Tyrant's Grasp

Titia immediately readies her crossbow, aiming it right above the kid's head without hesitation, only a sharp glance at the girl to demand that she not make any sudden moves. "The only help we need is getting the hell out of here so I can put a bolt in the face of whoever did all this."

"Oh, I know my children." Mictena sounds resigned. "Change is always frightening, but I will make it soft and swift, like a mother’s kiss. You’ll feel only love.”

Holden grasps his sword as lupine features overtake him. ”The only that’s gonna feel anything if you continue down this path is you, but it won’t be love. It will only be pain.”

"Tch," Mictena clucks, an odd sounds coming from the motionless beak of the bird. "I can see now that you're not ready to accept your fate. No matter. As soon as I'm finished handling this bandit camp that was caught in a mudslide I'll help counsel you through this. Don't worry, we'll have everything sorted soon. Ta ta for now." The crow snaps its beak shut, gives the party the stink eye, and takes off.

Rosamund bites her lip. "Based on the way she was talking, she's probably a high ranking psychopomp. I'm not sure we could win in a fight against her if it came down to it."

"Then we should hurry the fuck up and get out of here," Titia grumbles.

"Agreed," Victor says, shifting his axe uncomfortably. "Our task here is done after all. We should head to the meeting, and hope she's busy long enough for us to travel those roads the other bird-creature spoke of."

With the tasks complete, Mayor Grive calls everyone into a meeting in front of town hall. Once everyone is gathered she cedes the floor to Arbella, who gives a stirring speech about death, the afterlife, and the promise of the next great adventure. Between Arbella's firm and authoritative instructions and the brave face of the children at the front of the crowd, the people of Roslar’s Coffer stir and murmur uncomfortably, but a look of placid acceptance begins to spread. One by one, the figures in the audience begin to exude a warm glow. As her own light slowly brightens, Mayor Grive turns back to speak. “I suppose, at least, there will still be someone on the other side who still remembers us. Just please, promise me that you’ll find out what happened to us when you get back, and that you’ll go to the capital and tell them what killed the people of Roslar’s Coffer.”

"I'll do you one better. I'll be sticking my crossbow in whatever killed you's face and pulling the trigger," Titia promises with a tight grimace, her eyes scanning the audience for her family.

Grive nods grimly. "Good. Tell them I said 'hello, and fuck you.'" With the citizens of Roslar's Coffer all in acceptance, they slowly fade from view, as does the facsimile of the town. After a few moments, the entire valley becomes empty and desolate, only a few dead trees remaining. From the mouth of the valley Thoot appears, Umble flittering next to her shoulder. The bird darts down ahead of her comrade, buzzing with excitement. "Ooh, yes yes yes! You have succeedified where we falterated. Thank you thank you thank you!"

”Umble, time for your end of the deal,” Titia replies immediately, scanning the horizon for Mictena. ”Sounds like we have someone else after us, so we need to move fast.”

"Someone after you?" Umble frets. [b]"Oh dear, that sounds antijoyous. Who would be after non-mortific individuals in the Boneyard?" Meanwhile, Thoot has caught up, and approaches Rosamund, staring at her and Willis.

"She called herself Mictena. Rosamund thinks she's a powerful psychopomp of some kind. She wants to "correct" our state - not by bringing us home, by killing us," Titia explains, shifting impatiently from side to side, head still on a swivel.

"Oh," Umble mumbles. "Oh dear. That's quite unjoyous. Mictena is, uh, our superior, and she maaaay possibly be displeased with us for our assistifying your endeavors. Not to say we won't still, of course," she suddenly squawks. "A deal's a deal after all."

"What was the deal?" Rosamund asks. "I don't believe I had heard about that part."

"If we convinced the town they were dead, these two would show us the roads their kind use to get to the world of the living," Victor says. "Only way they seemed to know of that we could get back there."

