Zorg's Lost Souls III

Barria chuckles as she watches Mulligan attempt to communicate with the goblins.  She then notices Rowan talking to a strange looking one and heads over in his direction.  "Why hello.  Yes, Rowan has friends and we are here!  Where is Granny Nightshade located?"

Rowan, is it? the goblin says after hearing the name from Barria. And who might you be? Yes, I was getting to that. You can call me Chucklehead. Granny greets her guests in the parlor. We can take you there. Yes, I know there are others. When you are all ready, we will escort you.

The goblin continues to talk to itself in an undertone, as he waits for the rest of the group to conclude their business in the market. When all who are coming are ready, Chucklehead leads the way across the tree-root bridge, along a short path beside the riverbed, and then across another tree-root bridge into the base of the fallen oak.

A small chamber is nestled between walls of knotted roots, through gaps in which the surrounding, eerily beautiful woodland can be seen. In the center of the room are four armchairs encircling a small table laid out for a tea service. On the far side of the chamber stands a closed wooden door, beyond which can be heard the sounds of several soft, high-pitched voices. The door is flanked by two long side-tables. In front of one, in the corner of the room, is a colourfully-painted wooden box, three feet square, with a crank protruding from one side.

Please make yourself comfortable, says Chucklehead, gesturing toward the chairs. Granny will join you shortly...

     Three for three?  A variety for a variety?

     Mulligan, smiling a bit from the amusement of the goblin's discussion about currency and economics, offers mentally.  He slides three coins forward, two silver and one copper.

     Since I do not know what your wares do I think I may be needing more than one.

     If they are willing to go for it, he easily makes the trade, but he is willing to settle on the one for one only if they insist.  He will trade up to five coins for five of their wares, if they are interested in so many, looking to do his best to ensure the trade includes a mix of silver and copper.

     Once the trading is done Mulligan sets the treats aside in his pockets hoping that g'ReG can look them over and perhaps explain what each does before anything too interesting happens.  Mulligan will also do his best to explain how money, or "mummy" as some call it, is a tool of imagination magic.  

     Each piece is exactly as valuable as you can convince the next person that it is.  To the right person, and with a bit of coaxing and persuasion, each coin can be worth a meal or a horse or a large tract of land.  It all depends on how persuasive you can be and how well you can ignite the imagination of the other.

     He'll discuss mummy and echognomecks more, if they wish, but once he sees the others gathering to move on Mulligan will make his apologies and rush off to join them.

     Once settled with the others in the small chamber, Mulligan indeed inquires with g'ReG if he can identify the favors he traded for...

Rowan looks at Chucklehead and nods.

"Is there someone we can't see that you're talking to? Or are you talking to yourself?" Rowan asks. "I do that sometimes. Well, more like I rehearse possible conversations that might come up sometime. I don't know what it's like here, but where I'm from people really like it if you answer right away. But I don't always have an answer ready. So, I keep a few extra conversations floating around in my head, just in case. But I've never had this one where I ask someone if they're talking to someone I can't see."

Rowan
Maggot, replies Chucklehead to Rowan, once he can get an opening to answer. In my head. It's eating my head from the inside I think. But that's okay. The goblin shrugs. At least I always have company.

Mulligan
The smarter of the two goblins eyes Mulligan warily, but grudgingly accepts the offer of three coins for three treats. Mulligan gets the sense that the goblins attach the same value to three or even five coins as they do to one, but seem curious about the description of 'imagination magic', and are willing to provide the two extra treats for the chance to investigate this further.

Mulligan leaves the two goblins deep in concentration over the three coins, and then joins the others. He shows the treats to Greginald, but the gnome barely has time to examine them before their hostess arrives...

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ALL
The chairs are tattered but very comfortable. The tea smells inviting, but the cups are filthy, and there are no spoons... only old chicken bones. The painted box in the corner rattles briefly just once, but otherwise only the clinks and taps and soft voices from the room beyond break the calm, or contrast with the soothing heavy stillness of the surrounding forest.

Presently, the voices from beyond go silent, and after a moment the door creaks open, and the old woman seen earlier on the flying rocking horse appears. She looks in every way like a tottering old grandmother, except that her petticoats are stained, her shawl is grimy, and her skin... it looks like gnarled bark, except that cracked white face paint plasters her features, with crimson splotches on her cheeks and thick mascara coating her sparse eyelashes. And then there's the giant iron key protruding from her back... it ticks rhythmically as it rotates slowly.

