Grotesque Display

A crowd of people have gathered in the Memorial Gardens District. Early enough in the day that the guards haven't really caught wind yet that there's something amiss. They seem to be gathered around the lovely statue that has been erected in the midst of the gardens. A statue of Crown Princess Lianna Rena which has stood now for years in this place.

Today however that statue is not in evidence. Or... if it is the same statue it has been drastically altered. Even from a distance this is evident, but it's hard to get a good look at it through all of the people...

It was moments like these that Skielstregar was thankful he was as tall as he was. He decided that he should pay the Temple of Eluna a visit, either to warn them about the vision he had, or to pay respects and give thanks for something he had figured out the night after the terrors.

But alas, his plans were thwarted by the crowed. He curls and arm behind his back, pinning the weapons slung over them to take up less space, and more importantly, not poke anyone as he makes his way through the crowd with quiet rumblings of 'excussse thisss one' and 'pardon' to see what the fuss was about.

Standing a bit back from the crowd near one of the benches is a xian man in dark clothing. A raven perched on his shoulder. There's an expression on his face that says he's seen the show and that he's... thinking about it very seriously. He watches the people as they clamor for a look at the statue, his raven ducking its head down to rub against his cheek. Wuya wants comfort in this discomforting time, but Karasu only has eyes for those who are coming and going.

It was supposed to be a nice winter stroll in the gardens on the way home from one of Pothy's favorite bakeries. Ravenstongue is almost radiant and rosy-cheeked from the weather and from the fact she's holding the hand of the man who she is engaged to be wedded, a wide smile plastered on her face...

Until she notices the crowds. More accurately, Pothy notices them, as the white raven croaks a little. "Move aside! Excuse us! Move aside! Excuse us!" the white raven croaks, trying to be helpful. After all, there are freshly baked snacks in the bag that Ravenstongue is holding, and one can only eat them at home.

"What's going on?" Ravenstongue asks, perplexed as she tries to stand up on the tips of her toes to see over the crowd. Her hand stays tightly wrapped around her fiance's.

Telamon looks a little distracted, like he's working on a mental puzzle, but the sudden crowd kicks him out of internal ruminations and into immediate awareness. His hand in Raven's as he frowns. "I can't tell. It's... I think the statues? Are they rearranging them or something?" It may be slightly undignified but he's trying to stand on his toes as well to get some visual information as to what's going on.

A pile of furs and hides wider than it is tall capped with a wavy mane of auburn hair shuffles its way into the central square from the north. The smallest hint of a green-glowing speartip pokes through the wildman's armor between his shoulders. The draped furs parts when a hairy forearm of corded muscle pokes out and reaches up so calloused fingers can pinch his nose and rub at his eyes. Held tight in the other arm-- almost entirely obscured by his layered armors-- is a worn and faded canvas satchel.

Porter has earned a break today and likely recovers somewhere in the wilds beyond the city walls. Truffles-- at least what's left of him-- swings from the leather thong dangling from the shaman's neck to keep him company and serve as conduit to the Word. "(not far now, Bar...)" he mutters to himself.

Glasha's usually given a bit of give in crowds, since her staff is also a greataxe (it's just a greataxe, really). Today, however, the crowds are more unyielding, even despite the huge, silvered ax. Perched atop it is usually a raven, but today, the raven circles high and peers down at the crowd. Birds are light. A lot of huge, jostling people? No thank you. It DOES give Luna a fantastic view of the statue, but Glasha can't see through those eyes.

The statue stands inert, unmoving and thus eventually it can be seen by gaining a decent vantage point from which to view it. It's been radically changed. From a peaceful princess staring out over the lovely flowers to... Something horribly transfigured. It looks like a person of some kind who is undergoing some kind of horrible and painful transformation. It almost doesn't look human anymore, caught between two worlds. There's an eerie vibe to the statue, and looking at it is unsettling.

Noticing the pair of Telamon and Ravenstongue, Karasu moves forward toward them. "It seems to be that someone defaced the statue in an... unusual fashion." He murmurs. Loudly enough to be heard over the crowd but not loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His eyes flicker to their held hands and he nods. "Congratulations on your engagement."

Once Skiel gets close enough to spy the changes in the statue, he shifts on his feet some and averts his gaze. Right down onto-

"Ah, Sssshamansss Ravensstongue and Telamon. Peassse on your nesst. Erm... do... either of you know what thisss statue used to be?" he asks, not one who's trained in Alexandrian history. Or... any history.

