#Session 18

[waheedawolf]

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• session #18: "speak like a child"

[shortkingsvsbarovia]

session 18

[evildeadfan102]

I played Saints Row (2022 Remake) Session 18.

[babybluesquid]

Session 18, The Valgernard Affair

Our Players this Week:

Hog 112, they/them, Weapon Thaumaturge, skirmisher warforged, the leader of the inquisitives agency and founding member, tends toward practicality and following a command structure.

Vestige, they/them, Bones Oracle, warforged placed into a human body, a healer and the agency’s fleshborn face, remains on the periphery with an individualistic streak.

Strategy, it/its, Empiricist Investigator, officer warforged, an old model who’s seen much action and uses the tactics they learned back during the war now under Sharn.

Samanta, she/they, Swashbuckler Fencer, skirmisher warforged, a spotter during the war who turned to spying for one of Sharn’s criminal families before joining the inquisitives agency.

——————

Hog stares at the load of psicrystals, feeling off balance as if the wood cords in their legs have been severed. They collect themselves, remarking, “there’s no way Hendrick is gonna do something good with these things.” Strategy, having found its way to Hog’s side, nods in agreement, “maybe the Boromars will use them for mind control.” “I don’t think we can do this job,” Hog adds, overwhelmed, “it’s too much. We oughta dump these in the lava pits and pretend we never intervened.”

“Hendrick will know.” Strategy says, “It’s only a matter of time before news of this attack spreads. Besides, this is our best shot at the bodyguard.” “And I suppose if we don’t go to Hendrick, he’ll put in a bad word with his buddy Malrut.” “Agreed. Getting on his bad side is a very bad move. I think instead Jack-in-Irons should be our only target. The attacks are only getting worse.” Calmed by Strategy’s cool analysis, Hog replies: “I think you may be right. I regret getting us into this situation in the first place, but it seems handing them over to Hendrick is the quickest way to get this over and done with.” “We could hold some crystals back,” Strategy offers, “I do not think Hendrick knows how much there is.” “But if he does, he has great reason to think we stole them. Let’s turn them over and face the consequences. If we become known as Boromar allies, well, I suppose there are worse reputations to have.”

With the agreement made, Strategy sets to repairing the cart’s damage. Then it’s off to Smoky Towers in Middle Menthis, the prescribed drop-off point. The building in question looks as shady as could be expected of a Boromar den. Outside, a khoravar woman with a mace and daggers waits. Recognizing her as Hendrick’s contact, Hog lets her approach the cart and check the goods. At her confirmation that it’s all there, the rest of the Boromar goons come and unload. One hands Hog a large ruby, calling it a tip and a token of friendship from their employer. As Hog stares at it, they mutter, “Our employer, huh? I’m gonna have to have a talk with Hendrick.”

The trek back to Deathsgate is haunted by anxiety. However, it is otherwise uneventful. Presently, Hog finds themselves back at the gator’s clubhouse. It’s damn near empty, but Hendrick’s right where he said he’d be. The man smiles, bit cruelly, at Hog’s approach. “So, you’re back. And I’ve got word on the wind that we got our stuff. I assume you’d want to schedule a meeting right away with Malrut.” “You’d be right,” Hog replies. “Well, circumstances are in your favor. Malrut is heading down to the Bazaar on behalf of his master tomorrow. You’ll be along when I meet him. I think you’ll find his account of events,” Hendrick pauses, “illuminating.” “That’s what we’re hoping for.” “It’s been real great doing business with you,” the man continues, “I’d like to keep in contact. And besides, I still owe ya a favor.” He scribbles something out on a page, then hands it over to Hog. “This is the mailing address for my crew.”

Remembering something, Hog asks, “Hey, what about your employer? That elusive wizard?” Hendrick takes on a disinterested affect, “He’s out right now, but I’ll see if I can get you in touch.” “So we can’t talk right now?” “No.” “Can we at least know his name?” At that, Hendrick flips to serious, “I’ve been told not to, and I intend to keep my word. Farewell inquisitives. I wish you Olladra’s own luck on your case.” “Thanks,” Hog states flatly. “Appreciate it,” Strategy adds to be more diplomatic. Hendrick shoos them off.

On the way back to the agency, Shadowblack splits off to search for his few remaining friends among the Blades. Samanta travels to the Bazaar to purchase some poisons. The rest of the sleuths rest and repair at the HF&A. Cloak is there when they return and delivers their report on the new Blades hideout. It’s a major operation, with many forged coming and going. Some of them are arriving with no possessions and strange accents. It looks like a base and an armory for these new arrivals, and the Blades’ supply of weapons seems nearly bottomless. There’s even an artificer installing armblades. Hog asks Cloak if they feel safe staking out the hideout. “No,” the goblin replies, and then shrugs, “Pay’s good.” With that, they disappear again into the streets of the cogs.

While Vestige and Strategy catch up on casework, Hog heads down to the Red Hammer to gather intelligence. It’s normally Samanta’s domain, but somebody has to keep a finger on the pulse. It’s the middle of a factory shift and the place is almost empty, except for two old faces: Dandy and Shot are standing at the bar. The names of Cyran cities and artists drift across the silent space. Hog quietly approaches, and Shot nods and greets them. “Ho, Shot, how goes your investigation?” “I seem to have hit a dead end,” the archer replies, “It’s been difficult since the arsonists moved out of the lower city.” “Have you heard of the Valgernard case?” Hog asks. “Yes, but I haven’t got any leads.” “Neither have we,” says Hog, “but if we do find something, can I find you here?” “I’m normally in Highwalls,” Shot admits, “but I came down here for the company.” “Okay. If we find anything, I’ll look for you there.” Shot nods in reply. “Say,” Hog continues, “if you find anything, stop by the agency.” “I will,” says Shot.

Next, they ask the pair if either has heard anything new about Hook. Dandy explains that nobody has seen him in a few days - the Fists have been spending more time training in the abandoned tunnels, and sending out representatives to buy weapons. Returning to the agency, Hog mentions this to Strategy. “I think that after meeting with Malrut, we should check on the Fists,” it advises. “Assuming we don’t immediately face Jack-in-Irons,” Hog responds.

The next day, the sleuths take the long walk across town to Dura, to meet Malrut in the Bazaar. The bodyguard is sitting with Hendrick in a crowded beergarden, in a lonely patch of sun on the edge of the district. He stands out among the common people of Sharn, with dark red skin, a huge stature, and a pair of curled goat horns. His origin is written all over him - this one was born of Khyber.

