# Crimson Menagerie



## Aristoi (Aug 21, 2005)

Opening Act

~A day, or night, like any other~ he considered as he lay, seemingly asleep, motionless except for faint breathing as his body did it's work. He lay where he had been tossed, the bruises and cuts of the combat mending as his supernatural constitution worked its magic knitting him whole once again. Oh certainly he'd have scars, he had plently already, they would add to his personal trophies. 

He'd been dragged back here, feigning unconsciousness (not really hard when you've just barely survived personal combat with an ogre) and after a brief visit from the Healer, thrown to the cell floor. 

His cell, like the others in their quad, was exactly large enough to survive in. Two paces on a side with an open front that opened out onto the viewing area where Bloodtwist and those he wished to impress could view his "collection". 

"Hmp," he snorted near-silently to himself, a "menagerie" would be more accurate. Nearly forty-score creatures were held in similar enclosures here in the mountain beneath Shiftspire, on the side of one of the volcanos of the Thaymount plateau. It was common knowledge none of the zulkir would allow him to have his Spire anywhere near the rest of "Thay Proper" and yet, one could see several cities and towns from the upper chambers, he was sure. 

It was typical of human arrogance to assume superiority over anyone or anything else that wasn't themselves. True, Bloodtwist's Slavers had managed to capture him when he was much younger. But they paid for it dearly, he had killed three of them before them managed to enspell him and take him down. The branding had ensured docility while they beat him near to death for his strength and then praised themselves for his capture. 

His contempt for them made his lips twitch as only the discipline of his will help them relaxed.

It had taken the placing of the ring in his nose-bone to quell his murderous gaze though, his spirit had never been crushed. The Githyanki had not been able to do it, the denizens of two Realms had not been able to do it, even Time had not been able to slay his people; who was he to be less? Even in the filth of his own unwashed body and the enclosure in which he and his wastes were confined, still he resisted with the last shred of his being. 

His large pointed ears twitched slightly, as if in the sleep he pretended to lay in, listening to the others that shared the quad. Movement from across from him, and the slightly larger enclosure, indicated Kilmore was awake after his own struggles. Shuffling steps immediately following bringing a reluctant body into the quad said that S'lanneneth had returned and the smell on the air, of blood, sweat and other things told that he had just been returned from the Master. He'd be covered in small wounds, bites and scratches, his shapeshifting body struggling to undo the damage of whatever Bloodtwist had done prior to, during and following. 

For the thousandth time he thanked the Powers of Balance he was too ugly for any of the Handlers of for Bloodtwist to find him 'interesting' that way. Too bad for Adama too. He started to sit up to see the damage and to offer what condolences he could when he heard more steps and recognized the pattern. 

Their Handlers.


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## Aristoi (Aug 21, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 1*

S'lanneneth dragged his feet, resisting the enchantments that held all of them fast in obedience and allowed them to do whatever they wanted. He sighed slightly, not even able to sigh heavily for the enchantment kept him from being disrespectful even by himself. 

His body hurt, oh how it hurt. As it had hurt hundreds of times prior and would hurt every time following until their Master tired of him. His voice, his forms, his skills had kept him from that fate already for he was such a weak creature, the Pits had proven no entertainment at all. Certainly not for him and definitely not for Bloodtwist and his guests. 

He stumbled slightly as he entered the quad, feeling weakness tugging at him, He needed to eat and even "The Sludge" was better than nothing and would nourish him, if not pleasantly. ~It is almost time~ he thought, knowing how his body reacted and what it's little twinges said to him. He'd been here all of his life and known nothing else, though he had heard or and sensed the thoughts of others who had seen and felt "grass" and "wind". Here is the dim corridors and hateful enclosures, he had never seen "outside" even once. 

Maybe, just maybe if the Master had been pleased this time, there might be a treat in his trough. He nearly tumbled through the opening of his enclosure, returning as he had been ordered. The compulsions kept him from disobeying and he always knew, intuitively, how to get back to the smelly den that was where he spent most of his time. He collapsed a moment after he bent to make it inside, falling to his knees at the trough, waiting. A moment later the trough filled with a thin gruel, gray and tasteless. Except for the roaches in it, which the Master had added as a reward for his performance this time. Eagerly he started to scoop up the wriggling crunchies, sucking down the tangy bitterness of their insides as the shells crunched between his sharp teeth. In his fervor to eat as much as he could and get the treats down his infernal nature began to assert itself and the features of the think elvish boy darkened and flowed, his bat-wings emerging from the flesh of his scarred back, his horns emerging through the skin of his scalp, his hair whitening from the roots and losing their curl. 

Until he heard the coarse laughter and the footsteps.

He froze and turned like lightning, back pressed against the trough and his tail whpping around his legs defensively, his body flashing back to the vulnerable boy-shape he wore most of the time. 

Thuzzar and his cronies were coming down the corridor. 

That meant one of two things and the Master couldn't want him now, so soon after his efforts. He looked at the wall to his right sympathetically, knowing Adama had heard and knowing what was coming. If he had been free to he would have wept for his fellow victim and instead swallowed hard, fighting the bile that rose in his throat. 

Just within sight of his opening a peg hung the remains of a shredded and tattered purple tabard; that of a Squire-Knight of Cormyr. It was much covered in stains of blood and other less savory things. It had been torn, rent, clawed and nigh-shredded and yet one could just make out the dragon-rampant. 

Movement at the corridor caught his attention and his eyes fixed on it, like a prey-animal sensing a predator and freezing, trapped.


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## Aristoi (Aug 21, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 1*

Kilmor sat where he had sat for the last day. He had been placed against three ogres and had won, killing the others. But it had come at a cost. They'd been armed and he had not. They had managed to tag him a few times before they fell. 

He smiled and flicked his ears slightly. He didn't need weapons with his huge hands and the training he had; his discipline. The ring in his nose itched and he shook his head slightly, his scraped down horns scudding along the ceiling of his enclosure noisily and making his skull ache lightly. 

He looked across the quad and stared at the form of Elim, lying on the floor stretched out and yet slightly curled in on himself, sleeping. 

Or so it seemed. 

His senses were still sharp, having been brought here only a few years before and he had learned that there was nothing here that was what it seemed. And some things were all to real. 

He watched the small-one stumble in after enduring yet more tortures from the Master, either having been in the Chambers of the Master or the Torturers below, he could not tell easily. He was damaged and there was blood yet it merely seemed to cross old wounds gained in previous years.

Rage simmered deep in his large heart. How they would all pay...


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## Aristoi (Aug 21, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 1*

Adama moved through the postures of war, practicing with an imaginary sword only he could see, his awkward legs bent to give him space and to keep them strong. This work kept him focussed, kept him strong, it gave him purpose so one day- oh yes, one day....

Dimly he was aware that S'lanneneth had returned, hours after he had left and several cycles through the battle practice Adama had run through. He was wounded, as he had been expected to be and on some dim level Adama felt for him. But the rest of his mind, that which raged and screamed in madness and fury, remained desperately focussed on his posture and balance and the imaginary longsword in his hand. 

The one his father had given him. The one the mage had broken when... when... 

He stopped, his mind blanking in the grips of a terrible rage, a gibbering madness that had nearly broken him entirely and had made his mind retreat to a safe place. Oh he obeyed the enchantments on him, he followed the orders and he did as he was expected and he even fought when ordered but he never forgot and never gave up. 

He could not forget. He wasn't allowed to.

Without being aware he had done so, he found he had turned and was staring at the tabard hanging upon the peg outside his tiny prison. His eyes saw it as he stared blankly, remembering when he had gotten it, the pride his parents and siblings had. He himself had been near to bursting with it and yet, he had scampered off to attend the banquet in the honor of the Squires. 

Dimly, he remembered the Court and the Plots and those who he had been brought into the confidences of. And of their mistake in believing he would support a plot against the Queen. 

Their vengeance against him was not so clear, only awakening under the hand of the Slavers and finding his body a parody of his former self. What had been done, how it had been done; he couldn't even guess. But it had been powerful magics indeed to wreak such a change on him. 

He had been lost in his reverie for a moment, just a monent only, when he heard the coarse laughter and the steps of the Handlers. And in a moment he felt the enchantments take over, sinking to a kneeling position, a position of supplication, of vulnerability. 

His world shrank away as his mind shut down, screaming.


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## Aristoi (Aug 21, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 1*

Thuzzar, Donnil and Gurnar strode down the corridor laughing, discussing the sport they were about to have. The Gnolls laughter, a hyena's counterpointing cries, echoed through the long corridor as the token-stone the Master had given him led them to their intended quarry. It had been such a pleasure for the Master to give Adama to him, such a spirit to break. He'd been a Squire-Knight once before, so serving others had been trained into him. One would think he would come to do his duty with more grace. 

Perhaps it was his new body that betrayed him. He was no longer a man, though male certainly. Thuzzar had asked and been denied several times, the permission to truly break the beast that was now Adama. Surely, like other animals, the spirit would be broken when the rut was taken from him?

But then, the game still had not ended and Adama remained yet alive. And so, the sport would continue. 

They strode into the quad as if they owned it, the faint screams and uncertain rumblings of the other inmates within the Crimson Menagerie giving a brooding background to the two men and the Gnoll as they strode in. 

Thuzzar wore his leather armor, stained dark in the blood of hundreds of slayings. His magic hand-axe and the short-sword 'Striker' rode on either hip. His cloak and tabard were stained with food and wine, snot and spittle for like the beasts he watched he was not one to be clean. 

Though for himself it was more of choice than they who were imprisoned here. 

Donnil, the man-at-arms who strode next to him, was never without his armor and weapons. He carried his longsword, a trophy taken from a man he had murdered long ago, the chainmail and shield also taken from those he had murdered. His sword and armor were magic and his shield was well-made though unlike Thuzzar, his had no names of their own. Secretly he covetted the short-sword though he felt it was too small and even in his hands, for he was a short human, it would keep his stature low. 

In truth, he was rather conscious of his stature and lack of strength. 

Gurnar strode behind them, the least-senior of them and the weakest in a fight. He had proven to be clever though and had won a she-Gnoll earlier than most, defeating his chieftain through guile and craft. 

In short, he had poisoned him and issued challenge while he was weakened.

He had claimed everything his chieftain had and then in the night had fled to this region. Unfortunately, his pack had followed and chased his to the Spire where he had been discovered by Thuzzar. There had been some intial... 'unpleasantness'... before Thuzzar would take him in but becoming a member of this small pack brought him security. 

And sport. 

As they rounded the corner and came into the quad, their eyes all few on Adama who was already assuming "the position". Gurnar started to laugh, licking his snout obscenely before a sound brought him up short- it sounded like thunder. 

They all looked up at the ceiling, a tiny amount of dust shifted down between the stones. They were hundreds of feet below the surface and the tower proper. What was going on up there? 

