Crystal Caverns

You stand before a youngish mage at the arcanists guild, one who looks... a touch the worse for wear. He's got coffee stains on his sleeves and a bit on his shirt. He _smells_ heavily of the stuff, and he's got an empty cup in one hand that you strongly suspect has had coffee in it at some point. His eyes are red, and he blinks for long periods of time, occasionally dipping his head and snorting as though he's having difficulty staying awake. He yawns. Then yawns a second time for longer. Just looking at him you're getting sympathy-tired. "Sorry folks. Haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks. Nobody here has."

He blinks and his head starts to droop so he takes a drink from his empty cup, only to blink at it in surprise that its empty. "So I need some mushrooms from a crystal cavern that's pretty far from here." Yawn. "I've got a scroll that'll take you there and bring you back when you're done. The whole place is lousy with monsters though, so be careful. And try not to destroy the mushroom crop while you're collecting them?"

Randolf knows the arcanists's pain only too well. The burly dwarf is -not- a morning person, as most of Alexandria likely knows at this point. He rubs at his eyes, his bearded maw opening wide as he, too, indulges in a mighty yawn. "Oh... bless me... it's too bloody early fer this sort o' nonsense," he grumbles, slapping his cheeks to try and wake himself up. "Right. Crystal caves. So that's why ye need a dwarf. Mushrooms. Magic mushrooms? The kind useful fer alchemics, or the kind that make ye see a mind-bendin' array o' blue objects?" He yawns again, scrubbing his face furiously with both hands. "Reos' flamin' beard, there's nae enough coffee in the world fer -this-," he grumbles.

If there is one thing that Aimarra has learned about the Arcanist's Guild, and jobs that originate therein, it is that such jobs are -never- as simple as they first appear. Still, this one seems straightforward enough, and the pay is usually - -usually- - worth the oddities. "Any particular type of creatures you know for a fact inhabit this cave?" She crosses her arms and tilts her head expectantly, only to look over at the dwarf after a moment with a smirk. "Morning is whenever you happen to wake up, when you're underground, isn't it? Let's hear him out."

"Go juice? Where?" Smuldur skitters up to peek and sniff at the mage's cup. Then the mage. Then around to his sleeves. Most never seem to let him near the Go Juice. Then he nods. Thrice. "Cave. Mushrooms. Monsters." See, he's still paying attention! "Go to mushrooms, kill cave, bring back monsters." Mostly.

The mage blinks at Randolf and reaches over to pour himself a cup of coffee from a pot of the stuff. The pot however is empty. He's obviously been drinking too much of the stuff. (If there is such a thing.) He sighs at the empty pot and puts it down before picking up the paper. He puts it down and shuffles through a few more before finding what he's looking for. "Basidiomycota, Azurite. As for the creatures. Looks like... Crystallum, Scorpius and a few other rare species of Crystallum. Though likely the Crystallum Scorpius will be the most aggressive."

The mage blinks at Smuldur tiredly. "Ah... yea. That sounds right." Obviously tired.

GAME: Aimarra rolls knowledge/nature: (20)+12: 32
GAME: Randolf rolls Knowledge/The Planes: (1)+12: 13 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Aimarra rolls wisdom: (2)+2: 4

Randolf doesn't have coffee handy. But he has the next best thing--a flask full of dwarven whiskey. He plucks it off his hip and uncaps it, tipping back a lengthy swallow. "Ah. There. That's better," he says, smacking his lips as he sets the flask back on his belt. Pause. Blink blink. "Wait a tick. Crystalline... -scorpions-." Back comes the flask, and another, lengthier gulp gets taken. "Might not have enough whiskey fer -this- bullshit, either," he grumbles as he reholsters the flask. He considers, tugging his beard in deep thought. "Well... hrm. Hrm hrm hrm. Suppose the kinetic impact from a lightning bolt should bust 'em up as easily as anything. Or magic missles. Those almost always work."

Smuldur doesn't need to think to know the answer to scorpions. Or anything else! "Fire!" He lifts up Torchie, The Illuminator as proof of preparedness.

"Crystal scorpions," Aimarra says, almost on the heels of Randolf's musing. "They resist electricity, and fire and cold won't work at all. They're resistant to swords, too, and they're aggressive, so they'll chase anything smaller than them off. I need to pay the weaponsmith a visit before we go, we'll need to bust them up with something blunt. I know the mushrooms he means, too, I've gathered them before, I know what they look like. Little blue ones." She pauses, glances meaningfully at Smuldur, and says nothing else. "They're not good to eat."

"GNNNNGGGGHRRRGHHHCH." Snores the mage, startling out of his sleep and rubbing his eye. "Ye ghads. The nightmares are terrible." He tries to pour himself another cup of coffee and then remembers half-way to give you guys the scroll you need. "Good luck. And don't destroy the mushrooms if you can avoid it. Or eat them." This he seems to say since Aimarra brought it up.

