Behold the Unloved King (Part 3)

Log Info

• Title: Behold the Unloved King (Part 3)
  
• GM: Whirlpool
• Characters: Aryia, Harkashan, Ravenstongue, Telamon, Seldan, Verna
  
• Location: Tomb of the Unloved King
  
• Summary: The adventure continues, as our intrepid heroes dive deeper into the tomb and steals away more of their senses.

The vibration grows more intense. Never painful, and fortunately, never musical. Finally, you've cleared away enough of the cave in to proceed further into the earth, a gradual downwards slope.

A question dogs you, though: if they were attempting to bury this soing deep beneath the earth, why provide a path *to* it? Even a collapsed tunnel is *still* a tunnel, and one would think that they would have ensured that it remained buried even more intensely if the threat is all that the legends say.

But here you are. It's narrow. Single file, in fact, before long. The walls are closing in oin you, and that vibration is all the more intense for it -- and getting worse by the second. PRessure is building.

Beneath the ground, alongside a pair that gave up their lives for the future of the world, Harkashan is quiet for the time being. In as quiet as Harkashan truly can be, with that constant gutteral 'growl' in his breath and tone.

As he siddles through the narrow path, his mind is more on protecting his friends and allies than the intentions of the original creators of this place. The walls getting tight and close towards them. Squishing as best as he can. But with his unwieldy heavy armor, this may get difficult.

"You have permission to pull on my tail if I get stuck." Harkashan rumbles.

Telamon doesn't want to be here. It's not just the vibration, like some deranged goblin-artifice running full tilt beneath the earth. It's the silence of having their ears plugged and covered to avoid any sound, and the narrow passage that seems intent on closing in on him.

But he continues, nevertheless. His sole concession to the anxiety and fear is to reach out, take his wife's hand. A deep breath, as he looks around at the tunnel. Giving Lana's hand a squeeze, he begins to sign to her. "Was the magic always erratic here? You would think they'd have closed the tunnel up entirely, using spells." He peers at the walls suspiciously, as if wondering about the foresight of leaving said tunnel relatively intact (if filled with rubble).

Seldan, as he has been since arrival, is quiet and focused, methodically working his way through his share of the cave-in. When it is done, and they proceed, he slows, and hesitates, but there isn't room to sign, so there isn't room to speak, with his ears stuffed, so he shakes his head, and continues on, the vibration on the metal armor beginning to discomfit his skin.

Aryia pushes her way through the tunnel, her sense of balance being thrown off from the mounting pressure and vibration. A hand presses against the tunnel, a bead of sweat rolling down her face.

How much further? And why was there a path leading this way?

Unlike what certain rumors about the Temptress of Alexandria might say, Cor'lana Lupecyll does not enjoy a tight fit. Corsets are one thing. Caverns are another. And so she holds onto Telamon's hand for dear life. There's thoughts that get put into the telepathic bond that they share of things that are nicer than this. Spring daisies. Pothy rolling around in the snow. Pixies being silly as they look out from the fences and admire the menfolk who pass by. There are brighter days than this one that they share underground.

"I am unsure," Lana signs back, "but I'm just focused on getting through it for the moment." Spring daisies. Lily-of-the-Valley admiring a new Angorite acolyte. Pothy cracking open the shell of a brand-new-to-him snack. There are better days than this one. <Handspeech>

GAME: Seldan rolls reflex: (18)+26: 44

GAME: Aryia rolls reflex: (6)+23: 29

GAME: Verna rolls ref: (13)+13: 26

GAME: Telamon rolls reflex: (9)+16: 25

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Reflex: (15)+13: 28

GAME: Harkashan rolls Reflex: (15)+5: 20

A tight fit, indeed. When they collapsed this tunnel, it collapsed unevenly across it's way, with various points of rubble along either side narrowing it to highly uncomfortable passage points. Grinding through is possible, and more or less what you have to do. The vibration is more intense, now, enough to let you feel it in your teeth when you're pressed against the wall. Each one of you make it in turn, but when it finally comes to Harkashan, he's simply too large to make it easily and gets lodged in a particular point, not quite able to push through just yet.