"Well, no reason you can't also go, what with your also being still livified and the whatsit with your heart being the same as theirs. Thoot, would you do the honorifics?" Thoot nods slowly, driving her scythe into the ground by the base of the pole and raising her skeletal arms up. As they rise, the land before you seems to shift as a road rise up from the ground, about fifteen feet across. Its exact details and construction differ to the eyes of the party, but to all of you it is long, winding, and unmarked. Umble nods approvingly. "Fantastic work, Thoot. Signatorily better than last time. Now," she continues, turning her attention to the party. “Like most things involving psychopomps, the Dead Roads rely on a complex bureaucracy. They’re maintained by Barzahk the Passage to allow us to come and go, but creatures of... of non-psychopompological nature need authorization to prevent abuse. Specially appointed bureaucrats control way stations along the routes, and can offer a stamp on your body to pass freely. Without a stamp of passage, beings tend to, oh... ‘slide off’ the Dead Roads and land back here—hopefully. We never did locate more than a few fingers from that one poor waywardarian Keleshite who found his way in. The route to Roslar’s Coffer passes three way stations: the Palace of Teeth, a manor called Nine-Eaves, and Salighara’s Scriptorium. You’ll need to stop at all three to make your pilgrimage back to Lastwall. Each way station master will probably charge for passage. Given your pauparian circumstances, I assume they’ll trade services. I hope."

”This is sounding more and more like a heroic tale,” Holden says with a slight gleam in his saddened eyes. ”I always did like such stories.”

"It certainly beats waiting around here for Mictena to return and correct the situation to her satisfaction," Rosamund comments.

Addressing Thoot, Rosamund asks "Is there anything else we should know about the road or the stops along the way."

"Oh, Thoot doesn't speak Mortal, silly," Umble giggles. "But let's see... the palace of Teeth is a small castle constructed by... I say, Thoot, who constructed it? I’ve no idea, actually. Its current occupants are malicious little pixies who collect teeth. Rather pesky. They raid the graves of the Boneyard, so I imagine they’ll accept a few teeth in trade. Nine-Eaves is a rather gloom-encrusted manor. An elderly shoki psychopomp named Kishokish serves as the master, ruminating on all manner of confabulations. Reclusive and a bit annoying, he has a fondness for puzzles and games. He’ll almost certainly demand some battle of wits before granting his stamp, as he’s a depressing fellow. Humor him. Salighara is a viduus psychopomp, and not a gregarious one. She likes the privacy the Dead Roads offer and oversees several scribes performing menial copying tasks for the Boneyard bureaucracy. I’ve attended one of her pompatious lectures on a prior encounter, and I don’t need to tell you, they are sanctimonious and redundant in the extreme. How a psychopomp could be so full of herself is quite beyond me! If Salighara wants labor in exchange for her stamp, it will likely be exceedingly dull to perform. You have my apologies in advance!"

The Dead Roads are long, winding, and see at first to be endless. With no sun and no people it's difficult to keep track of the time, but it seems to be almost four hours before you see something pop up on the horizon: a tall, narrow castle rising from a hill. A small driveway leads to it from the road, allowing entrance without having to step off of it. Constructed of weathered wood and ivory-colored stone, the building is studded with thousands upon thousands of teeth, arranged in neat rows and spirals. The castle’s only windows are high and narrow. A tall gatehouse leads into a courtyard, its floor paved with yellowish bricks and old teeth. As the party steps through the gate, Victor steps on a pressure plate, causing several dozen teeth to rain from the ceiling and clatter to the ground below.

"They probably know we're here now, Rosamund says. "Maybe we should say something?"

Victor nods. "Not like we were trying to sneak in anyways," He says, before turning his attention back to the castle. "Hello! We come seeking your stamp and permission to proceed! Is there anyone here we can speak to?!" He calls to the stone and teeth before him.

There is no audible response, but when the party moves forward into the courtyard, they're met by five tiny, ugly looking sprites with oversized, mismatched teeth and a pair of pliers each. They silently appraise the group before gesturing towards the door in eerie unison.

This small courtyard is surrounded by walls 12 feet tall. High above, an arched bridge spans the courtyard from north to south. The courtyard is paved with bricks and teeth in intricate floral arrangements.
A narrow passage to the south leads outside, while an ornate wooden double door studded with whorls and spirals of humanoid teeth stands opposite the passage, leading to the north.
A heavy wooden door stands on each side of the passageway in the south wall. The handle of the east door has been removed, leaving a gaping hole. The west door is secured with an elaborate lock, supplemented with an additional lock and handle, apparently from the east door.