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Children of the Dead

A knowing look enters the eye of the sagacious merchant as he surveys the party. Deft fingers snatch the flask from Omylia's outstretched hand and turn it over and over. Quick, inquisitive eyes take in every detail. Satisfied he tucks it away under the counter.

"Very well!" he says in a voice that suggests he's not the only one winning in this deal. "That's good for some information! To answer the query of the scary fanged thing, yes, there is a marro hive in the region. It lies slightly North North east of here. It wouldn't surprise me if some of those warring factions on the horizon contain marro auxiliaries. The population hasn't faired well in the dark down here, but they do exist by the grace of Pithix. A few weeks ago I spotted a lone warlord on this road, which was odd, yes! very odd to see. He was wounded and purchased healing ointments from me. Offered a number of scaley green pelts not unlike that your friend here is wearing. What was his name? Hmmm, Gur-Ne-Sa? No, that's not it, I'm thinking of someone else...Enrik-Sa? No, no that's not it either....Oh! En-Ri-Sa. That's the one! Yes, if you'd like to meet him, best thing to do is keep following this road east."

The merchant gets that patient look again, and his posture relaxes as though waiting once again, for the party to buy something.
 
Lorca's heart swells with excitement. Can it be!? Warlords are not often seen alone, unless he is the sole survivor of a battle. The pelts also suggest that this is the same individual, but how he managed to drag Viper corpses here on his own is curious.

"Thank you kindly for the helpful information, small child. We must clarify one important detail, however: May you please describe what this Marro looked like?"



[@Elven Lord may you please confirm if Lorca recognizes the description? :D]
 
"Hmm," Wiplock's fingers run through thin black hair. "Technically I've already given you all the information you paid for, but I suppose a little lagniappe never hurt business. He was a big one. Biggest I've ever seen, though he was more like a large man than one of the giant ones said to have walked valhalla during the wellspring wars. He had a long cut under his eye and part of his face hung from it grotesquely. He'd been in battle recently that was certain. I stitched him up and provided the ointments. Hmm, other than that he looked like any other marro."

Spoiler Alert!
 
Lorca takes in the information and is overwhelmed by a sense of grave excitement. “Thank you for the generous lineup, young one. This is indeed the mark I seek. As for your payment, please accept this measure of Viper venom.” She grabs a small pot on his table and hawks phlegm into it. Some of the sentient races in her homeland falsely believe that the Venocs are venomous, so it can’t hurt to barter for goodwill. “Be careful with that - just one drop is enough to slay an ogre”.

She retreats to the side, deep in thought. My mission may very well end here… she thinks. And my new packmates have no incentive to follow me on this suicide quest. One way or another, I must see this through, but I will wait for them to finish their shopping before I announce my departure.
 
Sir Kae looks up at the merchant. “Very well. What do you want for these vambraces?”
 
Jerrack listens intently before offering a reply.
"Lagniappe, Lagniappe, how delightful. I can provide you something beyond value, the saving of your soul. Offer yourself to Forsyth and let her light be your beacon."
With that the priest lays a hand on Runa and HEALS her once again.
"We need a map of this place and knowledge of exits to above. Oh, and remove this glove, which you may keep. Bring me a bowl of water and I will answer a question for you about your future."
 
Wiplock's answering grin to Lorca tells her he isn't fooled by the venom ruse, but he graciously stoppers the flask of phlegm and stashes it beneath the counter.

To Sir Kae, he thinks a moment before answering, "Something of equal value from your gear, potions and powders are acceptable or you can pay with silver or gold. Since you're a surface worlder 300 listra should be enough."

Wiplock recoils slightly at the mention of Forsyth. "Oh no! Don't go mentioning that name down here, holy man! Sithix, her brother, is the god of this place. Best not to call mind to that particular sibling rivalry."

His eyes widen ever so slightly, taking in the healing effect Sprague's magic has on Runa. The old kyrie regains her own footing, but the miraculous recovery of before appears to be a one time thing. The expression is gone almost as quickly as it appears.

