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chille-tid-universe · 5 years

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Plague at Lance Rock

Isolde awoke the next morning feeling invigorated. A new awareness had seeped into her mind, like the warmth of spring spreading across frosty moss, and she felt the spark of a new spell, granted to her by the goodness of nature. With a spring in her step, the paladin bounded down the stairs of the Swinging Sword Inn, passed a meager crowd of villagers starting their day with a hot meal, and stepped into the crisp morning air.

Isolde took a deep breath and tasted the scent of the woods around them; the pine sap, fragrant flowers, and near imperceptible whiffs of a rare herb growing somewhere nearby. Birds sang their cheery songs as they darted through the air, and golden beams of sun pierced the trees along the periphery of the surrounding forest.

Glancing around, she decided this spot would do. She stepped off the main street and sat cross-legged in the grass by the Inn. Closing her eyes, she felt her awareness spreading like tendrils of ivy, touching upon the essences of all around her, from the industrious ants beneath her to the chittering squirrels in the tree behind her. As she felt nature coalescing around her, like infinite vines entwined around the single strand of her consciousness, Isolde spoke the words of the spell and sent the magic along that chain of vines.

Immediately, she felt an answering awareness, somewhere down that natural chain; a noble, historied soul brimming with wisdom and patience. Isolde was content to sit, her spiritual self awash in the shared communion, as several minutes passed. Eventually, she heard a might whinny with her physical senses, and opened her eyes. Down the road, emerging from the forest, was a tall, proud warhorse, whose shoulders stood well above her own, of blinding white coat and with garlands of berries and ivy woven intricately through its mane.

The regal warhorse trotted down the road, somehow avoiding kicking up any dirt, and stopped before Isolde, tossing its proud head gently. The paladin beamed and sprang to her feet, approaching the beast slowly and with reverence, just the way she had been taught all those years ago. The horse nuzzled her outstretched hand, staring at her with eyes that seemed infinitely deep. As Isolde began to pat down the warhorse’s neck, Loran walked up from a side road, a wide tray of steaming buns perched on her hip.

“And who is this magnificent creature?” the baker asked, cheeks rosy, bangs plastered to her brow with sweat.

Isolde glanced over, smiling at the woman, and replied, “He’ll tell me his name later.”

Loran looked a little confused, but recovered quickly as she reached the paladin. “I’m glad to have run into you, Isolde. I have something for you.” Isolde’s eyes snapped to the woman, but she was offering the tray of fresh buns, eyes sparkling hopefully.

Isolde gingerly picked up a bun from the tray, careful not to burn her fingers, and smiled wide. “Thank you, Loran, these look as delicious as ever.” As she bit into the vegetarian bun and gave an appreciative moan, Loran blushed.

“Would you like another?” the baker asked, offering the tray once more. Isolde smiled graciously and plucked another steaming bun from the tray, this time offering it on her palm to the mighty warhorse. The beast snuffled at the treat and, quick as a wink, the broad tongue lapped over Isolde’s hand, snatching the bun. A moment later, the horse neighed thankfully.

With six buns left on her tray, Loran sauntered up to the Swinging Sword’s entrance, then stopped, calling over her shoulder, “Aren’t you coming inside?”

Isolde had returned to petting the horse, pressing her forehead against its snout. “I was going to spend some time with my new friend.” She glanced over at the baker and saw sad eyes cast downward. Isolde felt a burning on her ears and quickly added, “But I can come inside.”

In the rooms above, there was motion. The aroma of Loran’s buns had wafted through the air and into Robyn’s bedroom. Her eyes snapped open, and a moment later, her covers had been thrown back, she was halfway off the mattress, and she glanced around the room to recover her discarded clothing. An impossibly short amount of time later, the half-elf was heading downstairs.

Below, Isolde was announcing to the rest of the assembled group that she had a new horse, though this news was largely secondary to the arrival of breakfast in the form of Loran’s buns. As they munched on the steamy, cheesy meal, Isolde regaled them with a slightly exaggerated account of the ritual that had taken place not ten minutes ago.

As she reached the end, Loran and the innkeeper Caelessa approached the band. Together, they thanked the adventurers for agreeing to look into the claims of plague out at Lance Rock, and gave cursory directions for the area. Having completed their meal, the group collected their gear and headed for the door.

On the way out, Isolde waved at Loran and thanked her once more for the buns, which earned her another blush and a downward glance. As she stepped through the doorway, she spun around and asked, “Loran, would you like me to get you a souvenir?”

Loran and Caelessa exchanged puzzled glances, and the innkeeper replied, “You want to get Loran a souvenir from a plague ridden rock?” Isolde just smiled back at the pair, sweetly and painfully oblivious. “Uh, sure, get her something.”