Randolf takes the scroll the mage gives him, tucking it into his hip satchel along with his other collection of consumables. He nods his head firmly, his shaggy brows furrowed in thought. A frown that turns dour as Aimarra lays out the various resistances of the crystalline arachnoids. "Piss up my arse," he grunts. "That's all I got in me codex. Damn it all." He thinks for a moment, then snaps his fingers. "I need tae do a wee spot o' research. Think I know just the thing. Just have tae find the spell an' get it in me codex, then I'll be ready. Meet ye all at the city gates in a couple hours, right?" He trundles off deeper into the Arcanist's Guild. What follows is a period of disgruntled haggling with one of the spell keepers, which he answers by simply plunking down a pouch of coins. "Och, ye want me firstborn while yer at it, ye stingy goat?" he grumbles as he snatches up the proffered scroll and trundles over to one of the library tables. He thumps himself down and opens up his codex. Unfurling the scroll, he begins carefully copying the arcanima diagrams.

After a couple hours of effort, he puffs up his chest. He whips his wand off his belt and points it at one of the lamps on the table. "Re ex raio vitrum concuteros!" A warbling ripple of blue light flashes from his wand and smacks into the lamp with a piercing chime, making the glass tinkle into a hundred teeny pieces. "Hah! I -impress- myself!" he says proudly, puffing up his burly chest with pride. Which lasts all of five seconds before the spellkeeper's angry 'a-hem-!' has him ducking his head. Sheepishly, he mutters a hurried Mending cantrip over the shattered lamp, making it good as new. With a polite tip of his bonnet towards the spellkeeper, he turns and makes his way for the gates. "Let's see those crystal bastards get the jump on us -now-..."

When they meet at the gates, Aimarra is waiting, with another weapon at her belt, a simple thing that is little more than a spiked club. She's otherwise entirely prepared for a cave crawl, and is tapping her foot when they finally meet again. "Ready?"

GAME: Aimarra rolls perception: (9)+14: 23
GAME: Randolf rolls Perception: (20)+8: 28

Randolf gives the lapels of his robe a jaunty snap, nodding his head with a grin. "Aye, ready! Got just the spell ready tae go! If those nasty crystal scorpion beasties decide tae play cute, I'll have 'em goin' tae pieces! Har!"

The scroll deposits you neatly inside a crystalline cave. It's a lovely location. The gray stone illuminated by various glowing crystals and phosphorescent fungi. It's not hard to distinguish where the crystal scorpions are. They don't glow, and are made of some kind of clear crystal. There's five of them spread out across the space of the cave that you're in. Mingled with the patches of mushrooms that you were sent here to collect. If you're VERY careful, and very stealthy, you might be able to collect the mushrooms without disturbing the scorpions. At least... They haven't noticed you yet.

Aimarra's eyes widen in awe and appreciation as she sets foot in the cave, but echoes of her first footsteps within the space serve as a warning, and she slows down, eyes roving the crystals. The scorpions are easy enough to pick out, among the mushrooms, but they appear to be asleep, and she turns back at once to the others, raising both hands. "Do either of you have the handspeech? They are asleep. I might be able to get the mushrooms without waking them." <handspeech>

GAME: Aimarra rolls stealth: (17)+13: 30
GAME: Randolf rolls Stealth: (15)+1: 16

Randolf reads the spell of teleportation, sending them all to the cave with a WHOOSH of magic. His eyes get wide as he beholds the majestic beauty of the crystal formations. But his astonished awe turns to wide-eyed fright as he spies those great scorpions. He claps a hand to his mouth, muffling a soft 'heek!' as he goes stock-still. His eyes flick over to Aimarra, and he gulps. He lifts his hands, signing back. "If they're asleep, that's good. I don't move quietly very well, though." Quietly, he pulls his wand off his belt and points it towards the mushrooms. As quietly as he can, he mutters the words to a cantrip. "Re ex re manus arcanima." The tip of his wand begins to glow, and as he points and gestures with it, mushrooms get plucked off the cave floor and slowly bobble towards him.

The message made it through, though, and Aimarra just nods to herself, a smile creeping across her features. She, on the other hand, is no stranger to silence, and her steps, even in the echoing cave, are near-silent as she makes for a different field of mushrooms and plucks one by one, as swiftly as silent can manage.

Quite suddenly, the field of scorpions become alert, and they begin to skitter off in every direction. Their alarm alerts you to the presence of something that is... amiss. Which you note immediately as a - very - large specimen of crystalline scorpion comes claxioning into the region. It heads immediately and hostilely toward Randolf!

