"Hello Jack. Cauldron, huh? Placed inside a dormant volcano? Weird, but I've seen weirder. Giant hamsters on a treadmill powering a gnomish vehicle, now that's weird. Why is Mongo here?" the large warrior asks. He is wearing a metal breastplate armor that he moves around in as if it were made of cloth, and carries several oversized weapons, the worst of which is a massive 60 lb hammer.

"Sorry lad, I do not even know why I am here, or how I came to be here, or even really where here is.   For a while we were battling things and I thought perhaps I was in some sort of afterlife, or purgatory limbo, but decided that was a bad series of thought experiments to go on, so I have been gathering knowledge and trying to understand this place better, before seeking a way home."

Mongo turns to the lady. "Aranea is a pretty name. You are also a visitor here?"

“I am spider-folk, there are a few varieties of us, my kind tend to hide in our home forest and simply cause people to forget about us to get by. I am somewhat uneducated to the ways of outside races. Other spiderfolk tribes have other ways of ensuring survival. Some are quite brutal, savagely assaulting others.” She made a gesture toward her medicine pack, “I planned to blend in as a traveling doctor to see the state of the world.”

The shores seem to bend around each other as they approach, yielding a view of the sun as the sole absentee in thi twisted landscape, filled as it is with black and grey. Those of you with Nightvision feel it clicking into place and your eyes take on a different cast. The Ferryman's do as well and he knits his brow, offering the newly arrived (and yes he crashlands into the boat) a moment before raising his knitted brow. "It's not too rare to see the gods changing things on a large scale. They are like the wogren, always on the hunt for those astral parasites, the astirax. You might learn a thing or two about the damn dogs in Highwall, or perhaps you have other affairs." You all shift a little as the boat ends up on the black-sand shores, witht he sound of clicking into place matching your Darkvision, which is sometimes gifted by Jack's Ioun Stone, depending on where you are in Erethor. The item is otherwise mundane, but the rest of your magical equipment is hidden by your patron god, if you have one. You can see smoke rising from the city as the Ferryman sloshes out. "The sextant is yours to keep, its mirrors might be of use to the glass Drow or perhaps a glass shipment proper from the city of Highwall. That's what's rumored to be needed for the populace to slay certain of the vampire-esque creatures. Silver does no good around here, I've only heard its use could be determined by roving orcs who guard the mines."

A lightning bolt (caster level 6) dances upon the water (Zeus' presence int the spear of Ares allows you to intuit the caster level), levelling the ripples that die on shore. But the Ferryman ignores them, making his motives a bit more unclear. You can see shrubs in this scrubland (think more grasslands of Africa) waver with the wind, like the receding impression of the shores. No one mills about, but the city stands squat before you. You still have the weapons to deliver from Skie's Treasury, a MW rapier and stone of fire giant summoning to recall your battle in Cauldron. Who knows what dialectic there is between Highwall and Cauldron (or is it Baden's Bluff)? Sizing up the city, you can discern that wizards of Shatterhorn met their end against Ares' forces here based on your past readings. "Did you enjoy the ride? If you saw me, then you are still under the effect of Eagle's Splendor. If ever you see me again and tell tales of the flights of eagles, do not fail to crush the clavicles of jackals who no longer favor the sky."

Mongo shakes his head. "I see you, yet I was under no such spell. You are addled perhaps. I've little magic myself, simply superlatively crafted equipment, mostly done by myself. Where came this symbol on my skin from? Have I been marked by the gods that brought me here?" questions the warrior.

"Master Greenham, yes the ride was illuminating in many ways, but lead to more questions, so how might you be summoned in the future should we find ourselves upon some distant shore and what is a shared of Poseidon that we may properly pay for future passage?"


@Mongo
"I am indeed addled in the sense of trying to make sense of the world as it is or it appears before me.  I will likely need to start writing things down for the benefit of us all."

Tempted to ask the DM to open a "Jack's journa"l thread, just for all those notes.....

The sun sinks lower, offering a fresh glimpse of rosy-fingered Dawn. Eos itself is caught up in the magic, Helios seeming to tinge the sun red with effulgence. Other more distant continents had leveled deserted connections to the distant stars, astronomers branching out even with tools like the sextant. The ground before you is cracked and uneven, reminiscient of an Earthquake spell. Chances are good that magma would tear through this earth in ages past, before Highwall's most initial stakes were set up. It's a town of considerable import, classed as a "City," but some wish to make it a "Metropolis." Which is to say the town is growing, as it has outstripped its origins, replacing wood with magical black glass, some of which you're carrying. Alien creatures flit about here always, tinged with Dancing Lights to make the city stand out in bold. A deep darkness resides here, and not just in the dark glass. Rangers set up shop here, striking out into the nearby woods, which is maintained by Shadow overlords; several of the rangers in Cauldron make trips between the cities all the time, which you know from Knowledge (religion) checks, as they bring sextants into trips across Pelluria. Jack's journal had a colophon suggesting a circular pattern similar to Mongo's mark, and the Tree of Shackled Souls is but a front for deeper machinations, ancient symbols glowing with potent red light. Several rangers on horseback are entering the drawbridge at the same time, and are three of the most powerful people around (level 6 rangers, tracking prey in the King's Woods). Primal forces suggest Perfect Body applies to them, and they all bear the same mark as Mongo. This lets you view them as creatures of Light. Dual-wielding katanas, their belts sag with the authority of Warriors. They possess shields that are slightly larger than usual and sheaths of black glass. The attendant of Izrador sits twiddling his thumbs at the entrance to the city, a half-orc-looking guy.

