Chapter 69
Facing the two crew members, one with her greatsword drawn and anticipating a problem, Bilwin reaches into a pocket, pulls out two breakfast rolls and tosses them at the end of the sword. The first roll bounces off the tip of the sword and falls to the ground, while the second one misses the blade and boinks the sailor in the forehead.
Before she can react to the doughy assault, her companion snickers loud enough for the group to hear, “I don’t suppose you’d be attacking us with baked goods if you really meant us harm.”
The two of them glance at Tempest Edge strapped across Gven’s back, Gleaming Blade in its sheath at Dolor’s hip, and then each of the others, assessing their readiness for combat. She lowers her sword as Bilwin giggles, picks up the rolls, and takes a bite of one. “No waste for the weary. At least, I think that’s what they say.”
Somewhat disarmed by Bliwin’s antics, the tall female’s patience is still wearing thin, “Again, what brings you to the Lambent Zenith?”
Before the companions can contrive a story, Dolor decides to go with the truth. Below the tiefling’s horns, his pointed ears twitch slightly, “We’re trying to find a piece of a magical rod that will help us stop Vecna—a narcicisstic demi-god of some sort—from destroying our world, all worlds really. The latest clue led us here, to this ship.”
The male looks at his companion for a moment and something unspoken passes between them. “I’m Zastra and this is Lysan. I can’t imagine anyone one in their right mind leading with that story if it weren’t true. Not sure what we can do for you, though. We don’t have any magical rods hanging about.”
Dolor’s tail begins to rhythmically swish back and forth, like a slow metronome. “I can appreciate that, and yet, your ship is our only lead. Can you tell us how the ship came to be here and in this,” he gestures around the deck where two thirds of the ship is missing, “predicament?”
“We were traveling the Astral Sea, like any other day, and set upon by a fever of cloakers. Damnable beasts with arms that look like wings on either side of their flat, wide body, and pointy barbs along their six-foot tail. That isn’t so unusual, in and of itself, but during the battle some sort of massive energy burst tore the ship into three pieces.” He stops and thinks to himself for a moment, “Hmm, now that you pose the question, that does seem coincidental. During our travels, Captain Inda came across some magical item that she harnessed to power the ship. And it worked, too.” He scratches his chin, “Perhaps a little too well. The ship’s pieces, with us clinging to them, fell to this forsaken god’s body, and it’s where we’ve been ever since. That was two, maybe three months ago. We’ve tried to venture out into the stony terrain you see around us, but there are some vicious creatures all about. Haven’t been able to check in with the crew who were in the other parts of the ship. No idea if they’re alive, like us, died in the crash, or became a meal for the unnatural beasts roaming around.” He shrugs his shoulders in resignation.
Moving in closer from the edge of the group, Grindlefoot looks to Zastran, “What’s your captain’s plan? Surely they haven’t been sitting around doing nothing this whole time.”
“Ah, the captain isn’t on this part of the ship. We hope she’s still alive on one of the other pieces, but Illren is running things around here. He’s actually the quartermaster. Our first mate, Figaro, has been sick ever since we laid eyes, and feet, on this damnable stony hunk of a dead god. As to a plan,” he glances at Lysan, “Illren’s not too keen on logistics, keeps saying ‘wait for the captain to come to us.’ Speaking of, I’ll go find him. Wait here.”
The slender humanoid leaves them on the ship’s deck under the careful watch of Lysan. A few short minutes later, he returns with an even taller creature, easily over eight feet at the tip of its large head. They wear a hip-length coat constructed of red velvet that must have a stretchiness to it, because it’s bulging at the seams from the enormous arms contained within. The deck thuds loudly with each step of the massive humanoid hippopotami.
“Ho, visitors! And ones who aren’t trying to eat us! What a beautiful day! I’m Illren, the acting captain since our first mate is feeling a little under the weather. Zastran here tells me you’re on a quest. That’s a thing we can always get behind. What can I do for you fine folks?”
Dolor retells their tale with a few more details and then asks, “What ails your first mate? Both our cleric and druid might be able to help?”
The large hippopotami glances at Gven and her sheathed greatsword before answering, “We don’t rightly know. He’s locked himself in the captain’s cabin and won’t come out. Goes on telling me to ‘keep things afloat while I rest up and don’t bother me.’ We take him at his word, leaving him to hisself.”
“What about the other parts of the ship and the crew?” Gven prompts Illren and the others, “You say that you’ve tried to venture out into the surrounding area, but met resistance. Can you see them from here? Is there a way to communicate with them?”
Zastra is the first to respond, “We can take care of ourselves when we need to, but them creatures out there are something out of a legend or nightmare. The other ships are too far away to yell at or hear and we can barely make them out from the top of the mast.”
Considering her eagle eyesight, Gven asks the Githyanki, “Can you take me up for a look? I have a certain advantage seeing things at a distance.”
Zastra gestures towards the main mast and moves that way with Gven close in tow. They both quickly scramble up the main stick, and the sailor’s look reveals a newfound respect for the barbarian’s agility. Reaching the crow’s nest, Gven can see the expansive stony terrain filled with trees, bushes, and all sorts of foliage that appear to be made of stone. Several small waterways meander across the landscape, but are solidified, as though frozen in a moment of time.
