Session 8: The Metal God

General Summary

Continuing onward after your chase throught the forest, you attempt to get your bearings by climbing a hill to survey the landscape. As you crest the rise, you see the Mistcliff Mountains to your north, veiled by lightly falling rain. Looking down into the valley, you notice a wide trail, visible even from this distance. It seems to be going where you need it to, so you head downhill. When you get there, you come across a trio of Brontosauri leading one of their young. This seems to be a highway of sorts for the gargantuan beasts. Still in wolf form, Douglass attempts to tame them. One curious adult leans its immense head down, making a low rumbling that shakes the air around you. It sniffs at the wolf, seems curious, but moves on. Douglass attempts to befriend the juvenile Bronto, which gambols playfully around him. Rahlg'n "assists" by attempting to throw the wolf/druid onto the Bronto's back, but the throw falls short and only Douglass's quick recovery and swift reflexes prevented him from becoming a fine canine paste. Having little success, he turns back into his humanoid dog form. This startles the bronto, but it becomes even more curious. Azaka comments "you're either really brave or really stupid getting up close to a giant honker like that." Douglass replies "Oh it's definitely stupid." Azaka sighs. "Well, I didn't want to say anything too direct." The party shadow the Brontosauri for a while. When they eventually stop to graze in a large clearing, digging up the soil with their massive feet, Douglass assists with his mould earth spell. Finding gigantic root systems that run far from any trees, Douglass attempts to feed the enormous tubers to the Bronto. They take interest, and he narrowly avoids having an arm bitten off by the enormous creatures. They seem to take a small shine to him, but otherwise go back to their meal. Interested, Chomsky jumps into the hole with an exposed root, intent on carving it up. He asks Azaka if it's ok to eat, and the guide was unsure. "I've never dug these up. Normally I just leave them for the larger herbivorous honkers. They love them. I suppose you could taste a little bit and wait to see if anything happens?" The little gnome's knife cuts strangely easily through the white, fibrous flesh, and he comes away with some large chunks to take with him. Licking it, it tastes sweet, but with an acidic bitterness. As the sun lowers and the Mistcliff Mountains cast their shadow over the land, Azaka suggests finding somewhere with more cover to set up camp. "I don't like being so exposed out here. Allosaurii and T-Rex often hunt at night." Heading into the tree line a ways, you set up camp. During the first watch, Douglass is listening to the soft buzzing of fireflies, the rustle of the trees in the gentle wind, and the delicate songs and hoots of night birds. Then, he hears a rustling of leather and clinking of chains. The sound would come and go, oddly and suddenly cut off, only to occur elsewhere seconds later. In the tents, Rubi's alarm spell is set off, blaring suddenly, then stops. Then it starts again. And stops. Chomsky looks down to his hand to see his fingernail shortened into the nailbed, oozing blood. Nearby, the tortle is sleeping soundly before feeling a short, sharp blow on his shell. He thinks little of it and remains curled up. Rahlg'n wakes up to a dull pain on his face, and his eyes adjust slowly in the dark. With sudden shock he realises that he's sharing the tent with a foul-smelling, spindly creature with a writhing leather bag over its head. As soon as he registers it and reacts, it's gone. Vanished with a sudden whoosh of air refilling a space. He touches his face, and his hand comes back with blood. The gnomes leave their tent. In front of the fire, they see Douglass, growling, ears twitching and scanning for threats. Suddenly, a misshapen creature with a writhing leather bag on its head appears behind Douglass. The gnomes see a flash of scales and fur through one of several holes in the bag. Before either of the gnomes can shout out, the creature grabs a tuft of Douglass's fur, deftly snips it off with some rusty shears, and disappears again. Chomsky and Rubi call in alarm, but by now everyone is awake. Azaka runs in from the forest with her scimitars drawn. Chomsky, seeking the diplomatic route calls out. "Excuse me! Bag lady! What are you doing with pieces of us? We have other things if you want those instead? What do you want from us?" You hear the bark of a small dog, and words that sound like they're being forced through canine vocal cords answer: "What need have we of other things? Your flesh, skin, hair and nails will be needed!" A hissing, serpentine voice chimes