No One Thinks to Seek the Raison d'être...

Where have the people gone...?

The near-soulless forms of the weary workers fill the Tavern as dusk approaches. My Lady, rested, welcomes them back – bowls of stew, thick slices of coarse bread, chilled tankards of Meade.

Her finger to her lips as she motions the other adventurers to quietly move about the sleeping trio. Questioning, they eye the apparition of My Lady, who smiles. "They must have imbibed in some of Ted's new Meade."

The servers are back, along with the bartender, who cheerfully serves your drinks and anxiously watches the time. As the sun’s rays begin to darken, the crowd disperses, off to the facilities: “Bloody marvel, they is!” one searcher, Gwenth, exclaims to the next in line, who nods her head vigorously.

“Amazing contraptions! Imagine, a WC indoors!”

Quickly, wasting no time as dusk closes in, everyone locates their space, lays down and soon only rhythmic, raspy breathing, (and other, odious gases being released), fills the large Great Room.

As we near morning, spending most of the night in peaceful rest, a shimmer and the crackle of lightning vibrates, causing visible ripples in the sound-barrier, but only the sound of a blade being sharpened is heard by the few who hear anything at all.

Wik brushes off the sound, his hand rubbing at his ear as if an annoying gnat is buzzing. “I should have used the gnats,” a bodiless voice utters. Floating near the sleeping Wik, she zaps him with a light bit of frost.

“I take it I have your attention?” she mutters as he lifts his head.

The flashing sparkles that have been distracting him for the better part of the day shiver and take form. Wik’s eyes widen as he watches the three individual blobs, morphing together bearing a silhouette similar to the Lich, Cytwris, who guided him, and opened the path to, the Tavern in the first place.

Croaky, rusty sounds float to Wik. “Do you have it yet?”

Belligerently Wik snaps at the powerful Lich, "Of course not you idiot!"

Cytwris responds with a low level jolt of frosty cold, chilling Wik, “I’m in no mood for jokes Elf.” The Lich points her finger toward Wik again, and a thin ray of frost speeds toward him stopping at his nose. “Remember our agreement,” her thin voice demands before Cytwris disappears with a SNAP of electricity as the shimmer loses viscosity, returning to insubstantial silvered dust-motes floating toward the upper floor.

Wik watches her go, stretches arrogantly, moves to a leather covered bench in front of the fire and lies down.

Wik's eyes are not yet closed when he notices several small, dark forms scurrying from the cellar door. Common rats. Disease ridden, lice covered, rats! They are dashing from the cellar doorway.

Ooma and Jahlo, peaceful looks on their faces as they entertain intriguing dreams, suddenly rouse as a rat runs across Ooma's abdomen, digging its long claws into her soft leather armour, before leaping to Jahlo's chest, and continuing its headlong run off and down the hall!

Screeches and shrieks are filling the air as the rats dart over those sleeping on the low pallets in the common slumber room, rudely-awakening adventurers in a frenetic alarm that soon manifests into a screaming horror as shadows flutter from the cellar, swooping and increasing the mass panic.

Wik and Ooma recognise these winged creatures, and their high-pitched call, as bats. Harmless, except for the occasional rabid one.

Wik, Ooma and Jahlo immediately begin to attempt to dispatch these creatures, swinging axes and blades at them. Jahlo, abhorrent to killing living animals, casts a spell that calms the ones in his reach. They are not charmed, merely calmed, and continue scurrying about the formerly spotless Tavern.

The Adventurers in the Common Slumber Room are acting like frightened children, squealing and running from the winged, swooping bats and kicking at the alarmed rats.

Our focus travels to the copse, as My Lady stands in the window of the upper floor, looking down. "Lovely! Now we only have need of a Cleric; we must be sure to avoid those higher in the clergy."

Entering at different points of the coppice, almost as if on direct lines with the points of a compass, East and West, two hearty strangers face the Mysterious Tavern. Moving suspiciously, they step toward the building, each wary of the other.

They pause and hail, raising their arms in a peace gesture.