Zastra points to the southwest, “There’s the prow—that’s the very front of the ship. Not sure if you’re a sailor or landlubber,” he follows up with as a means of apologizing for the explanation.
“Mostly the latter, but I’ve spent some time on the water, and in the air.” She smiles at the thought of Cap’n Don Karnahge and their time on his flying ship, the Iron Vulture. Remembering the giant squid that almost ate her alive, she shakes away the wistfulness and returns to the present.
“Over there,” he points to the southeast, “that’s the starboard side of vessel. Everything else broke up into smaller pieces that we can’t see from here.”
Looking in both directions, the crashed pieces are well within the one mile limit of her eyesight, but the terrain and foliage hide most everything from view. “I can see them, but they’re too obscured by their surroundings to see anything useful.”
The half-orc’s neck tingles and she notices that Zastra is fidgety. “Something on your mind, friend? This group of ours often finds itself in unique positions where we can help folks.” She rolls her eyes and grins, “Whether it’s the gods or fate, I can’t say, but that seems to be the way of things.”
The sailor speaks in a low whisper, even though they’re more than forty feet above the others down on the deck. “Your halfling friend has the right of things, the captain would have had a plan by now. Same for Figaro, the first mate. But without the captain around and the first mate sick, Illren seems content to keep us here. He’s the only one who speaks with Figaro, says that he needs rest and will be better soon. My instincts don’t like it. Things don’t seem right. Figaro started feeling sick shortly after we crashed here on this damn thing and hasn’t spoken to anyone but Illren since. Things just don’t seem right to me.” He shifts nervously, “We better get back to the deck. Illren acts one way and behaves another.”
After an uneventful climb down, Gven and Zastra reach the main deck a few minutes later. With an unexpected guffaw, Illren gives the companions free reign of the ship and offers a tour. “You’re welcome aboard the Lambent Zenith! Let me show you around before I return to my duties. Afterwards, you’re welcome to explore this fine vessel and make use of what you need. And in case you’re new to the astral plane, eating isn’t necessary here, although we still have plenty of stores.”
“Thank you.” Dolor looks to his companions for confirmation, “We can attempt the journey to the other parts of the wreck, but we’d like to take a look around and talk to some of the crew first.”
The immense sailor replies with a hearty, “By all means, we’d be in your debt!”
Following Illren, the companions enter a door to a narrow staircase that leads to the lower deck. Traversing the steps carefully, they enter the mess room where an elf sits at a table alone, playing some sort of card game. He glances their direction, noting their existence, but nothing more. Through an open door, they see a burly female orc puttering around the galley. She takes more interest, turning towards them with a curious look on her face.
From the top deck, Zastra calls out for Illren. The acting captain makes his excuses and returns up the stairs. Gven looks to Grindlefoot and tilts her head a few times towards the steps, silently asking him to follow Illren. Perhaps he can find out if anything weird is going on with the overly happy hippo. The halfling understands and quietly ascends the stairs, leaving his comrades behind.
Mond approaches the orc, close to a foot taller than the half-elf. “Hello, friend. We were granted leave to peruse the ship by Illren. Perhaps you can help us find something, which might also help resolve your current situation.” He extends his hand in greeting, “My name is Mond.”
She acknowledges his greeting and the firmness of her gaze softens, “You can call me Kycera. We could use some help getting off this bloody rock.”
“We’re looking for a magical item, a piece broken from a rod. Do you know of anything like that on the ship?”
“I don’t know about any magical rod, but I know our captain had a rare, powerful artifact that she was using to power the ship. She asked me to secure it, which I did with magical wards and a safe room in the prow, that’s most likely where the captain can be found. That is,” she rolls her eyes, “if we’re ever bold enough to venture out of this broken tube. Anyway, the wards are powered by two runes, one in the state room on this part of the wreckage and the other in a starboard room.”
Mond thinks for a moment, “The state room, is that where your first mate is recuperating from their illness?” Kycera nods her head, answering his question.
“May we visit them? Figaro, I believe, right? Our druid might be able to help him.”
Again, she nods her head, “The room and Figaro are down those stairs, second door on your left.” Her voice drops to just above a whisper, “Be quick and be quiet. I doubt Illren would much like you poking around down there and disturbing Figaro.”
As Dolor leads Mond and Gven down to the next leverl, Bilwin enters the galley. “Any good beer on this fine vessel? I could use a drink!”
Kycera looks down at the dwarf, whose head comes to her waist, and grins. “You know that you don’t need to eat or drink in the astral plane, right?” The dwarf nods his head vigorously while continuing to hold out his hand expectantly. “Okay then. We don’t carry ale, but we do have some fine vintages of wine.” The orc pauses and closes her eyes for a moment, “I have a feeling things are about to get complicated. Think I’ll join ya.” Reaching into a cabinet, she retrieves two mis-matched glasses and an unlabeled bottle of red wine. She smiles at the dwarf and gestures to the only table in the galley, “Have a seat and regale me with your adventures. You dress like a bard, though you’re not quite pretty enough of one for my tastes.”
