Showing posts sorted by date for query voorish sign. Sort by relevance Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by date for query voorish sign. Sort by relevance Show all posts

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Bujilli: Episode 86

Previously...
Their wounds tended-to by the strange little servants answering to Klush's orders, Bujilli and Leeja were brought before Morquin and his mate Yushgra to deliver their message from Headmistress Shael. Their mission accomplished, they must decide what to do with the still-sleeping Ahven, and what they intend to do next... 

"Are they still out there?" Leeja hissed incredulously.

"Oh yes. They'll wait there for as long as they know you're inside." Morquin leaned back on his cushions. Impassive. Implacable.

"Then we'd appreciate it if you might point out another route we can take to return to our, to my room." Bujilli sighed. He had no interest in confronting the three killers waiting outside for them both. for all he knew there were three more such 'representatives' waiting for them out there, seeking to drag them off to meet with yet more of the secret masters or behind-the-scenes movers and shakers who've now taken a very real interest in them both. Contrary to popular opinion, it wasn't always all that good to be wanted.

"Certainly," Morquin nodded; You can take a stroll through the catacombs, take your chances poling a raft along the Buried Canal, or you could take to the roofs, if that appeals to you, though it is raining."

They looked at each other. Leeja nodded. "We'll take to the roofs."

"Despite the rain?" Morquin rose to his feet.

"Yes." Leeja was adamant. Bujilli wasn't sure why, but he would back her in this, certain that she had a reason.

"Personally, I would have opted for the Buried Canal, but then I'm not much of one for the heights. Have you some plan for hauling your...friend? Captive? Prisoner there along with you?"

Bujilli looked down on Ahven's still form. Disarmed, bound and under the influence of a Sleep spell. He wasn't terribly keen on hauling the boy across the rooftops. He also wasn't prepared to abandon him to the tender mercies of Master Morquin and his mate Yushgra.

"Ah. I see that this a delicate matter, perhaps you would appreciate something to help maintain your current position, prolong the situation, as it were, with a bit more discretion than what you are faced with at the moment?"

"Husband! No. We do not know these two--"

"Quite right. But a small gesture on my part might go a long way toward overcoming some of the unfortunate social awkwardness and reticence that festers in this place. If I make a small gist to you, and thereby make your current efforts a bit more bearable, then you'd be inclined to think a bit more favorably towards myself, yes?"

Bujilli nodded before he realized what he was doing. "That sounds fair..."

"What are you offering us?" Leeja's eyes were slitted with suspicion.

"A minor serum that I managed to salvage from certain burned-out pharmacological labs. It was banned almost as soon as it was first tested. So it is obscure, very rare."

"What does it do?"

"Once injected it reduces the subject's size substantially."

"It shrinks them?"

"One could be excused for describing it that way...the truth is a bit more involved...but the end result is what matters and that is what it will do for you; reduce your burden so it will fit easily into your belt-pouch."

Leeja placed her hand on Bujilli's arm. She was visibly uncomfortable with Morquin's offer, but did not utter a word; it was to be his decision.

"Are there any side-effects?"

"A few. Nothing too serious. It is, in many respects, fairly similar to the serums employed by the ancestors of my wife's people, as well as some of the other, more commonly available formulae still in-use among the Hyden and the like."

"Does it require an antidote?"

"No. Not at all. A small injection, say with a five percent solution, will be more than enough to give you a couple of hours to make your way back home. Once the formula wears off, his body will reacquire its mass, grow back to its normal size and so forth. Of course it will be painful, but such cannot be avoided..."

"Painful? How bad would it be?"

"Terrible. He will not thank you for it." Yushgra dropped her veils and began stripping-off her gloves. It resembled peeling skin back, only it revealed nothing. Her innate invisibility disturbed Bujilli. It was unnatural, for all that it was an inherited condition.

"I thank you for the offer, and it might have made things easier, but I must decline..."

"As you wish. It is refreshing to encounter someone who still retains some principles." Morquin grinned broadly. Too broadly.

"You care about this one?" Yushgra kicked Ahven's slumbering form, just enough to make him move.

"I...there are some things I want to get sorted out between us. He may have been misled or manipulated into attacking us--"

"So he is an enemy then. A sorcerer. Not a terribly good one, but a spell-caster none the less. He has the taint of old, bad things upon him. Poisonous things...but then you know about some of that already..."

"Yes. He used some sort of femur-bone to throw poisonous green flames at us...when...we...fought." Bujilli had not intended to discuss the matter with Morquin, let alone his wife Yushgra. But now...

"You did well to disarm him. Whomever he is, he is not entitled to wield such a thing. He takes much upon himself out of misplaced hubris. He deludes himself, making him that much easier to be manipulated in turn." Yushgra's voice moved past them as she opened a teak armoire and began to select something from the clothes stored there.

"How do you know this?" Leeja asked softly.

"I can see things. It is the way of my people; we see much that you do not, even as you cannot see us." She wrapped a strangely pleated skirt about her unseen hips.

"And can you--"

"Can I tell you who sent him after you? Why? Yes. I think that I could. But I won't. Not today. We've only just met and I am inclined to wait and see how you respond to things. There is a lot in motion currently and I do not know if we are to be allies...or something else..." Yushgra snapped herself into an immaculately-white ermine girdle that overlapped the skirt.

"We are not your enem--"

"Hush girl. None of us know what we are to each other, save only that I am with my mate even as you are bonded to yours."

"Ahem." Morquin folded his heavily muscled arms across his chest; "My wife and I shall answer the summons of the Headmistress. Would you like for us to deliver a message to those waiting for you outside our front doors?"

"No. No message. We have far too many questions to get answered first..."

"Alas, there are many answers here within the Athenaeum, if you but had time to avail yourselves of what we have to offer here..."

It was tempting to stay. Very tempting. But they needed to deal with Ahven, and they needed to check in with Gnosiomandus...and Hedrard, if only to find out how Sprague was doing.

"Thank you, but we really must be going." Leeja was growing anxious. It was time to go.

"Yes. There is something in the air tonight." Yushgra had pulled on a pair of spiked bracers, two criss-crossing belts, and a cloak of rich, black seal-skin. Bujilli found it impossible to keep an exact count of how many blades were sheathed and hanging from Yushgra's belts. More than four. He left it at that.

"Very well," Morquin stalked over to the armoire next to his wife and pulled out a heavily scaled cloak of lustrous black reptile-hide, which he held draped over his left forearm while Yushgra clasped a pitted and blackened cuirass over his mid-section. "We'll accompany you to the roof before we set out. It is dark--"

"And stormy." Yushgra helped her husband settle the heavy cloak into place, then handed him a pair of gloves riveted with dark gray oval plates that he pulled past his elbows.

"We've run through the rain before..." Leeja began.

"No doubt. And we are well past the Killing Rains now, but there are things that travel behind the rain..."

"...things that are best avoided." Yushgra pulled her hood up over her head.

Bujilli scooped-up Ahven and slung him across his shoulder. He adjusted his hold. Then Leeja bent the boy's knees forwards, pushed down and tied a fresh length of rope around the boy's legs, pulling it across Bujilli's chest, under the boy's arm-pits and tied it off. It would have to work.

"They are determined my dear." Morquin smiled. took Yushgra's hand and led the way to the ramp that led up to the roof.

Rain sprayed in through the opening in the roof, despite the overhanging edges and overlapping sections meant to minimize such things. It was dark out there. Massive clouds loomed overhead. Thunder boomed and rolled through the night.

"Good luck!" Morquin yelled to be herd through the pelting rain.

Bujilli nodded. Leeja smiled sweetly, then set off across the rooftop. Bujilli followed close behind.

They followed the spine of the massive peaked roof. The eaves were flooded and over-flowing. Leeja swung down onto a half-hidden catwalk below the main roof. This led them to a set of iron stairs. four flights down they were able to run across an elevated walkway connecting the main part of the Athenaeum to another building. The wind and rain made stopping more dangerous than staying in motion. They kept going. Up the crenellated facade of the next-door building, across a red-tiled roof, down a sloping section of half-collapsed wall, following the broken-up center-posts of a massively overgrown arbor; they kept going on through the storm, not taking time to examine their surroundings beyond what was available for hand-holds, foot-holds or climbable surfaces.

It was exhilirating. Reckless. Fool-hardy. Bujilli nearly lost his grip twice. But he kept going.

The rain was cold. The night was dark. They ran across roof-tops, avoiding lightning rods, dodging weather-cocks, vents and chimneys. A balcony. A door. Leeja let them into a chamber near the top of a burned-out building. The glass was still intact on this corner of the place. Dust swirled into mud as they dripped across the ancient carpets and hard wood floors.

