Zorg's Lost Souls III

     Mulligan does indeed attempt to step out of sight as well as away from the others.  There's certainly no benefit to being bunched together, bad enough they are stuck on a balloon at this fraught moment, but grouping would only make it worse.  As far as hiding...  He cannot be sure if he's been spotted yet or not but there are advantages to being unseen and few drawbacks even if it doesn't work.

Stealth: 27

Barria loves the ride on the storm cloud, ignoring the darklings for the most part.  When Mulligan finds the sign, she asks for a mug of the Bumble Beer thinking that would be a fun drink to try.

She watches as they head over Thither.. but doesn't give any ideas as to where to land as she is feeling a bit overwhelmed.  The dwarf in her finally starts feeling like a fish out of water being aloft for so long.  

As the Rocking Horse woman appears, her jaw drops and she finds herself unable to hide as the scene is just too ridiculous and she isn't feeling herself anyways.  She listens to the darklings for an answer to Rowan's question.

"Skabatha Nightshade" G'Reg responds in a short style to Mulligan's question.

The journey from the motherhorn had been a rather quiet one for G'Reg, he buried his head in the confiscated books before everyone got their rest in. In the morning his organised his spells and prepared the ones he wanted for the day ahead, then clambered aboard the storm balloon with awe at the arcane mechanisms, wards, and anchors that held the thing together. Before burying his head back in the books. The pass through the mists, similarly disorientated the gnome as his keen senses for geography and the path behind them became difficult to keep track of. A new land meant resetting his bearings and he did not like that, so a trip to the counter to grunt at the darklings would suffice as distraction. Everything looked somewhat mundane at first glance and so he takes himself away and ritual casts detect magic coming back and surveying the wears one by one, the darkling's disgust or apathy is only matched by G'Reg's own in the interaction. 

When the rocking horse is spotted G'Reg makes no attempt to hide, he stands and stares daggers at the face circling them, pointing a finger at the rider he casts message telepathically whispering in the observer's ear, "we have come to claim what is ours, state your business."

Additions from previous...

Rowan raises the whistle to his lips, but has scarcely blown on it when Charm reaches up and slaps his hand away from his mouth.
Put that away, fool! You never know what it might call. I'd rather not be airborne when it answers...

Flipping through his books, Greg notes that the book Gleam was reading in her cell has also found its way into his collection: Tales from the Gloaming Court, volume 8.

Greg peruses the items for sale, activating his magical sensors, and notices that the item described as the Moonlight Monocle does in fact have a magical sheen about it.

The darkling called Bauble hefts a dusty keg from a dark corner, brushes it off, and pulls a mug of the amber liquid for Barria. She offers some coins in exchange, but the darkling isn't interested... instead he requests one of the candles that the dwarf carries. It seems more than fair, and Barria makes the trade. The beer is smooth and sweet, with a little sting as advertised, but after a few moments it leaves a pleasant buzz, perhaps enough to inebriate the average mortal, but not nearly enough for a dwarven Festus cleric.

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Mulligan ducks out of view while the others gawk at the flying equestrian hag. The darklings don't appear nervous, but occupy themselves with preparing to land. Greg boldly stands on the front portico of the shop, gripping the verandah pole tightly as he points and speaks at the flying witch... then sees her pause in mid-air and lock eyes with him, and hears her words return to him, her scorn evident even in the telepathy:

If it was yours, child, you would still have it. Finders keepers.

Then as the rocking horse resumes its circuit of the gondola, Skabatha calls out:

You are my guests. Come visit me in my parlour and I will hear your requests... properly.

And with a wooden creak, the rocking horse turns and glides away, leaving strange temporary splinters of light in the air like hoofprints in wet soil.

Quote from ZorgAlmighty >>

Additions from previous...

Rowan raises the whistle to his lips, but has scarcely blown on it when Charm reaches up and slaps his hand away from his mouth.
Put that away, fool! You never know what it might call. I'd rather not be airborne when it answers...

