(written by Phil, player of Bartholomew Pettibone, regarding the recent expedition undertaken by the Survivors of the Tel; this retelling of events earns Bart 100 xp per level)
Even as the story of the foolhardy bravery of Gan ad-Din and his poisoning begin to circulate, following the letter delivered to the dancing-girl Istrid at the Kantor Kabljauhof (by a cloaked Bartholomew Pettibone, no less!), a separate story begins to make the rounds--a sequel, as it were, ginned up no doubt by the assurances offered to Istrid by Bart that Gan is indeed not dead:
From the Journals of Bartholomew Pettibone, of the House Pettibone
A Purveyor of Enchanting Sorcery
23 July 2021
Fortune Favors the Bold
(and sometimes the foolish)
The s'ro are not gods!
The s'ro are merely intelligent reptilians, similar to sakkra, large and infinitely more interesting than sakkra, but certainly not gods. Ha! And so haughty! How could gods be forgotten – dumped into the shadows of history and buried under deep veils of dust – lost to the memory of common folk? And how could a god be fooled by a fool?
It has been a feverish week, we have been engaged in frenzied research (myself, Ravna, and Hey-Jo), in consultation with Bob, and I have been unable to write my usual notes. During our most recent excursion onto the island, Gan was mortally wounded during a fierce battle with a floating ru'un, and he was ultimately exposed to a massive amount of poisoned light. He was dying, wasting away quickly, and I have been singularly focused on finding him a remedy – I owe him, we all owe him, our lives!
With Bob's assistance we were able to develop an antidote for the poisoned light, but Bob was clear that the antidote would only be efficacious if administered very soon after exposure to the toxins. A cure for longer-term, more chronic exposure might be found, but this was not to be it. Iodine appeared to be the key – found in seawater and the residue of seaweeds, or else in the matrix of certain rare, blue dyes. Gan was cleansed of the toxins, but remains weak and bed-ridden. I am certain that in time he will recover his full strength, but alas, it appears that his left hand has been burned beyond the ability of my simple magic to repair – properly.
Using our time wisely, Razo and Raoden (again, with Bob's assistance) were able to repair the teleportation pads upon our vessel. Thanks to this device, we sent Avin back to the bowels of the klackon spire (into the hidden basement of the 6th House), where we had left Killick the warrior, so many weeks before. It was a gamble, but we trusted that Killick had done as we requested, had remained hidden, biding her time and protecting the teleportation pad at her location. Luck favored our first foolish gamble, and by the end of the week we were able to transport Gan to Killick's location, to a safe quiet haven, to rest and to keep Killick company. As well, Avin was sent to retrieve more supplies, and eliste the assistance of Sesel and our good friend Durham, as well as Pako, the Renyu. The supplies and our companions were all transported to our location, aboard Bob, using the teleportation device. What a remarkable device!
And so, with renewed morale, the addition of reinforcements, and a more enlightened awareness of our foes, we advanced our agenda!
We departed Bob earlier in the predawn darkness than on our two previous sorties, carrying one of our lead-lined barrels between Avin and Raoden. It seemed odd not having Gan to bear the load, or the light. We found that our presence on the island, and our underground shenanigans, had left the Denyali and the sakkra in a heightened, frenzied state of anticipation. Patrols were about, and watch-camps had been set up at numerous locations around the island, as well as near the ruins – blocking easy entrance through the underground passages. But we knew of a hidden door into the tower, located on the upper escarpment. Yes, there were guards there too, but their number were few, and it seemed there was little concern on their part that the concealed entrance was known to any intruders. We felt it less risky to attempt entrance at that hidden door, than through the well-guarded tunnels below, and so we made for the higher ground of the tower.