Nobody noticed that the sounds in the Menagerie had ceased and dead silence reined.


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## Aristoi (Aug 21, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 1*

Adama looked up at the sound, feeling something strange wash over him. Or rather, he felt like a heavy weight had been lifted. 

**********

S'lanneneth crouched and began to hum to himself quietly, understanding immediately that something strange had happened to the magic binding them. He assumed he had been released to heal himself and did so, humming the music necessary to summon up the life-giving positive energy. 

********** 

Elim coiled upon himself like a serpent and sat up silently, his body bonelessly slithering upright, a soft blue aura appearing at his skin and slowly pushing off from him as his natural psychic protections activated. 

**********

Kilmor watched Elim and smiled to himself, his eyes turning from sloe brown to reddish orange in anger. His mind felt itself become free and he began to focus himself, pulling at the weak magical energy he could tap to protect himself. Something had definitely happened and he intended to die fighting or escape. 

**********

Adama leapt from a kneeling position and rammed his head into Thuzzar's face, breaking his nose and spurting his blood all over the place as his horns and fortified forehead did their work. He stomped with one foot onto the ranger's booted foot and reached with his right hand, snatching the sheathed shortsword from where it rode. In a moment he was armed and though without armor, he had his rage to fuel him. 

His fantasy for years had at least come true- he was free to act against his tormentor and was armed. Vengeance was nigh!


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## Aristoi (Aug 21, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 1*

Donnil realized something was amiss as he heard Thuzzar react to the attack from Adama and yet, he was uanble to move. Things were happening too fast, they were under attack by the beasts. And that meant-

**********

Elim crept around the corner of his enclosure and stepped up to Donni, snatching the crossbow from where it hung on his belt and leaping away to try to fire at the heavily armed human. He was fast, so much moreso than the weakling human and yet, his senses had been dulled in this place. He failed to detect the catch on the trigger that prevented accidental injury. 

**********

Adama moved, screaming an echoing stuttered cry of rage, his tongue sticking out of his split-lipped mouth as he reared back and gave voice to his madness. With blind fury he stepped to Thuzzar and stabbed at his face and torso, slashing left and right, adding his maddened strength behind his slashes and licking the blood off of his face as it splashed there. 

**********

Kilmor stepped behind the Gnoll, for once allowed to stand upright, the horned giant towered over the Gnoll who had not yet been able to react to the changing situation. He lashed out with a blurring flurry of fists and landed several telling strikes, smashing into the hyena-creature with all of his strength. 

Blood flew from the Gnoll's broken muzzle as Kilmor's last strike backhanded him off-balance.


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## Aristoi (Aug 21, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 1*

Elim danced back from Donni and tried to fire the corssbow, the telling 'click' of the safety sounding loud to him. Donni, on the other hand, had heard it over the din and turned to attack. The slashing attacks with his sword found not a scratch on the humanoid, for his psychic defenses had done as they should and turned aside the swinging steel. 

**********

S'lanneneth cast another spell, seeing the combat happening outside fo his safe little hole. He dared to hope in a bare moment and cast to bring to himself the dagger riding on Thuzzar's belt. He missed, seeing the weak magic grasp at the belt itself but having not the strength to be effective. He looked for straps, for anything he might be able to undo or make mischief with and despite the surfiet of them, realized nothing he could do that way would be of any consequence. 

Frustrated he considered what else he might do with the little magic at his disposal. 

**********

Thuzzar, finally freed of the shock that had kept him immobile as Adama bleated and slashed at him, snatched up his own hand-axe and took it against the beast-boy. He hacked and hacked again, miraculously only striking once though it was a telling blow. He felt the blood splashing him from the Gnoll who's shocked cries were even now echoing down the corridor. 

**********

Donni was occupied with Elim but turned and hacked at the giant bull standing within reach, taking a tiny clip and making a slash in the creatures flank. It was desperate fight now but he knew that some of these creatures weren't as impressive as they seemed. He was better than that dog Gurnar and he'd not be smashed flat.


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## Aristoi (Aug 21, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 1*

Ignoring the scratch for now, he still marked the human and kept a wary eye on the sword. Still, the Gnoll was standing which was in itself rather remarkable. 

He had to do something about that. 

Against he launched into a blinding series of blows, dropping the Gnoll with the first and aborting the second to step up to Donni and level an amazing punch against his shield. The *spang* from the impact was loud and momentarily paused the others.

***********

The loud impact from the shield staggered Donni and gave Elim the opening he needed, now that he ahd figured out that clever catch on the crossbow's stock. With a flick of his thumb and a quick movement he shot the human, burying a crossbow quarrel into his shoulder at a point between sheets of chainmail. 

He smiled with satisfaction as the human cried out, though the sight of the fight between Adama and Thuzzar caught his attention. 

Adama was in danger. 
**********

Adama made several passes at Thuzzar even as the human ranger slashed at him, taking his own toll in blood. The human was armored and wore a buckler and with his free hand he used it well enough. 

But Adama, cursed with a shape not his own, had new strength as well. Summoning up a fierce series of blows he slashed and slashed, spilling Thuzzar's guts onto the stones before stepping over the body and hacking at the man's face, as if to erase him completely from reality where he could not from his own memory. 

Even S'lanneneth saw the pure madness in his eyes then and dared not move, though he began to hum anyway, a romping song he had picked from one of the minion's mind years before.


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## Aristoi (Aug 21, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 1*

Kilmor and Elim heard the humming song not consciously but their limbs felt renewed and their hearts gladdened, though they knew not why. Elim drew up and turned his head to that his white pupiless eyes stared straight into Donni's, speaking with his most horrible voice. He towered over the human of already short stature, his otherworldly countenance lending a fiendish quality to him that would cause even a knight's legs to turn to jelly. 

"You are meat." 

**********

Donni heard the words and finally understood, seeking Gurnar lying beside him unmoving and Thuzzar being hacked apart by the crazed curse-boy, he knew he had a slim chance. 

He turned and dashed for the corridor and the possible-freedom beyond, dodging past Elim who in turn seemed willing to allow him to go and seemingly past Kilmor who seemed to be turning to slowly to catch him.

At least, until he felt the hands close around his shoulders from behind. 

********** 

Kilmor reached out and grabbed the little human in the glittery metal armor even as he tried to dart away, closing both massive hands on his little shoulders and pulling him tightly against his chest. Donnil uttered a panicked cry of fright that ended in a gurgle as Kilmor began to crush the life from him. 

A moment later the big bull turned away from the others so they would not have to see, as with a sound of much cracking wood and spatterings of wetness Donni's arms and legs began to flail wildly around the body of the horned giant and fluids rained upon the thirsty stones at his feet. 

A moment passed and a sodden mass of red gore and shiny metal dropped, the human who had worn the armor was now packed with it, crushed into paste. His sword and shield, though both spattered, lay as mute testament to their usefulness against their opponent. Kilmor turned, covered in gore from chin to groin, his long fur plastered to him in obscene testament to his skills. 

**********

The four turned and stared at one another, at that moment free and facing creatures from each other's nightmares. And to a certain extent, each was armed and at least partially covered in gore.

<ends this Act>


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## Aristoi (Aug 22, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 2*

"My name is Elim," he said as he nodded, a type of formal bow. He held the crossbow ready, reloaded already, the case of bolts hanging on a belt at his side. Like the rest he was naked and had been for some time, modesty had been burned away a long time ago. 

He took stock of his companions. 

Adama stood across from him, breathing heavily, dripping with gore. His shortsword gleaming dully, the runes glowing with soft blue light and sizzling faintly as the blood dried and began to flake off. The ruin of Thuzzar lay behind him, barely recognizable. 

He stood nearly as tall as Elim himself, though he was more muscled and covered in a coat of wiry fur turning from russet-red on top to darker black-brown on haunches and legs to his cloven hooves. His upper body was well-developed, despite his incarcertaion, because of his endless hours of practice. 

In most ways he seemed a man, except for the coat of fur, the cloven hooves and the decidedly inhuman head. His goat-eyes, backward curling horns and the nose and mouth that somewhat merged into a corvid-like face. To those who knew, he was Ibixian. To those that did not, he would be a 'monster'. 

Kilmor stood closest to him, also much spattered, the tall bull-like being seemingly like a Minotaur though with subtle differences. A gleam of sharp intellect came from his brown eyes and his face had the more-forward facing eyes of a predator rather than those of cattle. His horns, now much-ground down from the small space he had been kept it, had once spanned a width slightl wider than his shoulders, which were of themselves massive. At full height he stood fully nine feet tall and weighed more than the three others here, his rippling muscles and powerful hands a testament to that. 

And anyone who thought him a minotaur deserved what the got, for those they resembled one another, the Yak-folk were far more. 

S'lanneneth crouched in his little hole, still too timid to emerge. He had snatched up Thuzzar's dagger at some point and held it low and to the side, shielding it from easy view, but Elim had seen and understood. He might look like a defenseless elf-child but Elim had seen both his true form and knew he was more skilled than he had been permitted to display before. 

His voice could be sweet, he knew that and they all knew to what uses the Master had put the shapechanger, especially in his own quest to understand the inherent magic of such creatures. And yet, he had not discovered what it was that gave them that power. 

Thankfully. 

Still, S'lanneneth was a useful sort, his mind full of all sorts of tidbits that could prove helpful at any point. 

"We should leave," he added, hoping to prompt more from the others. He knew they were all, including himself, in some level of shock. But from the sounds of weapon's combat in the corridors and the roaring and calls of the inmates, a pitched battle would be in progress. Escaping was going to be 'diffcult' at the least. And as if to puntuate his words, a dull rumbling from above, a vibration and more sifting dust from the ceiling pulled all their gazes upward. "Whatever that is doesn't sound healthy for us. It sounds as if Bloodtwist is having a party and the guests were insulted."


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## Aristoi (Aug 22, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 2*

"You cou-ou-ould be right," Adama stuttered out. He blinked in what appeared to be frustration and shook it off, his nostrils flaring. "I am Adama, of Cormyr. Where are you from?" 

"Pandemonium," Elim replied simply. It wasn't where he was most-recently from but it was where he had been born. "'A different Realm from Toril." 

"You are of the Githyanki?" S'lanneneth asked curiously, timidly from where he crouched. 

Elim turned and his eyes became cold white slits, making the other crouch away with a whimper. "You do not know enough not to offer insult knowingly, changeling; I will not slay you for that. I am not a G'thyanki," he pronounced it in the ancient form, "I am G'th-zerai." 

"Hey!" Adama called, stepping between them and protecting the shrinking S'lanneneth. A huge mistake should the other choose to press an issue, though of them Elim thought Kilmor far more likely to attack, considering his people's philosophies. "I don't care wha-a-at you are," he told Elim sharply, holding his weapon firmly but keepiing in a non-threatening position, "but it's true we must esca-a-ape. We must rely on one another to get out of here. From there on, we may part company. Agreed?" he asked, turning to all three of them were in his field of vision and were addressed equally. 

