DW: Kismet?

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 5 – The Waterworks]

> But it was readily apparent that while if left alone, the troll might
> eventually be able to reconstitute itself, it would not happen for a
> very long time.
>
> “I had one last verse!” Tramma objected.
>
> “Think of it as one of the sacrifices you have to make for your art,”
> Lomi suggested archly. “And I don’t think hizzoner the Abbot would
> have been willing to have prolonged that fight just so you could
> finish your song.”

Finfin seemed more concerned with making certain that the troll did not
reassemble itself once they left. “We are a bit pressed for time if we
wish to reach a possible Ecru spot before some of our ‘buffs’ run out.
Can anyone recall how to prevent troll reassembly, short of feeding each
piece into the cookfire?”

He glanced towards Laurelin, suspecting that his old adventuring
companion – and more – would know.

“Ooo!” Tramma exclaimed. “I know! I think… and I’m sure my buddy Lomi
does, too.”

In a far less pedantic manner than her pal, Lomi quickly outlined the
practical steps needed to “harvest” a troll, keeping some of its parts
for whatever purposes needed, without concern about those parts trying
to reassemble themselves, and how to neutralise the key element so that
it would not eventually grow a new troll body. And Laurelin gave one of
her enigmatic smiles, while nodding her silent agreement. The Cat
Priestess’ blessing was helping Laurelin not just feel fitter, stronger,
and healthier, but for her powers of recall to feel sharper as well. The
vastly younger scout’s troll harvesting directions matched what Laurelin
knew to the letter.

Idly, Tramma fingered the huge white chef’s hat, now that it no longer
had a troll head to hold it up. “Now, that’s fun!” she exclaimed happily.

Several blank stares swung on the silver haired performer, and she
explained happily, “I’ve NO idea what it does, but it’s clearly magic!”
For proof, she held up the hat. It was now significantly smaller, as if
it had been tailored to fit her. “That’s the hallmark of a well crafted
bit of magical clothing; it adjusts to fit the holder.”

The meat cleaver, tenderising mallet, and several other tools that
Gnarkill had carried seemed worth a second look, as did a variety of
kitchen tools and implements of destruction. So many, in fact, that
Finfin sighed. “Time IS pressing,” he reminded everyone. “I am carrying
a Detect Magic cantrip, and I believe Galdis Laurelin is, as well.” Many
years of adventuring together were the basis of that suspicion, and
Laurelin nodded her agreement.

“I, too, have one to contribute,” Laquendi offered.

“Very good,” Finfin observed. “Then there is all the more reason to use
one of ours now to speed our efforts.”

Laurelin stepped forward, and after casting the simplest of Arcane
spells, turned her attention to the collection gathered on the kitchen
table, to which a number of previously collected items were also added.

The glass club, quiver, sword hilt decoration, full plate accessories,
and the starred necklace from their previous loot all radiated magic, as
did Gnarkill’s meat cleaver, mallet, chef’s hat and a ring from his
former person, and a pepper grinder along with a toasting fork and a
cruel carving knife from his kitchen. But rather than spend more time
attempting to delve deeper into relative strengths or properties,
Laurelin turned her attention towards sweeping the rest of the lair.

“There,” she said flatly, pointing off in one direction. At her mental
command, the Glowing Globe’s illumination expanded, as there was no
point in any stealth NOW, and all could see where she was pointing.
Amongst some bric-a-brac was a chest, directly in line with the
priestess’ finger. But Laurelin was not about to make any assumptions
that the chest was the sole source of any further magic, and continued
to carefully move her gaze all around. But nothing beyond the chest and
the already highlighted items on the kitchen table showed any signs of
magic.

“My wheelhouse again, captain,” Laquendi stated, pulling out a roll of
tools before approaching the chest. Not to mention, extending her poka
pole, something that was developing into a favourite with the dusky elf.

“We are under some time constraints, Group Leader,” Finfin mildly objected.

“Captain,” Laquendi countered with a long suffering sigh. “I can do this
to the best of my ability. Or I can do this quickly. But not both.
Choose one.”

The elven officer nodded. “Use your best discretion, Group Leader.”

Laquendi nodded, and advanced towards the chest, prepared to see if
there were any traps to be found. As she stepped away, Tramma gently
advised Finfin, “She is doing her best, Fin.”

Perhaps somewhat surprisingly, the elf showed no interest in disputing
that observation. “She is,” Finfin agreed. “Perhaps more than is wise,
but it is absolutely her best. And I admire her pluck in calling out her
officer making the usual sorts of impossible demands.”

“The Army General’s Rule; nothing is impossible for the man who doesn’t
have to do it,” Tramma nodded with an impish smile. “Anyways, Fin?” the
bard continued brightly. “Since we’ve got a minute or two, can I run
some suggestions past you on the gear we’ve detected as magic?”

