Run Away, Turn Away, Run Away!

 

Heavy is the Head

 

Wanted: Preferably Dead

While scraping up the separate pieces of the Halfling bandit; Marvin’s sloppy corpse into a large bucket, Chape tries to hold his, still only half digested, breakfast down. 

“Why are we doing this again?”

Ringo shrugs.

“There was a fair sized ‘Dead or Alive’ reward offered for the Halfling nutter and a lesser one for each of his dirty bandits but the city will only pay out on the presentation of irrefutable evidence.

Chape shrugs.

“Do the adventurers even care? They seem pretty indifferent to pursuing wealth and, as soldiers in Lord Urdurel’s army, were not even allowed to stake a claim in it.”

The third Brother; Locket wanders over.

“Don’t worry about mopping up all the squidgy bits that leaked out, the Halfling’s head and our word will, almost certainly, be evidence enough.”

Love is in the Air

The octopus-armoured Fortu, eagerly (but unnecessarily) supported by two of the fawning, small but perfectly formed, amphibious Nixies, finds his footing, wades forward up the gentle slope and breaks the surface of the magical pool. Just drinking a mouthful of the enchanted water refreshes him as much as a full nights rest and he feels the aches and stresses from the previous day, wash away as if they’d never been. As the water cascades off of him, leaving him completely dry, he hears the exquisite voices of the Fey creatures singing in harmony. Looking up, he sees three of the Dryads, the smiling Satyr; Magritte and, in the centre, the beautiful ‘goddess’ herself; Estrid. They’re standing in a semi-circle, waist-deep in the water, with their hands outstretched in welcome.

Even as the Four Nixies swim up and down the underwater, hundred foot pipe, retrieving the less submersible Party members, Fortu, despite his distrust, can’t help but gaze upon Estrid. Her beauty is beyond compare, with flaming locks of auburn hair, ivory skin and, her (previously terrifying) eyes are of emerald green. Though not a man comfortable with the ‘gentler’ emotions, Fortu reflects upon the difference between the tall and athletic Estrid’s and overly curvaceous Hetzabah’s beauty; Estrid’s seems to fill his heart, whereas Hetzabah’s seemed to fill an entirely different organ, about two feet lower down.

The heavily armoured, but strangely unencumbered in the water, warrior, accepts Estrid’s proffered hand and allows her to pull him forward. She stands about the same impressive height as him in the water but her kind smile is like a breath of Spring and Fortu, for a moment, forgets why he was so angry with her.

Behind him, two of the Nxies emerge with his Halfling friend and his slobbery dog, before the small, green-skinned women dive back down to retrieve the others.

Liga Bur looks about himself suspiciously, but on seeing no signs of aggression, treads water while holding onto his soggy, doggy-paddling companion. The welcoming choral song the Fey creatures are singing is warm and genuine and even the ever-vigilant, Orc-raised Halfling feels himself lull a little.

Fortu and Liga Bur are soon joined by Arowe and Rifkin and all of them have been guided to the safety of the grassy bank before a coughing and spluttering Henshaw, Barbella and Doberman break the surface of the crystal-clear pool.

Still (mostly) wearing the same uniforms that they attacked the Fey in, the three soldiers weren’t given the magical, water-breathing Nixie kiss and are choking by the time they escape the hundred-foot deep, underwater sinkhole pipe. The four Nixies roughly pull them to the shallower water but their actions are obviously begrudging and Fortu is coldly reminded of the general ill-will felt between the Fey and Humans.

Still, when Estrid finally speaks, her voice is soft, like Summer rain.

“Welcome home my champions. We have much to discuss, but before we’re forced deal with the evil that’s to come, please rest after your arduous journey, share our food and enjoy our music, wine and… our company.”

Fortu feels a wave of confusion wash over him as he battles conflicting emotions. The goddess; Estrid seems so different this time around; kind, generous and objectively, (whatever he may think of her past actions) breathtakingly lovely.

An In-Tents Battle - Shit’s got Ethereal!!

Scouring the desert for her prey, Hetzabah’s soulless, but faithful black, Nightmare steed, beats its powerful bat-like wings as they draw ever closer. This time it’ll be different. This time, she won’t go after the tenacious Halfling tracker. This time, she’ll target the dangerous Elven archer…

Floor by Floor, Oozing Right up to the Door

Unaware and indifferent to the fact that it’s losing ground on its prey, the brainless, gelatinous, green mass continues to advance onwards and upwards until it’s finally stymied by a barrier with gaps too narrow to easily ooze through.
The simple but pragmatic act of reblocking the three-foot-thick, ‘Lord Urdurel’ cold-iron door, probably saved the lives of at least half the Party.

Fright for the Knight

 

After Doberman barrels into the surprisingly shocked Sir Briefadel and his voluptuous, dark-eyed mother, battle is joined. The open mouth shaped observation platform is small though; too small to allow easy access and Hetzabah and Sir Briefadel exploit that fact, refusing to get drawn away from the partial safety of the toothy edge, leaving no opportunity for flanking or double-teaming. The Party’s numbers do give them the edge though, enabling Liga Bur and Barbella to race back into the tower and out onto Dulcetta’s outstretched hands. Eventually the evil Mother and Son duo are forced to jump to the relative safety of the darkness below but not before Arowe, Liga Bur and Barbella get their long (and cross) bow shots in to surprisingly good, near fatal effect.