Outside, the group was marveling at the grand warhorse. Isolde stepped up to her steed and wrapped her arms around his neck, which he allowed with a dipping of his regal head. As she pressed her forehead against his snout, each member of the group heard in their heads a proud voice, which declared, “I am called Icthuarrax.”

On their journey to Lance Rock, the group came across a stream crossing the road. As they waded through the shallow water, Isolde perked up. From atop Icthuarrax, she had noticed a blur of motion to the left, further up the stream. As she looked closer, she saw a band of gnolls, attempting to quietly approach. Isolde called the alarm and grabbed her glaive.

The gnolls, realizing their ruse had failed, broke into a loping run. There were a pair of crossbowmen, three smaller gnolls wielding spears, and a larger specimen with bloodlust in his eyes and a large, crude sword.

The adventurers sprinted to meet them, Nula leading the charge up the stream bank with Charlot on her heels. Icthuarrux easily outpaced them all, though, and the warhorse raced up to the large gnoll as Isolde swiped down at it with her glaive, allowing the horse to dance away safely afterwards. Enraged, the group of gnolls collapsed on the remaining adventurers, and one hit too many struck Nula. With a strangled cry, she fell, clutching her chest as her wounds fed the bubbling stream.

Seconds later, the slaughter was over. Isolde’s glaive had felled the large gnoll, and the combination of ranged attacks from the rest of the group picked off most of the other gnolls. The last survivor had turned to flee, but was unable to escape the pounding hoofbeats of Icthuarrux.

Back at the stream, Robyn knelt beside her lieutenant. “Don’t you worry,” she muttered, reaching into her pack. “We’ve got just the fix for you.” Pulling a pack of salt from her kit, she wafted the bag beneath the unconscious half-orc’s nose, agitating the salt when nothing happened. The rest of the group exchanged glances, and Charlot gave a quiet sigh, subtly focusing his magic into a rope that would latch Nula’s soul back into her body. With a whispered word, he pointed at the bruised and bleeding body, and Nula gave a start, gasping as she winced in pain.

“It worked!” Robyn exclaimed, managing to seem confident that she had anticipated it. The others rolled their eyes, and a moment later Isolde returned, wiping gnoll blood from her glaive. A minute later, Isolde had placed her hands on Nula’s wounds and called upon the natural essence of the woods, pulling life force into her friend. As the two straightened up, Robyn asked, “Shall we continue?”

Within minutes, the formidable form of Lance Rock could be seen rising above the trees. It was still almost an hour, however, before they arrived at the rock. The road stopped at a wooden sign, crudely built and bearing a message: “Come no closer, lest you catch the disfiguring plague which afflicts me.”

At the base of the menhir, an opening sloped gently downwards into an expansive cave system. The faint odor of death wafted from within. Just inside the entrance, a humanoid corpse lay on its back, its skin covered in crisscrossed scars and sutures. The group glanced among themselves, then Oskar shrugged and hefted his battleaxe. As he brought it down, however, it hit resistance a few inches from the corpse. The dwarf grunted in surprise, then applied more force, and the blade sunk into flesh.

The corpse began to squirm, and lashed out as Oskar jumped back. The group leapt at the reanimated body, and a lucky shot from Robyn threw the zombie into a rage. In its berserk state, it struck Nula, who crumpled to the floor. Another arrow knocked the loose head from its undead shoulders. Isolde pressed her hands over Nula’s forehead, pressing her magic in to stitch up her wounds, and they continued down the passage.

In the next room, a large skeleton was laid out on a boulder, with wicked horns curling from its skull. As Oskar entered the room, a shower of loose rocks rained down on him. Three zombies carrying a now-empty crate jumped down from a ledge, shambling forward.

The group crowded into the room, readying for an attack, when the skeleton jumped down from the boulder, turning to the group, and lowered its horned head to charge straight forward. One zombie was unfortunate enough to be in its path, and was torn apart as the former minotaur slammed into Oskar, knocking him down.

Isolde and Robyn struck one of the zombies, sending it flying, while Uzza’s spiritual weapon took care of the last zombie. The rest of the group turned to the skeleton, knocking it apart, but the skeleton shuddered and pulled itself back together. It took another two hits before the bones lay quiet on the cave floor.

Further along, a grisly scene awaited the adventurers. In a room with jagged walls, three undead forms shambled about in a crude approximation of a dance. A goblin corpse was decked in jester’s motley; a hobgoblin looked horrendous in a flowery dress and powdered makeup; and a massive bugbear was wearing an actual bear pelt, prancing about.

