerful and dangerous ever, but not something you'd want to step into, for sure. Beneath the surface, as you look, you see shapes resolve in the murk, outlines and forms emerge into your understanding... bones. Some large, some small. Many small. A gruesome sight. And lower still, deep down, you see something glowing, a dim faint gold.

Sigur, what a gruesome task is yours. You march on your own through the dungeon. What do you take for a light? You go past the crossroads near the body of the snake, back through the devil's mouth, by the "only love" plinth and on to the first crossroads where you stood, indecisive, when Eva and Palona were with you. And Tibby. The mess that is left on the floor here crunches beneath your feet. They were pulling on you, grabbing and dragging you down the hall. How could you know what horror they represented? A grim illustration, not quite sentient, but the memory of them now reverberates with the queen's portrait, the carvings you've just seen, telling the story of the sacrifice. With time and patience, you can find enough little bones to reconstruct a body. It's in three pieces in your arms.

Yoshimi · #**113** Nov 16th, 2022, 10:41 PM

Sigur Borthi

Sigur crouches over the skeleton fragments on the flagstones. She slowly drags the third and final segment into place with trembling fingers, lining up the bones as best she can to form a more or less intact frame. A bead of moisture falls on the little skull, and the fighter notes in surprise that it has dripped from her own face. The realization finally overwhelms her ability to hold back the horror of her mission and she covers her eyes with one arm, her shoulders shaking as ten thousand years of a queen's mourning grasps for closure in the tears of a young woman, kneeling alone in a small circle of torchlight.

She gives herself over to crying, letting all the tension in her torso and her face drain away with it. When it subsides enough for her take a few deep breaths, she laughs with a single hiccup and smiles wanly. Wanting to hear a human voice, she says aloud, "What would Eldrake say if he saw me sobbing like a child in play armor?" Her face softens. "Probably something understanding about how grief separates soldiers from killers, or men from beasts, or that the true warrior has the courage to let their sorrow show." Beloved brother; so wise and kind. So full of hot air. She smiles sadly and more tears come, but quietly this time, at the pangs of moving away from her own childhood.

Then she is on her feet with the chosen skeletal remains in her pack, her face dry and her torch held aloft. She strides resolutely back through dark corridors that contain no fears, only notches on the warrior's belt. One challenge remains. "And I hope the others have some idea of how we will beat it."

She stands outside the obelisk chamber and looks from there to the pool chamber and back. "Roofs? Thistle? I have the body."

PlaidPeregrine · #**114** Nov 20th, 2022, 01:38 AM

Thistle Marmalade Brambleweaver

There are many reactions one cannot control, like when one catches the surprise scent of a skunk, or if one comes home after a soggy autumn's hike to a pot full of rich stew and family gathered merrily around the table. This reaction that Thistle had was more like if she smelt a skunk. Her nose crinkled and eyes narrowed as she leaned forward a touch to get a solid look at the pool once she learned there was no water to control. The bones, since this is what her mind settled on over random twigs, or …or...well, bones really were quite unique, so beyond their looking like maybe, possibly, hopefully, very straight fallen branches….with no trees in sight - sadly the Gnome had to settle on there being bones no matter what she wanted to see instead.

A few of the small water critters reacted negatively to the green glow and the not-watery pool; notably the snails rolled away, hiding in their shells until they found themselves nearer the stairs where they could shyly poke their little eyestalks safely out once again, soon to be followed by their stubbier sniffing tentacles before their crystal-clear liquid bodies unfurled. Thistle agreed with them, of course, and apologized in a quiet murmur for nothing in particular. One could only guess she was sorry they were next to an acidic pool that held a slow turn of bones. The glisten of gold caught her eye, and she craned her neck to see if it was an odd reflection or trick of the light. All the small Gnome wanted was it not to be what she thought it could be, which didn't really have a weight to her - as she stated back at dinner - She wasn't interested in the crown or the gold. All Thistle wanted was to become a wise Elder one day, full of experience and advice with the backing of real world adventures and maybe someone, somewhere, like the Big farmers, would call her a hero. OH the stories she could share around the fire! The crown and the gold, as nice as it would be to return home with gold to share with the Hollow, and to buy some silk fabric, and thread, and perhaps a nicer wool to sew cloaks with, she did not want to dive into a pool of acid.