"Why?" Bujilli slumped against the heavy pillar of a baroque bed-frame bereft of all linens.

"We're out of that place. No one knows where we're at right now. We can deal with this--" she slapped Ahven; "--burden once and for all. then we can catch our breath before we dive back into things. Maybe you can contact Gnosiomandus and see what has been going on since we were sent off on this errand of Shael's..."

"Your aunt Shael..."

"I didn't pick the bitch, any more than you picked your uncle." Her eyes flared gold-green in the darkness. Lightning rumbled across the night sky outside the tall windows. This chamber was fairly large. Mostly stripped. What furniture was left in-place was covered with shrouds or had collapsed into fire wood. The fireplace looked like it was still serviceable. If they felt like taking a chance on it.

"Your plan makes sense." He gestured to the rope so Leeja would give him a hand getting things un-tied.

They laid Ahven on the carpet. Re-tied his hands.

Bujilli went over and examined the fireplace. There was a draft. Water dripped down the back. He'd seen worse. Rummaging about the chamber, he was able to collect some fairly dry pieces of furniture and some scraps of old drapes and a section of rug that fell into a mass of loose fibers when he touched it. Getting a fire started was easy. He adjusted the flue. The fire grew bright and hot. It felt good.

He slumped down onto the floor. More tired than he had realized. Also more drenched. He began to remove some of his armor and clothes, setting things on the bricks before the fireplace to dry out.

Leeja returned from examining the rest of the floor. She was carrying some candles and cardboard box.

She lit a pair of heavy, old candles. Set them on a taboret dragged over from beside the bed-frame.

The box contained three cans of brown bread. The labels fell off when they lifted the cans. Neither of them read the language they were printed in, so they ignored the words. The picture was enough. A little careful knife-work and the cans were opened. The stuff smelled good, not spoiled, so they set each can close to the fire to let them warm up a bit.

"So what do you think we ought to do with this asshole?" Leeja retrieved her can, picked-out morsels with her stilletto.

Bujilli pried-out a mouth-ful from his own can. It was heavy with molasses, raisins, some sort of nuts. Not what he was expecting. It was good, but very, very sweet. He mulled over the matter while he chewed.

"Ilzinna was supposed to be the nice one, according to the walls. This one, Ahven, is a real piece of work. He wouldn't cooperate. Cast Voorish--"

"The Hateful Sign. Yes. His hands are incapable of making any sort of sign for now. I made sure of it."

"Good. So do we try to interrogate him again? Last time didn't go so well."

"He's part Umbri. The Umbri are..."

"They are a Deep People, one of the groups who live beneath the surface of the worlds. They trade with the morlocks and my father's people. They hunt my mother's folk."

"This one is part morlock. As was his sister. But the mask she was wearing, that wasn't Umbri, was it?"

"No. The mask was older, deeper. Those tombs are supposed to have been sealed away for centuries. Not counting when Niobe and I..."

"Yes? your sister and you...what?"

"We broke into the tombs beneath Zurugossa. I saw masks there. Like the one worn by Ilzinna. Before the floor collapsed from under us and we were separated."

"Niobe went back to your father. you went on to Wermspittle."

"Essentially. Yes. After I escaped from the Cnidarri and got past the Trading Post at Lussettrin where someone poisoned the water-supply with White Powder." She shivered in recollection of the Loathsome Masses that had once been merchants, fishers, and other people just trying to make a living in the dim reaches.

"So these masks are very old?"

"Yes. I was raised with folk-tales about the things. They hold the souls of ancient beings that hate all humans..."

"Humans?"

"Yes. Their definition is a great deal more inclusive than most other people. My sister and I, for instance, we were both considered human by the masks."

"So who else would have had access to these things, after your sister and you left that place?"

"Anyone daring to go into the place. The old wards were feeble. We'd wrecked several of the traps on our way in. After the floor collapsed...the place was ripe for the looting..."

"I wonder if Gudrun would know anything?"

"Excuse me?"

"Gudrun dealt with Ilzinna, back when she was being manipulated by Sprague, or was it Not-Sprague, his simulacrum? Whichever, she might know something."

"I doubt it. I have the distinct impression that whatever was behind Gudrun's impromptu feud with you, it wasn't something that left a lot of lingering traces."

"So you don't think it was entirely Sprague/Not-Sprague either?"

"No. Sprague was an opportunity. A convenient. cats' paw."

"Ilzinna was doing what her grandfather had asked her to do, as some sort of test."

"But were Ahven and Ilzinna sent to kill you before they were caught-up in the feud, or did they only receive those orders--"

"Not orders. She said it had been a request."

"Request then. I don't think Ahven here is likely to cooperate with us any more than he did before. But..."

"But what?"

"We don't need his cooperation. For one thing he's a liar."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking about his claim to have been raised among the Umbri. Half-breed or not. The few Umbri who have some into Wermpsittle came through the East Gate of the Inner Ramparts three winters ago. They settled in the shanty-camps on the north-side of things, as far away from the Unter-Rail as possible. Their elders were all suffering from some kind of poison, some sort of purple gas they encountered on their way across the borderlands coming out from the dead worlds..."

"How do you know all this?"

"I read the papers."

"So you think that Ahven here is lying about being from the Umbri?"

"Yes. Did you see his sister's eyes?"

"No." He had only briefly glanced at her face in the course of dealing with the mask. The damned thing had been in the middle of casting a spell. After she was already dead.

"Her eyes were a very distinctive oily-purple..."

"I'm sorry, that means nothing to me."

"I think that Ahven here was really only her half-brother, or maybe he took after their morlock ancestors more strongly than she did. Whatever the case, she definitely took after the other side of their family tree."

"And who would that be?"

"The Purple Horde."

"Who?"

"Ilzinna was 'asked' to kill you by her 'grandfather.' The Desert Fathers, the elders of the Purple Horde never issue orders, they make requests. It's a mark of the loyalty of their offspring."

"But he's at least half morlock..."

"The Desert Fathers take a wide array of concubines, all the better to re-populate the dead worlds..."

"But why would these people have any sort of grudge against me? I never heard of them before this?"

"They obviously know about you. These two were sent to prove themselves to their elder; killing you is some sort of test for them both."

"Well, Ilzinna failed the test. I don't plan on letting Ahven succeed either."

"So that brings us back. Do we kill him? Or do we try to learn something more? Or do we just let him go?"

"I'm loathe to release him just to have him come back at an inopportune moment. I'm also not keen on killing the kid just because he's a pain. Once we start doing that...it'll just get messier and nastier as we go along. I don't trust him, but we do need to know more. I want answers, not more questions."

"We get what we get. We can confront him with what I just told you, maybe he'll slip up, especially if we keep him off-balance..." Leja smiled.

"You have an idea?"

"Let me show you." Leeja went over to the far wall, unhitched the chain for the chandelier and lowered it. Then she tied Ahven to the chandelier, feet-first and raised it so he was hanging only a few inches from the musty, damp carpet.

"Now, if you'd release your Sleep spell..."

Bujilli snapped the outer shell of the spell and it faded into a soft vrillic cascade of immaterial threads.

Ahven stirred.

Leeja poked him in the belly with her finger; "Grandfather is disappointed with you, Ahven."

The boy thrashed about, swinging back and forth, upside down, hands bound, trapped.

"Kill. Now. No--"

"Yes, yes, we heard it before; 'no talk.' You like to present yourself as an ignorant refugee, but we know better."

"You know nothing."

"Wrong again. We know that your sister didn't get those gorgeous purple eyes from your morlock ancestors."

Ahven went rigid. His face radiated a determined defiance.

"We also know that you're no Umbri...you might have come through the East Gate with them, but you're not one of them. Are you?"

Sullen silence.

"Your sister, if Ilzinna really was your sister, failed your grandfather's test. You're not doing so well either. In fact, I bet you don't even recollect just how much you've already told us while you were under the influence of our spells..."

Ahven fought his bonds, growling like an animal. She let him wear himself out. Then Leeja took a handful of his shaggy hair and lifted Ahven's face up to about waist high. She stared into his eyes with her gold-green gaze. Softly, simply, she cast her Charm Person spell. Ahven spasmed, briefly, but found himself unable to resist. He was too worn down. Confused and uncertain, not sure what had taken place while he was under their control, he wasn't able to fight off the charm.

"There. That didn't hurt a bit. Now tell us about your grandfather."

Ahven choked. Whispered hoarsely.

Leeja leaned closer.

A scent like rotten peaches.

Bujilli yanked Leeja away from Ahven as thick purplish smoke curled up from the boy's nostrils and mouth. His eyes were solid purple now. Leeja's throat was raw. Her nose bled.