As the fight began, Nula’s blades struck through the hobgoblin’s dress to find chainmail waiting beneath, and as the bugbear struck down on Charlot with furry hands, cold steel gauntlets beneath dented his shield. In the span of a minute, all three were returned to death.

It appeared they had gone as deep as the cave system could go. They emerged in a large cavern, forty feet high, lined along the walls with sputtering torches, illuminating the nauseating sight of half a dozen tables, stacked high with human corpses and severed body parts. Baskets overflowing with more body parts sat near the heads of each table. At the far end of the room, four skeletons armed with bows appeared to stand guard at the entrance to another room, while a rickety staircase was winding up the wall.

Between two tables, a hooded figure stood, turned away from the group, holding a bone needle and dark thread. Robyn lifted her bow and fired at the hooded figure, who toppled over, loosely affixed limbs rolling across the floor.

As the decoy fell, a disembodied voice rang out in the cavern. “You dare pit yourself against the lord of Lance Rock? Tremble in fear before me!”

A terror gripped at the hearts of the heroes, but most shook themselves and pushed through it. Uzza and Isolde, however, felt a heavy shadow fall upon their minds. They began glancing at the shadows in the corners of the room, nervously handling their weapons as the sewn together corpses on the tables began to stand.

Even with their fright, the two helped the rest of the group take out the zombies, and a dozen limbs that leapt from the baskets to cling at the adventurers. As the last reanimated body part shuddered and lay still, the voice returned, this time sounding slightly flustered: “Uh, you are clearly capable. If you go without disturbing any more of my work,I will give you an item from my treasury.”

Idu stepped forward and cried out, “Prepare to die!”

“Guess not.” The voice was now coming from another robed figure who had suddenly appeared near the back of the room. He quickly ran up the stairs to his left, and began mumbling a spell. Five more zombies pulled themselves up from the piles of corpses along the wall and began to walk towards the group while the skeletons began loosing volleys.

While the group met the zombies head on, Idu focused and spoke a word of power. Instantly, a thick sticky substance flew from his outstretched hand and coated the stairs where the necromancer was climbing. The webbing coated the walls and stairs, clinging to the necromancer’s clothing.

Oskar darted through the tangle of bodies, closer to the struggling necromancer. He pulled out his handaxe, hefted it, and tossed it through the air, to have it hit with a meaty thwak on the necromancer’s side. He muttered a word, and the axe disappeared, only to reappear a moment later in his hand, which he drew back and tossed the axe a second time. The necromancer had just fought free of his robe, however, and the axe missed as he stumbled down the webbed stairs.

In his path, though, was a roiling sphere of fire, and as Idu motioned with his hand, the sphere pressed forward, immolating the necromancer. As his screeching filled the chamber, the remaining zombies stiffened and began to fall, one by one, their stitched together limbs separating.

As the group glanced around the room, Nula was on the floor again. “Stand back,” Robyn instructed, pulling out a random assortment of herbs and pepper to wave beneath the half-orc’s nose. Charlot rolled his eyes and muttered a spell, bringing Nula back to consciousness.

In the final room, dark tapestries adorned the walls, and a pile of coins and random assorted goods stood in the middle of the room. Rising over the rest was a gruesome pedestal, constructed of countless severed arms sewn together. The highest hand was clutched in a claw, over which a glowing sphere floated, barely the size of a fist. Idu rushed over to the pile, touching the sphere delicately as he focused.

Over the next ten minutes, the group rounded up and tallied the loot, finding stores of food and clothing, some of which wasn’t tattered. There was also a long staff, which they set aside for Idu, who straightened up and announced the sphere was a Driftglobe, which would come in handy in the dark caves they seemed to find themselves in often. The staff, he later told them, was a Staff of Birdcalls, which would imitate a variety of birds.

Outside the cave, Icthuarrux neighed daintily as Isolde walked up to him, sending calming thoughts as she asked if he was ok. Minutes later, they were on their way back to Red Larch.

As they walked down the Long Road, several odd items made themselves apparent. As they drew about an hour from the village, billowing smoke could be seen in the skies toward the town. Once they got closer, the brush along the side of the road was trampled flat. As the scent of burning wood filled the air, the group broke into a run. Atop Icthuarrux, Isolde outpaced them all, and nearly fell from the saddle as she was met with the sight of a razed Red Larch.

The next handful of minutes were a blur of confusion as the remaining villagers swarmed around the returning adventurers. Sooty and tear-stained faces all clamoured to be heard, some indignant with anger that their heroes had abandoned them, others hysterical and begging for assistance, while many seemed unable to even speak for the shock of the day.