GAME: Harkashan rolls Will: (12)+15: 27

Being rather used to tight fits, in some ways, Seldan slides through to the other side with relative ease and backpedals several steps, turning immediately towards the far side of wherever he now finds himself, and takes the moments while the others work their way through the narrow tunnel to look around him, watch for trouble, and defend any who may need help getting through.

Harkashan, the chunkily armored, tall Sith-makar, suddenly goes; "Erk." Tug. Pull. Grind. It's a good thing they're all wearing earplugs, because the sound of metal on stone is by no means pleasant. Even if it's magical metal. The Sith-makar squishes and tries to push through, but its tail is clearly too fat, and its horns are getting stuck on the rocks.

The way he has to squeeze and try to adjust looks painful and miserable to all who might view him from the outside. It's a good thing he was last, so he's not blocking anyone else. But...

He motions, hoping to signs; "... I'm stuck."

With the biggest lizard-puppy-eyes.

Telamon couldn't say what impels him to look back, but considering the bulk of the fellow in the rear, it probably was a smart decision. His eyes widen as he sees Harkashan stuck, and he immediately taps Verna's shoulder so she can pass the word. Then he's fumbling in his bag, before coming up with a small jar labeled 'The Lord Doctor Edizahn's Gear Remedy and Lubricant'. He signs to Harkashan, "It's gonna be okay, Hark. I'm -so- glad I bought this stuff a while back."

Aryia squeezes throughon after Seldan, grimacing as jagged rubble jabs into her sides. She grits her jaw, her having to duck under and around as the vibration jams into her skull. Focus. Maintain calm. The pools stilled.

She slides over next to Eluna's champion, turns her gaze back to the group and-

Moonlit eyes blink. She unloops some rope, and offers it down the line.

A possible fringe benefit of Verna's ancestry and lack of heavy manual labor is that she occupies little volume; any apparent bulk is approximately 90 air between herself and her robes. Thus she emerges in turn after Aryia. She takes up position to observe the remainder emerge. Save for Harkashan. Well, he does emerge in part?

She opens her mouth to comment, possibly to offer a suggestion, but her brother-in-bond is already suggesting (and is supplied for) a solution. "Did you expect you might find someone lodged in a crevice at some point, Telamon? In this instance, your foresight is quite practical."

GAME: Telamon used a Alchemical Grease.

Cor'lana blinks as she sees Telamon gets out the jar--and then she seems to relax rather quickly. "I thought it was a different jar," she signs, looking a little relieved that she was, in fact, wrong. "Help get him... ajar, Tel!" <Handspeech>

It's not her best bit of wordplay, really, but considering how tight these caves are, one can excuse the fact that she's not performing her best work. Although Verna's question makes Cor'lana inexplicably blush and cough.

After a few moments, Seldan glances back at the others, but seeing them engaged with a stuck sith-makar, he merely turns his back to the group and scans the area closely, taking up a sentry position to cover their backs while they work to free Harkashan.

Harkashan wiggles and waddles within the rocks, letting out frustrated little grunts. But he can't move anywhere. So soon, he's getting... greased up. "They oil better at the Tar-Ra-Ce." He signs, trying to keep the situation light, as grease flows over his scales and armor, and a rope gets tied around him.

There's some pulling, some grinding from the others. But eventually...

Gkshhhhhh-POP!

Harkashan falls to the ground into the larger open area and grunts, remaining on the ground a little longer. He has gotten out of the narrow area with everything but his pride in tact.

He finally gets up, and signs to Ravenstongue; "Do I want to know what jar you think he could have confused it for?" He inquires with his hands, before pausing and noting...