The purple gas continued to flow forth from Ahven's twitching body. Dark, sweet and deadly; the vapor was spreading out to fill the room. The reek of spoiled peaches was overpowering.

Bujilli pulled Leeja away. They both gathered their gear as quickly as they could and got moving. Once out of the chamber they paused long enough to get fully dressed. Then they took the stairs down to the fifth floor. There was a three-floor gap at that point.

"Most of my rope is back upstairs." Leeja hissed in anger.

"So we improvise. Or we--"

"We improvise. It's not safe to stay here. Not with that..." She coughed. Blood spattering her hand as she tried to cover her mouth.

Bujilli had no more rope, no more cord, not even a piece of string. He looked around the place. At first he considered trying to tie together some drapes or something, but most of them were too dry and rotten. The carpet was useless in this regard as well.

He pushed the window open. Rain poured in. The storm was going in full force outside. This way wasn't going to work. So he tried another window. No. Another. No. Another. A balcony. He went to the railing and looked down. There; on the left was a set of stairs leading down to an elevated mezzanine or patio.

Thunder crashed overhead. He grabbed Leeja by the hand and led her out into the rain. Down the stairs. Across the patio. The way down from there came in the form of a slope made-up of the bricks and stonework from the neighboring building that had collapsed against this one. Water rushing off of the patio made the way slippery, but it was better than falling three stories.

They made their way down the irregular slope. Ducked under a half-intact awning. This place was boarded-up. Advertising flyers for Lear's Soap and Hard Candy were haphazardly pasted over everything. Leeja coughed up more blood. Bujilli considered breaking into this place. Or...


Out in the rain...
  • Should Bujilli break into the boarded-up building?
  • Would it be better to look for a street-sign or some familiar landmark and head back to the Academy?
  • Maybe they could make their way to Schroedinger & Cave's shop?
  • They might look for an inn or tavern...

Or do you have a better or different suggestion? 

What happens next is up to you, the readers.

You Decide!

Previous                                Next

Series Indexes
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six


About Bujilli (What is This?) | Who is Bujilli? | How to Play

Bujilli's Spells | Little Brown Journals | Loot Tally | House Rules

Episode Guides
Series One (Episodes 1-19)
Series Two (Episode 20-36)
Series Three (Episodes 37-49)
Series Four (Episodes 50-68)
Series Five (Episodes 69-99)
Series Six(Episodes 100-ongoing)

Labyrinth Lord   |   Advanced Edition Companion

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Bujilli: Episode 85

Previously...
Wounded and possibly poisoned by contact with a Morlock anathebone, Bujilli and Leeja arrived at the doors to the Athenaeum only to be ambushed by anonymous assassins wielding gonnes...

Leeja was down. Her blood spilling across the pretty jasper tiles in front of the wide-open Athenaeum doors.

A shot ricocheted from the door.

"Hurry!" the heavy-set man in the armored apron gesticulated wildly, motioning them to pass through the door.

Another shot tore a chunk out of a marble statue's belly, one of the smaller ones arranged along the near wall. Bujilli slipped in some blood. He wasn't sure whose. Ahven's body was getting too heavy, too awkward to keep carrying him. He considered dropping the boy and putting his manticore-pistol to good use.

One more shot spanged off of the bronze book held by the colossi flanking the doors. Bujilli slammed down on his left knee as he slipped on another pool of blood. His, most likely. He was beginning to really hate gonnes.

He looked to Leeja. Shifted his grip on Ahven's unconscious, bound form. Shoved the boy towards the fat man gaping at them. Reached over and grabbed hold of Leeja and dragged her towards the door.

Thunk!

Someone's head came sailing towards them. One of the shooters, most likely. It landed with a wet crunch at the feet of the fat man. Bujilli couldn't help but smell the sweet stench coming off of the severed head. They had been heavily-dosed with Hard Candy. The dead flesh was already blackening, sloughing off of the bone with a faint sickening sizzle.

Another shooters' scream was cut abruptly short.

"No! Ple--" The third one threw away his weapon only to erupt in a fine red mist and a steaming pile of shredded meat splattered across the jasper tiles.

Three disparate figures strode into the atrium. Each from a different hallway, a different direction. One was a wild-haired and wode-smeared woman with moss growing in her hair and too many owl's talons protruding from her hands and feet. She curtsied daintily and smiled lasciviously at Bujilli from the left corridor; "Before you go any further--"

The second figure, farthest away across the atrium, was some sort of hunchback who appeared to have a third eye protruding from its hump, glaring malevolently over their deformed shoulder. It had been the hunchback who cast the spell that exploded the second assassin's blood and meat across the tiles. The residual blue flames licked across their heavily studded leather fighting gloves; "--My masters would--"

The third figure wore a heavy wool great coat and their face was covered by some sort of tight-fitting fabric, possibly silk, like some sort of web or cocoon overlaid with a pair of vintage airship goggles. They carried a massive two-handed sword over their shoulder that still dripped blood from the recent decapitation of the first assassin; "--Request your presence."

Three killers stood at the three arches of the atrium before the Athenaeum. All three of them had just eliminated one of the shooters. Each of them clearly represented a different party. An interested party. Three very interested parties who no doubt wished to discuss delicate matters and dangerous things, ostensibly in secret, and yet they competed with one another to be first in line. These were people of power and prestige who wanted to deal with Bujilli bad enough to kill. People very likely not included in Headmistress Shael's itinerary. He looked down at the fizzing head on the floor. The rot was spreading rapidly, but he was able to distinguish some of the features. Enough to know that this had once been a young boy. Whomever they were, they sent children after him with gonnes. They knowingly sent them to their deaths. It was all a set-up. All some sick sort of passion play. Cold, callous and calculated. A bit of twisted theater for his benefit. A game. Politics.

Politics in Wermspittle.

The three killers held their places just a hair behind each of the arched passageways. They watched one another as they waited for Bujilli's response. Blood had been spilled. Power displayed. Lives snuffed-out. There were rules to these sorts of things.

Without a word, Bujilli heaved Leeja through the doors and collapsed inside the vestibule of the Athenaeum. He felt the heavy doors seal behind him. The fat man adjusted his armored apron, then set about tending to Leeja.

"How bad is it?" Bujilli wobbled as he tried to get back onto his feet.

"Depends on your point of view young sir..."

"What?"

"Oh. You mean your friend here. She's badly hurt. But I can stabilize her condition. If you like..."

"She's my friend...my partner." Bujilli made an effort to keep the snarl our of his voice; "Get her stabilized, if that's the best you can do, and I'll get her--"

"Of course young sir. Not a bother at all. Mistress Yushgra can tend her wounds. That will spare you making another sortie past those ruffians and rascals outside our doors."

"I appreciate your efforts on behalf of my friend. And this Yushgra's as well."

"Think nothing of it young sir. Will you also be requiring my assistance? What of your other friend there?" The fat man gestured toward Ahven.

"I am injured, as is this one. We could all three very likely benefit from your assistance. If it's not a bother..."

"Certainly young sir. No bother. Not really. And while I attend to you three, could you perhaps tell me what that unpleasantness out there was all about?"

"Damned if I know." Bujilli slid back down against the wall, nauseous and shaky from blood-loss or something. He felt warm. soft, gentle white light filled his mind's eye. His hands itched. Green specks dotted his fingers from handling the weirdly carved Morlock femur-bone that Ahven had attacked him with less than an hour ago. Or maybe it had been longer. Time worked peculiarly in this place. It was almost as warped as some of the people.

"Ah. So it is a mystery then."

"We were sent here by the Headmistress. To speak to Morquin--"

"Indeed? Well, in that case we'd best see to it that you don't bleed-out before your audience." The fat man clapped three times.

Three serpent-headed children rushed out form some unseen gap in the wall and began to examine Ahven. They had syrupy-red eyes and their scales were banded with yellow, white and orange, with purplish tongues. Bujilli watched them reinforce his Sleep spell, as though re-tying someone else's knot.

Three dog-headed children scampered out and began to sniff Leeja, examining her wounds, licking away the blood and rubbing her with fragrant salves and applying bandages. They worked together extremely well. One, with the head of a hound and ragged-looking wings, cast some sort of healing spell over Leeja, a soft blue glow that flowed through her bandages and soothed her burns--he had not realized that she has been burned. Perhaps it had been the dark speech, or the Voorish Sign that Ahven had used.