The ‘Night’ Watchmen

The ghost of the young Cottisonian soldier; Pardrik sways easily, as he shimmers in the bright sunlight. His form and features have become clearer somehow, after each completed guard duty. More defined and in focus after each re-emergence, even though his spirit form had been shredded, defeated and dismissed several times by the ethereal but still vicious Hag and her phantom steed. Regardless of that though, he’d always reformed by the next shift. Despite their pitiful existence, ghosts are notoriously hard to actually ‘kill’ again. 

It’s the end of his and Arowe’s seventh eight-hour guard duty, and Pardrik notices that his Elven partner seems finally, to have calmed down. The ghost hovers over the still sleeping Halfling, but thanks to the clever positioning of his bones, he’d been able to move freely around the marquee and act as an early, though imminent, warning system for all his new friends. Now though, a feeling of anxiety runs through him. Like his ghostly form, his mind had become less clouded after each successfully completed shift, and now he wonders if the Halfling; Liga Bur was correct in his assumption about fulfilling his previously failed duty. He was cursed on the orders of Lord Urdurel to exist forever, tortured by the unending sight of the young Lady Lamenta’s dying moments. A testimony to his failure to protect her. 

Now though, after serving those seven nights of duty, that he’d failed to give her, was his curse truly over? The last three days had been spent just quietly standing, as the Hag and her badly injured Nightmare steed hadn’t reappeared.

As if in answer to his silent thoughts, a beam of bluish light, despite the natural brightness around him, somehow seems to illuminate him from above and he feels a pull upward.

“My friend! It appears you were right and, in protecting you, my curse has been lifted. I didn’t dare believe it but, after a century of suffering, I’ve served my penance and can finally return to the afterlife I deserved.”

Liga Bur, who’d suspected as much, quickly summons his teammates to say goodbye to their insubstantial ally. Pardrik takes the opportunity to thank them all in turn but deliberately finishes on Arowe.

“It is you, that I’ve spent the most time with over this last week. The magical hand you possess, your sharp Elven senses and your uncanny trancing ability have made you the ideal partner. While I stood guard on the ethereal plane, you guarded the material one. Now though, from now on, I’m afraid you must guard alone.”

The ghostly soldier instructs Arowe to lay the ornate, magical rapier he’d gotten from Magritte on the warm sand before placing his own immaterial longsword overtop it. The two swords exist in the same space for a moment before the spirit sword fades from existence, leaving only Arowe’s rapier behind. It looks different though in some way. It’s magical glow has turned from an orangey gold to a blueish silver and the blade, despite the warm sand, is unnaturally cool to the touch.

As Arowe turns, he sees that Pardrik too is fading, but rather than a feeling of sadness, now that his anger is no longer magnified by the Oath-bow, he shares the smiling teenager’s joy.

Arowe’s bejewelled +2 Rapier (that he was given by Magritte in exchange for his sinisterly intelligent one) has now been further enhanced by the parting gift of the ghost; Pardrik and now has a +3 bonus on attack and damage as well as having the ‘Ghost touch’ feature! 

It Creeps and Leaps

Because the tower narrows as it rises, the acidic, green slime fills more and more of the available floor space. If it makes it all the way to the top level, it’ll be utterly unavoidable! 

Bottle Bottom - Bottle Neck

 

Thankfully, due to the too small access point, the flapping, glass abdomened, mechanical bat/gnat creatures can only get through the overhead hatch one at a time. Despite that though, the small, overcrowded, multi-exited chamber is soon full of the terrifying, needle-nosed, clickity-clackity, blood-siphoning creatures!

Sling to Win

Racing far ahead, ironically, only the overly cautious Henshaw and ‘risk averse’ Rifkin arrive in time to see clever Arowe use his wits and a single, simple sling-stone to overcome the rapidly spinning, sonic reflecting, circular, anti-arrow cage.

It Glides and Slides

Oozing its way along and ascending floor after floor, the acidic, green Blob finds itself on the labyrinth level of Dulcetta’s tower. The illusionary temptations and portcullis-like gate traps mean nothing to the mindless, amorphous creature though, and all the maze does is slow the gelatinous slime down just a little further.

Death Wish

Unimpressed by the impotent threats of the ghostly guard/prisoner Pardrik or the pitiful statues of the teenage Lady Lamenta surrounding him, Fortu instead examines the solid cold-iron door and its full sized representation of, who can only be, the wide stanced, hands-on-hips, eye-patch wearing Lord Urdurel.

Labyrinth of Temptation

With his mighty sword illuminated by Rifkin’s spell, the heavily armoured Fortu leads the way through the dark and twisting labyrinth…

Beware the Blob!

 

Pit near Spears!

 

Dance of the Mace-Handmaidens

 

Dulcetta’s First Challenge

 

Sand Trap!

 

The Outsiders

Outside on the open mouth of the balcony, Sir Briefadel and the mysterious, dark-haired woman await the potentially fatal confrontation that’s been destined to come. Their whispered conversation is drowned out though, by the soft moan of the eerie music and the fierce wind gusting unrelentingly upward.