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Beneath the Tower of the Ancients, The Ruins of Thracia, Pictland, the World of Hyboria
Day Twenty-five. Midday? 3rd day of the month of Ublex, 1280th year of the Age of Aquilonia







In the wake of the catastrophic collapse of the white tower of the ancients, the survivors of that earthshaking cataclysm gather on the secret stairway beneath the smoking ruin of the fallen spire.

In the deafening silence, five men gather around the flickering torchlight:


Torix shudders at the thought of what they've just narrowly escaped.

As is his custom, Cruloc insults the man who saved their lives.

Amethu offers heartfelt prayers for the passing of their common friend, Asterion the Atlantean ranger.

Kassim is saddened to hear the fate of his companion. Then he notices that no one holds the torch. Impossibly, it floats of its own volition!

“We didn’t come away with nothing, it seems," Kiri offers quietly. He bears the amulet of the Medusa but dares not look upon it for fear it shares the same fearsome powers of its late mistress.


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Torix
Asterion was brave. He opened the door first and turned to rock. So we knew not to look at the monster. If I opened the door first, I be rock.

So they have collapsed the bird-hag's, giant snakes' and turn-to-stone monster's tower. And run from a fight with a three-headed dragon. With a necklace with a large gem-- possibly a dangerous one-- to show for it. A place taboo to his people of the forests not so many miles from here. The Pict longs to achieve feats that will give him a voice and stories to tell around the nighttime fires of the hunters and warriors of his tribe. Stories that they will recount to their wives, parents, grandparents, sons-- and daughters. So that he might draw warriors to him to lead against the Aquilonians and hated Cimmerians. For he, first and foremost, longs to take the comeliest and cleverest of brides the other tribes have to offer. And then, perhaps another, equally lovely. For that, he needs renown for his deeds, and more than that, respect his war skill, fearlessness, and sound judgment. And luck. For now, the god of beasts has seen fit to grant him that, in good amounts. But Jebbal Sag is a beast of the forest as much as a god. And beasts-- newborn to old and infirm-- live of life of killing and eating. Whether as predator or prey. In this dark hole under the rubble of a tower of ancient monsters and gigantic serpents, his dream of being a big man back in the tribe someday seems very far away.

Man from the desert, these stairs lead to daylight? If that's right, let's go. But he glances around the room all the same. Amethu, maybe your ghost grandpa walk around the room walk around the room with the torch? We check for doors, other things? Then go.

Kassim

Can it be, he stretches a finger out as if to poke the floating torch, did you find the treasures of Asterion's ancestors? Kassim stops short of actually touching the torch. Where are we? Last I knew, I was at the edge of the Wilderness?

Cruloc

"I'd sooner gnaw a quarry to dust than be indebted to a Shemite," mutters Cruloc. "They'll gut you with a smile, then charge you for the blade!"

He pauses, as if some old instinct balks at what he is about to say next. Then, with a gruff exhale and a crooked half-smile, "You've earned your due. I'll not withhold thanks - not today."

He eyes the pile of loose cords at the Southerner's feet. "The bonds you slipped. Were you a captive?" he asks, not expecting the truth.

Kassim shrugs, sooner, later, earned or not, he nods toward the collapsed tower, you are indebted to a Shemite, and he smiles, you did withhold thanks. Captive, yes I was, I’m not sure who my captors were. I expected to wake up and Asterion be nearby, I’m guessing he wasn’t able to finish his quest.

Kiri withholds his astonishment as the newcomer, Kassim, inadvertently caresses Grandfather’s bare chest with his outstretched hand. Customs differ in different lands and he is not one to judge. Grandfather, for his part, doesn’t seem to mind.

jemmus wrote: ↑Thu Jun 12, 2025 5:11 pm Amethu, maybe your ghost grandpa walk around the room walk around the room with the torch? We check for doors, other things? Then go.

He looks quizzically at Torix — perhaps, after all this time the barbarian believes Grandfather is Amethu’s grandfather? — no matter. He nods, then mentally asks the old man to scout the area’s perimeter.

“I fear the only way we go from here is down, unless Grandfather finds us another exit…” he says.

Amethu’s having used up his words for the time being quietly regroups himself. He gathers his bearings on the stairs and makes sure there is no voices from the rubble above before proceeding. Hearing nothing he focuses on the next move.

He scans the rock wall and his movements to confirm his location in the tower. If in fact on a landing he’ll take some time to examine them for another door. It than occurs to ask the other captive present, investing more conversation. He thinks better of it, however, as he recounts the minimal memory thier new comrade even has shared or can recollect of his own experience.

He scans the group and nods toward the stairs indicating his direction. Down.

Cruloc

Cruloc "The Cruel" will bind his wounds and those of his injured companions - a smidge too tightly.