“Certainly,” Finfin once again agreed.

“It’s kinda funny,” Tramma pointed out wistfully. “All the stuff we’ve
found so far. And how it matches either exactly what’s needed – often
too late – or seems almost tailored for one of our crew. I mean, a
Valyan necklace, when we have a Galdis? And heavy armor additions with
Belmakian markings, when the Abbot is here? And let me see that sword of
yours a moment, sweetie.”

Nearby, Lomi chortled. “Haven’t you seen it before?”

Rather than take offence, Tramma merely chuckled. “His other sword, Legs.”

Finfin nodded, and unsheathed his arming sword, laying it upon the table
next to the other magical items. It was, on the whole, nothing
extraordinarily fancy, though it clearly was a masterwork, made for
function, rather than appearance. The only decoration on the blade was
an engraved lizard motif pattern, looking for all the world like a
flicking lizard’s tongue.

“Lizard Tongue,” he said simply. “Made for me by a Journeyman Smith at
one of the better known Dwarven Forges.”

Tramma peered at the blade for a moment. “You DO know that these runes
here read, ‘Beware, I am a snooty elf’?”

“They do?” Finfin exclaimed, alarm in his voice as he reached out to
touch the blade, allowing his Comprehend Languages spell to once again
read what he’d read so many times before. And they still said nothing
different than before, and were simply the personal name or “chop” of
the Journeyman Dwarf who had crafted the blade. Tramma chuckled, clearly
feeling that she was allowed to pull the elf’s leg. And after a
heartbeat, Finfin joined her in that chuckle, clearly agreeing.

“One of these things is not like the other,” Tramma sang absently. “Or
rather, it IS like the others - you see?” She tapped the decorative
lizards engraved on Finfin’s sword, then held up the two long thin
carved or stamped lizard plates held together with a wrapping of cord
around their middle. “Am I wrong, or,” she held the little bundle
alongside the hilt of the elf’s arming sword. “Yeah, just right - I
believe some swords have grip plates like this, and cords or thongs
wrapped around to hold them to the hilt, right? I am not going to be
surprised if it resizes to fit whatever sword it is applied to, though
they are quite close for your sword already. The question is does it do
anything more.”

Finfin nodded. “A fascinating question. And given that they did radiate
magic in the Galdis’ sight, it does seem probable that they do SOMETHING.”

“Could be about anything. We will have to ask the Galdis what kind of
magic, and how strong,” Tramma mused. “I have not heard of anything
exactly like this, but I do know there are decorative and functional
accessory items for weapons which can enable additional enchantments.
That may be what we are dealing with here. Or,” she shrugged and grinned
ruefully. “They may just enhance your grip and look nice.”

“Either way, it would be most welcome,” Finfin opined. “And both
Laurelin and I – and very likely Laquendi as well – have additional
magics that should be able to tell us a lot more.” He sighed, and added,
“As with everything else about today, it is something I COULD have
prepared, had I but known.”

“You, and everyone else are doing what you can, sweetie,” the bard
replied reassuringly. “But it gets back to my earlier point. These magic
hilt decorations, whatever they are, seemed intended for YOU, just as
the armor bits are for the Abbot, the necklace for Laurelin, and that
quiver for Lomi. Which is… odd.”

“You believe we are being played,” Finfin stated flatly.

Tramma sighed. “I won’t say that is impossible, Fin,” she admitted.
“Though to what end, I cannot see. But yes, maybe it’s all part of a
test or practical joke by the Upwinders.” She shuddered for a moment,
and added, “But I’m having a hard time seeing even the Upwinders think
something like Gnarkill is funny.”

“That does seem to be not entirely like them,” the elf agreed.

“So Fin,” Tramma continued earnestly, “isn’t there another possibility?
Fate, kismet, call it what you will… but maybe what’s happening here is
MEANT to be, and WE are the people supposed to do it?”

The bard looked at Finfin thoughtfully for a moment, and observed, “I
can put it no more clearly than this - this particular group of people
were all meant to come down here in this mucky place together, and find
these particular items.” She blinked, and added, “I find that an
encouraging thought.”

“That… is indeed,” Finfin gently agreed. “I believe I like the way you
see the world better than the way that I do.”

Tramma gave him a warm smile. “Mithi, me, and some of my pals are
working on that, Fin.”

“Thank you,” the elf replied sincerely.

“So to the point, Fin,” Tramma continued briskly, “I really, REALLY
think you should hold onto those hiltwraps, the Abbot should take those
armor enhancements, Laurelin the Star Necklace, Lomi the quiver, and so
on. Maybe people can discuss a more permanent arrangement afterwards,
but for right NOW, doesn’t that seem like the sensible thing to do?”

“It does,” Finfin concurred.