Chapter 2: Otherworld

[BigRedRod]

It was no longer cold.

Not that it was warm either, but the freezing chill of winter had vanished. Now there was no real sense of temperature, some non-existent average. An ambient that matched perfectly with the skin.

Opening eyes, the first thing to be seen is the endless pure white sky. It goes on forever without a blemish. Or with only a single blemish. A second and third did exist, but they were less easily noticed. In the sky there was a perfect red circle. It was huge, far bigger than the sun or the moon could ever be. A uniform primary red sitting upon a uniform white sky.

The earth was black, for those who had landed face down, all they saw was blackness at first. It was not uniform however, there were elements of white to break it up from being an endless expanse below an endless expanse. White edged black stones, and others that were black edged white. Or, more, the scattering of stones just seemed to look one way or the other without any regard for light or personal colouration, they were just outlines. Here was a place where certain fundamentals had been neglected. Little sharp tufts that might have been grass also poked out from the bare earth, monochromatic of course.

Besides the great red circle in the sky, this was a place without colour.

But the three men who had found themselves here, lying upon the black and white earth were not of here. And so they retained their own personal natures. Including a rather more objective colouration. Even this was strange however, there was no real illumination here and so there was no shadow. Their skin, their clothes, their weapons, their armour and their possessions were all lit by some ubiquitous neutral glow. And as a result, they rather stood out.

The three were on the edge of some vast hollow, it stretches off in both directions. Not a crater, for there is no ridge around the perimeter but some other geographical anomaly. The opposite side is visible, and upon it stands a long spire reaching up into the sky. Despite looking unnatural, it doesn’t appear to have been constructed as such, having more in common with a vastly overgrown stalagmite. The very tip seems to waver slightly, changing in size or possibly position. The distance and monochromatic nature of the land make it difficult to tell. Perhaps it is simply an optical illusion,

Aside from the enormous shallow,pit and spire there are several trees in the middle distance. Gnarled growths that harbour the second of the inherent breaks in monochromatism. The branches are shrouded in leaves. Leaves that have only the barest hint of colour. A slight pink or rouge but here it stands out on the bleak landscape. The trees are absolutely still, for in this place, there is no wind.

And beyond the trees is a city. The city is a few miles distant making it hard to exactly judge the character. What can be seen is a thin shaft of blue slicing the sky in two. It rises up from somewhere in the city and eventually fades to invisibility against the blinding white backdrop of the sky.

Grimjaw found himself in a place very similar, but entirely alone. From his position he could not see the spire across the pit, but the red circle bared down upon him also and the city with its line of blue was equally clear. The dwarf found himself at the base of small cliff, a sheer step in the landscape of no more than a dozen feet which was more than sufficient to cut off a solid half of his perspective. Of the trees, he saw a few growing near the edge of the pit, their near translucent leaves burning like a thousand suns in this colour-deprived place.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil slowly recovered and got up, frowning. Looking aroud warily, his expression soon showed as much wonder as wariness. "Where in the Gods names are we," he muttered as he looked around. Looking at Lade and Karthas, his gaze then searched in the way Grimjaw had been but eyes didn't find a trace of the dwarf.

The Aart seemed out of place as he took a hesitant step forward, towards the city. "What has happened to us... is that Edinway?" The large man's knuckles turned white as he held onto the spear closely as if it was the only thing left linking him to the real world. It didn't seem to appear to him that it, too, was of some otherwordly material...

[Gralhruk]

Silence.

His white eyes stare at the white sky, the giant red orb therein. Everything is a flat, dead color, from the black plain before him to the crimson disc above. It reminds him of the flat, alien eyes of his one time captors - yet, for once, his mind is a quiet place, no displaced memories come to haunt him. It seemed this dismal landscape stirred not a one of them.

Had the world ended? Was he dead?

He considers the questions in the abnormal quiet of his mind. He closes his eyes, feels the beat of his heart, the slow steady rhythm as his chest rises and falls with breath. No, not dead yet. He opens his eyes and they gaze on the distant city, looking very much like a miniature cutout fit to be a set piece on some mummer's stage. It seems, to him, as though he has walked into a dream.

"Bhargh ai gharuk," he rumbles in old dwarven, then he stamps one foot on the blackness of the plain. Was it earth beneath his feet? And where were the others?

"Ahoy!" he calls, rather loudly in this still place. Perhaps they were near.

[itches]

"Mother of Sin," Lade groaned clutching at his eyes. "That ... did not feel good. I'd give what remains of me legs for a good shot of spirits right now," he added, patting the empty flask at his hip out of habit.

The cry echoing across the unnatural landscape drew him from his misery, pulling himself to his feet as he recognised the dwarven accent.

"Ahoy there," he bellowed back with as much power as he could muster in his tired old lungs. "Where are ya lad? Are ya hurt?"

[Tashalar]

Voices... familiar ones... Kjetil tore his attention away from the strange place they had stranded in and focussed on that which he knew. And as long as Lade was talking about spirits, he wasn't in too bad shape after all.

Glancing shortly at Karthas and then back in the direction where Grimjaw's voice was coming from, Kjetil said "let's see if we can find him," and started moving in the direction.

{slow-mo starting in 3... 2... 1...}

[treehouse]

For the second time today, Damondred Karthas was afraid. The others were still shouting for the dwarf; dimly, he registered that it was dangerous for them to be making so much noise, but the larger part of his mind was still taking in their bleak, washed out surroundings.

"Oh, fantastic."

By his tone, it was anything but.

...this is what happens when you think with your heart, old fool. Good deeds to save your withered soul? Fah! You'll never find your way back...

In a louder voice (though it still didn't carry far), he rasped, "Are you all daft? Keep your silence! We're not in Aos anymore."

[Gralhruk]

He nods at the answering shout, relieved though he hadn't realized how anxious he'd been at the prospect of being stranded alone in an alien world. Their voices brought with them a sense of normalcy in a place that was entirely abnormal. He moved in their direction, and raised a hand as they came into view.

True to dwarven form, he was still well rooted in his original task, no matter the surroundings. A respite for Lade was what he'd sought, and a respite for Lade was what he'd find. He indicates the leaves carried surprisingly gently in a big fist.

"Luck be that I got what I need afore the . . . happening. I can see to his ailment now."

[Tashalar]

Kjetil slowed and hesitated at Karthas' words. Looking back at the man over his shoulder, he pondered his words. Not on Aos anymore...

Turning to face the way Grimjaw was calling from, he spotted the dwarf. "Wherever we are, first things first." When Grimjaw rejoined and announced that he'd take care of Lade's ailment, Kjetil nodded slowly, then turned to Karthas. Stepping up close to the man, he gazed down at him, brows furrowed. "Where were you saying we are?"

[treehouse]

Karthas shook with quiet laughter, tears streaming down his creased face. He carried on this way so long that Kjetil was sure he wouldn't answer.

Finally - "The world we live on...Aos." He tasted the word as if it was unfamiliar. "We are on the outside of it, looking in. This is where the rat-men came from."

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw looks up from where he is busy grinding herbs with a small mortar and pestle he had produced from somewhere. Some he lay carefully in squares of cloth he'd retrieved from his back, others he transferred to a bowl, and still others he lay atop a flat rock he'd collected. Lade he seated nearby with instructions to get a decent fire going.

"Rat-men?"

If being outside of Aos disturbed him, it didn't show. In fact, he was very much enjoying the respite from displaced memory and felt considerably better than he had in a while. It was almost enough to make him feel comfortable in the presence of this mad sorcerer. His blocky hands moved with improbable dexterity as he drizzled the cloth-herbs with water, wine and oil and then twisted them shut. These he bound to the most damaged areas of Lade's legs.

"Why would rat-men want to live here?"

He pours a decent quantity of oil into the bowl and stirs the contents into a syrupy consistency before handing it to his patient.

"Drink up, all at once."

He'd need to get the fire going hotter before he could add the final components to it, and then Lade would need to inhale the smoke but that could wait a few minutes. Meantime, he sat back and studied the flat sky - might be they'd die here. He felt strangely content.

[itches]

Lade had made many a fire in his life, it's a skill most civilised - and every uncivilized - man knew well enough to do without thought. The motions were familiar, almost rote in nature.

Except for today. His flint and steel produced only the faintest of sparks and the strange grass, shifting between absolute tones of black and white as he moved relative to it, refused to even smoulder for a good long while. Eventually, through grim determination, he manages, but the fire lightless flames burn coolly.

Looking at the hypnotic swirl of black and white, Lade frowned. Brushing his hand near the pseudo flames without feeling the slightest hint of heat, he looked up to his companions.

"Well this is a twist."

[treehouse]

Karthas shrugged at Grimjaw's earlier question.

"This is their home. The rats, I mean. Yes."

He grabbed a stick and poked Lade's heatless flame with it, not really expecting it to burn. After a moment, he withdrew the branch and raised it to eye level, inspecting for any scorching.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil was about to ask the question Grimjaw voiced and gazed at Karthas with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Waiting for him to explain further, he squatted down next to the dwarf and offered a hand every now and then.

Frowning deeply when the fire didn't produce the heat they needed, Kjetil watched it for a few minutes, then nodded. "It takes time, but it will heat up."

His frown once more deepened when Karthas announced this strange world to be the home of the rats. There must be a reason we were sent here...

His gaze suddenly finds Grimjaw and locks on him. "You..." he hesitates shortly. "You know about the rat-men, don't you?"

{Aid another on heal check: [roll0]}

[BigRedRod]

Kjetil's instincts were quite correct, while the northlander and the dwarf set about tending Lade's malady, Karthas noticed that gradually the heat from the fire was building. The monochromatic stack he'd shoved into the equally coloured, lightless,flames reacted the same way, sitting unscathed for almost a minute before the first signs of blackening started. Not that blackening was an especially useful term in a world with just the two shades, but there was some subtle difference, an analogue to charring. It would seem that this world is rather resistant to some manners of energetic change, the idea tugs at some memory hidden by the cobwebs in Karthas' mind.

For Lade, having the two men administer the strange remedy was rather unpleasant. Swallowing the foul concoction took all of his willpower and the stern gaze of Grimjaw, as for the fumes, when the fire finally reaches a reasonable temperature, they sting the eye, the nose and the throat. Liquids run from most of the old warrior's orifaces tricking down his face and refusing to dry in the neutral ambient. Perhaps the dwarves were made of hardier stuff, or perhaps this was some distinctly human reaction to a treatment suited only for dwarvern physiology. The stinging gets worse, feeling rather like somebody had stuffed his nasal cavity full of dancing nettles until eventually the treatment is declared a success.

Such was the torment of the treatment that Lade was rather shocked to find the aching pain of having been partially petrified has gone. Stretching experimentally, the sensation of crushing weight and generally sluggishness has receded into a barely noticeably pang. Of course, the warrior can still see large patches of his skin where the black fluid struck which are stubbornly remaining as living stone, although perhaps with just a shade more flex.

[ooc: Lade is no longer slowed for the rest of the day. Karthas determines that mechanically everything has resistance 2 to fire and cold as an extraordinary ability]

[Tashalar]

Kjetil's brows furrowed as he watched Lade's suffering under their care. "Sometimes only pain brings relief," the large Aart muttered under his breath. But his heart wasn't in these words and surprise showed clearly in his expression when Lade's condition improved considerably all of a sudden. "Feelin' better," he inquired as he got up again.

With the remedy taken care of - Kjetil nodded at Grimjaw appreciatively - their current situation once more became the sole focus of the Aart's thoughts. Believe... they have sent you here for a reason! Clenching his teeth, the Aart studied the land around them. Finally he spoke. "If this truly is the home of the rat-men, then we were sent here for a reason," he started out slowly. "Maybe it is from here that we can finally seal the door between our worlds and stop them from ravaging ours." After a pause he repeats "we have been sent here for a reason, but it is up to us to live up to that which is expected of us." His deep, sonorous voice cracked ever so slightly in the end. Not from a lack of faith, surely.

[treehouse]

Karthas gave Kjetil a startled look.

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. We're here because the anchor on the other side was jostled. And we're probably going to die here."

He glanced at the tower on the far side of the lake.

"We should try to get back there. No, shhh. We can't kill them, they're all we've got. We're all outsiders, here."

That brought a nervous titter to his lips.

[Gralhruk]

The dwarf cocks his massive head at Karthas, vaguely irritated by his raving. The man had some power, to be sure, but precious little sense from what he could see. He grunts in a non-committal fashion and turns to the Aart. He'd more or less pieced together the rift - what it meant to Aos, at least, if not exactly what it was - and that the ritual was to have contained it somehow. Rat-men, on the other hand, he was completely ignorant of though Kjetil's words make the story clear enough. For Karthas' benefit he elects to state the obvious.

"Rat-men, is it? And this is their world? We're like to be outnumbered."

[Tashalar]

Kjetil frowned at Karthas' retort. "Guesswork," he muttered and his frown deepened as the man continued.

Relieved, the Aart turned to Grimjaw as the dwarf spoke up. "That sums it up pretty nicely," Kjetil remarked, his gaze on the tower in the distance. With a sideways glance to Karthas, he added "let's get moving for our steps will be guided." After a pause: "We've been set upon this path, a challenge we will have to overcome." The Aart hadn't shown much religious fervor in the days the others had known him, but his eyes now gleamed strangely when he spoke the word 'challenge'.

[itches]

Lade ran his fingers down his stony feet, feeling the rough texture brush across his finger tips. Grimjaw's inhuman medicines had worked, for what it was work. While the pain was gone and he felt able to move his feet in something akin to his normal agility, there wasn't much else he could feel. While not quite numb, the rocky appendages seemed fairly insensitive to touch.

"Our best bet for answers are over there," Lade interrupted, pulling himself to his feet gesturing to the city. "Let's move in and see what we can find, we can run off later if things go bad, and this may be our only shot to have a look. I'll scout ahead, ya lads follow behind."

Moving across the monochrome landscape, the aging mercenary gave some thought to the problem of hiding a splash of colour behind a black and white visage. He knew some animals relied more of senses of smell then sight. If the inhabitance of this strange realm didn’t perceive colour as he and his kin did, then they might have a way to conceal their presence.

It might be the only way.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw grunts an affirmative, having already decided the city was like to be the best way out of here. With a look at Kjetil that might mean anything, he shrugs his massive shoulders and starts after Lade, keeping an eye out for any tracks in this blasted landscape while still managing to scan the horizon regularly for anything out of the ordinary.

[BigRedRod]

Out of the ordinary was a hard thing to quantify in this strange world. If the ordinary was this colourless expanse, then it was the party themselves who really defined as out of the ordinary. The few other patches of colour pale in comparison to the vibrant array of shades present in the flesh, clothing, armour and arms of each of the four.

Leaving the dry lake-crater behind them, they set out for the city. The city marked by the blue streak lancing upward into the white sky. Above, the red circle continues to loom, entirely unmoving. Or moving so slowly as to be imperceptible. The going is easier here than in the winter world the party hail from. With no real sense of hot or cold now that the fire has been extinguished and left behind, there is no snow, slush or ice. However, it only takes until the first pangs of thirst arrive and are quenched by waterskins, that the lack of moisture becomes obvious. The lake bed was dry and there are no clouds in the sky to bring rain. Perhaps this is a world where water is alien?

More of the trees lie ahead, a crude pair of ragged lines tracing a long depression in the earth. Motion causes the party to immediately halt and hunker down. The branches of one of the gnarled trees, laden with their bounty of pink petal-leaves, is swaying. In a land without wind, this is no casual accident. As the four watch, a ratman, a Kyrdol, bounds into view. Running its clawed hands along the branch, it pulls the petals free and forces clutches of them into its maw. The beast looks rather like one of the larger specimens encountered in Edinway. It stands another head or so taller than a man and seems to be made exclusively from muscle. It wears no clothing, in fact, it is entirely naked, without any tool or accessory. Perhaps most interesting, aside from the savagery of its appearance, is that it holds its own colour in this monochromatic land. A dull brown so dark as to be almost black, but far removed from its shifting dual-tone surround.

A second of the rat-men appears and devours the thin, translucent pinkish leaves from the monochromatic wood of the branches along with its companion. This one is more brown-furred than black, but the colour looks wan and ill-defined in comparison to the party and intense and vibrant compared to the two-tone grassy hill upon which it stands.

Neither of the hulking brutes has spotted the party, both are very distracted in gorging themselves.

Map
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d49/PASG/0-Pre.png

[ooc: White/Grey/Dark Grey reflect elevation at 0ft/5ft/10ft. Party are somewhere off the bottom of the map]

[treehouse]

Karthas spoke in a fierce whisper, remarkably lucid for once.

"If they haven't seen us, we shouldn't engage them. There are millions of these lice-infested bastards here. Two less won't make much of a difference to them, but it might weaken us when we get to a fight we can't avoid."

[Gralhruk]

The words echo in the recesses of his mind, stirring memories he'd hoped were gone for good. Faintly, the images tumble past - a handful of desperate men, bright weapons clutched in iron grips, the rim of the hill down which they look, the vastness of the horde gathered there - dim shadows that quickly recede into the depths from which they came. His craggy brow furrows with his frown, doubtless looking like disapproval to Karthas.

And true, he didn't like leaving enemies behind but when the whole world was your enemy . . . well, dwarves were a practical folk. Even when it galled some.

"Best be quiet, then. If we stick to the far side of the western ridge and keep our heads down might be we'll get by."

[itches]

"Let's hold a bit," Lade breathed at the others, squinting down at the pair of rats. "These two aren't acting nothing like the ones I saw before."

Glancing around, Lade squirmed his way to a point where he could observe the pair without being spotted.

[BigRedRod]

The two bestial rats seem far more concerned with feasting upon the rose-tinted leaves, or possibly fruit, of the twisted monochromatic trees making it all too easy for Lade to leave the group a little way up one side of the depression. Peering through the branches of a handy screen of vegetation, the party settle down to watch the pair of Kyrdol gorge themselves.

It does not take long for the two to have stripped the tree entirely of its bounty, at which point they both seem a little confused as to what to do next. One looks over at something obscured from view, a brief grunt is carried on the wind before his companion swipes at him, landing him a hefty slap upon the nose. For a moment, tensions boil but after a few more deep squeals and grunts, they simply move on to eating from another tree.

Whether the two are speaking a language is hard to judge given the distance involved.

[itches]

Lade repressed a sigh. He would rather stay and observe the rats further, but he knew their time wasn't unlimited and they needed to move on. Nodding over to the western ridge Grimjaw had pointed out, he led the way past the pair of rats, moving with all the stealth his decades of experience could muster.

[treehouse]

Karthas followed Lade as quietly as he could, which wasn't very quiet at all. As they walked, he whispered, half to himself and half to anyone who would listen.

"They seem practically bestial. Does this place erode higher brain functions, or are the Kyrdol emerging from a previous evolutionary stage?"

[itches]

Hearing Karthas speak, Lade slowed his pace until he was striding alongside the man.

"I don't think it's this place that makes them dumb," Lade commented, keeping his voice low so not to carry. "When I spoke to some of the rats, they said that their home was bad and when they were there they didn't have a ... a soul I guess. They called it heart/feeling. That they gained one when they came to our world. That's why they were invading our city."

[treehouse]

Karthas blinked uncertainly.

Tell them or don't tell them?

...don't tell them, you half-wit! They'll kill you!...

"Our world, it...it gives them souls?"

The voice inside chattered nonsensically while he tried to sort this information with everything else he knew, or at least suspected.

"The Kyrdol that you spoke to. Did they remember anything from before their transformation? Did they remember anything that they shouldn't have?"

[Tashalar]

Kjetil's brows furrowed deeply as he followed the hushed conversation. "They are taking what... what is not rightfully theirs. They are upsetting the order. What they need... their own gods should provide them with. They should pray to them, not invade our lands." The Aart mutters these words under his breath as he trods along, more or less silently.

[itches]

"I didn't speak to all of them," Lade explained, his brows furrowed in concentration. "Hells this is hard to explain, I only barely got it when it was explained to me. There are different, uh, 'tribes' of rats. Them big ones we just saw were Orraka, never spoke to 'em. There were some white rats - Nerrun, Nurren or something - that some friends spoke to, we were told they wanted to open up the gate to let more rats in. The ones we talked with called 'emselves 'Attrox'. Seems they wanted to stop the others from using the gate because ... well you saw what happened.

"That seemed to change once the storm broke out, then they all started working together. Guess there's nothing like the end of the brand new world you invaded to bring people together. But if there is any help to be had in this place, it'll be them.

"And no, they didn't say nothing much about the change apart from the 'heartened' stuff. There were some language and time issues."

[Gralhruk]

"Well, invade our world they have," the dwarf says to Kjetil, "To the woe of us all, it seems."

And specially woeful for a singular dwarf and the three humans he traveled with. Somewhere, a world away, was the city he'd been journeying to, the woman he'd hoped to find. A sudden, sharp pain lances through his skull and then disappears as rapidly as it came. With that wrenching jolt, the world before him split in two - the right half black and white and red, the left filled with all the colors the surface world had to offer. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head slowly. When he opens his milky eyes the two worlds slowly slide together, color and depth fading until he is once again surrounded by only black and white.

"Let's find these Attox then. Though it sounds to me like they might be different here."

[treehouse]

"I agree with the dwarf."

In his half-madness, Karthas didn't understand that failing to use Grimjaw's name when he knew it might be considered insulting. Or perhaps he had simply forgotten his name already. The crevices in his damaged mind grew wider with every sunset, allowing more and more to slip through.

[itches]

"Norebo knows I'd be suprised if they weren't different," Lade said glancing over the unnatural black and white landscape to the red orb hanging in the sky. "Everything else here is. But when all you have left is the hope of fools and drunkards ..."

[Tashalar]

"The big rats seem more primitive here. Maybe those Attox are as well." Kjetil paused, then smiled slightly and shrugged. "Or maybe they are not, possibly they'll be even more sophisticated. Who knows?"

Smacking his lips, the Aart gazed ahead, his expression troubled. "We should rest, but we cannot. We should evade any confrontation until we've found water and preferably a safe place to rest as well." Snorting all of a sudden he added "well, what do we know. Might as well be we'll be stuck here if we stay too long." Glancing to Karthas shortly, he asked "might that be the case?"

The Aart seemed ill at ease not only with the strange environment but also with the fact that there's little he could add to the discussion. Or do. "I agree, we should find them," he added as an afterthought.

[treehouse]

Karthas shrugged absently.

"We might. We might not. I seem to have exhausted my knowledge of this place already."

Unless you have any more salient points you'd like to contribute?

He wasn't sure if the other voice was a manifestation of schizophrenia or an actual possessing spirit. Either option was as likely considering his past, and either might be holding back some vital tidbit. He waited for an answer.

[Knowledge check, BRR?]

[treehouse]

Experimentally, Karthas reached for nearest alien-tree's lower branches and plucked a few of the bright pink leaves from it. He held them in his hands for a moment and then squeezed.

[BigRedRod]

The translucent pink leaves look barely solid sitting in Karthas' hands, their grip on the tree-branches is equally tenuous, the barest touch from the warlock and they come loose. For the party, this world had barely been explored, but the tree itself shared the monochromatic, and apparently dry, nature of everything else. Everything but the petal-leaves. The rats ate them, although the circumstances governing such actions were hard to judge given the distances involved.

Collecting them all into one palm, Karthas looked down and closed his hand into a fist. The leaves compressed noiselessly but in a slightly wet manner. Karthas could feel the sap, or juice, some fluid running out of the crushed husks. Opening his hand again, the others see nothing. No leaves, no liquid, no remnant of the roseate mass.

