Ran looks over at everyone once he's played with the lamp for a bit.

"Looks like magic to me," Ran says as he explains what he's found out about it being able to be used to bless up to 3 people who stay in its light.

"Anything special about the helmet?"

Eryndor joins Ran in examining the items. He gives them all a glance, then strums a bright, spiraling melody on his lute, weaving a tune of clarity and insight, sharpening his mind as magic hums through his veins. (Enhance Ability on himself: Intelligence)

Arcana check rolls:

• electrum platter: 12
• the painted golden death mask: 10
• helmet: 18
• egg: 9

He also looks at the rest of the party and sees they are on the mend, resting safely for now.

Eryndor's face is pale as he gathers the others close, voice low and urgent.
"The King of Feathers... he is no mere beast. Once, he was a lord of the Feywild—an Eladrin prince, I think—twisted into this monstrous form. I heard his voice, broken but still noble, crying out through the roar. He spoke of betrayal, of some Acererak who changed him. His mind is shattered, but not wholly lost."
He looks north, troubled. "He knows we are here. And if we are wise, we may yet reach him—or be destroyed by what remains of him."

Mica flicks the blood off his hand axes after the last dinosaur falls.  As the others gather the items found in the nest and catch their breath, Mica pulls out his skinning blade and harvesting kit and kneels down in front of one of the beasts, appraising what can be salvaged from the carcass.

He squints up at Eryndor, bloody knife in his hand. “No mere best, eh? Bewitched into another creature?”  He glances up at the parrot never far from Ran “Seems like there is a bit of that going around.  Not sure what we can do about it though.  Think you can talk to him again if we get close enough?”

Appraisal Role: 9. (Intelligence + Nature).

Harvesting Role: 19. (Dex + Nature).

.

Meili sat up a little straighter when Eryndor spoke. “That roar… it didn’t sound like madness. Just pain. Rage.”

She glanced at Mica, then at the parrot preening on Ran’s shoulder. “Yeah. Seems like this jungle’s got a habit of reshaping things. People. Maybe it does that to souls too - chews them up and spits them out different.”

“We couldn’t get anything out of the bird. But do you think there’s a chance to reach that king?” She looked down at her still-bloodied hands and brushed away another dried fleck. “Or at least… give him a better end than the one Acererak - whoever that is - left him.”

Her gaze drifted to the small pile of magical items. “Can any of this help, either way?”

As the others rest, Mica pulls out his tools and busies himself butchering one of the deinonychuses.  His mind wanders, and when he is finished he sees that he has carefully removed a pile of long, beautiful feathers, some teeth, and a pair of sickle claws, but not much else.  They would all make fine souvenirs or material for crafting art or necklaces, but otherwise nothing immediately useful.

Eryndor, meanwhile, is able to confirm that the platter and golden mask are mundane, if fascinating archaeological items.  The helmet is another matter.  Quite quickly, he comes to understand what he is holding.  It is a  helm of telepathy.  These rare and wondrous helms allow the wielder to read the minds of others and, to a much lesser extent, influence them.

[Everyone may take a short rest.]

Ran looks at the helmet and shakes his head.

"I'm not keen on my own thoughts. I sure as hell don't want to hear what's going on in some other daft punter's head." Ran says then looks over at Eryndor. "So how do we find your new friend? Keep going the way we were?"

Ran walks ahead, going slowly, listening for sounds of other little dinos hiding in the shadows, and continues on past where the ambush was set, using the light from the new lamp to help guide the way.

Eryndor eyes the helmet with obvious curiosity, tilting his head slightly as if listening to the memory of its magic.

"Well, I for one wouldn’t mind a glimpse into another soul—provided it’s more poetry than drivel," he says with a smirk, fingers brushing the helm’s surface. "But if any among us can put it to better use, I shan’t hoard the privilege."

He steps lightly after Ran, nodding toward the path ahead. "Aye, forward seems best. The prince—what remains of him—lies that way, I’d wager. And the other path is quite definitively... uncooperative."

He will also pocket the mundane items as loot - unless someone has some better means of carrying our loot.

"Not even your sister’s head?" Meili glanced at the bird on Ran’s shoulder. "Could be a way to talk to her."
(Or confirm it is her - but she didn’t say that part out loud.)

She, herself, however, did not rush to try the magical helmet nor did she care about the platter and golden mask. Once everyone was ready to move on, Meili rose silently to her feet and followed the others toward the creature the elven king had become.

Ran ponders what Meili says about the bird and nods.

”I’d assumed her brain was a bit bird like now too but it’s worth a try once we settle down for the night,” Ran says.

The party steps cautiously out from the tunnels, blinking against the sudden brightness as they re-emerge into the humid air of Omu.

They find themselves on a wide marble stage, worn smooth by centuries of exposure.  The stone is cracked in places, overgrown with creeping vines, but still holds a hint of the grandeur it must have once possessed.  The air is thick and hot, steam rising from the rain-slick stone as the sun beats down.

Before them, the wide plaza stretches out like a grand, open courtyard, flanked on all sides by tiered stone seats that arc upward in a grand semicircle.  The arena-like formation gives the impression of a gathering place once filled with voices, now overgrown and abandoned.  Moss hangs in great sheets from the high seats, and crumbling statues of beasts and warriors dot the periphery, some toppled over and shattered.