Hog cautiously introduces the group. “I hope you’re ready to get down to business,” Malrut replies, “without the pleasantries.” They sit down, and Hog gets started. “We’re aware of the recent fire at your employer’s residence and we were hoping to be allowed to investigate the scene.” “I would have to ask my employer, but I think you want to hear what I saw on the day of the fire. When the fire started, I ran to the workshop and caught the arsonist in the act. This being ran away with a bag of my master’s possessions. I was unable to catch up with it.” “Being, it…” Strategy observes, “You believe the culprit was not a person?” “No, it was not,” says Malrut, “It only had the appearance of a man, but anyone who sees it move would know differently. It had a third, long arm which it hid beneath its cloak, and its legs bent in two places. I lost it when it leapt from a bridge, and crawled down the side of a tower like a spider.” “Was it flesh?” Hog asks, hesitating, “Or did it look like a forged?” “Flesh, to be sure, though its hand glittered like steel. You ought to crush the legs of that creeping thing… That is all I remember of the creature.” Hog looks at Strategy, who asks Malrut, “Did you find any pieces of obsidian at the scene?” “Yes, one,” says Malrut, “We gave it to the Blackened Book.” “The Blackened Book… who else has been investigating?” Hog asks. “Medani,” replies Malrut, leaning forwards, “and I must warn you, I do not think my master will allow you to investigate, unless you can offer something Medani and the watch cannot.”

Hog thinks for a second before replying, “Your master’s stolen property, does he want it back?” Malrut softens. “Yes. His devices took years to make and are not replicable. The telepathic engine, he calls it.” The guard becomes dreamy as he carries on, as if he were staring through the towers at the Ring of Siberys above. “It will transmit messages using the mind-magic of Sarlona. He says it will change the world…” “We were hoping you would put in a good word for us-” Strategy begins. “Of course!” Malrut interrupts, “What message shall I relay?” Hog takes a business card out of their bag and hands it to the tiefling. “Tell Mister Valgernard that we’re interested in helping him with his missing materials. If he’s dubious of us, tell him we were in the papers. There was an incident with a werewolf in Middle Dura that you may have heard of.” “I have. Few Southerners can boast of such a thing. I will tell my master.”

Hendrick grunts. “Alright, if you don’t have any other questions, I’d like to get back to having a day with my friend before plunging myself and my team into mortal danger from which we will only narrowly escape.” “How can you be sure it won’t be an easy escape?” Samanta jokes. “Seems to be the way of things,” Hendrick replies. Strategy speaks to Malrut: “How long will it take your master to respond?” “Not long. He has canceled his engagements since the arson.” The sleuths rise and make tense goodbyes, before heading back to Blackbones.

At the door to the office, Hog is blocked by Gentle. They look up at the larger forged, who immediately begins speaking their mind. “I’d prefer if we’re not bringing people back here and killing them. Khyberlurk was as wicked as they come, but it still saddens me to see them snuffed out like that.” Hog sighs, tapping their arm, “Gentle. You’re not seeing this right. If I’d let Khyberlurk go they could’ve targeted someone else. They could’ve targeted you.” For a moment, Gentle mulls it over, “true. I am worried this agency is becoming a platoon against Aggregate. I’d thought I left the war behind.”

“Well,” Hog replies, “that was up to Aggregate. Believe me, I want to return to normal detective work as much as you.” “True enough. I guess we just have to see this through to the end.” “I like that,” Hog remarks, “to the end.” Gentle suddenly moves in to embrace Hog in a full hug. Surprised, they stand rigidly still until their employee releases them sheepishly. Hog just nods at Gentle as they step aside and let them enter their office.

Vestige is already there, awaiting Hog’s arrival. “What do you make of the new Blades in the city?” They ask. “You mean the ones Cloak told us about?” “Yeah, those ones. Fresh from the Mournland.” “It sounds dangerous,” Hog replies, “it sounds like an invasion.” “Or perhaps an opportunity,” Vestige suggests. “For what?” “Well, Aggregate’s been here for some time and I’m think that new Blades wouldn’t exactly be loyal to him. We might be able to convince some to come over to our side, especially once they’re told what Aggregate’s been up to here.”

Confused, Hog asks: “Didn’t Aggregate come from the Mournland?” “Yes.” “I just, I think we’d have more luck with good Brelish forged. You know, the sort of folk who want what’s best for their country and they joined the Blades because they saw what the foundry owners and the incompetence of the Watch has done to this place.” “That may be,” Vestige admits, “but I dunno. I’m thinking- I’m hoping that the Blades from the Mournland hold the ideals of our Lord. You know?”

“Our Lord…” Hog mutters, “who is this Lord anyways?” “The Lord of Blades.” “Sure, but who is he?” “I suppose you didn’t hear during the latter days of the war.” “No,” Hog admits, “nobody ever spoke to me about the Blades.” “I never met the Lord, of course, but when I was traveling around Cyre I heard the Machine Manifesto from some of the forged on the front.” “Is he the one who wrote the manifesto?” “Yeah.” “Sounds like you have a lot of respect for this Lord.” “I do,” Vestige says, “he’s the one who’s demanding better treatment for our people. That’s why I’m so angry with Aggregate for corrupting his message and turning it into an invasion of Sharn.” Vestige ponders, and then speaks again: “We need to get in contact with these new arrivals. If we can tell them the truth, they’ll turn on Aggregate.” “What makes you think that? If they’re really foreigners, what could they be here for other than an invasion?” “Recruitment, perhaps.” “Who do you think these foreign Blades are?” Hog asks. “I think that they’re probably Cyran forged.” “And they’ve been living in the Mournland since the Day.” “Yes,” Vestige replies, “I would’ve stayed in the Mournland had my circumstances been different.” “Yes. Hm. Well, if you think you can turn some of them back to the light, I’m not going to stop you.”

The thought hangs in the still air before Vestige says, “I think I could try, but given my situation they might not be inclined to listen to me.” “You never know,” Hog offers, “you are a true forged like the rest of them, and Shadowblack is your friend. That counts for something. Do you think you and Shadowblack are of one mind on this?” “I believe so. Shadowblack wishes to return to the Mournland and inform the Lord of what Aggregate’s been doing.” “What makes you think the Lord will intervene? Was it not the Lord who sent Aggregate to this city?” Vestige’s reply has a hard edge. “We don’t know whether that’s the case, actually. I told Shadowblack it was too risky to go and give such a report now.” “Why do you think so?” “If Aggregate has indeed taken over a group of the Blades,” Vestige explains, “it’s likely that he has friends on the way back to the Mournland.” “And if Shadowblack gets intercepted…” Hog offers. “Then he’ll be killed.” “And then we haven’t got a chance at fixing the Blades in Sharn.”

“Yep. For now it seems that we’re on our own, until we can deal with Aggregate.” “Indeed, but you heard what Cloak said. There were dozens of warforged in that warehouse, and that was just one base. I wonder, if we wanna take down Aggregate, we’ll need to start turning some of the Blades first. Maybe it can even be done without any bloodshed. Things like that have happened before, like in Thrane.” “I think if we could appeal to their ideals, we’d be able to turn them,” Vestige says, “our disadvantage right now is that Aggregate controls the flow of information to the Blades. I don’t know what Shadowblack’s friends have been doing, exactly, but it seems they’ve been staying quiet.” “Aggregate’s control is too tight for them to speak up?” “Seems so.” “But you think we can crack it?”

