FH: Heroes

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 5 AM – The Waterworks]

> “Thanks!” the scout replied softly but fervently. “And… do you have
> one of those quick bailout Teleport spells like you used last night,
> if things go pear shaped?”
>
> “I do,” the elf confirmed. “Though I will have to pick at least one
> person up off the ground, and wait for everyone else to touch each
> other. But that, I can certainly do.”
>
> Lomi nodded. “Then I’m in,” she stated firmly.

Finally, the discussion turned towards armaments, where Finfin readily
agreed to accept the offer of a stone club. This was far, FAR from his
favourite weapon, but he did not want to put the fine dwarven steel of
his arming sword up against something like Crumble, the rust monster… or
any ooze or slime. And after a moment’s discussion, the rest of the team
accepted clubs of their own.

The stone weapons were crude, but solid, and would hopefully stand up to
a reasonable amount of use. Particularly if the wielder did not mistake
it for a pickaxe and tried to use it to batter down a wall. And engraved
on each club head was a repeating pair of Iokharic characters.

“R….R?” Laquendi asked, one eyebrow raised.

Tramma almost squealed with glee. “Oh, I know. I know!” she exclaimed
happily, bouncing up and down eagerly.

Lomi chuckled. “I can see why Pilinde calls you Miss KnowItAll.”

Ignoring this slight, Tramma turned eagerly to the Foreman. “Is this to
combat a certain wererat problem?”

For once, the Foreman looked impressed. “Tall People know of the Rickey
Ratte Scourge?”

Tramma nodded. “I’ve heard stories. And how a popular defence tactic is
to form… now… what were they called? Oh, yeah! Rickey Ratte Club Bands.”

“And these are some of the clubs,” the Foreman agreed. “Of no special
use against wererats, but as good as anything that isn’t silver.”

“There’s even a song,” Tramma continued. “Kindof a funeral dirge. I only
remember the last couple of lines. It goes something like this.”

In a slow, mournful voice, Tramma half sang and half spoke the following
short stanza.

R.. I.. C.. – “See you in Hell!”
K.. E.. Y.. – “Why? Because we HATE you!”
R.. A.. T..
T.. EEEEE.. Eeeeh

“That,” the Foreman observed, “was dreadful.”

“Yeah, it was,” Tramma agreed easily. “More appropriate for singing over
a funeral pyre, than down here.”

“One item I do not observe any of us possessing,” the silver-haired Elf
said with amusement as she retied her hair first into its usual
ponytail, then secured it up on top of her head, “is a standard issue
ten-foot pole.”

A kobold nodded, and scurried off into another room, returning in only
moments with a clever collapsible pole. “We call this a poka-pole. Goes
a little longer than what you Tall People would call 10 feet, sometimes
that keeps you outside the blast radius,” the supply clerk kobold
informed Laquendi. “Sign here, please.” He offered her a clipboard and a
quill pen, and unstoppered a small bottle of ink.

Laquendi nodded and put her mark in the signature space - a short
rune-like word in UnderCommon. “De nomeno ir ekess wux, vinxa,” she told
the kobold with a respectful nod.

The kobold smiled a toothy grin, bowed, and chirped in reply, “De nomeno
ir ekess tall xiekiv orn nures viprekil jiil, wux re zi aldoer.”

“So,” the Foreman barked, “Tall People should be ready to go. Unless any
wish to register a Last Will and Testament first?” He waved vaguely
towards a table where a distinguished looking elderly kobold was seated,
blank parchment before him, a quill pen in hand. Perhaps not
surprisingly, nobody stepped forward.

“For my part, such was already handled before Yule,” the Drow commented.

“Then the only last thing remaining is light,” the kobold leader crowed.
“Since humans are hopeless without it, and elf types are not much
better.” At his waved gesture, a pair of aides approached, each holding
a smoking torch, while a third carried an unlit bundle to be saved for
later.

Finfin looked disdainfully at the sputtering torches. “Using one of
those would occupy one of the wielder’s hands. I believe we can do
better.” Opening up a beltpouch, he reached in and withdrew a small,
silvery object. Instantly, the entire area immediately around the elf
was filled with warm even daylight.

Laurelin smiled at the sight. “You still have that Con Light coin I made
for you!”

“Of course,” the elven officer replied simply. At a few looks of
curiosity, he held up the object. It was a small platinum coin, though
not stamped in any country’s mint that any could recognize. “Ooo,
shiny!” several of the kobolds exclaimed, and even some of the Tall
People were leaning forward eagerly to get a better look.

“A souvenir from my time in a very distant Realm,” the elf explained
simply, handing the coin to Tramma to examine and pass along.