[Tashalar]

Wondering for a moment what Karthas was doing, Kjetil soon nodded as he understood the man's intent. The Aart frowned when Karthas' experiment failed. "We'll need water soon. While the Gods might have provided us with a task, we need to see to our needs ourselves." Gazing ahead in the direction of the city, Kjetil remembered the days of his trials back in his homelands, the search for food, the fight for it and the hunt...

"Let us try and find the sources of water in this strange land on our way to the city," he suggested, ready to walk forward.

[treehouse]

Karthas stared at his empty hand with a rather bemused look on his face, but after a moment he became grim.

"I am not sure, but the trees may have some sort of...sentience. We should not disturb them."

[itches]

"Sentience?" Lade asked, glacing warily at the trees. "Ya mean like, they're smart? I'm not sure I needed to know that.

"Hold on Kjetil, I've been trying to keep an eye out for water as we walked, but this place ... it's too wrong, too different from anything I know. We're gonna need to stop and really search if we're going to have a fools chance of finding any. And really, right here seems as good a place as any. We split up, poke around and meet back here in half'n'hour? Just don't nobody try to get lost."

[BigRedRod]

None offered any real objection to Lade's plan, so without wasting more words, the four began their survey. Despite splitting up, none ventured out of sight of the others for too long. A solitary encounter with a pack of rats was not a prospect to be dismissed in this alien world.

Half an hour later, the group reconvened. None had fallen victim to ambush by entities unforeseen, but nor had anybody found a drop of water. The earth beneath their boots was perhaps an inch or so deep, before becoming increasingly stony until eventually it seemed to be little more than a single uniform bedrock a foot or so down. Where the trees stood, this bedrock was broken by their thick two-tone roots, the hard, woody plantmatter vanished down into the below.

Surveying the nearby topography reveals various formations that could have been formed by the action of water at some time in the past, but there is no sign of bare surface water. Testing this hypothesis, Lade spat upon the ground and watched the monochromatic earth shift its arrangements of immiscible tone for a brief moment. Stooping down to run his fingers across what passed for soil here, he felt no moisture on the sandy ground.

Thoughts turn back to the strange twisted mirroring that this otherworld seemed to be displaying, the crater they had arrived by was in roughly the same spatial location as the lake beside which the thirteenth anchor had been erected. And yet it was bare.

The conclusion seems inevitable: This is a world without water in any sense that the four are familiar. Eyes turn toward the leaves, despite Karthas' warning, they seem the most likely source of precious moisture.

Back on the more familiar side of the world, Lade had seen the rats drinking from puddles and eating whatever they could fit into their mouths. While they were not fussy, they clearly had a similar requirement for sustenance that all mortal beings did. Perhaps crossing over, becoming hearted, changed them in some manner, but here they dined upon the petal-leaves which grew heavily upon the ubiquitous trees.

[itches]

Lade scratched at his stone stubble as his companions regrouped, trying in vain to reach an itch buried beneath the impenetrable rocky layer.

"This place is drier than ... than something really dry. Which brings us back to them leaves. Karthas, what did ya mean ya thought the trees were smart?"

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw raked his pearly teeth over his white beard, frustrated that his search yielded nothing except a certainty that this place was a desert. That knowledge alone made him thirsty and he made the conscious decision to keep his hands away from his waterskin.

"Makes no matter - if it's kill trees or die of thirst, then we ain't got much choice."

[Tashalar]

Kjetil eyed the trees warily. But Grimjaw was right. If it was their lives or that of these... trees... well, he had fought for food and water before. "The rats gorged themselves on the leaves. While I don't know if we... if our bodies have the means of extracting the moisture like they do, at least the trees didn't resist." Brows furrowing, the Aart amended "while where I come from, plants have subtle ways of inhibiting their destruction. Poisonous ones for example."

Hesitating only momentarily, the Aart then quickly moved beside the next tree in a few quick strides. Hands on one of the leaves, he turned back to his companions. "Unless one of you has a reason why we shouldn't test it here and now, I will," he proclaimed. His voice had a determined ring to it and from his posture he was just about to carry out his plan.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw clears his throat with a gravelly rumble, getting the larger man's attention. His blocky form shoulders forward, face set with the stubbornness born of a thousand generations.

"We dwarves have strong stomachs. Best if I try it first."

[Tashalar]

Grimjaw's offer came the moment Kjetil was opening his mouth. The big Aart hesitated, his gaze fixed firmly on the dwarf. He had obviously intended to take the risk of poising and made his peace with it. After a few long moments he slowly drops the hand holding the leaf to his side. "Is that so?" Furrowing his thick brows for a while longer, the Aart finally relinquishes the leaf to Grimjaw. "Best try one only at first."

[BigRedRod]

All eyes were upon the dwarf as he placed a single pink leaf into his mouth. Breath has held as Grimjaw closed his lips. His jaw worked only briefly, the translucent morsel seemed to dissolve almost immediately. The taste caused a brief grimace, the insubstantial nature of the small thing serving as blessing regarding the acrid flavour. A taste unlike any other Grimjaw had experienced in his years, and by far the least pleasant. Despite this, he did not drop to the ground or vomit. If the leaves were poisonous then it was either a subtle poison or one with some onset time.

Impressively, the tiny petal-leaf left the mouth of the dwarf wetted. The leaves contain a magnitude more liquid than their size should allow. Assuming that Grimjaw had not just taken a slowly acting toxin into his body, these leaves were indeed this world's answer to liquid water.

[Gralhruk]

Slowly, the dwarf sinks into a kneeling position, his large hands rising up to squeeze his temples. Liquid, but at what cost? His eyes are closed, his voice low and sonorous as only a dwarf can make it.

"I have traveled far and I have seen many things. I have eaten meat and fruit and vegetables, fungus and mold. I have drunk of water and wine and ale, honey, milk and mead. I have taken of nature's bounty - aye, and I've given back. There are things we are meant to do and things we are not. They are not poison and they will sustain us, these leaves. But to take as I have taken is wrong - my bones cry out with revulsion at my act, and if I must choose between this and death then it may be I will not live."

[Tashalar]

Kjetil watched Grimjaw kneel with alarm. The dwarf's words didn't make it any better. Whatever it is, the Aart thought as he gazed at the leafs, we'll only take it if all fails. His gaze returned to the dwarf.

A moment or two passes before Kjetil stepped up to the dwarf and offered his hand to pull him up. "Let us get going again," he said in a low voice. "If we manage to do what we've been sent here for and leave before thirst threatens us, there will be no need to make a decision." Kjetil didn't feel like sharing Grimjaw's experience and while the dwarf seemed well enough physically, a sense of wrongness now clung to the act of taking of the trees.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw accepts the Aart's hand and rises, looking only at the trees all the while. How the rats had gorged as they had . . .

"Truly, they have no souls," he rumbles, almost to himself. He feels the urge to leave some token here to indicate his remorse, though nothing he owned seemed proper. He moves forward and presses his palm to the trunk of the tree and bows his head. Unbidden, the ghost of Emmon's brother comes to his mind and he slowly unslings his pack and digs out a small wooden object. He stares at the Ankh of Pelor that a man had created when he was but a boy, pulled into this world by chance. It seemed fitting to him somehow and he kneels and places it at the base of the tree, breathing a silent prayer to the dwarf lord.

Rising, he backs away, then turns to the others and nods.

"Let us go."

[BigRedRod]

The water situation possibly looking worse than before, the party gather their resolve and set off for the distant city. The red disc in the sky remains stationary, unlike the winter sun which had shone down upon Edinway, making it hard to judge time but perhaps less than ten minutes had passed when a voice breaks the uneven sound of five men walking.

A short distance away, an ivory figure stalks down a small foothill towards the party, his words carry well but are in a language unknown. The man, if a man he is, looks rather like an animated statue carved from the finest white marble. Slightly taller than average for a human, and a little less wide, although lacking the refined features of the fey, he wears only a stiff looking robe. The garment is mustard yellow and of rather peculiar design, being open from his shoulders down to his navel and apparently quite heavily starched from its reluctance to flow.

Of key interest in the white figure though, besides his skin of true white and not the shifting monochromatism of this world, is the yellow sigil which hovers above his bald head. It looks something like a twisted and more angular figure eight constrained within a circle.

A short way behind the strange figure are a pair of the rathulks, similar to those seen gorging themselves on the leaves earlier. The trio pause fifty yards or so from the party, while behind them a ragged line of rats appears against the endless white sky upon the top of the foothill. The rats are all shapes and sizes, not just the larger subspecies and all equally naked. They respectfully hold their position further out.

Raising a hand, the figure speaks again.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw watches critically as the rats and their stony leader approach, but his face betrays his surprise when the figure speaks. He looks up to the line of rats, then back at the bizarre humanoid before grunting quietly to his companions.

"He wants to talk. Bide a moment."

Stepping forward, he holds an open hand up in what he hopes is a non-threatening gesture before responding in the same guttural tongue.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil's grip tightened on the hilt of his guisarme as the army of rats showed themselves. "Whatever he wants, they're not trying to kill us" he mutters and then adds "yet."

Looking at Grimjaw in surprise when the dwarf reveals that it is his language - or at least a language he is fluent in - Kjetil keeps the peace and stands straight and proud, guisarme lowered. If the Gods willed it, they'd survive this day. Silently, the Aart began to pray.

[BigRedRod]

The figure appears to disagree with whatever it is that Grimjaw has said, but he smiles as he shakes his head. After speaking a few more words, he gestures toward the golden sigil floating in the air above his head.

[Gralhruk]

Looking troubled, Grimjaw points toward the city and responds in his gravelly bass. Despite the furrowing of his brow, he does not appear worried.

[BigRedRod]

Whatever Grimjaw said last appeared to catch the attention of the ivory figure, he gestures toward the ray of blue light ascending toward the heavens which originates in the distant city as he speaks the guttural language of the rats.

[Gralhruk]

The dwarf continues to appears perplexed but unapprehensive. Thick fingers scratch idly at his chin as he shakes his great head slowly. His other hand is relaxed, thumb hooked behind his belt as he responds in kind.

[BigRedRod]

There is an extended pause where the figure does not speak, finally he offers Grimjaw a string of the guttural, throaty gibberish before indicating Kjetil and the others.

[Gralhruk]

Shaking his head yet again, Grimjaw answers with a vague gesture, then turns to his companions.

"Looks like they don't mean to fight or interfere. Might be I can learn something so let's stay calm and friendly."

Without waiting for a response, he turns back to the golden haloed figure and resumes his unintelligable conversation.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil nods his assent and remains at ease. At least outwardly. While keeping an eye and an ear on the conversation between Grimjaw and the figure, he scans their surroundings repeatedly for signs of treachery.

[BigRedRod]

The rats make no hostile motions, and Kjetil fails to notice any evidence of an ambush in the making. The pale man speaks once more, his words slightly slower than before as if attempting to ensure that Grimjaw will understand.

[BigRedRod]

As the sigil-bearer steps down the slope, he speaks in the tongue of the goblins,
"I desire a palaver. Be not afraid."

His words are strange, as his pronunciation. This is not a dialect with which Grimjaw is familiar. When he reaches the limit of his position, a respectful distance away, he adds,
"You have been regarded and judged not hostile. For this moment. It is evident that each of you is hearted, but none of you bear the mark of a king. This troubles us, for it is not the way. I suggest that it is related to the great draw in Edinway?"

Grimjaw holds his hand up, trying to look like he means peace, wondering if it's possible for a dwarf to look non-threatening. Although he might well be alien enough that this creature wouldn't know the difference.

"Edinway, aye. We're from there, not sure how we ended up here. But you got it right; we don't mean any harm, just want to get back if we can. What does it mean, the mark of the King?"

A smirk plays across the Sigil-bearer's face and he shakes his head,
"The land of Bargrivyek is not so different. You do not come from Edinway and not comprehend the Fruit, or Kings and their marks. Yes, I regarded you as you tasted. How you experienced the remorse that only the hearted can. Still, I shall respond to your inquiry. I do not believe you mean deception. The Kings are those who grant us hearts and names-"

He gestures to the golden circle above his head as he speaks,
"I am chosen by Grankhul and so I transport his mark."

Grimjaw frowns, his brow a craggy, mountainous range. His white eyes are troubled as he sorts through the strange dialect.

"That city yonder," he gestures to where they were headed, "you are saying it is Edinway? Aos, we are from Aos. This isn't our world, I reckon, but I have my honor; I told no lie. There is an Edinway on Aos and from there we hail."

"Aos?"
The ivory figure appears genuinely surprised.
"A path is found between the two Edinways, so? I am interested, but to regard might manifest an issue. The Sigil-bearer of Bargrivyek and I share an agreement. I will allow that I do not comprehend the great draw of Edinway, we all feel it. We all regard it."
He gestures over at the thin ray of blue rising into the white sky.

"So this Aos lets hearted exist without the mark of a King? Or is the mark not similar?"

Grimjaw's thick fingers scratch at his chin through the snowy beard, wishing there was someone else more equipped to deal with the negotiation. He shakes his head, to the foreigner and to himself both. Truth be told, even if one of his companions knew the language he didn't trust them to do any better than himself.

"Seems we have a lot to talk about. But I'm a dwarf, and we speak plainly. We want to get back, is what we want. I'll help you understand as best I can, but I'm wondering what your plans are as concerns us. If you don't mind."

There is a long pause, but eventually he speaks up once again in the guttural language,
"Your words are difficult. I regard that as mine are for you also. It is bizarre. Fear is not needed. I was just curious, you are... interesting. Hearted but Sigil-bearers. Conflict is not desired by me or mine."

Gesturing toward Grimjaw's allies, the ivory figure presents his own question,
"Your colleagues? They do not say? It is not a possibility for them?"

"No, no conflict is wanted from me or mine either," Grimjaw answers the most important question first with a shake of his great head. Fighting here would serve no purpose, especially if they weren't going to be detained by these strange beings. "They don't speak your language is all. I'm going to tell them it's all okay."

He turns his head toward them and speaks a couple of short sentences before turning back.

"There. Now, back to your words - 'hearted', you say we are and I'll grant you that, if I understand what you mean. But no, there is no king that does it nor no sigil either, not on Aos. You say there is a draw in Edinway - maybe it means we could get back to Aos. If we went there, would we be stopped or detained?"

Grimjaw's explanation obviously confuses the pale man,
"My language? I do not comprehend. Their words are not our words? They are not given by the Kings? You unmarked hearted... No, your ground is required to be so different. I desire to comprehend more, but there are questions. I do not comprehend where I must depart for this."

The Sigil-bearer sighs, evidently he is growing slightly frustrated at not entirely understanding the dwarf.
"Detained? It is possible. Edinway is the domain of Bargrivyek, how he and his Sigil-bearer will respond is known only to them."

For a moment he hesitates, as if attempting to decide if he should attempt to divulge some detail,
"The great draw it may have changed things. I will not guarantee security."

Taking this in, the dwarf replied,
"No, their words are not your words. On Aos, no King grants words - they are learned as you grow, from those that already know them. Different places have different words - to talk, you need to have learned the same. Just luck that I know some of your words. I've questions too, but I'm glad to stay here and answer each others questions."

He pauses, sensing the creature's frustration and giving his own a minute to subside. It wasn't work he was cut out for, this. If - as the man seemed to indicate - there were only one sigil bearer for each king, then the sigil bearer must be someone of great import. He resists the urge to scratch his head and tries instead to remain as regal as possible.

"I don't quite understand what do you mean, 'depart for'?"

The Sigil-bearer ponders how to explain his choice of words for a moment,
"As to begin something. To depart for it. If that says more to you? So, I will agree. Say to the others, allow us to share our differences."
His piece said, the ivory man waits for Grimjaw to relay his message so that the two groups might question one another.

[ooc: Put together a question list in the OOC and then I'll post again with a big list of replies in plain english after Grimjaw makes some checks diplomacy+int]

[BigRedRod]

The conversation with the stranger is long, although without the convenience of the sun or the moon it is virtually impossible to tell just how long. The ivory figure asks his own questions in turn, his own curiosity satiated by seemingly mundane facts such as the ubiquity of colour back on Aos.

It becomes apparent that the large red disc hanging in the sky is the very red moon which Aos is lacking. Although notions of time are virtually impossible to explain, every so often, and not for quite a while, the entire sky burns red. Each Red Dawn claims all of the Sigil-bearers and serves to erase the power structure of this world. They look forward to this though, as an Ascension, where they journey to a closer existence with their King.

A few minutes of trying to explain the nature of ghosts amount to little more than wasted breath, such beings have no analogue here.

On the topic of water, the Sigil-bearer freely admits that as he is hearted he cannot bear to eat the petal-like fruit of the trees but nor does he need to. His King has removed such needs from him. As the party lack a King, he does not know what to suggest.

Becoming hearted is a process which is so innate to this world that it is impossible to explain in any real terms. The Sigil-bearers are created by their kings, possibly from the ratmen, or possibly of the vacuum. The concept of a heart having to come from somewhere confuses the white figure, they are simply for the Kings to give.

The arrival of the party upon this world seems to have been accompanied by sufficient fanfare that all within a few hundred miles will know something very strange has happened. Bursts of multi-hued light sprung outward from the earth without warning and the nearby lands shook.

Planar travel is not something that the figure has encountered before. His, seemingly very limited, interactions with other Sigil-bearers would have him believe that the party are not the first to have achieved this feat although he lacks any especially useful details. One such Kingless hearted was known as Prospero and he battled several Sigil-bearers for his own lands, but this was prior to the last Red Dawn, so there are no first hand details. There are rumour of a small group of such planar-travellers in some very distant land. Sigil-bearers do vanish outside of Red Dawns, it seems that most spend their time raising armies of Krydol to do battle with one another for land, but there have been no such events that seem likely to have been planar crossings.

Edinway, the domain of Grankhul's Sigil-bearer and the twisted city in the distance, shares a border with this one's claimed lands. By all accounts they mark their boundaries to make accidental crossings impossible.

During the conversation the party build up a general feel for the various terms used by the Sigil-bearer, although without any precise definitions. A King is some entity who may be a God or other non-interacting figure of great power who chooses a single Sigil-bearer to be his representative and embodiment of his will. As a result, the various dominions of this world are all rather different, shaped by their King. He only mentions two Kings by name, his own, Grankhul, and the one of Edinway, Bargrivjek.

The ivory man's lands do not extend into Edinway, and so he has not seen where the blue ray touches grounds. By all accounts the ray is quite recent having appeared since the last "falling" - a period of time of much shorter duration than the time between dawnings of the Red Moon but the exact period is impossible to translate due to the lack of shared reference.

Their palaver concluded, Grankhul's Sigil-bearer bids his farewell, thanking the party for the knowledge they have shared and offering his wishes that they find their way back to Aos somehow. Grimjaw takes a small swig from the diminishing water flash, his mouth dry from the lengthy discussions. Watching the Golden glyph vanish over a foothill, and the assembled ratmen swarming away, the party resume their course for the city.

...

Edinway has only filled fractionally more of the horizon when the sky abruptly changes. White becomes black. Not the pure monotone of before, but a black speckled with white dots. Moving white dots. A thousand shooting stars. The Red Moon continues to glower down motionless upon the party as the white bodies hurtle downwards.

The ground shakes as the first start to land, a deep resonance of an entire world struck by he same event. Up above, a shallow depression filled with a vast forest of pink-leafed trees receives one of the meteorites. A plume of dust twinkling between absolute black and absolute white is ejected into the air. And abruptly it stops, the sky hangs a uniform black for only a second before snapping back to white. The whole shower must have only lasted minutes. It doesn't bear saying that this seems likely to have been one of the time keeping events used by the Sigil-bearer: A falling.

[Tashalar]

After the figure had left, they had resumed their travel without talking much about the alien encounter, each left to their own thoughts.

When the falling began, Kjetil instinctively searched for cover and dove to the ground. When it finally subsides, the Aart got up again and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "That could have hit us," he remarks in a matter-of-fact tone of voice as he gazes across to the forest where the meteorite came down.

Waiting a few more moments for the shaking to subside, Kjetil then turned back to his comrades. "Our path leads to Edinway. The Edinway on this world and from there back to our world. From what I understood, we don't have any water left, we won't be able to..." he hesitated, "rely on the trees for nourishment and we will possibly not be as welcome in the other sigil bearer's realm as we were in the former's." The large man frowned at his own collection of the unknown and obstacles in their path. "We need to... to bring back the moon, too," he finally muttered, torn between hopelessness and determination.

[Gralhruk]

"Don't see how we can move the moon. Might be someone in Edinway would know. Our Edinway, I mean, not this one here."

The dwarf answers Kjetil distractedly, his milky eyes taking in the stark surroundings with something akin to acceptance. Nothing, from the monochromatic landscape to the red moon to the bizarre meteor shower seemed to surprise him. One pushed past the bounds of reality is less impressed by the truly fantastic.

As it happens, a far more mundane item was on his mind: water. Or more specifically, the lack thereof. Thirst would claim them in a couple of days if they weren't killed by rats or kings first.

"Naught to do but move forward."

[Tashalar]

Kjetil nodded slowly, then glanced over to where the meteor struck the forest. Slowing down, he lifted a hand to point in its direction. "Maybe the Gods sent us aid," he mused. "A message from the sky, we shouldn't ignore it."

Although he stated it clearly, Kjetil didn't move forward and instead looked from Grimjaw to Karthas to Lade. "Should we investigate?"

[Gralhruk]

A brief image of greedy hands digging at one such impact site suddenly fill his mind - not his, he thought, but he knew the meaning all the same. Every dwarf knew the source of that most precious of metals. He thought enviously of the axe at Lade's side.

"The Gods, aye."

He frowns, wondering if they bothered with this forsaken place. Still, the draw of adamantine was strong.

"Doesn't look too far off. Can't hurt to check."

[itches]

Lade glanced from the sight of the nearby impact, to Edinway, back to the impact and then towards each of his companions. He doubted investigating the meteor would accomplish anything except slow their quest to return to their own realm, but it didn't seem worth the effect to argue so he just shrugged and gestured for the others to lead the way.

[BigRedRod]

Men at sea are met with a most foul contradiction. In their wooden craft they are travelling across endless expanses of water, and yet they must not drink a drop of the liquid all around them. To do so invites madness. Instead, they must either fill their holds with barrels of water before setting out or pray for rain.

Here there was no sea, but instead the pinkish blossom of the alien trees. Moving towards the nearest impact site, the four are beset on all sides by rouge temptation. Even for Grimjaw and Karthas who had toyed with the idea of consuming the fruit and knew all too well the cost it carried, the presence of such an accessible solution to an increasingly severe problem was almost too much to bear.

Trying to put aside the dull pains rebounding with the meat encased in his skull, Lade focuses on the forest itself. This world had one type of trees. Aos had dozens. Hundreds, maybe. Perhaps even thousands. And here there was one. Each laden with its identical fruit. Shaking his head, he look at the other vegetation. A few monotone creepers ensnaring the colourless wood, a variety of bracken and shrubs doing their best to hide any trace of the ground from view and a few clutches of grass. No mushrooms or toadstools. No dead trees. This forest lacks the depth of those found on Aos. It seems more like a child's description. Or a crude illustration carved into a table at a seedy alehouse.

Lade and the others are pulled from their private internal monologues by having spotted a small clearing ahead. A fresh clearing. One formed around a soft depression in the earth and littered with what is left of a patch of forest when it is struck by a rapidly descending heavenly body. Even the spirals of smoke drifting upwards from the few flaming patches are devoid of any real colour, shifting between black and white with no real preference for either.

Sprawled at the centre of the clearing is a gigantic form. A krydol of unsurpassed size. A hulking ogre, his head framed with twisted horns like those of a goat. A god amongst rats. A god made flesh. The Sigil-Bearer did not mention such creatures, and with an uncountable number of similar meteors having fallen it seems an impossible oversight.

Scattered around the impact site, are three other of the ratmen. All smaller specimens compared to the central figure, although only one of the three is small than a man.

