Heavy is the Head - Campaign thread

Lam struggles to follow Fitzwhistle’s conversation, managing to understand most of the words but having a few concepts go completely over his head- something about this gnome’s excited rambling reminds Lam of a certain Tortle friend they have waiting back at the Village Tree. He thinks they would have enjoyed meeting- but isn’t sure if that’s even possible, if Fitzwhistle can’t leave and this place remains so difficult to get to.

Lam allows the others to lead the conversation, since Saoirse is asking all the right questions and Hemlock had the great idea to show Fitzwhistle the journal. His only input is an involuntary one- his stomach growls at the sound of the word “lunch.”

Not really sure what to do other than listen to the conversation, Sha will once again quietly sing to the egg.  'Moonbeam in your eye' a little more jaunty.

The gnome.seems to ignore some of what Saoirse says to him, especially about the Crown, but he does look very sad to here that Tux is dead. Then, when you offer the journal, he brightens like a child with a shiny new toy. "A Journal of Secrets! And what fine quality, as well." Fitzwhistle accepts the Journal, opens the first page, and examines the bindings and the inner flap, muttering as he looks at it, to none of you in particular. "'Course I won't read it - it wouldn't make any sense to me and I don't want to let it. Might remind me of something I'm not allowed to remember, you see, and that just hurts like the dickens. The enchantment work is intricate and talented, but (he runs his finger on the spine) some of the runes are still raised enough to feel them. If I had to guess, I'd say this was made by someone learning and perfecting the art. Tux's journal, you say? Must have been Silvia. She must have given all of her imperfect attempts away to family or close advisers. She wouldn't accept anything else for herself. That means, of course, that she must have gotten her hands on a truly excellent example to study the art from. And I thought they'd all been destroyed, except for the one in the library of the society of brilliance!.. Unless the legends that the True King kept a Journal of Secrets are true, and perhaps it survived? Of course! So she knows that the Crow----- OUCHIE GODS DAMN IT!" Fitzwhistle's hands shoot up to his temples, the journal falls to the floor, and he falls on the ground clutching his head. "I don't remember, I don't remember, I won't remember, it's OK. I didn't find anything, no nothing at all. I just hit my head up here in the tower and went a little crazy, that's all. There's nothing to remember, nothing important at all. Stay here till I rot, lock myself in, don't talk to anyone outside. Cobblepot's a few pebbles short of a pound, that's all." The pitiful gnome rocks back and forth  muttering to himself, for a little while.

"Such a life is not worth living," Ali whispers to Hemlock, his finger brushing a shortsword at his hilt to illustrate his suggested solution to of the ethical predicament.

Fitzwhistle looks up, suddenly distracted by Sha-Gravis' 'singing.' "Stop that mewling, if you please! You'll only disturb Flybert, and that unborn beastie you're holding. Thank you. Now, I think we said something about lunch. I think we can find a comfortable place to sit, though I'm afraid I don't really have much plateware for company. Cubert will give you a little tour while I make ready. Take as many fruits and nuts as you like, and I'll mix us up a salad." He rushes up to the windowledge that seems to serve as his bed  and rearranges cushions to invite you all to sit there, and then plucks leaves and flowers from around the room before taking them to the table with mixing potions to throw things together. Cubert does slowly hover around the circumference of the room, though that probably doesn't really count as a 'tour.' While all that is happening, a flying construct enters the room, taking a misty step through the windowed door to the balcony. It is also generally cube-shaped, but it is open on top, and one of the magic tiles is replaced by what looks like an articulated mechanical arm. Its bottom square flaps open, and gathered fruits, nuts, and vegetables fall into a pile on the floor. It then glides down to the ground, where it sits inactive.

Saoirse is clearly discouraged by Fiztwhistle's condition. After everything they had gone trough to be able to reach the top of the tower, she hadn't expected to not be able to talk to the artificer about the one thing they needed to learn about. And this looked so much to what had been done to Sebastian... but what could they do this time to solve it? She wasn't even sure what was causing the gnome his pitiful condition.

While the gnome was a little away preparing lunch, she looked at her companions and said in a low voice:

- This is terrible! What are we going to do? We can't just leave him as it is, but I don't know what's affecting him. Any of you sense anything magica surrounding him? And no - she looks to Ali - killing him is not an option. 

When the lunch is brought to the windowledge she takes a few bites and then turns to look for something in her backpack, and puts it nex to the food. It's Sebastian's collar. 

- I hope this doesn't cause you any pain, Fitzwhistle, but ... do you recognize this? We met someone under the effect of powerful blood and enchantment magic that prevented him from speaking, as it was the command that has been placed upon him . Could it be that what is causing you pain when you remember is something similar to this?

