Running the Jars – Marto Copperkettle – 14.12.2021
Dec 18, 2021 2:11:42 GMT
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Post by Marto Copperkettle on Dec 18, 2021 2:11:42 GMT
It has been a wild tenday.
First, Marto thought his sister had gone missing, again. Then it turned out there was some wibbly-wobbly time difference between where she and her friends had gone to try to stop a Mad Modron and his accomplice’s machine. They had barely escaped being eaten by some giant kragen in the Shadowfell.
Then everyone else was called to help and though Marto did what he could for those going to the Angelbark assisting the Fort’s groundskeeper, Jacque, supply what he could, there had been Wild Magic everywhere. But it seems that, all in all, those who went to deal with the problems directly were able to stop the end of the world – or, rather, the end of the Dawnlands and Sigil.
The only lingering effects from all that magic bleeding over from the Feywild was the red brick of the Fort was now a dusty rose-pink. Marto only found out about that when he returned to the adventurer’s hub later. First, he helped Merla finish building her theatre – quite a beautiful building that he was very proud to have worked on. Talks were already in the works for the first play, but Merla would not tell even tell him about it.
“It’s based on actual events! Going to be really fun. I’m sure you’ll love it Marto. I’ll let you know when the first performance is! Gotta go!” And she had disappeared in a whirl of glitter and harp song.
Now he was back – marveling that the magical fort had changed colours, wondering if it always could have done that – and was about to go to Sigil of all places! His first true adventure on his own to a whole other plane.
Marto was excited.
The wizard Glint led the way through the Angelbark. A dense and lush woods, it was the first time Marto had stepped into the forest. Yet it felt familiar for reasons he could not explain. His right palm kept tingling but despite checking every time it got to the point of itching there was nothing there. So he just pushed it from his mind as best as he could, passing it off as a form of nerves.
They got to a clearing with a large stone archway covered in carvings. A true nexus point portal. Marto gaped in wide eyed fascination as the fire genasi mage stepped forward and said the activation phrase.
“Pay your tab.”
The air shimmered, rippling like fast low water over river stones and then settled into a mist. Marto didn’t even hesitate, he just stepped through.
Concord turned out to be owned and run by a being of the same name, who happened to be a very large, very powerful swarm of cranium rats, and the place just so happened to be a bar. The rats were covered by a massive trench coat with just the one cranium rat at the top, commanding the assembled body. Marto was equal parts fascinated and wary. The last time he had come across cranium rats they had taken over the minds of the staff at the Gilded Mirror. Corin mentioned the wine had come from Sigil. Marto wondered if it was from this very same brewery…
“…Delivery of two packages is coming today. I want you to ensure they reach us here, safely…”
Each time the whispered reverberating echo of Concord’s speech as they finished speaking directly into his mind, made the hairs on the back of Marto’s neck stand on end.
“Is there a reason you are worried about your delivery?” Tayz asked.
“…Because. The Horns of Mead Tavern has sent someone to destroy our stock before… They no doubt fear us getting…stronger…”
“What sort of packages are we to keep an eye out for?” Iorveth asks. He, Kavel, and Tayz had to slouch down because of the low hanging ceiling, yet the eladrin still managed to be graceful in his stooping.
“…A container of mixed spices… And a box that has a crystal…This will allow us to better defend the-…bar…”
Marto had to just think about asking a question and Concord turned their full attention to him. He found himself smiling despite how unnerving such a presence was.
“If we need to handle these products, is there anything we need to know?” Marto asks.
“…Hmm, it would be best not to touch them…” The rat at the top of the trench coat glances down to Marto’s winter gloves. “…At least not with your bare hands…”
“Why is that?” Marto asks.
“…One is a very rare spice, the other… The other is a crystallized illithid brain…”
Marto swears he can feel all the rats under the trench coat smile as they all stand there in questionable, stunned silence.
Piper holds out her mechanical arm, the small orb of blue in the palm glowing a little brighter.
“I think I got us covered then!” she says with excited zeal.
Breaking the thread of conversation Tayz asks, “When we return, may I be allowed to study you?”
“No.”
