Bujilli: Episode 110

Previously...
They had come here to rescue Hedrard and Lemuel. One had run off and was wandering through the lower-levels of the Gormenstille, the other was wrapped-up in a vegetative cocoon recovering from the effects of the Mucoid's heat rays. It had not gone quite as he had hoped. But they had managed to reach a place very close to the roof-tops and in a couple of hours Bujilli could attempt to use the Synchronocitor to take them back to Wermspittle. In the meantime, the band of Morons were celebrating and dancing wildly around Hedrard's cocoon working themselves into an ecstatic frenzy...

Bujilli went to the nearest of the eight evenly-spaced massive internal buttresses along the sloping walls of the chamber. There was a modest access panel at the base. The covering came off easily to reveal a yellow metal grating which swung open at the touch of his fingers. There was a corkscrew-style ramp leading upward. To the roof.

He checked the Synchronocitor. They had a couple of hours to go before he could try to use it again. The marching morons had led them to a place where they could access the roof-top levels of the Gormenstille. If there was a chance of escape, this was it. He hoped. He considered exploring the yellow-metal ramp that corkscrewed up to the roof. He didn't trust the morons to scout ahead. He wasn't even sure if they understood anything he said. They just nodded, smiled and went on with whatever they were doing. It was Hedrard whom they listened to, whom they served. And she was trapped inside a cocoon, healing, changing...transforming in ways he didn't understand.

Ever since they had freed the hag, she seemed to have come to a decision of sorts. She had mentioned something about no longer having to observe previous restrictions or something like that. whomever had abducted her and tried to sacrifice her and Lemuel to the Purple Clouds had made a big mistake. Or maybe they had not taken into account that Bujilli and Leeja would come here to rescue their friends. Rescue. Ha. They had liberated three other victims chained to the old stones alongside their friends. One, a Nullgarian cavalry officer, was taken by the walls and lost to them early on. The roof-runner had tried to help out, but in the end they were too damaged to really ever be free again...and the Ignoble was so deeply twisted by having grown-up in this place that they could not cope with the thought of leaving. Both had run off into the darkness. So had Lemuel. But in Lemuel's case, he had charged towards a swarm of Varn-spiders to give the others a chance to escape...but then something strange had happened and Lemuel lost all interest in leaving. He was on his way down into the deep places of the Gormenstille and he was happy. Truly happy. Bujilli could feel the boy's hearty elation through their link. Lemuel had no interest in returning with them at this time. Maybe someday. But not now. He had found out things about himself...things he could not explain, thing that Bujilli could only sort of feel in a vague stream of jumbled impressions...mostly good things...he hoped. It was an adventure. It was his very own adventure. Bujilli would not interfere. He wished the boy good hunting and let the link fade into the background so it would not be a distraction. To either of them.

Leeja stood next to the access-panel, keeping watch over Bujilli. He was smiling for the first time in what felt like ages.

He still wasn't entirely sure that the Synchronocitor would work up here, but he would do the best he could. Perhaps Counsel could help him learn how to use the strange device. Maybe. But they had hours left before he could make the attempt and Leeja was smiling at him.

They joined in the festivities. It was good to laugh again. There would be time enough for tears when they got back to Wermspittle.

If they went back...

They lost themselves to the dancing, the drinking, the increasingly wild carrying on--the Morons danced themselves into a frenzy as they spiraled around the red cocoon of the hag. The liquor wan't as good as gapf, but only the Almas knew how to brew that stuff.

Bujilli tripped over a couple locked in a deeply intimate embrace. Leeja tugged him back to his feet and they danced along with the mob until they found themselves close to the outer-edge again. She led him away from the folicsome host with a troubled look on her face.

"What are we doing?" she hissed.

"I..." The question, her vehemence, shocked him sober. "Scheiss. We've allowed ourselves to get sucked into the midst of all this..."

"But to what end? I have a bad feeling about this..." She came from a place were paranoia was institutionalized, regulated by mandates and laws, her childhood, what he knew of it, was a constant challenge to the prevailing laws and mores...Leeja had been as much an outsider as he had been growing up, possibly even more so. Yet here they were fitting right in with the Morons and their festivities...their celebration...their ritual.

"This is all Hedrard's doing. It must be..." But why? He was stymied. Ever since releasing her from her chains and thwarting the plans of the Purple Horde, Hedrard had acted strangely. Different.