"I have no need of knowing my future through heathen magics. I'll trade you a map of Utdwellen for sure, but not for any of your fiddly twiddly finger magics!"

Spoiler Alert!
 
Obviously offended our priest flips up his hood.
"Bless your heart."
Jerrack Sprague gives Wiplock a simple blessing.

He then turns to Omylia and exclaims "I have been thinking, you being a writer and all, perhaps you could help me to produce some literature of Forsyth. Pamphlets perhaps. Something I can hand out to the less informed to guide them to the light."
 
Nelson has barely been paying attention to the Imp, nor to his comrades. He still stands beside Runa, supporting her as age, it seems, is catching up to the old kyrie. He perks up slightly at mention of the Marro Warlord, but rolls his eyes at the interaction and antics of Omylia and Lorca.

He glances around, trying to search for anything out of the ordinary. As he does, he speaks to Runa, "What're we doin' down here? Are we searchin' for your brother, shoppin', huntin' Marro, proseletyzin', what? I seem to remember that we're not exactly popular down here in the depths."
 
"Very well . . . " Sir Kae pays for the vambraces. Sir Kae assumes zanshin - making himself keenly aware of his surroundings.
 
Wiplock recoils from the blessing as though burned with fire.

A soft chuckle emanates from the cliff face behind the group. Nelson and Sir Kae spot the source first, though Kae's human eyes make out little more than a shadow peeling away from the obsidian cliff face.

Nelson's eyes take a moment to adjust but before long makes out a somewhat strange looking creature making its way toward them. It is humanoid, mostly, but its skin is a motley of purple and blue hues. The ears are positioned on either side of the temples as perfect ovals extending upward vertically. The features of the face show strong lines along the cheekbones, jaw, nose, and eyebrows as though a child drew a caricature of a dark elf. It's immediately apparent though, that this creature is not a drow...unless it's one with serious birth defects. The hands are long and tipped with small claws.

It spreads it's hands in a peacemaking gesture as it nears the group, stopping a respectful distance away. It clears it's throat.

"I am Brathcar, a humble guide to the visitors of Utdwellen. We have not had many and I have spent several centuries with naught to do but explore the depths. If you're quite finished with our superstitious friend here, I will be happy to point you in the right direction...whatever you should decide that should be."
 
Flipping his hood back down, Jerrack approaches.
"Everyone down here is just so friendly, well except for those trying to imprison us. Tell me Brathcar, what do you know of Sithix and what do you have to gain by helping us?"
 
“Greeting, generous Broth Car! I admire your propensity for stealth - we should play hide and seek someday. I suppose there are two directions which we would like to go: Outside of this Forsyth-forsaken place and into the Sithix-damned Marro swamp. May you lead us there? I like your child, but I trust him as far as I can throw him, and while he is very small, you can see that my arms are very short indeed.”
 
Brathcar bows his head at the mention of Sithix. Jerrack thinks it might be homage until the being's shoulder's begin to shake. He's laughing!

Brathcar raises his head and offers a dismissive wave. "Nothing more than superstition. The story goes that when Utgar and his ilk were cast into the Undardak (Under Dark in the common) which is now called Utdwellen, Sithix gave him sanctuary here, hurling the blue sun into the sky, and enchanting their livestock and seeds to grow in the difficult soil of this place." He sighs heavily, "but the truth is far harsher than that. My people, the Undarii, have lived here for tens of thousands of years. Our ancestors were driven beneath the surface by the predecessors of the kyrie, and used ancient and powerful magics to create the blue sun, and breed livestock and staple crops that could grow beneath the surface. When Utgar and his ilk arrived, they massacred many thousands of us and drove the remnants into the hills far to the North. They then made up the story about Sithix to inspire confidence in future generations that they were really very special."

Despite the sadness of the story, the Undarii doesn't shed any tears or even look remotely disturbed by it, as though hundreds of years is enough for grief to pass. A more sensitive viewer may notice the way his hands clench at the mention of genocide, but otherwise he appears purely conversational.

EDIT: I forgot to respond to @DestroyerHive (facepalm).