He catches Karasu, and gives a closed eye (yet fanged) smile and a wave. "Peasse Karasu. Perhapsss magicsss warped it?"

Telamon stares at the statue with a mixture of disgust and anger, before realizing people are addressing him. He shakes his head to focus on something else -- anything -- and finds himself staring at Skiel and Karasu instead. "It... well, was, a statue of Princess Lianna. Although I'm not sure what this is supposed to signify." He looks to Raven. "I know there's magic that's good at working stone, but I would've thought the gardens were warded against such vandalism."

Ravenstongue smiles at Karasu and says, "Thank you, Karasu, truly, but--I think this might be a tiny bit more pressing. How long has it been like this?" she asks, her eyes turning back to the statue.

Pothy gives a happy greeting croak to Wuya, the white raven more than happy to see his friend again. Birds of a feather and all.

The half-elf sorceress presses her lips together in thought. "I don't like it either, Tel," she says. "I don't like it at all."

Luna swoops down and lands on her favored perch, despite the people around. People don't often get too close to an axe. Over the murmuring (in both senses of the words), she says, in that pale immitation of Glasha's voice, "Be glad you can't fly."

"Is it terribly gruesome?" Glasha asks.

"Definitely!" the bird replies. "Just a sea of apes and lizards as far as the eye can see!"

"Oh!" Glasha says in frustration. She moves to a building and climbs some stairs. She then puts one foot up on a convenient handhold and uses the bird perch on the top of her flat-topped ax-staff to hoist herself up over the crowd. Luna gronks and hops onto the half-human's head.

Peering over the crowd, Glasha's brow furrows. "Hmmm," she says. "If that statue was a lookalike and was petrified...stone to flesh, some kind of transmutation spell, then flesh to stone before it took."

"Why care about the statue?" Luna asks. "It's always been ugly."

"You say that about any art not of one of us."

"It's not my fault we're glorious," the bird asserts from atop Glasha's hair.

Through the thinnest press of curious passers-by before he realizes there's even a hurly burly in progress, Barclaiigh stops and raises tiny, bleary eyes to sort out what people are slackjawed and peas'n-carrots'n about. The Khazad manages a hop or two before he's surrendered to the futility of that attempt and he backs up, instead, and walks a short circuit to cock his head at the statue.

The druid's tiny eyes go wide and his bushy eyebrows seek to escape through the top of his forehead. He looks down to make sure he has his trousers on before re-taking the satchel in both hands. If he's mid-nightmare it's not the one where he's missing his pants and his brew is flat and tasteless! Familiar faces spotted above the crowd, he puts his head down and starts barreling his way through. "Ope! Easy roads! Paron! Dang i-- ow. Pardon!" It's hard to resist his bulk but he leaves more than a few fussy Alexandrians in his wake.

Breaking through to the assembled half-variables, human, and makar, the exhausted Khazadi wildman offers a sheepish smile. "H'lo. I ain't covered'n blood'n guts'n lookin' all monstrous, nah?"

Telamon looks at Raven -- pointedly -not- looking at the statue. "A threat? I hope the princess has excellent security." He spreads his hands. "I'll be honest, I really don't like looking directly at it. It reminds me of..." He gulps and shudders. "...that bad patch in the dream-walk. Way, way too much similarity for my tastes." He looks to Skiel and Karasu, before glancing down to see Barclaiigh. "I, er, don't think we've been introduced, but no... you're clean. No offal."

Wuya chirps a happy hello back to Pothy and Karasu nods politely a greeting to Skielstregar. "Peace on your nest Skielstregar. It seems likely that this is so, but I do wonder how. Surely magic protects it. As they do this whole garden." Indeed, with the magical garden still warm in spite of the winter, it is odd that anything might penetrate the powerful magics that keep it so. "I can not say how long it has been like this, but I came here early this morning, and it was like this. I did not notice any oddity to it yesterday."

He nods politely to the unfamiliar dwarf and eyes him somewhat at his greeting. "No. Is there a reason you might be?"

Mikilos strolls the Gardens often, usually indulging in a bit of reading. But today the archmage strides with purpose, heading for the crowd and the statue in the middle of it all. "Excuse me, please. A bit of room. What's all this about a princess statue?"

The crowd makes way slowly but with certainty for the (in)famous wizard Mikilos, a few people actually asking for his autograph as he passes by on his way to the statue which has been either replaced, or horribly disfigured.