Elim saw it for what it was and technically agreed with it, the ploy was good to escape and there would be great strength in such an alliance. He would even allow Adama to lead them for he himself had no such charisma. 

He readied himself to attack the Yak, should he prove a dissenter. 

"Agreed," came the surprising rumble from the massive bovinoid. "It is a good idea. I will follow for now. I am called Kilmor." 

"A-agreed," S'lanneneth spoke up and emerged from his hole a little more, standing upright slowly, as if unused to it. "I am S'lanneneth but you can call me S'lann. I am unsure what I am." 

"You are Fey'ri," Elim replied, having recognized the rare breed years ago. "The offspring of a demon and an elf, though I believe the breeding of a Drow and a lower demon, if I have it arights." 

"I was wondering," S'lann murmured, thoughfully. "I was often brought into the presence of Drow visitors and commanded to take Drow shape and wear huge chains and a collar. That shape always felt more comfortable for some reason.." he paused, looking down at himself. 

"Elim," Adama asked, gesturing to the crossbow, "you appear skilled in tha-a-at weapon?" 

"It is not my weapon of choice but I understand it's use," Elim replied and a wrinkle of his eyebrows. "A bow in my hands is a far more-worthy tool and there are wonders I may create." 

"Good enough," Adama replied and turned to Kilmor, "you seem very well-equipped with your hands. Are you trained in that method of fighting?" 

"You ask if I am a warrior or an ascetic?" Kilmor asked rhetorically before smiling and showing his even herbivorous teeth, "I have studies ascetic philosophies and am most comfortable with these," he held up his hands, "or a staff of the appropriate size." 

"Good," Adama nodded, "there is no a-a-armor that will fit you anyway and you seem very quick to be so large." 

"It is part of the training," Kilmor replied with a slight bow of thanks for the compliment. 

"Do you require armor Elim?" he turned back to the Githzerai.

"Nay Adama," he replied, careful to use their names as well. There was a reinforcement to recognizing and using names. It helped commit you to freedom when for so long you have been "beast" or "slave". "I am well-enough protected by my own speed and natural defenses. It seems that there is only two sets of armor anyway and considering the two of you, S'lann and you would be the best-suited to it." 

"A-a-agreed," Adama replied quietly. "We shall divide their belongings equally. Clothing?" He asked the others, raising an eyebrow in question. 

"Something," Elim replied, gesturing down which was somewhere they all had avoided looking at on each other. 

"Anything," S'lann said at nearly the same time. The both locked eyes and grinned, blushing at their sudden discomfort. It felt good to be able to feel discomfort about something so inconsequential.


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## Aristoi (Aug 22, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 2*

In the end Thuzzar's cloth-clout, carefully turned inside out because of what he found in it, girded Elim's loins. Until he could bathe properly, he wished to have a covering that was at least slightly cleaner than he was. Kilmor remained simply furred, though with a bit of wine he found in a flask he cleaned most of the gore from his fur and rid himself of embarrassing definition. 

S'lann wore the studded leather Thuzzar had worn and had taken the buckler and hand-axe, flipping the weapon with a skill that made Elim slightly wary. He was sure he could put a shaft in his head before the axe found him but he prayed silently to the Balance that all things would remain equal for now. 

Adama wore the chain mail, carried the shortsword and longsword and the chainmail Donnil had worn. Much of the gore had been removed but there was still a great deal, though Adama did not allow it to impede him a whit. He had managed, in the confusion of plundering the bodies and guarding the passage, to draw upon the Wyld and tap into the life-giving energy it held for him. some of his remaining wounds had scabbed, bruises had faded. He was not ready to share this secret with the others yet; it was too important. 

Immediately from their passage the corridor crossed, leading them choices both right and left. The external passage had changed as well, being only two paces wide before the rumbling began, they found that it was now more than four and was very high as well. 

Once again the Shiftspire had changed and yet, this seemed different. 

"Which way is out?" Adama asked, whispering but loud enough o be heard over the screams. 

"I will search a way," S'lann volunteered and in his dark armor, his skin darkened to blend into the shadows better. He crept off, his feet making nary a sounds, except perhaps to Elim's wide and sensitive ears. He crept to the end of the corridor on the left and returned, reporting a long corridor with three separate fighting groups of minions and monsters. Then he searched ot the right and found a group of minions fighting a fiendish wyvern, a great foe in any case. 

"Clearly we must choose a lesser foe and yet there is no clear option," S'lann said shrugging his shoulders as he became the elf-boy again. 

"The wyvern seems the best option to me," he replied with a shrug of his own, "I cannot think that the minions battling it will last very long. We must be very careful though," he added cautiously. 

"Agreed," Kilmor responded and Elim nodded. 

"Where are we going though?" Elim asked, looking from Adama to S'lann to Kilmor. "If we go 'up' we're going into 'that'," with a nod indicating another unable which produced more shivering and sifting. "I am unsure that that is wehre we want to go. Aside from that, is that also not logically where all the rest will be heading? Therefore," he flicked out a long claw-tipped finger, "will there not be far more difficulty for us to escape and far greater chance of recapture?"

"What a-a-are you suggesting?" Adama asked. 

"We know that below us are the Pits and the Chambers of Blood," Elim replied drily, knowing they all remembered their own stints in such places. "We also know the oubliettes are there as well. I believe that there is a way out." 

"Any place that does not require me to swim through bodily wastes will be all right," Adama said firmly. 

"We may have no choice Adama," Elim replied, staring at the other levelly. "I have no wish to have to fight through hundred of creatures and men-at-arms and wizards to reach freedom either. Expediency may be required." 

Adama sighed heavily and asked the one question Elim didn't have a logical answer to, "How do we find it? The Spire has changed again and the Maze has reset." He looked from Elim's shrug to the Yak-folk. "Its rumored that Minotaurs can always find their way through any maze. Can you?" 

"I am not a Minotaur," Kilmor replied with dignity. 

"So what are you?" Adama asked, curiosity catching him for the moment. "Do you have any skills that could help us?" 

"Not unless we had a Minion Handler present," Elim interjected with a snort. 

"Wha-a-at does he mean Kilmor?" Adama asked, his tone warning Elim he wanted the answer from the bovian. 

"My people have an ability to take over the bodies of some creatures and ride in them, directing their actions and calling upon their memories and skills while retaining our own." He shrugged and gave Elim's smirk a quelling glare, "It is not quick and if the host body is killed, so I would be too. That is why a giant or some other very durable body would be my choice." 

"Do not e-e-ever do something like tha-a-at in my presence," Adama told him, the note of command in his voice. It was a serious warning and one that Elim understood, if he personally thought it was a bit short-sighted. It would be perpetrating the same sort of subjugation on a victim that they had endured and anathema to the ex-Cormyrian. "E-e-ever. I mean it." 

Kilmor simply nodded and made a gesture of acquiesence. 

Elim shrugged and said, "So we still don't know which way to go or not to go." 

"I- I think," S'lann offered oddly, his eyes distant as if he were seeing something they could not, "'down' is 'that' way." He pointed in the direction of the wyvern's battle, which had raged unabated during their hushed coversation. 

"How can you know that?" Elim asked suspiciously. 

"This rune-stone," he touched the one he had taken from around Thuuzar's neck. "'It seems to tell me which direction, which path, to take to reach a specific place or person."


----------



## Aristoi (Aug 22, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 2*

"Hmp," Elim muttered, "Human-magic. We'll be walking into a trap, I'm sure of it." 

"You have something a-a-against Humans Elim?" Adama asked, a little dangerously. 

"Humans did this to us after all Adama," he gestured to the goat-man next to him.  "I'll bet it was a Human that cursed you wasn't it?" 

"But it wasn't all Humans who did this," Adama replied, ignoring the taunt about his own current status. It was the last thing he needed to dwell on at the moment.  

"It was all the humans I've ever known," Elim replied sternly. not allowing himself to be swayed. "Show me other Humans who can overcome my distrust of them and I will change my mind. So far I have," he made a gesture back to the corpses behind them, "these shining examples."

"They don't represent us a-a-all," Adama responded passionately, but underscoring the irony of his own statement. His spirit might have been human but his body no longer was. It had betrayed him as a reminder. 

"I will agree when I see different Adama," Elim repried cooly and then nodded in respect to the other, "you, at least, have acted with honor as long as I have known you. But in truth, I cannot tell if it is truly the Human spirit or the Ibixian nature causing this. I will bide and see and that is all the compromise I am willing to make for now." 

"It will have to be enough," S'lann interjected firmly, bringing surprised looks from the other three. "We have a job to do and a course to steer. Distractions such as these beggar us to death with enemies on all sides. We have only us right now and it is upon us we must depend."

"The child ha-a-as a point," Adama sighed with a slight grin. 

Elim found himself also smiling at the spunk the young changeling had summoned up. It was clear from his trembling he was frightened of their reactions but he had spoken from this heart and it had been sound. He clapped the younger being on the shoulder and stepped away, creeping silently to the corner to look at the battle with the wyvern. Things had strangely become less-loud quite suddenly. 

And he saw why. 

The wyvern was swallowing one of his adversaries, the other three having been rent or skewered, their bloated corpses looking drowned from the poison pumped into them. Once down the wyvern turned and snuffed the air, turning towards Elim who sucked back around the corner clutching at his chest in fright and then, unseen, back the other direction towards the sounds of more battle. 
Elim turned back just in time to see the gross 'reptilian chicken' head off in the other direction towards the sounds of more battle and meat. ~Apparently~ he reasoned ~the smell of carrion was less-attractive than the smell of fresh meat still kicking~ Silently he motioned to those behind to follow and holding the crossbow before him, slipped silently down the corridor towards the bodies. 

First on the scene, he gave a quick inspection and headed further down, giving the next junction a quick look and hoping where they were going was left, for the wyvern was disappearing down to the right. What infernal creature would have been convinced to mate with a she-wyvern and produce that, he could not imagine, but surely it had been the most-depraved that had.

"The armor is useless," Adama called quietly from where he knelt amongst the bodies. "The weapons appear whole and perhaps useful." 

"Take their pouches and small easily transported valuables," Elim called back carefully, "we must travel light. Is there a bow and quiver I missed?" 

"Na-a-ay," Adama called back as S'lann and Kilmor gathered up whatever looked light and useful, dropping them in sacks they carried. "I am ill-pleased looting the dead," Adama muttered to no one in particular.

"It is better we do this now Adama," S'lann advised him, busily stuffing a semi-clean tunic and a small package of ration into the sack he carried, "than starve later. Can we count on aid outside from the other Thayvians?" 

"Nay," Adama replied grimly, a cloud of anger passing his eyes, "we can not." 

