A Chill Yet Open Door 23/8 Sorrel Darkfire
Aug 27, 2022 12:00:13 GMT
Jaezred Vandree and Andy D like this
Post by stephena on Aug 27, 2022 12:00:13 GMT
When the going gets weird, the weird turn professional Sorrel firmly believed.
But shit had been getting very weird and she wasn’t sure how professional she’d been recently.
What she needed, she concluded, was some time doing what she did best.
Violence.
She remembered the first day of combat school -
The Five Phases of War - preparation, contact, initial assault, exploitation of advantage, restoration of stability.
1) Preparation
The basic rules of close protection:
No alcohol 48 hours before operation.
Ensure weapons are cleaned and checked daily and properly secured when not in use.
Be punctual, arrive at least 15 minutes early.
Be appropriately dressed - blend in whilst appearing professionally prepared. Maintain high personal hygiene.
And then comes the tricky part…
Sorrel showered, scrubbing hard to remove the marks of wood resin from her nails – she’d unhooked her long bow at dawn, applied nut oil and worked it in, checked the string, waxed it and warmed the stave, slowly drawing the bow almost to length 15 times.
Diplomatic protection clothing looked smart and inconspicuous whilst allowing rapid access to weapons as needed. She chose a discrete studded leather jerkin with a soft, loose fitting silk wrap that concealed the studs but left her arms unrestricted. Her favoured cloak was light, tough and appeared to flow freely, creating enough concealed folds to hide her hand crossbow and two throwing knives.
She carefully strung her bow to give the impression of a half-tied loop at top and bottom, making it seem almost like an ornamental decoration. She’d buffed the oil into the yew until it almost glowed.
She checked herself in a tall mirror. She could pass for a civilian to most casual glances and it would take a seasoned pro to assess her as a threat. Hopefully.
The team formation was five strong, the perfect number. Kantas, she had learned, tended towards an autonomous partisan collective rather than a classic team leader, 2ic/surveillance, transport, comms and principal bodycover set up.
Ideally they’d have run a few action drills – assess, cover, evacuate – and she’d have preferred it if a recon team had gone ahead a good 24 hours ahead to mark possible ambush points, high buildings with clear line of sight and the like. But going in blind wasn’t really a problem with the likes of Jaezred, Heret, Varga and Kelnè on the team.
Councillor Mavis Thovian couldn’t have chosen a more dangerous collective if she’d had the Directory of Psychopaths to hand. Perhaps, Sorrel reflected, she did.
The councillor was going to the Underdark, specifically Aeschira, a city in the Underdark that had cut itself off from contact two years since. More specifically, she was meeting drow. Yet more specifically, representatives of the drow House Menat.
Sorrel was shaky on the whole House thing that drow had going on. She’d spent a lot of time at the feet of wise drow masters and all she could really glean about drow society was – if there’s 10 drow, there’s 13 opinions.
Suffice it to say that House Menat despised and was despised in equal measure, she was sure.
Talking of despising, Jaezred was offering up a book for the party to write their names in and setting up a telepathic link between them. Good comms officer. Sorrel approved. The whole thing with Jaezred, however, had been so incredibly painful and awkward that she’d been dodging him for months and now he shows up for the second time in a month guaranteeing her survival if she autographed his tome.
She used the pen gingerly and went second to last after checking to see the rest of the party seemed to have their souls intact but smiled as sweetly as she could as she thanks his Lordship.
It was so awkward it was practically a room in an orc hospital.
Fortunately, Varga broke the ice by chugging one of Jaezred’s life giving properties, belching, rejecting the pen Sorrel offered with a brief description of the complex relationship between the state of death-but-not-death and Varga’s spiritual attachment to life. “And so, Sorrel, through the continuity of the body life remains in a pragmatic unity,” Varga explained. “Suppose you were to light a lamp - is the flame which burns in the middle watch the same as that which burned in the first watch?”
Long pause.
“No, Varga…” Sorrel said after she'd worked it through.
“So is there one lamp in the first watch, another in the middle?”
Shorter pause.
“Well, no. The same lamp gives light all through the night.”
“Similarly, Sorrel, the continuity of phenomena is kept up in life.” Varga eyed her drink. “Are you not drinking yours, by the way, cos I’ll have it? Anyway… the sequence runs continuously without self-conscious existence. There is rebirth without anything dying or being reborn. Do you see what I mean? Essentially, I get knocked down, but I get up again. Now, I’m feeling frisky. Ho, councillor, if that’s really your name, nice to meet you I guess. Two questions: do I get to kill anyone? And how much are we getting paid?”