On the top deck, Grindlefoot positions himself behind a few crates where Illren, Zastra, and Lysan can’t see him. He arrives in time to hear Zastra finishing his sentence, “Oh, it’s gone now.”
Illren appears suspicious, “You seem jumpy, something on your mind?”
Zastra shuffles his feet and looks at his sister, Lysan, “Things don’t seem right around here. How’s Figaro? We haven’t seen him or spoken with him since we crashed.”
“I’m doing all that I can to help Figaro!”
With the tension growing, Lysan questions her superior, “Are you?”
The hulking hippopotami moves in closer to Zastra and Lysan, his pleasant demeanor suddenly gone. “If you have something to say, then say it.” Several seconds of silence surround the three and the tension continues to grow.
“I have things to do.” Illren walks away, stomping harder than usual in his anger.
Knowing he needs to investigate the first mate’s situation, Grindlefoot wild shapes into a tiny lizard and wriggles off towards the mess deck and galley.
As Dolor reaches the door to the stateroom, he notices a tiny lizard skittering along the floor’s edge. The tiefling waits a moment and watches as it tries to wriggle underneath the state room’s door. Oddly, the lizard is stopped by some sort of barrier. Several moments later, the small creature shifts into their three-foot halfling companion. Grindlefoot hurriedly describes the conversation between Illren, Zastra, and Lysan to the others.
“There’s something blocking the door. I couldn’t get past a force field when I tried to go underneath it. There’s a tiefling sitting on the bed. Looks like they’re having some sort of panic attack, sweat on their forehead and their body is visibly shaking. Super tense. It must be the first mate.”
Dolor moves next to the closed door and attempts the knob, confirming that it’s locked. “Figaro? My name is Dolor and I’m here to help you. I have a friend with me who knows about medicines and cures that might make you feel better. Would you let us in?”
From inside the room, “No. Go away. Leave me alone.”
Turning to Gven, “Kycera seems reasonable. Maybe she can convince him to let us help.” The half-orc heads back up the stairs to the galley.
While they wait, Dolor retrieves one of his many lockpicks from his bag, kneels by the door handle, and deftly defeats the tumblers. Smirking at Grindlefoot, “That’s how it’s supposed to be done.”
They open the door to see the purple-skinned tiefling sitting on the edge of a spacious, fluffy bed in the middle of an ornately decorated room. Bookshelves line one of the walls, with guardrails to keep the contents from sliding off during choppy weather. A fair number of gimbaled wall lamps are spread about the room, the brass enclosures holding flames likely powered by tallow. Immediately to the right of the doorway is a writing desk made of solid oak, along with a matching chair.
A red-tinted magical field blocks the door, preventing them from entering. The shivering tiefling stares at one of the walls and, as Grindlefoot described, appears to be struggling against something.
“Figaro, this is Kycera.” Looking into the room from the doorway, “You don’t look so good. We want to help you. These folks seem trustworthy, I’ll vouch for them. Can we come in?”
Visibly shaking from some unknown effort, the first mate responds, “Okay, but if they do anything they shouldn’t, I want you to kill them.”
Kycera gives each of the companions a momententary look that conveys her unquestionable seriousness, “Absolutely.”
The force field drops and Grindelfoot enters, moves to the bedside, and begins examining the quivering tiefling. He casts Detect Poison and Disease, spending several minutes scrutinizing various parts of the tiefling’s body. When that fails to yield any results, the druid casts Detect Magic and muted colors begin to undulate around the patient’s body while Grindlefoot focuses. He notices a glossiness to the sailor’s eyes that is magical, not from natural causes. “Ah ha, there it is!”
Grindlefoot turns to the others, “He’s been cursed by someone or something and it’s messing with his memory. He cannot recall any short term memories, most likely since the crash is my guess. Obviously he remembers you, Kycera, and that you’re a trustworthy companion.”
Continuing to stare at the wall, Figaro adds, “I don’t feel right at all. I don’t know what’s happening to me. Make it stop!”
“I can remove it with a spell called Greater Restoration, but I have to prepare for it, which will take me the rest of the day and night. It’s not a common thing to need, so it’s not in my repertoire of usual spells.”
Kycera looks at Figaro with concern, then turns to Grindlefoot. “Go get Daveras, the grumpy looking elf in the mess hall. Tell him I’ll kill him in his sleep if he doesn’t come right now.” Her gaze returns to her suffering friend.
Moments later, Daveras returns with Grindlefoot, who has explained the situation to the elf—in druidic, since he rarely encounters others willing to speak the language in Eritz.
“Unlike your experience, magical ailments occur frequently in the astral plane. Greater restoration is one I keep at the ready. If only I’d known earlier, this could have been avoided.” Gently laying his hands on Figaro’s shoulders, “Fear not, I’ll release you from this prison.”
Warm light traverses the stricken tiefling’s body, rippling across his torso, up through his horns, and along his tail, resting on the bed. The tension in his body dissipates and his limbs begin to move with languidity, easing into a state of easy readiness. The glassiness leaves his eyes, clarity of sight returning along with memories of the previous few months.
Figaro bellows in a thundering voice, “Illren, you bastard!”