Three winged monkeys chittered and bickered as they pawed over Bujilli, locating his wounds and similarly tending to him. The one with bat-like wings cleared away the blood and washed him with a sponge dipped into a bucket of cold water. Another had raven's wings and stitched his wounds closed, after it had extracted a bullet and several green lumps of some strange glassy substance. The third one had the wings of a huge, yet delicate moth and it cast a spell on him that tickled as it caused his flesh to mend and his clothes and armor to re-knit and repair itself.

The fat man in the apron beamed proudly as the three sets of furtive little things went about their business. When each trio was finished they bowed solemnly towards their patient, then to the fat man, then to Bujilli and left, disappearing back into the walls.

The last of the three monkeys lingered just a slight bit longer than its fellows. It placed something in Bujilli's hand before he realized what it was doing. It nodded once with an incredibly serious look on an otherwise foolish face, then scrambled out of sight. He glanced at the object. A small bone cylinder. Intricately carved.

"There. That will do for now. You will address Master Morquin immediately. Then we'll see what we will see..." The fat man bent down, grabbed Ahven, hoisted the comatose boy effortlessly. "I'll leave it...her...for you to attend to, young sir." They locked eyes; "Follow me then." The fat man set off without waiting for Bujilli to respond.

Bujilli slipped the monkey's cylinder into his belt, then he knelt down to pick-up Leeja. She pushed him away. Slipped. Sprawled into him. They lingered there for a couple of breaths. Holding each other. Then they helped each other back to their feet. She stumbled slightly. Grabbed his arm. They switched their arms around until he got her to drape her arm over his neck and to lean on him. Together they got to following the fat man towards their audience with Master Morquin. The healing spell used on Leeja was slower to respond than the one used on Bujilli. He wondered about that as they followed after the fat man. Maybe it was some kind of precaution?

The Athenaeum was a large place. Elegant. Immaculate. All marble and jasper and other rich stone tiles, columns and pillars, sweeping rails and wide stairs; a labyrinth-museum of quiet hallways meeting at atrium junctions where huge chandeliers were suspended over delicate fountains. Side passages led off to a vast array of dedicated libraries, dim scriptoria, esoteric displays. One could easily spend months wandering through this place, surrounded by learning, languages and lore.

"You say that the Headmistress has sent you?" A tall, thin very black man stared down at them. His eyes solid, glossy black and accusing.

"Yes." Bujilli shifted his weight in case things were about to get violent again.

"And who is Headmistress of the Academy now? Not Inlache, surely." The very black man scowled at them both, not so much studying as challenging them.

"Shael." Leeja shivered slightly, but remained upright, a defiant fire in her gold-green eyes.

"Truly? How distressing for the Gardeners. But at least the Faceless Lords are happy, though you'll never catch one of them smiling, will you?" Master Morquin laughed heartily.

Bujilli was unsure what to say. He didn't feel like laughing.

"No need to get flustered--it was a rhetorical question. So. Shael is now Headmistress and she has sent you three to--"

"Excuse me. Headmistress Shael asked us," Bujilli gestured to Leeja and himself, "To request your presence at her Chamber of Consultation."

"And this one?" Morquin pointed to Ahven.

"He sort of got in the way when he attacked us...after we went to...oh scheiss; it's a long story." And he wasn't entirely sure how much of it he wanted to share with Morquin.

Morquin laughed. His teeth, gums and tongue were entirely black. Bujilli had heard of a people who were like that. But they tended to live near the polar regions.

"Sit then. Would you share some tea with me? You both look like you could use it." Morquin folded his long legs and took position upon a massive cushion with a grace that was nothing short of impressive.

"Master--"

"Klush; go see to the tea. Then you can get back to your work. I'll get Yushgra to tend to our guests once she is finished. Oh, and get Zumbri to go clean up the atrium."

"Yes Master Morquin. I will get the tea. Will you be needing your sword?" Klush hesitated as though he wished to speak. Morquin pointedly wasn't giving him an opening.

"Not immediately, but you have a good point; please ask Yodrik to prepare my war gear. Now the tea if you please."

"Yes Master Morquin. Right away." Klush waddled off towards the kitchens more than a little deflated that Morquin was not going to ask his opinion about the recent excitement.

"So. Shael is Headmistress now, and she has sent you two to come ask me to consult with her. Things must be pretty bad for her to do that."

"I...don't know what we're at liberty to discuss..."

"Are you under any sort of prohibition? Have you been ordered to not talk to me?"

"No..." Leeja wondered what Morquin was getting at.

"There you have it then. You are expected to use your own discretion. Tell me, are you students here at the Academy?"

"Yes. Both of us are." Bujilli nodded.

"Excellent. Who is your sponsor? Hedrard? You wear one of her amulets I see...and I'd bet good money that Eberhard herself was her sponsor...except you carry a pistol that I recognize as one of her collection..."

"Hedrard is a...friend. We have an understanding, an arrangement of sorts. The pistol was a gift, from Mistress Eberhard. Gnosiomandus is my sponsor, for both of us." Bujilli felt slightly tongue-tied. Morquin was an imposing figure. And he knew it.

"Gnosiomandus. Huh. I thought he was dead. Well, in any case, I have no problem with Hedrard listening-in on us, so you may keep the amulet. I am impressed that you've managed to earn the respect of someone like Eberhard, to receive such a gift from that lady is no small thing. I would dearly love to hear all about it some day, but obviously, you did not come here to regale me with tales of your exploits. No. You come here to convince me to leave this place and run the gauntlet in order to come to the assistance of someone who never before lifted a finger on my behalf..."

"I do not know very much about the politics in this place--"

"Politics?!? You run errands for the Headmistress herself. You are beset by assassins reeking of Hard Candy at my very door. You are sought out by the Gardeners, the Comprachicos, the Seamstresses, all of whom expect you to drop everything and come talk to them--"

"I have a feeling that was all just a set-up--"

"But of course it was. The Faceless Lords, the Corruption trade, the Ignobles; they do not usually operate openly, not even in this place, especially in this place. No one operates in the open in this place. My dear wife Yushgra can help me explain things better, I am but the child of a small clan of poor refugees who wandered into this place by mistake."

"My husband is too modest. His people came here through the Glowfields. They braved many dangers. Faced many challenges..."

Bujilli looked about the room. Mistress Yushgra's voice seemed to be coming from beside Morquin, but he could see nothing, no one there.

"Yushgra my love, you taunt the boy needlessly."

Silk scarves swirled up into the air. Spinning, whirling, wrapping around the invisible body of Mistress Yushgra.

"You are of the Abseen--" Leeja's eyes went wide in shock.

"No. I am of the Perdu. My mother was Abseen. My father...was more purely of the blood, thus making my place among my people a bit...complicated. something I imagine you can well appreciate Leeja." She paused for a bare instant but Leeja could feel the weight of Yushgra's gaze, her undivided attention focused upon her; "You are familiar with our peoples?" Yushgra donned a pallid velvet mask and gloves, drawing them up over her limbs in a reversal of the usual strip-tease. It was simultaneously sensual and threatening.

"Only from my studies. I've never seen...met...one of..."

"Well, you have met one of us now. Why have you come here?" Yushgra chuckled. It had been her express intent to throw Leeja off-balance. Another game being played out. It bothered Bujilli. He was getting tired of all the pretentious manipulations and flaunting of his ignorance. It was galling how in a place of larning and knowledge it was always ones ignorance that was being scored off of, endlessly pointed out and preyed upon by those who supposedly knew more, knew better, knew things others did not. It felt like a buffet where the cooks were actually beggars, each holding back one dish and parceling out only small samples to their chosen few. It offended him. Deeply.

"Headmistress Shael asked us to come here, to request--"

"Hold. She 'asked' you? Who are you that she would 'ask' you to come to us, and not simply order you about like common students?"

"...well..."

"You are neither one of you 'common students,' that much is for certain. You carry the favor of several tenured professors, some of whom carry the oak staves. I do not know this Gnosiomandus, but my mate recognizes his name, so that is enough for me, for now."

"Shael wants our help." Morquin grew serious.

"Indeed?" Yushgra leaned languidly against Morquin; "Why?"

"There has been an attack--"

Klush re-entered the room. A small parade of gaudily-dressed mice, moles, a bogle-runt, two blue zoogs, three hobyahs and a wombat wearing a bow-tie filed into the room carrying platters of biscuits, tea cups, honey, three kinds of milk and a selection of teas, both in-the-bag and loose. He carried a pair of tea pots, one in each hand, himself, as if not trusting the servants to carry them without incident. The wombat set up an ebony trestle-table and everything was quickly arranged, then Klush shooed the serving animals away.

"Thank you Klush. You may attend to your other tasks now." Morquin dismissed the fat man before he could make his mind known. With a bow he left. His brow furrowed in frustration.