After listing to Fiztwhistle and seeing his reaction to talking about the journal, Hemlock frowns with concern. "It is ok, lunch sounds good, you go and prepare it", he says, crouching down to lay a hand on their shoulder. Once done, he reaches out and picks up the journal, returning it to his pack.

When he is gone he replies to Saoirse in a whisper, "Yes, it is worse than I thought it might be. I will take a look for magic, but he obviously got the head pain as he was about to mention the crown. He knows it exists, and perhaps that is what has the power to stop him talking about it. What if he came across the current owner, and they weren"t happy with him knowing who they were? Perhaps we could contact Hamza for aid in this?".

As Fiztwhistle finishes preparing lunch, he speaks the words in druidic to allow him to view the strands of magic, and watches the gnome as he returns.

The moment Hemlock tunes into his magic vision, the artificer's workshop, formerly the library and office of an Arcane Research, Training, and Service (ARTS) wizard Outpost, seems to him to shine all colours of the rainbow from uncountable sources. No, this is not a trap like what he saw on the Evocation floor, this is just a fact of the space. The constructs have built in enchantments, spells, end Evocations, most of the books have some form of innate magic, and Cobblepot's clothing and rings all seem to carry magic of their own. Make a wisdom (perception) check to try to focus in on Fitzwhistle himself, checking for a mental enchantment of some kind.

"A collar that commands the user? What a dark and twisted thing. I've seen the like once before, in the library, but that was embedded into a bulky suit of armor. I'll examine it after lunch, new friend. Of course, that's nothing like my headaches. My theory is that they come from hitting my head up here years ago, just like my compulsions to stay here. I might be close to solving that myself though, if my newest project works out. Actually, blood magic might be a help to that, or any other way to communicate with and organize a spirit... perhaps a cleric oar spiritualist, much as I would hate to admit any limit to arcane science, that does seem to be a point i struggle with, nono I'll figure it out eventually... Could one of you be so kind as to sort Flybert's latest gathering? The lazy boy always seems to think his job is done as soon as he gets back from foraging."

Hemlock struggles to ignore the distractions of all the magic around him, and focus on just the gnome. just the gnome. Just the gnome...

Perception: 17+6=23

Sha goes and sorts the forage bringing each portion to Fitzwhistles area for preparing.  Slowly and carefully handling both the task and the egg.

- Regarding blood magic, I may be able to help. And if you need a cleric, then this is definitly your luck day. Sha here is one, and we've witnessed first hand his strong connection with his goddess. What is your latest project about?

"Listening to my thoughts, are you? Very rude indeed." (He definitely did say those things out loud, but your passive insight is enough to tell that he has developed a subconscious habit of thinking out loud to fill the silence). "Well, no problem, no problem, old Cobblepot isn't keeping any secrets from his first real guests in years. Yes! Blood magic and a cleric. I have an idea that if I bind my soul to a construct, kill my current body and let it stay here til I rot, stay there until you rot, then the new me might be free of the side effects of my brain injury. It's been a great project, and I think the construct brain is ready, but I need to be able to bind my soul, and a deliver a spark of life to get the thing started. Let me tell you, that body has been tough to make - articulating enough joints to mimic humanoid bodies took me 10 years by itself, and then the whole business of building storage and capacity for a brain is a whole other problem. I eventually realized it came down to air pressure - a series of tubes that could be active or inactive, so tiny and multiduninous and connected that the valves can carry thoughts - and then of course encoding my own mind into this format, well it was lucky that one of Vecna's books here provided a shortcut, well you couldn't really call it a shortcut, but a way anyway, especially when combined with Elminster's treatise on........"

"That just sounds like necromancy with extra steps," whispers Ali, with an apparent and growing disdain for the gnome, who keeps talking in an endless stream. "You can not trust anyone connected to the Society of Brilliance, or anyone who has worked for Strixwell. She has set a bounty on him. Proof of his death will allow us to gain the trust of her workers, and learn her schemes from one who has not lost his sanity."

Hemlock is able to tune out almost everything in the room and focus in on Fitzwhistle's head, where the faintest strand of magic can just barely be seen - clearly designed to be disguised, some mix of enchantment and the evocation of telepathy or sending. These thin strands of magic weave together, in a line pointing generally north, but more than a foot away from the gnome they become too faint to see or follow. There is a source, somewhere, and that source must be incredibly powerful to exert a continuous influence for such a long time. Hemlock has never seen magic like this before, but will find it easier to see now that he's seen it once (I had set the DC to 20 in my mind, so nice roll). The collar Sebastian wore is a pale imitation of this power, a fraction of the intricacy, magnitude, and threat of whatever holds Fitzwhistle under sway.