“I… do not recognize its provenance,” the bard said after a moment’s
consideration.

“That is not surprising,” the elf agreed. “It is extraplanar, and a
perfectly ordinary platinum piece, the only one I brought back, and even
it is from someplace several planes removed from the aforementioned
Realm. For reasons I cannot fathom, it is called a ‘Mikey’, and my
hostess thought it an appropriate gift from her family when it was time
for my return.”

Tramma chuckled, looking closely at the coin. “I can see why!” On the
“head” side of the coin was stamped the head of an impossibly handsome
elf. Not Finfin, perhaps, but another example of elven male beauty. And
on the “tails” side, was a curious stamping of the back side of said
elf’s head.

As Tramma passed the coin along to those who also wished for a closer
look, including some curious kobolds, Finfin turned back to address the
Foreman. “Thanks to a Valyan prayer Galdis Laurelin gifted to that coin,
I do not think we will be in need of actual flaming torches.”

“As fancy pants elf wishes,” the Foreman replied dismissively, and with
a wave, the torch bearing kobolds retreated. A moment after the
torchbearers stepped away, the clean light shed by the coin vanished.
All eyes fell on the kobold who had last handled the Con Light Coin.

“Whaaat?” the kobold exclaimed, holding out a coin for the next kobold
in line. A coin that cursory observation showed to be a far more mundane
copper piece. “Can’t blame kobold for trying,” the creature said with a
shrug, and the even, bright light resumed as it produced the ‘Mikey’
from a hidden pouch and handed it back to Finfin.

“Time Tall People were about it,” the Foreman called out, once the elven
officer was satisfied that he’d been reunited with his property. As best
as he could be, of course; it COULD have been an elaborate if hastily
prepared fake substituted by the enterprising kobold. But he put such
suspicions aside, and joined in the small expedition heading off towards
a stout metal door off on a side wall.

“The entrance to the Waterworks,” the kobold leader exclaimed. All of
the Tall People eyed the closed metal portal rather dubiously. There was
no sign of any sort of doorknob, latch, or any other opening mechanism
visible on the portal’s surface. On the floor next to the door, however,
was a stout metal wheel attached to what the more mechanically inclined
might have believed to have been a valve.

“Tall People will find many like these,” the Foreman exclaimed,
gesturing towards the valve. “And others set in adjacent wall. Just turn
to open portal. But beware; some will automatically close right behind
after a while. Engineered that way, for flood control. But all will have
valves on both sides.” He chortled and added, “All.. but THIS one, of
course.”

“And so how do we let you know when we’re back?” Lomi asked, not
unreasonably.

“Knock three times, and whistle twice!” the kobold leader returned happily.

“Or just bang on it, and announce ourselves,” Jeyshann snarled.

“That, too,” the Foreman agreed, and gestured for someone on the Abbot’s
team to give the wheel a spin. When nobody sprang forward, the leader
sighed, and grasped the valve’s wheel in both hands. With only a little
effort, he leaned into the control, and it slowly began to spin. An
instant later, with a metallic grind, the door slid open. Finfin’s Con
Light coin revealed that a considerably wider tunnel than the one they’d
followed from the wolfhouse led off to the east.

As the kobold leader stepped forward to open the door, as if on cue a
brass band struck up a fanfare behind them in the main room. Clearly
rehearsed and timed to his actions, a quartet of kobolds began singing
as the door opened. It was clearly intended as a sendoff for the
adventurers, and the kobolds appeared to have written the song
especially to honor (and fondly taunt) their newfound allies. Both the
band and the singers were moderately good:

(To this tune - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss7-8iBpIos with mild
apologies to the original)

The Abbot's heroes, looking for a brawl,
Think every response, requires a fireball
Are sure they’re heroes up to their ear o's
Never ask questions
Cause monster indigestions
That's what those heroes do.

The Abbot’s heroes love a big XP fight
Fire off lots of magic and brighten up the night.
They applaud the people who laud 'em,
Unsheathe their weapons,
Down 'em like ninepins,
That's what those heroes do.

What's a hero do?
Well, they sure can't tell ya
We only wish they knew.
Thank Silver Moon heroes are so few.
They got a slogan
They never leave unspoken
"Never miss a chance to fight"

Never think, gang, never use your brain,
Heroes are not born, but with big XP made.
Ask not why, boys, never say die, boys,
Answer the call, heroes in their minds forever more

Tramma at least clearly appreciated the effort, and was happily humming
along and no doubt memorizing the lyrics. Lomi was just shaking her head
in amused resignation, long used to similar antics from her more
musically inclined friends. The slinky Cat Priestess looked amused and
smirked openly at the Abbot.