"I was able to resist it, but the beating thrum /does/ have an undertone of song that tried to get into my mind. We are getting close." <handspeech>

Telamon is heedless of the grease now coating Harkashan, as he helps the makari get up. At his words, he shudders. Looking at the other members of the team, he signs, "Be very careful touching the walls. This close, the... song, as it were, may be transmitting through them." He pauses, considering, then continues. "I wonder... if the vibration is meant to drown it out, tamp it down. Hard to get 'infected' by music if it's getting drowned out by the Goblintown All Star Artifice Marching Band."

Aryia aids as she can with some rope being tied in an armor point, and she braces herself to pulllll- pop!

She flops down to the ground as he gets free, her getting to her feet and rubbing her backside. She quirks a brow to Cor'lana before shaking her head and- staring at the sith-makar. She gulps. "... okay. We'll have to be very, very careful then... that is a good point Telamon."

Rub. Wince. <Handspeech>

"Don't ask jar-questions that you really don't want jar-answers to," Cor'lana simply signs, before signing more emphatically, "ANYWAY, good to know. Let's press on, if nothing else is keeping us." <Handspeech>

But then she looks a little thoughtful. "We'll just have to keep a different and more annoying song in our heads." She hums something horrible to herself then--a song that does not end.

A sentry position does not mean that Seldan is not from time to time glancing backwards to see how the others are getting on, and when it is clear that the others are pulling themselves together, he turns fully towards them, holds up a gauntleted hand for attention, and waits before signing to be sure that he is seen. His expression is entirely serious, and focused.

"Telamon is correct, I think," he signs. "The mighty hammer whose sundered remains we seek is a weapon of thunder, and its power may be what is suppressing the song. If that is so, it cannot leave, but even if that is so, all is not lost, for I was shown that its wielder may remain here, and may yet be living, trapped in this place. Its wielder is a celestial, and it may be that even if the weapon must remain, the celestial may be able to help." He pauses, his hands faltering. "There was - something familiar - about the vision," he goes on, haltingly. "I do not know what, but-" He turns to look at their path forward.

"One could envision a more pleasant melody, as well," Verna suggests as makari are freed and they can resume their trek. Seldan's comment causes her interest to pique and head to tilt. She was not aware of that detail before now, but she does not comment on it; they shall not know for certain what they shall encounter until such is encountered.

Before he turns away, to continue, Seldan turns back to the others, and signs again, seriously. "If I succumb to the song, do what you must. Kill me if you think it best." His hands drop, and he turns away.

The vibration gets more intense as you move ahead. It's the kind of thing to make your teeth chatter. You can feel it in your chest, and it's even more intense if you touch a wall.

As the vibration gets more intense, the tunnel begins to widen and ahead of you you see a kind of ... mist. A cloudy, grey wall of swirling storm, a miniature tempest within.

It looks like you could psas through, it isn't 'solid', but it's clearly a line.

There's writing on the ground, chiselled in, right in front of the way. It 'feels' like a storm is coming, and rain, though none falls on you.

Telamon shivers in spite of himself. Focusing on the telepathic bond, keeping the fear at bay with images from past and future. He swallows as the vibration increases in intensity, and as the tunnel opens up he can't restrain a little sigh of relief... one only slightly muted by the sight of the strange wall. The inscribed writing he initially averts his eyes from, but then looks to the others. "Hope this stuff isn't seen as well as heard or we're going to have a hell of a time in here."

Aryia watches the others sign, her resting her attention on Seldan's hands. Her eyes narrow in a frown at the implications, but she gives a curt nod. "We can see if they can help."

Her gaze lingers where the grave heads up was given. "I will do so if I must. Same to me." An unheard shudder leaves her.

The mute pugilist clutches at the side of her head, feeling like her teeth were going to rattle out of her jaw. Even with the tunnel widening to garner some relief, it didn't help at all seeing the misty storm cloud swirl about ahead.

Scratching her head, she holds out the same rope from before, tying it to herself before holding a length out to someone else. Best to not get separated. "I sure fucking hope not, Telamon." <Handspeech/Tongues>

There's a great, voluminous peal of thunder.