But first we had to penetrate a ring of watch-fires, and many Denyali warriors. Sesel, Avin, and Roaden crept quietly through the shadows between two of the guard camps, then lay hidden in the darkness near the base of the escarpment. As the rest of us prepared to traverse the same path, fuel was dumped upon one of the closest fires, and as the flames increased, the accompanying light illuminated our crouching forms. The Denyali who were present – five of them – appeared startled to see us, and their moment of bewilderment gave me the opportunity to wrap the arcana about them, dropping them into a deep slumber. We left them crumpled in their places, and Sesel pushed a hypnotic suggestion into their dreams – that they had simply fallen asleep while on duty, and were ashamed to mention it.
Up the escarpment we shuffled, barrel and all. Near the top, Sesel placed an arcane ventriloquism upon a spooked lizard, one of the myriad small creatures that dwell in the rubble surrounding the ruins. It scurried off into the darkness calling loudly to the guards above: “Hear me! I am Ergha Kiergan! Attend and follow where I lead! Be quick – do not question – or you will suffer the agonizer!” As the lizard sped off into the ruins, with the disembodied voice calling out into the darkness, confusion fell upon the guards. After a scant moment of hesitation and argument, they followed, leaving the hidden entrance unguarded. Apparently, the threat of the 'agonizer' is not to be trifled with. We approached the door, handily found the opening latch, and entered the tower unchallenged.
The space we entered was empty, and dark. A dim light was produced, and we descended the central, spiral staircase to the floor below. We found several groups of sakkra guards posted at various choke-points, but they apparently were not expecting us from the direction we approached. Sesel boldly strolled forth to mind-stun one small group of guards, in order to clear our path. However, his attention must have been less focused as expected. As he realized his psychic ability was weaker than intended, and panic filled his visage, Hey-Jo wrapped the arcana, and whispered the words that would bring deep sleep. Our adversaries all dropped into sweet, deep slumber, before an alarm could be sounded. Again, Sesel tapped into their dreams and left the suggestion that they had seen nothing untoward, and had merely fallen asleep on watch, and were embarrassed to talk about it.
Further and deeper into the complex we moved – quietly, and with purpose. By using Durham's scanning device, we were able to pinpoint and evade other guards, and were also able to locate a significantly powerful energy source – on the second floor. And so we made our way down and across the Bridge of Gan's doom!
All was quiet, and while we feared more ru'un to be present, none appeared. Through a double set of wide doors we passed – into a massive, rough hewn chamber. It appeared that we had stumbled blindly into the 'mine'. Crude stairs led down to the floor of the chamber, and several quite large metallic containers could be seen near the base of those stairs – ore-laden crates. And there was no sign of attendants. Perhaps luck was truly going to stay with us!
I crept down the stairs, leaving my comrades to guard the entrance, and investigated the containers. The doors of the crates were not held fast, but as I began opening the first, I realized it was massively heavy. Knowing that thick sheets of certain metals can reduce or eliminate the dangers of the poisoned light, and figuring that these containers might hold the ores we sought, I quickly shut the door, before it had been opened more than a crack. It would not be prudent to end up like the wretches at the miners' enclave – or like poor Gan!
A protection against the poisoned light was woven around me, I opened one of the containers, and began packing our barrel, tightly and with great care, full of the precious, energy-producing ore. I found the ore to be glassy and brittle in nature, and I required the use of Sesel's armored gauntlets to protect my hands from being shredded by the sharp edges. Meanwhile, my companions remained on the stairs above, safe from the poison of the ore, and on guard for intruders. It took time, at least the burning of one full flask of lantern oil, but finally the barrel was filled and sealed. We cleaned Sesel's gloves, and then prepared for our escape. Durham and Pako led the way, using Pako's senses and Durham's scanner to determine if our escape path was clear. Sesel accompanied them, invisible and prepared to create a distraction, while the rest of us huddled within the bounds of a veil of silence that Ravna summoned from the arcana. With the clever use of his psychic clairvoyance, and a few close calls, we were able to remove ourselves to the upper level, and decided to make our way out through the tunnels – instead of returning along the same route we had entered.
