quest/src/epistolary/00015.md

title	created	updated	public	syndicated
00015	Thu, 22 Sep 2022 11:14:06 -0400	Thu, 22 Sep 2022 11:14:06 -0400	yes	yes

00015

Jarrod raises his right hand and begins adding a new rhythm to his beat by slapping his palm against his chest. The resulting beat sounds eerily like a galloping horse. Jarrod pushes his voice outward and upward, directing his vocal energy at HORSE.

"A mighty steed did carry our hero through forest, hill and town:
 A comely beast with silky mane and smooth and supple hide.
 One would think that such a stallion needs must have renown,
 But only our dear hero understood, and so did ride."

Jarrod subtly adjusts the rhythm to a fast, regular beat.

"Lightning of the hoof!
 Fire in the eye!
 One with blowing wind!
 Strength of mountain high!"

Jarrod slowly calms the beat back down to a heartbeat with his left hand fingers on his thigh again. However, the right now rests close to Gertrude's handle, at the ready.

"On fated day, our hero does require
 Underlings for which a task is set.
 And yet, this day the underlings and squires
 Have booked their time away from toil and fret."

While continuing the epic, Jarrod makes note of two options, should he need them:

1. Should he need, he can dive behind the giant clam; and
2. He eyes a path back out the vault, should he be able to draw the Aurs and Kobits out with him.

Jarrod keeps his eyes on HORSE, attempting to react to whatever HORSE brings.

HORSE gives a snort, a groan, and a sigh as the beat of the poem accelerates to a trot, and turns its subject to matters of its own interest. Namely, himself. HORSE likes to hear its own name, and it likes to hear people pay tribute to it with verse. Which is 100% what it thinks is going on here.

HORSE beats its wings a few times and then flaps over to where Jarrod is delivering his oration. It stands a little too close, basking in the glory of Jarrod's verse.

There is now gathered at Jarrod's feet three Aurs; one clumsy Kobit with untied shoe laces; and one naked, winged Kobit named HORSE.

The blue and gold, melon shaped crystal in the center of the vault has been left unguarded. It hovers, suspended, beneath its glass dome on top of its pedestal, revolving slowly in place. It looks like a weird tiny asteroid. The veins of gold in the stone pulse lightly with otherworldly energy.

Damn it Corraidhin thinks to himself, here I am yet again at the bottom of some insipid pool stuck by some random magical thing all because I didn't pay enough attention in mythical history class. Bloody hell!

Good thing I paid attention in sorcery and yesteryears secrecry administrivia, this little sword won't stay stuck for too long! My lungs if I bungle this though..

Corraidhin quickly invokes a spell with his spare hand, casting mystical runes with his hand.

sudo chmod -t sowrd_of_yam\'l
sudo chmod 775 sword_of_yam\'l
sudo chown corraidhin:party sword_of_yam\'l

That should do it corraidhin thinks to himself. If not I'm going to need to think quick, I'm stuck and there's no way up without this sword. I might be able to transmute the water into air around me, but probably only a small pocket which will surely disappear in a gasp. Alternately I could try and blast my way down, creating a pocket for the water to flow into, but I'd be willing to bet I'll hurt myself in the process..

You trace some watery runes, invoking Sudo to bend reality to your will.

The unschooled masses sometimes erroneously assume that Sudo is a deity in its own right. There's a certain misguided logic to it: an invisible force that governs the relationships between entities, and infallibly predicts how they will behave? Certainly, it must be an all powerful, godlike entity.

You and your ilk, of course, know that there's no more intelligence behind Sudo than there is behind gravity. No need to correct them though. Sometimes it behooves the mage to allow others to think that they serve an unfathomable arcane lord.

There is a dull underwater flash and a muted underwater bang, and you feel the sword slip from its stony clinch like a knife tearing through soggy bread.

You push up off the bottom of the pool and rocket to the surface, helped--surprisingly--by the sword, which remains glued fast to your hand, but which also rises above you as though somehow lighter than water.

You break the surface of the water and hear joyous laughter.

"Oh, yes! Well done, Hardy Bear! So very well done indeed! Oh, I had spent so long trapped at the bottom of that pool waiting for a new bear to come and free me. And now here you are! Oh, what a very good day this is. What a magnificent pair we shall be.

"Now, let's go stab some evil!"

You look down at the sword in your hand, and the eye twinkles at you, full of adoration and zeal.

A small wine pitcher splashes into the water next to you. It is attached to a thin hose, at the other end of which Inky sits on dry land, drinking a cup of tea. They wave.

Inky squints at the silhouette underwater, slightly distorted by the occasional ripple on the surface, trying to decipher the odd hand gestures and wisps of light coming from below. Why was Master Corraidhín repeatedly forming semi-circles with his finger, almost like … the handle of a teacup? Was it a request for tea?

After a pause, Inky rummages inside a bag and brings out a large porro and a long rubber hose. The porro is filled with a demi-tasse of black grapefruit pekoe from a flask and the spout plugged with an eldarberry-flavoured gummy pen nib. Inky strings together a handful of brass nuts with twine and ties it to the porro's handle to act as a small weight, then affixes the hose tightly to the open top of the porro. Casting a slightly apologetic look in the direction of the water for a brew long since gone cold, Inky swings the hose and flings the drinking vessel into the pool towards Master Corraidhín, watching for a moment as the porro sinks down into the water to hover near his arm. The other end of the hose is tied securely to a narrow rock on one side of the pool with more twine, the end sticking up in the air like a wiggling snorkel.

Inky returns to crouching near the vault entrance and looking inside another small pouch for fresh tea leaves. Waiting is thirsty work!

You cast an improvised lifeline to the floundering wizard, and find a cache of very fine fermented tea leaves wrapped in waxed paper that you left for yourself at some point in the past. How thoughtful and considerate of Past You!

From your vantage point, the sleepy guard Kobit still shows no sign of stirring. And Jarrod has a throng of captive beasts listening very intently to his stirring, epic poem. HORSE in particular seems to be gaining some kind of physical sustenance from the words, snorting and whinnying and beating its wings with each new stanza.

If you can slip through the doorway without disturbing them, there will be nothing between you and the now vulnerable Ginnarak Crystal.

WHAT DO YOU DOOOOOO

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