Morquin shifted position, prepared a pair of cups, presented one to his wife, took up the other, then gestured to Bujilli and Leeja; "Feel free to fix your tea however you prefer. We have a good selection of--"

"It's quite excellent Master Morquin." Leeja happily set about fixing a pair of cups of tea. Some of the herbs looked more like fungi to Bujilli, but he held his tongue and let her tend to the tea-making. He felt a little sad that there was no yak butter. At least there was honey and some sot of sage, from the smell of it.

"You have an interesting selection of servants." Bujilli observed.

"Orphans. All of them were retrieved and rescued from various battle-fields, out past the Baffles, down among the Jumbles, as far away as the Black Woods, the Big Valley, the Black Water Bogs and the Monoliths of the Downcast Moon."

"We take them in, teach them their letters and give them a home, food and education. Most of them stay on as researchers, assistants, or in other capacities." Yushgra sounded bored.

"You are both very kind--"

"Hardly. We value loyalty. Those whom we take in appreciate what we do on their behalf. Those who remain in our service are dedicated, loyal." Morquin sipped his tea.

"Those who go on to other stations, other pursuits remain well-disposed towards us, often they feel a sense of indebtedness, another form of loyalty. It has proven to be quite useful in the past." Yushgra sipped her tea.

"An interesting way of doing things. Too bad others are so much less enlightened about such things." Bujilli closed his eyes and saw the severed head of a child rotting away at the door to this place. Even the simplest things came at such a harsh price in this place. No one ever did things nice and easy.

"Like those who sent the child soldiers to shoot up my atrium?" Morquin grinned from behind his tea cup, as though guessing the thoughts troubling Bujilli. Morquin was an astute observer, a talented judge of people.

"Yes."

"Ah. You are an idealist. You have come to a strange place indeed, if you intend to retain your ideal intact." Morquin sighed sadly. It was impossible to tell if he was mocking or serious.

"I came here to learn..."

"Yes? But to learn what?" Yushgra leaned forward, her silk wrap slid down, revealing the absence of her body beneath the voluptuously contoured fabric that remained in-place.

"You did not come her seeking power? No. I can see it now; you desire knowledge. Ah, but such knowledge changes things, transforms us even as we try to come to terms with it, and it's implications. You wish to learn, but are you willing to change in accordance with what you learn?"

Bujilli considered Morquin's words. He did not wish to appear hasty in his response.

"Yes."

"Oh ho! I really think he means it." Morquin laughed heartily.

"Yes. He does." Yushgra sat back on her cushions.

"So will you go to meet with Headmistress Shael?" Bujilli asked, if only to change the subject.

"I have not decided. What do you advise?"

"What?"

"What do you advise me to do in this situation? You know more of what is going on out there than I do at the moment. You say that you are ignorant of the political realities going on around you. Your Headmistress asks you to perform her errands, instead of ordering you to do her bidding. No less than three of the old factions have tried to recruit or abduct or neutralize you before my very door. I say you are the best possible person to advise me in this matter; so what do you think I should do?"

"The Athenaeum is part of the Academy, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then as part of the Academy, you do owe the Headmistress that much. Go. Listen to what she has to say. Then make up your own mind as to what you want to do."

"Fair enough. We'll go listen to Headmistress Shael then. But if she's reaching out to me, then she's very likely stirring-up the hornet's nest and reaching out to others, and not reaching out to still others. It may well be as important whom she does not reach out to, as anyone she does try to contact. There are a lot of barely buried rivalries, simmering feuds, all sorts of land-mines and bad blood all through this place, all through Wermspittle and beyond. As far as I know the damned war is still going on, somewhere."

"Nothing is quite as simple as it might at first appear..." Bujilli sighed.

"Oh a few things are. Death. Sometimes."

"Speaking of death; you might wish to take a different route back than the one you came here by. Unless you wish to continue your conversation with those three..." Yushgra gestured vaguely towards the direction of the doorway they had used.

"Are they still out there?" Leeja hissed incredulously.

"Oh yes. They'll wait there for as long as they know you're still inside."

"Then we'd appreciate it if you might point out another route we can take to return to our, to my room."

"Certainly. You can take a stroll through the catacombs, take your chances poling a raft along the Buried Canal, or you could take to the roofs, if that appeals to you, though it is raining."


Success of a sort. They made it to the Athenaeum and have convinced Master Morquin and Mistress Yushga to go meet with Headmistress Shael. Now they just have to find a way back to their room in order to get some much needed rest before getting embroiled in the next round of incidents and explosions. Unless you readers think they should go somewhere else besides Bujilli's room.

In either case, it is nearly time to leave, and they don't want to wear out their welcome...

  • So should they go out the door they came in by, and confront the three killers?
  • Or should they go wandering through the catacombs?
  • Or take a trip down the Buried Canal?
  • Or take to the roofs, despite the cold spring rain, and run all the way home?

Or do you have a better or different suggestion? 

Let me know if you have any questions or could use some clarification to help make your suggestion(s)!

What happens next is up to you, the readers.

You Decide!

Previous                                Next

Series Indexes
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six


About Bujilli (What is This?) | Who is Bujilli? | How to Play

Bujilli's Spells | Little Brown Journals | Loot Tally | House Rules

Episode Guides
Series One (Episodes 1-19)
Series Two (Episode 20-36)
Series Three (Episodes 37-49)
Series Four (Episodes 50-68)
Series Five (Episodes 69-99)
Series Six(Episodes 100-ongoing)

Labyrinth Lord   |   Advanced Edition Companion

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Pretty Young Things (20 Eloi NPCs)

My life might have been passed in ease and luxury, but I preferred glory to every enticement that wealth placed in my path. Oh, that some encouraging voice would answer in the affirmative! My courage and my resolution is firm; but my hopes fluctuate, and my spirits are often depressed. I am about to proceed on a long and difficult voyage, the emergencies of which will demand all my fortitude: I am required not only to raise the spirits of others, but sometimes to sustain my own, when theirs are failing...
Frankenstein, by Mary W. Shelley