There was no buzzing murmurs before or after the single word, just a flat out refusal. They all tensed, not sure what was going to happen next.
“…But we will allow you to observe as we absorb the crystal…”
The aarakocra nodded his thanks. Not once, during the whole exchange, has he stopped taking notes.
A location is suddenly imprinted into all of their minds. Each of them lets out a soft groan or gasp of surprise. It was nice to know where to go without a map. They had hired a guide to get to the bar — and the poor tiefling had to suffer through Itoveth’s half forgotten, poorly told war story. Marto didn’t think they’d be able to hire one for this job though, and certainly not pay them with stories.
“…Go…”
The whispered excitement of the cranium rats was getting too much and so they went without a moment’s further delay.
The chase was on and Marto was having the time of his life. Feet pounding against the cold iron rooftops, eyes flicking down below, keeping tabs on what dangers were around them as Tayz flew above, Kavel picked up debris to throw, Piper glided effortlessly across the uneven surfaces on blades of wheels, Glint did his best to assert that they meant no harm – despite the hard and fast pursuit they were giving – whilst Iorveth sang a beautiful song that made the wind carry him. The Summer Eladrin was breathtaking, certainly a fright better at chasing four young tiefling thieves across rooftops than he was at telling war stories. Marto thought maybe that’s because he enjoyed being the one in the story rather than the storyteller.
He certainly understood how that feels.
“If I have to go through one more doorway the next rock will hit you!” Kavel shouts at the theives running away from them.
It didn’t stop them going through the door and it certainly didn’t stop its portal from closing, the door locking as it slammed shut.
Luckily they saw which of the five doors the tricksome four went through.
There is an unexpected chuckle from their right. “Got lost in the jars huh?”
Marto and the others turn. A young dwarf with a fist dagger on his side sits on a pile of discarded crates. He hops down and takes a slow stride towards them.
“It’s clear you’re not from around here. Prime Material’s are ya?”
“Some of us come from better places,” Iorveth says with a soft sniff.
The dwarf holds up his hands. “Well, it doesn’t quite matter where you’re from. If I don’t know who you’re working for, then I won’t help you get through.” He grins. “For a fee, of course.”
Marto frowns. After paying Silvia for the magical crystal from the Fey Ascendant he only had five gold to his name. If they were successful in this job then he would be able to send some money back to his Ma and Pa with his next letter. But if none of the others were willing to pay…
Tayz didn’t seem to trust the dwarf – Earstwhile – instantly getting on the defensive about why a stranger would want to know who they were working for. It was Iorveth who ended up telling them whose employment they were temporarily under.
“Concord! Well why didn’t you say so earlier?” Earstwhile admonishes whilst holding his hand out expectantly for the gold.
Marto hands over all his money, no hesitation. The dwarf takes it with a nod of thanks.
“You’ll get the rest when you tell us how to use the jars,” Tayz says, one black crow’s eye looking sternly at the young dwarf.
“Right. Well, here’s how the jars work…”
Earstwhile explains that the Dabus maintain Sigil at the behest and instruction of the Lady of Pain. In the better parts – the well maintained parts – doors can only become portals if you know the phrase to activate them. But in certain areas, such as The Hive – where the Dabus hardly ever come, if at all – the doors are partially left ajar. Or put another way, they are slightly broken.
“All you gotta do is…” Earstwhile trails off, hand held out, waiting expectantly.
Tayz slowly and deliberately places a second handful of five gold into the dwarf’s hand.
“As I was saying,” Earstwhile continues, “all you gotta do is go up to the door, pretend to cast a spell, and it activates.”
“So, like this?”
Glint starts tracing out a web like pattern in the air, begins to mutter a few arcane words then stops as the door the four tieflings went through releases itself from the locked hatch. The telltale shimmer of a portal can be seen from the softly opened door.
“Exactly like that. All the doors that have that symbol on it,” Earstwhile points and Marto sees an etching of a jar on the frame, “are part of the jars.”
“That’s really neat,” Marto says. He turns to Earstwhile, giving him a friendly wave as the others start to go through. “Thanks for the help. See ya around!”