"Well, I'll tell you all about it over lunch. Thank you very much, tabaxi. Is the egg also for eating? It's been a long time since I had some animal protein - just can't seem to get Flybert to grab anything that moves, and birds do a good job of keeping him from the nests. Does this mean that my neighbors are gone? I liked their singing, even though it was hard not to be able to go down to them. Turns out head injury beats harpy song - who would have thought it, right? Oh, this will be fun, I've got a wonderful little potion here for us to enjoy. Tastes like grapes, and the effects are fun will still being perfectly safe. Any of you want to try? Salad's done, just let me find some..."

Sha, give an dexterity or athletics check (DC 10) to move other things around while carrying the egg.

Fitzwhistle fumbles with his alchemical equipment, eventually placing beakers full of salad, metal chopsticks to eat it with, and 6 small vials of bright purple liquid on a tray, which floats over to you seemingly of its own accord. He then leaps with shocking nimbleness, jumping several times his own height, to land beside the cushions he's set aside for eating. He does not seem to be showing off, these magical effects are just part of how he moves in the world.

Hemlock simply stands there as time passes, only his eyes moving as they first seem to bore into Fiztwhistle's head, and then flick back and forth from the gnome to the collar Sairse had placed down. The Sebastian had worn.

His head slowly begins to pivot as his gaze turns northward before Fiztwhistle seems to leap away and his concentration is broken.

"Fiztwhistle, might I know where you were when you started getting the headaches? Was it in this tower, or do you come here afterwards?", he says as he takes his tray and inspects the contents. "And before the headaches, who was the last person you saw?".

Fitzwhistle sits on a cushion near all of you, and babbles a response to Hemlock's latest question while shoveling leaves and fruit into his mouth, quite unaware of societal niceties like swallowing your food before you speak.

"I don't like these questions. I almost always get headaches when I think about the headaches. But what I remember what I'm allowed to remember is that I came here about 23 years ago to make a little outpost to start a research expedition, Strixwell contracted the Society to explore rumors of artefacts in the valley. I made some friends and established myself in this abandoned tower. You asked about this tower earlier, right! Well, it was run by the ARTS wizards until about 100 years ago, and seems to have been abandoned not long after the fall of the True King. My guess is that some locals decided to kick out the wizards, or that maybe they started fighting with themselves. The crazy thing is that it seems like ARTS magic spells were being flung back and forth, like whoever was stationed here were killing each other. I guess there was a lot of that about just after the end of the King, what with old factions and loyalties spilling out again after everyone was held together for so long. Fascinating bit of history, but I've always been more interested in arcane research than archaeology. Their technological and magical innovations were quite something! Cubert and Flybert here have some of their old magic built right in, and it still works! Always been envious of sorcerers with their innate magic, but I think that if the transfer to the construct works I'll have some things built-in myself. I do hope that all works. Anyway, after I got things up and running here there's a few months of time I don't remember can't remember won't remember, and then I found myself quite stuck in the tower, with these horrible headaches and compulsions. Certainly just a head injury! I suppose I met with some of the locals and that wonderful archdruid while I was setting up my workshop here, but I'm sure old Rhys would never have done something like this. No sir. You know, these potions are quite something, my own invention! You want to try them out?"

Lam has gone very quiet- he seems to be in deep thought, trying to make sense of all that the gnome has said. The first connection he makes is that Fitzwhistle’s headaches seem reminiscent of the ones Sebastian had when they met him- but Saoirse notices that quickly too and already has the collar out to show Fitzwhistle. So Lam spends much of the conversation with a furrowed brow and a tilted head, without saying anything.

When Ali mentions the Society of Brilliance, Lam wonders if he had heard that before. Maybe the gnome mentioned it? Is Sylvia Strixwell part of that society? Lam doesn’t comment on Ali’s ideas, thinking he’s probably right but not enjoying his suggested plan of action. If they can find a way to help this gnome that doesn’t involve killing him, Lam wants to do it.

When food is ready, Lam is excited. He grabs a beaker with chopsticks in one hand, and a vial with the other, and he walks over to the dining cushions, doing his best not to seem desperate to eat. He is disappointed there is no protein in this meal and unsure how much the salad can actually fill him up, but he feels even worse for Fitzwhistle. He wonders if he couldn’t hunt anything around here for Fitzwhistle to eat. He says, “Thank you for food.” And then, not waiting for any formal permission to begin eating, he downs the grape potion.

Hemlock also sits down on one of the dining cushions and starts eating salad.

"Yes, Rhys is very nice. Were you keeping any diaries or notebooks at that time?", he asks innocently between mouthfuls.