“I think if we can show them that Shadowblack is no traitor, then they would realize that Aggregate is the villain here.” “How do we show them that?” Hog asks, then answers their own question, “we make him into a hero, I s’pose. You know, if he was the one who killed Jack-in-Irons, that’d certainly make him a hero.” “And if he returned the bodies-” “That would be even better.” “We should try to facilitate this,” Vestige says, “I think that we can outmaneuver Aggregate. He may be smart but there’s only one of him, and if he’s relying on deception, well, we just have to expose the lies.” “You’re right. Just have to expose the lies… that’s easier said than done, but perhaps we should look a little more into this crime ring they’ve been running. We still haven’t got any hard proof.”

“I have that hat now, perhaps I could do a little digging on the Daask side of things,” Vestige suggests. “It sounds like a risky operation, but maybe it’s less of a risk than getting into another head to head with Daask.” “I think I’ll be able to handle myself out there, and I could bring Samanta along for backup.”

The conversation is interrupted by a weak knock at the agency’s front door.

Vestige opens the door to discover a short, middle aged human man, well-dressed with glamourweave and fancy Aundarian shoes. Coughing in the Cogs air. He collects himself, “hello, fine inquisitives. Upon seeing the message that my loyal companion relayed to me, I was moved and resolves to visit you myself but-” he pauses to cough some more- “the sulfuric condition of the air in the Cogs has seemed to upset me. May I come inside?”

Hog welcomes the guy in, noting that the air inside is much the same as outside. “Master Valgernard, thank you for coming.” “Uh, Lord,” Eliot ir’Valgernard corrects, then immediately gets to business, speaking about the missing research that he would like the sleuths to recover for him. See, he is missing a prototype Telepathic Engine, near complete, and rambles on concerning its difficult construction and the overwhelming loss of the stolen components and device.

Strategy immediately asks if the arsonist could construct the device using the stolen pieces, and ir’Valgernard dismisses the notion out of hand. Strategy presses, “we know Jack-in-Irons is a skilled artificer. They might have supernatural inspiration to draw from.” “Truly this is an abominable villain then, and they can only be up to wickedness with the components they have seized from me.” “Jack-in-Irons uses magics from the Daelkyr, and their followers are Daelkyr cultists. I believe they want to use this research into psicrystals to achieve some devastating effect here in Sharn. Would your device be able to broadcast distressing psionic messages?” Eliot confirms that it could, with some more power and recalibration.

What follows is additional questioning from Hog, trying to determine how dangerous this thing it. They don’t like it, that ir’Valgernard created such a thing that could be used this way. Vestige listens in silence, having much a similar judgment.

The man does reveal that a docent to control the device has been located in Xen’drik, but it will be some time. Strategy asks, “would it be possible to use something else in place of the docent? Something less ethical and conventional?” “Well,” ir’Valgernard replies slowly, “if one were to take an animate warforged and bond them physically to the device with magic flowing directly to their mind it would be functional. However it would be a horrible crime, it would destroy them utterly with thoughts that are not their own flowing through them, driving them to insanity.”

“How do you know this?!” Vestige demands angrily. “I have been in the study of how the warforged came to think and their connection to the docents. The basic components and how they create the ability to think in these devices are the same. That’s why the docents interface so well with the warforged,” ir’Valgernard explains. As he does, Vestige becomes even angrier, coldly remarking back, “warforged. Are not. Devices.” He’s surprised, backtracking a bit, “w-why of course, they’re alive with livewood and capable of things no artificers understand.”

Strategy moves the conversation back to the question of the device, and Eliot is eager to move back to discussing logistical matters. He even offers his aid in the form of money and connections so he can recover his priceless device.

More logistical discussion follows, mainly that a broadcasting would require massive amounts of energy and be wildly expensive under conventional means. Strategy reveals that the Daelkyr is of fire and madness, revealing the charged obsidian stone and asking if they could be used to power the device. All Eliot can do is speculate, he doesn’t understand the magics of the Lords of Madness, but it may be possible. Considering the danger, ir’Valgernard offers his loyal guard, Malrut, to assist the sleuths in retrieving the device. Strategy asks to examine the scene of the arson and theft, and Eliot ir’Valgernard grants it readily.

Lastly, Eliot grants Strategy a device like a crystal lens with dragonshards studding it, “I have created this as a measuring device of the Telepathic Engine’s operation. It allows you to have a visual representation of the power and property of the magical and psionic energies that the device emits. It is a compound lens of psicrystal and siberys dragonshard. Although it does greatly reduce the normal functions of the eye, as the background magical emissions of Sharn are massive. Though it can be tuned to focus on one specific device such as the one I have created. It will require some work to retune it to the expected output of the larger device.” Hog questions what will happen if the magic of the device is altered, and Eliot replies that then the focuser would not be able to pick it out from the rest of Sharn’s magic. Without tuning, it would be possible, but hard to pick it out.

Strategy theorizes that either the cultists will cover the entirety of Sharn, or they will do maximal damage in a small area to cripple the city. Eliot suggests that perhaps the psionic power of the warp step could be used to broadcast the signal to anywhere, from anywhere. Hog asks what that even means, and ir’Valgernard briefly explains how it can be used to transport the mind and body through space using Dal Quor, which cannot actually be reached. Hog says that for practical reasons, they can’t consider it as a possibility. An adversary that can broadcast to anywhere from anywhere would be impossible to find. Eliot says that the villains would be unlikely to figure out the warp step in any case.

So, the first theory is accepted. The cultists are likely going to broadcast over the whole of the city from Middle Menthis. Further, their base is likely far from the center of their criminal activity, just like their base in Fallen.

Finally, Hog asks for ir’Valgernard’s account of the attack. He says, “I was unable to see much. When I heard my workshop was on fire, I flew into a panic and hurried to try to save my work. When I entered the room, I came into contact with the fire and was thrown into a strange vision… a bright white flash filled my eyes for quite some time and I saw a vast titan, crowned in a material I cannot begin to describe. All aflame, this vision overtook me. I glanced the figure of a being of pilfering my components, another arm extending from his shoulder.” “Thank you for your time, Lord Valgernard. We’ll come up to your residence as soon as possible,” Hog offers.

——————

Notables:

Hendrick, he/him, a mercenary adventurer. Skilled at getting his crew out of trouble, and other people into it.

Malrut, he/him, a warrior from the Carrion Tribes. He tried to escape Khyber and wound up in Sharn instead.

Eliot ir’Valgernard, he/him, an Aundairian noble with a penchant for psionics and dreams of a bright future.

[demigodforfend]

Twilight of the Demigods: Forfend Edition - Session 18

The assassin glanced over Forfend, assessing his situation at lightning speed. He lashed out with his blade a second time, catching Melzaryn across the chest.

He jumped back out the window amid the spray of blood.