Cart passing through contains: ten red rubies, bullets +1 for slings, ten panels of black glass, a thunderstone, tanglefoot bag, bag of holding, and quarterstaff +1, scroll of Disguise. It's really dangerous to have these but you will manage. With a Disguise spell, which you all memorized from its sister Jack's Journal, you will be able to make it seem like you're bringing an oxen into the city. Several Izradorian servants mull about aimlessly in the periphery of the city.

Melf's Acid Arrow supposedly strikes the river El from the muezzin/belltower at the center of the city every afternoon, when the water clocks dip down into their tanks. The river runs green around the city, striking throughout the Highlands/Badlands, with mighty gusts of wind caressing the water. The AC of the pallisades is such that it is hard enough to pierce even the thickest armor, and several militia saps seem to be the cargo of the group entering the city behind you.

Jack looks back hoping to catch the ferryman before he leaves, perhaps the details of the city had drawn him in and he had not turned back fast enough to question the man, he added the notes to his journal about the questions still stacking up in the world at large...

He finds himself looking into high wall and noting that it is strange to see the auras of good and evil manifest with just the magic in the air making casting of the spells unnecessary, but how and why do both dwell together in a land of chaos, perhaps there is an abscense of law in this realm, and it is mostly chaos or it far outweighs the law.....


He shakes his head......

"Aranea, Mongo, what do you guys make of this place?"

"Extraplanar, no doubt. Bordering on the Chaos Realms. In viewing the surroundings I am filled with knowledge of types of magics though I have no training in such. Reactive environment as well." Mongo theorizes.

Turning to the ferryman, Mongo asks "What does Shackleborn mean? I am told by Ares, who has never spoken to me before, that the marking on my arm declares me as a Shackleborn. Is it part of some prophecy?"

The questions for the Ferryman tinkle in your ears as you take stock of the new terrain, and as the drawbridge settles up, you are able to get into the radius of the gatekeeper who seeks to inspect your shipment. You find that the Ferryman had transformed your ship into a cart, which hides his invisible form beneath the items. If you don't succeed at a Hide check your presence might cause a fight to break out, but from what you can tell, the Rangers would fight with you, based on the raised eyebrows (albeit those with caution) and their general aura. You suspect they are agents of the gods. Three of them: tall, short, and squat, all human, and indeed, it's largely a human settlement. Nary a lick of the presence of other races here, but potent magics pass through here unobserved at all times.

Their dual-wielding would come in mighty handy in the event of a fight. The usher (gatekeeper) gestures with his hand for you to approach and the rangers pause to take note of it. The rangers: "Boy is it rare to see types like you in a place like this. I take it you observed the proper rites of burial for that which you have slain? With violence everywhere and something like that [he prods a finger toward where the phylactery would have been, but it remains deftly hidden]. "Bring out your dead, and all," the same man says, eying the cart for just a moment. "Perhaps once you are done depositing these goods, good travelers, we might share a drink." Despite his insouciance, he levels his large head toward the city, which is of epic stonework. The throughfares are cobbled but sidestreets looking muddy from your perspective.

The salt in the air is almost choking with its potency, and the phylactery may yet have drifted onto the Ferryman, both in some kind of limbo post-Sea of Pelluria. "And a spider woman? The tithe is occuring tonight and they might be looking for some silk, rare as it is. In any case," and the usher, who looks somewhat spiderlike himself, gestures for them to enter the city. He issues: "Welcome, and what is your business in Highwall?"

Mongo grunts. "A drink? Not a good idea for Mongo. Last drink Mongo had was in dwarven bar in Ironmound, drinking Diamonddraught. They made it from squeezing the juice out of diamonds, they said. Next thing Mongo knows, he is here with Red god whispering in his ear. What does Shackleborn mean?" Mongo was fairly confident they might know, as he had already observed that some of the Rangers had the same 'natural' sign on their arms, like a mystic tattoo.

Aranea was taken a bit aback by seeing someone else, particularly one who saw her openly despite her shape change. It was not comforting if you took into account that it was illegal to be a magical creature in the lands controlled or claimed by the Dark Lord maybe it should be reassuring though as it meant they could pull it off too. It would only be the outskirts of Darklands anyhow.