Lam feels... floaty. After drinking the potion, every part of him suddenly weighs half of what it did before. He sits up straighter than usual, because with half the weight, the same muscles that usually hold him up lift twice as much. It's hard not to fling his arms upward when moving around, like picking up an empty container that you thought was full. It's a strange experience, but a surprisingly pleasant one. A literal weight lifted from his shoulders. And, strangely, the salad also seems about twice as filling as expected, the nuts and leaves giving more nourishment to a less massive body. It will still take a few servings to fill you up, but it does feel possible. Also, roll history to see if you've heard of the society of brilliance before.

"See, it's fun, right! I was researching ways to make the food I was getting more satisfying, and after many mixed attempts at creating artificial foods which never quite measured up, I had an epiphany - what if there was less of me? Now, I didn't want to shrink, even for meals, it would be too hard to reach things, but I could still make myself less. And that makes the food feel like more! Plus what it does for movement is just fun. Be careful not to bump your head on the cieling though, if you try to jump. Should wear off soon. 10 minutes per drink for me. You're very big though, so maybe less time for you. Only way to know is to experiment. I love to experiment. You keep asking me questions that are hard for me, though, gardener. I did keep journals, but looking at them hurt my brain because they reminded me can't remember won't remember so I burned them all way back at the beginning. It's too bad, too, there was all sorts of great research in them from before the headaches, as well. You know Rhys, too!? How is the old bear?"

- Binding yourself to a construct !? But that sounds insan... I mean ... dangerous! What if that doesn't work and you die in the process? And what if it works, but it doesn't stop the headaches? Gods above! - Saoirse exclaims. 

Feeling a mix of dispair and worry, thinking that they've come all this way for nothing and that they are going to leave the tower as empty handed as they came, she uncorks one of the potions and drinks it in a gulp, wishing it was something way stronger. 

She listens as Hemlock is trying his way around the matter without asking directly, and when the gnome says he burned his research she just can't believe it:

- You did what!? Oh.. please - she rubs her forehead, where a nice headache is starting to grow with every word the gnome is spilling - All of it? Didn't you keep anything? And you didn't share that research with anybody?

Lam seems confused but pleasantly surprised by how it feels to weigh half as much, moving his arms around any which way to get used to the new feeling. He downs his salad, and if there seems to be enough for people to have more than one serving, he will carefully get some more to eat as well.

 Once Lam has eaten what seems like his share, he will get up and just… move around. He very specifically does not try to jump, taking Fitzwhistle’s warning seriously, , but he spins around when he is a safe distance from everyone, he lifts his arms above his head, and just does various things to get used to the feeling- it probably looks pretty silly, but he also looks like he’s having fun.

When Fitzwhistle uses the term gardener for Hemlock, Lam looks back over. He’s definitely heard that term before. In fact, lots of people have called Hemlock that. Why is that? He wants to ask Fitzwhistle who told him not to remember, or not to leave this place until he rots- but that would probably end up in another headache. So he just says the other thing on his mind: “Drink is fun. Food is good. Thank you.” He flops back down onto a cushion next to Hemlock and listens, and tries to think. 

Hemlock sighs and his shoulders slump, becoming as dejected as Saoirse obviously is. He has only one more avenue he can think of.

"Fiztwhistle, I know it is a long shot, but this tower is a research facility right? And it is magical in more ways than I can comprehend. Might it have somehow stored your time here somehow? Could we bring up that illusion and ask it?".

"Can't talk with people outside the tower, remember! Although... I did lose one of my notebooks, and come back with a copy, with new interesting notes! My expedition was supposed to start up in that wierd 'Grave Fort' place. Maybe I met another expert up there, before I hit my head. That's always been my guess. Oh well, no use trying to remember things I can't remember! And as for the risks of the construct plan, well... it would be a huge leap forward for the science of artifice, and it might free me! Oh, I would miss Cubert and Flybert and all of my imaginary guests, but I have to admit that I am sad a lot of the time. So if I die, atleast I die for science!!! Wouldn't you be willing to take risks for the things you believe in?"

Ali's glare momentarily shifts to one of respect. Conviction and risk, he can understand. Still, necromancy and things like it are quite distasteful to his thinking.

"Ah, good idea. Oh, Aanabeth!"

"How can I be of assistance?"

"Do you know what I was doing up here 20 years ago?

"I am afraid I do not keep records of the upper levels of the tower. How can I be of assistance?"

"She has a beautiful voice, doesn't she? I mean, mostly useless other than knowing what's in the libary and a few recordings, but a beautiful voice. She's assisted me loads of times, if you catch my drift." Apparently the gnome has forgotten which subjects are off-limits in polite company.

“Does she have records of who entered the tower in the last 20 years?”, Hemlock asks, ignoring the implication of the word assisted.