None of the four are dead, in fact, each of them seems to gradually coming around.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil approached the clearing warily, weapon at the ready. Being caught by surprise wasn't something they'd survive in this strange land. But the Aart was used to this, brought up in a hostile environment and having to deal with dangers on an everyday basis. But while there was a similarity concerning that aspect, this land was alien in most others.

Kjetil openly gaped at the ogre-like ratman, his lips moving without shedding words. Finally realizing that the four 'rats' were starting to move, he looked at the others in alarm. "Whatever... whatever is happening here, we need to make a move. Quickly." The Aart seemed at a loss how to deal with this current development. He quickly stepped behind one of the trees so as not to be in direct sight of the creatures.

[Gralhruk]

Souless

Whatever his thoughts about the monochromatic meteor and the metals it might contain, he could not ignore the all too solid creatures sprawled upon the ground before them. A fight here would be unnecessary, and more than likely such creatures as these would not balk to attack them. He nodded at the Aart's words, retreating backward with more grace than his blocky form should be capable of, crouching out of sight. His milky eyes watch from the dark shadows, echoing the colorless world around.

<OOC: Hide [roll0]>

[itches]

As the others melted into the landscape, Lade had his doubts as to how well they could hide against the monochromatic landscape, but now didn't seem to be the moment to bring it up. Shifting around to where he could see the new rats, he waited to see what would happen, body tensed and ready to rise if they spotted them.

[[OOC: Hide [roll0] and if I can, a prepared action to stand up if they clearly see us]]

[BigRedRod]

Taking up positions in the forest of red leaves, the four squat down towards the edge of the treeline to observe the clutch of rats as they stir from their impact-induced slumber. The small depression is littered with monochromatic tree trunks and small fires. Surprisingly, the creatures themselves look entirely unscathed. Falling from the heavens ought really to have more severe complications for creatures made of flesh and blood. At least it would have on Aos, but this was not Aos. And even the most mundane of laws seem not have made this land their home.

The smaller Kyrdol are the first on their feet, twitching their noses in the air and regarding one another warily. One squeaks and grunts, although Grimjaw is either unable to make out what they are saying, or the sounds are not language.

Finally, the ground trembles as the ogre-like being pushes up off of the ground. Standing, slouched as it is, it reaches perhaps ten or eleven feet in height, towering above the largest of the three other rats and dwarfing the other two into insignificance. This being is no rat-made-man, but a beast entirely of its own. The twisting horns jut outwards before doubling back and sweeping alongside its head to point down along its curved spine, rather like a natural crown. Having awoken from its slumber it begins to stretch, the square yards of muscles concealed beneath its bristled hide rippling as it does so. And then it stops, eyes fixed upon Kjetil and roars,
"OTHERS!"
Only Grimjaw understands the word, spoken as it is in the goblin-tongue, but all understand that the rats are hostile. Lade stands.

[ooc: Increasingly dark shades of grey are 5ft steps. The topmost one is entirely forested, so trees and undergrowth. The mid-level one is undergrowth and trees only where you can see them. The bottom layer has neither. The rectangles are fallen trees and the little explosion thingies are fires.]

Initiative
Grimjaw
Lade
Horned Rat [RO]
Small Rats [R1, R2]
Kjetil
Karthas
Large Rat [R]

Map
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d49/PASG/Round1-3.png

[Gralhruk]

The blocky dwarf was hardly what one would call an optimist, having seen (and endured) far too much misery in his decades upon the world. Yet despite his inborn mistrust, suspicion, and general wariness he nevertheless preferred that folks proved their bad intentions before he set about slaughtering them. It worked well enough most times - indeed, he was traveling with this group because he'd avoided a confrontation early on. And they'd avoided a fight with the sigil-bearer by being open to the idea that not everyone wanted to kill them.

Of course, might be he shouldn't have pushed his luck. A giant rat with horns probably should have been an indicator of potential hostility - after all, he couldn't remember the last time he'd met anything with horns that wasn't ornery. As the shock of their discovery wears off, he discards the idea of charge; the terrain was bad - his own fault, should have picked a better position. Not bothering to translate the creature's words, he snatches a hammer from his baldric and hurls it at the nearest rat.

<OOC: Throw hammer at rat R; +5 to hit (+7 thrown -2 for range) [roll0] ; damage [roll1] base + [roll2] sneak attack damage if he's flat footed.>

[Tashalar]

With the rat-ogres bellowing and Grimjaw jumping into action, Kjetil straightened and leveled his guisarme. The fight was already commencing. Slower in reaction than his companions, he muttered "let's use the trees and higher ground to our advantage and welcome them here."

[itches]

The treeline. If they could keep control of the treeline and keep the rats out in the open, they would have an advantage. Off to one side he noticed Grimjaw moved forward, throwing something as he went. Drawing his own weapon, Lade forced his way through the underbrush until he stood on the formost edge of the tree cover.

[[OOC: Double move, forward 15 feet. Draw weapon as a free action.]]

[BigRedRod]

Grimjaw strides forwards, pulling free his hammer and hurling it toward the rat of intermediate size. It makes a pleasing sound as it glides through the air culminating in a loud and very solid impact sound. The rat reels backwards, cupping his nose with both hands obviously in great pain.

Their attack announced, Lade struggles through the dense bracken and debris covering the impact crater to take up a position covered by one of the ever-present trees.

Setting its eyes upon Lade, the huge horned rat charges. It churns through the network of undergrowth as if it did not exist, moving through incredible speed. The aged warrior is caught off-guard but still manages to raise his shield and brace for impact. His entire body shakes from the collision of the charging gore, but somehow Lade is not injured.

Moving in unison both of the smallest rats rush out of the crater to take up move favourable positions within the still-standing trees.

[ooc: Grimjaw hits R, deals 9, R has DR 5/?, takes 4. Lade moves. RO, who can ignore natural undergrowth, uses powerful charge but misses Lade. R1 and R2 close]

Initiative
Grimjaw
Lade
Horned Rat [RO] [-2AC from charge]
Small Rats [R1, R2]
Kjetil
Karthas
Large Rat [R]

Map
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d49/PASG/Round1p2-2.png

[Tashalar]

The ground trembled as the rat-ogre charged Lade. Kjetil winced at the sight and sound of the impact but was relieved to see that Lade was unhurt. Seeing the smaller rats moving to flank them, he grinned grimly. The size of goblins, they were much more dangerous, but he'd practiced to bring opponents to their knees when approaching him myriads of times... and being small made it decidedly easier.

While the smaller rats were a danger, the rat-ogre seemed the greatest challenge. Turning shortly to Karthas and Grimjaw, the Aart muttered "focus on the large rat, I'll cover the left flank."

Moving forward slightly, Kjetil grabbed his guisarme, side-stepped around the tree and brought it to bear on the rat-ogres thigh.

{OOC: Move one square forward, power attack for 2, attack rat ogre (+8 +1 higher ground -2 power attack: [roll0]; damage: [roll1];
Note: if R1 and/or R2 try to close with him, he gets an AoO (or scrap that - cover says that there won't be any AoOs...?) ... just in case: AoO would be a melee touch attack at +6, +6 trip check if successful, follow-up attack at +6 and 2d4+7 damage)}

[BigRedRod]

Kjetil lunges somewhat awkwardly, the forest which protects him also serves to make polearm use somewhat more tricky. The guisarme drags uselessly across the thick hide of the ogre-like being, inflicting no damage to his body but plenty to his already foul mood.

Still, the attack provides just the opening needed by Karthas. Whipping a wand out from somewhere upon his person, he swings it through the air resulting in a sickly green ray striking the huge monstrosity. It sags noticeably in response, some of its hulking strength having been sapped.

Moving with the characteristic haste of the Krydol, the wounded rat leaps at Lade in an attempt to remove the warrior's throat with his fiendish claws. The attack misses altogether, however, and instead slams into the tree beside which Lade is taking cover. A shower of rouge petals falls from above, sweeping to and fro as they descend.

[ooc: Kjetil misses RO. Karthas enfeebles RO -7str. R closes with Lade and misses]

Initiative
Grimjaw
Lade
Horned Rat [RO] [-2AC from charge] [-7str]
Small Rats [R1, R2]
Kjetil
Karthas
Large Rat [R]

Map
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d49/PASG/Round2-3.png

[Gralhruk]

The dense monochromatic forest is so unlike the caverns of his homeland, vastly different even than the snow covered country he had traveled through recently. Underbrush snaps and parts as he rushes to intercept the muscled rat he'd touched with his hammer. Switching to a two-handed grip on his sturdy Urgosh, he plants his feet firmly on this strange earth and swings at his enemy.

<OOC: Move diagonally Northwest two squares, attack R two-handed with Urgosh (axe blade); +8 to hit [roll0]; damage 1d8+6 [roll1]>

[itches]

It took all of his will and courage (flagging from not having had anything to drink for some time now) for him to stand his ground as the horned rat charged him down. But hold he did and by some divine chance the creature missed. Lade didn't know if the god's guidance reached this alien land, but he muttered a quick prayer of thanks to PLACEHOLDER anyway.

When the smaller of the two rats lunged at him and impacted with the tree, Lade twisted to face it, bringing his axe low and hard at the creature. So far things weren't that bad. He was unharmed, they still held the tree linee, Grimjaw was moving up on his right and Kjetil was more than a capable enough warrior to hold off the two smaller rats circling over on their left.

[[OOC: Axe in the face to R]]]

[BigRedRod]

The axe-head of Grimjaw's urgosh sweeps toward the rat at the side of Lade tearing through the spindly monochromatic tree branches as it does so. The blade barely makes contact with the target, however, as the rat dodges and his deceptively resilient hide turns the blow aside.

Using his companion's failed attack to his own advantage, Lade brings his ancient dwarvern axe to bear on the very same Krydol. Such is the force of the blow, that the rat has no chance to dodge again and takes the full brunt of the attack. Lade finds his weapon encounters no problem injuring these beasts, as the adamantine blade crashes through ribs and vital organs. A shower of gore splashes over man and dwarf, but before Lade can pull The Key free and let the corpse fall to the ground, the entire world seems to shudder. Despite clearly being dead the rat snaps its head backwards and shrieks, a brief ray of shimmering green erupting from its mouth before finally collapsing.

There is no time to ponder exactly what happened when Lade ended the rat, as the horned monstrosity bears down upon him once again. A huge fist strikes Lade squarely, sending him reeling, the second comes slowly enough that he has time to recover and take shelter behind his shield.

Showing that they are far from devoid of cunning, the two smallest rats swarm upon Kjetil, taking up positions on opposite sides of him and using the cover to prevent him from striking out at them. Still, the terrain is ideal for none, and holding his guisarme in both hands, Kjetil pushes back the rat which leaps for him.

[ooc: Grimjaw misses R. Lade hits R, bypasses the DR, and deals 12, killing R. Horny hits Lade, threatens a critical, fails to confirm deals 18. Second attacks misses. R1 moves behind Kjetil, R2 moves in front and attacks but misses]

Initiative
Grimjaw
Lade
Horned Rat [RO] [-2AC from charge] [-7str]
Small Rats [R1, R2]
Kjetil
Karthas

Map
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d49/PASG/Round2p2-1.png

[Tashalar]

Seeing that he couldn't effectively use his guisarme or keep the rats off his companions, Kjetil assumed a defensive stance. "Come you rat-demons," he muttered at the small rats as he once more slashed at the ogre-rat. Seeing the attack it had landed on Lade and having heard the crunch of the impact, there didn't seem a choice. Let the small rats try and tear him apart. He'd be ready for them.

{OOC: Use combat expertise for 5 (AC now at 25 in undergrowth), try to trip the rat-ogre, touch attack at +3 / trip check at +6: [roll0]; trip: [roll1], just in case he succeeds (haha) - follow-up attack:[roll2]}

[treehouse]

Karthas shook his head, rousing himself from the half-maddened waking dream he had existed in for the past several hours. Fell energy coursed through his veins, begging to be used, but for a moment he couldn't tell friend from foe.

His vision cleared, and he pointed a finger at the largest rat as it engaged...Kjetil? Yes, that is his name.

[Eldritch blast targeting RO - ranged touch attack [roll0], for [roll1] damage.]

[BigRedRod]

While the horned rat-ogre has indeed been drained of much of its superhuman strength, the sheer size of it gives it an inherent resistance to Kjetil's tactic. The polearm sweeps low, but the rat-ogre is as swift as any member of his species and stamps down on the weapon. Letting it fall to the ground, Kjetil draws his dagger. A weapon which seems rather small.

A burst of energy cannons into the huge rat, stopping any follow up attack it might have been planning to reign down on the northlander. It snorts loudly, its eyes fixed on the form of Karthas lurking within the trees.

[ooc: Kjetil fails to trip, Hans trips back so that makes it on, Kjetil drops his weapon instead. Draws his knife. Karthas hits RO for 13, pissing him off]

Initiative
Grimjaw
Lade
Horned Rat [RO] [-7str]
Small Rats [R1, R2]
Kjetil
Karthas

[Gralhruk]

The roaring behemoth before him shakes the very ground with its rage; Grimjaw, solidly planted on even this strange earth, responds with a bellow of his own. The ease with which the Key slices into the rat reminds the dwarf of the magic in that blade - magic similar to that in the staff he had so meticulously duplicated, the staff he carried even now. Dwarven practicality trumped dwarven pride in this dire circumstance, and he drops his prized Urgosh while drawing the quarterstaff and tumbling in for a rapid strike.

<OOC: Tumble diagonally Northeast one square [roll0], attack RO two-handed with +1 quarterstaff; +8 to hit [roll1]; damage 1d6+7 [roll2]>

[itches]

The battle had reached it's height, the fever pitch of swing, block and dodge that allowed no room for thought. With one of their foes already slain, Lade turned to the largest of the rats, and upon seeing its attention flicker to something behind me, struck with the Key.

[[OOC: Axe in the face to RO]]]

[BigRedRod]

Grimjaw moves with a grace not befitting his race. The urgosh falls, the staff is drawn, he surges forwards, his feet settling under the bloody remains of the dead rat and lunges with the carved wood of the deceased druid. Snapping the staff around and upward, the dwarf strikes the beast's sternum with all of his strength. A precise blow, and one from a weapon which is not affected by the odd resistance apparently imparted to the krydol of this plane.

Morale shored up by the arrival of the dwarf into the forefront of combat, Lade exploits the creature's moment of recoil to bury his axe within its flesh. The blood fountains upwards and outwards from the long gash, but just as soon as the wound had been opened, the flesh starts to knit together.

Confronted by a choice of targets, the hulking rat-ogre doles out the violence equally. It stretches its arms upwards and out before sweeping them both down simultaneously towards the dwarf and the human. The two are smashed together with incredible force, without giving them an instant to recover, the ogre pulls its arms back and rushes forwards with its head lowered. Fortunately for Lade, with its head lowered, the beast can't see very well and it strikes the tree rather than him. The entire trunk shifts backwards alarmingly, and the roots are pulled from the gritty earth below. Surprisingly, it does not fall but another such blow will free it from the ground entirely.

Free of his polearm, Kjetil is better able to manoeuvre in the dense undergrowth and he fends off the onslaught from both sides.

[ooc: Grimjaw manages to move without triggering an AoO and hits Hans for 10, ignoring it's DR 5/+1. Lade also hits, also for 10, and ignores the DR. Rat has fast healing 5. RO hits Lade once, misses him once and hits Grimjaw once. 13 to Lade, 16 to Grimjaw. Small rats miss Kjetil]

Initiative
Grimjaw
Lade
Hans the Horned Rat [RO] [-7str]
Small Rats [R1, R2]
Kjetil
Karthas

Map
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d49/PASG/Round3-3.png

[Tashalar]

The rat-ogre hit both Lade and Grimjaw hard. Seeing that its wounds were closing quickly, Kjetil decided to ignore the more imminent threat to his personal health and focused on the large beast. Kjetil let go of his dagger and drew Yaldaboth's Tongue in one, fluid motion.

Fending off claw attacks from the front and the back, Kjetil suddenly lunged with the spear, aiming for the creature's tender spot at its loins and putting all his weight behind the spear.

{OOC: drop dagger as free action, draw spear as move action, attack RO with power attack for 3 (attack +7, damage 1d8+11): [roll0]; [roll1]}

[treehouse]

Karthas snarled as he strode into the clearing, for the moment completely ignoring the gibbering pleading of the voice as it urged him to flee. Again, he pointed a crooked finger at the largest rat, sending a surge of eldritch fire at the beast.

[move directly NE 3 squares (to negate cover). Eldritch blast vs. RO - [roll0] vs. touch AC, for [roll1] damage.]

[BigRedRod]

Kjetil's feint works perfectly, with the eyes of the rat ogre no longer upon the knife-wielding man he is able to release his grip and draw Yaldaboth's Tongue, the strange spear-like remnant of the sixty-sixth Septuagint. The dual prongs pierce deeply somewhere towards the bottom of the thing's torso, there is none of the resistance experienced by Kjetil's guisarme. This is a superior weapon, and one that hungers for battle.

The warlock emerges from the trees on the opposite side of the melee and tosses another bolt of crackling darkness towards the huge beast. It strikes firmly and for a moment it looks like the behemoth has been slain, but it regains its footing and continues to rage on.

[ooc: Kjetil hits RO for 12 ignoring DR. Karthas hits for 11]

Initiative
Grimjaw
Lade
Hans the Horned Rat [RO] [-7str]
Small Rats [R1, R2]
Kjetil
Karthas

Map
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d49/PASG/Round4-3.png

[Gralhruk]

The carven length of wood feels surprisingly solid in his hands, heftier than might be imagined. Gnarled runes press into his calloused palms as he spins the staff back in a practiced maneuver, switching his grip even as he surges from the brush and into the clearing. He was sure the beast's knees had begun to buckle a moment ago; now was the time to press their advantage.

<OOC: Move diagonally 1 square northeast, then north 1 square, then diagonally northwest 1 square to flank; Attack RO two-weapon with +1 quarterstaff; Attack1: +11 to hit [roll0]; damage 1d6+4 [roll1]; Attack2: +11 to hit [roll2]; damage 1d6+2 [roll3]>

[BigRedRod]

The huge arm of the beast wooshes through the air above Grimjaw's head as he sets about trying to flank his target. Had the beast had all of his wits about him and managed to take proper aim, the blow would have downed, if not outright killed, the dwarf on the spot. Not one to dwell on what could have been, Grimjaw shifts his footing, raises the enchanted wooden stave and smashes it down upon the spinal cord of the hulking rat-ogre. It shrieks in agony. A terrible sound. A sounds of pure, animal pain. The last sound of the creature, as it collapses awkwardly pivoting around a new hinge in its back.

As it falls it opens its mouth to the white skies above, as the other rat had, and releases a green streamer of its own. The ground ripples in an impossible manner. This was not a vibration within the earth, it was a vibration in the very fabric of reality. The entire clearing was a still pond and slaying the great rat had dropped a brick into the centre of the clam waters. It takes almost a second for the world to calm down.

Death was a strange business even outside of Aos.

[ooc: RO misses Grimjaw with his AoO. Grimjaw hits for 16 ignoring DR, taking Hans below -10]

Initiative
Grimjaw
Lade
Small Rats [R1, R2]
Kjetil
Karthas

Map
http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d49/PASG/Round4p2-1.png

[itches]

With the fall of the ogrelike rat the world shimmers, and Lade tries to put it out of their mind. There would be time for questions and ponderings later, once they survived. For now, the battle continued.

Pushing his way through the tangling undergrowth, Lade slipped, sidestepped and stumbled until he had manoeuvred one of the rats between himself and Kjetil, then bringing the Key down upon it.


[[OOC:Move to the square north of R2, then axe in the face]]

[BigRedRod]

A clawed foot slashes through the air, but strikes one of the thick black and white tree trunks rather than Lade. The rat lands from its leaping attack upon its paws and deftly somersaults back to a standing position, all the while managing to keep a dense thicket of branches between itself and Lade. The old warrior swings his axe regardless splintering several of the branches, but falling short of the agile target. A flurry of pink leaves rushes around Lade, and there is a vague feeling in the pit of his stomach. Possibly a minor form of the terrible reaction Karthas and Grimjaw had experienced during their own experiments with the petals.

The two remaining rats look at one another across the spear-wielding Kjetil. One squeaks a single syllable ("Run", in goblin) and then both depart, swinging between the trees to avoid the undergrowth. Kjetil can just see the pair clear the treeline where they hit the ground running. The rats of this land are just like their companions in Aos, in that they are considerably faster than a man especially a heavily armoured man such as Lade.

The party are left with the remains of the two larger rats and the crater at the centre of the copse.

[ooc: R2 misses Lade due to cover. Lade misses R2 for the same reason. Both R1 and R2 run like the wind, avoiding AoOs due to the forest]

[Tashalar]

Kjetil was breathing heavily as the tall Aart gazed after the fleeing rats. Gauging their speed and possibly ways of stopping their flight, Kjetil's gaze shortly focused on Karthas, but then he shook his head. "Let them go, we cannot bring them down both."

Kjetil turned to face the huge rat they had downed. Eying his spear in wonder, he strode over to the beast's side. "What... what in the name of the Gods is happening in this land?" A mixture of apprehension, confusion and wonder showed in the Aart's expression. "Rats falling from the skies?"

[Gralhruk]

"Aye, it would seem."

Grimjaw watches the rapidly receding rats as he gathers up the weapons he had dropped during the fight. He sheathes his urgosh as he approaches Kjetil and leans on the carved staff that may have saved his life, regarding the giant corpse with a stonily expressionless visage.

"Least they die, though not like normal folk. Sooner we get back, the better. Meantime, we should see if they have anything that can help us."

Dwarven practicality, solid as the stone of the mountains. There was no way but forward for them, for surely they could not stay in this place. With a grunt, he begins a methodical search of the two corpses for anything of value.

[BigRedRod]

Grimjaw finds nothing upon the two corpses. Not just nothing of use or value, but nothing. The rats had fought and died unarmed, naked and without even an interesting rock upon their person.

[Tashalar]

When Grimjaw quickly ascertained that there was naught to be found on the rats, Kjetil motioned in the direction of the city. "I'd hoped for more, but the signs of the Gods are often not easily understood by mere humans," he remarked. Gazing down into the small crater for a few moments, the Aart collected his thoughts and tried to gain some insight in what the reason was for them being here... for them fighting these rats.

Retrieving his guisarme and dagger, Kjetil finally started walking towards the city. "The next step awaits, the next challenge."

{OOC: search/spot for anything out of the ordinary in the crater or nearbye}

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw holds up a blocky hand as the Aart prepares to leave, "Bide a moment; best we consider afore we move."

He squats on his hams, again rather too nimbly for one of his build, using the carven staff for support. His body aches from the beating the giant rat had given him and Lade both. Luck and skill had brought it down, though the cost had been rather greater than any gain that he could see.

He squeezes his milky eyes shut, trying to imagine the battle as it had played out, looking for clues in well of his memory. What did their strange death throes imply? The odd meteor shower? Not hearted, he was sure but something had emerged from each rat as it died, something that shook the very fabric of this world. Perhaps if they could puzzle the meaning of these things they would have some clue to help them return to their own world.

<OOC: Knowledge (Nature) [roll0]; Knowledge (Dungeoneering) [roll1]>

[Tashalar]

Kjetil turned to face the dwarf and waited for an explanation. Instead he watched a contemplative dwarf. The Aart kept his silence, his thoughts drifting to the battle with the rats. He had been eager to move on, eager to forget this encounter which his mind had trouble grasping the entirety of, its significance.

"Maybe we have to die to return," the Aart muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the sky above.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw's weird eyes open at that, and he locks his gaze impassively on the tall human for several long moments. Finally he grunts and, rising easily from his crouch, stands at his full, stunted, height. He plants the staff firmly in this strange ground, still holding it but not leaning at all.