"Then let us be away quickly," Kilmor responded, hoisting S'lann's sack as well as his own, freeing the small-one to use his weapons if needed. 

"Which way?" Elim asked as they approached behind him, glancing at S'lann. At his direction and the same far-off look and stroke on the amulet, they headed left, which caused Elim no little flush of relief.

And the path before them, through which they made with all due speed, seemed a straight shot. 

At least, until they found the Demon.


----------



## Aristoi (Aug 22, 2005)

"Help us! Help!" They heard a cry and failed to recognize the voice, which could be either good or bad. "Someone, anyone- help us!" 

There was the sound of a great strike and the cry of a woman, and off went Adama, charging around the corner. "Damned goat!" Elim cursed and with a head motion, gestured for the other two to follow. 

And even as he charged the corner he held up, skidding to halt as he recognized what was blocking the corridor. 

~A Zovvuk~ 

~Dear Powers, a ZOVVUK!~

And Adama had charged right in. 

Ugh! The Man-Goat would get him killed yet!
"You! Gith! I think you can use this better'n I," one of those that had already been fighting it called, even as it turned and slashed open the chest of a Lizardman Warrior that was battling it with them. The cast was poor, the weapon thrown was not the least aerodynamic and it fell short. But the recurved longbow with the gleaming elf-hair string and the worked black-hide of the quiver with two-score arrows in it drew his attention like nothing else. 

Elim tossed the crossbow to S'lann and dove for the bow and arrows, rolling and coming to his feet kneeling with two arrows nocked and ready. 

S'lann, seeing what the others were fighting and knowing his poor magics would do nothing, instead began to sing his wordless song of encouragment. He knew it wouldn't help much but it would gladden their hearts and lend strength and at the moment, it was all he had to give. With a steady hand he fired the bolt loaded in the crossbow Elim had tossed him, the quarrel glancing off the demon's thick hide. 

Adama charged in, head lowered, bleating a warcry as he swung his longsword. The strike bounced off of the raised talons of the horrid beast as it casually swatted the sword aside. 

With terrible ease it stabbed with it's other clawed hand and punctured the mail-chested woman standing to the side, shield and sword raised. She had silvery-feathered wings and long blonde hair, the symbol of Ilmater on her brow in glowing crimson. She gasped, blood gurgling from her mouth as the other hand joined the first, tearing through her breastplate like paper and with a heave he rent her in two!

Her sword, gleaming with holy power, clove to the horrid beast even as he ended her life, the stinking flesh separating where the blade bit deep leaving black smoke where the flesh and blood boiled away. Lifeless fingers dropped the hissing blade even as it was drawn from the wound, only to fall near the feet of Adama. 

The remaining warrior, the only one surviving, was dressed in banded mail, carried a scimitar and like Adama had cloven hooves. But though he also had horns, the Satyr looked more Man that the former Cormyrian. Near his feet, his pipes lay shattered. 

And with his own roar he swung at the demon, slashing at him once, twice, leaving thin lines of black ichor dripping down it's chest. 

And then the Zovvuk did a curious thing. It turned and stepped to one side so that blocked the other passage, bending down. A third eye opened in the middle of it's forehead and a withering ray of crimson lashed out, lighting up the passage nearest it. 

From the Satyr came a surprised cry and he felt back, staggering, resisting the effect. Elim saw the manoeuver and remembered what was about to happen, his cry of warning coming too late for others even as he averted his gaze. The crimson light washed over him and he resisted it, his natural resistance to magic keeping him safe this time.  

Meanwhile the goat-man had jumped into the ray in an attempt to shield his allies from the attack, whatever it was. He didn't have the defenses Elim did and could not know. 

With a surprised bleat a wisp of something like smoke was torn from his eyes and nose, fluttering across the space into the eye of the Zovvuk and causing the worst of his wounds to heal over justa  bit. Adama staggered as the necromantic flare subsided, the third crimson eye closing for the nonce, a trace of his vitality ripped from him. 

His nose pale and his eyes whitened slightly, Adama raised his head partially stunned by what had just occurred. 

"Damn you!" Elim cried and fired from his kneeling position, two arrows shrieking past Adama to slam into the upper chest of the Zovvuk even as the third, a seemingly wild shot, bounced off of the ceiling and slammed into it's forehead and putting out the now-closed evil eye. 

The Zovvuk screamed in rage and pain, more black ichor squirting from the shaft puncturing it's skull. 

And Adama, not to be outdone, charged into the horrid demon even as Kilmor, forgotten by the others tackled the creature. Both of them, the Yak-folk and the Zovvuk, were of the same size and struggled mightily against one another's strength. With a mighty heave and a roar Kilmor picked up the great demon and threw it down, pinning it under his immense strength. 

"KILL IT! KILL IT NOW!!" Kilmor shouted over the roaring of the demon even as the vile creature heaved and clawed trying to gain it's freedom. Muscles bunched and sinews strained, one supernatural creature again one demonic. 

"We'll hit you!" Elim cried even as he took a bead, knowing he wouldn't but Adama and the Satyr likely didn't have his skill. 

"IT MATTERS NOT! KILL IT NOW 'ERE IT GAINS ITS FREEDOM!!" Kilmor roared as he exerted his ultimate strength, doing nothing but binding the evil creature and holding it to the ground. 

Adama hesitated in his attack, afraid he might strike his large ally even as Elim struck, placing three more shafts into clear spots in the thrashing demon and forcing more cries of pain and rage from it. "Strike now then, don't make this sacrifice be in vain!" 

The Satyr wove in, taking several stabs at the creature, attacking with precision even as Adama waded in, managing to strike the enemy and avoid his compatriot. 

The demon retaliated by making a supreme effort and standing, however he was unable to remove the Yak-folk that hung on it like a child. It swung one way and another, bashing the bovoid against one wall and then another trying to dislodge him, succeeding in only hitting itself. 

Elim fired another volley, hunting for good spots and striking with inhuman accuracy, firing around his friends and Kilmor and drawing fresh blood. 

"For Cormy-y-yr!"Adama shouted as he struck the telling blow, cleaving the great demon's skull twain and causing it to explode into a steaming stinking cloud of black mist. Kilmor collapsed to the floor, his arms suddenly empty, arrows clattering with him when the creature disappeared.

They stood all stood panting, the last notes of S'lann's song dying away, slumping with exhaustion as it's strengthening effects faded. 

"I need a drink," Elim muttered, sitting down heavily. 

**We both do** came the voice. 

He looked up alarmed and saw nobody else seemed to have heard. With dread his eyes fell to the bow laying across his lap, ~Oh gods and Powers, please...~ 

**Well who else d'you THINK it was, you simpleton?**  

~Did I just trade one form of-?~ he started to ask, directing his thoughts at the weapon. 

**'slavery for another? If you like... though I tend to consider it a partnership. You need a fine bow and I need a wielder and we seem to see things similarly** the edgy male voice replied. 

~Can we discuss this later?~ Elim replied, levering himself upright but not letting go of the weapon, intelligent or not. 

**Surely** came the whispered reply. 

"Where now?" Adama asked, standing over the rent body of the Aasimar Paladin, holding her sword thoughtfully. It held power, even Elim sensed it from this distance but he couldn't tell what kind. It bore a strange mark of trinity on it but he couldn't make out the eidolons. 

"We must away," S'lann told them. "Gather what we can and continue," he paused and touched the stone around his neck, "that way." He pointed down the way they had been heading. He glanced over at Elim curiously, an eyebrow quirked. "We're you talking to yourself?" 

Elim gave him a dangerous look, forcing the other to scurry away. 
"I am Yolen of Cormanthor," the Satyr introduced himself, shaking hands with Adama and nodding to Kilmor, Elim and S'lann. "I would aid you as you have aided me. I sense that we will have greater success together than apart." 

Adama looked at the others and seeing no apparent objection he nodded wearily. "I am somehow diminished. I am not sure how much further I can go." 

"The Healer is in the Pits?" he turned to look at S'lann, who understood instantly what he was asking. He touched the stone and got that faraway look for a moment before nodding confidently. "Then she can tend to our wounds." 

"I can help with some of that," Yolen offered, singing an oddly yodelling song with a syncopantic melody, moving from one to the other and healing them of their lightest wounds. 

"And we have these," S'lann offered one potion to each of the most-wounded from the pack he had collected. "These are the Healer's potions, carried by the minions who have perished. Kilmor and I have confirmed them of healing." 

A few moments and the mint-dusk tasting fluids had been drunk, vitality returning and fatigue banished, though for Adama he was still weakened. "We must go."


----------



## Aristoi (Aug 24, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 3*

Act 3



   The Great Stair opened before them, a shaft at least a hundred feet in diameter and stretching below them into darkness and above them into darkness. The immediate area was lit, marginally, from dim sphere of magic floating near the walls and the wide winding staircase that wound around the circumference. Every fifty feet or so a landing appeared with four passages opening from it radially. Normally, the magical lights were quite bright and, if not cheerful, at least provided excellent illumination for humans.



   However, to each side of their passage, the landing had sheared away leaving a huge gaping space with at least a fifty-foot drop to the next level below. Even as Elim and Adama stepped to the edge to look over, a silver dragon wyrmling shot past, forcing them to stumble back. The serpent flew straight up as if pursued by the demons of hell. 



   And then they saw it was. A Balor and a Beholder followed, the Eye-tyrant fired at the dragonling and the Balor, giving the impression that they were fleeing it. Whatever the case, none of them wanted to be spotted by any of those creatures. 



   “Wha-a-at now?” Adama asked, turning to Elim, Kilmor and S’lann. 



   “Rope?” Elim asked and the other two indicated none. He sighed heavily and shook his head and then grinned, “Time for trust. Hold hands with me,” he offered his hands to S’lann and Adama.



   “Why?” Adama asked hesitantly. 



   “There is a life between us Cormyrian,” Elim replied amused, cracking a ghastly smile full of sharp teeth. “I won’t let you fall. Either you trust me or you don’t. Surprise me; don’t be a Human hypocrite.” 



   Adama looked like he wanted to smack the Gith for what he said but after a moment he sighed, letting it go. Elim grinned in response and made a point of holding his hand out for Adama to take it. S’lann already grasped his other long-fingered claw-tipped hand loosely. Kilmore took S’lann’s other hand as he secured his sacks, to make sure that they didn’t lose what little they had claimed. 



“Shut your eyes, hold on hard and step with me. On one- three!” he took a step forward bringing them to the edge, “two-!” he leapt and jerked S’lann and Adama with him, their weight catching Kilmor off-balance and dragging him with them. 


  “Bastaaa-aaaa-aaaaaarrrrrrd!” Adama screamed as they fell, plunging into the darkness. He seemed to be laughing, even as they plunged, like Elim his eyes wide open and laughing madly.