"Whatever her plans are, she has not felt like confiding in either of us--"

The dancing exploded into a riot of violence and screaming. A loud buzzing vibrated through the wailing, the yelling and the babbling. Then Bujilli saw them. Giant Blue-Speckled Hornets. At least six of the things had descended upon the revelers and were proceeding to skewer one after another with their wicked stings. One had three Morons impaled, one after the other, and was struggling to extricate itself. Bujilli had his hand-axe out and charged the burdened hornet.

His first blow cracked one of the thing's hind-legs and it ceased trying to shake-off the still struggling bodies of its victims. It turned away from the source of pain and faced Bujilli. He used Julidi's Darts, sending a stream of sizzling silver missiles through the hornets over-large eyes, exploding its head.

The hornet's now headless body bucked and thrashed insanely. Two of the morons slid free of the sting but the third remained transfixed. He had to hack open the thing's thorax, revealing its heart and spattering sticky fluids everywhere before the massive insect fell to the floor dead.

Bang! Leeja used her hand-gonne to blast a hole through the thorax of another hornet. It skittered along the floor and crashed into one of the buttresses where it buzzed and kicked, but could not rise again.

Bujilli rushed the nearest hornet. A lucky strike snapped off a two-foot section of sting. A gout of mucousy-yellow venom gushed from the ruined stump. He leapt for its back, but misjudged the rapid blur of the thing's wings and was knocked backwards. The impact dazed him. He staggered, dropped to one knee and another hornet's sting slammed through the space where he had been standing only a second before.

Leeja was swearing in Dendo. Her crystal stiletto had gotten stuck in the joint of a hornet's leg when she had been aiming to hit it's mid-section, hoping to sever the abdominal mass from the thorax. A quick flip of the hand-gonne provided her with a sturdy club to pummel the thing back and away from her.

All around them the Morons rushed madly to and fro, some still danced heedless of the turmoil, the band played on, and a few busied themselves dissecting the wounded hornets for possible use in making new ornaments.

Bujilli caught another hornet in the eye with his hand-axe. It jerked upwards  suddenly, lurching him off his feet and carrying him upward toward the peaked ceiling as he dangled from his weapon stuck in the creature's eye-socket.

Leeja barked out three sharp words and a glimmering white mesh of translucent tendrils flashed into the air trapping three hornets. Their rapidly vibrating wings quickly tangling the Web spell around their bodies and limbs. She retrieved her stiletto and proceeded to remove the thing's limbs and to sever their heads where she could get at them.

A small crowd of Morons started cheering and prancing about waving the pieces and parts of the hornets even as one of their number was impaled on another hornet's wicked sting.

One of the smaller children shrieked and pointed at the impaled member of their herd and as one they swarmed over the insect and tore it to pieces.

Bujilli wrenched his hand-axe free only to over-compensate and loose his grip on the hornet. He fell backwards, striking another hornet that broke his fall, then sprawled onto the floor. He slid into the pool of venom and only barely managed to roll over to avoid the worst of it.

He was flat on his back with venom gooped across his left-side. Then a hornet landed atop him. It seemed to stare into is eyes with an implacable insectoid malevolence. His hand-axe was gone. He reacted instinctively and cast Light as far inside the hornet's eyes as he could force the spell.

The hornet shot away from him, hitting the nearest buttress with a loud crack. It slumped to the floor, it's head a glowing mess of brains and broken chitin.

Then is was over.

All the hornets were either dead, dismembered or struggling through their death-throes.

Bujilli sat up. Slowly. He was sore where he had struck the floor from his fall, but nothing was broken.

Leeja gave him back his hand-axe.

He got to his feet.

The morons were busily making fresh new ornaments from the carcasses and body-parts of the hornets. A few were arranging the dead into sensitive tableaus.

"You're covered in venom. you know that, right?"

"I know. It isn't a problem. not unless I get cut. Their venom works on the blood, it doesn't seem to have much effect if it's only on the skin. At least the green-striped hornets I grew up with worked that way. I knew a crazy old Almas who collected their venom, but from smaller specimens, and lathered himself in it before going out to hunt Yeren, If the things grabbed him, there were scores of small hooks and blades all woven into his matted hair and he'd wriggle and twist and do everything he could to draw blood from them. We all thought he was crazy. Maybe he was. But he managed to kill over a dozen Yeren that way. Before one caved-in his head with a rock."