"There's not much I can glean from what has happened. They've no soul, as we knew, but there is something inside them, sure enough. We all felt it when they died, saw that bolt that left them.

"Mark also that our weapons did little harm - " here he rests his heavy hand upon the finely crafted urgosh "- unless they were enchanted, like the Key or this staff. Is it because they have no soul, or because we are in this place? Might be the last two ran because they don't see much death here, what with mundane weapons not bothering them."

He frowns, digging his fingers into his beard. He shakes his great head slowly.

"If we'd a priest with us he might know about matters of the soul. I know much about Aos, the things that live on the land and deep beneath the earth, but of religion and other worlds very little."

[BigRedRod]

Karthas closed his eyes, attempting to clear his mind for a moment. Silence hangs heavy as he tries to tug at ancient threads of knowledge. Slight things collected over the years in the guild before his decision to leave.

"I am no priest... not by any means. What happens when we die is no secret, our souls linger until the next dawn of the Red Moon and then they drift to the Netherworld. I am not so sure that this is now the case. No, I am certain. We're outside of Aos, our souls won't be contained. They will just... Drift away into the void."

While his companions reflect on oblivion, Karthas shakes his head,
"The kyrdol, the rats, they have something but it's not a soul. And I think the dwarf has the right of it, for whatever reason, death is rare here and it causes reality to twist. As their not-souls, their essence, is freed of its physical anchor it causes the ripples we experienced. Each is tiny and the world springs right back, or at least it does here... A point of stress like Edinway, or the Anchors would be different."

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw furrows his brow and frowns in thought at these insights, though his stout form is otherwise motionless. Within, the cogs of his mind turn ceaselessly, searching out ways to transform this information into action. They were trapped, without water, in an alien world. They must find hydration or some way back soon or they would die here. Die and have their very souls lost as well.

He listens to his heart beat, searching his soul for echoes of the truth. The memories of a thousand other lives are quiet now but he feels them shift restlessly against the barrier this place seems to have imposed. Impossible to say why, or what would happen when they got back. If they got back.

He stirs restlessly then, eyes coming back into focus. Death was not an acceptable alternative. They had no idea how long it might take to get back. Best to plan for the worst. Drawing a dagger, he moves to the big rat and searches the wiry fur of its neck with his thick fingers until he finds the proper spot. Motioning the others over, he pulls out a battered flask along with his waterskin.

"Not my idea of good swill, but it's liquid and we might be needing it."

He consolidates their remaining water into to of the skins and then proceeds to carefully bleed the big Krydol, capturing the precious life fluid in his flask along with the two empty waterskins. He manages the entire process very efficiently - thankfully, the rats did not seem to differ overmuch anatomically from more traditional specimens.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil's upper lip folded up into an expression of utter disgust, and he half turned away before hesitating, taking a deep breath and finally nodding. Turning back to face the dwarf, the Aart spoke up in a low voice. "When the Aart get caught in a snow storm, we kill one of our reindeer, cut it open and use it for warmth. More than one of my people has survived this way. Sometimes we even animal's blood for warmth and nourishment." He hesitated, then followed up with "while these rats are nothing but over-sized vermin, we need to do what we have to to survive."

While he watched Grimjaw work, his thoughts circled around what Karthas had said. "Death... death causes the phenomenon that we've observed? If this were to happen at a point of stress, if more deaths would occur there... what would be the result?" He waited for Karthas to answer, but suddenly added "would that draw us back? Or would that increase the bridge between the two worlds?"

[itches]

Lade averted his eyes as Grimjaw drained the creature's bloods. They may be desperate, but these were intelligent creatures, creatures he had not just battled, but conversed with. He understood the reasoning, when things became desperate he had in the past eaten beasts that would turn the stomach of most, but these rats were intelligent. He held his tongue at the action, but silently vowed that no matter how dire things became, he wouldn't drink the blood.

[treehouse]

Karthas shuddered as he watched Grimjaw go to work on the rats. At various points in his life, he would have had no problem with consuming the remains of sentient creatures to survive, and even now he felt little more than mild distaste. It was enough, however, to keep him from partaking for the moment.

"If a great many died at a stress point? We could try it. The worst thing that could happen is that we unravel reality completely, turning all we know and love into formless chaos-matter."

He cackled a little bit uncertainly.

"I'd be willing to try it."

[Tashalar]

Kjetil looked at Karthas with a blank expression for a long moment before turning first to Lade, then to Grimjaw and back to Lade. "There might be dire consequences for whatever we do; dire for us or even for those in our world." He paused, touching his chin with his fingers shortly as if to stroke it but dropping them again quickly. Shaking his head emphatically he spoke up again, his voice deep and troubled. "There's not much that we can do but head on. The city is where things might come to be, where things might happen that won't elsewhere." Shrugging he added "or it might not. May the Gods guide our steps," he finished in a low voice after a short pause.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw stares silently at Karthas, wondering at his seeming insanity. Might be they'd be desperate enough to try something like what he was suggesting, but it'd take a lot more evidence or the circumstances would need to be considerably more dire before he'd sanction it. Still, no need to argue with stones right now.

He shifts at Kjetil's short statement, aware that it was the only logical course of action at this point but still mired in the strangeness of what they'd found. If only he could make more sense of things. He rakes his beard with his upper teeth irritably.

"Like as not we're on our own in this place. Best we all think on what we've seen and try to sort it out while we walk. Edinway is the only place makes sense for us to go so far; don't know we can stand many more investigations like this'un."

[treehouse]

Karthas pulled one of his wands out.

"I don't want to drink gods-damned ratsblood. Hold still."

[Cure light wounds on Lade first - 5 charges. [roll0] [roll1] [roll2] [roll3] [roll4]]

[treehouse]

[Cure light wounds on Grimjaw - 3 charges. [roll0] [roll1] [roll2]]

[treehouse]

[Cure light wounds on Kjetil - 1 charge. [roll0]]

[BigRedRod]

Karthas' magic having healed their wounds, the party continue their trudge towards Edinway. The centre of the cataclysm which had opened a path between these two worlds. Aos and this, its monochromatic outer shell. Even though it would likely mean further encounters with the leaf-eating rats, there was no ready alternative.

The twisted towers rapidly begin to crowd and grow until eventually they fill the entirety of the view ahead. Earlier, the Sigil-bearer of Grankhul had told them that the King of Edinway was a being known as Bargrivyek, and that he had his own Sigil-bearer. A hearted creature with command of some number of the Krydol.

Strange, deformed houses cluster together in the outer reaches of Edinway as it is on Aos. Almost a second city encircling the first, quickly and crudely constructed shelters for migrants, the poorest labourers and all of the crime and misery which follows such groups. But these structures look more organics, as if they have grown from the dry earth. Shifting monochromatic surfaces with oddly elongated windows. The guilt-ridden pink-fruited trees grow here and there but available land is vastly reduced by the unsettling visage of this warped copy of Outer Edinway.

The gate stands open ahead. All eyes scan the curved surfaces for signs of an ambush. Rats lurking within doorways or upon rooftops ready to launch an attack, but there is nothing, not even shadows in this lightless realm.

A few more steps however and a glimmer of gold emerges ahead. A Sigil. The same as that which hovered over the head of the white-skinned being who served Grankhul and resided in the lands back towards the thirteenth anchor and the empty lake. This one is different, however. He stands motionless and apparently alone, some few hundred yards ahead. A strange being, a hunched figure shrouded in a black cloak.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil nodded slowly at the dwarf's words. They made sense in a gloomy way. What further challenges had the Gods prepared for them? How would they ever find out how to return to their home plane?

Already lost in thoughts, Kjetil didn't realize that Karthas had approached him until he felt a slight tingle and the warmth of healing course through him. As the man turned away from him, he grabbed his arm. Nodding once, the Aart said "Thank you for that" before he let him go again.

As they approached the city, Kjetil slowed and suspiciously eyed their surroundings. At the appearance of the next Sigil-bearer, he stopped in his tracks. The fact that the creature seemed to be waiting for them, was disturbing. "He knows we're here," Kjetil assumed aloud. "He's waiting for us. If he wants to have us killed, we'll probably know very soon." Turning to Grimjaw, Kjetil said "will you be able to converse with this creature as well?"

[Gralhruk]

For a few long moments the dwarf stands motionless and silent as the very stones, his white eyes focused on the sigil bearer and the city beyond. So far from all they had known, with everything so strange - things had truly gone down the left hand path when it was his job to speak for the group. Years of captivity and mental enslavement had driven this normally reserved dwarf deep into himself. Coming home to his family had shown him just how far he'd been pushed from the dwarf he once was. It was hard to be social when even your family and friends thought you broken; harder still when you thought they were right. He tilts his head and rubs a hand though the snowy beard, along the hard line of his jaw.

"Guess we won't know 'til I try. The other seemed wary of this one; best we are as well. Let's stay together and be ready for trouble."

He starts forward resolutely, moving with purpose. The humans shorten their strides to match his dwarvish pace. Grimjaw doesn't notice, concerning himself with the best way to avoid another fight. He thinks briefly of the rat-blood in his waterskin; it would probably cause quite a stir if it was found. Not much to do for it now, though, except try not to give anyone a reason to search them.

"But try not to look like your ready for trouble."

[itches]

"Hold up," Lade said, interrupting the others, rubbing his bloodshot eyes and pursing thirst patched lips. "Tha' symbol thing about 'is head, I've seen it before, I just can' remember where."

The aging mercenary dug through his memory at a furious rate. It had been recently, and religious in nature, he knew that. He had been associated with the templar of Pelor since before Edinway was abandoned, but the Sun of Mercy didn't seem right. He had been tangling with the cultists for even longer, and that seemed closer, but still wrong. He knew their symbols for that of the Gatekeeper, and this memory was of something else, something inhuman.

"Damn," Lade muttered as the answer hit him, talking to the others low enough to not be overheard. "I seen it, in Edinway - our Edinway I mean - back when I was fighting off the rats. One of them seemed like a shaman of something, when we searched the body we found a holy symbol, that symbol. They told me it was the mark of some goblin god, I can' remember which one."

[BigRedRod]

There seems little else to do but continue onwards down the broad avenue leading into this twisted, alternate Edinway. The Sigil-Bearer stood waiting. Drawing closer, the figure's cloak can be seen to be a dull brown rather than black and marked with intricate silver tracings. His horned head extends forwards at around half of his total height, such is his hump. His eyes are roughly at the same level as Kjetil's, but he must be four or five times the mass of the northlander. The dull ivory horns frame his caprine face, but his eyes twinkle and burn like two small blue stars. Lank, off-white hair covers his body from what can be seen within the cloak, stopping just before his black hooves and powerful looking hands. And above his head, the Sigil. Mark of Bargrivyek, a twisted golden shape that could be a star, or possible the head of a mace. The sign of this "King", also the sign of some goblin deity back on Aos.

Eventually, he raises a hand, inviting the party to stop their approach or possibly just signalling that will speak.
"Hail to you, intruders from else. I serve the King, Bargrivyek. I am his Sigil-bearer."
The words are again familiar only to Grimjaw, being the language of the goblins, or more like some vaguely related dialect. His conversation with the previous Sigil-bearer, the one who carried the Mark of Grankhul.
"It pleases me to regard that you have attended here."
A cough, or something like it,
"I am to comprehend that you are hearted without a King of your own. I regard that. Truly. The inquiry has to be done, why. Why have you attended to Bargrivyek's land?"

The blue eyes burn, across the fifty yards or so between the Sigil-bearer and the party.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil listened closely to what Lade had to tell. Their grizzled companion hadn't spoken much since they'd arrived in this strange place. Possibly he needed all his strength not to freak out. If he wasn't so sure that the Gods had set them on their path, Kjetil might not be as calm as he was.

The fact that there was a close connection between a goblin God where they came from and a so-called king in this area seemed a matter of import. Try as he might, the Aart couldn't think of anything that would aid them in their quest.

As the figure spoke up, Kjetil glanced sideways at Grimjaw, realizing that the dwarf was once more comprehending the creature's language. It didn't seem threatening at this point and that was enough for him for now. Until the dwarf told them what the creature wanted, he'd keep a lookout for any danger lurking amidst the houses.

{OOC: Spot +0, Listen +6}

[Tashalar]

Damn. Are there...? Those near him could feel Kjetil tense, his gaze on the surrounding houses. Opening his mouth slightly, the Aart then spoke in a low voice. "Something's wrong. The sigil-creature might be too curious to kill us yet, but it might not wait for long." Glancing sideways at Lade and Karthas, he added "can you see anything moving on those roofs?" Kjetil's voice was slightly shaky as he said these last words.

[itches]

The odd way light worked in this world meant that there were no shadows, no darkened corners to fade away into as Lade ran his eyes over the surrounding rooftops and upper, bare windows.

"No, but that don't mean they ain't there and just keeping outta sight."

[Gralhruk]

Ignoring the whisperings and keen-eyed glances of his friends Grimjaw takes a step forward, holding his empty hands in plain view to indicate friendliness. He keeps his eyes on the sigil bearer, trying to look relaxed. He had hopes of things going as well as they had the last time, but judging by his luck so far in this lifetime . . . well, it didn't seem likely. Still, nothing to be done for it but to try.

"Greetings, sigil-bearer, and greetings to your King. We are just travelers, flung to this land by magic we don't understand. We look only to return to our world, and mean no harm to Bargrivyek or his people."

[BigRedRod]

"A return is here? A way? Some passage? The rift."
Grimjaw's words do not seem to take the Sigil-Bearer at all by suprise, he simply continues to speak, not reacting with any hostility to the dwarf's step forwards,
"These are things I believed. On Bargrivyek's land of Edinway, the rift has caused a problem. Now, his people, they have divided. For me there are some and for the rift the others. It attracts, the prospect of a heart, and many have stood beyond their King. The revelation produced sins not for this land. They aggress themselves. They denourish themselves. They are crowded and they push. "
Although alien, the tone sounds slightly sad,
"And now, I regard that you have for hope to come. What do you project? How are you conspired? Or, is it folly?"

[Gralhruk]

They shared a language but little else; the sigil-bearer's manner of speaking was confusing. With an effort, he sorts through the unfamiliar phrasings and tries to discern the meaning behind them. At least there was no sign of hostility, so things could be worse.

"Aye, the rift. It causes problems, you say? Might be we can help close it, but first we'd need to get back. There are those on the other side that would see it closed as well. Is it possible, for us to cross?"

[BigRedRod]

A strange clicking sound, a chuckle, perhaps,
"Hmm. Of the Krydol, they go through the rift when they can. So possible, I would speak, but they are crowded and aggress themselves. This would have to be joined, to push through all of them. It is believed that to cross may only be allowed at the centre. Your wish is to return and silence the way, my King would aid you... if he could."

He turns to glance behind him at the city,
"Well... I comprehend that there is no conspiring here. In simple: To walk to the centre, you hope? To pass through?"
He shakes his head,
"You would be unmade."

[treehouse]

Karthas cocked his head sideways, as if trying to understand the Sigil-Bearer's ramblings. He didn't know two words of Goblin, though.

"Do you speak the tongue of the Chaos-Renders?"*


[*Spoken in Abyssal]

[BigRedRod]

The Sigil-Bearer looks blankly at Karthas for a moment. The previous such being had been entirely unable to grasp the concept of other languages, and it seems that the chosen of Bargrivyek subscribed to a similar outlook.

[Gralhruk]

Hearing Karthas speak reminds Grimjaw that he isn't alone, and that the others don't understand a word of what was going on. The language the warlock tried was unpleasant to the ear, and though he didn't think the sigil bearer was necessarily disturbed by it, he didn't think it could do any good either. To forestall any other attempts, he turns to his companions and speaks briefly in common.

"I think I'm startin' to understand things. The Krydol here have no soul - naught to go to an afterlife, but they don't have the feelings we do neither. No conscience, if eating them leaves is any sign. But when they pass through the rift to Aos, they get a soul and they realize what it is to live.

"This one says lots of Krydol are trying to get through and it's a problem for his King. He wants the rift closed too, but it ain't easy. The Krydol are mobbing the city it seems, trying to get through, and it sounds like they ain't too friendly to outsiders neither."

He turns back to the sigil bearer and continues in the goblin tongue.

"Unmade, is it. Is it chaos in the city then? They attack any who enter, or is there some way we can disguise ourselves? Back in Aos, my friends heard of different factions - the Nurren, the Attrox, and the Orraka. Are these the same as what exist here?"

[BigRedRod]

For a time there is only silence, the bland white above with its red circular mar and the monochromatic world. The Sigil-Bearer seems to be having as hard a time with Grimjaw's manner of speaking and strange questions as the dwarf is with his own. Eventually, his head cocks slightly and he makes a strange throaty sound,
"Chaos. It is not the lonely, violent world which is lived without a King. No, it is worse. And so much unmaking, the lands of Bargrivyek, of all the Kings, have never known so much. It will not continue. It will shatter."

His words slow, caught up in his inability to convey exactly what is happening,
"There is to be no deception of the free Krydol. No "disguise". No, all and one are under aggress."

"You are parleying of factions in a manner I believe different. The free Krydol roam in short gatherings, they might aggress other such gatherings. Other such factions. They might indeed given themselves some word to mark their existence. Perhaps Orraka, Nurren and Attrox. Once they are bound to a King, they leave this all behind. They serve a King. Think of their King in all actions and they are spared the alternative."

He raises a hand, as if to clarify some point,
"The Krydol of Edinway, they are not lacking Kings. Not truly. They remember their covenants... but the pull of a heart. You cannot imagine. They form not factions, that I comprehend, each is alone. Absolutely."

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw frowns, the long braids of his beard almost writhing with the movement. The Kings kept order, then - that, at least, was as it should be. Free Krydol seemed to live difficult lives, almost like lone wolves, forming fragile packs with others as desperate as they. Yet even those with a King found the draw of Edinway too much too resist. The draw of a soul. Rolling the thought around in his mind, he decided that the Sigil-Bearer was, indeed, correct. He truly could not imagine.

"We don't want trouble, but neither will we stand to be parted from this life. If we venture into the city, we will be unmade you say. Suppose we are forced to defend ourselves, to kill some of these Krydol. Must we answer to the King for this?"

[BigRedRod]

"Kill? ... Unmaking!?"
Clearly the concept of wilful destruction of life is abhorrent to the Sigil-Bearer.
"It is the most grave trespass to unmake. The way, the rift, the centre, it is opened with this."
He moves his arms apart as he says this, to try and reinforce his points,
"There is much unmaking in Edinway. More than much. Piece by piece it opens, so more Krydol can pass and more can scent it and more arrive and more unmade."

For a time, the talking stops and the strange creature angles his head a fraction upward to stare into the red orb hanging motionless in the sky,
"Will it aid close the rift? To unmake, to 'kill'? This is desperation and so then perhaps a trespass can be unregarded. If it will aid... I am able to consult."

[Gralhruk]

"How is it that they arrive here - through the falling? There is much we do not know. We want to get home - we have to get home. We need water and there is none to be found here, and the plants . . . we cannot eat those like the Krydol."

He shudders inwardly at the memory, and it does not escape him that he held no such qualms when it came to drinking the very blood of their enemies. They were different things and he doubted his companions could understand it just now.

"The unmaking widens the rift, you say. We don't want that; we need to close off the rift from the other side, but we can't get to the center of Edinway to go through. Unmaking many Krydol in some other space - that would widen Edinway's rift, or create a second one?"

[BigRedRod]

"The falling... Hmm... In your world there is not the falling? You are unfallen?"
The idea seems alien, or perhaps amusing enough, to the Sigil-Bearer for him to regain some of his composure from the questions about killing the rats and whether this was contributing to the end of the world.
"So, you just are? There is no arrival? The question, it is... firm to answer. The Krydol fall, a King finds them and then they will fade. Or be unmade."

"Yes, yes. Not eating the fruit. I comprehend why. I am commencing to comprehend that I shall shortly have need to speak with my King, Bargrivyek. Question about unmakings, and you. And sustenance for you, also? You agree? Perhaps... perhaps it may be possible for Bargrivyek to sustain you, as I am."

Speaking of slaying his subjects is obviously not a topic the hearted creature is especially comfortable with,
"Unmaking near Edinway and the rift is made wider. Unmaking is not... not needed? It should not be happening. It pulls, twists, changes. Away from Edinway, it matters less. A second opening would be unlikely: Too many of the Kyrdol would need to be unmade all at once, and no King has that many. Perhaps as many as are in Edinway now for a new rift. Not without something to spread the strands..."
He trails off, not finishing the thought.

"And even with such a thing, it would not last. The rift is not in order, this world rejects it. Anything around would be pushed to your world, but it would be closed again."

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw opens his mouth, then closes it, wanting to make sure of himself before he says anything else. He feared that he'd spoken to cavalierly about killing things, and it sounded suspiciously like the Sigil-Bearer wanted to present them to Bargrivyek to see if they ought to be unmade themselves. Could be he was misunderstanding, and sustenance sounded like it could be helpful, but it was hard to be sure.

"If that is true, then why does this rift remain open? As I say, we want it closed and we want to get home - we're not looking for trouble or unmaking. Have you any ideas on how it might be accomplished?"

[BigRedRod]

"Complicated."
The word hangs in the air, and the Sigil-Bearer thinks of how to translate his understanding into their shared goblin-pidgin.
"Small hole will close before it can really be, yes? There is size, larger than this and it will go small, small, small, gone. If there is an unmaking near to the edge, then it pulls it open. Just a little. Like in Edinway. Can't go small when a Kyrdol is passing through. So, it is made tall for every unmaking and has no opportunity to go small at all."

The Sigil-Bearer pauses again, ensuring that there is nothing further to add before he brings these matters to his King.

[Gralhruk]

"Let me explain to my companions," the dwarf replies in the growling goblin tongue. No easy way to get back, it seemed, but perhaps this had been the right place to come after all. He regretted killing the Krydol but there wasn't anything to be done for it now. Besides, they hadn't had much choice. He turns to the group and switches to the common tongue.

"Well, it doesn't sound like we can get out through the city - too many Krydol, and they'll all mob us. This one says a new rift could be created, and it would close all on its own if it were let be, but it would take killing as many Krydol as are in Edinway right now. So that's out too, as just the four of 'em we met earlier were as much as we could handle. Speaking of, they don't seem to take too kindly to killing - unmaking he says - at all. I think we might have some trouble over the fight we had, especially if his King gets wind of it. Or maybe we should 'fess up right now. I can't say.

"Now for it. Seems the reason this rift won't close on its own is killing - the more Krydol that get killed, the more the rift opens. And it won't close when it's active - when they are passing through, so it seems those two things are making it wider. Else it'd close all on its own.

"Which leaves us with what to do. His King might have some way to give us 'sustenance', though he says 'take away the need'. Don't sound like there's no water to be had to me. Then again, there might be some punishment for the fight we had. I can't say, but he doesn't seem hostile toward us."

[itches]

"I dunno that we have much choice," Lade ventured. "Try to fight our way past an army of rat bastards or go be nice-like with someone who could help us? Or do nothin' and die of thirst. Besides, if this king fellow knows somethin' about the rift, we should find out. There are folk back home who it'd help."

[Tashalar]

Kjetil turned to face the Sigil-Bearer shortly, then looked back at Grimjaw. "Confessing... no, I don't think so. If he finds out, we should tell him the truth, that they were the ones to attack us and that we killed them in self-defense. But we should not provoke ill feelings at this point, I think.

"While the other Sigil-Bearer was doubtful of this one's motives, it seems as if he might need us. He's incapable of stopping what is going on, what is splitting the Kyrdol. Maybe we as outsiders in this place can help and receive help in turn." The big man shrugged slightly. "I don't see what other chances we have."