GAME: Randolf rolls 1d20+7: (5)+7: 12

Randolf freezes like a deer in headlights as that giant crysmal comes barging at him. "HEEK!" He skips back, swinging his wand around in a panic. "RE EX RA--GAAGH!" He trips up over his own feet as he skitters back, trying to evade the thing's pincers and stinger. He goes red in the face as his wand gives a little sad-sounding 'pffpt' and his will is not worked. With a furious snarl, he rips his battleaxe off his belt and squares up with the thing. "A'right, ye tinklin' bastard, WE DO THIS THE HARD WAY!"

GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (18)+10: 28
GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d6+3: (5)+3: 8
GAME: Aimarra rolls weapon6: (9)+10: 19
GAME: Aimarra rolls 1d8+3: (6)+3: 9
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (3)+10: 13
GAME: Randolf rolls 1d20+7: (10)+7: 17

Crash-tnkle -- and they are suddenly in trouble, as the smaller scorpions scatter! The prescient words about them chasing out things smaller than themselves flat through Aimarra's mind. _But they'll run from the bigger ones!_ This one is definitely that - and it's headed for the dwarf! Knowing that she'll need the dwarf to get out of here, she doesn't hesitate, the morningstar coming off her belt in a heartbeat as she pelts to intercept it! She's too late, and a crystal claw leaves a sharp, bleeding line down her right bicep, but her own strike lands just as true, crystal chips flying cheerfully.

The crysmal turns ragefully on Aimarra, but its anger makes it a bit blind to what's going on around it, and its tail narrowly misses the woman. The shudder where its tail strikes the ground, and there's a small hole in the ground from the force of its natural weapon meeting with the softer stone.

Randolf hunkers down, lowering his center of gravity as he slinks to the side, circling around to get around the crysmal. He ducks and twists his torso in profile, narrowly avoiding a swipe of that stinger. "Gack!" Whipping his wand in a quick pattern, he barks a command phrase. "Re ex re percutis veritate!" Bands of golden light sweep down his arms, running to a keening sparkle at the tip of his battle axe before vanishing in a flash. "A'right, me -verra fragile- friend, come let me give ye a kiss wi' me axe!" he growls.

GAME: Randolf casts True Strike. Caster Level: 7 DC: 15
GAME: Aimarra rolls weapon6: (14)+10: 24
GAME: Aimarra rolls weapon6-5: (11)+10+-5: 16
GAME: Aimarra rolls 1d8+3: (2)+3: 5
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (10)+10: 20
GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d6+3: (6)+3: 9

"Randolf, don't let that tail hit you!" Aimarra's dodging this way and that, but this time, her strikes are faster - and less effective, only one finding purchase, and that a glancing blow. Sweat beads on her forehead as she frantically tries to keep its attention. "If you've got any other spells, now's the time!"

Thankfully, she does manage to keep the crysmal's attention, but its fury has it slamming it's tail down at her again. This time it manages to score a cut along her forearm that bleeds heavily.

GAME: Randolf rolls 1d20+3+2+1+20: (11)+3+2+1+20: 37
GAME: Randolf rolls 1d8+2: (3)+2: 5
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (19)+10: 29
GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d6+3: (7)+3: 10

Randolf cocks his arm back and brings it down with all his strength. "GYAAH! THE DWARVES ARE ON YE!" he bellows. KSHHH! The dwarf-forged steel bites down into the crystalline carapace, sending a web of cracks all along its surface. "Workin' on it, lassie!" he calls to Aimarra as he skips and skitters back away from the crysmal. But to no avail. The stinger lashes, slamming into his shoulder. "HYAAAGH!" He wrenches himself away, scrabbling away as fast as his tubby stride can carry him.

GAME: Aimarra rolls weapon6: (14)+10: 24
GAME: Aimarra rolls weapon6-5: (15)+10+-5: 20
GAME: Aimarra rolls 1d8+3: (5)+3: 8
GAME: Aimarra rolls 1d8+3: (7)+3: 10

Crimson flies, staining the gray and crystal of the cave floor, but Aimarra merely grits her teeth and takes a better grip on her weapon, slamming it down once, and then a second time, two hard strikes that open up the crack the axe started still further. Littler cracks run up and down the surface of its carapace.

GAME: Randolf rolls 7d6: (20): 20

Randolf grinds his teeth, face pale and sweat glazing his brow as he bites through the pain of his injury. Seeing the crysmal scuttling away, his eyes blaze with dwarven fury. "Oh -no- ye don't, ye ram-shaggin' -shit-!" He brings up his wand, his other hand gripping his wounded shoulder. "RE EX RAIO VITRUM CONCUTEROS! HAH!" P-CHEW! The warbling ripple streaks out and slams into the crysmal's body, right on the fissure where Aimarra clobbered it but good. KRASHHH! The cracks she started spread and spiderweb out, encompassing its center mass before the beast crumbles into inert shards. He pants for a moment, before warily tiptoeing forward. "Is it -dead-?!" he asks in a strangled tone.