----------



## Aristoi (Aug 24, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 3*

The floor rushed up, becoming visible a mere moment before they would hit- splat and smear of blood and bone on the cold grimy stone. Elim brought his waiting will to bear, activating the minimal manifestation all of his people had. With a flash of blue light that expanded in a ring around them, pushing dust and wind away with a brief puff of displaced air, their plummet slowed and all four came to rest lightly, if unsteadily, to their feet. 

The clop of Yolen's hooves followed softly as he touched down a moment later, safe and unharmed. 

"Safe and sound," Elim smirked at Adama and S'lann who appeared to have turned a slightly green color. He was pretty sure it had nothing to do with his shapechanging powers, which made him grin. "See, no harm?"

"'Safe', with you?" Adama asked, steadying himself while S'lann bent and kissed the ground they stood on. "Hardly." 

"You wound me goat-boy," Elim replied with heavy sarcasm but he grinned anyway, ears twitching. 

"Next time," S'lann murmured to Kilmor, "I fly myself." 

"But that would mean looking like something other than the 'innocent little elf-boy'," he grinned at S'lann's discomfort. 

"Elim."

"I was just teasing him Adama," Elim protested childishly, grinning like a fiend. 

"Shall we continue?" Adama asked, inspecting the lowest level of the Menagerie proper. Before them, vast corridors led to the underground coliseum of the Pits, just visible beyond. "Is she home?" he asked, looking at S'lann who was already invoking the rune stone. 

"No," he replied, looking slightly confused. "I think she's in the stands."


----------



## Aristoi (Aug 24, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 3*

It took a few moment to negotiate the corridors and gain the stands and still longer to actually find the Healer where she crouched in the shadow of a balustrade as if waiting in the sun. "Well," she told them as they popped up, "it took you long enough." 

"Did I miss something? Kilmor asked, looking at the others. 

"Always dear," she replied not-quite acidly. "You," she pointed at Adama, "have had your vitality attacked and damaged. You are also slightly mad, aren't you?" without waiting for an answer she turned and looked at the others, "The rest of you are not in the best shape. I will Heal you but I want something in return." 

"What?" Adama asked flatly. She did, after all, work for Bloodtwist. In some fashion she almost assuredly had to be as bad as he was. He figured he wasn't going to like this at all. 

"'Take me with you," she demanded quietly. "I am a Daughter of Kossuth and the Eternal Flame gutters here, the embers of my soul are being smothered in this deep place." She gestured helplessly, her rigid control almost slipping, ineffable grief almost bursting out. "I long to see the sun." 

"So." Elim wasn't terribly sympathetic but he understood the Children of Kossuth, the Fire of Struggle. He understood they respected strength and that winning meant everything but that didn't mean he had to like it; especially when it was applied to him without his consent. "Agreed," he offered, looking at S'lann, Kilmor, Adama and Yolen, each in turn. 

One by one he elicited nods and he turned back to her, "You can come." He held up an arrow, point up to emphasize his words, "But at the merest hint of betrayal, I will put this through your eye." 

"Understood," she smirked her reply, contemptuous of his threat. "Come. We need to get to the infirmary." And with no more ado she rose and led them, regally one might have said, to her domain. 

Fortunately the Pits were deserted as even the attendants had fled. Flesh blood decorated the stones out in the arena and chunks of what appeared to be raw meat. Elim looked at it hungrily for a moment and wiped at his mouth where he had started to drool. His people were omnivorous but he craved meat like very little else. Especially after nearly thirty years of being here and eating the Sludge, he barely remembered what it tasted like. Nevertheless, his body hungered for it. 

In short order they had entered the Healer domain, the Infirmary, with it's sparkling clean treatment area and warm little stove which never cast any smoke. Upon some shelves near at hand were salves and pots, small ceramic bottles like the ones they carried and poultices for festering wounds. S'lann started to reach for them and she stopped him, shaking her head. 

"What you need is far more serious than what those are capable of," she said softly and gestured to a small but heavy stone door off of her herbal work-area. The smell of herbs and distillations and pure water was both distracting and pleasant and managed to banish the stench of the charnel pits and the rotting mess in the corridors and arena outside. She strode to the small door and laid her hand on it, whispering something and then waited a moment, her hand still pressed. 

A moment later the entire slab of stone turned molten, the effect spreading from her hand outward, receding back into the wall as if it had evaporated. 

"Nice trick!" S'lann breathed.

"Kossuth is generous," she replied absently and walked into a far larger room that the door led one to believe existed. Floor to ceiling racks held potions, pots, unguents and jars some transparent but most opaque. On a peg by the door she took down a shoulder bag decorated with designs of burning flames, similar to the tiny pendant of what appeared to be a live flame she wore around her neck. Into this sack she placed nearly half the contents of the room, murmuring what sounded like the names of each as she placed them inside. 

A few moments and she was done, turning with small potion vials and handing one to each of the others and held two in reserve as she turned to Adama. "You are broken," she said, almost as if she were invoking something. With care she handed him a tiny vial filled with a glowing white liquid, "Be mended."

Looking at it curiously, he quirked an eyebrow at her. She failed to respond and remained standing, looking at him expectantly. A pause, a shrug and he popped the tiny cork and swigged the contents. For a moment he looked pole-axed, cross-eyed as whatever was in the potion went to work on him before he shivered all over and staggered slightly, his pupils becoming pinpricks. "Whoa," he murmured and looked at the tiny vial and then at the Healer, "that wasn't your run-of-the-mill healing potion was it?" 

"Well," she replied demurely and cryptically, "it certainly was a Healing potion." The emphasis on the word was odd and she seemed unwilling to explain. Adama shrugged and let it slide, the wildness having faded from the backs of his eyes. "This next, to replace your missing vitality," she offered him a larger vial, this one a slushy gold like the purest honey from celestial bees. For all they knew, it could have been. 

Toasting her gallantly, he tipped up the potion and swallowed the sluggish liquid, swishing it around his mouth with obvious gusto as he drank it, savoring the taste. Once he'd drained it and leaned back against a counter and shook his head, the whiteness fading from his eyes and his nose. "'Like the mead of the gods," he murmured and smiled. 

"Well," she replied with her own smile, pleased with his response, "maybe not of the GODS…"

The others ceased being quite so tense and took their potions, feeling aches and pains fade and wounds and scabs close over. Vitality flooded them and Elim chuckled, his body humming like he had slept for weeks and been fed well the entire time. His body swelled and he stretched, his joints cracking as his lean muscles regained some of their wasted vitality. 

He glanced at S'lann, Kilmor and Adama in turn, each of them looking similarly flushed and restored. 

"Now that we're all ready," she offered, "can we go?"

"Well see," S'lann said as the others kind of looked at one another, "we were pretty sure 'down' was the best way to go since it was probably the path of least resistance," he shrugged, "but we're not sure exactly how to get out from here." 

She heaved a huge sigh and cocked her head, considering. "The easiest way is also the worst," she said slowly. "The oubliettes empty into a vast waste cistern and from there it all flows into the southern river." 

"'Nice for the fish and the people downstream," Elim muttered, "humans!"

Adama just gave him a look and looked away, shaking his head.

**They ARE filthy creatures** came the same voice, a little primly. 

"Can we NOT have this discussion now?" he whispered to the bow on his back. S'lann looked at him oddly. "'As much as I agree with you." 

**Sooner or later Elim** the voice replied **we're going to have to have a chat. It would best be sooner but I don't think my purposes will be served while you're still here. So in the meantime** it paused **I will serve for now** 

"Thanks," he muttered and glared at S'lann who looked away quickly, embarrassed or fearfully, Elim couldn't tell. 

"I know the way to the closest oubliette which is in the Chamber of Blood below us," Ayanna told them with a frown. "There is a passage we can use to get there unseen and unmolested." 

"I'm all for that," S'lann spoke up to nobody in particular. 

"That means we're going to have to land in..?" he started to ask. 

"Yes," she replied shortly. 

Yolen, who had remained silent and watchful the entire time, clapped Adama on the shoulder and said with a laugh, "So what's a little muck between friends!?"

Adama just growled and gave him a scathing look, hefted his gear and motioned for them to do the same. 

"This way," she said as she touched a part of the racks in her store room, swinging a secret door that revealed a corridor large enough to admit Kilmor if he crouched and sucked it in. 

Without a backward glance she led them into the darkness.


----------



## Aristoi (Sep 6, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 4*

It took nearly a half an hour for them to make the Chamber of Blood, the torture chambers where the blood of the beast was siphoned away to…*somewhere*. It was rumored Bloodtwist used the blood for foul experiments where he created artificial life and other rumors had it that he sold the blood to Vampire connoisseurs who in turn funded much of his hateful experiments in other areas. Whatever the case, nobody knew for sure and if anybody really did know, they weren’t telling. 

The secret door opened up onto the observation platform that sat astride four theatres, a comfortable couch and opulent cushions with a chilling cabinet for wine and delicacies and a strange contraption with lenses and cones that brought sounds and images to him of what was being down in any direction and allowed him to send his voice to issue commands. 

So neat and beautiful up here, so terrible and horrific down there. 

The two eunuch attendants saw them emerging and scurried away, jumping the rails to the theatre floor below to escape. Ayanna merely gestured for them to follow and she led them across one of the four causeways and through a series of doors and down a flight of stairs. At the end of a short corridor was a iron grate with a winch beside it, allowing it to be withdrawn. A sharply-sloping shaft fell away from the edge into darkness that extended beyond the range of their sight. 

“Here it is,” Ayanna indicated, pulling the winch herself and pulling the gate all the way open. The opening was large enough to throw a hill giant down, blood and other less-identifiable stains on the lip and wall. “Who’s first?” she asked, looking at the others. 

“Ugh,” Adama rolled his eyes and flattened his ears and hopped up on the edge. If their cells were nasty, this was a hundred times worse. “’Nothing for it,” he muttered and jumped. With a screeching grind Adama slid down the shaft and they could all hear a distant bleating scream for an entire two seconds before a meaty-wet impact. 

The sounds of retching and coughed could be heard along with shouted curses. Obviously he wasn’t happy. 

Elim hopped lightly up to the edge and hopped into the shaft, sliding down the grimy shaft and into the open fetid air a few moments later, feeling something odd catching at him. Spider webs? His dark-sight revealed the shifting mass below him and at the last instant he called upon his Will once again, halting his plummet so that he fell gently into the shifting roiling filth. 

He breathed through his mouth and tried not to pant, knowing that in this filth even his supernatural body would be subject to virulent sickness. He looked in all directions, showing that the cavern was enormous, the edge of another cavern opening onto the left just within the range of his sight. Looking up he thought he saw movement, something large perhaps, a spider?

He shivered violently. He HATED spiders!

Quickly he moved, knowing that whomever would be coming would come down on him and followed Adama who was already making for ‘high ground’. A stone ledge and a lip with a metal slab that blocked a huge opening had a stone projection above it that glowed softly. Adama was alright on the ledge and seemed to be trying to climb onto the stone projection but the slithery grime on him made the climb difficult. 

