FH: Into the Waterworks

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 5 AM – The Waterworks]

> 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.

As agreed, Finfin took the lead; drawing his sword, he stepped through,
quickly followed by first Laurelin, and then the others, with Abbot
Kenobi at the rear. Once they were all through, each member of the Away
Team could hear Tramma’s magically carried voice in their ears. “I’m
sure everyone’s got a lot to say,” Tramma stated quickly. “But let’s get
a bit further away, and then, use this Speak with Allies spell I have
running. For those of you who’ve never used it before, just pretend
you’re whispering, but you don’t need to actually move your lips or
whisper at all.”

Nods greeted the bard’s suggestion as all got a good look at what would
be occupying them for the next day. Or possibly more. The tunnel they
were in now was quite unlike their earlier ‘regulation’ 10 foot square
corridor. It was much wider, opening out to a hair over twenty feet, and
was at least that tall, if not taller. But rather than the building code
mandated “cube top, squared-off, eight corners, 90 degree angles” flat
ceiling, the roof of the tunnel was curved in a vaguely elliptical arch,
taller in the center, and descending to a “mere” ten feet or so high on
the edges.

And unlike the dusty access tunnel to the wolfhouse, their current
tunnel was positively dank. Standing pools of stagnant water could be
seen here and there, and green lichen positively covered most of the
walls, occasionally extending along the mouldy flagstones along the
floor. Ahead they could both hear and just barely see in the outer
reaches of the Con Light a small waterfall descending from the ceiling
into a cistern.

“Charming,” Lomi observed over her pal’s magical communications channel.

“Exhilarating, isn’t it?” opined the Drow.

“What an incredible smell you’ve discovered,” Laurelin observed with
sarcasm dripping in her voice, almost as thickly as the foul water
plopping down all around them.

“Well, it IS a sewer,” Tramma sighed, her voice, like Lomi’s, magically
carrying to the whole group. “Drainage for the swampworks above, or a
way to move lots of water underground to where it’ll be needed next.”

Not long afterwards, they were at the base of the cistern that was
receiving a steady tumble of water from above. Fortunately for the
group, the water smelled simply… swampy, and not foetid or faecal. The
sewer they were in might more be likened to a storm drain.

Somehow, Lomi did not find that terribly reassuring. “From Pilinde’s
stories, that’s really more like creatures like THEM! want. They LIKE
storm drains.” She sighed as she stared up at the dubious waterfall. “I
don’t suppose any of you have divine ways of cleaning up water, do you?
Or creating it? We’re gonna want some, and food too, before the day’s end.”

“I can provide us with a Hero’s Feast,” the Abbot offered.

Finfin gave a small frown. “An hour to cast,” he mused. “Which is quite
a time to be standing in one place. But I do not see that we will have a
choice.” He sighed, and opened up the chainmail protected haversack that
he usually wore around one shoulder. By now, nearly everyone had seen
his Bag of Holding in operation, so none were particularly surprised
when he reached down into its depths, his arm extending into it far
further than would have been possible for a “normal” bag.

It took him some considerable time to find what he was after, and there
were occasional metallic clanks as he had to move objects aside as he
searched his bag’s interior. “There it is,” he said at last, and drew
forth a goodly sized shield. One that might have been able to fit in a
normal sized bag, if it had been the only item in it… but clearly there
was much more within.

Once the shield was free from its bag, Finfin inhaled deeply, and blew a
thick coating of dust from the newly extracted bit of martial kit.
Painted on its center was a heraldic device of a stone tower or keep,
set atop a simple hill. Surrounding the device was a bright, thick
bordered red circle with a red diagonal diameter line extending from top
left down to bottom right.

“I have not used this in quite some time,” he mused over Tramma’s
communication spell as he secured the shield over his back where it
could be readily reached at need. “I had the notion,” he continued, “of
offering it to Sister Erin, but I confess I had forgotten. Which is
perhaps just as well, given our current circumstances.”