The dwarf returns the wave, and Marto steps though, the chase commencing once more.
They eventually caught them all in various, creative, and nonviolent ways. Turns out they worked for the Horns of Mead, Concord’s competition. But getting caught meant they were going to be in big trouble and it was clear some of the party didn’t want to see something bad happen to the four young tieflings — Damcius, Kairos, Amaraka, and Rolrus.
“What if we give them that there gold you took from them,” Marto said with a nod to the weighty coin purse on Glint’s side. “We are going to be paid for our job, don’t think you need that extra hundred and eighty for yourself do ya?”
The mage had frowned at that, but Marto couldn’t tell if it was because he did want to keep the gold and was upset at the suggestion of having to give it up, or for some other reason. The moment didn’t last long though. Glint turned to the four youths and began telling of the wonderful, legitimate opportunities that awaited them if they came back to the Dawnlands with them. It didn’t seem too hard to convince them. They clearly perked up at the prospect of becoming adventurers, just like Glint, Iorveth and the rest.
Marto and Glint then double checked the items they had been chasing over half of Sigil’s rooftops were the ones they needed. One was a box containing a crystallized Illithid brain and the other was a jar of what Marto Identified as Angel Tears, who’s properties could be used in drinks. At least, that’s the only thing Marto could think of the Tears could be used for.
They then delivered the goods to Concord without further incident and brought four young tieflings back to the Dawnlands.
“Look at’cha, already goin’ to other Planes and doin’ some good. Heck, you’ve just started, but I bet it won’t be long before you’re make a name for yourself.”
Jacque was elbow deep in the dirt, turning over the earth in the vegetable patch so come spring it could be used again. Marto, shovel in hand, shook his head as he planted the spade into the ground. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. It may be chilly, cold enough to seep through his skin to the depths of his bones, but whenever he worked the earth like this, he found the cold couldn’t get very far.
“I don’t think I’ll be makin’ a name for myself that quickly. I’ve still got a lot to learn.”
“Hmm, yeah that’s probably the better attitude. Too many pig-headed, wanna be heroes who end up hurtin’ their brothers and sisters persuin’ their own lofty heights,” the harengon says, accentuating the statement by taking a crunchy bite of the carrot in his mouth. Jacque straightens up and stretches out his back, catching the expression that passes over Marto’s face.
“What’s that look for lad?”
Marto’s stare has been a thousand miles away, but at the tone of Jacque’s voice he snaps back to the present.
“I was just thinking about what happened when we got back,” Marto starts in a low voice. “Iorveth came up to me, complimented me rather nicely actually, and he… he asked for my name.”
Jacque listens to Marto intently despite the ease in which he lets his body move as he works out the kink in his shoulder. The young halfling doesn’t notice the shift of attention from his new friend. He is too caught up in what he is trying to work through.
“I said, ‘My name is Marto. Marto Copperkettle.’”
“An’ what did he do after that?” Jacque asks casually, grey eyes watching Marto’s face carefully.
“He looked like… like he was about to cry as he turned and walked away…”
A hand comes up to run his fingers through his sandy blonde hair, an unconscious gesture of worry.
“I think… He might know my sister. But the way he reacted it almost seemed like-” He pauses, suddenly unsure. “I don’t know. It was just weird and now I’m worried I’ve offended him. But how?”
“You can’t worry about that,” Jacque states, shaking his head. He takes another bite of carrot, chewing hard whilst Marto looks at him doubtfully. “Sounds to me like Iorveth has some things he needs to work through.”
“Maybe I could try to ask him about it,” Marto offers.
“Ya could. But he may well tell you to fuck off all the same.”
“At least I would have tried. I just- I don’t know…”
Marto looks down at his hands, the ones that held the axe that felled the last tree of the forest that had taken his sister. He doesn’t want to be that person. Every day he remembers the feeling of guilt for that act. Would not reaching out to Iorveth be the same? Or would meddling in something that isn’t any of his business lead him down that path?
“I want to try to help him,” Marto says more firmly, realizing part of him had already decided on it. He looks up at Jacque, cornflower blue eyes bright with determination. “If I can.”