Melzaryn snapped his fingers. A thunderous boom rattled the entire inn, launching the assassin gracelessly into the alley below.

Forfend heard the cloaked figure hit the ground with a rough grunt.

It rushed to press its hand over Melzaryn's bleeding throat.

Suddenly, the sound of wood splintering and crashing reverberated from only a few rooms over.

People screamed, clamoring from their beds to flee the inn's pandemonium.

"What the shit was that?!" Forfend panicked, magic lacing its words and closing Melzaryn's wound.

"The assassin's weren't just after me. They're after all of us. They're probably Envema," Melzaryn hurriedly explained. "Kagoshi's room is the one that sounded like he just slammed an assassin through the floor."

"Should we help him or go after Kairi?" Forfend asked, already collecting Melzaryn and his things into its arms.

"Does he sound like he's struggling?"

Forfend listened to the violent roars and aggressive thrashing.

"Also, he'll literally kill us if he finds out we went to get him before Kairi," Melzaryn added.

Forfend nodded. "To Kairi," it agreed and dashed out of the room.

As it passed Kagoshi's door, Forfend heard someone unfamiliar screaming for help. It doubted that would be the assassin. More likely, Kagoshi had cornered an inn patron in his overzealous attack on his assailant.

It dropped Melzaryn. "I have to--"

Melzaryn cut it off, "I've got Kairi. Kagoshi's room probably has a hole in the floor. It'll get you down quicker."

With that, he jumped on his flying broom and jetted toward the stairway.

Forfend turned, slammed open Kagoshi's door, and dropped directly through the hole he had indeed created in the center of the room.

Now on the second floor, it immediately saw Kagoshi had barrelled through the wall of this room into the next.

The assassin clawed at Kagoshi's flaming hand around his throat.

Kagoshi looked cramped, like his giant form had only come through halfway. He was all hulking muscle, but he wasn't even quite as tall as Forfend. Murder burned in his eyes.

Outside the window, someone wailed in abject terror.

Forfend stepped up on the bed to look out.

A man covered in burns from spending too long in Kagoshi's proximity lay groaning on the cobblestone.

Not even ten feet away from him stood Melzaryn's assassin. At the other end of the alley, another black-cloaked figure crouched. Both were rummaging through bags.

Forfend gripped the windowsill and ripped inward, cracking the window and a significant section of wood fully out of the wall.

"Kagoshi, do not kill him!" it ordered, healing magic coursing through its words. "He may be the only one we have."

Kagoshi growled and continued to thrash his opponent.

Forfend watched the wounds of the man in the alley close. It didn't bother to check that Kagoshi's injuries were doing the same. It shouldered halfway through the damaged hole where the window had been and managed an awkward leap.

Forfend thudded onto the cobblestone alleyway right between the inn patron and the assassin.

A reverberating thwip cut through the chaos.

Forfend was familiar with the sound of a bowstring releasing, but this sounded massive.

It whipped around, the magic in the Orison Aegis guiding its hand to the right position at supernatural speed.

A spinning arrow the size of a javelin struck the shield.

Forfend braced against the Orison Aegis as the enormous arrow twisted violently. Metal screeched, shredding the night air.

Forfend dug its heels into the cobblestone, yet was still pushed back by the relentless arrow.

Finally, it managed to shove the shield sideways, driving the arrow off it and into the wall of the next building over.

The twisted tip spun through the stone wall and burrowed into the floor on the other side.

Forfend hazarded a glance up at the direction the arrow had come from.

High up on the opposite rooftop stood a vaguely humanoid figure so wrapped in billowing brown cloth that only a single yellow eye shown through. The figure studied Forfend with cold malice.

Forfend turned away from him to face Melzaryn's assassin again.

The assassin shrank back, nervously flicking his eyes between Forfend and the deflected arrow.

Forfend knocked him over the head with its mace.

He staggered, turned, and fled around the corner of the building.

Behind Forfend, the inn patron screamed and barrelled up the alley toward the main street.

Forfend felt a prickle of unease run up its back and knew the bowman had drawn back for another shot.

Forfend readied its shield.

The bowman's enormous great bow, as tall as he was at least, lit up green as runes highlighted all across it. The corkscrew arrowhead gleamed ominously in the moonlight.

The bowman gave the arrow a slight twist just as he unleashed it.

The arrow sliced through the air, spinning like a twister.

It knocked Forfend's shield aside and buried itself through Forfend's stone body.

Even after it hit, it didn't stop spinning. Rocks and golden ichor spewed. The raw force pushed Forfend backwards.

Finally, when it had drilled nearly completely through Forfend, it stopped.

Forfend dropped to its knee, pain coursing through it.

The arrow lit up sickly green.

Dizziness assaulted Forfend's senses. Needles dug into its mind, picking it apart from the inside out. A high-pitch ring drowned out every other noise.

Suddenly, the sensations faded, leaving behind only deep-set exhaustion.

When Forfend's vision refocused, the arrow was gone. The last glimmers of green energy dissipated in the breeze.

Forfend pressed a trembling hand over the gaping wound left in the arrow's wake. Even its oversize hand couldn't conceal the full extent of the damage.

Ichor gushed, spilling down its front.

On the far side of the alley, the second assassin freed whatever he'd been looking for from his bag and plopped it on the ground.

Forfend couldn't see it well from this distance, but it looked to be a bag. If the barrels it had seen at the Teleportation Hub were any indication, the bag was probably a bomb.

An explosion blasted the walls out of both second floor rooms Kagoshi had been fighting in.

Forfend had assumed the assassins were Envema, but now it was certain.

Kagoshi appeared at the edge of the gaping, crumbling hole in the wall. Blood sizzled on his burning flesh.

"Hey, so they're Envema!" he called.

"I have noticed," it returned. "I told you not to kill him!"

"I didn't mean to! I'm on fire!" Kagoshi snapped.

He dropped into the alley.

His claustrophobic body immediately uncoiled. He grew to his full height, now standing even with the second floor he'd just exited. Even so, his stacks of muscles still seemed to be straining for more space beneath his skin.

"Get what he dropped!" Forfend ordered, pointing down the alleyway at the fleeing assassin.

The inn patron was also dashing that way in a desperate bid to escape being pinned between this fight. He was nearly to the main street.

Kagoshi started forward.

The inn patron shrieked as he glanced over his shoulder and saw the veritable fire giant he'd just escaped following him.

"Why are you still here?!" Kagoshi shouted at him.

A second shriek was the only reply.

"Watch the bowman," Forfend warned.

Kagoshi eyed Forfend over his shoulder. His eyebrows twitched upward as he seemed to notice the damage marring its body for the first time.

"Got it," he responded and dashed forward.

With Kagoshi here, the odds of handling this situation successfully had just drastically increased.

Forfend tapped the medallion on its chest and pointed up at the bowman.

A bolt of scorching orange shot forth.