Councillor Mavis Thovian stared at the adventurers in a way that suggested to Sorrel the fashionably dressed functionary had not read the Directory of Psychopaths.
“Hopefully no one, zero, not any… less than one,” she sounded a little alarmed.
“Diplomatic mission, I know those,” Varga nodded. “You can point to me as the alternative to cooperation.”
Councillor Mavis Thovian’s mouth opened and shut a few times, almost experimentally, then she nodded carefully.
“That’s…. helpful…” she tried a smile. “The Council are providing 150 gold each, and I understand there’s a magical weapon available as well.”
But afterwards, clearly, Sorrel noted. Because why equip anyone for what they’re about to face? Far better to increase their chances after they’ve already survived. Patrons these days…
She stepped forward. “Sorrel Darkfire at your service and your family’s. Do we have eyes on the location, and do we have a threat estimate? Possible attacks from below, above, what are we preparing for?”
“That’s an interesting question,” Councillor Mavis Thovian said – which in Patron speak meant ‘I don’t know.’ “Aeschira is a city in the Underdark. It’s a drow city. So an urban environment and where there are drow there are often spiders, which can drop from above. I’m hoping there will be no attacks because we’re on a diplomatic mission, but you’re here to worry about risks so please do. Normal Underdark hazards, in other words.”
Sorrel smiled. Normal Underdark hazards included aboleth, beholders, cloakers, derro, duergar, illithids, kuo-toa, driders, hook horrors, shadow dragons, dangerous fungi… in short, every conceivable kind of attack delivered by expert hunters who lived on fear and victory. Finally. Something she could cope with.
2) Contact
The teleport was as disconcerting as ever. They arrived on a rocky outcrop looking out over a huge cavern. A vast city lay below and ahead of them, built on a raised plateau in a gently sloping V shape, with the lowest point in the middle of the city and slopes going up to either side. The buildings seemed to be mainly carved from enormous stalagmites, although there was an awful lot of steam around that made it hard to be sure.
Two great rivers flowed down, one from each side of the cavern. The first appeared to be a river of lava, while the other looked like it might have icebergs floating on it.
In the centre of the cavern, they met – and what do you get when fire meets ice? Lukewarm water and steam. And there was a huge plume of steam rising from the rivers’ confluence.
For some reason, someone had thought it amusing or useful to hang an enormous bell above the steam which – constantly pushed by the rising air – rang and rang and rang presumably forever.
If Sorrel had been in the urban planning department of Aeschira, she would have advised against the bell.
Sitting on a rock she saw a drow woman in a light breastplate who hailed them in uneasy common.
“I am Lira Menat, a guard of the House, here to escort you to the city and to House Menat itself.” And she cast a curious glance at Jaezred.
As they headed down towards the city, Sorrel noticed a certain… tension? It was hard to say, but there was something about the way Lord Jaezred held himself that suggested he was preparing for something. Danger, possibly? With Heret and Councillor Mavis Thovian he was discussing the finer points of drow diplomacy and whilst Sorrel couldn’t hear much above the endless clanging she caught the odd phrase about enslaving or killing surfacers, defence, recalled ambassadors, souls on the line.
She adjusted her bowstring and primed her hand crossbow, moving to create a fighting diamond around the principle. Which would have been a lot easier if Councillor Mavis Thovian didn’t have to lean her head in to hear Lord Jaezred, meaning the formation was fluid at best. More of a fighting banana.
She almost shot at three shadows that moved unnaturally and coalesced into three drow who seemed to recognise Heret as well as Lira.
“What brings you here this day Idosen?” Lira had her hand on her sword hilt as she yelled above the clanging bell.
“Nothing at all, nothing at all, dear Lira,” Idosen hollered, clearly enjoyed the lie. “But it’s important you know that your guests have not gone unnoticed. House Ithyr is always watching. And good business, Heret Velnnarul, it’s very good to see your face again. Delighted to see you in our fair city. Is your draconic still up to scratch?”
“I am told it is passable,” Heret bellowed.
Sorrel couldn’t help thinking the conversation would have sounded more menacing if the participants weren’t shouting at the top of their voices.
Idosen and Heret screeched away at each other in draconic, a language singularly suited to high volume howling, and Sorrel worried that they had come to a standstill.