Before the door closes behind her, the group catch a glimpse of the room beyond, illuminated with flickering lanterns. Several tables dominate the center of the room, and seated or standing at the tables are several young children: two pale-skinned humans (one boy, one girl), a dark-skinned elf-child (sex unknown), and a female halfling girl. Parts of toys are heaped on the tables: leering doll's heads, half-built rocking horses, unpainted wooden balls, and the stuffed limbs of soft toys. None of the children glance up while the door is ajar, the low voices do not resume after it closes, and only the heavy smell of oil remains.

Welcome dearies, croons the old woman in a voice like crunching leaves, as she pours the tea into the cups. Sit down, let's have some tea. Tell old Granny Nightshade what it is she can do for you. Her tone is kindly and carries no hint of acknowledgement of the previous airborne encounter.

     The children.  Tell us about those children we just saw at the tables in the other room.  Why are they here?  Where are their parents?  Have they had a nutritious breakfast today?

     Mulligan asks, his concern and anger not coming through his plain, flat mental speech.  His angry and concerned he is.  He does not like the fact that there are children wrapped up in this nonsense and what he had been viewing as an almost whimsical adventure is suddenly seeming more real and concerning now that he's glimpsed the children.

Rowan frowns for a moment as he's really not sure what Nightshade can do for them. Maybe he'll just ask about the hoe and the recipe to see if she has them, but he's never seen either and couldn't describe them if he wanted to. But, the children well, he can at least check on them.

While Mulligan sends his questions to Granny N, Rowan gets up and heads to the door, opening it to look back inside at the children.

He waves to them and says "Hi. I'm Rowan. What are you all doing? Making toys? Is this your grandmother? Is that why she's called granny?"

Granny Nightshade’s smile never falters, though the ticking of the key in her back seems to slow down. My, my, she chuckles softly, looking over her shoulder as Rowan opens the door. Such curious guests. Her voice remains gentle, but something firmer settles beneath the words. Now, now, dearie, she says, wagging one finger toward Rowan. Guests remain in the parlour. With a flick of her wrist, the door is wrenched from Rowan's hand and slams shut, obscuring the children and workshop from view before they have a chance to answer the inquisitive elf.

Lifting her tea cup to her mouth, Granny Nightshade continues: To answer your question, she says glancing at Mulligan, those are my little helpers. Poor things came to me quite lost. Unappreciated. Her bark-like fingers drum lightly on the cups. So I give them purpose. A trade. Toys bring joy to the world, after all. Idle hands are terrible for children, you see. And I assure you they are well fed and well cared for.

Skabatha places her cup back on the table, and looks at everyone in turn, but settling on Greginald.

But you didn’t come here to discuss my household. What is it you’ve lost?

Rowan snatches his fingers from the door frame before the door slams shut. He taps the door a couple of times, then turns back to the room. He's still pretty sure he hasn't lost anything so leaves it to the others to let Granny N know about those things.

Instead, he wanders over to the painted box in the corner and taps on the lid, seeing if that will make it rattle again.

"Is anyone in there?" Rowan whispers to the box.

Barria takes out a clean rag from her pack and wipes down her tea cup, then gladly fills it from the teapot - the scent of it stopping any other thoughts for a moment.  She sips as she watches Rowan attempt to chat with the children and then walk over to the box.  "Rowan, we are her guests, please sit down while we chat with her." she says gently, and then turns her attention to G'reg as well, waiting to see the reaction on the hoe.

She thinks about the children as she waits, wondering how long they have been here and how this hag acquired them.  Were they lost from the carnival too?  What a dreadful thought.  How those poor parents must be constantly searching!

Greg rolls his eyes at the visage of the granny, a horrific toy theme, how unnecessary. He turns his nose up at the tea, instead levelling his gaze at her and her pointed question. He sighs, before beginning. "I'm getting real sick of this god's damned fey wild, I have a good basis for the assumption that you have something of mine, my hoe, it was never bartered for or bequeathed to you, it was stolen. 

Now, I'm going to get that back, and you get to decide how that happens, are you going to deny and lie about it ending us in a fight? Are you going to offer us a fair trade and we all leave here without learning anymore about your twisted shenanigans?

Or would you like to simply return the stolen how and avoid any unnecessary unpleasantness?" He places a book upon the table, the life in writing of one Endelyn Moon grave, a book he has studied and a life he has ended, punctuating the possible 'unpleasantnesses'

Rowan

There is no further rattling from the box, and Rowan's curiosity compels him to open the lid... it is empty inside, but smells slightly... pungent? alkaline?

Barria

The tea tastes lovely and soothing, and is clearly made from fresh herbs that Barria has never encountered before. It puts her at ease, and her hostess rewards her politeness with a nod and a smile. (If there was in fact anything lacing the tea, Barria wouldn't know... her resistance is far too strong for such things.)