“We hope to get bottles specially made for some bitter wine we plan to produce back on the vineyard,” she tried to be subtle. “We also hoped to look through a library to look for techniques that might make our next batch a little better. I also think I might find family a bit distantly related here that I would look for.”

Aranea rolled 28 using 1d20+12.  Hide check.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:49, Sat 04 May.

"Thank you good man, I have only recently arrived in this land at all, and I have business with the  proud as it were."

Obviously yes to  the library as well, but since A already said something..

Jack Shrugs
"A drink sounds nice, when and where do you propose we meet?...I of course cannot make plans for my companions."
Jack Springhill rolled 28 using 1d20+11 ((17)).
This message was last edited by the player at 13:52, Sat 04 May.

Mongo chuckles. "Not cold at all for me. Feels like home for Mongo, high up in mountains. Beer Mongo can handle." the Goliath smiles, broken teeth a testament to many hard fights.

Jack walks past the bored looking green eyed guard and offers a greeting to the striders....

"Well met, Striders."

Jack keeps moving forward wanting to be into the city proper, and past the guards to gain his bearings on the places to stay, the library and the pround...and later the power nexus, whatever that is....

Aranea too, moves into the city so as not to hold up anyone at the gate. Trouble invites trouble. Less standing out the better. Her human form was important for that.

In the bar, over a beer (which cost 10 cp a piece), the warm visages of the Striders meet you in flickering ambience. Icarus, Brett, and Katherine toss between them their own Ioun Stone and the Stone of Fire Giant Summoning, and the group as a whole would be EL 16 given they are of considerable power in the region and can summon assistance from disparate cities, and the Shadow's blight across the land is such that the port cities register more traffic of the ghost ship variety. With the Striders, in fact, you discuss cities shrouded in green light that bleed into the very horses themselves, which are taxed to the max to augment the Shadow's blightful spread over the land. Thus the bone steed with a ribcage glittering with metallic implants courtesy of the powers of nature (for here the gods start to blend in) and the wind is crisp with blood of the ravens which transport messages far and wide but many in the service of good attempt to waylay the routes of the ravens such that the sepulchres (which is where the Striders want to plan the ambush on the shadow) divvy up the bodies which are summarily burnt to prevent the spread of disease (kind of like the stereotypes about Mao's China). This will test your hide skill and even now Aranea's form seems to flicker as though camouflaged. The rangers are able to hide in plain sight and the very black of their sabretaches means you will be able to use the town's mules with the naive villagers' expectations that their village will undertake a blessing.

The pround walks into the bar and bears a coin purse and a mirror which seems to reflect the katana held by Icarus and create a sort of watery effect akin to a Wedge of Salt, which Brett whittles into his pewter mug that he seemed to bring himself.

One of the bartenders attempts to Erase some magical writings on the wall as if to hastily cover them up (13 vs DC 15). This fails, and with your language skills, you are able to tell it is written in Auran, which you may wish to pursue at the library. Only four hours until the scheduled tithe and many in the bar are groaning about the fallow land. They are like slaves to the shadow. Devouring the Stone of Fire Giant Summoning, water and fire dance against the wall, seen as a cheap trick in this neck of the woods. Some day the wose would allow you to wick a roped village about them and help build up the society.

"Fellow pround, what markings shall precede the demonstrations of the crop? And fellow adventurers, what say you to our initial plans?" Icarus glares at you that you might want to maintain secrecy, for almost all prounds are considered traitors. "The fire and water united will carry us through should we discover Skie in this place."

Jack notes that the group is very powerful so he has no desire to engage them in the bar, he also sees a message on a chalk board, that he recognizes immediately as Auran, an language he knows and he takes in what it says, hoping for a new nugget of information about the world...

His ears perk up when the new man is addressed as a pround, because he can perhaps destroy the last vestage of the lich.  However he will wait for the pround to not be in conversation with the other group....

He finds a vacant table for him and his companions to sit.
He holds up three fingers and says "Pints of beer."

Mongo frowns. "Friend Brett, you use a term Mongo has never heard before. Pround. It is a new word to me. What is its meaning? And what is a scheduled tithe, another term Mongo has never heard before?"

Jack also looks around the area for carvings, markings or other sources of secret signals that may be part of the underworld or coded specifics.

in his own world such marking could be useful to get by.  The carving of a shovel meant there was sometimes work there, and two shovels meant there is always work here.  The traveling workers had such signs, to warn of bad places, good places, good water and bad water...he was sure he would see such marks along the way....

Aranea moves quietly and shuffles into a seat by the other two. It was good to have adequate to exceptional guards… it was bad to seem like an unreasonably wealthy itinerant. “Religious form of taxes generally… the tithe that is…”

Mongo asks "religion Mongo knows about. But what are taxes? Is it related to the hard tack that soldiers sometimes take with them on campaign? We do not carry such things in my mountain home."