6.8 KiB
| title | created | updated | public | syndicated |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 00016 | Sat, 24 Sep 2022 07:43:23 -0400 | Sat, 24 Sep 2022 07:43:23 -0400 | yes | yes |
00016
RETCON!
Before Corraidhín ascended to the surface of the pool....
As Corraidhin finishes his incantation a small porro drifts down bonking him on the head. Startled corraidhin begins to move around in the pool trying to find his assailant.
"By the gods what in the world is in this pool with me!" he tugs frantically on the sword, and as he does so the porro drifts into view. "Oh wait, that.." his eyes follow the rubber hose attached to it up to the top of the pool. "Ah ha!" he exclaims immediately inhaling a mouth full of water and frantically pulling the porro from the hose with his spare hand and teeth. Corraidhin sucks greedily at the air the hose provides as he becomes acutely aware of the burning sensation in his lungs.
The porro drifts wistfully to the bottom of the pool, just out of reach. A dark liquid rises from it as it comes to rest on the bottom of the pool.
And now back to our show!
After heartily congratulating Master Corraidhín on his successful sword acquisition in hushed whispers and finishing off a cup of blackcurrant tea, Inky retrieves the porro from the bottom of the pool with a fishing pole and a few recasts. (Calling that gnarly stick with a line, bottle and hook slightly bent out of shape on one end a fishing pole would be an affont to any self-respecting fisherfolk though.) Inky rinses the pitcher and hose before stowing them away again in the bag along with the pole and other ink brewing paraphernalia.
Refreshed, Inky slips noiselessly inside the vault, edging along the wall on the farther side from the crowd now wholly enraptured by Jarrod's grand recital. Seeing the crowd pacified and giving Jarrod a thumbs-up, Inky unfurls a long and dusty bolt of dark cloth with the words "UNDER MAINTENANCE — NO UNAUTHORISED ENTRY [by order of the Basmentaria Bureau of Sanitation]" in roughly-scrawled letters tacked onto it, and hung the ends of the cloth so it spanned and completely obscured one side of the vault.
Standing behind the makeshift inspection site, Inky proceeds to fill several sacks with gold and gems using a small shovel, before putting one of the sacks into their Hacky Duffer Discette (its capacity for large storage and small weight is a blessing in disguise for both aspiring and afflicted collectors alike).
You successfully cordon off a corner of the vault and set up a very convincing UNDER CONSTRUCTION banner. It looks straight up like a 90's website.
You start shoving bags of treasure into your HD Discette, but it only accepts 1.44 bags before running out of space. You you leave the remaining bags for the others.
During your excavation, you find a complete set of magnificent, ornate, gold-nibbed quills, and also a small wooden rack of bottled ink.
There are a dozen small bottles all arranged in a row, each one with a different mysterious glyph, the contents all a slightly different shade. As you handle the rack, the ink sloshes around inside. It could still be good!
The fine wooden rack encloses them all and holds them in place by means of the lid, which closes securely around the bottle necks. Once you open the lid, you can easily retrieve and stow the bottles.
You also spot a fine jade teapot. A matching set of small cups---no handles, no saucers---cluster around the pot like nursing pups.
Corraidhin clambors out of the pool, magical pokey stick in hand.
Good show! He exclaims to himself and the sword. Now I can finally get a good look at this sword, though for some reason I can't seem to let go, I guess for now I won't lose it.
You said you wanted to do some stabbin right? Of evil things? What constitutes evil my pointy new friend?
The sword does indeed remain steadfastly glued to your hand. As you swish it around you discover that it seems to get lighter when you hold it aloft, and that it trembles and grows increasingly heavy as it descends. The sensation is almost as though it has a hollow core in which some kind of heavy liquid sloshes around. And as though its blow would be devastating.
The sword relishes being wielded and swung, and grows more and more ecstatic. Its eye darts menacingly back and forth, vanquishing imaginary enemies with each jab.
Yes! Yes, I am made for a singular purpose. To RID EVIL. To root out evil, spill its blood, and then do it again! So let's go find some evil, Bear! And then you can just stab it with me.
Oh, what constitutes evil, you ask? In my experience, evil can't help but make itself known. You'll know it when you see it.
For example, see there? That little inky fellow sneaking into that treasure room? Probably super evil. We should go investigate.
As corraidhin questions the sword he wanders towards the vault peering in to inspect Jarrod's performance. He's really good at that, what do you think? Actually what do I even call you? Do you like nicknames? I was thinking pointy, or stabby, but I'm open to suggestions, respect and all that.
Oh hey, the crystal! It looks like it's unguarded! Corraidhin slinks towards the crystal muttering to his magical sword as he does.
The sword is momentarily distracted by the Aurs and Kobits. Its eye widens. It almost seems to shudder with anticipation.
EEEEEVIL! Rid. Evil. Spill. Repeat.
You are thankful that the voice seems only to be heard inside your own head.
Oh, my name? I'm sure I had one at some point. Long forgotten by now. No matter, I'm not sad about it. One has no use for a name when instead they have a singular, all-consuming purpose!
But, my last Bear called me her Bee. I quite liked that. The bee in her bonnet! Ha! Evil, fear my sting!
The sword prattles on in your head as you sneak past Jarrod's monstrous storytime and approach the pedestal. Or is it a lectern?
You arrive unseen. The crystal is a dazzling deep blue, with pulsing gold veins. It is oddly shaped, somewhat like an egg. And it floats, rotating slowly, suspended in air beneath the glass dome that encloses it.
Drawing on your knowledge of Arcane Lore, you remember that the five Ginnarak Crystals played a key role in the Artifice Wars that once rampaged across all of Basmentaria. They are sources of tremendous power. Some say that, the five of them together, they could kill a god. You're not sure you believe that. But they did definitely reduce the once lush and verdant island nation of Ginnarak to cinder wastes and deserts of ash. A cataclysmic event that put a resolute end to the Artifice Wars.
You look around the vault. Jarrod is reciting epic poetry and mesmerizing the monsters. Inky is pillaging and looting. You have a bloodthirsty, sentient sword in one hand; and a large arcane battery of a crystal within reach of the other.
WHAT DO YOU DO