[BigRedRod]

Karthas opens his mouth to voice his opinion but is cut off by the Sigil-Bearer,
"So-"
He begins to turn away,
"You wait, I will consu-"
There is explosion of light. No wall of sound of pressure. No real change which would provide any traditional sense with any stimulus at all. And yet, all four know that something has happened. Something has stopped the strange goat-like figure from speaking, slicing his words cleanly and evenly and leaving him frozen in space. For a moment, the Sigil-Bearer simply stands locked into position like a statue, and then comes the voice.

"KNEEL BEFORE BARGRIVYEK"
It is not a suggestion, and the party find themselves upon their knees before the froze form of the Sigil-Bearer without the time to even process the words and reach a decision. While these words are spoken, the goat-creature remains fixed in his half-turn.
"IF YOU WISH TO AVOID A DEATH FROM WATER-STARVATION THEN YOU WILL CONSENT TO CARRY MY MARK"
Nor do the words have any language. They convey raw and powerful meaning,
"EACH OF YOU WILL SPEAK YOUR ANSWER"
Suggesting how the voice sounds is impossible, it resembles the Sigil-Bearer's odd goblin-tongue in no way whatsoever. Nor does it sounds like any other man or beast the party have encountered before. This is the sound of a King. An entity beyond their shallow experiences.

The crashing waves of soundless, language-less words die away, but this last command lacks the same strength, it does not force the vocal chords to spit out an agreement.

[Tashalar]

The Aart worshiped several Gods and prayed to each in turn when appropriate. It wasn't right to pray to Odin when one hoped for a good harvest. So the concept of different Gods with different focuses wasn't alien to the Aart. Kjetil remembered a poem he was taught as a young lad, a poem laden with meaning, with truth, with the past.

It sates itself on the life-blood
of fated men,
paints red the powers' homes
with crimson gore.
Black become the sun's beams
in the summers that follow,
weathers all treacherous.
Do you still seek to know? And what?

Kjetil felt he didn't have the choice at this point even though he didn't feel compelled as before when he fell to his knees without giving it a second thought. The only path they had was forward and if this being could help them, then he would carry the burden of it's mark. Keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, the Aart spoke in a firm voice. "I consent to carry your mark."

[Gralhruk]

The crushing weight of the voice forces even Grimjaw's thick legs to bend, and he finds himself kneeling before the mental onslaught. So loud without sound; the power behind the words was evident, and the meaning was clear: serve this king, or die. He was practical, as many of his kin, yet he was also stubborn and suspicious. Knowing in his bones that it was unwise, he yet speaks neither assent nor denial, but instead grits his teeth and voices a question.

"What does it mean for us, to carry the mark?"

[BigRedRod]

Grimjaw's bones were quite right, his head swells with pain for a moment. The being known as Bargrivyek does not suffer questions, nor does it feel any hesitation in punishing those who try for the third way. The dwarf's inquiry was not deemed a sufficient answer, and he knew that this was the barest taste of the King's limitless impatience.

There is no response to Kjetil's agreement, Bargrivyek's commandment that all would speak their answer, consent or refusal, must be met first.

[ooc: No damage for Grimjaw, this time it's just brief pain]

[Gralhruk]

For a brief moment his world swirls black, and is deep beneath the earth once more, miner drone in an alien world. The shackles may be gone from his wrists and ankles yet the scars remain. Slavery was abhorrent to dwarves, hardworking folk that they were, and to do a slaves work was shameful. Yet indentured servitude was different, and indeed, considered rightful payment in certain cases. Better by far to work off your debt with dignity than to accept charity or steal what was not rightfully yours. Even so, a master had a debt to the servant; Grimjaw could accept his part in good faith, yet find his faith misplaced. He bows his head and speaks, his gravelly voice heavy.

"I, too, will carry the mark."

[itches]

"What? Ya damned fools!" Lade exclaimed. He had heard Grimjaw's question and saw the dwarf grimace in immediate pain. He had observed with a rising sense of dismay as the pair of his companions verbalised their acceptance, the gods only knew what silent terror had been inflicted on Kjetil to wring the concession from him.

"NO!"

Lade was old, he had lived well past his time, witnessed that which he had sworn to protect be destroyed time and time again before his helpless eyes. He had killed, committed unimagined horrors and stood silent while others were administered. He had attended to the destruction of the greatest bastion of civilisation the lands had ever known. He had transgressed against unbreakable oaths and been stripped of layers of hope and dignity beyond count.

Yet underneath all of that, beyond the alcohol soaked armour held against the world was the core of a man, a core polished and hardened through not years, but decades of suffering. The core of a man who could be forced to bend - beyond any of the arrogant conceptions of youth - to the whims of chance and fate, but would not, could not break while remaining himself. The unyielding, iron strands of a once proud man.

“No!” Lade struggled in vain to rise against the power that was holding him in place. “Will ya sell yer souls just ta stay alive? At what price? Damn ya, I will not!”

[BigRedRod]

"I cannot grant any being that which you ask. I do not consent to bear your mark."
Karthas is the last to speak, his words come slowly, almost dispassionately. A striking contrast to Lade's heartfelt plea for his companions to reconsider. But it was too late. The words had been spoken. Each of the four had made their decision aloud.

"THEN IT IS DECIDED."

For Grimjaw and Kjetil what followed was a agonising bliss. Still on their knees, the pair feel a strange twisting within. Kjetil would have been tempted to vomit but his body was not his own, his internal struggle was useless in the face of what was happening. The man and dwarf were mere passengers.

Lade and Karthas have no real understanding of what the other half of their unfortunate band are experiencing. There are no outward signs for the process, both continue to kneel, shifting only as they breath, but their eyes are glassy and dead. A rising light, although not light in the traditional sense, this world being what is, starts to emerge from beneath their clothing. For Kjetil it is upon his right shoulder, reaching from his pectoral and ending just before the read of his shoulder blade. Grimjaw's emission is more centralised, spreading from his navel.

As the white light spreads across their bodies it brings a wonderful freedom and sense of community. They would no longer be alone. They could no longer be alone. The light recedes a little, going from angular protrusions reaching out from within their being and penetrating their clothing without leaving a mark before stretching out into the still air.

With the fading comes the sense of pattern. The two marks are different. Different from one another, that much is clear but also different from the frozen golden sigil hovering above the frozen goat-being. And yet, all three bore similar aspects. A stylised star. The symbol of Bargrivyek. His brand.

There is a moment's silence. Lade found his mouth moving, attempting to shout out against what has happening to his companions. His friends. There is no sound. His voice is gone. Suppressed for the moment.

Control returns to Kjetil and Grimjaw, and they find themselves changed. The light has receded entirely, but they are both aware of the patterns now etched upon their skin. It takes a moment for the pair to realise that they are no longer the victims of their terrible thirst. The sense that death was a grim, inevitability in this world is gone.

The King waits for a moment before speaking again,
"IT IS DONE. THE WATER-STARVATION WILL NOT CLAIM THE TWO OF YOU AND YOU WILL CARRY MY MARK. ALWAYS."

"NOW. YOU ARE NOT OF THIS WORLD, YOU WILL LEAVE. LEAVE AND REPAIR THE RENDING VOID THAT HAS BEEN OPEN FOR SO LONG OR THESE TWINNED EXISTENCES WILL BE LOST."

"DAMONDRED KARTHAS YOU HAVE CONCEIVED WHAT IS NECESSARY AND YET YOU DO NOT RECOGNISE YOUR OWN THOUGHTS. PITIFUL ANIMALS SUCH AS YOURSELVES WOULD BE DESTROYED IF YOU CONTINUED INTO THE HEART OF THE TEAR. AND WHAT IS WORSE YOU WILL SLAY KRYDOL IN THE PROCESS. THEIR ESSENCE WOULD BE FREED AND THE SOUL ON THE OTHER SIDE WOULD LOSE ITS ANCHOR. WANTON DESTRUCTION IS NOT YOUR INTENTION BUT IT IS YOUR END."

"THE FORMATIONS YOU KNOW AS THE DIMENSIONAL ANCHORS STRAIN THE FABRIC OF THE TWO WORLDS. THEY HOLD FAST THE SPREAD OF THE RIFT. YOU WILL USE THIS TO LEAVE. TOKENS MAY MOVE FROM ONE SIDE TO THE OTHER. THIS IS THE NATURAL ORDER. SUCH TOKENS WISH TO RETURN. GATHER THEM ALONG WITH A KEYSTONE, RETURN TO ONE OF YOUR ANCHORS AND YOU MAY PUSH YOUR WAY HOME WITHOUT CLEAVING MORE SOULS FREE OF THEIR COUNTER-ESSENCE."

"THE KEYSTONE WILL YOU WILL NEED IS IN THE SEWERS BELOW THE CITY. AN ANCIENT RELIC OF THE SNAKE SPIRIT WHO HAS DWELT HERE SINCE BEFORE MAN FIRST SET FOOT UPON THE DIRT OF AOS. DOWN. FAR BELOW. THROUGH THE SEWERS AND IN THE LAIR OF AN ALIEN SUCH AS YOURSELVES. HE MAY BE DESTROYED. THE KRYDOL MAY NOT. SUFFER NOT ONE OF THEM TO BE LOST. THE KIND YOU SEE AS RATS OR THEIR BRETHREN MUST NOT BE HARMED."

"GO."

The relief is instantaneous. No longer are the four required to remain prostrated upon the dry ground. The Sigil-Bearer falls to a messy heap upon the ground, a dull groaning emanating from his body. Hosting his King has taken quite the toll upon his body.

[ooc: Kjetil and Grimjaw no longer need to eat or drink and have fancy tattoos that will attract all of the ladies]

[Tashalar]

Kjetil, still on his knees, slumps forward and catches himself with his hands on the earth. Despite several and distinctly positive feelings sore through him, part of himself feels wretched. His conviction that he is on the right path is shaken, at least momentarily. What they had just witnessed was almost too much for a mere human to bear.

"Urgh," is all he says for several long moments. Then he turns sideways to Grimjaw, his eyes on the dwarf's belly. "So we bear his mark," the Aart said. "And we shall close the rift. So is the will of the Gods." Slowly he gets up and gazes about. The Aart blinks, trying to recall what BARGRIVYEK had said. "The sewers... there was something about a creature inside the sewers, someone we'd have to kill. Gather the token..." Kjetil slowly remembered the words the being had spoken. The lines in the Aart's face change and settle into an expression of determination.

[Gralhruk]

Always

The word echoes in his mind, setting loose avalanches of memories, burying his old consciousness in a chaotic mass. Yet it mattered not at all, for he was drowning in a sea of well being. Alone for so long, sundered from his kin, divorced from his world, but here there was wholeness. He basked for a long moment, surging to the surface finally and listening to the words of the King.

When Kjetil rose to his feet, the dwarf looked at him, knowing he had been through a similar experience. The bleak landscape reminded him suddenly of the sea at night, viewed from a ship in a storm. He shook his head, knowing he'd never been sailing, never even seen an ocean. He stood and looked at Lade, recalling his denial and his words.

"Whatever we've sold, it's a price that had to be paid. There's more water for you now, maybe enough to live until we get back."

Someone had to pay that price. He had known Lade wouldn't pay it; he wouldn't let Kjetil sacrifice alone. He still didn't know what it meant, to bear the mark, but for good or ill it was done. Now they needed to move forward.

[itches]

This wasn't the time to make a big deal about what had happened, Lade knew that. Trapped in an alien land, they were the only allies he had, so he couldn’t afford to alienate them now. Later, when they were back home and he was able to check in with certain friends, then would be the time to do any actions necessary. Not now.

And yet, in the end his restraint slipped slightly. He ignored the dwarf to focus on Kjetil, someone he had come to think of a friend. Dropping his eyes to where the glow had faded, he picked his words carefully, keeping them clear and neutral.

“Show me.”

[Tashalar]

At Lade's question, Kjetil felt a mixture of lingering bliss and companionship which had originated from his being marked and nagging doubt and confusion triggered by Lade's expression and his simple question. Grimjaw is right, there's always a price to be paid. And Lade cannot feel what we are feeling...

Kjetil replied by shrugging off his vest and taking off his chain shirt. Turning around for the rest of them to see, he revealed the mark. He still felt it and didn't need to look to know its shape.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw doesn't need to see the mark to know already what it looks like. He can feel his own, centering and balancing him against the forces in motion around him. Wherever he went, be it this world or Aos or some other place, there would be stone beneath his feet. He shifts his stance irritably as Kjetil complies with Lade's request, looking up at the taller man, his face expressionless.

"There, you've seen. Nothing's changed - we're still here, and we still need to get back."

His stance is confident but it's clear that he's waiting for Lade's next move. The man had shown himself a sturdy fighter and the dwarf could sense the unease in him, like pent up magma before an eruption.

"Can we get on with it or is there something else on yer mind?"

[itches]

Lade worked his jaw as he gazed at the brand inscribed upon Kjetil's flesh and - he suspected - soul. But there was nothing he could do, not here and not now. His jaw worked again as he exchanged a glance with Karthas, ignoring Grimjaw before finally breaking his silence.

"Let's go."

Not here, not now - but later.

[Gralhruk]

Deliberately ignoring Lade's directive, Grimjaw goes over to the fallen Sigil-Bearer and tries to ascertain his condition. He leaves his back to the grizzled warrior - as if the man's obvious anger was of no concern to him - and squats on his hams next to the fallen creature. When he speaks, it is to Kjetil.

"Not the token - the Keystone. There's a difference, it seems, though I can't quite make out what. Maybe this'un will be able to say. But to do it without killing any Krydol . . . well, it won't be easy."

[BigRedRod]

The bulky form of the goat-like creature is mostly obscured beneath its own robes. Grimjaw can hear the strained sound of its breathing as he squats down beside it, hosting Bargrivyek had not killed the Sigil-Bearer outright. Still, a being which would smite one of its most devout so casually is a being with a distinctly inhuman (or dwarf) outlook on the world.

Another long wheezing breath confirms Grimjaw's assessment that the Sigil-Bearer will not be returning to his feet to continue spouting his cryptic words. Not without aid.

Karthas muttered something unheard under his breath as he approached the dwarf, sliding out the slender healing wand as he moved. The warlock had not spoken, not shared his thoughts on the sacrifice made by Kjetil and Grimjaw, and he did not seem to be bringing the subject up now. The end of the stave shifts in tone to a deep blue, and Karthas pokes it casually towards the hide of the beast.

His work done, he swiftly turns on his heel,
"There are many of these tokens. That is what he said. Things which fall from our side to theirs naturally - whatever that word might mean. I would know such a thing if I saw it."
He speaks to the buildings to one side of the causeway, his words hurried and uncomfortable. More so than usual,
"This Keystone is something more. Something to do with the Spiritmages by the feel of it. Or this one is, at least. The Magewright's didn't tolerate their kind, though. They don't tolerate all kinds. Hmmm."
The warlock trails off, having reached the twisted stone wall at one edge of the wide road leading into the city and running his hand across it,
"For what it's worth, whatever that thing was, the plan seems sound enough. If we gather things from our world, like this Keystone, then I think I could use the strain around one of the anchors to push it back though. It's that or killing hundreds or more of the rats at the same spot... and well... Hmmmm.

[Tashalar]

"Keystone, yes." Kjetil frowned as he tried to remember the words of the(ir) God. He turned to face the goat-like creature with a sideways glance to Lade when Karthas strode over to the creature's side and used the wand to heal it. Turning his head to Lade, the Aart spoke with a calm voice. "The creature might know something which might help us. Fighting hundreds of rats surely isn't the solution." He was only stating the obvious, but the Aart felt the urge to speak to Lade, to show that he hadn't changed.

Or so the Aart hoped.

[Gralhruk]

Frowning his craggy brow as much at the Sigil-Bearer as at the words Karthas speaks, Grimjaw nods at Kjetil's statement. Slaying an army of Krydol was not the solution, surely, and - in the dwarf's estimation - not even possible. Nevertheless, he keeps his attention focused on Bargrivyek's man (for lack of a better term), wondering if his own mark instilled some sort of kinship between them. Perhaps they would understand one another better. Hesitating only a moment, he lays a broad hand on the thing's shoulder and gives a gentle shake.

"Feeling any better?" he asks in goblin, frowning again as he nearly offers a sip of their precious water.

[BigRedRod]

"Hnnng"
It's not a word. Perhaps it was not supposed to be one. Still, the thing responds and ponderously returned to a standing position. Shuffling backwards a while, the strange-thing almost manages to regain some measure of dignity, although he leans sideways a little too much while merely standing,
"..uched by... my King."
Perhaps he was smiling?
"One such as... I."
The Sigil-Bearer's eyes are glassy and distant, he pauses, staring off beyond Grimjaw, not looking at the wall of the twisted house lining the highway into the city, but something beyond.

Finally he seems to become aware of the party, of his two marked brethren and the question hanging in the year,
"Yes. Better. Much."

[Tashalar]

With one look at Lade and Karthas, Kjetil then stepped up to Grimjaw and the goat-like creature. Gazing down at it he got the impression the creature was smiling. Maybe being possessed by one's God created a feeling of bliss despite the obvious weakening?

Kjetil gazed shortly at Grimjaw and stepped slightly to the side again. Only the dwarf spoke the creature's language. He'd know how to get further information and directions. Possibly their marking would help them... at least with this creature.

[itches]

Stalking away from the others as they tended to the injured creature, Lade knew he needed to calm down. He could feel his temper boiling over and needed a few moments alone to calm down. Not normally one given to excessive uncontrollable outburst of anger, the aging man was hung over, thirsty and off balance from all that had transpired. He needed to be calm, cool and considered, the bide his time and bank his anger until the appropriate moment.

Walking away from the group and around the corner, Lade found himself face to face with one of the pink petalled trees that donned the lands outside the city. If any one thing could represent this landscape and their current problem, it was the damnable trees. Rats they had aplenty back home, strange and powerful god like creatures, even deserts bereft of water, but the forbidden trees? Only here.

The anger that had been bubbling under the surface since the confrontation with the godcreature burst forth, unreasonable and furious. It was the this strange land's fault that had turned his friends, this realm which stole them away and threatened them with death, this shadowy place that invaded his home, the tree which had come to represent all of it to Lade and suffer the lash of his wrath.

Forgoing the use of The Key in his rage, Lade drew back his foot and brought it down on the tree as hard as he could.

[BigRedRod]

Some acts are unforgivable. There exists no agency to erase the marks it would leave upon one's slate. Not a priest. Not a king. Not an angel. Some would even say not a god. For Lade, at least right now, agreeing to carry the mark of one of this land's Kings was just that kind of sin.

And with that one kick, Lade joined them.

The trunk bent backwards in response to the blow, the thin piece of wood was not thick enough to simply stand stoicly in the face of such a force. Nor was it weak enough to snap or be uprooted. Instead, it merely lurches backwards and then returns to a rough approximation of where it had stood. Dry earth is kicked up slightly at its base. The petals though, the strange leaves (or fruit as the denizens of this world seemed to call them) were not so rigorously attached. A score or more lose grip.

Emotion wells up in the pit of Lade's all too empty stomach. He had seen how Grimjaw and Karthas reacted to their experiments with single leaves. A reaction so powerful that it had convinced Kjetil and Lade to seek other sources of water.

Shame

Lade fell to his knees.

Guilt

His mouth opened and he began to wretch.

Unforgivable

The feelings are strong that he is powerless to stem the thick flow of vomit which splatters out onto the ground before him. Precious water sinks into the ground as the petals flutter downwards, swinging back and forth as they descend.

Lade had never experienced such a feeling. Not love. Not hate. This was something else. He still did not understand why the petals were so precious but he would sooner die than perform such an action again. Assuming that a repeat wouldn't simply kill him on the spot.

The warrior lies sprawled upon the ground, unable to recover while the petals land around him and slowly fade from view.

[Gralhruk]

The dwarf gives an irritated look when Lade stalks off, but thinks little of it until he hears the resounding smack. His head snaps around and he witnesses the expressions that stream across the man's face as he slowly sinks to the ground in a cloud of pastel petals. His own stomach tightens at the sight, the emotion of his own experience suddenly raw again in his own mind. His fingers twitch for the haft of his Urgosh, though he knows not why.

He squeezes his big fists tight enough that the thick knuckles pop loudly, though he otherwise remains still. Grinding his jaw, he speaks to Kjetil while his gaze shifts back to the Sigil-Bearer.

"See to him. I'll talk to this one."

[itches]

The acrid smell of bile wafted over Lade from the pool of self loathing he had he disgorged than collapsed in. Sprawled face down in the bitter, caustic substance was far too good a fate for someone who had committed transgressions as foul as he. To think that, but moments ago, he had the tenacity to judge his companions, when he didn't deserve to even suffer in their presence. A lifetime worth of egotistical, unjust memories flashed across his mind's eye leaving silver trails of pain and abhorrence.

With a groan of pain, Lade rolled onto his back and saw them for the first time. The rain of petals, each beautiful and unique, floating peacefully down upon him in an aura of unendurable anguish, each the embodiment of unforgivable, unforgettable sins, the amaranthine testimony of denouncement for now and all time.

Lade’s body heaved and twisted within the thrall of convulsions, as if attempting to cast forth the unworthy soul that inhabits it. His hands clutch at his face, fingers digging deep, bloody gouges until, as the emotional abasement reaches breaking point, darkness claims him.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil turned as well, when Lade slumped to the ground. Nodding in agreement, he got up and hurried over to Lade's side. Waving to Karthas to join them, the Aart carefully rolled Lade on his back and pulled the mans hands away from his face.

What happened... why did he do this to himself... the Aart gazes down at Lade in revulsion... and felt something brush his mind, his being. His gaze caught the movement of another of the leaves slowly drifting down to settle on Lade's stomach. He remembered the vehemence with which his companion's had denied 'drinking' of the leaves. We need to get back. First Gods, now one of his companions going crazy... we have a task. A task given to us by the Gods. We cannot fail. Holding on to that thought, the Aart turned to Karthas. "Heal him, please. Let us take care of those wounds that are visible first."

[Gralhruk]

His impassive gaze rests on the beatific face of the Sigil-Bearer, and he wonders briefly about the nature of the King. The moment of his marking still fresh in his mind, he could not imagine what must accompany being inhabited by such a being. Yet they were not meant to stay here, that was clear. He speaks once more in goblin, hoping to get some answers that might help them start this latest of journeys.

"We've work to do, seemingly. We need to know how to get into these sewers beneath the city that King spoke of, and anything you can tell about the Keystone, the snake spirit, the outsider from Aos, or the Krydol we might encounter is going to make it that much more likely we can actually do what's been asked of us."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes searching the other, for what even he cannot say.

"And if there's any other aid you can offer, that'd help too."

[BigRedRod]

Grimjaw's words disturb the creature from its revelry. The goat-creature's lower jaw moves sideways in a distinctly caprican manner, although it does not chew. In fact, those blessed by a king have no need to eat, as the dwarf fully knows.

After a fashion, it speaks,
"The task donated is your own. Alone. In truth, I am not aware of much of those things. Flank the city, round the wall, on the outside, the ways to the sewers are not hidden. Those who follow Bargrivyek will you offer you no arrest... but the things beneath are without kings. They are not the same as on the surface. Always they remain beneath. You are the outsiders I have regarded, no others."

His words offer the usual amount of insight, little to none, although Grimjaw gathers that the world outside of Bargrivyek's dominion barely concerns him. Whatever lies beneath this version of Edinway apparently does not care much for the surface of this dry world either, and the two exist in happy ignorance.

...

Karthas stoops beside Lade's unconscious form preparing to use the wand, although he puts the slender length away without using it. He shakes his head and looks up at Kjetil,
"No, he needs rest that is all. And maybe water. Water we do not have to spare. Damn idiot, sicking up fluid like that."