“Speaking of things that you have forgotten,” Laurelin added, amusement
clear in her magically carried words, “while I am genuinely happy you
still have my Con Light blessing, are you not forgetting about my
Glowing Globe?”

Finfin stared blankly at the elven priestess for a moment, before he
winced at his lapse of memory. “That of course has ALWAYS been there,”
he stated an off-repeated refrain, only now noticing the glowing nimbus
of light that had, as he’d said, ALWAYS been there, hovering right by
the priestess’ shoulder.

“I believe that will help us with illumination,” she mused serenely. The
elegant priestess’ eyebrows creased as she gave the Globe a frown and
added, “And who knows? Perhaps one day it will warn us of danger before
it strikes.”

As if on cue, the globe silently sent her a nebulous warning that this
sewer was dangerous. Laurelin was fairly sure the globe was concerned
about more than the possibility of picking up a nasty bug or leeches
lurking in the murky, rancid swamp water. The glowing globe had never
had a lot of sense about sensibly using the danger sense it had been imbued.

Ben looked back the way they’d come. “Do you think this is far enough
for us to be able to talk?” The various scouts in the group exchanged
glances, and shrugged. Without knowing the exact capabilities of the
Upwinders, it was impossible to make a specific guarantee… but it
certainly seemed far enough away for mundane eavesdropping. Particularly
if they all kept using Tramma’s Speak with Allies spell.

“Then I would like to perform a simple Augury,” the Holy Man continued.
“I do not know about the rest of you, but I feel very much that we are
being pressured into acting rashly, and despite any reputation my Order
may have, I for one would like to check in to see if us proceeding along
this course meets with His approval.”

Nobody had any objections, and the Tall People gathered around the Abbot
in a protective circle as he began to lay out his instruments of
Divination. This was one of his favourite prayers, and he usually liked
to perform it with all of the “Tellic Pomp and Circumstance” that he
could manage, turning the spell into the centerpiece of a divine ritual
or ceremony.

But he did not HAVE to cast it that way. In expedient circumstances like
these, a “standard” casting learned straight from the seminary would do
quite well. So it only took him a minute to ignite a small stick of
incense, dip an eagle feather into a cup of wine, and chant his prayer’s
invocation in ritual Quenya, his hands moving over the winecup, leaving
a brilliantly glowing blue tracework of lines hovering in mid air.

Finally, he took the wine soaked feather from the cup and gently
balanced it on a forefinger. The question held in his heart was whether
or not the Sky King approved of this subterranean adventure, but the
mechanics of the spell dictated a more specifically phrased spoken
question. “Oh King of the Telar,” the Abbot intoned, “please tell your
servant – would it be for the general weal, or to the woe, if we proceed
with this Dungeon Crawl mission? Weal?” he repeated, and the feather
dipped to the left. “Or woe?” And here, the feather dipped to the right.

A blue nimbus surrounded the feather as it tilted back and forth a few
more times… and then abruptly the feather tipped sharply to the left.

“Weal,” the Abbot summarized succinctly. “The Sky King approves.”

“With perhaps just a bit of a hint of Woe thrown in?” Laurelin asked
gravely. The King of the Telar was not HER patron Tela, but the elven
priestess was deeply steeped in Divine Theory. “Perhaps suggesting that
there will be Weal for most, but there is the potential for Woe to some?”

Ben was not comfortable second guessing his patron. “That certainly
could be,” he agreed, and together, both High Priest and Priestess’ eyes
lingered on some of the more vulnerable members of their company.

“But there is a greater danger of carrying your own thoughts INTO any
edge conditions of an Augury,” he continued, “and simply seeing them
reinforced by what you observe. Which is not to say that it is an
incorrect reading,” he added hastily, seeing the priestess’ frown.
“Whether that more nuanced message came from Above, or from within your
OWN heart, it is worth considering.”