Kilmor fell into the mush with a huge splash, showering Elim and Adama with filth even as far away as they were. The big bovoid rose to stand, his long hair and fur matted to his body. “EUGH! He retched, trying not to vomit and barely succeeding. He was spitting out things Elim resolutely turned his mind away from. 

Next came Ayanna who’s slippered feet barely touched the muck before she was skipping along it, not soiling herself or even her dainty shoes. She skipped to the ledge and stood balanced there effortlessly, making even Elim look like a clod. 

Yolen came next and hit with a satisfying splat, making Elim grin as he rose and quipped, “’A little muck between friend my arse.” 

S’lan, of course, popped his wings and dropped down last, taking flight in the vast open space. 

And saw it. 

“SPIDER!” he screamed even as he dove towards Adama, “BIG SPIDER! BIG BIG BIIIIIIIG SPIDER!!” 

“GREEEaaat!” Elim growled and immediately pulled his bow and nocked two arrows, ready to fire. He could vaguely see movement, something was moving across the ceiling, but he could see it clearly enough to fire. Especially since arrows were precious for the moment. 

S’lan latched onto the wall next to Adama as the latter swung his legs up on the stony projection, slathering the entire thing with filth and muck, riding it like he would a horse. 

And the soft rosy glow of the projection changed color, shifting to a vibrant green even as a distant bell began to clamor. A dull rumbling began and the entire mass of floating garbage shivered, a small wave rippling from the direction of the rumble, to the left. 

Looking up, Elim saw the spider heading back to the corner it had been in before, quickly. Stealth had been set aside. That meant trouble. “Uhh, guys? I’ve got baaaad feeling about this!” 

As if to punctuate his words, the metal door began to rise, rumbling up and exposing another large cavern with a slight gushing of water spilling into a huge rock basin with a huge hole in the middle. 

Adama leaned over the projection to look through the opening. “Oh cra-a-a- !” and the world exploded around them! Roiling filth, slithering muck and a tidal wave of rotted meat washed over them and forced them all out onto the basin, where the hole created an immediate whirlpool that roared as it sucked the swirling liquid mess down it’s throat. 

“Take a deep breath!” Ayanna called to them all as she, sitting cross-legged and floating on top of the muck, slid straight into and down the hole. Without any ado she disappeared through the vortex. Elim and the rest did their best to get that breath, grabbing into the Yak as he floated into the vortex, far more buoyant than the rest of them. Shutting eyes and ears as tightly as they could the four remaining disappeared into the roaring throat and the unknown beyond.


----------



## Aristoi (Sep 6, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 4*

An interminable time later Elim awoke to an insistent prodding in his mind. *poke, poke*

“Oh Powers,” he moaned, rolling over to heave whatever it was he thought might be in his throat and nose out. “I had hoped you were just a bad dream.” 

*Be thankful Elim* came the snickering reply *that ONE of us knows how to swim. Once you were unconscious, it was all I could do to save your stinking life!*

“I am rather fragrant aren’t I?” he asked, changing the subject. 

*Thankfully I can’t smell us* he replied *though from the reaction of the small animals that investigated you, even scavengers find you unpalatable*

“’Small favors and all that,” he muttered, rolling to his stomach from where he lay on his side, half in and half out a swirling lazy river. A dim firelight flicker showed just beyond the reeds and as he rose to an unsteady crouch, he saw Adama and S’lan slowly rise from other places in the reeds. Kilmor rumbled and snorted, standing up a moment later. Elim waited and when they weren’t attacked immediately, he stood as well, checking for weapons. 

*Imagine, a Druid AND a Ranger than can’t swim* came the voice again

~I can swim!~ Elim shouted in his mind ~just not carry half a ton of stuff~

Mocking silence answered him and he grumpily turned to the figure at the fire. 

“Come come!” Yolen called cheerfully from where he sat, divested of his clothes and armor, weapons laid aside neatly. A small pot lay next to the fire and another lay on it, delicious smells coming from both. “I have mulled wine, watered of course, for none of us could stomach it I am sad to say!” He gestured to the other, larger, pot. “I have a grain porridge here as well, hot and nourishing and far more flavorful than the Sludge.” All the while he was busily whittling and carving with a tiny knife, a set of reeds laid out before him with some twine. It was apparent he crafted another set of pipes. 

The others didn’t question their good fortune and decided to take advantage of the food and wine, eating and drinking to satisfy the deep hunger for flavors and textures, regardless of what they were eating. The porridge had fish in it, little bits here and there, and herbs that seasoned the wild rice and onions. 

It was like the best food any of them had ever eaten, ambrosia of the gods. As they settled back, their eating bowls now filled with steaming watered wine, Adama turned to Yolen and asked, “Where did you get all of this?” 

“Well for that,” Yolen replied with a wide grin and an experimental tootle on his now assembled pipes, “I am glad you asked.” 

And with that, the others fell over in a deep sleep. 

“Silly mortals,” Yolen replied and grinned, “Come forth,” he told those that were hiding as pixies and nixies, faeries and sylphs emerged from the woods and reeds, the rock and trees. They all grinned and smiled, giggling and creeping, they advanced on the sleeping forms around the fire, sinister shadows cast by flickering fire.


----------



## Aristoi (Sep 6, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 4*

“WHA-!” Elim shouted, sitting upright suddenly, realizing he had been asleep and the sensations around him were totally unfamiliar. He was laying on something soft, enshrouded in something soft and had the most-delicious sleepy-waking feeling he’d had since… ever. 

He sat and stared, uncomprehendingly, not sure what had happened. 

He remembered, of course, the events of the last few years in terrible detail and yet… it was as if it had been a little while ago. The remains of the fire lay where he remembered it should be yet his position had changed. And his state, he realized, as he was dressed in a clean clout and a shirt. He had a moment of panic before he spotted his armor and bow, laying above where his head had lay, clean and neatly folded on his pack. 

Pack? He cocked his head and reached for it carefully, before a movement at the trunk of the tree caught his eye. A scroll of some sort hung there, twisting in the wind. Of Yolen and the healer, of course there was no sign and yet, rather than be robbed as he suspected it seemed they each had more than they had when they arrived here. 

That was curious. 

The whole thing was rather curious. He reached for the pack and searched it quickly, seeing that there were pockets within and that the pack, seeming large and fairly full, remained light. Magic tingled in his fingertips as he held it, though he couldn’t fathom the enchantments, it appeared the sack was lighter than the contents of it. 

Within was a change of clothes, another shirt for sleeping, an extra clout and his potions plus three. Two water-skins filled smaller pouches on the sides of the pack and a special set of straps for his quiver were set for ease of draw over his shoulder. The quiver had been filled with two-score black-fletched shafts and a handful of those with one white fletch amidst the black. They would do, he realized, as he inspected them.  

A further search showed iron rations good for a week or so, fishing gear and flint and tinder. A small pouch held two gold trade-bars and a few gems, which as he inspected them seemed a fair worth. 

With a snort Kilmor sat up suddenly, staring around himself wildly. His pack and clothing was consequently larger, his size as a matter of fact, and unseen in the leaves a large staff nearly as long as he was tall. He glanced at Elim, who merely shrugged, and gesture eloquently around them. 

Animal noises, the gurgling of the river, the glare of the later afternoon sun; it was as if they had merely been camping here overnight on their way elsewhere. As a matter of fact, they were equipped to go somewhere, though where he wasn’t sure. 

“Wha-a-at?” Adama called as he sat up, blinking owlishly, throwing back the covers of the sleeping roll. He looked down and saw the shirt he’d been sleeping in and stared at the other dumbfounded a moment, his fingers rubbing over the softness of the waterproofed cotton and wool of the bedroll. 

Elim stood and taking up weapons, a small sack and all their skins, stepped to the reeds and inspected the river and the far shore. After a moment he bent to the water and sniffed, trying to smell for a taint. Not smelling anything horrid, he filled the skins and splashed cool water on himself and his head, scrubbing his scalp and applying the soap-butter he had found redolent with strong herbs and cleansing grit. 

It took a bit and his face, upper body and his scalp were nearly raw, but he felt cleaner than he could remember ever being. He returned and the others were up and about, digging in their packs like mid-winter had come, finding their weapons and armor cleaned and ready. His wore his clout and carried his shirt. Now soaking though washed as well. 

Tossing down the skins he knelt over them and held his hands over the pile, muttering a prayer to the Powers and calling on the purity of water. A moment later he sensed the spell had been released and the water was purified and was cool and ready to drink. Silently he handed them out, gesturing for Kilmor to come fetch his because it was too heavy to carry easily. 

“What happened?” Adama asked wonderingly, dressed in clothing that fit and seemed made for his unique frame. 

“Yolen and the Healer I am guessing,” Elim replied with a grin. The jerky wasn’t the best but it was meat and his teeth needed to feel it again. “I’d say that scroll is our answer.” 

Adama stepped over and took down the scroll, running his eyes over it. “It’s in Chondath and two other languages I don’t recognize. The part I can read says, ‘Dearest Companions, obviously you have awakened hearty and hale. I regret that I am unable to be there but the healer needs escort and I have a mission of mine own to fulfill, a decade overdue even now. You are well-tended while you sleep though once awakened, your guardians will abandon you, leaving you to your own devices. I suggest leaving a portion of whatever you eat behind for them, out of respect.’” Adama paused and looked confused, while Elim gave the reeds, trees and bushes the once-over with his Druidic senses. He hadn’t been sure before but now… ah. 

“Fey,” he muttered to the others. “It is best we’re respectful or foul luck will plague us for weeks.”

“Understood,” Adama replied and went back to the note. “’You have all likely taken stock and lest you have not, do so now. We have arranged for you to feel more civilized, if you like, at least giving you the trappings and tools with which to do as you will. I have helped you as I may, our debt is done and your lives are your own. The healer has added her bit as well, feeling her balance must be appeased and we bid you a fond fare-thee-well. Look for us, for I feel our paths may yet have not done crossing one another.’” 

“So what’s our stock?” Adama asked, looking at the others. 

“We have about enough rations for a week or so,” Kilmor offered, pulling out a horse-ration, a block of pressed oats and grains with dried applies and carrots held together with a little honey. One of those, each sized for the one carrying it, with some water would fill them up well. For him and Adama, the majority of their rations were those blocks.  For Elim and S’lan, theirs included jerky, a couple of blocks and journey bread with a few spice-herbs. 

“I can hunt and catch fish for us,” Elim told the others, “though for you two,” he gestured to Adama and Kilmor, “is meat something you can stomach?” 

“I ca-a-an,” Adama responded aside. “A goat can eat anything, it seems. Though,” he took a nibble of the block he was holding, “this is very good.” 