"Understood." Harkashansigns with a minor grimace on his expression. The Sith-makar then moves forward, while considering Ravenstongue's words on jars and jars. He's walking with his own rhythm, keeping something in his mind the entire time. Heeding the suggestion to avoid touching the walls any further. Until finally, they come to the misting storm.

"This all has felt too easy so far." Harkashan signs with a furrowing of his brow. Only to jolt a bit when there's that sudden thunderous noise. <handspeech>

Telamon's signing makes Cor'lana a little wide-eyed for the moment. The conception that a song could be seen in addition to be heard... It isn't impossible, especially given the sometimes literal staging that some Theatre District shows do with musical numbers, but could it have the same effect? Combined with Seldan's request, the sorceress looks rather sober indeed.

"Do you suppose the fog is magic--"

And then the thunderclap. Cor'lana shudders. But she murmurs a spell to detect magic, intent on doing her own investigating.

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Detect Magic. Caster Level: 19 DC: 18

"If it is visual, as well, we will have little, if any, means to address it," Verna notes the obvious helpfully. "We are all aware of the risks, and contingencies to address said risks." She keeps it simple and then shifts tack somewhat.

"Are there any further preparations we should make? she gestures before examining the line of carved text. "This may be are last opportunity to do so."

Cor'lana blinks as she inspects the fog--eyes wide with revelation that she has gleaned. Telamon learns it first, of course, through their bond, but she's quick to sign to everyone:

"It's from an artifact. It's incredibly powerful. Divine in nature, incredibly, incredibly ancient celestial magic. But..."

Here she looks at Aryia. She knows that what she's about to sign is about to make the pugilist very, very unhappy.

"There is also the signature of ancient fae magic on it."<Handspeech>

The fae has been let out of the bag.

Telamon flinches at the thunderclap, barely keeping himself from recoiling a step or two. But as Lana peers at the mist, he gives her a startled glance, before exhaling. He lets her words sink in, before responding with sign for the others' benefit.

"Well, if there's a fae angle... it's for the best the two of us are here." He squares his shoulders, lifting his chin, before signing again. "We're all going to make it out again. No foolish sacrifices. Let's do what we need to do."

The thunderclap nearly has Seldan jumping out of his skin, and he stops at the words, turning back towards the others very slowly while they read, and assess. When he has followed all the signing back and forth, he lowers his eyes and closes them for a moment in a look that is deeply, deeply resigned. "Very well," he signs once he has looked up and raised his hands again. "Is that all it says?"

Aryia drops to a fighting stance as the thunder booms, felt rather than heard. The pugilist clearly on edge from everything, her chest heaving as she pants. She shakes herself off, righting herself. "It's only easy because we're being careful," she notes to Harkashan before looking towards Cor'lana.

She blinks. Locks eyes with the fae-touched half-sil. Deadpan stare. She pulls her mouth rag down to say something. Plain as day to read on her lips-

'Are you /fucking/ serious? Of-fucking-course it is.'

She sighs, rubs her forehead, and reaffixes her mouth cloth while giving a sharp nod to Telamon.

GAME: Verna rolls linguistics: (5)+25: 30

Verna's sigh cannot be heard, nor is there any particular '

Verna's sigh cannot be heard, nor is there any particular 'tone' to her gestures, and yet... "Fey. That is unexpected. Now we can most certainly expect more of the unexpected.." She then straighten from the inscription along the edge of the ... fog... and waves a hand to get the attention of all. "It appears that there is some visual component, or lack thereof. The message equates to: Hear nothing, see nothing. I expect we shall be blinded within. I suggest that we clap hands or utilize rope and follow one wall or the other, if able."

Upon hearing Verna's description, Harkashan rips off a piece of cloth and starts preparing to tie it before its eyes. Being a Sith-makar, it's a lot harder to do than softskins - who tend to have a nice round dome. He has to make for a cross shape that slips both behind his horns and behind his neck, so it takes some doing to scrap enough cloth and make for a makeshift blindfold whilst the others make their rope preparations.