 

 (Perception - 20)

     Noticing the interaction between Rowan, whistle and Charm, Mulligan finds his curiosity piqued.

     What might it call?

     Mulligan asks, first of Rowan and then of Charm...

Quote from ZorgAlmighty >>

If it was yours, child, you would still have it. Finders keepers.

Then as the rocking horse resumes its circuit of the gondola, Skabatha calls out:

You are my guests. Come visit me in my parlour and I will hear your requests... properly.

     Just what are our requests?

     Mulligan asks the others over Group Chat.  

     The individual items you are still looking for, of course, but do we have reason to believe this hag has them when the sister did not? 

Rowan raises his hands and shrugs at Mulligan's question. "That's what I was trying to find out. I think it called the brigganocks and korreds. Or at least signaled them. But I was really curious if the dragon heard it too. It would quite interesting to talk to a dragon."

But Rowan slips the whistle back out of sight under his tunic. He then looks at Mulligan and then at his fancy new banjo.

"The last one had your voice, right? Maybe different hags stole different things. G'reg's special hoe could be down there."

He looks back over the side, trying to see where this new hag went to.

"Guests? That's important right."

Over her mug of beer, Barria eyes the exchange over the whistle and raises an eyebrow.  "Where did you get the whistle?  Did that person not tell you what it was for?  And really? You want to converse with a dragon now, while we are in the air and can't escape if it is angry?"  She then turns to Charm, "Do you know what that whistle is for?  Why you slapped it away from him?"

She watches as the witch flies away, finding herself staring at the hoofprints before they disappear.  "Well, at least she expects requests, that might make it easier.  And why wouldn't she have the items?  Just as good of a chance she would."  Then turning to Rowan with a bit more serious look, "We were also invited Guests to the Motherhorn."

Previously at the trade desk Greg would ritually identify the monocle and offer a trade for it if indeed he believed it to be worth it. 

As the rocking horse escapes, Greg turns grim faced to the group. "Fey bullcrap, guests again, it feels more like a trap designed to make us obligated to accept manipulation, but disguised as social convention... You are right Mulligan the sister did not have the rest of the items taken, but she did have yours. Which means mine may be here and I'll be going to get it."

As the conversation turns to the whistle and the possibility of a dragon, Greg shudders a little, "do not blow that whistle unless I am already dead. Please... I do not want to be eaten by some overgrown lizard because of your curiosity"

One of Rowan's hands goes up to his chest where the whistle lies under his tunic. He thinks for a moment then shrugs.

"I've just always had it," Rowan says. "I don't remember ever not having it. My mother would get an odd look on her face if she ever saw it but she would never actually say anything about it. But since I got here, one of the korred's told me that blowing it can bring help."

After the briefest of quiet moments, Rowan smiles broadly. "Everything worked out at the Motherhorn so I'm sure it will all work out here too."

Charm glances briefly at Barria, then turns back to watching the sky.

It's a Luthmelar. A fairy whistle. Usually only kept by nobility... queens and war-princes and such. Some signal danger, some call troops to battle... some summon pets. She shrugs. But all fey hear them. Barria finds this curious, as she heard no sound at all when Rowan blew it.

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Bauble eyes Greg closely as he lingers by the counter, holding the monocle in his hand and muttering arcane words. Time goes on as Greg completes his ritual... finally slapping it back down on the counter and asking what they want for it. After all, it is indeed magical, even if only mildly useful. If Bauble was unaware of its value before, he seems to have picked up on the fact now, and asks significantly more for it than he did for the mug of beer:

The colour from your eyes. In exchange for the monocle.

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The storm-cloud balloon slowly descends until the wooden shop-gondola touches lightly down on the loamy soil. Charm indicates that they are willing to wait a short while, but otherwise will have to return to Yon before long in order to recharge the storm-cloud.