Elim had been looking around and his skills and sense of nature identified natural grains and plants with roots and leaves that were edible and nutritious. “I can find us things to round out the meat and boost what you already have to stretch it a bit,” he told them, going over to the water and plucking a handful of ripened wild rice. “This cooks up well and I’ve been given some spice-herb examples to put in it.” He handed it to Kilmor who put it in his mouth raw and chewed it noisily.

“Crisp,” Kilmore said around his mouthful, “like that porridge from last night? With the fish?” Elim merely nodded and Kilmor just said, “Good,” his eyes slitting with what Elim read as pleasure. 

“What about these other parts here?” Adama asked, holding up the scroll to S’lan to read. 

“I can read this,” he pointed to one set of characters and moving his lips as he deciphered it, “it’s the same thing you just read. This on the other hand,” he gestured to the other line of runes down the left side, “I’ve never seen before. Do you know this script?” he asked, turning to Kilmor and then Elim. 

Kimor shook his shaggy head negative and then Elim took a look. At the first character he snatched it from S’lann’s hand and read if avidly, muttering and mumbling as he did. A moment later he looked off to the west and south, sniffing the air as he did so. He caught the scent in short order. “We need to stay here over night,” he offered, “there’s something I need to do.” 

“What?” Adama asked. 

“Hunt,” Elim replied quietly and set to getting dressed in his armor and weapons. He was quickly clothed, his armor was different, he could tell. When he stood, against the background of the trees and bushes, his outline was indistinct and seemed to blur and shift slightly. “Hmm nice,” he muttered and pulling the hood over his head he made ready to depart. 

“What should we do?” Adama asked irritably. “We’re still pretty close.” 

“Rest,” Elim replied and gestured to the bedrolls, “bathe and make ready for swift-travel. I will do what I can to bring us extra meat and perhaps, a way to get where we’re going all the faster.” 

“What do-?” Adama started to ask but Elim was gone, faded into the underbrush as if he’d been an apparition. “Damn him.”

“We are all damned a little,” S’lann offered poetically, musing as he stared at the glistening water as the sunlight reflected from it. 

“Whate-e-ever,” Adama threw back and snorted, snapping up his skins and stowing them in his pack. In a moment he huffed and stood, taking the Paladin’s sword he drew a circle in the dirt around himself. A moment later and fully armored, he took the opening pose of his weapon movements. 

It was well past dark when Elim returned, the fire having been rekindled and the little group sitting around it. He stunk to high havens but he was grinning fiercely. “I have obtained possible transport though,” he looked at Kilmor, “not all of us can go at once.” 

“We all go-o-o,” Adama told him, grumpy at his sudden appearance and disappearance. “Speaking of, where were you?” 

“Druid-business,” Elim replied and threw down a brace of rabbits already skinned and cleaned. “Tomorrow night we will eat again and depart the following night, unless we have reason to before then.” 

“Why?” Adama asked pointedly, the stubborn look coming across his face. 

Elim knew that look from experience and knew Adama was about to be a goat about it. Really, he DID owe them an explanation. He squatted next to the fire and after asking S’lann to get him three green sticks from the river reeds, he began his tale. “I’m not sure who or what Yolen really is but he is very fair with his knowledge of Druids. It makes sense that he might know a bit, as a Fey, and yet I am still amazed at the secrets he has privy.” He shrugged and gestured thanks to S’lann as he brought back the reeds. In short work he had the rabbit bodies strung up and hanging over the fire after rubbing them with bitter root and stuffing them with only slightly wilted wild onions he’d pulled earlier. With mud he packed wild-potatoes from the deadly nightshade with salt and cracked blackseed into the coals and sat back to stare and speak as they hissed and cooked. 

“Yolen told me of a cave system nearby in which I might find assistance in our plight. I believe he had already spoken to a Fey or two that lived in the caves for him to know about her,” he shrugged again, his expression for being unsure. “Whatever the reason, he directed me there and I have made friends with a great beast there who has agreed to be my Companion.” 

“Is that why you smell of muck?” S’lann asked, wrinkling his nose but smiling all the same. 

“In part,” Elim replied with his own fanged-toothy grin. “You see, I’ve been ankle deep in guano for the better part of the evening, negotiating and meditating with a Dire Bat.”

“DIRE bat?” Adama asked, “As in with a wingspa-a-an big enough to encompass a cottaa-a-age and can carry off ca-a-attle in the night, ‘dire baa-a-at’?” 

Elim looked over at Kilmor and said, “Hopefully.” Kilmor looked both ways as if saying ‘who me’ before grinning and swallowing convulsively. “She’s okay as long as we let her eat sometime during the night. I’m not sure if she can manage the three of us plus Kilmor- I somewhat doubt it.”

“So what do you get out of it?” S’lann asked.

“Aside from a companion I can have help me,” he added and shrugged, “she can guard my back and I can help her hunt. I prefer to travel and hunt at night anyway and she’s good for that. And I can always trust her because I understand what motivates her.” 

“Is it safe?” S’lann asked. 

“From her,” he nodded, “yes. There are some other bats in the cave that’re pretty big and might snap you up.” He grinned evilly, “But you’re hardly a mouthful for anything dangerous and with your wings and pretty tail the might try to mate you.” He chuckled as S’lann blushed. 

“That’s not funny Elim,” S’lann sulked. 

“I’m sorry S’lann,” he apologized mockingly, “I wasn’t aware you were so tender to the spoken word.” 

“Enough you two,” Adama interjected a warning. 

“I was just teasing him Adama,” Elim protested and winked at S’lann. Adama just glowered at him menacingly and he gestured surrender. “I’m going to fish. Do we have a pot or anything with which to cook in?” he asked, thinking of the two pots Yolen had last night. Shaken heads answered him as he thought of the tasty porridge from the night before. “Ah well, baked-clay fish it is then. For breakfast anyway,” he stalked off into the darkness with his bow to spear some breakfast.


----------



## Aristoi (Sep 6, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 4*

The next morning dawned bright and fair and the group set about stocking themselves with provisions to stretch out their rations. Elim, true to his word, caught enough fish to go with the leftover potatoes and tubers he harvested from near the cave of bats to make a tasty, if unconventional, breakfast. Hardboiled eggs made by searing them in a small clay bowl filled with water added a tasty treat, thought he lizards he had taken them from weren’t too pleased. 

“I figure two trips then,” Elim offered about midday, after they had sparred a little and were cleaning up, eating a lot to put muscle and weight back on their spare frames. “One to drop us off and another to bring Kilmor back to our next camp. We can still cover several days walking by flying to the next spot.” 

“She’s not large enough to carry all three of us though,” S’lann mentioned interestedly. “You have a trick for that don’t you?” 

“You know I’m a druid,” he explained simply, “I can make her bigger for awhile.” 

“How long is ‘awhile’,” Adama asked suspiciously. 

“Long enough to get someplace far away,” Elim replied. “Look, we druids are a secretive lot to begin with and I’m a Gith. I admit we’re suspicious by nature and we’re not really sociable. I don’t feel comfortable telling you everything all the time and you don’t need to know everything all the time.” 

“I’m not comfortable with you making the decision of what we do and don’t ‘need to know,” Adama retorted. 

“If it pertains to my powers, my order or Druid secrets you’re just going to have to trust me goat-boy,” Elim growled back dangerously. “You’ve got no reason to mistrust me, I’ve done more than my fair share to take care of us all and I could have taken off earlier, easily. I know we don’t see eye-to-eye,” he grinned suddenly thinking that Adama was a bit ‘wall-eyed’, “but you’re just going to have to trust me that I know what I’m doing. I don’t tell you how to fight do I?” 

“No but-“

“Then don’t tell me how to use my magic,” he raised a claw-tipped finger warningly, “or what to do with it. I am the expert on its use, not you. I am the expert with the bow, not you. We each have our specialties,” he gestured around and last to S’lann, “even boy-elf here. Can we agree on this or must we remain in disagreement?” 

Adama had that look like he wanted to smack Elim again but he sighed, snorted and nodded. “Alright. I trust you. But if you betray me..”

“Yah yah,” Elim nodded flapping his hands as if he were unconcerned, “‘pursuit to the ends of creation, across the planes, merely to bathe in my blood and wear my entrails as garters’, I get it.” He yawned hugely, showing his pointy carnivore incisors. “Relax goat-boy, if I wanted to abandon and betray you, I’ve had plenty of opportunity to do so. And providing you with transportation, at great personal risk to myself and my companion mind you, is not the best way to do that is it?” 

“No,” Adama agreed sullenly. “But there are depths to evil.” 

“And as we all know,” Elim responded smartly as he stood and snatched up his bow and quiver, “I’m a rather shallow fellow.” He strode away into the bush to go spend some more time with skee’a, familiarizing her with his scent and his touch. She was nearly blind but her other senses, her echolocation, made up for it. She could ‘see’ him with her sound and stun small prey with her shriek and he didn’t want her to accidentally zap him even once. 

“Well that went well,” S’lann said as Elim stalked off, to nobody in particular. Adama snorted and went back to oiling and polishing his weapons and armor while Kilmor leaned back and resumed meditating.


----------



## Aristoi (Sep 6, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 4*

The morning began to rise clear and cool, the sun lightening the eastern sky, when the camp was awoken by a crash and a thud as something fell from the sky and landed next to the fire. A bloody stag, seeming to have been pierced with swords and with it’s neck missing a chunk large enough to leave it barely hanging, lay steaming near the fire. 

“Wh-where d-did th-that come from?” S’lann chattered, staring up into the darkness. 

Adama, who had learned he could sleep in his armor far more comfortably that he would otherwise, had taken to doing so. He had jumped up and prodded the freshly killed animal with the tip of his sword. “The sky, it appears. And while a great many oddities have occurred, I distrust it when the sky rains meat.” 

“And well you should,” Elim’s voice floated out of the forest around them even as he appeared at the edge of the clearing as if by magic. “Though you may thank me for that,” he indicated the carcass. He moved over to the carcass and hefted it to the edge of the clearing and hoisted it into a tree. Pulling out a rather large and sharp knife, he began to butcher the carcass rather expertly. It took just a while and pausing, he moved to the fire and set S’lann to gathering more green reeds and Kilmor to fetching green wood from the small bush with the oily leaves. 

He dug a pit to one side, quite large actually, and transferring some of the fire set to burning the green wood of the bush which made a redolent fragrant smoke. Next, he covered the fire with the woven withies, which forced the smoke out small holes. Taking the second larger basket lines with leaves and more green withies to be tighter with a single smoke hole at the top he piled the meat onto the small basket and covered it with the larger, creating a temporary smoker. 

“There,” he said as he turned back, “forty-stone smoked venison ready tomorrow, I think. I rubbed it with some wild-salt and some herbs I found so it should taste alright.” He gestured to the river, “I found some fishing gear in my pack, did any of you?” Heads shook no but they started digging in their packs. 