ALL

Granny Nightshade listens to the gnome without interruption, her crooked smile fixed in place. The key in her back turns a little faster as Greginald speaks, not faltering in the least as he places the book on the table... which she barely glances at.

A dry chuckle escapes her throat. Well now, she murmurs, pushing the book aside as though it were a recipe she had already read. Poor Endelyn. Always so certain she knew how every story would end. But her foresight gave her undue confidence, blinding her to the traitor in her household.

She sighs before continuing: But if you’re hoping that frightens me, dearie, you misunderstand the family business. Sisters quarrel. Sisters compete. And sometimes sisters lose.

Her smile widens slightly. You've been used. But in truth, you may have done me a kindness. Fewer hands reaching for the prize.

The key turns faster still, and the hag reaches one arm back at an anatomically impossible angle to give it a quick wind. You didn't do it for me though, so let us speak of your hoe, and what it's worth. She places her tea cup on the table and folds her hands in her lap.

Yes, I have it. A lovely tool, especially with my little modifications. Has done wonders for my garden. And it did not come to me by theft, no matter what stories you tell yourself. You entered the Witchlight Carnival without paying your proper toll, did you not? The hoe was both payment and penalty, and the Carnival passed it to me as part of an arrangement of our own. If you don't like it, take it up with them.

She places on hand over her heart... if she even has one. Now, I could keep it. I rather like it where it is. But since you have come all this way, and since you asked sooo nicely, I am willing to bargain. There are three things I want enough to relinquish my lovely little hoe.

One: There is a troublesome creature wandering my forest. Calls himself Will of the Feywild. A slippery little thing. Bring him to me.

Two: Bring me word of a servant who has gone missing. An ogre mage named Mugan. Find him, and tell me where he hides.

The hag leans forward and her voice lowers. And if hunting people is not to your taste, there is always rarer currency. Her bark-like fingers drum lightly on the table.

Three: the horn of a unicorn. For this prize I will give you the hoe and more besides. In fact, just such a creature resides nearby, and drinks from the Wayward Pool. Bring me its horn, and you will be rewarded... and forgiven for your slip in manners.

She leans back in her chair, fingertips pressed together, smiling and waiting.

Greg furrows his brow. "I don't like you. I offer you this truth in earnest... You say we have been used but then counter to use us yourself, these creatures I assume have done you some kind of wrong? Or more likely they simply want to be left alone outside of your torturous games. Hm? I have a counter offer. You deal in and revel in the taste of regret, is that true? However bitter that seems to me I had more issue with Endelyn taking and bastardising peoples hopes and desires, more issue too with your remaining sister Bavlorna, she deals in manipulating those who come to her with urgent pleas, a wicked exploitation if I do say do myself.

Regardless of how you think you have claim to my hoe, if you give me my hoe now and we leave unhindered, I will remove the last hand reaching for your 'prize', how does that sound?" Greg's furrowed brow raises as he speaks, a twisted smile of encouragement replacing it instead.

No, regret doesn't trouble YOU, doesn't it, G'Reginald G'Nome? Skabatha croons sympatheticly. You abandoned your family heritage to chase grand wizardry, and never looked back. The hoe was the last tether to that old life, and you were glad to be rid of it. And yet... here you are, crossing the Feywild for the very tool you so callously discarded long ago. A strange kind of attachment... No regrets, hmmm? Her raised and heavily painted eyebrow lingers for a few moments before she continues.

So, to answer your question... will I give you my hoe now in exchange for your vague promise to destroy my sister? I think not. And besides, would eliminating Bavlorna really eliminate the last hand reaching for the prize? What of yourself? The hag stares deep into Greginald's beady eyes. Yes, I see your mind. "G'Reginald, master of Iggwilv's Cauldron". No power is ever enough for a wizard, is it?

Skabatha sits back again, returning to the smiling, smirking posture of waiting and watching. So what is it to be, G'Reginald G'Nome? With one hand you reach forward... for power. With the other you reach backward... for something once lost and forgotten, recently remembered, and now desperately sought for. To see one tear themselves in two... tsk tsk!