This would be a classic assassination trick. Stop the principle moving, engage the protection and take a shot from overhead. She searched the darkness and could feel more than see something scuttling far above them.
The telepathic link buzzed in her mind.
Callsign Jaezred: I take it from his dress that was the favoured consort of House Ithyr. What did he say to you?
Callsign Heret: He just told me not to trust House Menat. I doubt the warning was entirely selfless, but any piece of information is useful, as I’m sure you would agree.
Callsign Jaezred: Absolutely. What is the religious attitude of the Ithyr?
Callsign Heret: I do not know them well. I remember that Idosen in particular had a very negative attitude to Shar.
Callsign Jaezred: As he should.
Callsign Heret: He seemed relaxed about the Raven Queen, though I had the sense he was not a worshipper himself.
Callsign Jaezred: Interesting.
Callsign Varga: There might be something on the ceiling. I know you're fond of spiders, and the drow god, too, but do you think these might be killable spiders?
Callsign Jaezred: I cannot advise more strongly against killing spiders in this place. They are sacred creatures.
Callsign Varga: .......... (sigh)
Eventually they reached House Menat. A blue skinned Aasimar wafted in, welcomed them all, introduced herself as Bennathra Menat, daughter to the matriarch of this house, and the negotiations began.
Sorrel tuned out. No principle likes an earwigging bodyguard. Instead she checked the perimeter, checking lines of sight through open windows, which doors were locked, where an easy escape could be made and pacing out the fastest route with Councillor Mavis Thovian under her arm.
Gradually her attention was drawn back to the conversation. Bennathra was trying to subcontract the Dawnlands team for a wet job on an enclave of Zuggtmoy worshipping fanatics who had seen off Menat’s finest. The rest of the team were eager – Varga especially – and it felt as if this was the real reason Menat had called the meeting.
“What does the Dawnlands get out of this?” Sorrel asked Councillor Mavis Thovian.
“As Bennathra here says, it would be a great show of what you can do,” Councillor Mavis Thovian replied casually. “Further jobs may come from it in the Schira Sprawl. Every relationship is good for us. In a place with such complicated webs of politics, I think this would be refreshingly direct.”
Sorrel was unimpressed. Councillor Mavis Thovian ran a fashion business. Her take on the political implications of a sovereign state abandoning its monopoly on the deployment of force was unreliable at best. If only one of her drow tutors was here… For want of them, she hit the comms channel.
Callsign Sorrel: Lord Jaezred... what do you think?
Jaezred addressed the room. “Lady Bennathra is most correct, we would be absolutely delighted to take up the challenge,” his smile was just sufficient. “However, it is customary in the surface world to negotiate payment, or perhaps reward.”
3) Initial Assault
The cultists cave was on the other side of the Cold River, some distance outside Aeschira. There was, said Lira, a “big old mushroom demon and a bunch of cultists but you’ve got to watch out for the spores. Lost a lot of good people to those spores.”
Sorrel asked what helped against the spores and Lira suggested fire. Sorrel sparked up the old flame arrows and prepared to deploy in the assault support team suppressing the objective with direct fire.
And in this case, fire was the operative word – her teachers in the Sealed Room would have been proud of the flames that sprang from her arrow heads.
They stepped through the door and saw a morbidly depressing vision of a giant killer mushroom demon surrounded by miserable looking drow shambling about praising it with an embarrassingly small vocabulary. “Oh mushroom ruler, you are so very good at everything. Yes you are. The absolute best. We think you should be the boss of all of us…”
It was almost an act of kindness to send flaming arrows into this ugly mess. First off, a speculative probe at the outliers – she aimed at the nearest drow who crashed to the ground as a single arrow tore through his throat. An easy kill.
She raised her sights, focussing on the zugg-spawn and sending two flaming bolts in rapid succession. To her astonishment, two drow leaped in front of her arrows and fell to the floor, the feathery shafts blazing from their corpses.
Interesting. Were they so depressed they were suicidal or was the mushroom controlling their minds?
She winked out, stepping between the rays of light with Fey dexterity, disappearing from view to flank the enemy and create a crossfire kill zone
Heret hurtled up to the mushroom and stabbed it twice with a flaming blade that Sorrel noted, with quiet satisfaction, was the enchanted Matron’s Cane she had exchanged with him some weeks ago.