We found the tunnel unguarded at this hour of the day – and by now, it was indeed daylight. We would not have the cover of darkness to aid a covert escape, but it was also obvious that guardianship was lax – perhaps other, mundane duties called? As it was, Sesel, being invisible, was able to distract the few guards that were present, calling at them and having them give chase. The rest of us, under the protection of the silent veil, made our way quickly through the ruins, across the scrubby highlands, down the cliffs to our 'beach', and toward the safe confines of Bob.
Sesel returned to us later, as I was involved with the greatest folly of my life (so far). He later entertained us with the story of how he bested a literal giant of a warrior (without ever having to land a blow), and made away with a magnificent helmet. The helmet was found to be similar to the one Gan used, which we had pilfered from the 'Facility', but instead of a hound's head, it formed into that of a s'ro.
But what was my folly? I will attempt to relate it in as much detail as I can recall.
Upon returning to the rocky beach, we signaling for Bob to attend us. As Bob appeared and we prepared to embark, a massive, winged s'ro angled around the northern headland, gliding through the morning mist, and spied us. As it neared, I recalled the old man in the miner's enclave had mentioned something about how the language of the Q'noliya was used to control these beasts. And so, with a loud, confident voice, I summoned my mastery of that ancient language and called out to the s'ro, in a strong, confident voice: “S'ro, attend your master, land at my feet and submit!” Almost immediately the s'ro focused it's gaze upon me, and landed with a decidedly solid thud on the jumbled rocks of the beach, cutting off our escape to Bob. Truly it was a thing to behold – one of the giant, many-legged, winged s'ro out of dusty legend. It wore a sort of leather bandoleer, holding two large, sheathed swords. And as it reared high and folded it's wings, the eyes of that frilled, feathered head swiveled and it's eyes focused upon me. It roared, “Who are you, such an insignificant speck of an ape-child, that would dare garble the tongue of the ancients?” Everyone stood quite still in sudden shock – it could speak! And it was not in a cheerful mood.
I stood my ground (although my legs seemed close to failure), and I spoke steadily and forcefully, “I am Bartholomew Pettibone, of the Great House of Pettibone, of the Ancient Lineage that slew the greater part of your kindred – It is I that dares speak to such a lowly s'ro. Explain to me how it is that you have escaped your doom – entreat me with a humorous tale – and perhaps we will allow you to survive another day!”
The frill feathers at the nape of the s'ro's neck bristled and flared – and it became clear that my bluff may indeed turn out to be the greatest folly I ever committed. I was fully prepared to be crushed into dirt by this massive beast. Yet, it laughed, a gurgling, sibilant laugh – it tasted the nearby air with it's long tongue, and slurred, “Puny child of apes, your bluster is meaningless. You will deliver tribute to us, the gods who rule over these islands – or the meat of your bodies will fill my gullet, and your bones will join the sands of this beach, becoming insignificant dust!”
My companions, noting how the s'ro was singularly focused on me and my arrogance, slowly (and still aided by the silent veil) made their way onto Bob, and to relative safety. As I saw them begin shuffling toward Bob, I paced a few steps away from the direction of Bob, hoping to draw the attention of the s'ro to me, aiding their escape. It worked, and as I paced aside, I pulled my skin of wine, took a good long drink, knowing perhaps it would be my last, then held it high at arm's length, offering it to the s'ro, “Wine, young and naive s'ro, is the only tribute you will receive from your betters – do you even dare drink with me? This is not just common wine, but the most superior, sought-after, and heady vintage fermented only from the rarest fruits of the Mysrian vineyards.”
This incensed the s'ro and locked it's attention even tighter onto myself. It's eyes widened, and I feared it would literally bite my head off, but it's neck feathers smoothed down (a touch) and it began chuckling (not a pleasant sound from a s'ro). It gently plucked the wine-skin from my outstretched hand, and guzzled it's entirety, tossing the empty bag to the ground. “Again, miserable ape-child, provide the tribute that your kind owe the gods, and it may be that your lives – which are now forfeit – might be spared. We might allow you to live and work in our mines – if that can be called living.”