If possible, Seldan's sigh of resignation deepens still further at the mention of seeing nothing. _This is going to be unpleasant._ He says nothing of that, instead signing, "I see. The ropes as well, then, and blindfolds. I shall lead, and shall tug on the rope once to keep going, twice to stop, and thrice when I run out of wall. Agreed?" He searches in his pack, gesturing to Aryia for the rope, and once the toes of his boots are on the inscription, fishes an old shirt from his pack, and turns to wait for the rope.

This is going to be unpleasant. Well, it was unpleasant before but now it's just getting absolutely awful. Telamon pulls out a couple of silk scarves, one of which he passes to Lana before taking up the rope, tying it to his own belt before winding the blindfold round his face. Once it's all done, he takes Lana's hand, giving it a squeeze.

Aryia wordlessly groans at Verna's translation from something old to current. Resigned as well with some choice silent words, she passes both lengths to the backline and front, handing it off to Seldan after she gets a loop tied around her own belt. "One to go, two to stop, three when out of wall. Understood."

She pulls out a scrap piece of cloth from her pocket. Veshyan silk. Might as well use the good stuff. Tied off as friends and wall of mist go dark.

"Fuck me," she signs to no one before her hand rests on the rope line. <Handspeech/Tongues>

Cor'lana ties the rope on her belt first before she blinds herself with the scarf that Telamon hands her. She's always grateful that the man keeps around additional scarves, just in case there's a muddy puddle to cross in the Market or if there's an emergency of a lack of warmth that necessitates it. She takes Telamon's hand and squeezes it in her own turn, a reciprocation of his gesture, and she exhales a breath that she hadn't quite known she was holding inside.

"Agreed," Lana signs back to Seldan, and she hopes beyond hope that whatever fae menace is waiting for them... It has good relations with her grandfather.

Communication is going to be hard, if not impossible. Telepathy would make it easier, but also far more dangerous. Harkashan is frowning heavily as he ties the rope around himself, taking up the rear. He takes in what Aryia mentions in regards to instructions, but after that... well, he's in the rear. He's going to have to trust his friends. He feels nervous. As a Sith-makar, he's used to always being able to see, even in the dark. So blindfolds make him more uncomfortable than perhaps even a human might feel.

"Understood," Verna notes, perhaps too late for some to see the signs. She secures the rope to herself, first, and then forms an impromptu blindfold with handkerchief.

Blindfolded and with your ears stuffed, all that you have left to guide you is your sense of touch and each other's presence.

Pushing into the wall of fog heightens the pressure of that one *immensely*. The coolness of moisture on your skin, the smell of a thunder storm brewing, an ambient feeling of electric *energy* all around you. The pressure intensifies, like you're pushing into a serious amount of headwind, and in a manner of speaking you are. It's crushing down on you, more and more, and still you must push on.

... until it suddenly breaks and you're on the other side of the wall.

You can hear nothing and see nothing, but you can definitely *feel* something.

Hands, grasping you, like a partner in a dance and seeking to pull you into it. Insistent, but never rude. They just want you to join them. What could be so bad about that?

Before Seldan moves, he takes the rope, loops it around his own waist and secures it, then waits for everyone else to be ready before securing his own makeshift blindfold. He anchors that with the additional precaution of pulling the hoods of the twin cloaks he wears down over his eyes, then draws, not Reunion, but the dagger at his belt, and turns it in his hand to touch the pommel of the weapon to the wall, muffling the vibration of the rock by forcing it to translate through metal and leather.

When he runs out of wall and reaches the other side, he tugs on the rope thrice, then steps forward, without letting go of the rope. At least there is some sensory here, but he stops, hesitating, and ignores the hands tugging at him to ponder how they will find what they seek, so blinded and deafened. Dare they risk pulling the blindfolds?