When Thistle heard Sigur's arrival, she welcomed the distraction and hurried back to the top of the stairs and stepped down a few. "Over here, Knightess Sigur! You found one? How wonderful! Here…you can use my cloak to wrap it in. Do you know how to wrap a child, even one of bones? Ought I make it more realistic by icing it together?" The helpful, positive-ish Gnome wasn't full of cotton candy and sunshine, but she looked at this as a group project. The bones weren't real and being only a creation of magic so therefore wasn't disturbed by their existence. Unfortunately, she did need to explain the sacrificial situation to Sigur. "It is strange up here. It's welcoming as a pitcher plant with a pool of slow digestive acid. Lots of little bones, some big bones….I wonder if people jumped in having not rested, or who had given up. Certainly no one would be so irrational as to jump in after an imagining of a golden treasure. Right, Knightess? No one here would just jump into a pool of acid just for riches." The statement trailed off and sounded almost like a question, as though she wanted to make positively sure that Sigur wasn't so exhausted from the trials that her young mind would snap. And Roofs…sometimes did not look before she leapt, though she was no fool.

The Forest Gnome took another hop down a stair, staff in hand. "Flyde, have you heard anything from Roofs? Am I sending in a baby miniature possum to fetch her?" Thistle unfastened her cloak as she spoke, now sitting midway down the stairs. She placed her rucksack between her knobby knees to find her sewing kit's scissors to cut away a fat ribbon of blue cloak cloth to wrap a Human baby in, skeletal or plump with flesh. "I will stitch this up later. Just while I have a hood for occasional rain or snow." She smiled to herself, making a straight cut using the edge of a stair to guide the sharpened blades in a satisfactory motion. "I'm coming, Knightess. We must discuss how we must do this. You will not do this alone. Or at all. This situation means something to us. I hope the Queen shows mercy on us as we are not her scoundrel of a husband. The three of us, if Roof returns, should do the deed. Agreed? It is such a weight to carry alone."

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ElderOblex · #**115** Nov 22nd, 2022, 03:38 AM

The Price of a Promise

"I’m sorry. YOU DID."

The words echoed like thunder in this impossible dream-cave. It echoed in Roofs’ mind, just as flashes of memory filled the shadowy spaces, fragments of her fratricide forming a fuller picture.

An argument with Father.

The storm picking up outside.

Her blue hands holding the knife.

The ritual circle glowing.

Skail’s face. So scared. So sheepish. So… understanding.

Mother’s expression, as she watched it all. Approving. Smiling?

"YOU DID."

How can it not be her fault?

"It all went wrong," she said weakly, looking at Bert’s stony but soft hand. "I was supposed to break the ritual. Not complete it. But then… I think I spoke - somehow - to the Dao. They told me… They said the price of a promise was precious. More precious than life. My stupid plan to save my brother backfired. So your master took both him and me. And Mother…"

Roofs faced crumpled then. In realization. Grief. Hurt. Anger. She looked to Bert, then to Janny.

"Mother… She… She knew somehow that this would all happen. Like it was her plan all along." Temerity was always the brains behind the Edarakas Family’s biggest moves. "She let her son die and her daughter get taken… And did nothing to stop it."

Roofs looked up at her two companions. There was still raw emotion in her eyes. There was also something else. Something firm. Determined. Like hardened amber. But also... Also maybe, in this dreamlike cavern of chill vibes and laughter and gold veins and banjo tunes, also maybe like a thawing glacier. The tiefling smiled, more vulnerable and sincere than she’d ever been before.

"Look guys, I still have TONS of questions. And I want to hang out with you more. Learn the banjo, explore the cave, that kinda stuff. I know you’ve loads and lodes of stories, advice, wisdom, old age bits you're gonna dole out when I do something stupid…"

The blue skinned warlock exhaled, like she had been holding her breath all this time. Then her smile slowly moved into grin territory.

"But first things first. I got friends to help solve a dumb riddle dungeon outside. So, uh… How do we get back out again?"

OOC

lostcheerio · #**116** Nov 22nd, 2022, 12:31 PM

By the Lake

Roofs, even though Janny is a tough old bird and Bert is silent, you can tell they are feeling what you feel. Bert's jaw is clenched tight, and Janny leans forward, nodding as you express what you're going through. It's hard, and dark, and unfair to understand what you now know. It's a huge shift in your world that you will probably have to calibrate with a fair amount of alcohol and bright lights and intense physical exercise, lest it take you on a downward slide into darkness. Your mother and father are revealed through a new filter. While it was unclear to you what happened before, there was still the strong possibility that it might be you that was the monster. Somehow that would have been simpler. In the new reality: they were. What you have been told all your life, you no longer are bound to believe.