The larger Barbarian looks down at the delicate Sorceress, "Hail there! Are you too, on a journey?"

"I am, I've come to the Tavern for a meal and a rest." They proceed with small talk for a few seconds, introducing themselves.

"I am Tessalia, the Sorcerer."

"Pleased to meet such a delicate flower as you, I am Roland, the Barbarian." His broad smile eases the trepidation Tessalia has been feeling.

Suddenly the Barbarian, Roland, cants his head and moves toward the doors. "Sounds like a ruckus going on in there. Might be a good idea for you to wait out here while I check this out."

Tessalia frowns, thinking to herself, "I am a Sorceress, I can probably take care of myself better than this hulking brute!" Still, before she can say anything, Roland has pulled open the doors and entered the building, the door closing behind him leaving her to debate the acumen of remaining outside - for now.

Pre-dawn light fills the eastern facing room, as, un-noticed, an adventurer enters.

Roland sees, when he slips through the double-wide entry, black fruit-bats, swooping; diving from the vaulted beam ceiling, causing more confusion than actual damage, and rats, swarms of them, their fear evident as they race around, snarling and nipping at anything moving; like they are trying to escape a sinking ship.

To the back of the large white-plaster walled room, can be seen the kitchen entry and further along, the common slumber room. The formerly slumbering guests are hollering, dancing about; kicking at the vermin. General mayhem.

By the enormous brick fireplace, the embers burned low, a sturdy door stands open and more of the critters are erupting from there, ignoring the west half of the Tavern and running into the eastern side.

The candles in the chandelier overhead have not been lit yet, and so swing as dark, menacing shadows emulating bats. Five pillars stand, dotted about the Great Room, sturdy and round, holding up the upper floors. A few of the bats are circling the high, peaked ceiling and some of the rats scuttle up the curve of the open staircase.

The door bangs shut behind Roland and he jumps into the fray enthusiastically, swinging at the creatures, dispatching one from its head, earning a reprimand from our Druid, Jahlo, who is freakin' out with everyone slashing and killing the rats and the bats.

“Hey, ho! What’s everyone doin’! Without reason you’re killing these harmless creatures!” No one pays him any mind, and Ooma nearly knocks him down as she swings her axe mightily popping the head off another rat!

We watch as the carnage continues while, Jahlo, ducking and frowning, manages to cast his spells and gather a further number of the frightened rodents slow, calming their frenzied motions, but still run around seeking food or shelter or escape, no one is sure, and curiously, no one thinks to seek the raison d'être...

Roland, the Barbarian, spies the open cellar door with the varmints scuttling through, and leaps in an attempt to shut it. He is baffled when Wik leaps and blocks his path. The two stare frostily at each other for a moment, before bats plunge toward them. They both swing and knock a Chiroptera to the ground, breaking it's skeletal frame.

The battle persists, frustratingly, as the Heroes are bitten and scratched repeatedly. Jahlo, in his attempt to keep the creatures safe, manages to get bitten into unconsciousness.

In the meantime, the wide entry door opens and a curious sorceress enters, immediately weaving a spell as the rats surge toward her. She manages to blind a goodly number of them before the rest flee to the kitchen.

The battle wages in the kitchen and a great number of the rats and bats retreat to find the stairs and scamper away to the less inhabited upper floor.

With some mighty swings and fearful lunges, the party finally manages to dispatch the remaining rats, and bats, two of which (the bats) lay twitching on the floor until Wik, gathering them to him, spends some time in prayer and offers them, as a gift, to his Gawd.

The party assesses damage, and Jahlo, awake now, although weak, chooses to rest and allow his health to increase. The remainder of the party, in need of some mending, resignedly agree. Wik goes off and prays to his Gawd again, while the others chat with the much calmer migrant-adventurers (the ones who disappear every few days...) – eating and drinking; fortifying themselves for the journey ahead.

After an hour, to which Jahlo reports feeling better; the rest of the group has tended to their wounds and filled both their bellies, and refreshed their minds, are eager to continue this quest. Ooma and Wik have explained their reasons for being here and have ascertained that the newcomers would enjoy a good adventure and request to join them, inquiring about the quest.