Skielstregar shrugs his shoulders high, a motion that makes his armor softly clink together. "Thissss one iss not sure. Isss it related to the earth tremorssss the other day? The statue is sstone and the earth shifted, maybe Ea said ssssomething?" he speculates.

Now there were more people he knew vaguely of, which meant it was very easy to address them all considering their loosely connected professions. He raises a scaled brow at the way they treat the tall elf, but still he gestures broadly to the statue. "The ssstatue isss morphed. The Ssshamansss are sstumped."

"Ah, hi, Mikilos," Ravenstongue says in greeting to the very tall elf before looking back to the druidic dwarf. "And hello to you, Barclaiigh--this is Telamon, my fiance." She flushes as she introduces him, but the smile on her face from the introduction disappears quickly as she sighs.

"The statue of the Princess Lianna's been defaced, and we're all wondering who, what, why, when, and how," Ravenstongue explains to the archmage. "It's pretty much a mystery to everybody. Hopefully you can glean some insight."

Pothy has lost interest in all of this. The princess statue is not a snack. It hasn't even been defaced to /look/ like a snack. Pointless! "Snacks," Pothy politely requests. He hopes someone answers and gives him his due.

"More'n a little haunted t'day," Barclaiigh admits, squinting his eyes at Telamon and committing his face to memory. "Easy roads, mister Maifiansey." His blinks and looks up and over the press to the statue. There's shuffling under his furs and then he holds the ratty satchel up and out just beyond the folds of his furred cloak. "Got one'a m'own," he admits, squirrely, as his eyes bob left and right.

"Was fixin' t'get it t'the Grove but ol'one-eye wants is boss t'have a gander first." The bag disappears back into his piled garb once more and he pauses to stifle a yawn. His lids flutter and his lips pull down tight over his teeth. He's sleepy. He takes a step in and lowers his voice. "It's..."

Another glance around to make sure people aren't too close. "... Cacaracacothoth."

Skiel blinks, looking down at Barclaiigh. "Bless you," he says out of habit, patting the dwarf on the shoulder.

GAME: Mikilos rolls knowledge/religion: (7)+17: 24

Karasu looks at the dwarf, his brow furrowing slightly. "One of your own?" He looks at the statue then the dwarf. Looks at the pouch and his confusion subsides a little. "Where did you come into possession of a statue like the one that stands there?" He motions toward the changed statue in the square. "And who is Cacaracaothoth?"

Telamon looks bemused. "No, it's... you know, actually, I can live with being her fiance, I much prefer that title." His grin is cheerful, despite the grim event. "A what now?" He looks puzzled at the ratty satchel, his brow furrowed like it does when he's trying to unscramble something. He glances up at the statue again, and shudders. "Damn. What kind of ...mind puts something like that into reality?" His hand in Raven's again, seeking a steady point to orient from.

"A mind that's gone through the strange prince's territory, maybe," Ravenstongue says as she looks up at Telamon with a knowing look. It's an in-joke between them, evident by the smirk on her face that disappears as she looks at Barclaiigh and Karasu. "I... Don't really understand what you're saying. There's an entity you think is to blame for this? What is it, exactly?"

GAME: Mikilos casts Detect Magic. Caster Level: 17 DC: 21

Mikilos is not doing any Crimson Pen autographs today. He is however frowning at the statue as it comes into view, trying to remain polite and not block any others. He's not here in any official capacity, so others have just as much right to gawk as he does. "Does anyone happen to know when this happened? Who was the first to notice, and when?" A minor cantrip offers the wizard a bit more magical information to his sight, but isn't really expecting much. An overheard name, however, draws his focus to Barclaiigh. "...you have a what?"

Distractedly, Bar pushes back his cloak and goes into his belt pouches. The druid fishes out a long-stemmed, light-brown mushroom with a small cap and holds it up to Pothy to quiet the familiar familiar. It's not his usual offering but if he has it on hand it's entirely edible.

The dwarf's nose wrinkles and he squints up at the sith-makar. "Weren't no sneeze. Name'a a vile god'a unnatural monster ain't properly birth from no natural loins. Carackacough! Puttin' awful visions'a skulkin' through th'wilds'n eatin' poor critters'n folk ain't done nothin' wrong t'me."

When Mikilos addresses him, the wildman turns and finds himself facing what's probably a pretty fancy belt-buckle. A calloused hand snakes out into view and he braces the elf in place, then takes a few steps back and looks up. Then he looks up some more.

Almost there...

And now he's squinting at the wizard's face. "Got me onna his vile idols'n it's goin' t'th'Grove fer disposin'. Just told someone I'd wait a spell, first."

