Part 3: Siege of Songs

Set into the floor of this tiled room is a gently frothing pool of water surrounded by vines and greenery that seem to grow out of the walls. Though indoors, it appears as a tropical forest pond. A wall to the north partially conceals a small sink and lavatory, and the room smells of flowers and perfume. Opera music plays from a small clockwork device set along the pool’s edge.

A strange creature lounges in the water, gently splashing about. She has the lower body of a snake, a humanoid torso, and a bird-like head and claws. Her eyes lazily move towards you as you open the door, then they widen. Wit ha startled splash, she rises up from the pool, coiling her tail around her like a boa and pressing a claw to her chest in exaggerated shock.

"Goodness me! Don’t you know to knock before you interrupt a lady in the bath? How very forward... especially considering that I don’t recognize you. Are you friends of my dear Oriole?"

"Oh, dear! Is the estate under attack?" the creature asks. She fans herself dramatically with a clawed hand. "I'm simply Oriole's darling Grandmama! I'm not cut out for battle! Perhaps I should make my exit while you have it out with whatever unruly guests have decided to make themselves at home here!"

The being scoffs. "A dragon? Hardly, dear. I am a lady!" she insists.

With his knowledge of occultism, Horace is able to identify the creature as a protean. Guardians of disorder and natives of the primal plane of chaos known as the Maelstrom, proteans consider it their calling to spread bedlam and hasten entropic ends. This particular protean belongs to a caste known as imenteshes. The loquacious proteans known as imenteshes serve as missionaries, spies, and heralds of chaos to further the protean goal of reality's dissolution. Imenteshes are cunning, curiously diplomatic, and profoundly whimsical. They travel beyond the Maelstrom for their work, frequently adopting extravagant personal attire and decorations that often border upon the garish, all to curry favor with less chaotic beings.

You know that Oriole is a ganzi, a nephilim descended from proteans, so Grandmama's claim that she is related to the performer is not entirely far-fetched. She tilts her head and regards you curiously. "Well, if this home is under attack, then the magical defenses will have likely put up a barrier between here and the upper floor where Oriole's room is located." She gestures with a claw to the clockwork device that is producing the opera music. "This is my dear descendant's work! If you play it at the barrier, it will allow you to pass unharmed. I do hope that Oriole is okay! You will check on them, won't you, darlings?"

The protean bobs her head. "Good luck! The stairs up are that way," she says, pointing back the way you came and to the east with her tail. Then there is a flash of light, and she is gone, having teleported away.

The enormous dinosaur lifts its long, sinuous neck to regard Horace. "Stupid bird-things," the beast growls. "They made me think they were my friends. But they are not my friends. They tricked me into coming here and breaking the gate and the door. But then bad magic hurt me. Made me mad! I ate one of the bird-things. The others ran, but I think they are still near."