Brathcar peers curiously at Lorca for a moment before his face lights up. "A venoc! I haven't seen one of your kind in a very long time. I would love to play hide and seek with you sometime, gentle creature. And yes, I can take you to the subterranean swamps of Mar. I can't promise you'll survive the experience though...as their populations have exploded in recent years."
 
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"Thank you for the information."
Jerrack blesses Brathcar.
"Are there many of your kind remaining? Just wondering how you have been able to survive and what would you like to see happen here for the future?"
 
"I see... thank you for the offer. One way or another, I am going to that swamp. I fear that if this goes as planned, we be unable to have that game of hide and seek."

Lorca turns to address her companions. She can't wait any longer - her intentions must be known.

"Fellow packmates, if you would allow me a moment of your time, I have an important announcement to make: This is where we will part ways. When I stumbled upon your pack all those days ago, it was merely a diversion from my true path - one that leads to a treacherous swamp in these caverns. Weeks ago, my pack and I, led by the great Warlord Acrochis, assaulted a newborn Marro hive on the edges of lord Ullar's territory. The battle was fierce. Both sides slew many, and I found myself lost in the chaos of the battle. Filled with bloodlust, I left my Warlord's side, which one of the Armoc clan should never do. I was born and raised to protect my leader, and failed in this one task. By the time I realized where I was, I saw that great Acrochis was engaged in mortal combat with the leader of the Marro horde, the other Armocs dead on the ground."

"I hurried back and managed to land a blow across the Marro's repugnant face with these claws of mine, but it was too late. Acrochis was dead. Fearing for my own life, I allowed the Marro to strike me non-fatally and played dead. My gambit paid off, the Marro remnants ignored me while the sound of carnage raged all about. When I finally got up, I discovered that my entire pack... many of them my children... not a single one had survived but me. Days later I made my way back home, but knew that I could not return to my pack, as they would devour me for my weakness. I knew then that I had to atone for my failure, and so doubled back, hunting the Marro's trail by travelling along the rivers. It seems that the enemy now finds himself here, and therefore this is where I must face my destiny - either it dies, or I do."

"I cannot ask you to come with me, as I am well aware that this course of action is suicide. The swamps must be infested with Marro creatures and I cannot hope to best them all, much less the individual who slew the great Acrochis. Therefore, I wish to speak my farewells."

She slithers over to Sir Kae, "You are a terrifying warrior, Sir Cake. May you hold back the tide when your pack seems to be overwhelmed."

Next she approaches Jerrack, "Be the light that guides your pack into darkness, and protects them in its holy warmth."

She goes up to Nelson, "You are the best of us. May your guns never empty and your meat supply never run dry."

Runa is next, "Please record our history as you have told it to me. This information will be invaluable to my people."

She approaches Omylia, "..."


"Farewell everyone! I wish you success on your journey!"


Spoiler Alert!
 
Tornado said:
He then turns to Omylia and exclaims "I have been thinking, you being a writer and all, perhaps you could help me to produce some literature of Forsyth. Pamphlets perhaps. Something I can hand out to the less informed to guide them to the light."
Click to expand...

full


"Sure, why not? I may not be an acolyte of Forsyth, but if there's money involved my pen will be happy to oblige. We could use some underdweller currency if we're going to be here long."

The elf looks their new guide up and down.

"Brathcar, is it? We may need your services quite a bit, for we've lost a couple things while down here. We're trying to find Tahyel, wherever he's snoozing. No reason, really, we just want to tell him Hi. Haha...! But also it's occurred to me that we forgot to ask that little vermin creature about any news of our hybrid friend. Wherever Eliren managed to slip off to..."

Omylia listens to Lorca's heartfelt farewell:

"'Kay, bye."

She comes off as careless and casual, but one can't help but wonder if there isn't a hint of sadness in the she-elf's eye. Must the group splinter further, or could the Marro dens here hide more than just a single quest for revenge? But if that's what she's thinking she doesn't say it aloud.
 
