Rise of the Runelords Session 25: No Fury Like

“That is A LOT of mud,” Nevis declared, looking out over the Shimmerglens. It was a fact that couldn't really be disputed. The trackless swamp was said to lie very close to the First World. The inhabitants of Bitter Hollow had shared stories of nixies laying traps, the seduction of nymphs, and sprites stealing just about anything. It didn't sound hospitable at all, especially with winter's chill fast oncoming.

“We do have a boat,” Melissah said, plonking what looked like a plain wooden box down at the water's edge and releasing a catch. It unfolded, then unfolded some more, in a way that didn't seem quite possible. In moments, the box had turned into a sturdy rowboat with oars.

“That's going to be crowded with all of us in it,” Iozua said, giving the side of the folding boat a kick.

“I could stay behind,” Jori offered.

Nevis surveyed the swamp again. “No, I'll stay behind. This may be a hamlet, but they have a tavern. Haven't been to a decent tavern in days! Plus, I get seasick!”

“There aren't any waves, so how are you going to get seasick?” Foss asked.

“I'm a gnome,” Nevis declared, like that was any answer to the question. “No, you folks run along. Or, er, row along. However that works.”

“Don't come crying to us if we discover a lost civilization while you're getting boozed up,” Iozua said, stepping into the stern of the rowboat. Jori jumped in and sat next to him on the bench. After some struggling that ended with Melissah dumping a haunch of goat into the bottom of the boat, Pavander climbed inside and began chewing. The druid then stepped into the bow and sat down. Everyone turned to look expectantly at Foss, who sighed and picked up the oars, settling himself on the bench.

“So, where exactly are we going?” he asked, using the oars to shove the boat loose. Melissah pulled out the packet of Lamatar's love-poems.

“I don't know,” she said, “but I'm hoping Pavander can help us out.” She waved the bundle of parchment in front of the badger's nose. He looked up, snorted, and rotated in the bottom of the boat so that he was firmly facing away from the druid. “Come on, you, I feed you enough, it's time you did something useful.”

“Snorfle,” was the badger's sole opinion on the matter.

Foss sighed, reached down one-handed, and picked Pavander up by the scruff of his neck. The badger whined and scrabbled furiously. “You listen to the lady, now, or I'm throwing you in the drink. And you know I can.” After a moment's consideration and Foss's sharp motion toward the side of the boat, Pavander whuffled and stretched his nose out toward the poems, sniffing theatrically. Foss let him down and picked up the oars again. At first, Pavander seemed unsure, and Foss simply rowed down the channel steadily, leaving the edge of the marsh and crossing under the branches of twisted black trees. A cold, dark mist rose from the water, bringing with it the sound of evil murmurs and weird, dancing shadows.

“I think, more that way,” Melissah said, pointing to Pavander, who had stuck his nose over the bow, sniffing urgently. Foss corrected course, and the trees seemed to close in as they entered a narrower channel. The murmurs gave way to a faint buzzing sound, rapidly growing louder, and a bright shape emerged suddenly from the fog. It skirted around them and squeaked, “Humans!”

“Mostly,” Foss grunted.

“Hail, friend,” Melissah called to the pixie. “Approach without fear.”

“Greetings and felicitations!” the sprite shrilled. “My name is Yap! Have you come to help? Oh, I hope you've come to help!”

“Oh, I like him,” Foss said. “What help is needed, little man?”

The sprite took a very deep breath, inflating his tiny chest to a startling degree. “My mistress is ill! Very ill indeed! Oh, death instead would have been a kindness! The land sickens with her heart, and it cannot be cleansed until her misery is purged! I cannot do this myself! Please, you must help her! You are friends with her human lover, yes? He wouldn't want her left like this! I'll take you right to her, and you'll help her! I've tried everything to cure her forlorn heart, but to no avail, she wails and moans in Whitewillow, and the trees and plants and nixies and frogs and everything are dying or worse! I'll take you right now! Please!”

Iozua blinked at the torrent. “Did you . . . catch that?”