I continued pacing back and forth, moving toward Bob, then away, all the time engaging in conversation. I scoffed at the s'ro: “Work in the mines? Deliver tribute? You misunderstand – it is you who owes tribute to us. But wait, you call yourself a god – that cannot be! Your kind have been lost to the annals of time – forgotten – the motes of your memory have been spread thin. How can gods be forgotten? You are not gods; you are false usurpers who were crushed and cast aside in ages past by stronger, more wise and learned men. Children of apes, indeed! I scorn your lackluster existence. You claim these pitiful islands, and these miserable island wretches, as yours to command? Ha! The nobles of my land would not even deem these islands fit to be used as stepping stones. You have been relegated to the most barren, least productive lands known to all sentient beings! You are living under the heavy yoke of delusion! You are not a god – how can gods be so easily overcome and pitched away as refuse; forgotten, known only as a diluted footnote in droll stories told to infants and children?”
I believe it was at this point that the s'ro had no choice but to crush me under it's many feet – yet, it persisted in conversing. “Human, the inhabitants of this island worship us, we who serve the greater god Va'al. They toil under our direction, and they bring everything to us. It is the s'ro who command these lands, and all who dare walk upon the dirt, fly in the air, or move upon the waters! You insolent monkey, gaze upon my magnificence, and prepare to die!” The s'ro drew it's two blades and stepped closer toward me, exclaiming, “Tribute is demanded – and tribute will be delivered!”
Whatever I had eaten before we began our early morning excursion was now churning wildly in my stomach, and was on the verge of being tossed. But I held my ground. My companions were all now safely aboard Bob, and I was feverishly trying to wrap my mind around how I was going to extricate myself from certain, painful, inglorious death. Quite suddenly, I felt the invisible hand of Sesel place an object in my palm, and his disembodied whisper in my ear, “Press the stud, and you will become invisible.” And then his presence was gone. Sesel had finally returned from his diversionary escape, and while the s'ro and I conversed, he had made his way quietly and unseen (being invisible) to the rocky beach, to stand close beside me.
Emboldened, I continued to taunt the s'ro, holding one hand out forcefully, flat palm facing the beast: “Stand still, lizard! You claim to be a god, but who are you? What is your name? You are an unknown – a forgotten dream. There is nobody who calls to you in prayer – or even in anguish! Again I ask, how can a god be forgotten – what god would sway over such a paltry, weak, pathetic kingdom? S'ro, you have been duped. The Psilons have enthralled you, just as they enthrall ru'un. It is you who are doing their bidding, it is you who fears their wrath. And it is me and mine who travel unstoppable through their lands – destroying their ru'un as if they were mere toys, laying low swaths of their paltry Denyali and sakkra servants with but a wave of my hand, walking away with whatever 'tribute' we claim for ourselves. Oh, my dear, sweet, naive s'ro, the Psilons are most certainly using you, and it is we who the Psilons fear, and cannot touch. Who are the gods here, little s'ro? Who are the true masters?”
In retrospect, perhaps that was pushing it a bit far. The s'ro reared again, towering over me, swords unsheathed and held high. It's neck frill flared broadly and shuddered, making a noisome rattle, and it laughed loudly. “I am S'rilorien – and if you have not heard of me, then you have not paid attention to the annals of history! The Psilons do not command the s'ro – imbecile – it is s'ro who have forced them to our will – they deliver the greatest tribute to us and to our benefactor, Great Va'al! Gaze your last upon my glorious form, and prepare to die!”