A short distance away in the clearing are three stalls. Two goblins are working in each stall, several of whom beckon to the group. The whole enterprise is watched closely by a seventh goblin who has what appears to be a giant toffee apple on his head, and who is muttering quietly to himself.

To the south of the market, a gnarled bridge formed by tangled tree roots spans a rocky, dried-up riverbed.

MAP:

It's a Luthmelar. A fairy whistle. Usually only kept by nobility... queens and war-princes and such. Some signal danger, some call troops to battle... some summon pets. She shrugs. But all fey hear them. Barria finds this curious, as she heard no sound at all when Rowan blew it.

     Overhearing this, Mulligan can't help but wonder if perhaps the flighty Elf might be best relieved of this particular possession.  Before he can make a decision, none the less act upon one, Mulligan finds himself distracted by more pressing matters - the whistle can wait.  At least for now...

___

Bauble eyes Greg closely as he lingers by the counter, holding the monocle in his hand and muttering arcane words. Time goes on as Greg completes his ritual... finally slapping it back down on the counter and asking what they want for it. After all, it is indeed magical, even if only mildly useful. If Bauble was unaware of its value before, he seems to have picked up on the fact now, and asks significantly more for it than he did for the mug of beer:

The colour from your eyes. In exchange for the monocle.

Perception: 12

     Mulligan notices g'ReG's interest and is interested himself... For a while.  Not long enough.  I mean how long does the G'nome need to fiddle around with the item before deciding if it is worthwhile or not?  Mulligan grows bored during the ritual and wanders off.

___

     Mulligan inquires with Charm if it would be possible to arrange for them to return tomorrow and pick the group up... if they find no other way to move on.  He doesn't like being trapped here with no way to return if they don't find a mirror or such similar to that they discovered in Yon.  

     After that matter is settled (successfully or not) Mulligan disembarks and settles his attention on the stalls and their curious attendants.  Mulligan would attempt to sidle closer to the seventh goblin, the one with the curious hat, and try to overhear what they are muttering to themselves before he is noticed and they stop. (Perception: 9)

"the pigment that colours my eyes or the ability to perceive colour?" Greg asks as clarification, curious to the answer.

"Just the colour of your eyes", Bauble confirms, "not your colour sight". He holds up a small marble expectantly...

The darklings don't have any eye colour themselves, just solid black orbs for eyes.

Barria nods at Rowan's explanation of the whistle, wondering what from the fight at the Motherhorn the whistle brought.  She hopes it wasn't the dragon.

She leaves the ship after Mulligan and heads to the closest stall.

Rowan frowns a little when he overhears the description of his Luthmelar. His parents weren't fairy princes or queens and he was pretty sure he wasn't either. But he'd had this whistle for as long as he could remember. 

"Maybe I'll ask Gus the next time he visits," Rowan says out loud more to himself than anyone else. "I wonder if he knows where I am now."

While Barria and Mulligan head to the market stalls, Rowan meanders over to the bridge to look at the dried up river-bed to see if there's anything interesting there.

Mulligan and Barria approach the stalls, of which there are three. Two goblins man each stall, all of whom wear grubby overalls with otherwise bare shoulders. The diminutive goblins are of a somewhat different temperament to the ones encountered in Motherhorn, and give a friendly wave to the visitors, calling and beckoning them to view their wares. They certainly seem more interested in commerce than the darklings.

Marvelous treats! One trinket each! Give yourself extraordinary powers! Each one different, each a surprise!

Each stall seems to have much the same kinds of produce: candy. The goblins claim that all their produce is hand-crafted, and on closer inspection, it isn't surprising. Beetles encased in hard candy, lollipops made from compacted ants, jellied worms... they would probably be quite tasty if they didn't look so revolting. However there is nothing to indicate what "extraordinary powers" these candies proffer.

Two windows set into the fallen oak shed light over the mini market. The windows themselves are frosted, but silhouettes can be seen within... figure moving around, busy at work... small figures, most likely more goblins, although.... there is something different about them. They don't have the hunched shambling look that goblins typically display.