“His mistress is ill and he wants us to fix her,” Melissah summarized. Yap bounced up and down in approval. “Has the human been this way recently?” Melissah asked.

“Er, no? No! He was here, but now he . . . isn't.” The sprite brightened as an idea occurred to him. “Oh, but if you help the mistress I'm sure she'll know where he's gone!” he announced with a child's transparent guile.

Melissah smiled, glancing at Foss and Iozua. “I'm certain we'd be delighted to visit your mistress and see what we can do to help.” Iozua nodded agreeably.

“Sounds good,” Foss said.

“Oh, wonderful! ThankyouthankyouTHANKyou!” The sprite circled the rowboat. “Humans like payment, right? I don't have much but I can give you some pixie dust!” Yap dashed off, then circled back again, squeaking, and resumed an pace more suited to the rowboat's progress. Jori shook her head and leaned back.

The obvious corruption grew as they followed Yap, shadows playing tricks on the eyes. Great spiders hung from the drooping branches overhead, their webs twitching with dying birds. Slithering things with too many eyes squirted away through the murky water.

“Heyyyy, don't they say that sprites and pixies will lead you into the middle of danger and ditch you there?” Foss commented, looking around.

“The only thing I know is that you shouldn't eat or drink anything they offer you,” Jori said.

Melissah shrugged. “A pixie might lead you into danger accidentally from not understanding what would be dangerous to you, but they likely wouldn't do it out of malice.” She gave a brief chuckle. “Although, when your bones are lying at the bottom of the swamp, the difference between malice and mischief can be hard to discern.” Jori almost sprained an eyebrow. “Yap isn't likely to remember that we can't just fly away, for instance. Well, I say we, I really mean you. Don't worry, if you die I can always bring you back as a goblin or a squirrel or something. You won't even notice the difference.”

In the bottom of the boat, Pavander let loose an approving evil snorfle.

“I'm sure I'll be fine,” Foss said. “I mean, I have no skill at surviving the swamp. And this plate armor will be extremely useful. What could go wrong?”

From the stern, Iozua offered the world's most sarcastic thumbs-up.

“Does my spirit have to agree to become a goblin or a squirrel?” Foss asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, good, 'cause I'm pretty sure it'll be too busy making your life miserable.”

Melissah laughed outright. Iozua chuckled. “The real question should be, can goblins or squirrels surf?” he asked. The sound of his voice faded quickly, leaving a deadly silence. Ghostly, translucent forms emerged from the fog—spectral satyrs, ghostly grigs, phantom nixies, and shadowy sprites floated gently from the swamp, followed by a parade of phantom animals. The fey cavorted and frolicked as they passed, eventually washing over the rowboat and its occupants. Everyone winced and recoiled from the terrible, burning chill.

“We're here!” Yap shrilled from the shore. Foss heaved at the oars and the boat slid up onto the bank, everyone scrambling out almost before it had stopped moving. The swamp gave way to a large clearing surrounded by willow trees that were now drooping and twisted with decay. Yap hugged a tree at the edge of the clearing, cowering. “My lady waits for you within. I dare not go any closer . . .”

“Why . . . why dare you not, Yap?” Iozua asked.

“You'll see.”

The trees shook as they stepped into the clearing, and a foul wind arose. A pale form rushed at them, raising skeletal hands. The rotting wreck of a nymph stood before them, bloodless flesh hanging from blackened bones. The sight assaulted them, an obliterating agony.

“YOU LET THEM TAKE HIM!!” she howled. Iozua hunched, rubbing at his eyes.

“You have mistaken us for someone else!” the wizard yelled back.

The nymph hissed. “WHY have you come to Myriana's court, mortals?”

“We freed Fort Rannick from the Kreeg, and now we seek to discover Lamatar's fate and aid him if he is in distress,” Melissah said formally, her voice quavering.

“They took him. I couldn't save him. I know in my heart that he is now dead, but when I try to reincarnate him foul magic prevents his soul from entering his new body.”