The bowman jolted aside at the last second, the magic catching in his voluminous cloak and lighting up with bright sparks.

Forfend turned and rounded the corner after Melzaryn's assassin.

The man startled, nearly dropping his pack as he scrambled further down the back alley.

He hurriedly dropped a black bag, fiddled with it for a moment, and climbed up onto the opposite roof.

Forfend skidded to a halt right in front of the bag. It dropped to a knee and called upon the magic in its core.

Its body heated up. Golden ichor trickled down its face alongside the golden magic that coalesced around the bag.

The sound of a hammer striking metal rang out twice as the arcana solidified into an adamantine box.

With the bomb trapped safely away, Forfend pressed its hand to its grievous wound. Healing magic coursed through its fingers and limited the spilling ichor.

The assassin above turned as though he was going to run, but something suddenly stopped him.

He turned back around with slow, jerky movements. His eyes were clouded and distant.

"Oh, so I see you actually managed to handle the bombs," he said in a voice much clearer than his eyes. He sounded wrong. His voice was deep, sinister, and it didn't seem to belong to him. If Forfend had to guess, it would say the voice belonged to the bowman. "Looks like I'll have to use the failsafe." A malicious smirk twitched across his face. "You see, there's this one tale I know. One of Vallurn Senshi."

A sense of dread shot through the air. Powerful arcana loomed, though Forfend couldn't tell where it was coming from.

Forfend reached up. "Free him," it demanded and closed its fist around the invisible magic force swarming around the assassin's head.

The man swayed, blinking his eyes clear. He gasped and shrank in on himself. Terror seized him. His breaths came in uneven gasps. He pulled his mask down to breathe easier. "What's happening?! Where are we?!"

Forfend took a short step forward. "Come here," it requested gently.

The man's attention snapped from place to place. He couldn't figure out what he needed to focus on or what he needed to do, and especially not where he needed to go.

Red magic surged through the runes of his chest.

He yelped, clawing at the burning scars.

Forfend took another step closer, trying to will the magic to stop.

Luckily, the runes cooled. The light faded away.

The assassin pressed his hand to his heaving chest. "What's happening?" he whimpered.

"Come here. I will protect you," it promised, reaching its arms up high.

"Okay, okay," he nodded and carefully lowered himself off the roof.

Forfend caught him and eased him down onto the ground.

"Thank you," he managed shakily.

The assassin winced, blood inexplicably trickling from his nose and ears as a different assortment of the runes in his chest lit up again.

"What's happening?!" he panicked, clutching at his temples.

Suddenly, his body went rigid. His eyes rolled back in their sockets. He gasped desperately as his head jerked.

He snapped fully upright.

"Rude," the bowman's voice snarled. "You interrupted me."

Forfend studied the assassin's body.

He looked stiff. Too stiff to move.

It hazarded a guess that the bowman only had enough control to speak through him. It gathered the assassin carefully into its arms and looked back up to the tavern.

The commotion had more than doubled. People fled as quickly as they could down the stairs and presumably out the front doors.

Someone, maybe Kagoshi, dashed with blinding speed past the second story windows. He was collecting inn patrons and ushering them to the ground floor while carrying an elderly man over his shoulder.

Forfend tilted its head. It had never seen Kagoshi move like that. He was a rapid blur. But it couldn't piece together anyone else the man could be. It had to be Kagoshi.

He, Melzaryn, and Kairi had sensed the building arcana too.

There was nothing more Forfend could do from out here. It would have no choice but to trust them to clear the tavern before whatever spell was brewing struck.

"Now what was I saying?" the bowman hummed thoughtfully. "Ah, yes, Vallurn Senshi. You know, he was the first spellblade. The first ever to mix arcana and martial prowess. Everyone where I'm from knows about him."

Forfend bundled the assassin close against its chest and turned away from the inn, heading toward the open street behind it.

The assassin kept talking. Forfend listened, but it refused to react. It wasn't certain if the bowman could see it. It wouldn't appear rattled.

"His most famous battle was against the World's End. You know who that is, don't you? Of course you do, Forfend. You're a demigod."

Forfend felt its core drop in its center. The bowman knew not only its status, but its name as well.

Still, it remained staunchly impassive. Stoic. That was one of the perks of having no facial features: not having to hide the expressions on them.

"But the World's End isn't really what I'm talking about," the bowman continued. "I'm talking about Vallurn Senshi's spells. He created some extraordinarily powerful ones."

The inn patron that had been fleeing Kagoshi's wrath dashed past Forfend.

It watched him go, wailing into the charged night air. It wasn't certain how he'd gotten turned around, but at least he was out of harm's way now.

Forfend kept moving.

"One of them was called the Hail of Blades," the bowman casually kept explaining. "True to the name, it summoned innumerable arcane blades that descended upon his foes. Beautiful carnage, that was."

Reaching the open street, Forfend turned around to watch the Brass Buffalo. As far as it could tell, the two higher floors were completely empty. It hoped the bottom floor was too, but there were no windows in the tavern's kitchen for it to glimpse into.

Forfend turned its gaze upwards.

A runic circle of crackling blue arcana hung in the air a hundred feet or more above the inn like a murderous second moon.

A massive arrow glinted alongside the stars in the sky as its upward trajectory shifted into a sharp downturn. It was on a collision course with the suspended magic.

"I was particularly inspired by his Hail of Blades," the bowman explained. "While this will be a crude version of it, I think it's homage enough."

The arrow struck.

A brilliant blue flash highlighted Cragwall like lightning.

The arrow split into hundreds, even thousands, of duplicates.

They seemed to stall in the air for a moment. The startling blue faded, leaving only darkly glinting metal.

The rain of arrows fell, accelerating until they easily matched the force with which the bowman had fired the original.

"I wonder if you can handle it," the bowman mused.

A window at the side of the building shattered.

Several people, including the goblin chef and Narmoth, scrambled out of it and ran for safety.

Forfend waved them to it. "Is everyone clear?"

"I think so!" the goblin barked as he dashed over.

Narmoth quickly fell behind. Forfend feared he wouldn't escape the blast radius, but it had no time to get to him.

It reached for its magic and found its stores waning.

Suddenly, a giant leapt up onto the roof of the Brass Buffalo.

He sported skin the same light gray as rain clouds and hair so silvery it was nearly white. He seemed to almost be floating as he moved into position in the center of the rooftop.

The barrage of arrows was nearly upon him, but he seemed starkly determined.

Forfend realized with a start that this apparent cloud giant was Kagoshi, his scars glowing stormy blue.

A second massive arcane energy source charged the air.

Forfend recognized the icy lightning buzz of it.

Whatever Melzaryn was doing, Forfend desperately hoped it would work.

The magic surged with such force Forfend felt its core spark and spin.

Displaced air blasted through the streets, buffeting the fleeing tavern patrons.

A massive white blast of pure arcana launched into the air and burst, splitting into hundreds of Magic Missiles.