Telamon shakes his head at Raven. "With respect, love, more like a mind that -lives- in those dark places." He brushes back his hair, looking at Barclaiigh and Mikilos, listening. But when Barclaiigh mentions 'visions', he pauses, then looks at Skiel and Raven. "Wait," he holds up a hand. "We thought... we thought the spellcaster nightmares were from the Tyrant in Chains. Did we get it wrong? Was this carcass-whatsis the culprit instead?"

Karasu looks between all the people gathered and rubs a hand against his forehead. There's a lot of information flying around, and not all of it is very clear. "The Tyrant... Caused the nightmares that were occuring? Who told you this? A reputable source?" Karasu looks at Telamon seriously.

Ravenstongue looks at Pothy, who is still trying to gnaw at her hair, before she looks at Karasu. "I told him, because I was there. I stared what I believe to be the Tyrant down in that first nightmare with Mikilos and Skielstregar," she says, serious as can be. "Mikilos and I discussed it later and we reached that agreement."

Skielstregar tilts his head slowly as Barclaiigh explains. "... that sssoundsss... not good," he simply surmises, frowning.

He looks to Telamon and Karasu with a tense expression. "... thisss one isss not sure. The Tyrant, False Father, wass there. But ssso was... thisss one thinksss it was The Dragonfather's daughter, Eluna. Thiss one wass actually going to go to the temple to give them a headsss up..."

He raises a silver brow at Pothy, then shakes his head.

"Caracoroth, The Dread Wolf." Mikilos takes no pleasure in the name, spitting it out. But the guy's a deity, mangeling his name will do you no favors. He nods to Ravenstongue. "I maintain the dragon seen in that dream was most likely Maugrim. But the nightmares since may have been a different source. Or possibly unconnected." He considers. "Both Dragon and Maiden warned of a coming storm... I've not heard the Jaws of Thirst described as such, but I suppose is possible... a storm consumes and destroys, so not a bad parallel." He sighs, looking back to the disfigured statue. "I don't know what exactly happened here, but the magics involved were powerful. Magus level, at the least."

"Differ'nt." Barclaiigh says simply to the quartet discussing the recent troubled nights for magic folk. "This is..." the dwarf shudders, his furs bouncing. "Differ'nt. Violent'n hungry. 'nsatiable."

The grim sensations of reveling in the hunt return and Bar is glad folks can't see his goosepimples or the hairs of his arms standing on end. His wide lips turn down into a deep frown beneath his caterpillar mustache, though.

"Farmin' folk were complainin' 'bout some big vermin comin' down from th'hills'n eatin' their crop. Turned out to be some jumbled-up critters'a nightmare. Found a big nest... 'r hive, 'guess? Burnt'n buried it, we did. Found m'cursed bit'a awful there..."

Karasu is admittedly having some difficulty parsing the dwarf's accent. He focuses on the man's words, but his years spent in other countries far from dwarven lands make understanding difficult. "You found the statue in a farming village? With insects." That much he understands, but the bit about the violence makes no sense to him. Perhaps it was said in reference to someone elses statement. "If the magic is that strong, it might do anything."

"Is there any active magic on the statue? Or is it all gone and done?" He asks this question, but quickly casts his own spell to see magic. "And the statue that you have... Is it magical perhaps as well?" This to the dwarf.

"Cocoa," Pothy says, his eyes still as wide as dinner plates. Everything sounds like food words and he is desperately hungry. He continues to bite at Ravenstongue's hair. Why isn't it licorice? It looks like licorice. It should taste like licorice. Why, why, /why?/

Ravenstongue has no idea of the bad trip Pothy's on right now. She looks at Barclaiigh and frowns at the description of the nest. "Okay--so you're telling me you found something that you brought back. And it might be associated with a god who is clearly very upset right now."

The blood drains from her face. "I, uh. I'm not going to mince my words here: it sounds like we're suddenly in some deep shit."

Skielstregar gives a low growl at Mikilos's description of the god, it getting cut out as he clears his throat. "Good it wasss razed and buried," he nods to Barclaiigh.

His attention falls to Ravenstongue, his visage firming as she goes sheet white. Old training flickers in the back of his mind from fractured memories, and he stands more upright. "Barclaiigh, perhapsss it be bessst to bring that to a place of sacrament sooner than later," he nods towards the Temple District. "And perhapsss it be wissse for usss to alert the clergy of the visionssss. It might help, especially if your gut isss right, Ravenssstongue."