Whatever weight his name has to Iorveth, if there’s a way for him to fix it, to heal that wound, Marto will help him find it.
First, Marto thought his sister had gone missing, again. Then it turned out there was some wibbly-wobbly time difference between where she and her friends had gone to try to stop a Mad Modron and his accomplice’s machine. They had barely escaped being eaten by some giant kragen in the Shadowfell.
Then everyone else was called to help and though Marto did what he could for those going to the Angelbark assisting the Fort’s groundskeeper, Jacque, supply what he could, there had been Wild Magic everywhere. But it seems that, all in all, those who went to deal with the problems directly were able to stop the end of the world – or, rather, the end of the Dawnlands and Sigil.
The only lingering effects from all that magic bleeding over from the Feywild was the red brick of the Fort was now a dusty rose-pink. Marto only found out about that when he returned to the adventurer’s hub later. First, he helped Merla finish building her theatre – quite a beautiful building that he was very proud to have worked on. Talks were already in the works for the first play, but Merla would not tell even tell him about it.
“It’s based on actual events! Going to be really fun. I’m sure you’ll love it Marto. I’ll let you know when the first performance is! Gotta go!” And she had disappeared in a whirl of glitter and harp song.
Now he was back – marveling that the magical fort had changed colours, wondering if it always could have done that – and was about to go to Sigil of all places! His first true adventure on his own to a whole other plane.
Marto was excited.
The wizard Glint led the way through the Angelbark. A dense and lush woods, it was the first time Marto had stepped into the forest. Yet it felt familiar for reasons he could not explain. His right palm kept tingling but despite checking every time it got to the point of itching there was nothing there. So he just pushed it from his mind as best as he could, passing it off as a form of nerves.
They got to a clearing with a large stone archway covered in carvings. A true nexus point portal. Marto gaped in wide eyed fascination as the fire genasi mage stepped forward and said the activation phrase.
“Pay your tab.”
The air shimmered, rippling like fast low water over river stones and then settled into a mist. Marto didn’t even hesitate, he just stepped through.
Concord turned out to be owned and run by a being of the same name, who happened to be a very large, very powerful swarm of cranium rats, and the place just so happened to be a bar. The rats were covered by a massive trench coat with just the one cranium rat at the top, commanding the assembled body. Marto was equal parts fascinated and wary. The last time he had come across cranium rats they had taken over the minds of the staff at the Gilded Mirror. Corin mentioned the wine had come from Sigil. Marto wondered if it was from this very same brewery…
“…Delivery of two packages is coming today. I want you to ensure they reach us here, safely…”
Each time the whispered reverberating echo of Concord’s speech as they finished speaking directly into his mind, made the hairs on the back of Marto’s neck stand on end.
“Is there a reason you are worried about your delivery?” Tayz asked.
“…Because. The Horns of Mead Tavern has sent someone to destroy our stock before… They no doubt fear us getting…stronger…”
“What sort of packages are we to keep an eye out for?” Iorveth asks. He, Kavel, and Tayz had to slouch down because of the low hanging ceiling, yet the eladrin still managed to be graceful in his stooping.
“…A container of mixed spices… And a box that has a crystal…This will allow us to better defend the-…bar…”
Marto had to just think about asking a question and Concord turned their full attention to him. He found himself smiling despite how unnerving such a presence was.
“If we need to handle these products, is there anything we need to know?” Marto asks.
“…Hmm, it would be best not to touch them…” The rat at the top of the trench coat glances down to Marto’s winter gloves. “…At least not with your bare hands…”
“Why is that?” Marto asks.
“…One is a very rare spice, the other… The other is a crystallized illithid brain…”
Marto swears he can feel all the rats under the trench coat smile as they all stand there in questionable, stunned silence.
Piper holds out her mechanical arm, the small orb of blue in the palm glowing a little brighter.
“I think I got us covered then!” she says with excited zeal.
Breaking the thread of conversation Tayz asks, “When we return, may I be allowed to study you?”
“No.”
There was no buzzing murmurs before or after the single word, just a flat out refusal. They all tensed, not sure what was going to happen next.