[BigRedRod]

A few minutes later. Or perhaps a few tens of minutes. Less than an hour in all likelihood. Time was simply impossible to judge here, and the oscillation between being forced to kneel before a being referring to itself as a King and dealing with his deeply unhelpful servant, had sent adrenaline levels racing up and down at an alarming rate, adding its own layer of complexity.

Later, however much late might have been, Lade was back on his feet. There wasn't enough water to rinse the taste of vomit from his mouth. Swilling and spitting would have been an intolerable waste, even with supplies effectively doubled by the choice of Kjetil and Grimjaw. Doubling a small number was very rarely worthwhile. Still, he staggered on. His lips barely wetted by the splash of water he could afford to drink.

Karthas remained quiet, or at least he avoided speaking directly with the others, having sensed the tension with the two men he didn't know well enough and the dwarf who seemed to have ended up among them for reasons he still didn't quite understand. He took it up himself to lead the way, apparently having a conversation with himself as he went, his lips moving slightly producing the suggestion of muttering, winding a path through the close-built houses. If built was really a word that could be applied to this world. The houses here were strange, twisted shadows of those found back on Aos. Or in Aos at any rate. Piece by piece the warlock was managing to put together how these worlds were joined, although he seemed unable to articulate his theories.

The Sigil-Bearer had told them they would not be bothered by the rats any longer. At least the ones who served Bargrivyek, which seemed to be all of those in and around Edinay (if not those underneath it). As a result, the going was easy and without some of the constant threat of danger there had been previously.

A round pipe around a tall as Kjetil was set in a ditch not far ahead. The grate which had once covered it was thrown clumsily aside. This path had been trod before. The reflection of Edinway's sewers here was rather more pleasant than their originals. For one, there was no stench. And for two, there was no unpleasant wet sludge that needed tramping through. Small mercies from a dry world.

A cluster of Krydol are lounging around the pipe, however. A half dozen of them, of various shapes and sizes but all of them sharing the same murid features. It was hard to guess precisely if the creatures were guarding the way, or simply happened to have chosen this spot to relax in.

There's no chance for stealth, as Karthas blunders into the open, making eye contact immediately. Although the response is more curious than hostile.

It's what one of the creatures is carrying which draws the eye. Draws the eye because it has colour, and not just colour like the rats have, it positively glows. As much as glows makes sense in a context where light doesn't seem to obey the usual rules. A blue shimmering. Just around the edge really. The edge of what appears to be a cracked oil lamp. It should be an unremarkable item. Or it would be back home.

There's a sharp intake of breath as Karthas apparently makes some connection,
"It's one of them. A token. Yes! There. The lamp. It fell from our world to here. Hmmm."
The words are more spoken to himself than the party, but they are easy enough to hear.

[Tashalar]

Whatever Lade had experienced, Kjetil didn't ask him about it. Now he was the only one for whom the mystery of the trees remained hidden. Gauging from his companion's reactions, Kjetil was fine with that. Helping Lade up and offering a sip of water was all he could do. The man knew they had blood left, but his own stomach revolted when he thought of that.

When they come upon the Kyrdol, Kjetil steps up behind Karthas, takes him at the collar and slowly but unrelenting pulls him back and behind himself and Grimjaw. "They aren't hostile," he remarks in a low voice while he keeps his gaze steady and on the rats. "If they can feel or see that we have been marked... maybe we can use that to our advantage?" He looks sideways to Grimjaw shortly. "Perhaps they are willing to part with the lamp," Kjetil was unwilling to call a simple lamp a token, "if we come with direct orders from their God?"

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw raises a hand, in a gesture that would be called a friendly wave back on Aos. What they'd call it here he has no idea, although he hopes that it isn't the signal for Let's fight. He'd learned the goblin tongue as part of his training with the Deepwardens of Clan Khorvek, to better understand and combat their traditional foes. He never thought to be speaking it with any regularity, nor indeed using it as a vehicle of peace. Strange times and strange lands, he'd found himself in.

"Hail, people of Bargrivyek," he says in that bitter language, deciding to stop with just that and see how they were received. He had no idea what the average intelligence of these Krydol was, and indeed, if these were even beholden to the king he'd named. Somehow he doubted they'd be as accommodating as the Sigil-bearer had been.

<OOC: Do I note any mark about them, such as the one Kjetil and Grimjaw now bear?>

[BigRedRod]

Grimjaw's words don't cause any obvious calamity. Some of the rats stand, others just look slightly uncomfortable, rather than children who have been caught doing something they should not be doing. None seem too willing to speak, but after a moment one of them finally opens his mouth, his eyes remaining fixed upon the ground at Grimjaw's feet,

"What thing want?"
The language is goblin, a language that is ambiguous at the best of times. Whether the rat was referring to Grimjaw as a thing, or merely anticipating some demand from the Kingmarked.

There's an awkward silence where the rats make sideways glances at one another and apparently prepare to spring away if the opportunity should arise.

[Tashalar]

While Kjetil cannot understand a word of what the Kyrdol are saying, the rat's body language seemed obvious. They wouldn't act aggressively unless provoked. If it would provoke them if they were ordered to turn over the lamp was another thing. "We need that lamp and we want them to move off," he voiced under his breath. "Maybe focus on the one holding the lamp and ask him to approach us?" Kjetil kept his gaze on the rats as he spoke. He knew his suggestion wouldn't help Grimjaw much, but if it helped, so much for the better.

While Kjetil didn't make any directly threatening move, he did square his shoulders and stood upright. He had seen quite a few Aart impress enemy and friend with their bearing only. At this point he tried to mimic them.

[Gralhruk]

"We're charged with a mission from the King," Grimjaw replies, peripherally aware of the towering Aart at his side, "Aye, a mission given directly by the King himself. Tokens we need, and a token you have." The dwarf gestures at the lamp, to indicate what he means, not convinced they would know his name for the thing.

"We must collect these tokens from the other world, and we must needs search below the city. Down we must go, and we must take this token and any others you might have."

[BigRedRod]

The lamp-holder pulls the token slightly closer to his body, clearly unwilling to be parted from such a unique item. He peers, almost casually, over his shoulder. Lowering himself slightly, one of his calf muscles tenses. Before he does flee, however, a hand snatches at the lamp and causes the creature to lose his balance.

It's the one who spoke, obviously this one had made its decision to obey Grimjaw (and the silent Kjetil). It was going to obey and it was not about to let the actions of another jeopardise it's own life. There's a squeal and a yelp and then several throaty grunts; these were not words of the goblin tongue, but simply animal sounds. A more primitive manner of communication.

Moments earlier, the one with the lamp had seemed to carry himself with more dignity than the others. Although he had not spoken, it was clear that he had been the power. Now, restrained by two of his gang as he snatches at the air, he is nothing.

The speaker takes a step towards the dwarf before deciding that it would rather not linger, and so it hurls the lamp to the dusty ground before the party. Throwing it with as much reverence as anybody could. And then it turns tail (quite literally) and flees. The others follow the speaker with the former possessor of the lamp stalling for a few seconds to glare hatefully towards it before chasing his friends.

Surrounded by the tiny blue glimmer, the cracked clay lamp sits on the ground. A very remarkable piece of rubbish.

[Gralhruk]

"Well, we're not makin' any friends, I see."

The dwarf watches them go, big hands not far from his weapons in case they decide to try their luck in a fight. Not likely, if he was any judge of people - but then again, these things weren't really people. He considers their apparent reluctance to attack, their subsequent compliance with his demand - seemed to at least fear a marked one, even if they weren't likewise branded. That was useful, certainly, but it was clear that it was a near thing. Krydol beneath the ground might well be more brazen, less likely to heed the sigil. He shakes his head and steps forward to retrieve the lamp.

Turning the thing in his hands, he looks for any indication that it was remarkable in any way. Their first token. He supposes it ought to have some sort of sentimental value, at least, but it only reminds him that they've a long road ahead. Aye, long, and far more difficult than what they'd been through thus far.

"Our first token. Get we below, and we'll see what's what."

With that, he prepares to lead them into the tunnel.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil relaxed visibly when the rats turned tail. "Nope, but I'm happy as long as we don't have to kill any of them. That might not turn out well." After a short pause, Kjetil looked back at Lade and Karthas. "At least now we know that they respect those 'marked', or at least won't mess with them. Not if they don't have a better reason, that is."

The Aart only glanced shortly at the lamp. Sure, it was a token in this land, but to him it wasn't more than the lamp it looked like. "Hopefully retrieving other tokens will be as easy," he muttered under his breath. Aloud he said "how many tokens did we have to find? Did he say?"

Kjetil once more eyed Karthas and Lade. "Ready to proceed into the sewers?" The big man hefted his guisarme and stood at Grimjaw's side, as ready as he'd get.

[itches]

"I've been in the sewers before, the real ones back home" Lade said eyeing the entrance with reluctance. "If this lot are half as bad as the other ones ... well let's just say yer never ready, at some point ya just go,:

[BigRedRod]

"May I see the lamp?"
The question was barely voiced before Karthas made to take it. Grimjaw had found the token to be an extreme disappointment, it really was just a piece of junk that had fallen from one world to another. It could just as easily been a cobblestone from a road, a crust of bread or anything else. Or so it seemed from the scant details the party possessed.

Still, the warlock apparently finds something interesting with the object. He clucks to himself as he turns it in his hands, following the other as they make their way into the round sewer tunnel.

Back in Edinway, the sewers were known to be ancient. Beyond ancient. As the city in some form had always stood, so the sewers had existed. Not that modern Edinway was all that concerned with the maintenance of the sanitary system. From nobles to the growing middle-class, the large households engineered complex additions to directly transport waste into the depths. For the much larger proportion of the city, however, such mechanisms were not available in the home. Still, they were not savages. Many outhouses were positioned upon long chutes leading down into the stinking depths, and those that weren't were mucked out on some irregular basis.

Of course, anything that somebody might want to remain unfound had a habit of ending up cast into the sewers. Stories abounded about fearsome beasts lurking below. Creatures carved from clay by old mad wizards, reptilian beasts with too many heads and all manner of giant vermin. From time to time something would venture out into greater Edinway, causing panic and adding to the rumours.

Only a very unlucky few ever had to venture into the sewers themselves. And they either had good reasons or were paid enough not to concern themselves with the why.

Stepping into the monochrome tunnel, the twisted shadow of these sewers is rather less imposing. The roughly circular tunnel has a flattish bottom, although the path twists and turns more than it need to. As most things seemed to do here. There's a slight flow of air, enough to usually ignore, but this land was devoid of wind. Fortunately, it does not carry the expected stink. Instead, there's no odour at all. Or filth. In places the floor becomes covered with a fine dust, not so far from the soil outside.

After a few hundred yards of travel, the party find themselves slightly below the surface level. The absence of light in this world proves advantageous, as there is no need for torches. Instead, each stone remains as bright as it always hard. The shifting pure blacks and whites existing without the need for external brightness. In a world with no sun and no water, it was not entirely surprising to find the strange trees growing below the ground. They emerged from the walls and ground, often in small clusters as before. Although down here, they seemed smaller, and with far fewer of the translucent pink-petals upon them.

Every so often the path branches off, and the cross-shaped chamber the party find themselves in is one such example. Bargrivyek had not specified exactly where the keystone would be found. At each fork in the road, the way had been chosen randomly, favouring any obvious descent. The floor at the centre of the room is five feet lower than the four passages leading off, a small holding reservoir for waste. If there had been any here. The ceiling is domed and sports one of the unsettling trees growing directly downwards from it, its roots apparently anchored in the rock somehow.

One of the passages slopes down at a forty-five degree angle, although the war is barred. The passage shrinks to a portal only three feet across which a grating has been set in. While there are hinges to suggest that the grating is intended to be swung open like a door, there is a padlock on the opposite side. A large padlock which does not have any visible keyhole.

Lade sips at a waterskin, and finds the supplies of water finally exhausted. A chuckle, a single note of mirth, draws attention away from the sealed passage. Karthas is standing at the edge of the basin in the centre of the room. The lamp still in his hands. Looking up slowly, he regards the party briefly. His lips twitch as if he was about to explain the joke, or his realisation. But no. Instead, he lifts the token above his head and casts it down onto the solid ground below.

The oil lamp was clay and already cracked. Being hurled even a short distance would cause it to shatter. And yet it simply skips along the ground before skidding a short way. Not even a single fragment has chipped loose from the fragile piece of junk.

Smiling broadly, Karthas gestures down,
"I was right! Of course I was. I didn't doubt it. But I was right. The tokens. They arrived here... naturally. Not at all like we did. And this world rejects them. Or they reject it. It doesn't matter which, it's the same. But, that's not the point, this rejection is what makes them useful for returning, they are pushing to get back, but there's more... it makes them invulnerable. Absolutely impenetrable. Or is not absolutely, then as close as anything can ever be. The power contained in this piece of rubbish is unimaginable. I understand now. If we gather them, like Bargrivyek said, then they will warp the threads that are the worlds."

The man pauses, and swats at some unseen antagonist,
"Shush! No. Not you. Yes, every token wishes to return and enough of them would make it easier to cross, but sheer numbers are not enough. We need something special. That is what the keystone is. It's the upper limit of what can accidentally fall into this realm. It's a concentrated source."
His voice got louder as he spoke, the excitement was increasing with each word.

"But, there's a problem-"
His head snaps sideways. The others had heard it too. From one of the other passages had come a sound. A violent sound. And then another. Voices. Distorted by echoes, but loud and fierce. The party were not alone down here.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw's heavy brow wrinkles as he sorts through the words that spew from Karthas like filth from a sewer. Well, not like this sewer, but a sewer in a place with water. A lot of offal in there but some few things were let drop that had some value. He was about to ask why, if this lamp was so strengthened, that invulnerability didn't apply to themselves who had been cast across the boundary that same way when the relative silence was shattered by a discordant clash. Ghosts walked down his spine, setting the skin there tingling - he had known they weren't alone down here, since that was why they'd come to begin with. Yet that knowledge had no way to prepare them for what alien horror might wait for them.

He holds up a hand, gesturing for the others to halt and remain quiet. Better to investigate or lay silent and hope they were passed by? The lure of more tokens made the first option seem a better, if more risky choice. Carefully, he creeps toward the passage where the noise emanates, trying to make sense of what he hears.

<OOC: Move Silent [roll0], Listen [roll1]>

[Tashalar]

Kjetil's brows furrow as Karthas revealed his thoughts. He had cringed inwardly when the man had thrown the lamp to the ground, but it didn't break. Whatever Karthas was, he seemed to have made a connection. He even managed to explain it in a way that was comprehensible.

When they suddenly hear the voices, Kjetil drops into a crouch, lifting his guisarme. Nodding at Grimjaw's signal, he motions for Lade to climb back out of the basin, to the right. The Aart makes his way to Karthas' side carefully, indicating Grimjaw to take the right flank with Lade. Frowning, he hesitates. His choice of tactics was founded on the belief that they'd survive, that they'd meet something they could beat in one way or another. But if they couldn't, if they had to run... they'd be separated.

Before he reaches Karthas' side, Kjetil's gaze finds Lade's and Grimjaw's, gauging their reaction.

{OOC: Listen - [roll0]}

[itches]

As Grimjaw moved forward Kjetil moved to the left, Lade slid across the pseudo stone ground to stand next to the passage on the right, wishing for the first time since they entered the underground sewer maze that there was some sort of shadow in the unnatural light of this place. Meeting Kjetil's gaze, he nodded his readiness, hand hovering near the half of The Key.

[[OOC: Move silent [roll0] Listen: [roll1]]]

[BigRedRod]

Karthas steps backwards into the tunnel from which the party emerged, taking cover in the opening. He does his best to remain silent, although the large northern warrior jangles enough for all four of the men. The echoing voices continue without pause, whatever was down here apparently was not expecting company.

The party stood out against the monochromatic sewer by virtue of their infinitely more varied colours. A man would have to be blind to avoid spotting a moving mass of colours. Grimjaw had experience with the beasts lurking below Aos. Many of them did not perceive colour like a dwarf did. What was the point when there was barely any light? And this was a lightless land altogether. It would not be a surprise to find that the Krydol were the same. And yet with the rats themselves not obeying the two-tone scheme, it would be an incredible advantage to spot colour. Especially with regard to their food source, the pink petal-like "fruit" of the trees. All in all, it was safest to assume that anything in this world could see colour as plain as the party. And so the dwarf crept a little way into the tunnel.

Up ahead, he can see that the floor of the passage suddenly drops. With each step, the sound of voices becomes a little clearer. Eventually, Grimjaw stops, the passageway continues for a short distance some ten feet below his current level before it blossoms into another chamber. Positioned as he is though, he can't see into the room to gain an understanding of its shape or size. Or even what is responsible for the voices.

Whatever they are, they are speaking the goblin tongue and there are at least two of them.
"... long!?"
The first is sharp, and possibly frightened.

"No. Mine. Not his. Mine."
The second angry and defensive.

Both could be rats, the sounds are distorted as they bounce up to Grimjaw through the empty tunnel, making the sounds deeper and each word hard to understand. There is something distinctly different between the two voices, but Grimjaw is unable to judge exactly what.

The first speaks again, pleading,
"Just you donate. We go, you donate and we not say. He occupied with the to have. Not have need to say you wanted to keep."

"NO!"

[itches]

Straining his hearing to its limit, Lade catches the faintest echo of sound from the tunnel. If the noise had once had any meaning, they were robbed of it by a cavalcade of echo and distortion by the time it reached him, but they were without a doubt words. Words meant language, language meant intelligent life, and in this place that meant rats.

Carefully pulling forth The Key so as to made no noise, Lade slowly stepped across the right edge of the tunnel, taking the time to make each step as silent as possible. His eyes caught Kjetil's and he tilted his head to the corner opposite him.

If there were rats down there and Grimjaw got into trouble, he'd come running back with them hot on his tail. If they were ready, they could ambush those pursuers as they passed and end this before it began.

[Gralhruk]

Dwarves were creatures used to life beneath the ground, in tunnels delved far from open sky and wide horizons. They were a focused people, well suited to life where one could rarely see more than a score of yards in any direction. Yet even so, this was neither his world nor any natural cave. In such a place he might have an advantage over his companions but the natives were doubtless better suited to it than himself. And where more at home a rat than in a sewer? At least two, he could hear, and memory of the last fight reminds him how resistant to injury these beasts were.

So it is with extreme caution that creeps forward on careful feet, only so far as is necessary to catch a glimpse into the chamber. His ears are pricked forward, straining to catch each sound while his body is tense and ready to spring into action should the need arise.

<OOC: Hide [roll0]; Move Silent [roll1]; Spot [roll2]; Listen [roll3]; Ready an action to flee back to the room Lade and Kjetil are if attacked.>

[Tashalar]

Kjetil nodded in reply to Lade and moved to the other side of the passageway. Whatever would happen, they'd be ready. They weren't allowed to hurt any rats, but... who knew what came their way. Maybe different creatures made a living down here. And maybe they could take them out without actually hurting them.

Kjetil readied his guisarme and waited patiently. This was nothing compared to hunting in the North where you sometimes had to remain silent and motionless for hours on end when you were on your own, waiting for the kill.

[BigRedRod]

The oil lamp rests on the ground in the centre of the chamber, too far away for Karthas to retrieve when there was such commotion. Instead, he maintains his position and raises his hands, ready for whatever might be about to emerge from the passageway.

Grimjaw creeps towards the argument, moving his entire body with each step to try and catch a glimpse of what is going on. Pressing his back flat against the wall, he walks sideways in a strangely humped motion another few steps. For such an inelegant looking creature, the dwarf is very quiet indeed. Taking a slow breath, he extends to his full height and turns.

Eyes lock and a single moment stretches to infinity. Grimjaw had been spotted, of that there was just no doubt. One of the arguing figures had moved while he was creeping forwards. The dwarf and the thing stood staring at one another. His reactions are slowed by the surprise. This was no rat. Not even one of the increasingly monstrous variations that existed. This was something else, some terrible combination of reptile and fish. Or possibly amphibian and ape. It defies description as a simply hybrid.

The mouth is wide, as wide at the entire head and pitted with tiny, triangular teeth of a deep yellow hue. The eyes are huge, bulbous and set one on each side of its head, like a rabbit's. The black glistening orbs are entirely lidless, with folded skin around the edge. There is no neck to speak of, the head merges seamlessly into the body, the arms project out sideways with no obvious shoulders. Compared to the rest of the creature, the arms are too small; Thin, not especially long and ending in a hand which has three spindly fingers, each ending with a bulge. The legs are thicker, but bowed, and there is a small stub of a tail at the back. Its skin is free from scales, and instead looks thick and rubbery. While spared from the monochromatism which afflicts this world, it is hardly colourful, with the light yellow of what might be called the palms of its hands and teeth being the key deviation from the mottled deep greenish grey.

Alien eyes wide, the piscine creature is as naked as the rats which walk upon the surface of this twisted land. This was the first voice, the one which had pleaded and was not without a trace of fear.

One hand rises and points towards Grimjaw, its mouth hanging silently open. And then the second creature moves into view.

Its a rat. Or, it is much closer to a rat than its companion. A hairless rat with odd extraneous flaps of skin all over its body giving it a deep textured appearance. Its eyes are barely visible beneath the rolls of skin, while its white teeth are longer than those of its surface-dwelling relatives. Despite its grotesque appearance, Grimjaw finds his attention drawn by a swirling crimson. An aura encircling the object it is holding. A length of carved wood, possibly a chair leg or some other support broken from a piece of larger furniture. Junk, but also a second token.

The two creatures give Grimjaw no real time to speak or respond, before they set off at a run, fleeing from the dwarf.

[Gralhruk]

"Another token!" the dwarf calls back to his companions as loudly as he dares, using the common tongue in hopes of at least preventing the creatures from understanding him, "To me, quick - they flee!"

And with that, he trails after them as quietly as he may, listening for sounds of their passage and waiting for his companions to catch up.

<OOC: Let's pretend I also mention which passage I'm going down, so they know where to find me. So, Listen [roll0] and Move Silently [roll1] (-5 for moving full speed included)>

[itches]

Hearing Grimjaw's yell, Lade's eyebrows shot up. Of everything he had considered, that they might try to run hadn't been one of them. With no time for more than a muttered oath, the aging mercinary spun his weight around and set down the tunnel, hoping that the creature weren't setting them up for an ambush of their own.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil wasted no time either. Turning shortly to Karthas, he said "get that lamp and then follow us as quickly as you can," and then took off after Lade.

The older man heard the Aart catch up to him. In a flash, Kjetil sprinted past him and took off after Grimjaw.

[BigRedRod]

Karthas didn't need telling twice, seeing his companions rush off, he leapt down to gather up the lamp and set out about scrambling up into the tunnel to avoid being left alone in this strange world.

Loud clanking from behind informs Grimjaw that his companions are coming. Kjetil is upon him before the dwarf has even got down into the chamber at the end of the passage. Both manage to catch another glimpse of their quarry. A hairless ratman with creased skin hanging down over his body, a strange reptilian, or amphibian, and a pair of smaller rats. The last two had been at the far end of the room, and apparently had been keeping silent during the argument between the other two. Both look just like the rats back in Aos, or even those upon the surface.

All are heading in the same direction, the rat-like creatures moving with their characteristic superhuman speed while the fourth moves considerably slower.

Kjetil lands on the floor of the chamber noisily and sets about closing the distance between himself and the strangler. The corridor is barely wide enough for the warrior to spring down without touching the sides, every few steps an arm or a leg catches one of the sides. The pain is momentary and deadened from the adrenalin pumping through his body. A sudden twist puts Kjetil only a few steps behind the fish-frog.