Twenty Eloi NPCs (D20)
  1. Lucretia has a thing for mirrors and ghosts. She dances for the spirits that sing to her through her mirrors. They whisper to her of peculiar keys and dreamy things, and especially of an empire that is hers for the taking. She only needs to locate her own reflection. It escaped one night, during a terrible storm, and has been playing a sort of cat-and-mouse game with her ever since. Now neither she nor her independent reflection (most often taking a male guise), can be seen in a mirror or any other such surface. Sometimes this prompts her associates to suspect her of vampirism, accusations of which can sometimes be very inconvenient to disprove.
    Lucretia [Eloi, F/MU, LVL 2/3, AL C, MV 120' (40'), AC 7 (loop-scale corset-cuirass, war-gloves), HD 5 (22 hp), #AT 2, DG 1d6/1d4 (+1 Mirror-blade & +2 curved dagger), SV MU5, ML 9. Special: 18 DEX, 17 CHAR & INT. Dagger can re-roll a miss if wielder takes 1d4 damage. Mirror-blade does double damage to Dobblekin, Simulacra, etc. Spells per day: 2,1. Level One: Charm Person, Light/Dark, Sleep. Level Two: Mirror Image, Phantasmal Force. Lucretia carries or owns (2d4) random mirrors of various kinds and sorts at all times.]
  2. Gelja has been hitting the Hard Candy way too often lately. She doesn't much care any more. Ever since her twin was taken by the Comprachicos she has been obsessed with tracking them down and getting them back. She hasn't slept in three weeks or more. It's starting to show. She bleeds black, like a Tsalalian now and her once golden hair is turning black as well...
    Gelja [Eloi Thief, LVL 3, AL N, MV 120' (40'), AC 6 (Banded Leather), HD 3 (14 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d4+4 (Six-Scalpel-Lash), SV T3, ML 11. Pick Locks: 27%, Set/Disable Traps: 25%, Sleight of Hand: 30%, Move Silent: 36%, Climb: 80%, Hide: 27%, Hear: 1-3. Backstab: +4 to hit, X2 damage, with surprise. Special: The Lash can be used as a garrotte on a score of 18 or better; inflicting double damage if the victim fails a Save. Hard Candy Addict: Gelja needs to make a CON Check (or a Save) every 24 hours to hold off the effects of the Vile Transformation. Right now she has a +3 bonus to her Check/Save, but every time she takes more than half her hit points in damage, she loses one of those pluses. Eventually her bonuses will become penalties and the Vile Transformation will be increasingly difficult to hold off. It's a losing game. She knows this. It's a price to pay to get what she wants. She's paying it. Now she has no time to waste.]
  3. Pask served as a body guard and concubine to a rich noble who was banished to Wermspittle for certain unspecified excesses that incurred the Imperial Wrath. Like a fool, Pask followed his mistress to this place. She died after her third week. Poison. They blamed Pask. After three years in the Arenas, Pask still wouldn't talk about it unless blind drunk on Black Liquor. After the Black Liquor, he can't recall any of the details, only the pain remains.
    Pask [Eloi Fighter, LVL 4, AL C, MV 120' (40'), AC 5 (Layered Mesh and Shield), HD 4 (32 hp), #AT 1, DG 2d6+2 (Flame-Spike Flamberge) or 3d4 (Three-Section Flail), SV F4, ML 5. Special: Pask must make a WIS Check (or a Save) to remember anything any more. He has a 45% chance to go berserk in his sleep and wildly attack anyone and everyone within 30' of his resting place.]
  4. The sight of old brick slums and dark foreign faces eat ever so deeply into Lylistire's ennui-stifled soul, or so he often will remind anyone whom he suspects of listening. Tormented and precious, this Eloi poseur is obsessed with appearances and implications. His paranoia is rich and virulent in respect to his closest colleagues and dearest friends, but rarely troubles him around complete strangers. He strives cunningly to make a suitable impression on those he has never met before. Those whom he knows, even only slightly, he tends to take for granted.
    Lylistire [Eloi Expert (Poet), AL C, MV 90' (30'), AC 8 (Velvet-lined Panel-Coat), HD 2 (8 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d4 or Scathing Rebuke, SV MU2, ML 4. Special: Lylistre can opt to inflict 1d4 damage per Scathing Rebuke in place of sullying his new gloves with blood. This is a verbal attack and requires him to use a language recognized by the target. He is fluent in eleven languages.]
  5. Zeeb was raised among Roof-Runners. She is highly skilled at climbing, jumping, and all the things expected of a Roof-Runner.
    Zeeb [Eloi Thief (Roof-Runner), LVL 3, AL C, MV 120' (60'), AC 8 (Slick Brigadine), HD 3 (12 hp), #AT 2, DG 1d4+2/1d4+1 (Climbing Axe or Daggers), SV T3, ML 7. Pick Locks: 30%, Set/Disable Traps: 35%, Sleight of Hand: 20%, Move Silent: 36%, Climb: 84%, Hide: 25%, Hear: 1-3. Backstab: +4 to hit, double damage, with surprise. Carries 4 sets of climbing cable or rope (each 50-100'. Keeps a pouch of spider-bane on her belt.]
  6. Shildra is a restless, high-strung, difficult child; brilliant, messy, incredibly creative, and far from ornamental, now that the vivid blue-green mold has robbed her of her looks (-4 to CHAR). She has looked upon the Smoldering Seas of Kazibak and traded her left hand for something more useful...
    Shildra [Eloi Spellcaster, LVL 4, AL C, MV 120' (30'), AC 7 (Studded Vest, Ragged Lace), HD 4 (15 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d4+1 (+2 Bodkin), SV MU 4, ML 5. Special: Shildra can cast  Contact Other Plane (Kazibak) once per week. Her left hand is a disconcerting mess of silver fluids and writhing phosphorescent green tendrils that somehow remains intact, despite its weird appearance. This prosthetic can change its shape at will, automatically Detects Magic (on touch), can reach past most mundane barriers (limited Passwall), and either smother or scald opponents on a successful attack (does both on 19 or better). Spells per day: 2,2. Level One: Hold Portal, Magic Missile (Searing Mercurial Droplets), Shield. Level Two:  Levitate, Locate Object, Web (Strands of Mucous).  Special: Shildra possesses a bone whistle that casts Sottarix's Six Clouds once per day. She does not know how to choose which cloud it will produce.]
  7. Dashae was raised in an attic by her maternal grandparents. They negotiated an arranged marriage for her and her three sisters. It was a terrible blow to them all when the emissary of a foreign Prince they were supposed to be dealing with turned out to be a fraud. She ran away the night they discovered the truth. She's a Forager now. There hasn't been any opportunity to find out what became of her sisters. She has to keep busy, keep moving, keep working, or else her spot will get forfeited and someone else will take her place in the queue. Only seventeen spots remain between her and a real apprenticeship or even entry into the Academy.
    Dashae [Eloi Thief (Forager), LVL 3, AL C, MV 120' (60'), AC 7 (Boiled Silk), HD 3 (16 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d6+1 (Yurlishi Katar), SV T3, ML 7. Pick Locks: 20%, Set/Disable Traps: 25%, Sleight of Hand: 17%, Move Silent: 38%, Climb: 80%, Hide: 35%, Hear: 1-3. Backstab: +4 to hit, double damage, with surprise. Carries a Forager Pack.]
  8. Joola's family has been raising winged cats for generations now. She, however, cannot stand the filthy beasts. For their part it is a mutual antipathy. Joola wants to be a singer. Her looks and her innate charm-ability have gotten her quite a bit farther than her meager talent and grating voice ever could. A shot of Black Liquor tends to smooth out her voice. Now if she could just get those damned cats from crashing her shows.
    Joola [Eloi Expert (Former Cat Herder), AL N, MV 120' (40'), AC 7 (Cat Leather), HD 2 (7 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d4+1 (Cat-Skinning Knife), SV F1, ML 5. Special: Joola's voice provokes a CHAR Check with a -2 penalty, unless she has had a shot of Black Liquor, then it gains a bonus of +2. Joola recently picked-up a mandolin. She does not know how to play it. Cats hate her. They frequently target her boots.]
  9. Karj reads too much. He's the first to admit it. But with his memory, he only needs to read something once to be able to recall it later. Sometimes he wishes he could forget certain of the things he's read.
    Karj [Eloi Spellcaster, LVL 3, AL C, MV 120' (40'), AC 7 (Lacquered-Plaque Robes), HD 3 (11 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d4+poison (Bundle of Tail-Spines), SV MU 3, ML 9. Spells per day: 2,1. Level One: Cloud of Sparks, Magic Missile (Cascade of Pages), Read Magic, Shield. Level Two: Locate Object (Book), Web (Constricting Tendrils). Special: Karj is very well-known to several local book-sellers.]
  10. Lurri was born to a family of gardeners. Their ancestors tended the great greenhouses that were ruined in the war. Which war depends upon which of her relatives is telling the family lore. They've lived in the attics of an Abandoned Property in the Burned Over District for so long that no one remembers where the old greenhouses used to be any more. Some of the younger cousins don't believe in such nonsense. They understand the harsh realities of the here and now.
    Lurri [Eloi Expert (Gardener), AL N, MV 120' (40'), AC 6 (Lacquered Lamellar), HD 2 (10 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d4/1d4 (Knife or Trowel), SV F1, ML 6. Special: Lurri was gifted her great-grandsire's crossbow...but she has lost the quarrels.]
  11. Keedri has very pale eyes and incredibly tangled hair that is on the verge of becoming a riotous mane of dreadlocks. She is frail to the point of appearing anemic and almost bloodless, with a distinctly unhealthy grayness around the eyes. The spirits that possess her and speak through her at the seances she holds only grant their guidance and favor at a very steep price.