Sprague smiles at Omylia's reply. "Very good."
To the imp, if he will listen, "What will you offer for my trident? The map, paper, the vambraces, a bowl and the remainder in gold perhaps?"

Jerrack bows before Lorca. "I believe Forsyth has brought us together for a reason. It would be an honor to accompany you on your quest."
 
Brathcar shakes his head slowly at Jerrack as though thinking, "not many. A few hundred perhaps, scattered throughout Utdwellen. I have heard stories that the Anvali, a race similar to the wyvern and the original inhabitants of our Undardak, are protecting a small community far to the North of here, but the way is treacherous and I have not been able to explore that possibility."

To Lorca Brathcar says, "I'm afraid I must insist that your...eh, pack...stay together. I guide you all or none of you. You are the first surface dwellers to make it this far alive and I believe the prophecy of the nightwitch refers to you. If so, you are the only hope...I assume this...Eliren is the fifth the prophecy spoke of. I haven't heard anything about one like him as you have described, but if the prophecy is truly about you, I'm sure he will turn up. Or we can return to last where you saw him and we will search together."

To Omylia, he says, "Tahyel is only one of many dangers which linger in these forsaken lands. I will do my best to guide you past the greater part of them to The Crag of the lava lake, Tahyel's fortress. It will not be easy to get in to that fortress. You will either need someone highly skilled in stealth, and act quickly to kill the Sleeper before he wakes, or you'll need an army. There are potential allies in these lands who are no friends to Tahyel and his kind. You will decide on the way to...where? You must decide (vote), shall I lead you to the Mar swamps to find this warlord and destroy him? Shall we search for Eliren or head straight to the Crag?"

EDIT: Guys, I got distracted while writing this and forgot to answer Sprague.

Wiplock recoils as Sprague raises his trident. A hiss escapes his lips and he ducks hastily back into his peddler's cart. The blinds shut and the cart disappears with a popping sound. In his haste, Wiplock accidentally knocks a few items off the cart before teleporting away. The case bearing the map of Utdwellen rolls against Sprague's feet. A small back of coins clicks against the ground a few feet away, and the small dragon skull bounces off it before nestling onto the ground beside it.
 
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Lorca bows to Sprague and effects what can be interpreted as a smile. "Thank you, divine healer. I will be most grateful for your company." She turns to Omylia and snorts derisively, but couldn't help but notice the subtle change in her complexion.

She takes in Brathcar's words and grimaces in confusion. "Night Witch? I am just an Armoc viper, and a failed one at that. If your legend tells of a fierce female warrior with sharp fangs and sharper claws, then your legend is a werewolf named In Marr I Lie. We haven't seen her for a while, so I bet she'll be back soon. Anyway I would be honored to stay with the pack, so long as I get the chance to strike at my query, therefore you know where my vote is."

She retreats a few paces and begins humming to herself,
:note: From the depths of hell in silence
Cast their spells, explosive violence
Kyrie night time flight perfected
Flawless vision, undetected :note:
 
Elven Lord said:
"I will do my best to guide you past the greater part of them to The Crag of the lava lake, Tahyel's fortress. It will not be easy to get in to that fortress. You will either need someone highly skilled in stealth, and act quickly to kill the Sleeper before he wakes, or you'll need an army. There are potential allies in these lands who are no friends to Tahyel and his kind. You will decide on the way to...where? You must decide (vote), shall I lead you to the Mar swamps to find this warlord and destroy him? Shall we search for Eliren or head straight to the Crag?"
Click to expand...


At Brathcar's words Omylia suddenly acquires a devilish smile


full


"An army, you say? Yes, I believe we can get one of those on short notice, if we do play our cards right. It may require some careful acting on our part, and some restraint on the snake's. But if Forsyth wills it, hee hee..."

Drawing her magic quill, Omylia attempts to begin penning one of Jerrack's desired pamphlets.

"Come, Sprague. Tell me what there is to write about Forsyth while we walk to the MARRO SWAMPS, and I'll add in a little here and there to better advertise it to our future soldiers. Mortals are clay and words are my molding hands...!"
 