The drow moved in an impressive close protection formation. Sorrel couldn’t help but be a little impressed. Three tried to neutralise Heret. Two aimed at shutting down Jaered. The others formed a moving perimeter, covering the shambling sprouts advance.
Heret deftly fended off drow daggers, whilst Jaezred teleported across the grimy chamber in the form of a flock of ravens. The mushroom released some aggressive spores that seemed to rock Heret for a second before he snarled and righted himself.
Jaezred sent four bolts of arcane force across the cave floor, aiming high to miss the drow. Mushroom pseudopods grabbed four of the unfortunates and blocked them all.
And so it went on for a while. The party attacked, the drow defended or died then mounted feeble counters that were easily repelled. The team moved gracefully and efficiently, flanking the target and raking the enemy with assaults.
At one point Varga paused, tears in her eyes. “You guys… you just came here, didn’t ask any questions, didn’t even ask its name, attacked right away…” she sniffed. “I’m so proud of you.”
Then she took out the remaining drow in a single charge and faced the foetid fungus, longsword in hand. “You have no more champignon’s left,” she gave an evil grin. “Just you and me now.”
Her blade bit home
4) Exploiting advantage
Sorrel could see the endgame in sight. Summoning Selûne’s hatred of demons, she lit that toadstool up like a Christmas chanterelle.
Lord Jaezred stepped forward, looking a little irritated, and hollered over the clanging bell “let’s finish this,” as bolts of power erupted from his hands and tore the shiitake out of the demon.
Lira’s applause was slow but sincere. Sorrel doused her flames, checked the shadows for assassins and followed the party back to House Menat.
Lira’s detailed description of the battle clearly impressed the azure aassimar, who paid up and offered some sort of wand on top of the fee.
Not Sorrel’s bag.
The conversation meandered for a while, as Sorrel patrolled, until Councillor Mavis Thovian was ready to leave. Jaezred and Heret announced they would stay behind, which Sorrel had expected but deemed unprofessional.
Still. Not everyone had her training.
5) Restore stability
Back in Dawnlands, Councillor Mavis Thovian produced a magical mace, which was as much use to Sorrel as a pair of shoes to a one legged man in an arse kicking contest.
She wandered off alone through the streets of Daring Heights.
This was what she was trained to do. It had passed off without a hitch. This should have been a perfect day.
And yet she was restless.
It seemed that she had been changed by the mayhem of the past year.
But into who? Or what?
But shit had been getting very weird and she wasn’t sure how professional she’d been recently.
What she needed, she concluded, was some time doing what she did best.
Violence.
She remembered the first day of combat school -
The Five Phases of War - preparation, contact, initial assault, exploitation of advantage, restoration of stability.
1) Preparation
The basic rules of close protection:
No alcohol 48 hours before operation.
Ensure weapons are cleaned and checked daily and properly secured when not in use.
Be punctual, arrive at least 15 minutes early.
Be appropriately dressed - blend in whilst appearing professionally prepared. Maintain high personal hygiene.
And then comes the tricky part…
Sorrel showered, scrubbing hard to remove the marks of wood resin from her nails – she’d unhooked her long bow at dawn, applied nut oil and worked it in, checked the string, waxed it and warmed the stave, slowly drawing the bow almost to length 15 times.
Diplomatic protection clothing looked smart and inconspicuous whilst allowing rapid access to weapons as needed. She chose a discrete studded leather jerkin with a soft, loose fitting silk wrap that concealed the studs but left her arms unrestricted. Her favoured cloak was light, tough and appeared to flow freely, creating enough concealed folds to hide her hand crossbow and two throwing knives.
She carefully strung her bow to give the impression of a half-tied loop at top and bottom, making it seem almost like an ornamental decoration. She’d buffed the oil into the yew until it almost glowed.
She checked herself in a tall mirror. She could pass for a civilian to most casual glances and it would take a seasoned pro to assess her as a threat. Hopefully.
The team formation was five strong, the perfect number. Kantas, she had learned, tended towards an autonomous partisan collective rather than a classic team leader, 2ic/surveillance, transport, comms and principal bodycover set up.
Ideally they’d have run a few action drills – assess, cover, evacuate – and she’d have preferred it if a recon team had gone ahead a good 24 hours ahead to mark possible ambush points, high buildings with clear line of sight and the like. But going in blind wasn’t really a problem with the likes of Jaezred, Heret, Varga and Kelnè on the team.