Mt Lady wavers before them, praising their efforts at dispatching the rats and bats. “The ones in the upper floors will not be a bother, for now.” When asked of the quest, My Lady gets all flustered and embarrassed.

She stumbles as her words trip over themselves.

“I’ve asked these kind souls to help me find the FIRESTONE. It is the key to my release. Without it I am trapped here, as are you. I have recently found that there are scrolls that elucidate the incantation required and the ingredients needed to perform the act. And only during this past evening did the picture of the FIRESTONE appear in my mind for only a moment – it has been so long since I’ve seen it. A stone, so red and so clear, hand cut to the brilliance to rival blue-diamonds or even the richest of rubies. I am sorry, I must go... please help me. Please find the stone, and the parchments... please...”

Ooma asks if they can help dispose of the dead rats.

“No, no, that’s okay. We waste nothing here.”

A full minute goes by before Jahlo pipes up feebly, “So the mutton sandwiches I was making earlier... I don’t suppose there’s much mutton found inside the Tavern.” My Lady smiles weakly before she wisps away again.

A lengthy discussion ensures. Ignoring the dubious lineage of the meat, they gorge on the seemingly never ending food. As they talk, mulling over their choices sitting, in relative relaxation, they hear the massive growl of a large creature.

As they look toward the sound, an enormous yellow-furred dog, a large, rolling pink tongue encased with pure white canines; bearing yellow eyes that seem to pierce through your soul, appears; before they can even take a breath, the dog disappears, leaving some worried explorers with half-drawn weapons and half standing.

“What the freakin’ Sam Hill was that?!” they breathe heavily, sinking back to their seats, returning to their discussion.

Deciding to descend the cellar stairs in their search for the FIRESTONE that evening, they go to the locked cellar door. The lock is now visible and, to Wik's trained fingers, a pushover, and they soon hear the whoosh of the door opening, the dank air of the cellar rising to meet them.

Peering into the stairwell, the landing, and the turn of the wooden stairs forms a dark passage only a few feet wide. The walls are stone, and smooth.

Listening carefully before proceeding, some of the group report hearing more of those "blasted rats!" others, "the high-pitched chirrup of chiropterans."

One informs hearing, just faintly, murmurings, but cannot decipher how many persons speak or, indeed if they ARE persons.

Lighting torches from the now snapping fire, Ooma, The Dwarven Warrior Princess, takes the rear guard while Roland, the Barbarian, takes the lead. As they step down the stairs cautiously, they pause on the landing. A faint outline of a doorway becomes visible and, as they look closely, it appears to be a shop front! An Apothecary! Stepping forward, they test the door handle to find it unlocked, and it opens smoothly.

Striding inside, cautiously, the small group is stunned to observe a full-on Apothecary! All manner of ingredients and potions line the shelves, or wait, in barrels and glass containers, for dispensing into smaller vials or bottles. Skulls and crossbones sit upon most of the labels.

As the door begins to swing shut behind them, a bell tinkles alerting the store's proprietor to the newcomers. Wik, not taking chances, slides his foot into the door, keeping it open as they all turn towards the voice that presently materialises from the back room.

"Oh my, customers! Welcome welcome. It's been so very long since I've had anyone in. What can I do for you?" A broad-faced, rather squat person jovially asks as his wide body manoeuvres around the glass displays walking toward the adventurers.

The travellers take a second look, they aren't sure if this be a male or female? She has a chin with the requisite beard, but he has breasts larger than most women! At his/her comment of not having customers for awhile, the party mutters, "it's not much bloody wonder, with your shop in the basement of a Tavern!"

"The basement of a Tavern? A tavern Cellar? Are you daft? Or," as s/he peers closer at them, "have you perhaps taken too much Laudanum or Cocaine?"

Jahlo persists. "Are you telling me that your establishment is NOT in the cellar of a Tavern? I assure you it is!"