"Still it might be a good idea..."

Several young Morons came over and began to wipe away the venom from Bujilli's hair and clothes. They carried on a chattering pseudo-conversation with each other as they went about cleaning him off but never acknowledged him beyond serving as the target of their cleaning efforts. One of them splashed wine over the worst globs of venom, another scraped it away with the backside of an ornate hair-comb.

"Is it time yet?" Leeja seemed impatient with the impromptu ablutions and grooming.

"We can try." He extricated himself from the crowd of morons busily cleaning the venom form his hair. Several of them had begun braids. One was trying to work beads into his whiskers. He closed his eyes and felt the Synchronocitor near at hand. It shimmered into place, into solidity once again.

The Morons backed away in superstitious awe at the sudden appearance of the device.

"Come on." He led Leeja back to the access panel they had opened before and headed up the corkscrew ramp toward the roof. One by one, then by couples, then in small groups the Morons followed after them; a dedicated contingent carried Hedrard's cocoon. They left the mutilated hornet carcasses behind.

Bujilli felt the Synchronocitor adjust to its surroundings, and to him. It was not a sentient thing, not in the same sense as he or Leeja were sentient. It was filled with memories and information accumulated over centuries, but it was not capable of making decisions on its own. It needed to be wielded like a sword or a key.

The ramp ended beneath a blister-dome of hexagonally-bound glass at the top of a tall, tall tower. It was night, with roiling gray clouds obscuring most of the sky and threatening rain.

He walked along the edge of the dome looking out upon the world of New Chillon and letting the Synchronocitor adjust to the current situation. Leeja strode along beside him. He knew that no matter where he went, she would follow. It was a good feeling.

He turned back to the ramp exit. Dozens of Morons stood looking around them, mouths agape and gesticulating extravagantly as they observed all the trivial details of the dome and the vista beyond.

"What do we do about them?" Leeja said before he could.

"I'm not sure..." He wasn't keen on bringing a herd of Morons back into Wermspittle. It wouldn't be doing anyone any real favors.

Thigh-bone trumpets sounded and tambourines rattled as a procession entered the room. Hedrard's honor guard and the four priestess-attendants brought the cocoon up the ramp, surrounded by prancing and jostling Morons waving banners, juggling random objects, riding unicycles and playing their various musical instruments.

It appeared that they were not going to be given a choice in the matter.

Bujilli shook his head--he had no idea what Hedrard had in mind, but he wasn't going to block her. Not in this. He trusted her. For now.

He held out the Synchronocitor and felt his Counsel flow into the thing, linking with it, giving him access to it far more fully and cleanly than previously. He was getting better at this sort of thing.

A lambent purple glow flickered outward from the staff-like Synchronocitor. The weird-light spread out to fill the domed chamber. He could smell the scent of blackberries just on the verge of ripeness, the bitter tang of duik-bark, the warm frothiness of gritty stout like they served at the Grampus-and-Krampus. The purple light swirled, began to twist, to rotate.

All around him a cavalcade of landscapes spun into view then were gone after only a brief glimpse. It seemed like looking outwards through a tornado at hundreds of disjointed places that didn't connect to one another except through the swirling light, the vortex produced by the Synchronocitor.

Dark caverns ornately carved into grim likenesses of even grimmer queens. A forest of bone-like trees clattering in a vile red wind. A rich, brown sea of tall grasses that ran off to the horizon and beyond. Blue sand frozen into harsh angular shapes beneath a dim green sky. Gelatinous bogs that wound about the feet of needle-peaked black mountains where no trees could find a purchase and the rains never quite ended. Crystalline badlands fuming with scalding milk-white pools of mineral-dense water and sulfurous formations that didn't quite resemble flowers. Ruined cities half submerged beneath rising waters and cooling lava, mounds of rubble stretching onward into the unrelenting blackness of a centuries-long night. Red sands forming wind-sculpted dunes beneath a weakly pinkish sky--columns of pitted stone and dull metal rose overhead, each one topped with a crystal egg-shape--a whiff of ozone--Someone--SOMETHING--was watching them!

Bujilli instinctively twisted away from the mental compulsion assaulting them, but not before dozens of Morons had already leaped past the bounds of the Synchronocitor's zone of effect to be lost to the Red World.

SNAP.