Councillor Mavis Thovian couldn’t have chosen a more dangerous collective if she’d had the Directory of Psychopaths to hand. Perhaps, Sorrel reflected, she did.
The councillor was going to the Underdark, specifically Aeschira, a city in the Underdark that had cut itself off from contact two years since. More specifically, she was meeting drow. Yet more specifically, representatives of the drow House Menat.
Sorrel was shaky on the whole House thing that drow had going on. She’d spent a lot of time at the feet of wise drow masters and all she could really glean about drow society was – if there’s 10 drow, there’s 13 opinions.
Suffice it to say that House Menat despised and was despised in equal measure, she was sure.
Talking of despising, Jaezred was offering up a book for the party to write their names in and setting up a telepathic link between them. Good comms officer. Sorrel approved. The whole thing with Jaezred, however, had been so incredibly painful and awkward that she’d been dodging him for months and now he shows up for the second time in a month guaranteeing her survival if she autographed his tome.
She used the pen gingerly and went second to last after checking to see the rest of the party seemed to have their souls intact but smiled as sweetly as she could as she thanks his Lordship.
It was so awkward it was practically a room in an orc hospital.
Fortunately, Varga broke the ice by chugging one of Jaezred’s life giving properties, belching, rejecting the pen Sorrel offered with a brief description of the complex relationship between the state of death-but-not-death and Varga’s spiritual attachment to life. “And so, Sorrel, through the continuity of the body life remains in a pragmatic unity,” Varga explained. “Suppose you were to light a lamp - is the flame which burns in the middle watch the same as that which burned in the first watch?”
Long pause.
“No, Varga…” Sorrel said after she'd worked it through.
“So is there one lamp in the first watch, another in the middle?”
Shorter pause.
“Well, no. The same lamp gives light all through the night.”
“Similarly, Sorrel, the continuity of phenomena is kept up in life.” Varga eyed her drink. “Are you not drinking yours, by the way, cos I’ll have it? Anyway… the sequence runs continuously without self-conscious existence. There is rebirth without anything dying or being reborn. Do you see what I mean? Essentially, I get knocked down, but I get up again. Now, I’m feeling frisky. Ho, councillor, if that’s really your name, nice to meet you I guess. Two questions: do I get to kill anyone? And how much are we getting paid?”
Councillor Mavis Thovian stared at the adventurers in a way that suggested to Sorrel the fashionably dressed functionary had not read the Directory of Psychopaths.
“Hopefully no one, zero, not any… less than one,” she sounded a little alarmed.
“Diplomatic mission, I know those,” Varga nodded. “You can point to me as the alternative to cooperation.”
Councillor Mavis Thovian’s mouth opened and shut a few times, almost experimentally, then she nodded carefully.
“That’s…. helpful…” she tried a smile. “The Council are providing 150 gold each, and I understand there’s a magical weapon available as well.”
But afterwards, clearly, Sorrel noted. Because why equip anyone for what they’re about to face? Far better to increase their chances after they’ve already survived. Patrons these days…
She stepped forward. “Sorrel Darkfire at your service and your family’s. Do we have eyes on the location, and do we have a threat estimate? Possible attacks from below, above, what are we preparing for?”
“That’s an interesting question,” Councillor Mavis Thovian said – which in Patron speak meant ‘I don’t know.’ “Aeschira is a city in the Underdark. It’s a drow city. So an urban environment and where there are drow there are often spiders, which can drop from above. I’m hoping there will be no attacks because we’re on a diplomatic mission, but you’re here to worry about risks so please do. Normal Underdark hazards, in other words.”
Sorrel smiled. Normal Underdark hazards included aboleth, beholders, cloakers, derro, duergar, illithids, kuo-toa, driders, hook horrors, shadow dragons, dangerous fungi… in short, every conceivable kind of attack delivered by expert hunters who lived on fear and victory. Finally. Something she could cope with.
2) Contact
The teleport was as disconcerting as ever. They arrived on a rocky outcrop looking out over a huge cavern. A vast city lay below and ahead of them, built on a raised plateau in a gently sloping V shape, with the lowest point in the middle of the city and slopes going up to either side. The buildings seemed to be mainly carved from enormous stalagmites, although there was an awful lot of steam around that made it hard to be sure.
Two great rivers flowed down, one from each side of the cavern. The first appeared to be a river of lava, while the other looked like it might have icebergs floating on it.