Nelson's face cracks into a devilish grin as he hears the viper singing to herself, and he joins in:

🎶Pushing on and on our team's still going strong
Somewhere down below, we're looking for a foe
He can't hide, he can't move, he'll abide
our attack's been proved
Silent through the night, Mag' 7 join the fight🎶

He slaps Lorca on the back and loudly proclaims, "You've had my back since the moment you showed up. I'll be damned if I don't return the favor. Let's go gut some Marro."
 
Jerrack gathers the items dropped by the imp.
"Well that worked out I guess."
Part of the priest feels like the group should try to find Eliren and unite the group once again but honestly, though he would never admit it, Eliren scares him a bit. More than one family member had met their fate with fangs.
Nodding to Omylia, "Very well. Prepare yourself scribe to learn the Way.
To the Marro Swamps to ease our friend's suffering.
Listen to the light.
True path, beyond sight.
United, our might."
 
NARRATION

Filled with a new sense of purpose and solidarity, the party follows their enigmatic guide deeper into the ancient land of Utdwellen. This Undardak, as their Undarii guide calls it, must have been here almost as long as the surface civilization if not longer. Hollow ruins sit silent as the party goes by, the silence beckoning the travelers onward. Some seem to whisper mementoes of mortality, the limitations of life and the eternity of ruin. Who could miss such messages bearing witness to the crumbled remains of lives lived many thousands of years previously?

Runa seems to have regained her feet. She walks briskly under her own power, her gait even and her eyes alert. She seems to hesitate for a moment only before Brathcar ushers the party over a hill and into the bones of an ancient city. She regards him with wise old eyes and he holds her gaze. After a few moments, she walks down the hill and into the well preserved streets of an ancient city untouched by rain or wind.

The place holds an eerie quality. It is as though the previous inhabitants were merely asleep in their homes. One could be forgiven for the feeling that in a few moments lights would be lit in windows, and the denizens would rise to go about their daily business. Each building seemed to be woven from the granite hills surrounding them, though closer inspection revealed very fine seams where the blocks were fitted together by expert hands.

Brathcar's face shows his grief as he leads the party through the streets of the ancient city. "This," he finally says in a soft voice, "is where I grew up. Karboran, the great ancient capital of the Undarii, inhabited continuously for over 10,000 years until Utgar drove us out. We have come here because the city holds a closely guarded secret which I pray the followers of the fallen angel have not discovered."

The Undarii leads the party into a huge, glass-domed building at the nexus of the city. In the center rises a huge obsidian gateway. Its grandeur lies in its stature, rising a hundred feet high and sixty feet wide. Otherwise, it is a plain, rectangular structure open in the middle.

"This is one of the gates of the Deepweft Network," Brathcar says. "An ancient system of travel developed by the ancients to allow rapid travel between our cities. In its time, it was key to our survival in this subterranean world, allowing for the quick sharing of resources and disaster response in the event a piece of the sky fell or an aquifer burst under pressure from even deeper magma wells. Now it stands abandoned...but they still work. All we need are thalunite crystals. As it happens. I have one. Many were stolen or scattered during the purge.

The swamps of Mar are an unnatural bog created by forbidden magic and marro technology. And they built it on top of another of our cities, a smaller town called Velmorran. They will have needed a powerful magical object to fuel such a project. They no doubt pulled from the Deepweft portal in that city. I can open the channel for you, but will need to stay on this side to get you back. I can only open the portal twice before this crystal is spent, so I'll open it a second time 24 hours from now. If you're not back by then...you'll have to find your own way back on foot. Also Velmorran was a mining town. There may still be loose ore scattered about. If you can mine or gather some, I can refine it in the forges here in Karboran and make the rest of your journey much easier on your feet!"

The Undarii slides the thalunite crystal into one of the pillars supporting the deepweft gate and whispers a few words in a language no one has any clue how to translate. The space between the pillars fills with shimmering purple and blue energy.

"At your leisure," the Undarii says simply, gesturing toward the portal.
 
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