G'Reg scowls once more as the accusations start flowing, but as skabatha mentions her prize that scowl cracks into a smile. "Ah! The fabled cauldron, I should have guessed... You're quick to throw words around in your own defence but things like that don't really land when you're so far off the mark" his demeanour relaxes, as though enjoying the foibles of the hag, "me? Take the cauldron, no... What the hells would I want that for? I crave knowledge, not power, I wish to be wise not a leader who can bend others to their will. Abandonment is also very rich. I still live with my parents and have pursued a different career, I'd hardly call that abandonment when there is another to take the mantle of the families heritage, not like.. I don't know, reveling in a siblings death... But that's besides the point, you are unwilling to relinquish my hoe, which was taken from me unwillingly and as a punishment not stated, unless, of course we complete your little tasks. Why? because you want just a little more power to help you gain your prize, and because you see me as a threat!"

At this point the gnome can't help but chuckle as he looks around the group incredulously, "anyone else seeing the irony here, the projecting! Ha!

Not to mention the massive gaping flaw in your plan here, If my assumed ambitions are concerning to you, then would you be so careless as to let me leave with the hoe and my life after these tasks are done. Would I not then be a bigger threat, knowing what I know and on my way to speak to your dear remaining sister. Well then, one could very well assume that I join forces with her, help her receive the cauldron in your stead and gain a great boon that way, the mind boggles at the possibilities I would have before me." Carefully, Greg lays out the concerns and pitfalls of skabatha's plan, knowing the kind of dangerous game he is playing he can't help but enjoy the thrill of waiting the hag, though his hand instinctively feels for his tome at his side just in case.

     Mulligan pays no attention at all to the cups and utensils on offer, slightly bothered by their dubious presence he tries to ignore them entirely.  Still, he's taken aback when Barria so blithely partakes and he worries for her health... but she seems none the worse off.  He himself is still not tempted, however.

     Mulligan does his best to follow the exchange between the hag and G'ReGoRY but is a bit distracted by how abrupt, direct and hostile the gnome is.  Has he always been such?  Or did it just seem more amusing when they first met and has grown more obvious since?  Mulligan spent more time thinking on this than he should have, perhaps, for he feels his missed something in the conversation.  Still, when the hag mentioned fewer hands reaching for the prize, Mulligan couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

     And what prize would that be?

     He asks the hag telepathically, not bothering to share over Group Chat unless she actually provides an answer...

     When the hag talks of being willing to bargain and listing her three things (You need one in exchange, or all? he asks) Mulligan decides to take a risk and open his mind to hers...  effectively casting Detect Thoughts upon her.  ((Will settle for surface thoughts at first, will decide to probe deeper or not after that?))

Mulligan

 Greginald

 ALL

Skabatha' key turns slower and slower, almost coming to a stop as Greginald carries on. The hag's gaze snaps to Mulligan, and then she stands. Well, this has been illuminating, she says with a sigh, and then turns away from everyone else and smiles directly at Barria.

You, dear, have been a delightful guest. I do so hate to see you go. Then with a gesture at the 'boys' she adds: But I'm afraid your companions are immune to good manners. And since I cannot have rude little burglars wandering my woods unsupervised, I'll need you to go as their chaperone.

She lifts one crooked finger.

Tea time is over.

Skabatha claps her hands.

The parlour vanishes.

The four travellers find themselves standing (or still sitting, but the chairs have been replaced with stumps or fallen logs) in the middle of a forest. There is no sign of the hag's abode, the goblin market, the storm-cloud balloon, or anything else, but otherwise the forest seems to be the same forest. The trees are ancient and moss-covered, but somehow the rot and decay are much lessened here than around Loomlurch. 

Something flaps on a nearby tree. A piece of parchment nailed to the trunk. A wanted poster. From somewhere not far away, singing can be heard... happy, cheerful singing.

Greg sighs at the abrupt ejection, but his attention is locked onto Mulligan. "Mulligan!? I don't say this as an accusation, but what just happened? Why was she more angry at you than she was at me?"

Rowan looks around at the sudden change of setting and has to practice some slow breathing to keep his emotions from bubbling over.

"She wasn't very nice, was she?" Rowan muses. Then he goes over to read the wanted sign.

"Could we just find her garden and take your hoe back?" he asks G'Reg. "Then we don't have to go through all the other bad things she wants."

He finishes reading the sign then takes a breath.

"I think we should find this person, the ogre and the unicorn and make sure they're okay. We could get them out of here," Rowan says then he smiles and claps his hands together. "Another rescue mission."

     Mulligan blinks several times in response to the quick change of scenery before turning his head towards g'ReG.  Mulligan blinks again trying to comprehend the sudden change and the words the g'NoMe is directing at home.  After a short time he responds.  To G'rEg.

G'Reg (and DM)

        After a moment, when Mulligan is done sending a thought to the G'nomE, he blinks again, gives a vague shrug, and idly eats once of the candies without even thinking about what he is doing.