In the centre of the cavern, they met – and what do you get when fire meets ice? Lukewarm water and steam. And there was a huge plume of steam rising from the rivers’ confluence.
For some reason, someone had thought it amusing or useful to hang an enormous bell above the steam which – constantly pushed by the rising air – rang and rang and rang presumably forever.
If Sorrel had been in the urban planning department of Aeschira, she would have advised against the bell.
Sitting on a rock she saw a drow woman in a light breastplate who hailed them in uneasy common.
“I am Lira Menat, a guard of the House, here to escort you to the city and to House Menat itself.” And she cast a curious glance at Jaezred.
As they headed down towards the city, Sorrel noticed a certain… tension? It was hard to say, but there was something about the way Lord Jaezred held himself that suggested he was preparing for something. Danger, possibly? With Heret and Councillor Mavis Thovian he was discussing the finer points of drow diplomacy and whilst Sorrel couldn’t hear much above the endless clanging she caught the odd phrase about enslaving or killing surfacers, defence, recalled ambassadors, souls on the line.
She adjusted her bowstring and primed her hand crossbow, moving to create a fighting diamond around the principle. Which would have been a lot easier if Councillor Mavis Thovian didn’t have to lean her head in to hear Lord Jaezred, meaning the formation was fluid at best. More of a fighting banana.
She almost shot at three shadows that moved unnaturally and coalesced into three drow who seemed to recognise Heret as well as Lira.
“What brings you here this day Idosen?” Lira had her hand on her sword hilt as she yelled above the clanging bell.
“Nothing at all, nothing at all, dear Lira,” Idosen hollered, clearly enjoyed the lie. “But it’s important you know that your guests have not gone unnoticed. House Ithyr is always watching. And good business, Heret Velnnarul, it’s very good to see your face again. Delighted to see you in our fair city. Is your draconic still up to scratch?”
“I am told it is passable,” Heret bellowed.
Sorrel couldn’t help thinking the conversation would have sounded more menacing if the participants weren’t shouting at the top of their voices.
Idosen and Heret screeched away at each other in draconic, a language singularly suited to high volume howling, and Sorrel worried that they had come to a standstill.
This would be a classic assassination trick. Stop the principle moving, engage the protection and take a shot from overhead. She searched the darkness and could feel more than see something scuttling far above them.
The telepathic link buzzed in her mind.
Callsign Jaezred: I take it from his dress that was the favoured consort of House Ithyr. What did he say to you?
Callsign Heret: He just told me not to trust House Menat. I doubt the warning was entirely selfless, but any piece of information is useful, as I’m sure you would agree.
Callsign Jaezred: Absolutely. What is the religious attitude of the Ithyr?
Callsign Heret: I do not know them well. I remember that Idosen in particular had a very negative attitude to Shar.
Callsign Jaezred: As he should.
Callsign Heret: He seemed relaxed about the Raven Queen, though I had the sense he was not a worshipper himself.
Callsign Jaezred: Interesting.
Callsign Varga: There might be something on the ceiling. I know you're fond of spiders, and the drow god, too, but do you think these might be killable spiders?
Callsign Jaezred: I cannot advise more strongly against killing spiders in this place. They are sacred creatures.
Callsign Varga: .......... (sigh)
Eventually they reached House Menat. A blue skinned Aasimar wafted in, welcomed them all, introduced herself as Bennathra Menat, daughter to the matriarch of this house, and the negotiations began.
Sorrel tuned out. No principle likes an earwigging bodyguard. Instead she checked the perimeter, checking lines of sight through open windows, which doors were locked, where an easy escape could be made and pacing out the fastest route with Councillor Mavis Thovian under her arm.
Gradually her attention was drawn back to the conversation. Bennathra was trying to subcontract the Dawnlands team for a wet job on an enclave of Zuggtmoy worshipping fanatics who had seen off Menat’s finest. The rest of the team were eager – Varga especially – and it felt as if this was the real reason Menat had called the meeting.
“What does the Dawnlands get out of this?” Sorrel asked Councillor Mavis Thovian.
“As Bennathra here says, it would be a great show of what you can do,” Councillor Mavis Thovian replied casually. “Further jobs may come from it in the Schira Sprawl. Every relationship is good for us. In a place with such complicated webs of politics, I think this would be refreshingly direct.”
Sorrel was unimpressed. Councillor Mavis Thovian ran a fashion business. Her take on the political implications of a sovereign state abandoning its monopoly on the deployment of force was unreliable at best. If only one of her drow tutors was here… For want of them, she hit the comms channel.