“Well,” Jeyshann interrupted this Tellic Discourse, “the Mother of All
Cats was clear enough to HER servant. Like Tramma, I did some initial
spellcasting of my own before we were marched in to his high and mighty
Foreman’s presence. That let me sneak some peeks into several of the
kobolds’ souls, finding out where THEY fall on that alignment graph the
Captain had been talking about earlier.”

“And..?” Tramma asked eagerly.

Jeyshann nodded. “I will have to say,” the Cat Priestess observed, “that
the Mother of All Cats likes what she sees in these particular kobolds.
True, she’d be happier if many of them weren’t so wrapped up in
insufferable Law and Order, but they are demonstrably Good.” Jeyshann
shrugged, and added, “So that’s good enough for me. They have MY support.”

“Oh, good!” Tramma exclaimed.

“Exactly so,” the Cat Priestess observed wryly. Jeyshann’s face darkened
as she added, “But that does not mean that I like being handled in oh,
so high handed a manner!” she snarled. “Imagine… ME! In a dark and dank
tunnel. THAT I do not care for at all.”

The silver haired bard was about to say something reassuring, but
Jeyshann waved her friend into silence. “Best let me hiss and spit for a
while, Songbird,” the Cat Priestess stated warningly. “That’ll let me
get over it that much sooner, and for us to be doing what we all know
HAS to be done. I shall see about expressing my displeasure to that
high-handed little runt Foreman appropriately in due time.”

Tramma nodded, giving the floor to her friend the priestess. However,
once Jeyshann had everyone’s attention, she was at a moment at a loss
for words, realizing that she’d actually already said all that NEEDED to
be said. “Well,” she concluded, “for two pins, I’d be out of here, maybe
bringing in someone more qualified than I am to wrestle with underground
monsters. Like Bartras. Or even Stern. And I would be happy to take a
few ladies back with me that have no business being on the same melee
line as the Captain, his Holy Molyness, or Starlady Laurelin.”

“I’m not shy about admitting that,” Lomi observed quietly. “I shouldn't
be in the same expedition as those three. But I’m here, even if I don’t
want to be, so I’ve got to make it work.”

“About that,” Finfin mused. Once he had everyone’s attention, he
continued, “I had been giving that matter some thought. We could, with
the spells that I have, and I believe Laurelin and Laquendi have,
arrange for us to substitute some of our personnel. It would consume a
lot of our reserve Teleportation capability, and put us dangerously
short of crafting an emergency escape – OR of responding to our
commitments to respond immediately in case any of our new allies call
for us with their Succor Gems – but it IS possible. Even if not optimal.”

That led to a spirited discussion for a few minutes, everyone continuing
to use Tramma’s ongoing Speak with Allies spell to avoid being
overheard. But eventually, the consensus came around to Finfin’s opinion
– personnel swapping would be something they’d look into for tomorrow’s
expedition for the half of the Waterworks that they would not be
covering today. Tomorrow, they could optimize for such a swap by
preparing more Teleportation and other magical transport spells ahead of
time, as well as arranging for the desired substitutes to be ready and
waiting, and not scattered Who Knew Where over the landscape as they no
doubt were now. The problems a crew swap would face today were not
insurmountable… but considerable. So instead, they would do their best
to make do and keep EVERYONE alive… and prepare for a more flexible crew
roster tomorrow.

And after that, there was nothing left to discuss. Several folks had a
water bottle or two to share with the group, which would not be enough
for the whole day, but could certainly last until the Abbot needed to
cast his justly famous Heroes’ Feast. And tomorrow, a few Purify or
Create Food and Drink prayers would not be amiss. Or, just perhaps,
bring along some kegs of water and mundane rations. The grizzled
veterans might not be thinking along those lines, but Lomi and Tramma
were already resolving to themselves to never leave camp without at
least a day’s supplies in hand ever again. Lomi in fact had enough of
both food and water for herself, but it was intended for emergencies,
and she didn’t consider their present circumstances anything of the sort.