The story that eventually emerged was that a large pack of gnolls lead by a bloodthirsty leader had invaded the town, burning and pillaging, tearing families apart with their wicked blades and manic howls.

Caelessa and Mini soon came to the front of the group. Mini looked distraught, while a mask of fierce determination covered Caelessa’s features. “Pel… They took my Pel…” Mini was mumbling, wild eyes staring from face to face, as if one of them would suddenly change into her granddaughter’s.

Caelessa guided Mini to the assembled adventurers. “They came after you left,” she explained, looking around at the wreckage. “Looted, killed, tore down what they could.” She stared into the heroes’ eyes. “And they took Pel and Loran.”

Isolde’s hands tightened on Icthuarrux’s reins. “Tell us where they went.”

#dnd stories

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chuckling-chemist · 5 years

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12th Perigee Extra: There’s No Place Like Home For the Holidays

((It took me all the way until Christmas Eve, but I finally managed to end something not on a dissonant note. No this is nearly tooth-rotting.))

Dontoc always loved the feeling of returning home.

It was likely no more than his anxiety needing to return to some place familiar. A place where he didn’t feel like putting on airs of caring about whatever the other highbloods were talking about, when in reality he just wanted to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea and a good book. It wasn’t even the event itself, just the trolls. Highbloods trying to schmooze their way into the pockets of a seadweller. Pompous seadwellers with gaits far too awkward from too many sweeps in the ocean to give them any room to talk. They only increased his desire to return home more than ever.

But this time, it wasn’t exclusively the desire to return home. This was the first sweep where he’d make it in time to see any part of Sandyhorn’s celebration. Every sweep, something always came up that forced him around longer. This sweep however, he managed to keep Careen satisfied enough there was no fight to leave early. He agreed to leave his trunk there (he could regret the decision later), and had her drop him off just close enough to Pallia’s hive he wouldn’t have to listen to her complain too much.

He swung the glass door open, sudden smell of warmth and pine filling his nostrils. Her hive certainly hadn’t been as overly decadent as the host’s of the ball, but he loved it anyway. A rainbow of genetically engineered poinsettias circled a tree that barely avoided the top of the room. It was lit up by small bulbs holding fireflies, their bodies letting off a faint, twinkling glow to the whole thing. It wasn’t the usual troll tradition, but the both of them agreed the tradition was unsanitary and made the hive smell awful for weeks.

As he ran upstairs and toward his respiteblock, the decorations only continued. Garland and silver tinsel wrapped around the railing to the spiral staircase and followed him down the hallway, all the way down to his respiteblock. Underneath each entryway hung some kind of plant, small with bright red berries poking out of sharp leaves, the same one Mayola once pointed out to him had all those quadrant-related traditions. Sekier must’ve put them up. His love with the holidays had always been one bordering on full on obsession.

“Dontoc?”

He stopped in place, backing right into the open doorway of his room with a poorly contained grin. Pallia bolted down the highway, looking like a gray and white blur all the way until her arms wrapped around Dontoc’s waist for a tight hug. “Oh I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re safe,” she said. “I was starting to scare myself.”

Dontoc chuckled. “Pallia, I am not quite the same troll I was when we met. I can actually hold an intelligent conversation now with a stranger.”

“No, it wasn’t that. It’s just…” she sighed and buried her face in his chest. He pulled her in closer, feeling the warmth from her emanate from her. She might have been shaking. He wasn’t sure what exactly got her so distraught, but he also didn’t care. He knew her well enough this is all she’d need.

“Tell me later?” he asked softly.

She pulled away just enough to look up at him with a resolute nod. “Yeah. Tomorrow morning. I don’t wanna ruin your first 12th Perigee back here. Especially not before you get your present.”

“Oh! Goodness, speaking of such, Pallia if you do not mind for a second, I got you a gift. If you want it now, of course. Ah...if not--”

“Right!” She broke away from him, face turning teal. Dontoc tried not to miss the “You uh...I’d give you my gift but it’s buried with everyone else’s.”

“Then we shall take care of it when the time comes. But for now, let me grab yours.” He grinned. “Wait here.”

It didn’t take him long to slide into his room and shut the door to prevent her curious stare for what the present could be. Nor was it difficult for him to find the gift, a lone bouquet of shimmering roses inside a short vase on top of his desk, underneath a tall heat lamp single handedly lighting the room. It stood out like a sore thumb among the shelves of books and stacks of papers that decorated most of his room. Dontoc carefully took them out of the vase and bundled them loosely with a spare purple bow tie before hiding it behind his back. Keep it a surprise, if only barely.