    Keedri [Eloi Spellcaster (Medium), LVL 2, AL N, MV 120' (40'), AC 7 (Bone-Reinforced Plaited Cordage), HD 2 (7 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d6+1 (Sword-cane), SV MU 2, ML 4. Spells per day: 2. Level One: Protection from Spirits, Ventriloquism. Special: Keedri has the ability to use her CHAR Reaction roll to befriend spirits. She also can Discern Presences at will and allow a spirit to talk/communicate through her if she voluntarily fails a Save either via Spirit Trance, ritual seance, or by Invoked Possession. She has three distinct entities that have taken an interest in her. One is a Predatory Projection that is attempting to mislead her about its true nature. She has a Received Text that she is transcribing in a backwards cipher based upon another of her spirit-guides' efforts to instruct her in various aspects of the sorcerous arts. The third spirit is difficult to contact, as it cannot abide the Predatory Projection's influence. It is some sort of discarnate scholar that cannot recall very many details about their previous existence, but it is attempting to teach Keedri a form of Voorish Sign to help defend her from the duplicitous Projection.]
  12. Faren is descended from a proud line of idlers and do-nothings. Her people were once so rich and powerful that they had slaves to perform every menial task for them. Those days ended abruptly when their city was bombed into ruins. Reduced to penniless refugees, her people have had a particularly hard time of it in the shanty towns. It's amazing to her how quickly her kin took to the brothels. Her aunts now both control two very prosperous establishments, though they each had to arrange for their disagreeable husbands to disappear when they both started making noises about who was head of their households. Faren helped dispose of the remains. That was when she realized that her aunts had no intention of leaving her around as any sort of witness. She's been wandering the alleys and by-ways of the Shanty Towns ever since. She prefers to keep a low profile, in so far as her vanity will allow her...
    Faren [Eloi Cleric (Serves: Zoosh The Selfish), LVL 2, AL C, MV 120' (40'), AC 5 (Ancestral Chain-Mail), HD 2 (11 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d6+1 (Bifurcated Staff), SV C2, ML 3. Spells per Day: 2. Level One: Allurement (limited phantasmal forces), Expand Capacity (only for self), Purify Food and Drink (only for self), Resist Cold (only for self), Sleep (Dispel Vigor). Turn Virtuous (as Turn Undead). Holy Symbol: Wide-Open Mouth molded in solid gold, modeled upon Faren herself.]
  13. Voona is a former Rat Catcher's apprentice. She saw a swarm of rats obliterate her mentor and seven other apprentices just last week. She only just barely escaped. Mostly because she had fallen into a crevasse and had been climbing back up out of the pit when the rats turned upon her group. In her hurry to draw her weapon and attack the squealing mass of rodents, her hand slipped and she fell back down the crevasse. She awoke on the lichen-covered floor of a cavern overlooking one of the older cisterns. It took her four days to climb back up and out from there. Now she's debating what to do with herself. She doesn't see much of a future in being a Rat Catcher. Maybe knowing where a forgotten cistern is located might be worth something, to someone...
    Voona [Eloi Specialist (Ex-Vermin Hunter), AL N, MV 120' (40'), AC 6 (Decommissioned Sewer-Scale, Mesh-Gauntlets), HD 2 (14 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d4/1d6/1d4+2 (Serrated Knife, Truncheon or Fighting Torch), SV F1, ML 6. Special: Voona is currently listed as missing in action and presumed eaten by rats. She has about a dozen dinged-up old rat-traps and cages that she's considering selling.]
  14. Jalisk ran away from home tonight. His mother had become one of the Soulless. He decided that he wasn't going to stick around to get used like another pawn in her devious machinations, not like his brother, his sister, and everyone else in their family. If he wasn't so scared, he might start to have ambitions.
    Jalisk [Eloi AL N, MV 120' (40'), AC 7 (Quilted and Shield), HD 1 (5 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d4 (light club), SV Zero-Level Human, ML 4. Special: Jalisk stole 400 silver coins on the way out of his mother's estate.]
  15. L'Vinya was named for her great-aunt who was lost when her wagon didn't make it through the second Weak Point in the dark forests they had to cross to get to the seemingly endless plain of gray mud that brought them to the North East Rampart and into Wermspittle.
    L'Vinya [Eloi Spellcaster, LVL 2, AL C, MV 120' (40'), AC 7 (Vertebrae-Disk Leather), HD 2 (7 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d4* (Ruuzang Stiletto), SV MU2, ML 5. Spells per day: 2. Level One: Charm Person (Revulsion), Light/Dark (Lilac Dimness), Protection From Insanity, Sleep (Incite Dream), Foul Fumes, Glossalalia. Special: Ruuzang Stiletto does double damage on roll of 19, triple on a natural 20; but it has a 75% chance to snap off in either instance. L'Vinya owns a copy of Manku's Black Book, three unfinished wands and a scroll of Convert Blood to Lamp-Oil.]
  16. Kosha dreams of a white sphinx every night. A huge, alabaster sphinx looming over a vast expanse of wind-swept ice. Sometimes they wake up in the morning with a layer of frost over everything in their room.
    Kosha [Eloi Spellcaster (Dreamer), LVL 2, AL N, MV 120' (40'), AC 7 (Fungal Leather), HD 2 (6 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d4+1 (Glass Club), SV MU 2, ML 9. Spells per day: 2. Level One: Protection From Nightmares, Dreamlight, Dreamwalk, Lucidity, Interpret Dreams, Oneiric Shield, Sleep. Special: Kosha's Glass Club affects intangibles for 2d4+3 damage. It cannot/will not affect non-intelligent undead.]
  17. Tidri isn't quite so easily-hypnotized as Tonash the Master-Somnambulist originally thought. She never batted an eye as she slit his throat. She still smiles sweetly every time she thinks of it. If it hadn't been for him trying to stuff her into one of his velvet-lined cabinets, she might never have discovered her talent for the more subtle arts. Looting his library before she left was also one of her better ideas. After selling off the less useful tomes, she was able to get herself some decent clothes and secure a reasonably safe place to study. She just has to avoid the snares and servants of the other Somnambulists seeking revenge on her.
    Tidri [Eloi Spellcaster (Oneirist), LVL 2, AL C, MV 120' (40'), AC 7 (Beaded Leather), HD 2 (9 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d4+2 (Snip-Shears), SV MU 2, ML 8. Spells per day: 2. Level One: Collect Oneiroplasm, Detonate Oneiroplasm, Dream Projection, Discern Unreal, Disperse Oneiroplasm, Language of Dreams, Lesser Hypnosis, Protection From Dreams, Rude Awakening, Trance Induction. Special: Tidri has six manuals and books on various oneirical techniques and practices from which she has taught herself her eclectic repertoire of non-standard spells. She has also dreamed of a shining short sword formed of some sort of bone-like material that is becoming more manifest each night she dreams of it. Three more nights and it will be usable for one hour each night.]
  18. Zizi never wanted to be part of the Circus. She didn't ask to be a contortionist. She wasn't going to let Uncle Leonard send her off to the Comprachicos to get her 'fixed.' Things had gotten increasingly hard after her father died at the Battle of Xoron and the Gray Pox took her mother away from her. And, yes, she was grateful for all her uncle had done for her, but she had had enough. If he wanted someone cut and stitched and reworked to please the crowds, he could go get himself mangled. She ran off and hasn't looked back once in three years. She tries not to notice the hunchback that seems to be following her everywhere.
    Zizi [Eloi Fighter/Thief, LVL 2/2, AL C, MV 120' (40'), AC 6 (Light Bruthem-Hide), HD 4 (24 hp), #AT 2, DG 1d6/1d4+2 (Machete or Pincer-Knife), SV F3, ML 7. Thief Skills: Pick Locks: 27%, Set/Disable Traps: 20%, Sleight of Hand: 27%, Move Silent: 27%, Climb: 88%, Hide: 15%, Hear: 1-2. Backstab: +4 to hit, double damage, with surprise. Special: Pincer-Knife can snap-shut on a roll of 18-20, causing double damage and automatically inflicting 1d4+2 per turn until removed.]
  19. Ladjo lives hard. He's rarely sober and only gets meaner when he goes for very long without a drink. His tolerance for exotic liquors is astounding. But then having three livers has more than a little to do with that.
    Ladjo [Eloi Fighter, LVL 4, AL N, MV 120' (40'), AC 4 (Spike-Mail), HD 4 (38 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d6+2 (Trefoil-Axe), SV F4, ML 9. Special: Heavily scarred in mind and body alike. The right eye isn't his. The right hand has talons and looks like it came from a griffin. The Grafters in the Arenas aren't always so choosy about what parts get used. Ladjo did a few favors for an Almas Glandculler a while back, hence his internal modifications that allow him to drink well past the point of excess and survive.]
  20. Vashun is quiet. Almost skittish. They lost their tongue to some geist-thing their party ran into on the Third Flight of the Deep Stairs. They haven't been the same since.
    Vashun [Eloi Fighter, LVL 2, AL C, MV 120' (40'), AC 6 (Scale-Mail), HD 2 (7 hp), #AT 1, DG 1d6 (Crossbow or Short Sword), SV F2, ML 5 (-4 to ML when facing Geists). Special: Vashun tends to flake out when faced with what feels like overwhelming odds. They prefer to run away, not finish the job. They've been dismissed as a henchman by three employers already. Vashun does know several unmarked secret passages located along the first three flights of the Deep Stairs, which in itself is often pretty useful and valuable.]


