Session 2 - Chapter 3: On Razor's Edge pt. II

Gidget’s ingenuity burned brightest under pressure, and the blazing tempo of the contest only stoked her flame further. Her wallet, like her ambition, opened wide—eager to capture and preserve a piece of the torment her companions just conquered. She purchased a concentrated vial of the Blisterhoof’s infamous liquid heat: a swirling, red-glass ampule corked in wax and accompanied by a dire dosage warning—“1 drop per 3 pounds of meat or 2 gallons of liquid.” The tiniest misstep spelled agony. Yet even that infernal concoction paled in comparison to the fire overcome by young Xhoya. As the group spilled out into the icy lot beyond the Blisterhoof Butcher, cheers rang through the air for the shy drow prodigy—though praise swiftly gave way to suspicion. How could someone so young, so seemingly detached from the world, endure spice rated fatal for some?   Unwanted stares were quickly deflected with an explanation wrapped in ancestry. Xhoya, in her soft-spoken cadence, claimed that a few among her kin shared her imperviousness to spice. Yet even her bloodline’s gift had limits. The final round eclipsed even her formidable tolerance, and the spotlight that had briefly captured her dimmed, allowing the quiet drow to retreat back into her familiar shadows. A short exchange followed as transportation arrangements were made, and then, under a sky thick with winter stars, the group pressed on—setting their course for a tradition hearkening back to the roots of Preydrus: the catching of venomous creatures.   Jaxion took point as the others followed, the convoy carving northward along the gentle, glistening arcs of lakeside roads. In the growing distance, Ellisbeth’s town hall loomed larger with each passing mile—a monolithic citadel set atop a broad mesa, bathed in violet light beams crossing into the heavens to form the town's signature “X.” Along the rear of the mesa, immense wall-sized banners advertised the Preydrus festivities, beckoning outsiders into the distant, frostbitten town. Yet the travelers among them who were aboard the Magnorail knew well the scarcity of visitors who ventured this deep into forgotten wilds. Bitter wind clawed at the exposed faces of Jaxion, the Gambit, Kiíellièn, and Lux, an icy reminder of the season's relentless grip. Still, the cold couldn't quell Lux’s flair for drama—her presence rippled through the town like a dropped jewel in a still pond, her distinct motorcycle acting as a calling card for those who recognized the starlet behind the helmet. By the time she arrived at her destinations, dozens of false tales were spun, all with harmless, playful deceit.   Husk Hollow Park—now reimagined as Venomhusk Hollow for the event—welcomed the party with a striking sight: a towering mechanical scorpion, gears churning as it prowled through the trees like a guardian of old myths brought to life. The park was far more populated than their last stop, necessitating a momentary split among the group to manage the cramped parking amid the crowd. A long, sinuous line wound through the fog-drenched central grove where tree limbs twisted overhead like fingers in prayer. A disguised gnome—costumed as a mischievous imp—stood sentinel, offering admittance via wristbands in exchange for a modest fee. Lux, seizing the opportunity, shifted her appearance once more. After a short wait, Jaxion requested a corner booth, and the party of eight was ushered into a secluded, multi-leveled structure perched like a viewing platform above the attractions.   Below them sprawled three distinct scorpion-catching arenas, cleverly shaped by magic and terrain. The beginner's pit resembled a mythic coliseum, scaled down and simplified—a flat stage upon which to confront venomous prey. The intermediate zone exuded a desert oasis theme, complete with hideaways, pools, and varied elevation. But it was the advanced course that caught every eye: a sprawling outdoor kitchen, overrun with dozens—perhaps hundreds—of stealthy, chittering scorpions. As they settled into the high booth, their curious stares were met by the flamboyant Navael Thornleaf, an elven culinary botanist with a penchant for the theatrical. He greeted them with exaggerated winks and flirtatious banter, circling the table with offers of jerky and water, seasoned as much with sarcasm as with salt. Though some—like Jaxion—met him with stony disinterest, Navael seemed impervious to rejection.   Remaining true to his character, Navael outlined the rules, weaving in jokes with mechanical precision. He explained the park’s intentional infestation, clarified costs, and collected payment with a flourish—and a tip for his ego. After a short delay, the eight descended into the advanced course: the kitchen.   Kiíellièn’s overburdened backpack slowed her movements, yet she stubbornly refused to part with it. Equipped with only ampules of antivenom and an unflinching resolve, she followed her companions into the kitchen’s chaotic underbelly. What unfolded next would mark the final moments of laughter the group would experience. Jaxion, ever the sentinel, sensed a presence in his boot. He peeled it off to reveal a scorpion clinging to life—only to squash it under his heel with decisive finality. Xhoya became an insect magnet, her cloak bristling with scorpions that clutched her like barnacles as she marched deeper. Kiíellièn triggered her Blastcan to speak with beasts, coaxing the venomous creatures into a stockpot Xhoya had selected as their freedom-vessel. The scorpions, oddly compliant, followed her like devotees chanting in an alien tongue.   Kiíellièn, now crawling under the weight of her gear, mimicked the drow’s route while a procession of enchanted scorpions trailed her wake—a ridiculous, awe-inspiring sight that sent the onlookers into peals of raucous laughter. Gidget and Lux swiftly turned linens into makeshift nets, capturing clusters of insects and flinging them into the growing stockpile. Jaxion asserted dominance with raw intimidation—snapping the tail from a still-living scorpion and consuming it before a room of stunned creatures. The absurdity ballooned. A planned perilous challenge devolved into a side-splitting spectacle. The drow laughed hardest, enchanted by the insects’ eerie chants and their bizarre mimicry of a parade.   