"And I assure you it's not." The person stands as tall as they are able. "How would I get any customers in the basement of a Tavern? I assure you my establishment is on the main road through the village!” s/he replies with force. “Again I must ask, what drugs have you ingested?"

"Are you telling me that if I walk out those doors right now I will find myself on the main road of a village?" Jahlo asks incredulously.

The proprietor looks at him, and the rest of the group, "Yes." He answers puzzled by their confusion. "You just entered; surely you must have seen the road, the shops on either side of it, the commons at the far end?" He peers into their faces. "I don't... can't think of how you think that isn't a road out there," he shakes his head muttering, "I mean, turn around! Look!"

A sense of apprehension grasps their hearts as they turn. "Oh crap!" Ooma expels.

"I know I sound daft, but would you indulge me a moment. May I take your hand and will you walk me outside that door?" Jahlo asks, willing to suspend his disbelief for a moment.

"If you wish." The owner is wanting these strange people out of his shop, and the sooner the better.

Wik, standing at the door comments, that, "I am in no hurry to re-enter the village. There are those that may recognise me."

Ooma suggests some hair and skin colorants, which the proprietor readily agrees s/he has.

Jahlo strikes a bargain whereby, if the owner will take him out the door, and allow them the products on consignment, he will retrieve the 'eye-of-newt' that the Pharmacist is having trouble obtaining.

With trepidation Ooma and Jahlo grasp the s/he's hand and they venture out the door. Roland and Tessalia follow hesitantly. The owner encourages them to look around, to see the front of her/his shop. They gasp.

S/he leaves them as s/he goes back inside, preparing a basket of products for them, mumbling to his/her self that, “I’ll probably never see them again, and that might be a good thing. Still, if the lad does recover some eye-of-newt, those old cronies upon the hill will stop pestering me for some! That will be worth the loss of these items! Now, what shall I place in their bundle?”

Outside on the side of the road, the adventurers see a few people, horses, and a buggy being pulled by a fancy looking black horse that was being followed by...

They grasped each other's arms in fear... What is that... that – that THING!? it appears crafted of metal! Riding along on cart-wheels with no means, they could see, of locomotion.

They step back against the building, even the Barbarian with a distrustful apprehension in his eyes. The sorceress, Tessalia observes the gleaming monster with a mix of curiosity and anxiety. Wik stares open-mouthed through the opening. Jahlo presses back against Ooma, her hands clenching his shoulders as the monster passes.

"Did you see that?" the Barbarian articulates, softly, "Those people were still – alive inside that – that machine!" He shudders.

The Alchemist hustles to the door, a small cotton sack in her/his hands. S/he passes the sack to Wik as s/he pushes him out the door, eager to have them out of his/her shop, "Have a pleasant journey." S/he sighs as the door closes, leaning against the wood-framed glass. "I will never understand some people."

Our group looks back at the much different store front than the one they walked into only moments earlier in dismay. Up and down the street, brick bottomed, wooden topped structures line the cobblestone paved carriage lane; glass fronts allowed them to view the displays, or, at least, if they'd walked along they could have perused the shops, instead, confused, and with Wik quite concerned with being recognised, they slip into the nearest alleyway, where, smelly, slimy sewage assured them of at least privacy.

Brick walls enclose the 100-foot long maybe 10-foot wide space lined with dust bins where a few sewer rats are scrabbling about the leftovers. They shudder; they had enough of rats for one day. At the far end a dog and cat chase around, and the evening sunlight glints to reveal a commons.

Our group, suddenly feels quite tired. Ooma eagerly assists the blonde-haired, Wik with the ghastly red, looking more orange, hair colour, while Wik begins to apply the skin colorant without first reading the label...

Evening is settling over the village and our travellers choose to rest in the alley for the night...

The innocuous alleyway, with nothing more than stink and oblivion to recommend it...

The sun sinks, delving the alley in blackness, as Ooma asks Wik, "So, how long before we wash this stuff off?"

0o0

water; water, everywhere and not a drop for bathing...

Fledgling Dungeon Master,

khrys...

 *~*~*~*~*