Telamon can think of lots of reasons why he -wouldn't- want to dance. Chief among them: he's married, and this is an incredibly -lousy- place to dance. And so he clears his throat, even though he knows the others can't hear it. "Sorry, friends, we've got a prior engagement. Perhaps another time?" By which he means, 'hell no, not in a million years' but there's no need to be -rude- about it. Keeping his mind linked with Lana's, mutual support and protection.

Harkashan does not speak when he feels those hansd offering to join them in a dance. Instead, he recalls what one must do to not offend a Fae-like being. Perhaps this is magic. Perhaps this is truly Fae. Whatever it may be, he reaches into his pocket, takes out a series of colorful stones, and lays that into the 'hands' that reach out to him instead.

He doesn't know how the others are handling this. He doesn't know if any of the others are reaching out their hands. All he knows, is that his own 'presence' begins to grow in this moment, blanketing over them. Hoping to steel them with the power of his very will and soul - as purity begins to eminate from within him.

An engulfing flame that washes away impure things.

Cor'lana hopes for all the world that, even deafened and blinded, she can put on the proper airs of a lady who knows her way around a fae ballroom. Not that she's ever been in one before, nor does she ever want to be.

But, if she can possibly buy passage for the group...

"Pardon us, good and gentle people, but we are simply seeking passage through. We haven't the time to dance, regrettably so. Please permit us through and you will be back to your joyful dances in no time at all." <Sylvan> Cor'lana hopes to all the gods in the world that this works.

GAME: Telamon rolls talky: aliased to diplomacy+5: (10)+34+5: 49

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Diplomacy+fey: aliased to Diplomacy+3+4: (15)+33+3+4: 55

Aryia feels the rope move forth, and she moves in step with Seldan. The buffeting pressure and acrid ozone scent- it's a lot for the pugilist to take in with two senses gone. That gut danger sense that keeps her on her toes is screaming in her skull as loud as the thrumming drone. And then nothing, as Aryia almost stumbles from the lack of counterpressure.

Then /something/ touches her. It wasn't Telamon, or Verna. "I don't know who's touching me, but don't. I don't want to break fingers," she motions with a trembling hand to whoever is there. A tremble that stills with Harkashan's presence growing, and the leading paladin pressing forth. <Handspeech/Tongues>

The sudden pressure about herself is disconcerting to Verna, as well as somewhat disorienting. Fortunately the focused tension at her waist is discernible as a valid truth. When that is felt to pass, there is a moment of relief... until she becomes aware of the ... beckoning tugs. Invitations that she attempts to put from her mind despite the lack of other sensory stimuli at the moment.

You can feel those hands continue to grasp, seeking their partners, inevitably, but they do pull away eventually, as they're unable to convince you to join them, and besides, Telamon's effort and Cor'lana's too seems to have an impact on them.

For the time being.

Whether it's because they've under stood properly what was spoken or the manners are universal is harder to say. Unable to see, and only able to feel your way forward, the vibration here is *intense*, and growing more so. No doubt you're getting closer to the source of the thunder.

And then you see.

Not, of course, reality, but in your mind's eye. A vision, white all around you, a great void in its center obscuring something. Above it, looking down at you, a great, blazing set of eyes, six of them, rotating in an endless spiral, a central gold-white eye, radiating heavenly fire.

Suddenly, while the others talk, Seldan tugs twice on the rope, and stills. None can see or hear him, but with swift, almost feverish motions, and working entirely by feel and never letting either object disconnect from his hand, Seldan lets go of the rope, leaving it to dangle around his waist. He sheathes his dagger with shaking hands, then unbuckles Reunion's weapon belt. In one swift motion, his pulls off his haversack and, in one swift, shaking motion, shoves a sheathed Reunion _straight_ into the haversack in his other hand. Beneath the blindfolds in its layers, his eyes widen, and not until the haversack is closed and back on his back does he relax and consider the heavenly fire before him.

In truth, he'd never considered that possibility - but it gives him all the more respect for the being he sees in his mind's eye, and he finally speaks, not with his lips, but with his mind, taking the rope back up. "I have been here before - and not. Time is cracked here."