in: "We need your nailsss, your hair, your ssskin, and your flessssh for our massster. Much plansss we have." You hear a bok-bok-bok sound like a chicken, and another obviously not meant for Common speech: "BrrrrRRR-bok-bok-bok you will see, little one, you will see..." Further attempts to shout into the darkness are answered only by silence. Everyone huddles around the tortle (still in his shell). "Ok, so this thing took something from all of us. What would do that? And what would it do with bits of our hair and skin?" Azaka posits a few possibilities through pieces of lore: legends of murderous skinwalkers who would wear the flesh of others, insinuating themselves into their stolen lives... hags and fey creatures who might be interested in taking pieces of people for nefarious deeds... She knows this only as legend. Azaka seems as troubled as you are, and shows you one of her red dreadlocks, neatly snipped halfway down. At the mention of this, Abarl jumps up and inspects himself. As he's turning around, you see a freshly chipped piece of shell has been removed, neatly bisecting one of his glowing runes. He is livid, swearing to be the harbinger of death to whoever did this and to bring the ruination of all they love. Rubi reaches up to touch her hair, and notices a small patch is missing. It seems everyone had something taken... Rahlg'n pipes up. "We should double our watch. Two people guarding at a time is safer." He turns to Azaka. "No more walking into the forest at night, right?" "No. No, I think it would be best to stay close for a while" Azaka replies. You head to bed, and you're beset by dreams. Douglass dreams of being caught in a crumbling tomb. He's been here before. A memory. The crushing darkness as he desperately tries to crawl towards a speck of light. Only this time the light is getting further away. His hands sprout hair, his claws lengthen, he feels his snout extending and teeth becoming more canine. This isn't how it happened! As the darkness presses in, a glowing hand reaches down, pulling him out. After that, Douglass remembers nothing. Chomsky recalls a heart-rending dream, a feeling of fear, judgement and disappointment, but that is all. Abarl dimly recalls horrors from his past, but crams them down, pushing the thoughts away. Rahlg'n remembers the feeling of fear and loss, losing someone close to him, and the shame and anguish of failing to protect them. Rubi wakes in her tent. Chomsky is standing over her, rousing her to wake, having had a bad dream. As she watches, the bag-headed creature appears behind him. He turns around in surprise, and it suddenly pushes its long fingers into his chest. Its claws lengthen unnaturally, and it pushes them painfully, slowly, further into his chest until they exit his body and stretch nearly to the tent walls. Blood pours out of Chomsky's mouth as Rubi screams in terror... And wakes. Chomsky is awake, too. And deeply unsettled. You all wake up feeling unrested, fuzzily recalling barely remembered nightmares... Chomsky attempts to rouse everyone's spirits by producing slices of the tuber he and Douglass pulled up. Most of you eat a little. It tastes sugary, fibrous and sweet, with an acidic tang. Rahlg'n drops a bit in his coffee, steeps it for 3 mins, and drinks. From then on, he is the most chipper you've seen him since you started this adventure. Abarl decides to powder it and snort it. His immediate reaction has all the hallmarks of intense discomfort, although he attempts to tell everyone it's the best thing out. Azaka and Rahlg'n shake their heads, but everyone else buys it. Chomsky starts ranting about potential marketing campaigns, mining operations for this tuber, and all the profit that can be gained. Meanwhile, Abarl has the most egregious headache he's had from anything on this plane of existence. His vision doubles, his heart palpitates, and his head pounds. Consulting the diary of the mage, Abarl attempts to glean some insight about where the Vorn might be. Unfortunately, reading the book upside down isn't terribly helpful. Rubi grabs the book off him and expertly rifles through the stained, tattered pages (right way up this time). Shortly before succumbing to mad rambling, the mage mentioned resting near a partially buried ziggurat beneath a sheer cliff face, with a large hill to the north and southeast. Although Douglass gets everyone briefly lost, you find yourself at the top of a hill, overlooking this scene a couple hours after midday. You see the vine-covered tip of the ziggurat poking through some trees. Descending into the valley, you find a large construct of wood inlaid with brass scroll-work, and armoured by steel and adamantine plate. The Vorn. Truly a masterwork, and one recognised by