Cat on a Hot Inn Roof Part 2
General Summary
As the wondrous sights of the Feywild faded from view, and the majesty of the Rannagar’s Spine mountain range appeared before their eyes, the party took stock of their surroundings. Seeing Lilliana in deep conversations with one of the ethereally beautiful beings, Graz realises that there will be some time to kill before they move on.
Finding a comfortable enough tree root to sit on, Graz pulls out a pad and pencil and starts adding to the grand tales she has witnessed so far. Her mind wanders into the past as the sun warms her body. The pleasant ambience, the big tree, and the promise of danger to come sends her memory reeling back in time. Back to “the cat incident.”
Having breached the defences of Ahmed Noke’s home, the party was feeling confident about their efforts to retrieve the Wand of True Polymorph and return Mr Cat to his true form as the Wizard Finethir Shinebright. Strange. Graz had always figured that cats had pretty good lives. Find some little old lady to adopt you so you had food and a warm bed. Then fuck off into town to do what you like. Being a famous Wizard must be way more stressful.
The party had cleverly tricked Noke into revealing himself and opening the way into his fancy treehouse. All it had taken was kicking up a fuss outside, figuring that the insecure apprentice would come to investigate.
They chased him into his bedroom, Zima leading the charge. His hand fumbling with the pouch at his belt and shoving those strange mushrooms into his mouth. The pack of huge wolves and the bear were still chasing them, but no plan is perfect. Graz smiled a little smirk as the memory of the wild beasts throwing themselves at her illusory cat. The reverie was disturbed by the creaking roar from the bedroom. A big, carved wooden foot was just visible through the length of the dwelling. Long black talons clawing into the floorboards.
There was a rustling as Mr Cat leaped up into the thick leafy walls and vanished into the foliage.
Renato, seeing the strange events in the bedroom, charged forwards to intercept Noke before he could escape. His sudden appearance must have distracted Noke as there was a loud thump and a stream of inventive invective from the bedroom. As though someone had attempted to mount some kind of steed, got their legs tangled in their robes, and landed quite heavily on their bony arse.
An angry roar from the bedroom shook the tree. Renato’s face fell momentarily before he gathered his resolve. A Wyrmling came down the passageway from the bedroom. Wings and scales scraping against the wooden walls and tearing leaves and branches loose. The wing membranes looked like they were made of paper. Or like sycamore seeds. The body of the creature looked carved from a single piece of wood. Blank eyes stared out at the invaders. The mahogany body tensed. The maw of the beast stretched open revealing teeth like oak tent pegs. Another roar and a scent like damp pine filled the room. A hail of wooden splinters shot out and encompassed the party.
Renato and Zima found themselves face to face with this ligneous nightmare. Their weapons hacked at it again and again. Zima’s cheeks bulging with yet more freaky fungi. Renato seemed to be in prayer. His lips moving and his face looked as though he was practically begging.
“What are you on about?”
Graz started and looked up to meet Zima’s gaze. “Huh?”
Zima met her gaze with his strange, almost empty, eyes. They say that the eyes are the windows of the soul. But Zima’s soul must be a basement flat.
“You just said ‘They tried really hard, bless them.’ and giggled.”
Graz could feel the blush starting to creep up her body. “I don’t know, man. Just daydreaming. Don’t worry about it.” The Bard turned away and bent over her writing.
Zima seemed unsatisfied but went back to sharpening his spear with a shrug.
They really had tried hard. Splinters and wood chips filled the air but the dragon thing was resolute. A shake of her tambourine muddled the mind of the wooden beast and instilled a deep and abiding terror, so severe that it sapped it’s vitality.
That should buy the boys some time.
The feeling of satisfaction didn’t last long, as the wolves and bear appeared at the door. Hunkering down behind a nearby bookshelf, Graz realised that she was isolated from the others and would be in trouble of the beasts attacked her.
As they entered the room, there was a loud snuffling as the wolves sniffed at the floor and sampled the air. They quickly discovered Graz in her hiding place and lashed at her with tooth and claw. Soon after, the bear lumbered into the room and began it’s own assault.
A well placed spear from Zima ended the wooden Wyrmling, allowing Renato to rush the wolves and lay about with Mange Tout. Renato’s face looked wan and drawn as his blade sank into one wolf, sending it to the big hunting ground in the sky. Or wherever it is wolves go when they die.
A thump and a cheer. Zima. Suddenly, the blue clad Mystic was atop the desk, and swigging from a bottle of ink.