Janny grins at you when you say you have to go. She hops down off her pile of stuff and hitches up her pants. "Thatta girl," she says. "And when you come back, there's someone else you'll want to see! Yeah, Skail! Not sure where he is right this minute, but when he hears you finally jugged it, he'll be so glad. Aw, you got some good climbs and dives in your future. He'll show you the ropes!" She rattles the harness on her chest and gives her rough laugh. "Literally!"

Janny takes you to the mouth of the alcove where you can see all the gold and glittering lights, the veins and baubles and sparkles in this seemingly endless expanse. And then she hauls back and plants her boot firmly on your butt, so firmly that you fly up, up, whizzing through space in a swirl of gold and black, until you're out of the jug and holding it in your hand. You feel Flyde fall away from you, and sprawl on the floor. You hear Sigur say "I have the body." You see Thistle chopping up her cloak. What is going on!?

Sigur, no one would blame you for your tears. The whole dungeon is designed to wring this out of you. No one would blame you for thinking of Eldrake, of home, of what it means to be a sister, a soldier. Perhaps the queen's design has led you to this by a different route, because you held the sword, you slew the beast. But there seems to be something for everyone in this emotional wringer, and if gathering up the baby bones is what does it, well maybe the queen would say it's working.

Thistle, this dungeon was born out of pain, anger. It had Eva raging at Tibby, Flyde hiding in terror, even Palona the old gnome gave up on trying to survive this vise on the feelings. You are a sweet, small person. The storm of emotions around you is hard to weather, and the horror of the queen's story is impossible to deflect. But you focus on the small things you can do. Even as you remind yourself that these bones are constructed, magical, false, you find solace and an anchor in wrapping them up with the respect you'd show to real remains. Does this matter, to the queen? Can anything matter to her?

Sigur and Thistle, you see Roofs SSHHHWOOOSH! right back up out of the jug just as she shwooshed into it, and now the three of you, plus a relieved Flyde, are together again. You have the reconstituted skeleton wrapped in blue fabric. What now?

OOCAll three please take DM inspiration, good for one reroll, for such great RP in these last few rounds. Well done everyone!

Yoshimi · #**117** Nov 22nd, 2022, 01:29 PM

Sigur Borthi

Sigur does appear a bit dazed, and replies to Thistle's first question a little absently, "For treasure?" She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, and then opens them to stare at the gnome upon the stairs. "Well, no! No, Thistle, I would not jump into a pool of acid just for riches." She looks over Thistle's shoulder to the top stairway, and her lips tighten.

The fighter nods approvingly as she absorbs Thistle's plan in creating a swaddling for the replica of the child, and removes her pack then places it on the ground. While her friend talks, she lays out the three segments of skeleton on the floor. But before she can answer Thistle's question about taking the final step together, Roofs is suddenly there at the doorstep.

Sigur's eyes widen. "Roofs!" She springs fully upright and reaches out as if to embrace the tiefling, but catches herself at the last moment, remembering that Roofs had an aversion to such displays. She attempts to turn the resulting awkward half-stumble into an enthusiastic welcoming wave, but instead manages to look like someone saving themselves from falling over backwards on an icy pond. When she regains her balance she laughs lightly and says, "Are you well? Where did you go?"

ElderOblex · #**118** Nov 22nd, 2022, 05:35 PM

The Baby in the Acid Bathwater

Confusion was painted on Roofs' face as Janny told her about who else was here. "Wait. WAIT. WHAT!?" That can't be. He died! Skail was here???

But Janny was already kicking her. Up, up, through the black-lit canopy of gold and sipver starlight, through the less twinkling and more trippy expanse of gems and baubles.

Skail is here! Roofs felt light as a feather, as she floated up and out, her confusion turning to joy.

Joy sank back down to Confusion however as the tiefling swooshed out of her bottle and slowly tried to get her bearings. She felt like a hangover, who was having a hangover themselves. "Oooh my head..." Then she heard Sigur saying she has a body well of course she has a body she has a great strong pretty body and now Thistle was ripping up her cloak and wrapping it around some bony stuff.

"Uh. What's going-"

Sigur was faster. She sprang up, rushing toward Roofs, her face beaming and beatific, like a princess. The tripping sort of made it less elegant, but it also made Roofs' confusion shift back again to joy. The blue warlock looked up at her ribbonless friend, and grinned madly.