the locals! Around its feet lay carved items, trinkets, flowers, food offerings, masks, beautiful shells, wreaths... and hanging by a leather string from its hand is a flute made of two rune-carved bones. Douglass feels drawn to the flute. As he reaches out, the ever-rambunctious Chomsky reaches to grab it. "Hey, can I try playing this?" he asks. "Sure" Douglass responds. Chomsky picks it up, looks at the structure and arrangement of the holes, and he figures out roughly what notes should be which. Azaka, who has been studying tracks on the ground asks everyone to gather while Chomsky goes "Oh, so if this is probably F and this is A..." and then blows into the pipes. As he plays, every note sounds right... but wrong. Each one sounds like the right note, but somehow also discordant and wailing, shrieking in a fearful gale. To Chomsky it just sounds awful and strange even though he knew he was playing perfectly fine. Everyone else has a different experience. The shrieking of the haunted pipes carries with it intense fear, a sickening dread, and manic terror. Azaka, Rahlg'n and Douglass are all overcome and flee, unable to feel anything but terror and trying to get away from the horrid ululating of the pipes. Abarl and Rubi slam their hands over their ears and resist the magic. Rubi yells at him to stop, seeing that everyone else has run away. Casting Identify on the pipes, Rubi discovers it's the Pipes of Haunting: a wind instrument that can cause intense fear in those who hear it - or at least those you want to when you know what you're doing. As the spell resolves, it picks out something else. Fragments of another magic... Something that reminds her of the book on soul transferrence she read in the arcane tower's cellar. Necromantic in nature, but not complete. A wave of nausea and mental feedback nearly overcomes her when she focuses on this, but it soon disappates. After a while, the magic wears off on those who fled, and Azaka, Douglass and Rahlg'n return to the clearing. Azaka informs Chomsky - in no uncertain terms - that that was never to happen again. It was not a pleasant experience. Douglass, despite the effects of the charm, feels a sudden pull towards the instrument, obviously made from a human's radius and ulna. It seems familiar. It looks like... No, couldn't be... He resists, and Chomsky puts the pipes away. Azaka regains her composure, straightens and says "as I was saying before you started playing those gods-awful pipes... There are Goblin tracks here. Not just that, but Grung. And Vegepygmy. These three races are natural enemies. It's unusual to see them in the same place without signs of battle. I think they all worship this shield guardian as a god. This must be sacred ground for them." Her theory is validated by three large offerings. A bundle of Batiri Goblin masks styled like ants, a wreath of plants and colourful fungi, and a disturbingly vivid painting of a grung grace the feet of the Vorn. The artistry on the grung is poor and not even close to life-like, but the vibrancy of the pigments and the way the figure moves around with the viewer almost as if it was three-dimensional suggest they were painted with Nolzur's Marvellous Pigments. The group search the offerings, the ziggurat, and the surrounds for the control amulet Wakanga told you about. Nothing. You surmise that perhaps one of the three tribes of worshippers have it. Chomsky and Rubi excitedly produce their Batiri masks. "OH! We could sneak in as one of them! We have the masks!" exclaims Chomsky. "And I can speak Goblin!" chimes Rubi. Azaka seems dubious about this, saying that this was easily the most stupid, dangerous thing she'd had any one of her travellers suggest. She does however, agree, with some persuading, to help you perfect the disguise. She gives you instruction on how to blend in, what they wear, and how they behave. Meanwhile, Abarl has other plans. He busies himself crushing the vegepygmy tribes' offerings on the shrine, defacing the edifice with Goblin graffiti, and setting up small traps of dead branches, leaves and twigs that would be easily burned over and around the path where the vegepygmy prints lead away into the forest. Rahlg'n, the reasonable one, repeatedly insists on waiting for representatives of these tribes to appear so as to pass yourselves off as pilgrims to meet the "metal god." Azaka says that there's no guarantee that would work, as Grung and Batiri often attack on sight, taking people as slaves and food. Vegepygmies usually leave people alone unless in large numbers. Either way, she likes this idea more than the others. However, both her and Rahlg'n are ignored as the rest of the party get excited about their more outlandish, ridiculous, and dangerous