By the end, they tallied nearly twelve dozen captured scorpions—breaking park records. A purse of 95 gold and 2 silver was awarded alongside a special herb smoker that promised subtle culinary boons. Ever the opportunist, Xhoya exchanged five gold for a collection of sugary scorpion confections.   But jubilation soured into heartache as the Sergeant's BRN uniform cast a long shadow on their joy.   “Where is Rufus?!” came the anguished wail of a middle-aged tiefling woman, her voice raw and trembling. Her hands clutched desperately at Jaxion’s collar, as if sheer will might pull the truth from him. She shouted in his native tongue, accusing him not of ignorance, but complicity—his uniform an indictment more than a badge.   Jaxion had no answers, and his measured detachment only deepened her despair. Mentions of an abandoned military base, of soldiers presumed dead, broke like waves across the woman as five more women stepped forth—each seeking a missing husband, son, or brother. Kiíellièn intervened, her melodic voice laced with compassion. She soothed the rising panic, promising an investigation into the Scorpion’s Eye. Her empathy lit a spark in Jaxion, who at last gave his solemn word that answers would be found.   Borrowing her grace, the Sergeant soon slipped away to a private corner of the park and activated his holo-communicator. A glowing image of his commanding officer, General Kael Vurn, shimmered into existence as Jaxion reported what he knew and sought orders.   When he rejoined the others—now standing apart from the mourning women and festive gate—Jaxion offered the group a tempered reassurance: the soldiers of the Scorpion’s Eye were reportedly on a covert mission, location and return unknown. But moments later, he pulled Echo aside to speak the darker truth aloud. Echo, classified BRN property, was granted clearance. No orders had ever been issued to the Scorpion’s Eye. The soldiers' absence was not an operation—it was a mystery. Jaxion and Echo were tasked with uncovering the truth and returning it to Vurn.   The party reconvened, their direction clear: Scorpion Pointe. Their destination—The Scorpion’s Eye.   Their departure was swift, but the roads fought back. Snow and ice clung to the land like old ghosts. At the nearest turnout to the military road, the truth took shape in frozen silence. The roadway, hidden from view behind a southern bend, was buried in over three feet of snow, left untouched for weeks. No civilian vehicle could break the frostbound barricade, but Gidget unveiled the Cindercleft Xpress: a steam-limbed six-legged marvel from her guild built for off-road ventures.   Gambit pledged repair support if needed while Gidget cautioned again of Rexor’s warning: their guild’s vessel was now a marked threat. The group boarded the machine, which rumbled to life and hobbled forward over the white wasteland. Inside, a quiet settled over them. Curiosity returned to the Gambit. How was a Vox replaced? “When one departs another takes their place,” he answered simply. He admitted a fondness for Beaumont’s history—though he preferred practical experience over dusty tomes.   Kiíellièn, unease growing, asked what he knew of her. “Only what I need to do my job,” he replied with a flat sincerity that sent fresh discomfort through her. Then, almost playfully, he asked if she heard a bird. Her hand darted to her pocket—pulling free an old scrap of parchment, her expression twisted in disbelief.   Arriving at a second blockade, the group exited. Massive concrete barriers—ten feet tall—lay splintered from the center and the direction facing the base. The force came from within. No footprints approached from any direction, but one single trail—human and mechanical—marched toward the base where smoke plumed from the shattered glass dome of the Eye. Gidget issued a warning: the force required to annihilate those barriers could easily vaporize them or the Cindercleft. Gambit drew an astral card, flicking it to Xhoya. A shimmering light wrapped around her briefly before vanishing. The group reentered the machine and advanced with eyes wide and breath held.   Within, the possibility of the Gazelle resurfacing was quickly dismissed—a small relief to the survivors. Gambit and Kiíellièn’s cryptic talk of timelines and arrivals returned, bewildering their companions, before the top of Scorpion Pointe came into view. The shattered glass dome—the “eye”—poured white smoke like an open wound. Jaxion led. Echo, unaffected by the smoke, followed close, while the others crawled behind. Inside, the shrill cry of alarms and the acidic sting of burning wires whispered the truth: these soldiers had not left. They’d been ambushed.   A shadowed hallway led deeper in. Before long, two mechanical sentries spotted them and opened fire. Jaxion, Echo, Gidget, and Silas rushed into the fog of war, ducking behind cracked walls. Laser fire sizzled past them. In the rear corridor, a smoky figure manifested beside Xhoya, whispering, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The being reached for her, Gambit hurled a glowing card reactively. It collided with the figure midair, shoving the phantom away. Xhoya screamed, and the figure vanished in a puff of haze. Gambit and Kiíellièn pulled her close, shielding her from any further attacks as the youth donned the appearance of Gambit to further hide herself from the phantom.   The fight escalated. Echo fired at one bot—presumably missing but Gambit’s magic redirected the bullet midair, landing a crucial hit blasting the bot into pieces. Another card wrapped Jaxion’s boots in ethereal glow, letting him leap across the battlefield. Lux, Jaxion, Silas, and Echo pressed forward. Broken metal and shattered limbs lined the chamber—a battle almost won by the soldiers, but not quite. Jaxion lunged with his steam reaper at the second bot, tearing through steel while Lux lit the wounded with fire. Silas hurled a grenade he scavenged from the barricade. A direct hit! The second bot exploded.   But the smoky figure reappeared—this time around Gidget. And this time, they both vanished.   Gidget reappeared on a circular arcane platform, humming ominously. She turned to see a four-legged war machine—barghest-like, adorned with shoulder-mounted weapons. She dropped her gear and raised her hands in surrender.   It responded with fire.   A torrent engulfed her, flames consumed the Eladrin alive. She collapsed, lifeless.