Indeed the creature is very much dead. It doesn't move even a little. However you are not really - alone - the slight sounds of curious scuttling can be heard around the edges of the room.

"Yeah." Aimarra, too, abruptly seems to notice that she, too, is bleeding, crimson coating the haft of the weapon in her hand. Her free hand goes to cover it, unthinking, as the sting begins to make itself known amid the adrenaline rush, but the scuttling around the edges of the room gets her attention. "Go on, we've got to finish gathering the mushrooms and get out of here before the others decide we're fair game!"

She turns her back on Randolf with a gesture at the bag of mushrooms she'd dropped when the thing first manifested, a clear intent to _grab it_, and brandishes the bloodied weapon in the direction of the scuttling. "Oh no. You don't want any part of me," she tells it.

GAME: Aimarra rolls intimidate: (7)+9: 16
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (9)+2: 11

Randolf's eyes get wide as the little scuttlers start to scuttle. "Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit -shit-, timetaegotimetaegotimetaego..." He trundles back over to Aimarra, snapping his wand out to her fallen bag of mushrooms. He has a few tucked into his sporran, but her haul is likely much more impressive. With a quick twiddle, he levitates the bag up and over, while the other fumbles hurriedly through his hip satchel. "Damn it, damn it where -is- -- AHA!" He produces the scroll and unfurls it with a snap of his wrist. "Hang on tight lassie!" he says, before fixing his gaze on the scroll. He barks the incantation as the smaller crysmals begin daintily stepping towards them, stingers upraised. WHOOSH! Just as they poise to strike, the pair vanish in a flurry of magic. "Gwoulf!" he gasps as they re-apparate within the Arcanist's Guild. "Oh, it worked. Praise -Reos-." He looks up at Aimarra, handing over her bag of mushroomy goodness. "Beards o' me fathers, what a scrap! You a'right, lassie?"

The world twists and resolves, back into the Arcanist's Guild that is bane and boon both, the magic catching Aimarra as she brandishes the bloodied morningstar still. So it is that when they again stand on the halls, she catches herself mid-brandish -

-and stops short, still bleeding freely in multiple places, dripping on the floor of the guild. At least they got the mushrooms?

"Uh-" She lowers the morningstar hastily, looking at herself, and then at him. "I better get these looked at," she grimaces, reaching to take the bag he offers, but stops when she sees the similar wound that he sports. "You better get that looked at to, it'll bleed bad."

You land actually, before the mage whom sent you out on your mission. He startles back awake and notices your haul and grins widely. "Oh you got them! Looks like enough for a few batches as well!" He eagerly holds his hands out for the mushrooms and once he has them in hand he starts a-brewing something. It smells abominable. "No more dreams for me!"

His laugh is more like a maniacal cackle than anything else. He waves you out of his room. "The guild will see to your payment. Oh I'm going to finally get some sleep!"

As you leave you notice that many of the mages are in a similar condition to the one you did the job for. Sleeping in the halls only to startle to wakefulness. Some of them carrying coffee or tea around. Yawning. Truth be told... it's not even that early in the day anymore.

Randolf looks down at his shoulder, and the -disturbingly large- red stain starting to soak through the green of his robe. His face turns white as milk, and his beard quivers. "Oh, piss up my -arse-," he squeaks. "Gods, I -hate- seein' that much o' me own blood..." He gulps hard. "Damn it. Nae -nearly- enough whiskey in the world tae put up wi' -this- bullshit. C'mon, lass. We got healin' potions in the Alchemics lab. My treat." As he passes over his haul of mushrooms, he peers at his fellow arcanist. "Reos' flamin' beard, lad. Ye ever try booze? Works a hell of a lot better. An' it dinnae involve gettin' skewered by some skitterin' fiendish -thingie-." He rubs his face, looking back at Aimarra. "Let's go get patched, lassie. Then I'm all fer gettin' shitfaced. You up fer gettin' shitfaced? Best copin' mechanism there is, says I."

Aimarra breathes in - and hesitates, looking around at all the exhausted mages. "Yeah, let's go. I'll buy if you'll come up with the potions." Clearly, she doesn't know what she's getting into, offering to buy for a dwarf - or maybe she does. Ignoring the mage as he starts to create military-grade fart juice in the comfort of his lab, she turns and starts for the exit, holstering the morningstar and reaching to futilely cover the pair of bleeding wounds, one down her shoulder and arm, the other across her opposite forearm.

-End