Behind it another chamber opens, the passage opening considerably above the local ground level. Down below, the floor is strewn with what looks to be fine silt, not unlike the contents of the dry lake where the party arrived in the strange world, although it is marked with a large amount of rubble. A trio of the red-leafed trees, each with only a spare few leaves compared to those topside, emerge at irregular angles from the ground. The ceiling is high and vaulted, but appears to have collapsed in places. Against one wall, the largest pieces of fallen masonry have been collected into pile.

There are two exists, one a narrow and partially collapsed way that gives the impression it may well be impassable a little further along, and another wider passage which is even higher up than where Kjetil stands, and with no way up aside from a tough climb on the loose stones. Chunks of colourless bricks and mortar fall to the ground as one of the two "normal" rats drags itself up to the narrow ledge before the wide tunnel. It pauses for a moment, staring over at Kjetil and his companion, caught between the fall and the northman.

http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d49/PASG/sewerchase.png

[Tashalar]

Kjetil rounded the corner puffing and blowing. His companions were already moderately far behind. But at least he had cornered the strange creature. The rats... they were far away, unreachable.

Kjetil skidded to a halt and lowered the tip of his guisarme, moving it to the side in a non-threatening manner. He held it in his left hand and raised his right. I need to convince it to stay here until Grimjaw arrives. "We mean no harm," he said in a soft voice. It probably was useless as the creature wouldn't be able to understand him, but maybe it understood his meaning, his intention.

[BigRedRod]

The creature seems to relax as Kjetil lowers his weapon, but as he starts speaking he realises it was just a feint. The creature half-turns, its body lowering as it prepares to leap out over the edge into the chamber beyond. The back leg, the one closest to Kjetil snaps awkwardly against the wall giving the whole body a slight spin as it travels through the air.

Kjetil can only take half a step forwards before the creature land. And lands badly. The slight twist putting its legs at the wrong angle with the ground. There is an awful snap which echoes around the chamber followed a brief silence and then a terrible scream.

Down below, the creature lies, one of its legs apparently broken at the knee-joint, howling in pain.

[Tashalar]

It all happened in slow-motion: the fish-creature's expression revealing his decision, Kjetil's hand slowly moving up to stop it, the jump, the fall, Kjetil arriving at the ledge the moment the creature falls to the ground with a thud. The Aart shook his head, then took a good look around the room.

A few seconds later, his companions arrived. "The rats fled into the tunnel over there," Kjetil explained. "The one down there was still up here, but I failed to convince him to stay and parlay." The large man continued to gaze down at the creature. "The jump didn't go well for it." After a few more seconds he turned to Grimjaw. "Can you talk to it? We need to find out where the rats are hiding. I don't think we can simply give up on a token."

{OOC: Spot check [roll0]}

[itches]

Breathing. It was all about keeping on breathing, ignoring the throbbing in his head, the burning in his chest of the parchment dry tongue swelling within his mouth. Breathing, just focusing on one breath after another.

Lade hurtled down the passage after his companions, swiftly being over taken and left behind by Kjetil. In his youth he had been able to run like the wind, outpacing everyone in his village. Right now those days seemed an impossible number of years ago, and all he could do was keep moving, gulping down one desperate breath after another.

Coming to a corner, the mercenary failed to stop in time, slamming into the wall at full speed and bouncing off it to stumble towards his companions, collapsing at their feet in an ear-shattering rattling of steel. His armour had protected him from injury, but the shock of the impact knocked the wind out of him. Laying prostate upon the ground, he looked up at the others, gasping shallow breaths as the memory of youth grow a little more distant.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw shoots Lade an irritated look as the man crashes to the ground dramatically. A skilled warrior, that much was true, but the human had precious few other qualities that a dwarf could admire. Wouldn't do for these creatures to see weakness.

"Best you get up," he grates shortly before turning his attention back to the scene before and below. The bizarre creatures was clearly in distress, its amphibian features twisted into pain enough for even a dwarf to recognize. He frowned at all the wailing in his midst, which made it hard to think. What you needed with fins when there was no water was beyond his ability to puzzle out. He shakes his head; none of it made any sense, yet here he was chasing through a sewer after refuse strewn from a different world.

Switching to goblin, he calls down to the frog-like beast, "We're not looking for trouble," he pauses, not really sure what to say in a situation like this - which, for once, had little to do with his lack of diplomacy and a lot to do with the fact that situations like this were mercifully rare. "Might be we can help you."

[Tashalar]

When Grimjaw started talking to the creature, Kjetil stepped back next to Lade. Going down on one knee, he grabbed the man under his shoulder and heaved him up. "Catch your breath quickly, we might have need of your sword arm soon enough," Kjetil muttered before he turned away again.

To Karthas he said "do you have any idea what kind of creature that is?"

[BigRedRod]

Even in the bulbous alien eyes of the strange creature, Grimjaw can recognise terror when he sees it. Its head twitches from side to side, looking between each of the party members, ready for whichever of them will be dealing the killing blow.

It reacts to Grimjaw's words, steadying its gaze upon him, but it offers no words of its own.

A little back from the edge of the drop leading down into the chamber, Karthas offers Kjetil a brief smile,
"I never was much of a fisherman."

[Gralhruk]

The dwarf grimaces at the reaction, not at all comfortable in the presence of such weakness. The world was what it was, whether it was Aos or somewhere infested with giant rat men and other bizarre mutations. There was only ever one choice - to fight or to lay down and die, and everyone knew that dwarves just didn't lay down. Not that everything was a dwarf, obviously, but they ought to at least behave like one. Karthas' snide comment does little to raise his mood, but he continues as if the thing can understand him.

"You've naught to fear, so long as you don't hinder us. I'm offering help for help. Sound okay?"

[BigRedRod]

A long moment passes. A long moment in which it looks like perhaps this creature hadn't been one of the voices Grimjaw had heard, that it wasn't able to speak and was looking at him like a wounded dog might, responding to the sound of his voice rather than the meaning.

"Aid? What you aid for? Not have it. He has it. Bald-one."

The words come quickly once the things start to speak, tumbling from its gaping maw in a horribly slurred jumble. While the rats had vocal chords not far from a dwarf's, this creature did not. The sounds are produced somewhere at the back of the throat, with no tongue to help shape them before they splutter out.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil grimaces shortly at Karthas' comment, then turns back down towards the fishcreature. His gaze also lingered shortly on the tunnel the rats scrambled into. He wanted to climb down, but that might hinder Grimjaw's queries.

So he bid his time and tried his best to look non-threatening. One of the harder chores for him with strangers.

[Gralhruk]

The dwarf pauses to scratch his chin through his frost white beard, wishing for the days when the only sound to be heard for miles was the drip of water on stone or the tap of a hammer in the dark. Soothing sounds, as familiar and regular as the heartbeat in his chest. These conversations were wearying.

"Aye, the bald one has it. He ain't here. Might be you know where he's going, or where he'll end up. Or something we might do to make him come back and give it over. We're not looking for a fight, if we can barter for it."

Truth be told, he had no idea if they were looking for a fight or not. Was the bald rat really a rat? Was it under the King's protection? Safe was likely better than sorry, but, well, not everyone in this group thought like he did.

[BigRedRod]

The creature makes a strange coughing sound, and shifts slightly. Possibly it is attemtping to swiftly and subtly increase the distance between itself and the party. If that is its intention, then it is hardly successful on either account, being more of a gradual and very obvious backwards slide towards the trees. Each minor movement causes the creature to yelp in pain as its broken leg bends in various directions,

"No. Not know. Bald-one not want to donate. Not go to collector."
It strangles a scream in its throat as it makes a sudden lurch. Stopping its movement, it looks down at the base of the wall on which Grimjaw stands, regaining the shreds of composure it can, before continuing to talk without continuing its pathetic retreat.
"Won't donate to you. Only donate to collector. If not, then just rushing. To rush and to evade."

[Tashalar]

Kjetil's eyes narrowed as he sensed that the creature had sensed something itself. Slowly he inched forward to the edge of the ledge. Peering downwards, he slowly moved forward to improve his angle, going as far as he dared.

{OOC: Listen: [roll0]; Spot: [roll1]}

[BigRedRod]

Furtively peeking over the edge, and then eventually just leaning forwards, Kjetil sees nothing but a pile of rubble at the bottom of the drop. No hidden tunnel, or looming beast was out of sight. Unless it was sufficiently out of sight to also be invisible. Or look a great deal like a fallen piece of masonry.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw frowns, causing his snowy beard to bristle. It wasn't what he wanted to hear, nor did it sit well that their token was currently running off in the hands of a crazily fast bald rat man. He shakes his head.

"No need to run, we're not going to hurt you and you'll only end up making that leg worse. Let me understand - the bald one, he found the token and he don't want to bring it to this collector. But you say he won't give it us, either. Where is this collector, and what can you tell me of him?"

[BigRedRod]

"Yes. Wants for itself."
The creature pathetically relaxes, clearly having accepted that flight is impossible with its damaged leg. It looks up at Grimjaw and Kjetil with its huge black eyes,
"Collector that way".
An arm gestures in the direction that the rats had fled. There's a pause as the fish thing considers further directions,
"Not far. All have fear of collector, bald-one say not true, but true. Bald-one fear collector. It is necessary to donate things. Collector not as we. Or you."

Its voice grows smaller and smaller, forcing Grimjaw to strain to make out its words until eventually it is just mumbling to itself.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw considers the words and the pathetic creature below, mechanically relaying the general conversation to his companions as he does so. Not that they had many choices. They were bound for the collector most like, unless by some extremely unlikely circumstance they could find enough tokens without going there. He acknowledged the inevitable with dwarven stoicism, and doggedly continued questioning the maimed creature.

"Alright, I think I understand. The creatures that live in these tunnels - they all look for tokens to bring to the collector. Why, exactly? And tell me more about the collector and where he is. Are there many tokens down here?"

[BigRedRod]

The alien visage of the fish-frog-man twists in a way that could represent anything. Joy, sorrow, pain, confusion, envy, or anything else from the spectrum of emotions and feelings. If dwarf and thing even shared the same spectrum.

Again, the creature gestures towards the path taken by the fleeing rats. It holds its arm out-stretched, and speaks with an odd emphasis on each word, doing its best to be understood,
"Collector there. That way."

It pauses, letting the words hang, and then lowers the arm for a moment before moving the other in a small circle,
"Things for collector. All things."

Gaining a little more confidence that it is managed to explain, the rate of chatter increases,
"Find thing, donate thing: Well! Find thing, not donate thing: Bad! It is necessary. Even for bald-one. Collector has... need, we not have need. We just have want."

With every question it becomes more painfully obvious to Grimjaw that his questions were too broad and not being fully understood. It was all too like asking a long-mole it's opinion on a piece of furniture, the creature might bark some words happily in response, but there was no information being conveyed.

[Tashalar]

As Grimjaw relates the frog-man's latest efforts at speaking, Kjetil frowns. It had become a rather frequent expression of late. There wasn't much to laugh about these days. Even a smile was rare. "So this entity, this 'collector', gathers all the tokens he can get? And while those living down here want to keep them, he for some reason needs them? It seems as if not handing over a token is a bad idea."

Kjetil falls silent a moment as he gazes over at the other exit where the rats vanished. "Well, we do have a token. Let us take it to the collector, shall we?" The quirk of his brow indicated he didn't intend anything of the sort, but clearly their path and that of the collector would meet soon. One way or another.

[Gralhruk]

"Mmmm," the dwarf grunts in reply. Seemed pointless to wander around looking for tokens when the collector was bound to have many of them in one place. Besides, they had to get the Keystone, and unless he had misinterpreted, the Keystone would be with the collector. Alien, the King had said of the creature, yet also like yourselves. They'd have to kill it, most like, and if it was capable of holding this entire underworld in fear than chances were it wasn't going to be easy. He tilts his head at the thought, and looks once more to the thing below.

"This collector - what does it look like? How big, and how many arms and all that. Will it take us long to get there?"

[BigRedRod]

Returning it's hands down its injured leg, the creature rubs absently before answering Grimjaw's further questions, doubtlessly attempting to find the most basic way of presenting its answers so as to further avoid confusing the dwarf. He carefully studies the party, before indicating Lade, the armoured man only being partially visible from his position at the rear of the group,
"Most like that one. Most. But not."

Satisfied with his full and uncompromising description, he moves on the question of distance, with a gesture indicating the room around them,
"Longer than this. Much longer."

[Gralhruk]

The dwarf bares his teeth and looks away, seeking solace from idiocy in the stony walls. The good news was that the collector was likely human and not some otherworldly fiend. The barest whisper of the word Septuagint flows serpent like through his mind and Grimjaw's sturdy frame shudders. The bad news could have been very bad indeed.

"Stupid," he grunts in common, "rock has more sense than that thing down there. I don't know how far away from this collector we are other than 'far', but it sounds like it's at least human-like, whatever it is."

Switching back to goblin, he addresses the frog like creature once more.

"Are there more tokens around here? Anything we can bring as a gift to the collector?"

[BigRedRod]

Again, as Grimjaw finishes forming the words and spots the change in expression on the strange, dumb animal lying on the ground beneath him, he realises that the question has confused it.

It opens its mouth to speak, but then, there is a sudden shift, a moment of realisation,
"Yes!"
The single, unexpected word. It waves an arm,
"There!"
Karthas. The oil-lamp they had taken from the group of rats outside the sewer entrance. The creature had spotted it and identified that it was, indeed, what Bargrivyek had labelled as a token.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil didn't understand the creature's words, but from its pointing and Grimjaw's following frown, he more or less figured out what the communication had been about. He grimaced. "So what about this one? Shall we patch it up to lead us to the collector?"

The Aart shortly indicated the wand at Karthas' side.

[BigRedRod]

Karthas signs in exasperation at Kjetil's suggestion,
"You want to waste what little magic we have left on that... that animal!?"
The outburst is short-lived as the warlock suddenly seems to notice just how much larger the northerner is than himself. Lowering his free arm, he continues in a quieter, more even tone,
"Look. There's nothing even to say he'll understand where he's leading us. Grimjaw, here, is having all worlds of trouble getting him to say anything useful. Is there any harm in just leaving him be? We have finite resources. I'd rather spend them on keeping us alive. It's just not the time for charity and virtue."

His head snaps sideways, reacting to something the party can't see or here. For a moment, it seems that Karthas will return to his muttering or raving, but instead, he turns his head back and offers a thin smile.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil's expression doesn't change for a while, then the large Aart simply shrugs and nods. "I guess we will be able to find this collector either way," he states.

[itches]

For a moment Lade was inclined to agree with Karthas, they had little to gain and small chance of even that much by spending time and effort on the creature. As he opened his mouth to agree, a wave of guilt rose up, and for a moment he could see them. Small, pink and precious petals floating down towards him.

Catching himself, Lade shut his eyes until the vision faded and anguish retreated to a background ache. Maybe they had little to gain, and few resources to try with, but the creature was hurt and just walking away was one sin too many for the day.

"If now isn't the time, then when is?" Lade asked, moving forward to stand beside Grimjaw and examine the drop. "Maybe we don't haveta use magic, it can't hurt to check. Grimjaw, let it know I'm going to check it to see if we can help. That I won't hurt it.”

Carefully clambering down the drop to the floor of the cavern, Lade slowly approached the creature, empty hands held out to his side.

[[OOC: Provided it doesn't try to stop Lade, Heal check +4 to assess the injury]]

[Tashalar]

Kjetil regards Lade curiously, but neither moves to intervene, nor does he speak up. Instead, he makes eye contact with Grimjaw shortly and then slowly moves down after Lade. Taking care not to stay a little bit to the side in case he'd lose his grip, once the Aart is on solid ground once more, he shortly glances at the base of the wall and then stands with his back to the frog creature and Lade, holding his guisarme at the ready and looking about.

[BigRedRod]

A few words of goblin cover Lade's approach, words to which the injured creature seems disinclined to respond to. Taking no objection as consent, the old warrior squats down. He'd seen his share his of wounds during his long and varied life. Some caused in battles, others caused just by misfortune. Often, you'd find yourself somewhere without a convenient healer. No disciple of some greater being or other that could channel raw divine energies into healing. Just like now.

Normally, Lade was used to dealing with the injuries of other men. The fish-frog thing was no man, not by a long stretch. One leg extends forwards with an odd kink in it. If a man had his leg broken and twisted like that he'd have passed out. Passed out after screaming for all he could. But the creature just sat and fearfully watched as Lade carefully put a hand around the spindly leg.

No real swelling or signs that it was going to bruise up. He pushes and the creature squirms. Just wiggles a bit to show the pain, doesn't scream out, or try to strike him. Under its breath it babbles nonsense, the words sound like goblin to Lade's ear, but Grimjaw is too far away to interpret. Lade gets the impression that the creature was praying.

A clean break. Too clean. The creature was healing far faster than a man. All it needs is a splint and he'd be able to hobble. In a day, Lade was certain that the creature would be walking like it had never fallen. Of course, measuring a day was impossible here with no sun to count the hours by.

[itches]

Sitting back, Lade rubbed the stubble across his chin. It had grown and he would need to shave it soon. A splint might be troublesome, he didn't have any healing gear with him, and the normal method of getting a splint by chopping branches from a tree - a shudder washed over the man as he thoughts drifted in that direction.

Casting about for inspiration, he spotted a pile of fallen stone in a corner. It was thinking outside the box, but just might be possible. Striding over and drawing The Key, the aging mercenary took a few careful swings with the weapon, then several more emphatic ones. In the end, he came away from two slivers of stone, small and strong enough to serve as splints, if a bit heavy.

Returning, he pulls a old tunic from his pack, tore several strips of cloth from it, and swiftly constructed a makeshift splint for the frog creature.

[Tashalar]

Turning around every now and then to check how Lade was proceeding and if the frog creature was behaving, Kjetil hesitated when he saw him hack stone into pieces. He was about to speak up when his older companion took two 'slices' of stone and started create a splint.

Scratching his chin for a moment, Kjetil then turned back to watch out for danger while his thoughts lingered on Lade's technique. Had he made such a splint before? Out of stone? The Aart remembered a technique used in his homeland - a splint made out of pure ice. It wouldn't melt at low temperatures and it would cool the area around the wound. He only saw those in use once in his life though. Surely a stone splint was even more a temporary installment than an ice splint. At least it couldn't melt.

[BigRedRod]

The creature doesn't object to the splinting of its leg. It doesn't offer judgement on the unconventional choice of material. More than likely making splints to set broken bones just wasn't the done thing here.

It barely removes, remaining frozen in position, not unlike a rabbit. At first it had run but there comes a point when the fear just paralyses it completely and it stares blankly as the fox approaches. Except here the fox was attempting to heal the rabbit.

[Gralhruk]

"Well, there's our good deed for the day. Nothing good will come of it, I'm guessing."

He looks away from Lade and the frog-like creature, jealous of the fine axe the human wielded so carelessly, wondering if it wouldn't be more mercy to just kill the thing. No way to know, until they'd learned more about the subterranean world they now found themselves in. Still, Lade's action surprised him, mostly because the dwarf had been planning something along the same line.

"I reckon we follow the passage this one indicated, and keep our eyes and ears open. I figure this collector won't like us, so best we be the ones to make the first move."

[Tashalar]

Kjetil's gaze lingered on the creature for a short while before the Aart dismissed it and turned in the direction of the hole the rats vanished into. "Let's see where that tunnel leads us, shall we? If we fail to find the collector, we can still reveal the token we are carrying to creatures we meet. They should be willing to lead us to him."

Waiting shortly for the other's confirmation of their course of action, Kjetil then strode off towards the stone wall they would have to climb. It had seemd so easy when the rats had clambered upwards.

[BigRedRod]

Despite having his leg treated, the creature shows no real inclination for actually guiding the party or offering directions more detailed than single arm gestures. Accepting their fate to continue traipsing through the warped sewers, the group head off.

The other rats had scrambled up towards the indicated passage with ease on account of their small statures, claws and general superior dexterity. For the party, only Karthas isn't bogged down with heavy armour and even he is no natural athlete. It was twenty feet of ragged rock. Not quite vertical, but not far off.

Eventually, having made enough noise to rouse the inhabitants of the entire sewer, the four have all successfully clambered up and out of the chamber leaving behind the splinted creature. Its companions have had such a head start that it is pointless to event pretend that the chase is still on. Instead, they move carefully, painfully aware that they have more than likely conceded the initiative with the being known only as the collector and struggling to avoid stumbling into an even worse situation.

Paths branch off the corridor at a variety of angles, narrow drains from distant reservoirs, wider service tunnels and less well defined passages. The passageway itself widens as the party progress. Without any water, progress is remarkably simple, as the wide gutter in the centre of the passage is far more easy to navigate than balancing upon the narrow walkways flanking it.

Finally, the passage splits in two. Two identical tunnels, neither one seeming the more likely. It takes a moments hesitating before all stop abruptly. There's a sound. A sound like water trickling down a surface. A sound that would fit perfectly with these surroundings. Would fit if it were not for the complete absence of water in any form.

[Tashalar]

Kjetil walked slowly along the tunnels, his posture slightly hunched, his expression calm, concentrated. That, together with his lack of words offered revealed the strain the Aart felt. Something was waiting for them. Somewhere nearby.

When they arrived at the intersection, Kjetil scanned the area first, then turned to face the others. He was about to speak when something dripped. A liquid. Something they had so far failed to find in this place. His eyes went wide, his head swiveled around. A strong urge arose in him to hurry to the source of the sound, a need he remembered keenly. Kjetil took one halting step in the direction of the beckoning drip but then halted and half turned around to the others. A need that had been swept away by a mere touch. The ingrained memory, the feel of the need had almost made him run off.

No. Kjetil turned, spread his arms wide and got ready to intercept any of the others who might follow suit and throw caution overboard. "Don't move," he mouthed.

[Gralhruk]

Here, surrounded by stone with the vast weight of earth above them, Grimjaw felt almost at home. Even the oddly colored surroundings did not seem so out of place underground as they did above. He could almost believe they were back in Aos already, if he could but forget the too many realities that had assailed them since their untimely arrival.

With no way to gauge how close they might be to the collector the dwarf was on his guard, though nothing arose from darkness to block their path. In the end, it was uncertainty that stopped them - a choosing, the first critical one they must make. As the company grinds to a halt, the sound reaches his ears and for a moment Grimjaw is stricken with the feeling that he is utterly lost within himself - dreaming, or mad, or enspelled by some sorcerous demon.

Water.

Impossibly, it was the sound of water tinkling upon stone. Like unto the sounds in hidden caverns his people revered, bright beads dripping from stalactites into still pools. He remembered, and remembering he broke into a sudden sweat. He took a resolute step forward, his jaw tightening beneath the snowy beard, and then suddenly became aware of Kjetil's intercepting arm. He looked up, annoyed, at the larger human and then recollection of their situation hit him. He was dropped unceremoniously from his reveries into the present, and he realized his folly.

His milky eyes swivel to their companions. A trap, and one that had nearly snared him. If either of the others made a move, he'd follow the Aart's lead and stop them.

[itches]

At the sound of the water Lade's thirst rose within him like a snake, his parched throat clenched shut and his tongue, dry and swollen lolled out.

Water.

Moving towards the sound, the man collided with Kjetil's arms, straining against it for a moment before he realised what had happened.

Water Thirst

With a struggle, his arid breath rasping in the tunnel, Lade managed to get a hold of himself.

Water Thirst Drink

With shallow, rapid breaths, the man stopped and Kjetil, not stepped back but no longer moving forward.

Water Thirst Drink Need

"What?" he demanded, mouthing the silent words back.

[BigRedRod]

Karthas was less reserved than Lade, and he was also faster. The warlock surges forwards far faster than Kjetil or Grimjaw can react. Despite the slight headstart, however, Kjetil can easily outpace his companion and he does so. The northerner only sprints a few steps before managing to wrap his arms around him and push him against the wall.