He opened the door, relieved to see Pallia hadn’t moved an inch. She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, and when the door opened craned her neck to try and see past his frame, but hadn’t actually moved. He shook his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Pallia, patience is considered a virtue, you know.”

“So’s curiosity last I remembered.” She crossed her arms. “I cannot believe you’re making me wait. Like, I know how hypocritical that statement is because I’m too lazy to grab yours right now, but still.”

Dontoc gave her a playful smile. The anticipation of giving it to her probably killed him more than it ever would her, but at this point it’s just how they spoke when they were alone. The teasing helped put both their minds at ease. “You could try giving me the magic phrase.”

“Oh, right. You mean the phrase, ‘the longer you wait, the more questions Glacin’ll have’.” She put a finger to her chin, tapping it thoughtfully. “Or was it ‘holding back a present only holds back the inevitable endgoal?’ I’m not sure.”

Dontoc hummed, fins twitching. “Not the answer I was looking for, but you make a fair point about Glacin. So here.” He pulled the flowers out from behind his back, the smile on his face quickly turning sheepish. If he’s lucky, she would accept it and let it go without much conversation. The mere thought of giving her this already made his heart pound. “Happy 12th Perigee.”

Pallia’s eyes widened. She gingerly touched one of the petals, swiping a finger across to find the iridescence remain. No paint needed. “Dontoc...they’re….” she looked up at him, equal parts curious and conused, “not naturally found in the wild. Did you…”

“I ah...well...erm…” he paused to swallow down the feeling of his heart pounding in his throat painfully, “do you remember when you taught me how to implant genetic data into another species to turn it fluorescent? Sometime last sweep, actually. Before everything ah...happened. Well, I did that. But with flowers! After all, Vodnik gets you flowers all the time for holidays so it was a safe guess to say you enjoyed them, but that’s just Vodnik so maybe I was wrong but who knows! And so anyway, I asked Zanchi if I could possibly perform what we did with something other than fluorescence, and well...it spiraled. So yes. Your 12th Perigee gift. It’s flowers.”

“It’ssss rosessss,” she clarified quietly.

If Dontoc’s cheeks weren’t burning before, they certainly were now. “Yes. Roses. Iridescent roses. You ah….you…”

“You remembered me teaching you that? All of that?”

“I...well of course. The steps are in my room, still taped to my desk.” His fins fluttered harshly against his face. “I even remember writing in my notebook if it was at all possible to impart other nature of fishes into microbes, however we had been interrupted by Mayola and Volcor before I had a chance to ask.”

She brushed her hand over the petals again absently. They turned from greens and blues to deep violets with no more than the barest touch. Her other hand rested overtop his, making no real attempt to take the flowers away. “And you kept it secret for perigees.”

“Not so when we barely see each other,” he said lightly. “Hopefully you like it? I-I mean, you haven’t uh...haven’t said--”

“Dontoc, this might be one of the single most thoughtful gifts anyone’s ever gotten me. Seriously. There are no words to properly...wait. No. I know.” She looked up at him with a shy grin. Her expression seemed not entirely on him, but above him somewhere. “Can you um...lean down? Just for a second. It’ll make this easier.”

Dontoc laughed. It was an odd request, sure, but hardly a difficult one to appease. “Make what easier? Giving me a proper hug?”

She smirked. “Not quite.” In the blink of an eye she leaned up, a feather-light touch of warm lips pressing against his cheek for the briefest second. And just like that, it was gone. She was back in front of him, face as darkly teal as his must’ve been violet. “But closssse.”

“Pal...Pallia, that ah, well, uh--” he swallowed thickly, failing to push down the lump in his throat.

“No worse than giving me rossses for 12th Perigee,” she said cheekily. She took ahold of the roses this time -- actually the roses, not just his trembling hands -- and pulled them gently out of his grasp. “Gimme a sec to get sssome water for these, then we can meet up with everyone just in time for the next wave of celebrations. Sound good?”

“I shall await your return with bated breath.”

“Good. I’m honessstly ssso glad you're home.” With a quick nod, she took the roses and seemed to prance down the hallway toward the kitchen. Dontoc waited until she was out of view to press a hand to his flushed cheek. That...that happened. Somehow. Initiated by her. On 12th Perigee, no less. It didn’t sound real in the slightest, yet were it a dream, he would’ve been violently ripped away from the scene at this point. But he wasn’t. This was real life. He wasn’t sure if it boded well for the two of them, but it was the 12th Perigee. He could focus on it tomorrow.

After all, he had a countdown to make his way to tonight.

#fantroll #homestuck #fantrolls #fanfiction #my writing #dontoc #pallia #tooth. rotting. christmas fluff #literally all this is #almost 1700 words of sugar

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