“…But we will allow you to observe as we absorb the crystal…”
The aarakocra nodded his thanks. Not once, during the whole exchange, has he stopped taking notes.
A location is suddenly imprinted into all of their minds. Each of them lets out a soft groan or gasp of surprise. It was nice to know where to go without a map. They had hired a guide to get to the bar — and the poor tiefling had to suffer through Itoveth’s half forgotten, poorly told war story. Marto didn’t think they’d be able to hire one for this job though, and certainly not pay them with stories.
“…Go…”
The whispered excitement of the cranium rats was getting too much and so they went without a moment’s further delay.
The chase was on and Marto was having the time of his life. Feet pounding against the cold iron rooftops, eyes flicking down below, keeping tabs on what dangers were around them as Tayz flew above, Kavel picked up debris to throw, Piper glided effortlessly across the uneven surfaces on blades of wheels, Glint did his best to assert that they meant no harm – despite the hard and fast pursuit they were giving – whilst Iorveth sang a beautiful song that made the wind carry him. The Summer Eladrin was breathtaking, certainly a fright better at chasing four young tiefling thieves across rooftops than he was at telling war stories. Marto thought maybe that’s because he enjoyed being the one in the story rather than the storyteller.
He certainly understood how that feels.
“If I have to go through one more doorway the next rock will hit you!” Kavel shouts at the theives running away from them.
It didn’t stop them going through the door and it certainly didn’t stop its portal from closing, the door locking as it slammed shut.
Luckily they saw which of the five doors the tricksome four went through.
There is an unexpected chuckle from their right. “Got lost in the jars huh?”
Marto and the others turn. A young dwarf with a fist dagger on his side sits on a pile of discarded crates. He hops down and takes a slow stride towards them.
“It’s clear you’re not from around here. Prime Material’s are ya?”
“Some of us come from better places,” Iorveth says with a soft sniff.
The dwarf holds up his hands. “Well, it doesn’t quite matter where you’re from. If I don’t know who you’re working for, then I won’t help you get through.” He grins. “For a fee, of course.”
Marto frowns. After paying Silvia for the magical crystal from the Fey Ascendant he only had five gold to his name. If they were successful in this job then he would be able to send some money back to his Ma and Pa with his next letter. But if none of the others were willing to pay…
Tayz didn’t seem to trust the dwarf – Earstwhile – instantly getting on the defensive about why a stranger would want to know who they were working for. It was Iorveth who ended up telling them whose employment they were temporarily under.
“Concord! Well why didn’t you say so earlier?” Earstwhile admonishes whilst holding his hand out expectantly for the gold.
Marto hands over all his money, no hesitation. The dwarf takes it with a nod of thanks.
“You’ll get the rest when you tell us how to use the jars,” Tayz says, one black crow’s eye looking sternly at the young dwarf.
“Right. Well, here’s how the jars work…”
Earstwhile explains that the Dabus maintain Sigil at the behest and instruction of the Lady of Pain. In the better parts – the well maintained parts – doors can only become portals if you know the phrase to activate them. But in certain areas, such as The Hive – where the Dabus hardly ever come, if at all – the doors are partially left ajar. Or put another way, they are slightly broken.
“All you gotta do is…” Earstwhile trails off, hand held out, waiting expectantly.
Tayz slowly and deliberately places a second handful of five gold into the dwarf’s hand.
“As I was saying,” Earstwhile continues, “all you gotta do is go up to the door, pretend to cast a spell, and it activates.”
“So, like this?”
Glint starts tracing out a web like pattern in the air, begins to mutter a few arcane words then stops as the door the four tieflings went through releases itself from the locked hatch. The telltale shimmer of a portal can be seen from the softly opened door.
“Exactly like that. All the doors that have that symbol on it,” Earstwhile points and Marto sees an etching of a jar on the frame, “are part of the jars.”
“That’s really neat,” Marto says. He turns to Earstwhile, giving him a friendly wave as the others start to go through. “Thanks for the help. See ya around!”
The dwarf returns the wave, and Marto steps though, the chase commencing once more.