Thursday, November 7, 2013

Bujilli: Episode 67

Previously...
Bujilli's father, Lyhydris, has answered the summons. Prepared for a battle, Bujilli instead confronted one revelation after another as he learned a lot of unpleasant things about his Uncle, his mother and father, his childhood, and himself, much of it unsettling and disturbing. Born as part of some unfathomable scheme. Raised to serve his Uncle's cunning ambitions. Manipulated all his life. He stands in a dark place. Surrounded by undead Yeren controlled by his Uncle. His father trapped within the arcane geometry of the Summoning platform. Bujilli stands alone before his Uncle for what might well prove to be the very last time...




Poll Results:
(50%) Open the Way to Leeja, while distractng his Uncle.
(33%) Release his Father, then attack his Uncle.
(17%) Something Else.
Porky and Entirely Too Perky both made some suggestions that have been taken under advisement.
John Till pulled two new cards from the Deck of FATE: Low Morale and Slippery. How very appropriate...
Bujilli glared at his Uncle. Quickly counted the Yeren corpses staggering and shambling into the chamber. Nearly twenty. At least they all looked wounded. Several were missing pieces. Some of them were oozing a nasty black fluid from around their eyes. Something about the scent was familiar.

Quietly, he cast Auric Sheath. He couldn't say why. It was instinct. Bujilli had learned to listen to his instincts. It had taken several hard lessons. But he'd survived. He learned.

Violet light shimmered around him. The backs of the Yeren corpses' heads looked fuzzy. Indistinct. Smudged with some lingering grayness that partially blotted things out. It reminded him of the strings of marionettes. Aethyric strings. Running off into the distance. Connecting them to their master. He'd seen this sort of thing before. Bortho. Back under Idvard's Keep. The stench was more noticeable now. There was a Fungal Tyrant involved in all this. He was sure of it. As sure as he could be, under the circumstances.

None of the Yeren corpses showed signs of the distinctive purplish growths pushing out through their flesh. Not yet.

He couldn't tell where the aethyric connections ran off to--they grew too indistinct, too faint as they flowed back to their source. He also wasn't sure if they doubled-back or not. All he was certain about was that the hazy grayish streams ran back through the one doorway. One point of entry. A choke-point, potentially. If he could find some way to close that off...

"Funny thing about demons. They cannot act directly, not when they are trying to corrupt their victim. No. If it is their will that moves the hand, then all the consequences are theirs. It is in getting you to move your hand in accordance to their will, but freely of your own volition wherein the damnation truly lies. You have to give in to them. Submit. Be weak. But you know all that, don't you Bujilli?"

Bujilli made to spit in disgust. Caught himself. He smiled instead. That always pissed off his Uncle. Two could play at this sort of penny ante yak-shit. Pre-fight posturing. He despised it. But this time...it might be wise to use it, to attempt to distract his Uncle. Buy some time...

"Like a stupid puppy you ran off to fetch your father. Idiot. Like he would ever help you. I'm the only family you have. The only one who watches over you. Takes care of you. Provides for--"

"Oh Shut Up." Bujilli smiled wider. He adjusted his grip on the tulwar. The blade seethed with hatred for his Uncle. It shimmered with emotional heat. He wondered why. But this was not the time, not the place to delve into such mysteries.

"You will show some respect to your elders--"

"Shut up you old bastard. You didn't bring along a pack of Yeren corpses just so you could pretend to scold me one last time."

"No. I didn't. I brought them to cut you into little pieces." It was his Uncle's turn to smile.

"Good. We can drop the pretense. Here I am all alone. Surrounded. Out-numbered."

"Yes. you'd be a fool to fight, wouldn't you? And I did not raise you to be a fool, now did I boy?"

"You've brought along some allies...I could use some allies myself...perhaps I should free my father--"

"YES!" shouted the malevolent voice of Lyhydris.

"NO!" Bellowed his Uncle.

The band of white hair wrapped around his finger tightened. Relaxed. Tightened again. A signal. He was not alone here. Not now. Not ever.

Bujilli smiled, shifted his shoulders, rolled his neck muscles to loosen up, drew his hand-axe, stretched his arms wide and sighed loudly.

"I'm through with this. Let's end it." Bujilli charged his Uncle.

The old Almas squealed. Stumbled into a Yeren corpse that glared at him with angry green-lit eyes.

Bujilli laughed. The Yeren's head flew off into the darkness. The green-lit eyes went dim before it hit the floor. His Uncle scrambled to get away.

The tulwar shrieked through the throat of another Yeren. Taking the one next to it as well.

He stopped. Looked directly into a pair of shining gold-green eyes. White hair flashing and flickering like ivory flames. Leeja smiled. Sweetly. Sinisterly.

The Yeren didn't stand a chance.

Blood, gore and body fluids spattered and splattered across the floor making it slippery. Lopped-off body parts were scattered hither and yon.

The tulwar shrieked in rage. Leeja keened and screamed as was her nature. His Uncle squealed and swore bitterly.

The Yeren were dismembered. Hacked to bits. Useless without further sorcerous intervention.

Bujilli's previously cast Zone of Normality collapsed with a sharp pop.

His Auric Sheath exploded into violet sparks. Disrupted. Gone.

Blood and pain erupted from his abdomen. A ringing sound. The tulwar was gone. Knocked from his had by one of the missiles flung at him by his Uncle. Julidi's Darts. Two of them had struck him. The blade had deflected or blocked several more. Bujilli collapsed to his knees in the foul and murksome gore.

A staggering Green Flash exploded from the left-hand of his Uncle. Indelicate Thunder assaulted Bujilli's sensitive ears.

Voorish Sign was cast.

Leeja's scream ended abruptly.

Quiet.

Preternatural Stillness soaked the place.

"Idiot child." His Uncle spat on the floor.

Bujilli laughed. Sudden pain lanced through his guts. He put his hand out before him. To catch himself from falling into the oily gore. He touched the hilt of his tulwar.

Pain fell away as Bujilli rose from the blood and muck. Both tulwar and axe ready to wreak vengeance.

A gentle touch held his wound closed. Gave him strength. Urged him onward.

He knew the secret of his tulwar now.

Why it hated his Uncle so intensely.

The one thing that had saved him so many times before.

His secret weapon, he had once called it.

Secrets had a way of revealing themselves.

Now he knew.

It was time to end this. Once and for all.

Pink light skittered across the chamber in a disturbing, arachnid manner. The tulwar slashed through it like so much weak smoke. Bujilli moved towards his Uncle. One step at a time. Blood oozing form his wounds despite the ministrations of the tulwar's spirit.

"I came of age years ago." He took two painful steps towards his tormentor, his mentor, his Uncle.

A cloud of black nails swirled around Bujilli. The tulwar couldn't cut through such a thing. He endured. Took another step. Blood welled-up from dozens of little gashes and cuts. Three more steps.

"Yet you denied me my birth-right." Bujilli sliced through a billowing green mist that sucked and clutched and  tittered and chuckled obscenely in a dozen echoing voices. It fell silent as he passed through it. So much green scum overlaying the tainted blood. A few more steps. It hurt. Badly.

But he hadn't crawled out of all those deep, dark places to just give in now. He hadn't fought his way up and out of his innumerable childhood hells to let his Uncle break him now. Not now. Not ever.

His Uncle cast Umbral Maiming. Purely from spite. Bujilli dropped to one knee, as his shadow was viciously assaulted. The tulwar disrupted the spell before it ran its full course. The blade was growing hot. Smoke was starting to leak out from between Bujilli's fingers. It hurt. Just not as much as his guts.

Pain he could live with. He had years of experience in coping with pain.

"I should have been accepted as an adult among our people when I returned with this blade. I ought to have been recognized as a full-member of the clan by your public declaration, as is tradition." He coughed. Blood. A bad sign. Another step.

"You'll never be recognized. Never admitted to the clan. You are not of us. Mongrel whelp. Half-bred and ill-begotten--"

"You think I care about any of that now?" Bujilli grinned. One more step.

"Why do you mention it then?" His Uncle looked perplexed.

"I speak of the dead past. Of things that might have mattered once, long ago." Another step.

"But we all grow up sometime." The tulwar flashed. Bujilli didn't even feel it. He let go. Slid to his knees in a torrent of his own blood.

He didn't see his mother's revenge.

The tulwar clattered to the floor. Inert. Spent. Fulfilled.

Bujilli looked down into the dying eyes of his Uncle's severed head as it stared up at him from the bloody floor.

Bujilli laughed.

That hurt.

A lot.

He passed out. He wasn't sure if it was a hallucination or something else. He thought he saw his Uncle's head slither through the muck and blood as if being dragged away. Back towards the doorway.

All went black...


Previous                                                        Next

Series Indexes
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six


About Bujilli (What is This?) | Who is Bujilli? | How to Play

Bujilli's Spells | Little Brown Journals | Loot Tally | House Rules

Episode Guides
Series One (Episodes 1-19)
Series Two (Episode 20-36)
Series Three (Episodes 37-49)
Series Four (Episodes 50-68)
Series Five (Episodes 69-99)
Series Six(Episodes 100-ongoing)

Labyrinth Lord   |   Advanced Edition Companion