Forfend shielded the assassin's eyes from the brighter-than-midday light that careened across all of Cragwall.

Every Missile seeked out an arrow and collided with it, stopping its momentum dead.

Kagoshi clenched his fists and punched up at the arrows.

Thunder exploded with the force of the strike.

The arrows caught in the blast disintegrated, scattering in a haze of red energy.

Kagoshi swung again and again and again in such rapid section he was nothing but a blur of motion. He roared with all the fury of a hurricane.

Thunder rumbled constantly across the city.

A red dome of thunderous force rushed upwards from Kagoshi's position, annihilating every stalled arrow in its path.

Glimmering red sparkles filled the sky like stars and drifted harmlessly down in place of the massive piercing arrows.

The last crack of thunder faded out. The magical light dimmed until it was gone.

Kagoshi collapsed onto the rooftop.

Forfend felt the tension leave its body so quickly it nearly followed suit. Steam rushed through its chest.

"Heh, good," the bowman praised. "I knew you could do it. You're demigods after all."

A beat of silence passed as all of Cragwall stared up into the now quiet night sky.

"I'll see you again sometime, Forfend," the bowman promised ominously. "Have fun with this corpse."

The assassin fell limp. His body seized and twitched. Blood spilled from his ears, nose, and even his eyes.

Forfend clung to him. It pulled its magnetic medallion from its chest and pressed it directly to the burning red runes.

"Stop," it demanded.

Red magic coursed into the medallion and was quelled.

The assassin once again fell limp.

Forfend sent gently warm healing magic through the symbol instead. The divine arcana spread across the assassin's chest and upwards, lighting up behind the hollow of his eyes.

He gasped. His eyes cleared and immediately filled with tears that ran pink with the blood down his cheeks.

He clung to Forfend, sobbing into its chest.

"You are safe now," it promised. "Can you tell me your name?"

The assassin shivered and shook with the force of his sobs. He couldn't formulate an answer. He was too hysterical.

Still, Forfend needed to make sure his mind was functioning after the psychic damage it was pretty well certain he'd taken.

"Your name? Please?" it coaxed.

"D-Duncan," he squeaked out between shuddering gasps.

Forfend rubbed comfortingly at Duncan's back. "I am Forfend. I will make certain you are safe. Do you know where you are?"

Duncan shook his head. He wiped his eyes enough to clear his bleary vision and tried to take in his surroundings. "A city?"

Forfend nodded. "That is a good start. Can you tell me the name of the king of Tyrwedia?"

Duncan creased his brow. "Yeah. Uh, Falco Ledrian."

Forfend nodded again. "Good. You are aware. I will explain as much as I can soon. For now, please rest."

Duncan nodded. Tears welled up in his eyes again. He tucked his face against Forfend and resumed crying.

Forfend held him as carefully and gently as it could, and looked him over while it comforted him.

Like most of the last Envema members, Duncan also bore the build of an average working man. He lacked the muscle tone of someone who could silently scale buildings and deftly wield knives. He had not been anything akin to an assassin until Envema made him one.

Forfend wondered what awful magics they used to push average people so far past their bodies' limits.

"He, uh, gonna be okay?" the goblin cook sidled over to ask, though he was still watching the silent sky.

"I will make certain of it," Forfend swore.

[babybluesquid]

Consequences of Karrnath Session 18

Battles in the Ooze Fort

Our Players this week:

Dagne, Vengeance Paladin, an undead soldier with the curious property of acting like a living person. Trusts nobody and acts as the leader. Has a skeleton horse mount from Find Steed named Coffin.

Vaeren, Swarmkeeper Ranger, a Deathguard sent to investigate Dagne’s nature. They’re the quiet one who helps keep everyone in line.

Syv, Glamour Bard, a traveling performer turned traveling adventurer. Personas are Eshi, a sea elf, and Star, a shifter.

Ro, Circle of Spores Druid, a Talentan halfling who survived The Mourning and won’t go home. They tend to not take things seriously.

The party approaches Chaar Mur, and the gate to the fort is incredibly obvious. Clearly, the issue isn’t that the palace is hidden, but rather that it’s just too dangerous for anyone to make use of. The gates have been smashed in, and inside the room is pitch black, shadows deepening with the fading daylight. Ro spots some druidic symbols placed on the outside of the gate, meaning “danger (emphatic)” and “aberrations.” All things considered, this seems to be the right place. Not wanting to delay the expedition, Syv lights a torch and the party heads inside. Dagne offers to let Syv ride behind them on Coffin, and they accept.

Immediately, the edge of the light reveals a small, four-armed humanoid. Upon contact with light, the thing begins babbling incomprehensibly in two voices, and then sixteen more join in. The thing walks into the light, it looks like two goblins mashed together, with two mouths, three eyes, and four arms wielding a spear, shield, crossbow, and morningstar. Most of the party instantly recognizes the thing as a dolgrim. Syv instantly begins a song, bolstering their own appearance and, by association, the entire party, before firing her wand of magic missile at a vague form in the back and the dolgrim. Vaeren looses two arrows into its eyes, a ghostly arrow joining them to take out the third. The dolgrim’s babbling stops and it stands still for a second, before collapsing on itself, dead.

A vaguely humanoid form runs across the room, just out of clear sight. From elsewhere in the darkness, globs of acid fly out and strike the wall behind the party, all except one, which hits Ro square in the chest. It corrodes through her armor and flesh alike, and she hisses as it easily breaks through Syv’s magic. Hurriedly, she calls upon her symbiotic entity to create another buffer against damage, then casts shillelagh on her club.

Two dolgrims run from the darkness and accost Vaeren. They dodge aside two attacks, but they aberrations’ ferocity surprises them, and once one gets through, they’re unable to avoid another three. Shaken and battered, they stand with their scimitar drawn. Dagne cracks one of the dolgrims with the butt of their poleaxe, and there’s a squelching sound as it impacts. They rend the other with their axe blade, the wound dripping black ichor. As they turn around to slash the first dolgrim again, it ducks.

A massive blob of ochre ooze slowly slides into the torchlight. It consumes the dolgrim corpse as it makes its path. Four more dolgrims run towards the party. The first rushes Ro with its spear and morningstar, but she dodges aside. Another fires two crossbow bolts at Syv, who twists to dodge one. Aerie emerges from Vaeren’s spirit idol to catch the other. A dolgrim wielding three swords rushes Dagne, one blade managing to actually find a gap in their armor. Yet another fires on Syv again, one bolt going harmlessly wide, the other tearing a mean gash in her arm. In retaliation, she send dissonant whispers at the dolgrim attacking Ro, satisfied to see it wince against the psychic assault. Vaeren runs through both dolgrims in melee with them, they bleed profusely from the wounds but disappointingly, do not fall.