But the most striking features are the signs of the master of this lair.  Scattered bones lie strewn across the stage and into the plaza—long, cracked femurs from dinosaurs, the half-crushed skull of a triceratops, and the splintered ribs of some great lizard.  A miasma of decay fills the air, carried on a breeze that shifts the rotting vegetation piled in corners.  A few of the stone benches are smashed to rubble, as if trampled by an immense weight, and here and there, piles of foul-smelling dung dot the otherwise bare ground.  Claw marks score the walls, gouges in the marble as if something massive raked it in a frenzy.

The silence is unnerving—just minutes ago, the King of Feathers had been roaring and stamping somewhere up here.  Now, however, the amphitheater seems eerily empty.

Checking the collapsed stone pile, the party sees it is still blocking the main passage out of the amphitheater.  It remains stubbornly in place, massive slabs of stone that no mere animal could move.

Just then, as if cued, a mighty roar shakes the air, cutting through the steamy heat like a blade.  The sound is deeper and more feral than anything heard before—filled with fury, frustration, and something almost resembling intelligence.  The party turns instinctively to the north, the sound’s direction. There, just beyond the walls of the amphitheater, the fortress of the Thayans and their mercenaries looms.  The roar echoes again from that direction, bouncing off the cliffs and sending birds scattering from the treetops.

Whatever drove the beast to abandon its lair, it seems to be venting its wrath toward the fortress and the skyship moored above it.  But how?   If it was trapped in here, by what means did it escape, and why now?

Ran looks around from the sound of the big dinosaur and then to Eryndor.

"So, can your new mate fly?" Ran asks.

Ran looks back around the amphitheater, looking for stairs or some other means to get up to the top of the walls to see if they can get a better look at the merc fortress and what might be happening out there.

From inside the amphitheater, it is possible to ascend the interior of the stone 'bleachers' to get a view from the top.  

Several hundred yards to the northeast, you are able to spot the former prisoner of this yard.  It is a tyrannosaurus rex, similar in some ways to the one you saw feeding on the corpse of a fallen elephant days ago - but also very different.  It wears a long horn on its snout, and colorful feathers erupt from its neck like a lion's mane.  

It is pacing back and forth outside the palisade wall of the fort, occasionally roaring or throwing its shoulder against the wooden posts.  So far, it is neither making much progress, nor has its arrival mustered any visible response from those inside the fort.

Ran opens his mouth several times to say something but closes it each time, momentarily at a loss for words. Finally he looks over at Eryndor.

"Part unicorn, mate?" Ran asks. Then after he gets that out of his system he asks "Can you still talk to him? Can we help him break into the fort?"

Before leaving the lair, Mica takes the lone egg and places it in his backpack, wrapping it carefully in some discarded pieces of blanket. 

He follows Ran and the others, stepping onto the stage and climbing up the stone bleachers to get a look at the beast.  He looks over at the main passageway. “Glad we didn’t mess with those bloody fallen rocks, he made it out anyway, but how?”  Mica surveys the tracks and signs in the arena to determine how the dinosaur escaped. Survival: 27

Turning his attention back to the T-Rex, Mica nods at Ran “The King of Feathers.  Definitely something not quite right with this fellow, but he is at the walls of the camp.  There’s our distraction. Might be we can help get him in.”

It was a hard call, and Meili stood silent for a moment, watching the pacing creature in the distance. One part of her - the part shaped by the endless journey through the murderous jungles - wanted to say it plainly: Let him distract the Red Wizards. Let’s slip past while they’re watching him. But buried deep down remnants of compassion demanded to help to whatever still lingered of the elven prince inside it.

She exhaled, still watching the beast. “Yes,” she said at last. “Let’s see if we can talk to him still. If so... Sending him in would be sending him to his death. But if not... If not… that might be our chance to get in through another side while wizards are occupied.”

if it has been less than an hour since he employed universal speech, Eryndor will try to communicate with the great prince directly - telling him to remember the Fey Wild and that he and his companions wished to help him - and could use his help 

If it has been more than an hour, then Eryndor will whisper, that he can no longer speak to the prince, but perhaps he could try to strike a chord in its memory through music of the Fey Wild.

Barring that, and on a far outside chance, he might be able to dispel the magic which effects the prince. 

Eryndor, the party took a short rest so more than an hour has passed.  Additionally, the King of Feathers is several hundred yards off to the northeast.  It would take powerfully loud music to get its attention from here.

In fact, unless anyone has a faster way down, it looks like it will be a trip back through the maze under the grandstands to get back outside.

((Did Mica spot how the dino king got out? Post #3095 above))

Quote from Thoradin_Orcbender >>

((Did Mica spot how the dino king got out? Post #3095 above))

 [Sorry]

No.  There is no sign of the beast having dug through the rock collapse, nor climbed over the wall.  Its tracks just seem to appear about 60' outside the amphitheater and then move off toward the fort.

Perhaps it did fly somehow?

Ran looks down from the top of the amphitheater and then to the others.

”If that can fly, I think it’s time to rethink our lives. Worse if feather king just teleported over,” Ran says.

He then turns and heads back down, looking to retrace their steps as quickly as possible, keeping the lamp lit when they’re underground again.