“I found armor and weapon oils and cloths,” Adama said as he held up the bag with the items in it. 

“I have a magic book with a lot of pages and an ink-stick,” S’lann held up the leather-bound enruned-book with the ink-stick sleeve sewn onto the binding. “It looks like its only got two-score pages in it but when I flip through it there’s at least twenty-score more.” 

Kilmor also held up a book, “I have a journal too,” he said, “and it does the same thing.” His book, of course, was twice the size of S’lann’s as was his ink-stick. “But,” he added as he rummaged through the pack, “there’s this little pocket sewn into the side.”

“Huh?” Adama asked and leaned over, looking into Kilmor’s pack and then going back to his own. “I do too, now that it’s mentioned.”

“Me too!” S’lann called out, like a child at mid-winter. 

“And I,” Elim’s puzzled tone came as he saw the small bump. With a claw he popped the stitches and pulled out a small amulet with a flickering green gem teardrop hanging on the chain. He held it up to the others as they pulled out their own little gifts. S’lann had a mithral key for what appeared to be an impossibly complex lock while Kilmor had a gold ring with a single rune engraved on it. Adama had a filigreed and etched compass that popped open, had thirteen radial points instead of cardinal points. 

“This doesn’t look right,” Adama snorted, looking at the compass. 

“Oh!” S’lann exclaimed, looking at the little device and reading the characters on it. “This is a Blood Compass,” he said enthusiastically. “It’s keyed to you through a drop of your blood,” he shrugged as if to explain that obviously there was an opportunity to have done so. “It homes in on things that are important to you when you ask it and it let’s you know general information about the status of it.” 

“Interesting,” he muttered and then holding it up said, “Cormyr.” The needle spun around and pointed off to the southwest and tiny rings floated up from the bottom of the compass, creating new layers of runes that spun to line up. “What’s it mean?”

“’Under extreme duress’,” S’lann murmured as he deciphered the runes, “war is imminent, betrayal.” He looked up at Adama’s face and added, “’Not good.”

“No its not,” he agreed and considered, then said, “’Amruthar’.”

The needle swung more to the south and west and the runes spun and realigned, “War imminent, great unrest, great evil,” S’lann read. “And we want to go there?” 

“They’re independent from Thay,” Adama observed, his brow frowning. “That could be good or bad, depending on how we’re received.” He turned to look at S’lann, “And you’re likely the best one to scout it out.” 

“Me!?” S’lann replied, shocked. 

“Well, you are the only one that can change their appearance and blend in.” He shrugged and gestured. 

“Uh… right,” S’lann replied uncertainly, looking a little dazed. 

“You’ll do fine,” Adama told him confidently and clapped him on the shoulder. S’lann smiled weakly and nodded, plopping down on his pack to think. 

“I wonder what this does?” Kilmor said, turning the huge ring over in his hand. It would have been a bracelet on any of them but on him it just fit. “The rune is in draconic, which I read.” He placed the ring on his finger and waited. 

Nothing happened. 

He went through the usual tests to see if he had a protection aura or anything obvious. He cast a spell and stared at the ring for a moment. “Transmutation. Hmmm,” he murmured and then spoke the word engraved on the ring.

And shrank. 

Stopping at the same size as the others, he was still massive, though his pack and staff had also shrunk with him, having taken them up before he triggered the rune. “This is interesting,” he paused and took the ring off. 

Nothing happened. 

“I am ill-pleased by this,” he rumbled, obviously upset. 

“It is convenient though,” Elim responded, pointing to the group at large, “Skee’a can carry us all now, I think.”  He shrugged and clapped Kilmor on the shoulder, something he’d not been able to do before, “Perhaps like my magic, it will wear away with some time. I cannot see Yolen giving us such things if they were ultimately bad for us.”

“Though this might be something of a prank,” S’lann reminded them. “He is, as am I at least partially, of the Fey. I understand how this might be vastly amusing, in his place.” 

“You’re not helping,” Adama told S’lann as Kilmor’s eyes narrowed, obviously contemplating mayhem on the little halfbreed. Adama casually took position between them, “Easily done Kilmor, the drowling did not mean insult.” 

“Indeed not!” S’lann called, realizing he’d made a faux pas. 

“Rest easily,” Kilmor told them with a grim grin, “I would not attack such an unworthy foe. It is hardly a sufficient test of my skills.” 

“Exactly,” Adama replied, as if in total agreement. He turned slightly and winked at S’lann. Behind Kilmor, Elim made faces as S’lann.


----------



## Aristoi (Sep 6, 2005)

*Crimson Menagerie: Act 4*

Another day passed and the deer-jerky was prepared, though still somewhat tender and unpreserved, it would do well to extend their rations a bit. Everyone lay for rest as Elim watched, watchful and yet musing. He was caught up in thoughts of his life now compared to what it had been thirty-odd years prior. And where he was now, his needs and those of the others. 

Elim reasoned they needed at least one pot and some bowls, though a tea pot would also be helpful, with two bowls apiece. He missed tea as well, even wild-herb tea or that used for medicinal purposes. He was no great healer but he suspected he was the best they had. That meant he needed some way to treat them with herbal remedies. Teas were the best method when you lacked proper tools and magics. Since he didn’t have the time to learn, the resources to manage or any others with which to trade, perhaps this city would be the best place to get these things. 

The summer had turned and fall would be upon them in a few short weeks and even Thay grew chill when the mantle of winter lay upon the world. Roots and herbs would be scarce, meat dearer still and they were unprepared to dig in anywhere without appropriate stores of grains for the plant-eaters. 

And he stopped. 

Apparently, at some point he had decided to take care of these creatures. It was a remarkably un-Gith attitude. And while he was a Druid and many of his Order often cared for communities and people, he had never felt so generous before. 

He turned sharply and looked at the bow, eyebrow raised. ~?!~ he demanded.

*I have had nothing to do with your sudden realization of your own hidden altruism* the Bow replied smartly *though I am relieved by it. It proves you are willing to heal and allow yourself to learn*

To that commentary Elim didn’t reply, considering it instead. He might not be a Monk, or a Psion, but he had been raised and trained by them. He knew what his mind was like, he understood the workings of the psyche and he understood what his ‘undermind’ might and might not be capable of. He realized that the Bow likely had access to his undermind, after a limited fashion, and could read what was true in Elim’s heart before the Gith knew it himself. 

That was irritating. But also helpful, provided the damned thing could be trusted. 

*Now is perhaps the best time to have that ‘chat’* the Bow interjected softly, kindly. *I am not without sympathy Elim, nor am I hardened by my own plight. I chose my current status but you do not have to choose to be my wielder and take up my purpose; we need to speak of it soon lest the magics I barely hold at bay now unleash upon you*

~So what exactly does all of that mean, Bow?~ Elim asked suspiciously, feeling threatened and yet, curious. 

*I am a purposed weapon and once, I was a mortal such as you, though Elven* He sighed, deep in their shared-mind *During the time of the Sundering, when the Elves and the Goblinoids departed and the Drow fled into the deep earth, many of the crippled warrior of the wars volunteered to become great ‘purposed weapons’*

~That was, what, over three thousand years ago?!~ Elim’s mind reeled, to consider he was holding a weapon, albeit magical, that was that old. 

*Indeed* came the reply *Though I have not been awake that entire time. Once the wars ended and my wielder fell, I lay with her bones for many years, eventually slipping into slumber. Then, during the Time of Troubles, I was awakened and a new wielder took me to hand and we fought my ancient foes as I had never done so before! It was glorious and my string sang battle hymns as I launched fell shaft after shaft into the bodies of my ancient enemies* He sighed again *But even he fell to time and great events and I lay lost in some display cabinet in a Dark Lord’s trophy hall. I slept again until Yolen picked me up, discovered what I was and I rejected him without thinking*

~Why did you reject him?~ Elim asked, curious. 

*We were not ethically compatible* came the distant reply *nor was he of the correct kind of warrior to bear me. Only Rangers, Archers and some members of certain Orders may wield me, for that is how I am purposed. I am a mighty weapon and as such it must be guaranteed I am not to be used for the wrong purposes*

~I have heard that in the crafting of magical weapons it is considered Necromancy to use the soul and life of another to instill intellect and capability~ Elim stated, questioning ~I could never countenance such a thing, as a Druid or otherwise. And yet, how could you allow such a thing to be done to yourself, if you were a creature of ethic?~

*Necromancy, like Transmutation, is a tool and a type of magic Elim* the Bow replied *it is how that it is used and for what purposes that define whether it is for good or ill. I admit, though, that most who wield it are foul indeed. Yet there are a few, in small and protected Orders, who follow the light through the path of Necromancy. There are even Lich of Light and life, which exist as Paladin even in Undeath*

Elim considered that and while no great philosopher, he found he could understand that concept. He wasn’t sure he believed it yet, but he could accept it might be true. 

~And so what burden is required to take you up?~ he asked, jumping the subject. 

*I am tasked with the hunting and slaying of evil creatures, goblinoids, drow- all such creatures and somewhat in the protection of the Elves though* he paused, considering* not so much anymore, it seems* he seemed mildly surprised and not so disturbed by that realization. *Once I was an Elf and I feel some solidarity to them and yet, I am not so tied to them as once I was*

~It is as I feel to my own people~ Elim replied curiously. ~We Gith are raised to respect and bond to one another even as we compete to be the best. We unite under duress and test and yet remain individuals most of the time~ He shrugged mentally ~I believe my family would be most distressed should they learn what I have become and how little I feel drawn back to them~

*Perhaps then this is why I feel drawn to you* the Bow replied warmly *we are more similar. We are on our own and maybe we can rely on one another?*

~Perhaps~ Elim replied, trying to sound noncommittal but the though filled him with excitement. ~I- I believe we may find a common-ground~

*Then let me show you what will be required of you* the Bow asked and at Elim’s silent assent, he opened his mind and revealed it all. 

Sometime later, as dusk fell, Elim’s thoughts came swimming out of the Dreaming of the bow- Ashelaen’s, life. He shook his head, realizing his body had remained on watch, alert, for sign of trouble. 

~H- What- how did I do that?~ he asked Ashelaen.

*You didn’t* Ashelaen replied hesitantly *while you were Dreaming my memories, I watched using your body. ‘Like when I saved us from drowning*

~So when I sleep or meditate you can use my body to…?~ Elim asked for clarification. 

*I can but I will not* Ashelaen replied stiffly *I will not use your body without great need or permission*

~I think we’re in agreement about what defines that correct?~ Elim asked and at Ashelaen’s silent assent, decided to drop it. ~Next, do I tell the others about you?~

*When you feel the time is appropriate* he replied *if at all*

~Agreed~ Elim replied and stood, using the bow to lever himself to his feet as he would the shoulder of a friend. ~Now let’s get them ready for their flight~


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## darthkilmor (Dec 19, 2005)

::bump::


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