An emaciated red humanoid, lacking eyes and covered in cilia, with two large tentacles coming from its back runs from the darkness. It powerfully kicks Vaeren to the ground, their head hits the stone hard. It drags their limp body up by the arm with one of its tentacles, and the group hears an audible snap. “Flesh, flesh… yes,” the dolgaunt says happily in goblin. Ro runs under Coffin and desperately touches Vaeren, the action filled with powerful healing energy. They lift their head up quickly as their broken arm heals and they’re faced with the dolgaunt. “Well,” it says, “we can do that again.” “Oh no you don’t,” Dagne replies in goblin.

The acid spitters send their projectiles at Dagne, but the acid doesn’t find gaps in their armor. Confidently, the dolgrim with the swords tries to strike them again, but this time can’t get through. The same shoots Syv with its crossbow again, this time a bolt finds her thigh. A dolgrim comes after Ro but she dodges, parries, and blocks its attempts to hit.

Filled with a righteous fury, Dagne viciously hacks off both the dolgaunt’s tentacles and then smashes its skull in. Crimson light momentarily fills the room, and the dolgaunt is smacked to the ground. Its corpse lies still for a moment, then spontaneously combusts. Momentarily, Dagne stays still, they remember something. In vengeance, all the dolgrims focus fire on them. They snap back into action, turning Coffin around to avoid the flying weapons, but one manages to thrust its spear through their eye slit. As soon as Dagne extricates it, a crossbow bolt flies into the same spot.

Syv begins the most saccharine song she can imagine, engulfing four dolgrims in hot pink faerie fire. Two fail to avoid it, and are soon illuminated in the rosy color. Vaeren, shaken by their near death experience at the tentacles of the dolgaunt, thrusts their rapier at the two dolgrims before them, however, one ducks and the other blocks the strike.

From the back of the room, what was once a wolf emerges. The thing now has six legs, seven eyes, and a tentacle rising up from its back, ending in a second maw. Just as soon as the first appears, a second joins it, and they begin to spit acid from their tentacle mouths at Vaeren and Ro. They dodge and she blocks with her shield, but one glob of acid flies under the shield’s edge to strike Ro’s legs. She hisses in pain as it burns her flesh, but her spores quickly counter the damage. She refocuses on the dolgrims in front of her and smashes one’s ribs in, killing it instantly. In response, the dolgrims assault her, she raises her shield and moves fast, but is unable to avoid all the strikes. An axe finds her, but her spores close the cut as soon as it opens. She takes a mace to the side, and is dismayed when the crushing blow is not alleviated, the spores are spent.

Dagne hits a dolgrim with the end of their weapon, the force knocking it down dead. They then turn on the two dolgrims illuminated in pink and hit each of them with their hammer head. The ochre jelly finally arrives next to Vaeren and Ro, engulfing another dolgrim’s corpse as it creeps along the floor. Syv, a bit distracted by the thing’s arrival, is surprised when a dolgrim stabs her with a knife. She twists around to avoid its other attacks. Two others, still incensed that they killed the dolgaunt, come after Dagne. Finally, they find gaps in their armor and each drives in a powerful stab. Another tries to hit Ro but she falls back and raises her shield.

Syv sings a brief encouragement laced with healing magic to Vaeren, before raising their wand of magic missile. Thunk, thunk, thunk, three dolgrims fall dead, including the two she had illuminated. Vaeren, absolutely not willing to face the ochre jelly head on, disengages and runs across the room. Unfortunately, the acid spitters see an opportunity when they separate from the group, and gurgle howls which reveal three rows of teeth. The two pounce on Vaeren, who just manages to stand their ground and avoid being knocked over, and bite them. Dagne bats a dolgrim in the head, and it falls dead. They cut two arms off the remaining one, but somehow it stays standing.

Run from it, dread it, destiny arrives. The ooze rolls forward, eating another dolgrim corpse on the way, and two pseudopods rise from its mass. But it’s slow! Dagne is able to wheel Coffin around to avoid its strikes. As they come around, the last dolgrim hits them with its mace. “Freak,” Syv says, pointing at the dolgrim. It falls dead under the weight of that most devastating insult.

Vaeren stabs an acid spitter in the neck, driving the rapier deep. The thing thrashes against them, but, desperate to avoid being overwhelmed, they do not relent. After what feels like a dreadful eternity, the thing goes still. Paeral grabs Vaeren and pulls them back from the other spitter as it tries to retaliate. They draw their bow and shoot it. In cowardice, the thing turns tail and runs away, deeper into the ruin.

Ro hits the ochre jelly with her shillelagh, sending ripples through the thing which cause a small chunk to break off. It seems to be hurt, maybe? Dagne brings down a powerful overhand chop, cleaving it in half! Then the two halves wiggle and coalesce into roughly round shapes. Dismayed, Dagne realizes all they’ve done is make two oozes. They switch their poleaxe around to the hammer side and bash one, jabbing the other with the end of the weapon. In response, one ooze lunges at Ro, the other at Dagne, both just… miss. “A gross slimy bitch!” Syv comments, and one ooze shudders in what might be pain. Vaeren fires arrows into both oozes, and one melts into a flat puddle. Ro strikes the other and it also dies.

Totally battered from the fight, the party decides to just hunker down for a while and hope that things deeper in the fort won’t take notice. Ro has a vision which she chooses not to share. Syv begins to play a song of rest. As she strikes calm notes on her kalimba, she speaks, “you know, there’s a reason I don’t transform unless needed. I want us to trust each other more. People see changelings as bad people. I want to perform, but I don’t want to hide that I’m the one behind the performances. Performing is fun, but it sucks when they don’t know my true face.” “I love your first face the most,” Ro responds boldly. “Thank you,” Syv’s cheeks grow pink. “I admire your confidence in showing your true face to the world,” Dagne adds. Shaken by their near death experience, Vaeren does not add anything. The rest of the break is mostly quiet, the group knows what they’re getting into now, it’s frightening, but everyone feels determined to see it through for Nux’s sake.

Rested, the party decides to head deeper into the ruin. Coffin can’t fit through any of the doors, so they decide to leave the horse behind in the entry hall. The first door leads to a well defended room filled with ancient skeletons and Dhakaani equipment, which is in remarkably good condition. There’s no other exit to the room, so the party disturbs nothing, backtracks, and heads down the next path. It’s a bathroom. To the left is another exit. Through it is a room mostly filled by a pit of purple ooze. Hanging from sinew above the pit is a key made of flesh and bone, just out of reach of Vaeren’s ghosts.

Thinking through the options, Ro suddenly transforms herself into a gecko and behind to crawl up the wall and ceiling. The group waits in confused silence as she grabs the key in her mouth and brings it back, spitting it out at Syv’s feet. She then climbs up her shoulder as Syv gingerly picks up the disgusting flesh key.

With nowhere else to go, the party backtracks to the entry room yet again and heads through the last door. It leads to a hallway with a locked door at the end of it. Syv tries the flesh key, but it doesn’t fit the lock. Dagne kicks the door in. It leads to a large mess hall. There are three more doors. The group picks one and finds a kitchen, which leads further to a pantry. They backtrack and try a second door. It’s a barracks. All the beds are knocked over and a foul black liquid drip drips from the ceiling. Not wanting to spend much time in the room, the party heads left through a hallway and finds a smithy. Left again is a woodcarver’s workshop, a skeleton lying on the ground.