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Rowan wanders over toward the riverbed, observing the bridge that seems to be made of gnarled roots from the great fallen oak, that have been twisted and arranged to form a walkway. On the other side of the river he can see a path that curves around to another bridge, which again spans the riverbed toward the base of the oak. Once out of the clearing, the surrounding trees form a heavy canopy, and Rowan gets the distinct impression of age and decay. From the stories he always pictured 'fairy-land' as being vibrant and colourful and alive, but this is different. The emotions are magnified, to be sure, but they are not emotions of wild joy... rather of nostalgia and longing, and regret for what once was... Like an autumn that refuses to turn to winter. Like a favourite toy left out in the rain.

Hey you! a voice jolts Rowan out of his thoughts. You can't go that way without an invitation!

Rowan turns to see the apple-headed goblin approaching. It mutters to itself as it draws near...

Yes I know. Let me handle this. Dont' worry, I'll be nice.

Suddenly Rowan realises that the goblin doesn't simply have a toffee apple on its head, like Burly the bugbears pumpkin-helm. The toffee apple IS the goblin's head. The rift in the flesh moves like a mouth, and two eyes peer from the sockets formed from what look like two worm-holes.

     What kind of trinket?

     What kind of powers?

     Mulligan mentally asks whichever goblin most recently called to them while simultaneously making a show of reaching into his coin purse and pulling out three copper pieces, one silver piece, a ball of lint and some dust of a indiscriminate nature.

At the ship Greg considers the offer, he is highly curious of the consequences of not having colour in his eyes at all though still being able to see. Whether he rakes the trade or not is something he decidedly keeps to himself, for now.

As the storm balloon touches down and the group disembarks, Greg tries to take in the fallen tree as much as possible, deducing where the best entrance may be, how many levels there perhaps are inside, windows, doors, balconies, any odd protrusions that may betray some kind of arcane intrument or machanism, his thoughs on Endelyn's augry.
He watches the others approach the stalls and doesn't stay too far away, listening for anything interesing that may come up.

Rowan smiles at the discovery that the pumpkin is the actual head of the goblin.

"Hi," Rowan says. "I can't say that I've met someone like you before. Pleased to meet you. Now, who has to provide the invitation?"

He looks around and then back to Pumpkin-Goblin.

"A granny riding a rocking horse did invite my friends and me to a parlour. Wherever that might be. Does that count?"

Mulligan:

One of the goblins picks up one of the coins and looks at it closely. He bangs it on the counter a few times and looks at it again. What does it do? he replies verbally.

The other goblin snatches it from him and places it back on the counter. It's called 'Mummy', idiot. Plain-folk use it for trading.

Why? If it doesn't do anyfink, what's 'mummy' good for?

You wouldn't understand. It's echo-gnome-ics, that's what it is. Then turning to Mulligan, the goblin says:

Good sir, forgive my associate here. He could benefit from an educative experience, and one of these mummies could be useful for said purpose, as well as a distraction for his curious and simple mind. If you're willing to part with it, I would be most glad to trade you one of our humble wares... 

As for the effect... consumption of said wares results in outcomes of a somewhat unpredictable nature. There are many that take delight in the novelty. That speculation is part of the sum value, if you take my meaning. But rest assured, the potency has been painstakingly calibrated to avoid any extremity of discomfort or inconvenience, usually.

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Greginald

Greginald's observation of the fallen oak is that the three smaller oaks growing from the main trunk are habitable and inhabited, judging from the fact that there are small windows and balconies carved from within. Several doors and windows are visible, but only one door from the clearing side, far to the right. Most likely the main ingress is from the left among the tangle of tree roots.

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Rowan

The goblin nods his apple-head and replies: Ah, Granny Nightshade did then. Good, good. Well we can take you to see her, when you're ready. Yes, I know he has friends too. And your friends, of course.