Callsign Sorrel: Lord Jaezred... what do you think?
Jaezred addressed the room. “Lady Bennathra is most correct, we would be absolutely delighted to take up the challenge,” his smile was just sufficient. “However, it is customary in the surface world to negotiate payment, or perhaps reward.”
3) Initial Assault
The cultists cave was on the other side of the Cold River, some distance outside Aeschira. There was, said Lira, a “big old mushroom demon and a bunch of cultists but you’ve got to watch out for the spores. Lost a lot of good people to those spores.”
Sorrel asked what helped against the spores and Lira suggested fire. Sorrel sparked up the old flame arrows and prepared to deploy in the assault support team suppressing the objective with direct fire.
And in this case, fire was the operative word – her teachers in the Sealed Room would have been proud of the flames that sprang from her arrow heads.
They stepped through the door and saw a morbidly depressing vision of a giant killer mushroom demon surrounded by miserable looking drow shambling about praising it with an embarrassingly small vocabulary. “Oh mushroom ruler, you are so very good at everything. Yes you are. The absolute best. We think you should be the boss of all of us…”
It was almost an act of kindness to send flaming arrows into this ugly mess. First off, a speculative probe at the outliers – she aimed at the nearest drow who crashed to the ground as a single arrow tore through his throat. An easy kill.
She raised her sights, focussing on the zugg-spawn and sending two flaming bolts in rapid succession. To her astonishment, two drow leaped in front of her arrows and fell to the floor, the feathery shafts blazing from their corpses.
Interesting. Were they so depressed they were suicidal or was the mushroom controlling their minds?
She winked out, stepping between the rays of light with Fey dexterity, disappearing from view to flank the enemy and create a crossfire kill zone
Heret hurtled up to the mushroom and stabbed it twice with a flaming blade that Sorrel noted, with quiet satisfaction, was the enchanted Matron’s Cane she had exchanged with him some weeks ago.
The drow moved in an impressive close protection formation. Sorrel couldn’t help but be a little impressed. Three tried to neutralise Heret. Two aimed at shutting down Jaered. The others formed a moving perimeter, covering the shambling sprouts advance.
Heret deftly fended off drow daggers, whilst Jaezred teleported across the grimy chamber in the form of a flock of ravens. The mushroom released some aggressive spores that seemed to rock Heret for a second before he snarled and righted himself.
Jaezred sent four bolts of arcane force across the cave floor, aiming high to miss the drow. Mushroom pseudopods grabbed four of the unfortunates and blocked them all.
And so it went on for a while. The party attacked, the drow defended or died then mounted feeble counters that were easily repelled. The team moved gracefully and efficiently, flanking the target and raking the enemy with assaults.
At one point Varga paused, tears in her eyes. “You guys… you just came here, didn’t ask any questions, didn’t even ask its name, attacked right away…” she sniffed. “I’m so proud of you.”
Then she took out the remaining drow in a single charge and faced the foetid fungus, longsword in hand. “You have no more champignon’s left,” she gave an evil grin. “Just you and me now.”
Her blade bit home
4) Exploiting advantage
Sorrel could see the endgame in sight. Summoning Selûne’s hatred of demons, she lit that toadstool up like a Christmas chanterelle.
Lord Jaezred stepped forward, looking a little irritated, and hollered over the clanging bell “let’s finish this,” as bolts of power erupted from his hands and tore the shiitake out of the demon.
Lira’s applause was slow but sincere. Sorrel doused her flames, checked the shadows for assassins and followed the party back to House Menat.
Lira’s detailed description of the battle clearly impressed the azure aassimar, who paid up and offered some sort of wand on top of the fee.
Not Sorrel’s bag.
The conversation meandered for a while, as Sorrel patrolled, until Councillor Mavis Thovian was ready to leave. Jaezred and Heret announced they would stay behind, which Sorrel had expected but deemed unprofessional.
Still. Not everyone had her training.
5) Restore stability
Back in Dawnlands, Councillor Mavis Thovian produced a magical mace, which was as much use to Sorrel as a pair of shoes to a one legged man in an arse kicking contest.
She wandered off alone through the streets of Daring Heights.
This was what she was trained to do. It had passed off without a hitch. This should have been a perfect day.
And yet she was restless.
It seemed that she had been changed by the mayhem of the past year.
But into who? Or what?