The end of the path is a door made of flesh and bone with four keyholes. Deciding not to bother with it, Dagne tries to kick the door in, but as they do, they’re flooded with immense, unnatural terror, to the point that it’s painful. As they reel backwards, they see that the door has not budged. “We should find the keys,” they tell the others. The party backtracks to the smithy and heads through another door there, finding a storage room. There’s a great deal of metal, but only notable are a single bar of adamantine and another of byshek. Dagne puts the two into the haversack, marveling at how heavy the byshek is. With that bit of looting done, the party backtracks to the mess hall and tries the last door there. It leads to a hallway with a door in the side. Instead on continuing down the hall, the party opts to check out the room first.

It opens to a room that is totally stripped and destroyed, aside from a stack of corpses and ooze, pseudopods flailing. Even though the Dhakaani corpses making up the thing must be ancient, they show no signs of rot. The ground around it is covered in a thin layer of bloody ooze. Immediately, Dagne strikes it with their hammer end, red light filling the room as they smite. The fused abomination splits open in places, spilling foul liquid. Dagne strikes it again with the opposite end of their weapon, and the room fills with unintelligible whispers. “Hey freakazoid!” Syv shouts at it, and is disappointed when there’s no reaction.

The thing approaches and three corpses drop from its mass as it does. They stand up. The fused abomination shifts and a tubular tentacle forms, which shoots a glob of burning white liquid. The whole party ducks to avoid it, but Ro and Syv are unable to hide their eyes in time. They’re both blinded by the light, feeling it scorch their eyes painfully. The thing then screams, and Ro and Syv are hit by a rush of painful information that is too immense to remember a split second later. Vaeren hears the whispers and is momentarily so confused, they’re unable to remember who or where they are.

Ro calls upon her symbiotic entity to protect her and then casts shillelagh. A zombie closes in on her, but she hears it coming and blocks with her shield. Another zombie tries to attack Dagne, but cannot get through their armor. Dagne finds themselves unable to move, stuck to the ground by the ooze, but they overcome the whispers. They bash the fused abomination and once again the room fills with red light. More of the foul liquid spills from the mass.

The fused abomination forms temporary limbs containing ridges, teeth, knives of bone, and continues its awful whispering as it lashes out at Ro, Syv, who manages to somehow avoid the tentacles despite still being blind, and Vaeren. The latter is totally overwhelmed by the assault paired with the confusing whispers, and they fall to the ground unconscious. Hearing Dagne call out in concern, Syv quickly sends a healing word to Vaeren to bring them back up. She then turns on the zombies and fires her wand of magic missile, targeting all three. They all fall dead in an instant.

——————

Highlights:

“Run from it, dread it, destiny arrives.” Is a direct quote from the DM that was just too good to not include. Kinda funny that the ochre jelly turned out to be a bit of a wimp after that buildup.

We got some Dagne dumbassery this session, both with trying to slash the ochre jelly and kick the door in. They are really not in their element.

Vaeren got knocked out twice, and both times it was pretty brutal. They’re just in a state of panic for the whole session.

Ro finally wildshaped! Nobody in the party knew she could even do that.

Syv got some nice spotlight this time, both with her interlude during the short rest and with her absolutely cutting viscous mockery insults.

I hate the fused abomination. It’s so gross.

Session 19.

[al-luviec]

juvie buddies

[mackmp3]

me when i like a band with three songs ever

[livwritesstuff]

part 3 to eddie’s tattoo saga, feat. girl-dads!steddie

part 1, part 2

The first time Eddie’s oldest daughter draws on his arm with her Crayola markers, Eddie immediately gets it tattooed onto him permanently. 

She’s barely two so it’s mostly scribbles, but she’d never done it before, and she’d looked up at him with this big, proud, cheesing smile when she was done, and Ed had been caught so off guard with just how insanely much he loved her – that indescribable love parents felt for their children that, before becoming a parent, Eddie had thought he’d be able to beat the stereotypes and describe, but Moe proved him to be incorrect just about the second she came along – and he hadn’t known what else to do. 

He doesn’t even really think about it, just takes a photo so his artist will get the colors right and has her put it in an empty spot on the sleeve he’s been working on for years.

With Eddie and Steve’s second daughter, Robbie, it goes mostly the same. She's just about two years old and draws a collection of swirling scribbles on the back of his hand. Steve advises him to not get it tattooed in the same spot, and Eddie can understand why it might not always be opportune to have permanent child-scribbles in such a visible spot, so, again, he has his artist use it to fill in a gap in the sleeve on his left arm.

When their littlest girl, Hazel, is born, Ed intentionally leaves a spot on his bicep open for whenever she feels so inclined to draw on him like her big sisters had. She takes her sweet time, so much so that Eddie starts to get nervous that she might never end up doing it at all, and he wasn’t going to ask her. It had to be a natural thing, obviously. In the end, she’s nearly five years old, sitting in his lap with a pack of markers while he reads a book to her (Charlotte’s Web, because it was the first chapter book he’d read aloud to both Moe and Robbie, and now it's Hazel’s turn), coloring inside the lines of the tattoos he already has when she gets to the empty space on his arm he’d left just for her. A little bit later, it’s filled with a marker drawing of a blue house next to a green tree, with a yellow sun above the chimney.

“It’s our house,” Hazel tells him.

Eddie calls to schedule the tattoo session the second he finishes the next chapter.

He gets the okay from his artist to bring Hazel with him to the appointment, which he hadn’t done with Moe and Robbie because they’d been too little. They hadn’t had the disposition for it either, but Hazel is their sweetest baby, all solemn and shy, and the session is right before her usual naptime, so once he’s in the chair, she just sits in his lap and quietly watches his artist work until she dozes off about halfway through the process.

Eddie spends much of that session lost in thought – he’s becoming introspective in his old age (forty-five and some change).

He’s thinking about all the tattoos he’s gotten, all the spontaneous ones he’s gotten for Steve and for their girls. He’s thinking about what that means. 

In the family that Eddie and Steve have built, Steve is the one taking all those pictures and home videos and stuff. He’s the one who gets photos printed, framing their favorites and hanging them around the house and setting small ones on side tables, sticking others to the fridge with little magnets they’ve collected over the years, storing the rest in overstuffed shoe boxes he swears he’ll organize into photo albums someday (but their life is so hectic he probably won’t ever get around to it).

This is Eddie’s version of that.

This is his way of displaying to the world how much he loves his family, this thing that he’d spent years pretending he didn’t want because that was easier to sit with than the belief that it wasn’t even attainable for him, that now he gets to have.

It’s fucking incredible, is what it is, and it deserves to be documented.