Upon hearing that I steeled myself for death, but calmly continued pacing and called, “S'rilorien, you truly cannot expect me to believe that you are anything other than a forgotten blight that has been wiped from the memories of civilization. The Psilons laugh behind your back, as they reap the rewards of all of these islands. And they are like weak v'rrp compared to me and mine. We have stripped them of their most prized vessel, we have squashed their every attempt to discover us, we wade through their minions as if they were but stalks of annoying grass beneath our boots, and we take from them what we will – and they are powerless to stop us. As are you. Do not tempt me to destroy you. With a whisper of my breath I could push your mind into unending nightmares – but I will stay your execution, if you but submit and stop this folly.”
S'rilorien was taken aback, sputtering and rattling it's frill at the sound my insolent words. It then roared in violent anger. I fully expected that those long blades would slice me in two. But the blow did not come, and S'rilorien hissed at me, “Foolish, puny, uneducated ape-child – it is the Denyali who serve the Psilons, who in turn serve the s'ro, and the greater will of Va'al! I will take you to them, and you will work the mines until your body falls ill, and your faculties depart. They will flay the skin from your body as you toil in the darkness of the mines! And then they will bring your wasted, withered carcass before me, and I will toss your miserable, wretched frame down at the feet of Va'al, and you will be crushed into an eternity of despair!”
Yes, I was certain that I was dead. There was nothing left to say or do. My mind reeled. Why, oh why, was I continuing to taunt this massive s'ro?! Absolute foolishness! I paced a bit toward Bob, then quickly looked up into the sky, past S'rilorien and gasped, calling out loudly, and laughing, “Oh for fuck's sake! Hahaha! And here I was, beginning to believe you might actually be akin to a lesser god – when another of your kind comes winging in. S'rilorien, you don't even have the courage to face me alone!” I pointed past the creature (at an imaginary s'ro, behind him), and exclaimed: “You have only tried to placate me, to tease me, to entertain me, while waiting for another of your ken to attend us – to reinforce your weak attack upon me and mine!”
S'rilorien, startled and taken aback, swiveled it's head and gaze away from me for an instant, toward empty air. It was a ridiculous attempt at a ruse, but it worked, giving me the break I required. I pressed the stud on the device Sesel had placed in my hand, and I vanished from sight. I then took several quick, quiet steps away from the direction of Bob, and the gaze of S'rilorien, dropped to the ground, into a fetal position, and hugged a boulder as close as I could, remaining as quiet as possible.
Sr'lorien quickly discovered that there was no additional s'ro approaching – no comrades, no reinforcements – and swung it's head back toward where I had stood. It stared blankly for a moment at where I had been, and numbly looked all about. Finding me completely and utterly gone, S'rilorien opened it's mouth wide, exposing a mouth full of dangerously sharp teeth, and let out a piercing, wailing screech! I wanted to cover my ears, but was afraid to move. S'rilorien strode and stamped about, swinging the two swords wildly; they passed over me, whistling through the air. The s'ro continued bellowing, searching for me for what seemed like a lifetime. Suddenly it turned it's gaze upon Bob – only to witness Sesel smiling, waving farewell, and pulling the deck-hatch closed. S'rilorien bellowed and rose in the air, and dove toward Bob, just as the vessel began to sink below the surface. The s'ro followed Bob under the waves, and I wondered if it's attacks would be able to damage Bob. While S'rilorien was under the water, it's attention focused on Bob, I used it's the diversion and it's absence to remove myself to a new position, closer to the water's edge, and hunkered down among larger boulders.
S'rilorien returned from below the water and continued searching for me, moving farther up the slope. Muttering quietly, and being fairly thorough. However, my position remained elusive, and it soon gave up, taking to the skies and winging toward the ruins off to the west. After a time, my companions returned, resurfaced, and I climbed shakily upon Bob. I sat myself down into the navigator's chair, began shivering and laughing uncontrollably, and called for wine – lots of wine. Bob sank beneath the waters; we went deep into the quiet darkness, and made course for the shores north of Cothon-Gadeed. I had surely been a fool to attempt discourse with S'rilorien. A total fool. But sometimes, fortune (and luck!) favors the bold – and the foolish.
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