Massively outmatched by the strength of Kjetil, it's all Karthas can do it wriggle and scream. The sound is brief and strangled, his dry throat preventing him from anything more effective. He stares at Kjetil with red-ringed eyes, if the man's body could spare moisture perhaps there would even be tears. But no, he just stares. Defeated. Being condemned to die of thirst by his allies. His facial muscles spasm silently.

After the brief surge of sound from the scuffle and half-scream, there is only the continuing trickle of water. Enticingly close.

[Tashalar]

"There is no water here, only a trap," Kjetil hissed in Karthas' ear. He anxiously hoped the warlock would get a grip on himself, but feared at the same time that he simply couldn't. He would be unable to begrudge him any action as he still felt the urge despite having the need lifted off his shoulders, his very soul.

Still, he knew that they'd have to investigate. Anything else just wouldn't do. Trying to make eye contact with Grimjaw and Lade while holding onto Karthas, the Aart made a short motion towards the 'water tunnel' with his head. His gaze focused on Grimjaw. "We need to see for ourselves," he stated simply.

[Gralhruk]

Unsurprising that the two who no longer needed water to survive were the ones that kept their heads, yet to Grimjaw's mind it would have been the same if none of them bore the mark. Kjetil was right again - they needed to know what was up ahead and once again a dwarf was the best man from the job. He leaves the urgosh sheathed and grips the staff toward the middle, one-handed, letting the weapon rest along his back where it was out of the way.

"Wait for my call," he rumbles, hoping things went better than they did the last time. If the water-sound was a trap, and he had no reason to believe otherwise, it was meant to attract things that wanted water. The rats lived well enough on the strange flowers, though he didn't know about the other creatures down here. Seems they'd be dead otherwise, so it might mean the trap was laid for them in particular.

Bad news, as always, but there wasn't any other way. With as much stealth as he can muster, the blocky dwarf creeps down the corridor towards the source of the noise, all of his senses on high alert.

<OOC: Hide [roll0], Move Silent [roll1], Spot [roll2], Listen [roll3]>

[BigRedRod]

Grimjaw moves away with a grace which does not befit the dwarvern race. This world may have had some major differences, but it was similar enough that the dwarf was firmly in his element. Stalking away towards the source of the water-sound, he remains away that hiding is rendered far more difficult in a land without shadows and where only the living have any trace of colour.

The sound grows louder and quickly the rest of the party fall out of sight leaving Grimjaw alone. He slows his pace slightly as the tunnel narrows and is ultimately terminated by an archway. Pausing, he strains his ears, listening for anything other than the running water. Glancing over his shoulder, he spots only the curve of the passage.

Creeping forwards again, he comes up and looks at the chamber beyond the archway. Its a vast vertical space, like a subterranean cathedral. Stalagmites provide a great deal of potential hiding places for foes, but beyond the monochromatic rocky growths, there are two other features which demand attention.

The first, is the nest. A pile of objects from Aos. Coins, broken pottery, damaged furniture, a length of burlap cloth, and other assorted junk. Each of the items carries a shimmering aura, just like Karthas' oil lamp did, along with being clearly marked as alien by virtue of not conforming to the shifting monochromatic palette that the rest of the world was composed of. The heap is made of dozens of individual items, but there's no theme or unity. It looks as if the contents of a basement had been thrown into an untidy pile.

There was a reason that Grimjaw thought of the mound as a nest, however. A broken egg sits atop it. The shell has the same colour and texture as the bark of a tree. Strangely, there is only a small piece of shell missing from the top. Whatever was inside, escaped causing such a small amount of damage. A halo of blue light caresses the hatched egg, marking it as being of non-native origin.

The second furnishing which demands attention is the fountain. A squat pedestal of native stone, spreads outward like a flower and in its centre sits a slowly rotating sphere. As it moves, sections of it shift from black to white and back. The motion of the sphere is caused by the water which flows up beneath it. The basin of the fountain is shallow, being little more than a recess in the pedestal, but the smell is overpowering. Fresh, clean, water. Real, and apparently free for the taking.

[Gralhruk]

Water. Real water, in this place that was so barren of the substance that the King granted his boon to rid one of the need for it. And it seemed native, for no blue nimbus surrounded the surreal fountain. How could such a place, such a phenomenon, escape the knowledge of those that ruled here?

Surely this was the collector's lair, as evidenced by the otherworldly pile of junk that dominated the room, surmounted by that strange egg. Human, the frog thing had led him to believe, yet no such being was immediately apparent. He scans the room yet again, his thoughts busily trying to find some sense in the scene before him.

<OOC: Spot [roll0]>

[BigRedRod]

Remaining a still a possible, Grimjaw careful surveys the cavernous chamber. The stalagmites are mostly around the edge of the space, although the majority are no larger than a spear, several are vast and could easily hide one of the smaller rats. Still, he spots nothing.

Looking upwards, the chamber extends vertically for quite some distance and the stalagtites form a dense forest. A tiny shimmer of motion grabs his attention. Colour. Something alive was up there, but the glimpse was too brief for any details aside from a general suggestion of something snakelike. Even without shadows, it was all too easy to hide up there.

[Gralhruk]

Snake like . . . just the sort of thing that might leave only a small hole when exiting an egg. Was it possible that they had arrived just as the thing hatched? And colorful, too, as though the ting came not from here but from Aos. On top of the pile of tokens, the egg sat - a position of power, maybe, but perhaps indicating it needed the artifacts in some way. That would explain the collector's penchant for gathering unto himself these otherworldly artifacts.

Well, it was all guess, and likely none too good ones either. Might be Karthas could make more sense of it, though the warlock was clinging only barely to sanity. Unwilling to enter the chamber and give himself away without any backup, the dwarf carefully backs away and attempts to return to his companions as quietly as may be.

<OOC: Hide [roll0], Move Silent [roll1]>

[BigRedRod]

The dwarf walks backwards for a good dozen paces, his eyes sweeping around the archway, ready for whatever he saw squirming between the rocky protrusions to suddenly burst forth. It doesn't, and eventually, Grimjaw is able to turn around and move with a little more speed.

Karthas has stopped struggling now, but he looks far from happy sitting slumped against the tunnel wall. One side of his face twitches slightly, an unsettling development that only adds to his aura of instability.

All eyes turn to the dwarf as he returns, eager for news on the enticing sound of water.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw plants himself in the middle of the passage, ready to intercept anyone who tried to dart toward the chamber of the collector. Might be best to skip mention of the fountain, although the fools would probably jump for it as soon as they saw it. That wouldn't do.

"Looks like the den of our collector up ahead. Tokens a plenty there, a great heap of them. I caught a glimpse of some creature, hiding in the stalactites on the ceiling, but I can't say what. Needed a better look, and I doubt I coulda got that without being seen myself.

"What's there is strange. Some sort of egg sits atop this big pile of tokens, and looks like something came out of the egg. Then nearby is what appears to be a fountain - a great spherical stone, black and white, turns as water wells up from beneath. Can't tell if it's real, but I'll be damned if it's not the bait for some sort of trap. We've water ourselves, though not much, so don't be running off and getting yerselves killed yet. If it can be gotten, we'll get it. But not if we're stupid."

[Tashalar]

Kjetil weighs Grimjaw’s words before he speaks up. “We’ll need to do all we can to secure access to the water you mentioned. If it actually is real at all. But before we can do that…” the large Aart turns to face in the direction of Lade and Karthas, “we’ll need to deal with whatever is awaiting us there. We don’t know what or who this Collector is and we don’t know what he really is after.”

Kjetil gives Karthas a hard stare. “I hope you can figure out what the creature is using the tokens for, if it is actually using them at all. Stay back and watch and tell us if you know.” The Aart exchanges a look with the dwarf and Lade to check if they agree with his suggestion. He hopes they would for surely Karthas couldn’t be let near the fountain. He still couldn’t quite believe Grimjaw’s words… a fountain. Here. Motioning towards the tunnel, he slowly walks towards Grimjaw. “Maybe one or two of us should investigate while the others hang back. If some kind of trap is sprung, they could act to free them,” he mutters in a low voice.

[itches]

"I'll go," Lade said. "I'm not at my best right now, so I may as well be bait. I'll go collect some water and then grab some Tokens. If it is a trap, then we're ready. If not, we've got what we came for. How many Tokens do we need?"

[Tashalar]

Kjetil scratches his chin and regards his companion thoughtfully. Lade certainly didn't lack courage despite his offer at this point clearly was motivated by the need of water. "How many? I don't know... I'd guess we'd need to be where all of them are together." His gaze strayed to Karthas shortly, then to Grimjaw. "Is there a spot from which we can quickly react and aid Lade in case something goes wrong?" After a pause he adds "and I'm sure there will be some reaction from those living in that cave."

A few moments later the Aart muses half-aloud "maybe the Collector really is from our world... that would mean he'd need water to survive, maybe he managed to procure it."

[Gralhruk]

"Mm, might be from our world indeed. I don't suppose it will be in any mood to be reasoned with, though this place has surprised me before."

Whatever had been in that chamber didn't seem like any sentient race he had experience with. But then, if it was from Aos maybe it would have sympathy for a fellow traveler, desperate for water.

"Don't know that going in by yourself is best. Might be we should all go together, peaceful, and see if it'll share that bounty of water with folk that are dying of thirst. Then if things go bad, nobody is stuck alone."

[Tashalar]

Kjetil doesn't immediately reply to Grimjaw's words. His brow furrows and his right hand strokes the hilt of his guisarme absent-mindedly as he thinks. "Let's head on until we can see the whole area," he finally states. "Then we can see how to best approach the water. No sense in making easy targets out of all of us if it can be avoided. If the terrain allows for it, we could approach together though. You are right, Grimjaw. There are obvious advantages in doing so."

The Aart's expression is grim as he starts out in the direction of the tunnel leading towards the fountain. He hesitates and looks back to see if the others are following, then continues as they do. Silently he motions for Grimjaw to take the lead.

[Gralhruk]

Grimjaw mutters something unintelligible but shuffles to the front of the pack before turning the fix them with a flat stare. Nothing was ever easy, as his father had told him long ago. Much rested on the outcome of this encounter, for here it was they might succeed in their unlikely quest. Too many unknowns, but there it was: get the tokens they needed and get out.

"Don't know there's much point in stealth, as you lot aren't terribly good at it. And if it thinks we're trying to sneak around it'll be less likely to cooperate. Still, it won't hurt to have a weapon handy, as it seems like any reasonable folk would."

That said, he grips the staff one handed, holding it like a walking stick as he moves forward. He doesn't go out of his way to stay silent but he tends to move quietly for one of his bulk anyway. Years underground, where the slightest sound carried a long way, had ingrained the habit.

[itches]

Creeping forward, the collected waterskins clutched in his hand, Lade tried not to look up, despite the skin on the back of his neck crawling. Entering the chamber brought the mercenary to a stop. At one end was the nest, a unexpected kaleidoscope of colours, harsh against the black-and-white monochrome backdrop of this world.

As startling as that sight was, it only held the man's attention for a scant fraction of a second before it was drawn to the other item in the room. Water, precious and beautiful flowed from the fountain filling the room with the enchanting sound and sensation of moister

Making a beeline for it, Lade dropped to his knees, dipped a cupped hand within the liquid and brought it to his lips, sipping at the water that - even befouled by the dirt, grime and blood coating his hands – was sweeter than the finest liqueur he had ever tasted.

[BigRedRod]

There do not exist words sufficient in any of man’s tongues to describe the depth of flavour, refreshment and joy Lade experienced from the first handful of water. A handful befouled by his hands. Ecstasy barely scratches the surface of the drunk’s emotional state as the liquid rolled down his throat. The first drink in a morning, the one that really pushed aside the cobwebs and stopped his head pounding was not even a reflection or shadow of this. Lade had known his hours were limited even if he was unable to measure them as they passed; supplies of water were all but extinguished and the inside of his mouth had grown cracked and dry. Somewhere behind, hiding at the cavern entrance, Karthas renewed his struggled against Grimjaw and Kjetil. The sight of another man drinking was pushing his already strained mind to its very limits.

“Come. Drink. Do not worry. Please, a trap with such vulgar bait is unbecoming. All of you, even the Kingmarked. Join your friend. Drink your fill.”

The deep voice comes from somewhere above Lade. For the moment, he manages to stop drinking, his muscles tense, ready to flee now that his lips are wet and his head has cleared. It was not a human voice, it was a creature working with a different anatomy which added a strange hiss to the syllables but the words themselves were clear and in a language shared by all, unlike those of the rats.

A shape shifts somewhere amongst the stalactites, in a part of the cavern only visible to Lade. He moves his head, but whatever it was has vanished.

“I honestly mean you no harm. Come, we can speak while you relieve your thirst.”

Even for Grimjaw and Kjetil, who no longer required water, the fountain was proving harder and harder to resist.

[Tashalar]

For once, Kjetil's emotions conflicting emotions are visible in his expression, mirroring his thoughts, his feelings, the longing and the suspicion. "Don't... trust..." the Aart mutters quietly, the talking seeming like a strain for him at first. One strong hand claspings Karthas' arm he adds "restrain yourself just a little while longer. Then it's all yours," he promises the man in a low voice.

Moving forward a few steps with Karthas in tow, Kjetil scans their surroundings and then looks up in the direction of the voice. "Who are you and where do you hail from," he addresses the invisible creature. The hissing voice let the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Was it merely a subconscious association with an evil that had nothing to do with this creature offering them comfort? Kjetil wouldn't risk it. "I thank you for the offer," the large man says next, inclining his head shortly. "Please show yourself so that we might talk."

{OOC: Spot check! [roll0] Listen check! [roll1] - bah! preview. Stupid me - see OOC.}

[BigRedRod]

Karthas was long past the point of reason. Continuing to struggle, Kjetil passes the man off to Grimjaw. Solemnly, the dwarf holds onto the warlock, continuing to deny him the water that was so easily available. The thick acrid slurry coating his mouth and cracked lips finally win over his desire to rant and rave making the job less arduous than it might have been otherwise.

In the chamber itself, Lade stands motionless, utterly paralysed by the sudden voice. Water trickles through his fingers. For him, the madness was temporarily abated. He was no longer on the verge of collapse and painful death. No longer having to make certain choices regarding the obvious intelligent inhabitants of this world and their bodily water content. While the fuzz had cleared, it was not instantaneous and so it was Kjetil who seized the initiative and spoke up.

A sound fills the chamber, a deep surge of breath: A sigh,
"Humans"

Above, there is another sound, a deep and grating one, like metal rasping against stone. Despite Kjetil and Lade's best efforts, neither see any movement,
"Being unable to converse with the unseen is a defect I was not previously aware of. So many oddities and complications..."

A sudden rush of air. A mass of darkness dives down from the rocky formations above. It falls with incredible speed, but stops smoothly and with only a brief wind. At the other end of the chamber, just before the nest stands a dragon.

The creature is studded with tiny scales, which span from the yellowish green of dying leaves on its belly to the deep bluish shade of a forest by moonlight along its spine. Its wings are folded neatly along its considerable length of fifteen or twenty feet. Exact size judgements are difficult to make for the creature given it's peculiar defect. Sections of its body are devoid of colour or shape, eternally shifting in position and boiling to nothing like smoke while switching between pure tones of black and white in the process.

One of its forelegs is such an affected region. The mass of oily monochromatic tendrils still seem to support the creature quite sufficiently, however. A length strips including one eyes and running a short way along its neck is another. Here and there are similar small patches. The largest of which is the tail, only a small stump is visibly green while it extends in an ill-defined boiling mass which easily seem to double the dragon's bulk. This creature was somehow partially composed of the same colourless stuff as this world.

It regards Grimjaw in the passage beyond briefly,
"Are dwarves equally restricted? Or this a uniquely human trait?"

Twitching a little and altering its stance, the partially coloured dragon raises its head in an alien gesture,
"My invitation stands. Please, release your ally, allow him to relieve his thirst before he perishes."

[Tashalar]

Kjetil takes a slow step backwards, his eyes wide open in wonder at the approach of the legendary creature. Fear budges in the back of his mind, but the creature's soothing and friendly words manage to override it. Despite its magnificence, something seems to be ailing the creature. Or at least its coloring doesn't seem to be quite right. Partially on this plane, partially not... the Aart muses silently while his mouth stubbernly refuses the sounds better known as words. They seem so... lacking.

The Aart to Grimjaw and nods. Let Karthas drink. If it had wanted ill of them, its approach surely would have been different. Kjetil stands his ground but still is dumbstruck. Legends, tales... that's where dragons belong. "Thank... you," Kjetil manages to stutter finally.

[Gralhruk]

His big hands tighten reflexively on Karthas' narrow shoulders as the dragon's honey voice reaches him and it swoops down to land before them, fantastical yet utterly nonchalant. This, the collector, was not at all what he had expected. His mind had formed it into something of a beast, stunted, misshapen, warped as everything else in this place seemed to be. Nothing like the creature before them. Dimly, he looks to the egg again with its little break, yet even that bothers him vaguely. He opens the door in his mind wherein Bargrivyek's words are kept, and there he views them once more.

The keystone you will need is in the sewers below the city. An ancient relic of the snake spirit who has dwelt here since before man first set foot upon the dirt of Aos. Down. Far Below. Through the sewers and in the lair of an alien such as yourselves. He may be destroyed.

Relic of the snake spirit, Bargrivyek had said. Was it the egg? Or something else? The dragon might well be the snake spirit, but then again he might not. Kjetil's words shake him out of his thoughts and he realizes he is holding Karthas with far more force than he required. It takes him a moment to assimilate the conversation thus far and finally he nods, releasing the prisoner to the apparent salvation of water. Despite the acquiescence he watches the scene carefully, fully expecting trouble.

"Yeah, he's in need of water," the dwarf rumbles, ignoring the dragon's other comment. "You seem to know something about dwarves and humans - strange, when there's none around here except us."

[BigRedRod]

There was no grace or subtlety in Karthas' movements as Grimjaw finally released his grip. The warlock staggered away, shoving past Kjetil in the process. It wasn't a conscious movement, just an extension of his desperation. He advanced upon Lade with all the haste he could muster before falling to his knees and embracing the fountain. Turning his head sideways and pushing it down to the shallow pool he manages to drink noisily directly from the source.

The Collector glances at him briefly, its facial muscles twitching in an alien expression as it does so before responding to Grimjaw,
"It is true that the pleasure of observing your races directly is a rare one. Is it really so strange to attain knowledge divorced from experience? Do the elders not pass their wisdom to your young? Do you not store insights with ink? I am sure that all men know what a dwarf is, even if they have never spoken to one themselves."

There's a rippling motion along the creature's spine, it could be a shrug.
"You are correct though. This land is not your land. Creatures such as yourselves cannot live here easily. The lack of moisture for one, unless you wish to dine only on the fruit, or the fruit-eaters. A rather tasteless fate for you, I gather?"

Straightening its legs, the green-scaled beast, begins to stalk around the edge of the chamber, keeping a respectful distance away from Lade and Karthas. Allowing the two to continue slaking their thirsts,
"You wish to cross over once again. Push back through to the other side. You have enlisted with a King to do this, an interesting decision. And now you are here. Doubtless, you seek my hoard. You would take these displaced items and use them to try to open a corridor. Do I speak the truth?"

Pausing in his movement, the head turns back allowing its eyes to look upon the party. Its eyes, one a shining emerald star and one a terrible monochromatic sphere.

[itches]

The Key leapt into Lade's hands as the dragon revealed itself, not from concious choice but an gut-deep animal reaction. Dragon. Danger. Flee.

When it made no overtly hostile move, the aging mercenary relaxed slightly, just in time to leap out of the way of the charging Karthas. Shifting the weapon to one hand and keeping half his attention on the massive creature, Lade reached down to hank Karthas's face out of the water.

"Slowly lad," he said, letting the other man go after a moment. "If ya drink too quick yer'll just make yerself sick."

Rustling out the limited waterskins available to them with on hand, Lade began filling them, making it a point to never turn his back on the dragon during the process.

[Tashalar]

As the creature's eyes pass Kjetil, he involuntarily shudders. This was more than a mere dragon. The thought that it might actually be 'less' than a dragon didn't cross Kjetil's mind. Awe-struck the Aart listenes as the dragon states exactly which they have come to do.

Kjetil hesitates. He shortly gazes over his shoulder at Lade and Karthas, but the dragon had made it obvious that it was addressing Grimjaw and himself. When the dwarf didn't speak up immediately either, the Aart couldn't help but nod. "Yes, that is what we seek. We are lost in this world. Lost and without the means to survive without giving up our souls." That might only count for two of them, but who knew what might happen to himself and Grimjaw? "The only way back into our world is with the use of artifacts that have mistakenly arrived in this world." Either we get them or... we die. Kjetil's expression hardened. "We don't have a choice. We need as many artifacts as it takes." There. Stated simply and to the point. He wouldn't try and trick a dragon. Maybe that would mean having to die at the claws of the ancient creature. A small smile appeared shortly. At least that was a death worthy of an Aart.

Kjetil shortly glances sideways at Grimjaw. He could only guess what the dwarf was thinking. His gaze returned to the dragon, trying to foresee the dragon's reaction. In the meanwhile, one hand closed around Yaldabaoth's shaft. Maybe the strange weapon would be able to aid them?

[BigRedRod]

The dragon regards Kjetil at length. Tales were told of the slow, ponderous nature of dragons. Their lives continued forever. Or at least forever as seen from a mortal perspective. Much like the elves found men too hurried, to a dragon, all of the lesser races were constantly rushing around trying to escape their own deaths.

Karthas relents to Lade's interference. Drinking more slowly now, savouring each cupped handful of precious water. Gradually, he seems to become aware of the towering monster before them.

At last, the creature speaks again,
"The desire to live is a strong motivation in all things."
The words delivered in a harsh tone. Almost a rebuke.

When the dragon speaks again, it is in a more casual manner,
"Then we agreed. You came for my collection. My hoard of what you call artifacts and what your master would prefer to call tokens. I do wonder if in time you will regret your decision to mark yourself. Whether you will wish you had chosen non-existence. Ideal speculation, of course."

It lifts its long neck, extending the vertebrae within, causing an evidentially satisfying series of quiet cracks,
"And then there is the matter of a proper source and location. A luxurious pile of displaced objects will bend this world, but you will need to force them if it is to break. Left alone, they will eventually return, but they will not bear a load."

"The keystone"
It's Karthas who speaks out. The two words are hoarse. He staggers into a standing position, his thirst contained for the moment,
"Errr... I should thank you, noble dragon. For the water, that is."
He speaks the thanks awkwardly

"We understand that we require a keystone. That is why we are here. There is a point of tension in reality, it's how we arrived here. An attempt to contain the spreading rift on our side, but it shifted slightly and we crossed over. If we return to that place, we can use the keystone to try and open a smaller, temporary rift. By using tokens, we can make sure the rift is controlled. Make sure it is stable. Otherwise, we could destroy... we could destroy ourselves. And perhaps a good deal else."
He trails off slightly, looking at Lade, he manages a slight shrug. In just a few short minutes, the quivering wreck of Karthas has returned to a shadow of his former self. Perhaps he was still not stable, but he was capable.

The head snakes towards Karthas, stopping a good dozen feet away from the fountain, but looking at him with both of its eyes. For several minutes, it stares at him, leaving Karthas twisting uncomfortably, until finally it speaks,
"For such a small thing, you do seem aware of the gravity of your goal."

Sweeping backwards, it speaks to the entire group,
"Your chosen source, your keystone, is not within my lair but I understand what you seek. I have that knowledge. Your kind understand trade do you not? I would ask what you offer in exchange for items from my hoard."