Barclaiigh waves over the tall elf and holds the satchel out from under his furs. Sausage fingers dive in and he pushes aside a wrapped, old blanket until he reveals the idol in question. "Iff'n y'want a gander..."

"Grove'll know what t'do," the dwarf tells Skielstregar with a nod. "Just... 'gave m'word, 's'all... don't want th'danged thing no longer'n I have to."

The druid notices Pothy's antics for the first time and flushes, glancing down at his belt. Which pouch did he reach into? His snacking pouch shouldn't do anything like that to a bird...

Mikilos waves vaugely. "Caracoroth has been trying to devour all of creation since the First Age, it's nothing new. Even the Dark Gods want him kept fettered. As for the magics on the princess statue, just residue remains, near as I can tell. Mildly tempted to try and reverse them, but not knowing what exactly happened..." And then the smaller... idol? is offered. The wizard takes a peek with magic aided eyes, pretty sure he's not going to enjoy this even if it's just carved stone.

Mikilos is not the only one curious about the statue, and Karasu leans in for a peek as well, his eyes widening at the sight of the magics contained therein. His knowledge of magic is somewhat limited however, so he allows someone with more insight to explain things.

GAME: Mikilos rolls spellcraft: (14)+37: 51

Mikilos frowns more, covering the idol back up. "Where exactly was this found? It may very well be the source of the bad dreams. It's designed to grant visions. Most likely from a powerful agent of the Dread Wolf, if not from the deity himself. Who exactly was using it could tell us a great deal."

Skielstregar shifts on his feet taloned feet, glancing about as Mikilos gave his verdict. "... thisss only hasss only just gotten over such restlesss sleep..." he murmurs. "That iss... troubling..."

Pothy looks longingly at Mikilos, whose face resembles the color of shortbread cookies. "Snacks," he says, whimpering.

Ravenstongue sighs as she looks over at Skielstregar. "Yeah, last night was nice."

Then a flush comes to her face. "Not like that," she says, and she clears her throat. "I made a nice chicken soup. It was cozy--anyway! This sounds like we have more investigating to do."

"Village'n Alexandros," Barclaiigh tells Mikilos, tossing a thumb in the general direction. "Well, cave'n th'hills 'bove th'village. Happy t'take you iff'n you'd like a looksee." The dwarf flips closed the satchel and drags is back under his cloak and out of view.

"Not now, though... got business with th'feller who helped put down th'critters." Pothy draws the Khazad's attention again and he goes back into his pouches, being sure to select a trio of his enchanted currents this time. He holds those out to the half-elf sorceress, explaining, "One'll feed a grown oruch fer da day.... use yer best judgment?"

"Whatever it is, if it is revering a dark god, or belonging to the follower of one, it might well be better off destroyed." Karasu looks toward the statue that stands in the gardens and shakes his head. Wuya chirps beside his ear and he nods. "I should be on my way. You all take care. It seems there are many questions afoot, and it is wise to be wary." With that he turns and leaves.

Skielstregar meets gaze with Ravenstongue. Stares. Then gives a closed eye smile. "Of courssse not," he rumbles, an elbow carefully nudging the half-sil on the shoulder before he levels his dead gaze on Barclaiigh. "Good thinking. Get that squared away ssso that issue remains gone."

He dips his head slowly. "Yesss, gone and dessstroyed," he agrees with Karasu, waving to him as he goes. "Peassse on your nessst, friend," he says easily, warmly.

Then, he looks to Pothy. "... thisss one thinksss you need water."

Mikilos nods in agreement. "An important clue, but one best destroyed swiftly."

Ravenstongue bites her lip in an attempt to somehow keep herself from squeaking as Skielstregar elbows her shoulder. The moment passes quickly enough as she nods, and takes the current from Barclaiigh, putting it into her bag. "I, umm--I'll give it to him once Tel and I go home," she says.

She sighs. "Well, it seems we've reached an accord. Destroy the thing. With that in mind, I think Tel and I have to attend to our silly bird," she says.

"I have the munchies, man," Pothy bemoans, and with that, Ravenstongue departs, replacing the hair in his mouth with a little sweetroll from her bakery goodie bag.

"'Course... I ain't gonna marry th'thing," Barclaiigh nods, offering a tired smile at the helpful suggestions. There's a pause. He blinks. Then lightning strikes. "OOOOOOOH! 'MY.'" He two hands come out from under the cloak side-by side. "'FIANCE.'" The two hands bob to indicate a second parcel of empty air. "Sorry, tellerman."

-End