"That a welcome dance of your people or something? Heh. I'm uh. I'm... ok, actually. Better, even."

Roofs looked at the plinth again, this time studying it more slowly, taking in every detail. When she was done, she looked back at Sigur and held the jug up. "Oh, I went in here. It's a genie bottle. Maybe onea these days I can take you guys in, we can hang out n stuff. Janny and Bert are cool. And... Uh, anyway, we need to solve this dungeon thing first. Are you solving the dungeon thing?"

OOC

PlaidPeregrine · #**119** Nov 25th, 2022, 12:03 AM

Thistle Marmalade Brambleweaver

Thistle smiled like it was the first day of spring with crocuses spreading their purple and yellow pointed petals joyfully to the sun upon first hearing Roofs' happy voice. She finished swaddling the skeletal infant in a remnant of her blue cloak, taking care to take an extra strip to hood the 'baby' so the head would remain…fastened and secured. A few stitches here and there, neatly criss-crossed, and the Gnome was satisfied with her work. "I'll be right there!" She raised her voice enough to be heard while she hoisted the macabre 'doll' and cradled it with one arm. Being a human-sized infant, she pressed it against her body for stability as she kept hold of her staff in her other hand.

Approaching Roofs and Sigur, Thistle announced with a pleased timbre to her voice. "Roofs, Knightess Sigur said she will not dive into a pool of acid for treasure, which brings me comfort. What about you? I believe the glitter at the bottom of the acid pool may be for the greedy, or those who do not want to make a sacrifice. We must … please the Queen. If only the King would show up and we can knock him into the pool instead of the child, forsaking his unsavory devil's deal. One cannot blame the Queen for killing him. I only wonder if we will ever know if he made the deal to save people, or if he made the deal purposefully for riches. Or if the why matters at all. This child might not approve of why it was sacrificed."

The thoughtful Gnome looked down at the skeletal child, not finding much in the endless black holes of the skull's eye sockets. "I believe that he should have only sacrificed himself if it was that important to him or find another way. To promise another's life, one that was not discussed or agreed upon…" Thistle seemed more annoyed or irritated, or possibly angry that the King did not find another way as she did. Imagining trying to explain to a child that you are letting them die because their death would allow their parents, grandparents, and everyone else to live would not be a nice conversation. But, Thistle's choice was different - there was no expected reward, no gold, no crown, no hand in marriage to motivate her decision. But again, she felt as though one can be responsible for their own life, and their own death. She certainly could not promise to kill a stranger. What if the Queen asked her to kill Flyde so they could all return to the real world again? That would be Flyde's decision to make, not hers. Not anyone's. Such heavy thoughts were starting to weigh on her, so her attention turned back to her rejuvenated Tiefling friend. Suddenly, she smiled lightly once again and asked cheerily. "Did you have fun in the jug? Do you have a secret home in there? Would tea be a proper gift for visiting? I'm happy that you returned to us, even if we have a difficult situation in hand, up the stairs."

Stat Block

Actions & Movement

Yoshimi · #**120** Nov 25th, 2022, 07:31 AM

Sigur Borthi

Sigur's eyebrows raise and her mouth forms an 'O' at Roofs' revelation, but Thistle's flow of inquiries quickly obliterate any risk of awkward silence, and the warrior's face relaxes again. The gnome seemed to take all the strangeness in stride, as usual, and anyway it had become impossible to categorize what was strange and what was normal, lately. Images flash through her mind of Roofs obliterating enemies with the wave of a hand, and she decides it might be totally standard for tieflings to hide in bottles when they are startled.

"We are certainly glad to have you back. I would be honored to see the inside of your bottle one day, if indeed you can transport me there." Her face darkens. "But right now, as Thistle said, we fear that to throw the 'body' in the lake, we must re-enact the king's terrible sacrifice. We have prepared a replica of the...the body." She gestures to Thistle's bundle.

A thoughtful expression crosses Sigur's face for a moment, then she says, "Although I had hoped to see the last of it, I am going to gather up the sword. Perhaps we must play the role of the king fully."

She departs down the corridor, returning a few minutes later with Hellscaler in her right hand and a grim expression. "Let us ascend. Flyde, are you coming? I am not sure what dangers this will trigger."

Are you confused and wondering what is going on here? Check out this YouTube video to get the scoop.