plans. The sun is already low, and Azaka suggests making camp away from here. The top of the cliff commands a decent view of the clearing where the Vorn is. The party set up camp there, and Douglass insists on lighting a fire despite Azaka firmly saying it's a terrible idea. He moulds earth, creating an oven-like structure to hide the smoke and flames. A small hole for the smoke carries it up the side of a tree. Azaka says it's probably safe enough in a dismissive tone. Much of her combativeness from earlier seems to be gone, and she allows him a small - SMALL - fire. During this debate, the gnomes are still hyped for their plan, making their Batiri disguises and chatting excitedly to each other. They show Azaka who gives them pointers, saying they often wear rawhide, grass skirts, and ghillie suits covered in tropical leaves - which they had made well. The problem was their exposed skin. Chomsky has a small set of dyes, and requests Douglass help find some clay. A small riverbed nearby holds fine silty clay, and he brings some back. Mixing the right ratio of green to yellow, a test-smear reveals something similar to the greenish yellow skin of a Goblin. Testing their outfits, the gnomes cheer excitedly. "Well, if I didn't know better I'd shoot you on sight. Spitting image." says Azaka. Later, Douglass and Abarl are on watch. Shortly after everyone goes to bed, three vegepygmies appear in the clearing atop strange creatures with mould-covered, thorned hides. They walk around the Vorn, chattering loudly, gesticulating, and rhythmically and angrily tapping their bodies in a bizarre form of communication. As Douglass and Abarl celebrate triggering a tribal war, one stops, smells the air, and looks up at them. Uh oh. The Vegepygmies jump on their strange mounts and charge uphill. Douglass and Abarl rouse everyone, and they all prepare for a fight. Abarl readies a darkness spell, Chomsky loads a crossbow, Douglass hefts his hammer. As the party discuss strategy, the shrieking vegepygmies crash into the undergrowth near the bottom of the hill. And then it's quiet. You lose track of them, their hides blending in perfectly with the foliage beyond the low firelight. Eventually, the three Vegepygmies appear, emerging from the forest in a semicircle, spears lowered. Their mounts paw at the ground, all 4 eyes on each regarding you like prey, and multiple tendrils where tongues should be lash their mouldy lips. They close in slowly, enraged and emboldened by the desecration of their god, and you're suddenly aware that your back is to a sheer cliff. Douglass, believing they might speak Sylvan (as Azaka mentioned some might know it), attempts to communicate in a common tongue. He doesn't seem to get through, and the lead vegepygmy waves his spear at him. Chomsky attempts to communicate through Douglass with no success. The leader of the group dismounts, and with its spear still leveled at the party, holds out its hand with its palm out. Chomsky slowly reaches out and touches its hand. A thin, disgusting slime coats his hand. As he watches, his initial revulsion is forgotten as the slime seeps into his hand. Chomsky feels a little ill... As he listens to the vegepygmy speak, the hissing, chirping, and other strange noises resolve into words, the taps and rhythmic sounds become punctuation. "Why come here? You Goblin? You not look Goblin. Did defile Metal God? Answer!" Chomsky attempts to reply, having an intense back-and-forth with the vegepygmy. He tells them they were merely travellers, and the Batiri defiled this sacred place. The vegepygmy believes him, and Chomsky probes for information. Asking about the Metal God, the vegepygmy said "Punch T-Rex! Sick human with metal god run, but T-Rex also run! Metal God powerful! but then Metal God stop moving." Chomsky tells the vegepygmy of their plan to infiltrate or disrupt the Batiri camp. The creature is pleased and yells out "Batiri defile Metal God! Kill Batiri! War! Must make War!" all the other vegepygmies chant "WAR! WAR! WAR! WAR!" Meanwhile, all everyone else hears is about ten minutes of Chomsky making hissing, chirruping, and gakking noises while tapping his body, the vegepygmy responding, and eventually all of them start chanting "GLEEK! GLEEK! GLEEK! GLEEK!". A little bit of drool pours down Chomsky's mouth as the slimy mould escapes his body. Chomsky fills in the party on what happened now that his voice has returned to normal. And then promptly throws up. So there you are, on top of a cliff, having shattered the fragile peace between 3 tribes, surrounded by chanting, battle-hungry mould-creatures and a vomiting gnome. What wonders will tomorrow bring?

Report Date

25 Nov 2021

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