They eventually caught them all in various, creative, and nonviolent ways. Turns out they worked for the Horns of Mead, Concord’s competition. But getting caught meant they were going to be in big trouble and it was clear some of the party didn’t want to see something bad happen to the four young tieflings — Damcius, Kairos, Amaraka, and Rolrus.
“What if we give them that there gold you took from them,” Marto said with a nod to the weighty coin purse on Glint’s side. “We are going to be paid for our job, don’t think you need that extra hundred and eighty for yourself do ya?”
The mage had frowned at that, but Marto couldn’t tell if it was because he did want to keep the gold and was upset at the suggestion of having to give it up, or for some other reason. The moment didn’t last long though. Glint turned to the four youths and began telling of the wonderful, legitimate opportunities that awaited them if they came back to the Dawnlands with them. It didn’t seem too hard to convince them. They clearly perked up at the prospect of becoming adventurers, just like Glint, Iorveth and the rest.
Marto and Glint then double checked the items they had been chasing over half of Sigil’s rooftops were the ones they needed. One was a box containing a crystallized Illithid brain and the other was a jar of what Marto Identified as Angel Tears, who’s properties could be used in drinks. At least, that’s the only thing Marto could think of the Tears could be used for.
They then delivered the goods to Concord without further incident and brought four young tieflings back to the Dawnlands.
“Look at’cha, already goin’ to other Planes and doin’ some good. Heck, you’ve just started, but I bet it won’t be long before you’re make a name for yourself.”
Jacque was elbow deep in the dirt, turning over the earth in the vegetable patch so come spring it could be used again. Marto, shovel in hand, shook his head as he planted the spade into the ground. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. It may be chilly, cold enough to seep through his skin to the depths of his bones, but whenever he worked the earth like this, he found the cold couldn’t get very far.
“I don’t think I’ll be makin’ a name for myself that quickly. I’ve still got a lot to learn.”
“Hmm, yeah that’s probably the better attitude. Too many pig-headed, wanna be heroes who end up hurtin’ their brothers and sisters persuin’ their own lofty heights,” the harengon says, accentuating the statement by taking a crunchy bite of the carrot in his mouth. Jacque straightens up and stretches out his back, catching the expression that passes over Marto’s face.
“What’s that look for lad?”
Marto’s stare has been a thousand miles away, but at the tone of Jacque’s voice he snaps back to the present.
“I was just thinking about what happened when we got back,” Marto starts in a low voice. “Iorveth came up to me, complimented me rather nicely actually, and he… he asked for my name.”
Jacque listens to Marto intently despite the ease in which he lets his body move as he works out the kink in his shoulder. The young halfling doesn’t notice the shift of attention from his new friend. He is too caught up in what he is trying to work through.
“I said, ‘My name is Marto. Marto Copperkettle.’”
“An’ what did he do after that?” Jacque asks casually, grey eyes watching Marto’s face carefully.
“He looked like… like he was about to cry as he turned and walked away…”
A hand comes up to run his fingers through his sandy blonde hair, an unconscious gesture of worry.
“I think… He might know my sister. But the way he reacted it almost seemed like-” He pauses, suddenly unsure. “I don’t know. It was just weird and now I’m worried I’ve offended him. But how?”
“You can’t worry about that,” Jacque states, shaking his head. He takes another bite of carrot, chewing hard whilst Marto looks at him doubtfully. “Sounds to me like Iorveth has some things he needs to work through.”
“Maybe I could try to ask him about it,” Marto offers.
“Ya could. But he may well tell you to fuck off all the same.”
“At least I would have tried. I just- I don’t know…”
Marto looks down at his hands, the ones that held the axe that felled the last tree of the forest that had taken his sister. He doesn’t want to be that person. Every day he remembers the feeling of guilt for that act. Would not reaching out to Iorveth be the same? Or would meddling in something that isn’t any of his business lead him down that path?
“I want to try to help him,” Marto says more firmly, realizing part of him had already decided on it. He looks up at Jacque, cornflower blue eyes bright with determination. “If I can.”
Whatever weight his name has to Iorveth, if there’s a way for him to fix it, to heal that wound, Marto will help him find it.