Thud. A large old chair toppled over next to him. It knocked over a small night-stand beside it. Tea cup, saucer and spoon crashed to the carpeted floor. The walls looked strange, all bare and denuded of books and all the other stuff Gnosiomandus used to have crammed into every nook and cranny.

The room had been haphazardly and hurriedly emptied of all books, maps, documents and other scholarly materials. Everything else had been left behind. Maybe the old man meant to return someday. More likely he had some sort of agreement with his land-lady. For all he knew the apartments came already furnished. That would make sense; Gnosiomandus was not very focused on day-to-day matters or trivialities like dishes or furniture.

"Where?" Leeja looked about the room. Morons were already scrounging about for bits and bobs to make ornaments with; two of them were busily sawing tassels off of a lamp.

"This room used to belong to Gnosiomandus..." It was where Bujilli had first entered Wermspittle...how long ago had it been? It felt like years.

"There's frost on the windows. If we're lucky it's still Autumn and it's just an early frost...otherwise..."

She didn't have to say it. Otherwise it was Winter. the worst possible time to be in Wermspittle.

"Bujilli?" a woman called to him from the next room.

It was Shael. The former Headmistress of the Academy.

He pushed past the curtains, antique temple tapestries from Jashqua, if he remembered the distinctive pattern from his time before coming to this place.

"It is you. Good." Shael was propped-up on a couch. Her left hand was stiffened into delicate semi-opaque glass. There were raw, glossy streaks radiating up her neck and across her throat that made moving her head stiff and painful.

"What happened?"

"I've been punished for exceeding my authority..." She looked away.

"She knew that you'd come back. to this place. I did not believe her. But she knew." Sprague came into the room from the kitchen. He was carrying a steaming tea pot.

"But why?"

"This is the one you told me about?" Grumbled a scrawny old man who wore a baggy set of coveralls that had armor plates riveted into strategic sections and cinched with a Morlock tool-belt around his waist.

"Who?"

"Now that he's here, I intend to go. I have work to attend to, revenge to carry out, that sort of thing." Sprague set the tea down on the table before Shael and bowed slightly. There was something bitter and wistful between them Not entirely distrust, not quite betrayal, but something strange and unsettling and mutually unsettling.

"Go run off to your bed then. The rest of us have our own fighting to do." Growled the old man.

"Rest assured. I will be fighting no less fiercely than you. I intend to sell my life dearly if it comes to that."

"Be that as it may. I intend to go on living."

"Like a rat? That's no life--" Sprague scoffed half-heartedly.

"None the less, I'll outlast the bastards, just like my kind have outlasted all the other bastards before them." They shook hands. "Good hunting to you cousin."

"And good scurrying or scampering or whatever it is you do down there." He laughed as he went to the door and left.

"So are you lot coming with me, or staying here top-side so you can get scorched into ashes by the Tripods or caught in the Black Smoke?"

"Where's Hedrard? she was supposed to be with you..."

Then Shael spotted the cocoon surrounded by the whispering, jostling, restless band of Morons.

And she began to cry.

The door Sprague had just left though exploded.

Four infantrymen in Franzikaner uniforms rushed into the room wielding unfamiliar-looking fire-arms...


What should Bujilli do next?

You Decide!

Now What?

We need to roll Initiative (P. 50, LL) by rolling 1d6 each for 1) Bujilli, 2) Leeja, 3) The Old Man, 4) The Squad of Infantrymen, and 5) The Morons. Because of her condition, Shael goes last and does not require a die-roll.

Bujilli and company need to decide if they are going to attack the soldiers, or attempt to flee, or try something else.

We'll need a few D20 rolls to handle any combat that might take place.

Should they cast some spells, draw weapons and charge, attempt to parley, bluff their way through the encounter by demanding to know the meaning of this intrusion, attempt to escape, or something else? 


You Decide!

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Series Indexes

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

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Starting Page  |  Central Index

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About Bujilli (What is This?) | Who is Bujilli? | How to Play

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Bujilli's Character Sheet | Leeja's Character Sheet | Cast of Characters

Bujilli's Spells | Little Brown Journals | Loot Tally | House Rules

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Episode Guides
Series One (Episodes 1-19)

Series Two (Episode 20-36)

Series Three (Episodes 37-49)

Series Four (Episodes 50-68)

Series Five (Episodes 69-99)
Series Six(Episodes 100-ongoing)

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