Possibly, the thought occurred to Graz, Zima Bluetongue would be a good name for a character in an epic saga. Might be worth talking to some of the old crew about it. Hard to rhyme though. Lung. Hung. Dung.
Graz was overwhelmed with gratitude at the sight of the lads charging in. She could feel her life ebbing away. She put on a brave face as always because, well, the show must go on. But she could feel her feet squishing in her boots as they filled with blood. Suddenly, a wolf passed out on the floor and the bear looked as though it was wrestling with some deep philosophical concerns.
A little creative casting and Graz felt somewhat renewed.
“Where’s Noke?” Zima’s slurred voice cried out. Then he started giggling at something nobody else could see.
A sudden panic filled the group. Shit. Where’s he go?
The tree shook like a… tree… in a… storm.
Graz let out an audible sigh. There has to be a better analogy. Marking the page to come back to, she continued.
People stumbled about as the floor rocked to and fro. Books tumbled from shelves. Calm returned. Renato sheathed Mange Tout and started heaving at the worn rug on the floor. Rolling it up, he slung it over a shoulder and started towards the door.
The tree trembled and rocked again. Renato and Graz clung on to the furniture to stay upright. Zima crossed the boards in a series of elaborate dance steps and twirls, throwing out his hands. It was just possible, over the creaking and groaning of the wood, to hear him muttering under his breath. “One and two and cha cha cha.”
As things settled, Renato grasped Zima’s elbow with one hand and his new rug in the other and they started towards the door in Graz’s wake.
As they reached the platform, they froze in their tracks. Below them was an old man in a pristine white robe. A crumpled roll up in his mouth. He seems to have not a care in the world. He appears to be around sixty, but gives an air of one who started to look old in his twenties, and will continue to look the same indefinitely. His eyes sparkle with a joy for life, and crease at the edges in a permanent semi-smile as though he is the only one who gets the joke. He takes the roll up out of his mouth and glance up at the assembled party.
“Good to see you again! You seem to be in something of a hurry, but don’t fret. I won’t waste your time.” He looks at each of the adventurers expectantly. The air is still and silent as there is no reaction. “Fine. Suit yourselves. Anyway, I thought you might want this.” He points towards the place you found the wolves playing dice. Ahmed Noke comes sprinting around the corner. He sees you leaving the treehouse, and his face twisted in hatred. He reaches beneath his robe, and pulls out a long wand. His arm comes around and points the wand right at where the party is gathered. The crystal at the tip glows.
“Aaaaaaand, boop!” The old man says with a grin. He looks around expectantly. His shoulders seem to sag slightly at the total lack of response. “Fine. Suit yourselves.”
Where the enraged apprentice had stood, there was now a giant tortoise. A shared thought crossed the minds of the party. “We could ride that back to Direwold.”
Now, dear reader, I know what you are thinking. This was several days from Direwold at riding pace. On a tortoise, it would be months. But you forget. These are not Rangers. Not Druids. They are people out here doing their best. Be kind.
There was a moment of shared realisation. Noke still held the wand. There were still concerns over the exact nature of the bear, who was now pondering moral relativism, and whether there were enchantments abounding which could hide untold riches.
Graz approached the old man. “If we may, we need one more favour. What’s your name?”
The old man smiled benevolently. “You, Graz, may call me ‘Sweeper’ but don’t tell my apprentice. She’ll get stroppy.”
“Sweeper, can you cast Dispel Magic? We must see to this poor bear.”
There was a twinkle in the blue eyes of the old man. “Are you sure? That is a powerful spell. There can be effects.”
An exchange between the two proceeded for several minutes. The Bard using every silvered word and sly trick at her disposal. The old man obstinately stonewalling and reminding Graz and the others of the dangers of such powerful magic. At last, he succumbed to the pestering.
Reaching behind his ear, he withdrew a battered roll up, slipped the end into his mouth, and inhaled. The end lit up and there was a strange dank aroma. “If you are sure this is what you want, then so be it.” Extending one hand, Sweeper clicked his fingers.
Oh dear.
The tortoise vanished, as did Sweeper.
A heavy feeling descended upon the party. A series of flourishes, more and more frantic, revealed that all access to arcane abilities had been suppressed.
Only now did they see the crumpled heap in the grass.
A calico cat lay motionless. For all their efforts, they had failed Mr Cat. Finethir Shinebright would never return to his old life or his home. Never again berate his feckless apprentice or shit in a box.
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