“No body, no death,” Iozua said, facing the wrong direction. “Those are the rules.”

“NO!” the nypmh roared. “Were he still alive, he surely would have returned to my side by now!”

Melissah could see the wizard chewing the inside of his cheek, struggling to control himself. Jori huddled, blinded by the nymph's aura. Foss seemed at a loss for words. “The Kreeg do not easily let their prisoners go, lady. Tell us where they took him, so we can recover him.”

Myriana's rage subsided a bit. “Their lair is high upon Hook Mountain. Their blundering trail will be easy to follow, and your masked friend can follow my beloved's scent, as he has led you to me.” She reached out toward Melissah, who tried not to flinch away. “Child of nature, find his remains and return them to me. I do not need his entire body. A lock of hair, a finger bone will do.”

Pavander snorted, shoving his face against Melissah's leg, startling her into activity. “N-never fear, lady. We will accomplish this task.”

“All's well, then, yes?” Foss said, grabbing the druid's arm and backing toward the boat. He reached out to gather Iozua and Jori as well. “We're going to help you out, and you are going to get prettied up for the return of your love. We're all on the same side.”

“Good. Return my commander to my heart.”

“See you soon, Lady.”

The nymph sank into the ground, and the faint light of the sun reappeared, restoring some warmth to the clearing.

“I can't see a thing,” Jori said. “Is anyone else blind?”

“Yes'm,” Iozua said.

“Anyone else?”

“Not I,” said Foss. “And it looks like Melissah is all right, too.”

Melissah took a deep breath. “If Pavander starts trying to steer you around, whatever you do, don't follow him.” She reached out and gripped Iozua's hand, although for whose comfort it wasn't immediately clear. “This blindness will not pass on its own; it will require magic to remove.”

“Oh,” Iozua said. “Oh, good. And . . . we can do that, right?”

“I can,” Jori said. “Only, you know, tomorrow.” She shook her head. “Note to self: when we come back here, don't look at her.”

“Really?” Iozua snapped. “My note was a bit broader: maybe don't come back.”

“Until then, we make do,” Foss said. “The boat's here, climb in.”

Yap reappeared, babbling excitedly, and led the way back out of the swamp, presenting them with a small bag of pixie dust. They collected a happily drunk Nevis and returned to Fort Rannick well after dark. Jakardros was waiting for them and helped open the gates.

“Hook Mountain?” he said when they explained what happened while digging in to bowls of stew, everyone helping the still-blind Iozua and Jori. “That sounds bad. It's not a difficult climb, but it will be cold with the snow coming on. That, and the ogres, of course.”

“Why would the ogres bother with that swamp? Does anyone else feel like they were targeting Lamatar specifically?” Foss asked.

“They would have known from Kaven that he'd be out there on his 'nature walk', so probably,” Jori said.

“We need to talk to Kaven to confirm that, then. And why would it matter, anyhow? They wanted the fort, right? They didn't need to go after Lamatar to get that.”

“He could rally support to take it back,” Iozua said.

“Or Lucrecia, or this 'Mokmurian', might have had some other reason, too,” Jori said.

“That's what I was thinking,” said Foss. “They need him specifically for something. Or want him, at least.” He finished his stew and went down to the dungeons to talk to Kaven, returning after only a very short time. “He says that somebody up the mountain had plans for Lamatar.”

“It sounds like he might be alive, then,” Melissah said. “I could try to scry him.”

“Depends on how long they needed him for, I guess,” Foss said. “It wouldn't hurt to try?”

“Oh, you know about scrying?” Iozua demanded, grinning.

“Of course,” Foss said with great confidence. “Doesn't everyone?”

“Sure, sure,” the wizard allowed, chuckling.

All plans had to be set aside in the morning, though, as a hammering at the gates before dawn brought everyone awake to see a hunter from Turtleback Ferry sitting on top of an exhausted draft horse. “Anyone there?!” he shouted. “The Ferry is flooded! We need help!”