# "Second Son of a Second Son" - An Aquerra Story Hour (*finally* Updated 04/19)



## el-remmen

Here we go again, kids!

Some of you may have followed by "Out of the Frying Pan" Aquerra story hour, and others may have wanted to, but were daunted by the length - so here we have a brand new Aquerra story hour that you can get in on right from the beginning and many ways this will likely be a lot more indicative of what Aquerra campaigns are like than the last one was . . .

The player characters are:

 *Bleys Winter*, Watch-Mage, called '_Bleys the Aubergine_' (age: 26)
 *Laarus Raymer*, Priest of Ra, son of Valdemar of House Raymer (age: 17)
 *Markos Ackers*, son of Catherina of House Raymer (age: 17)
 *Telémakhos Briareus*, son of Agamemnon of House Briareus (age: 19)
 *Timotheus Smith*, son of Erasmus of House Briareus (age: 25)
 *Victoria Ostrander*, Militant of Anhur, daughter of Sir Lionel of House Ostrander (age: 21)

You can click on the names above to see their page on the Aquerra wiki.   As the players create/update their pages, I will add links to their names as well.  Throughout this story hour you will see various names, places and terms linked - these will be to pages on the wiki.  I will continue to use footnotes to describe mechanical details of events in the game, but will use direct links to give expository info.  As usual, you won't need to read any of this stuff to enjoy the story, it will just be there for those who are interested.

Click Here to download the "Second Son of a Second Son" Campaign Guide PDF, which I gave out to the players before we had the stat draft to determine the characters' ability scores.

It laid out the basic guidelines for character creation for the campaign, an overview of the politics of the area (as everyone would be playing young petty nobles), and touched on some of the new house rules we would be using like influence and reputation (which were adapted from the "_A Game of Thrones_" d20 game.

As the game begins everyone is second level, but has 0 XP (meaning they will be at 2nd level longer).

For a different view on the events of the this campaign, check out: Bleys' Journal and/or The Prayers of Timotheus Smith

For an index of updates to this story hour check out the Second Son of a Second Son - Story Hour page on the aquerra wiki

*One last thing:* Since the story hour and the campaign will be pretty much in step with each other, while I am happy to entertain question or even speculation - I would appreciate that if people recognize elements of NPCs from. . . let's say a current Dungeon Adventure path () that they stay mum about it. . . Thanks!


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## el-remmen

PRELUDE

Anulem, the 14th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

“How long are we going to wait?  You heard his cry…” Laarus said to the others.  The priest of Ra’s horse snorted and stepped back and forth.  He patted its neck to calm it, the scales of his armor clinking as he leaned forward.  His fine tight-fighting travel clothes were soaked with mud, rain and perspiration; several drops of which rolled down his prominent hawk-like nose.

It was mid-afternoon and they were on horseback before the crumbling front wall of a flooded ruined keep. The swamp was humid, and the steely clouds threatened rain.

“We cannot just charge in there…” Timotheus said.

“Charging in there is exactly what we should do,” Laarus replied overly loud.  The lizardman atop the gatehouse tower broke off his conversation with Markos to call a warning into the keep that the adventurers might be charging in.

“We plan to do no such thing,” Markos called up to the guard.  He then looked to his companions, worry in his blue eyes.  “Right?”   It was clear he was uncomfortable on a horse.  Markos was a small man with a thin frame.  Like the rest of his companions he was splattered with mud and muck, and the crags in his sun-baked skin were filled with dirt.

“Would someone care to go for a ride?” Bleys the Aubergine asked, turning his horse towards the north.  He wore a deep purple cloak in a style that suggested the more traditional watch-mage robes that he eschewed.  It was held on by three golden chain broaches and was laid over a bright crimson shirt.  He had long black hair.

“I do not believe this is the time for that…” Victoria began.  She lost much of her womanly shape in her scale mail, and bore a spear so long, she could rest the butt on the ground while she was still astride her horse.  Her dark hair was shorter than that of Bleys, and she had a simple beauty that was washed away by the shadow of the nose-guard of her basinet. 

“We may be forbidden to enter the keep, but thought we might get a better look at its dimensions by riding around it,” Bleys replied quietly.

The chatter was broken by another agonizing cry from within the keep.  Laarus Raymer of Ra did not hesitate, and drawing his flail he spurred his horse.  But Bleys reached out and grabbed the reins of the priest’s horse.

“Be not a fool!  They are prepared for a charge! At the very least let us go around,” the watch-mage said.

“Then go around!” Laarus replied sternly.  Bleys could see a blue-black vein pulsing under the too pale skin of the priest’s head and let go. Laarus charged in, calling on Ra to _bless_ their coming battle.  Victoria and her mount charged right in after him.  

Past the gatehouse, the inner keep was a mess of broken walls. Pools of stagnant water collected on the uneven ground, and seeped out where stone had sunken into the loam.  There was a stone building lacking a roof in the center of what was once a great courtyard, but the wall that once stood behind it was now piles of rocks in a great pool of green water being fed by countless little streams from all directions.

Victoria reared up at a thickly woven straw mat over fifteen feet to a side laying in the middle of the courtyard, not far from the broken wall that led into the roofless building.  Two lizardfolk, wearing long smocks of cured brown leather stood at each side of the ten-foot gap, hissing and brandishing machetes.  They were dark green and mottled with brown, and had low thick crests on their heads.

Laarus charged on and as the thatched mat gave way beneath his horse’s front hooves it reared up and whinnied in dismay.  The animal kicked it forelegs and spun itself frantically, while Laarus held on desperately, trying to retain control.  At least he had not ridden into the pit that the mat, now askew, had obscured.

“Going around will give them a chance to kill Sir Quintus! Charge!” Markos said as he spurred his horse to follow the others.  Timotheus was right behind him, yelling, “Sir Quintus! Shout as loud as you can so we know where you are!”  Valerius went with them.

Bleys looked to Telémahkos.  The son of Briareus had not made a move to follow the others.  He met the watch-mage’s glance and nervously pulled at some loose blond strands sticking out from his old-fashioned helmet.  He wore a chain shirt and leather greaves, and had a white tunic with the coat of arms of House Briareus on it.  He grabbed at the lance in the leather holster on the side of his light warhorse.

“Shall we go around?” Bleys the Aubergine asked his companion, gesturing over to the north side of the keep.  Telémahkos nodded, so the watch-mage turned his horse and led the way carefully through one of the broader streams and around the crumbling outer tower.

The lizardman atop the gatehouse tower let out a violent set of barks and hisses towards the stone building.  He had moved over to look into the ruined keep and saw Timotheus come bursting into the courtyard, while Markos hung back near the gatehouse.  

“Chok’tem! It is not too late to reveal Sir Quintus! We can still parley and no blood need be shed!” Markos called.

“They have me in here!” came a strained voice from the stone building.  “They have me in here! Just don’t kill them!”

“_Approach,_” Victoria said to the lizardman atop the tower, divine authority in her voice. The lizardman climbed over the crumbling wall and hanging there for a moment jumped, landing painfully on one leg that collapsed beneath his weight.

Timotheus rode right up to the entrance to the building (avoiding the thatched straw cover on the ground) and could see the corner of some kind of wooden cage, but an uneven brick wall obscured most of it.  There was a narrow stream running into a pool collecting in one corner of the structure and a rotting wooden door acted as a kind of footbridge.  

The lizardman on the right grabbed at Tim, and as the tall man shifted in his saddle to avoid being grappled, his horse was spooked and reared.  Timotheus landed on his hands and knees, spinning at the last minute to avoid hurting himself.  The horse snorted and turned, taking off for the center of the courtyard again.  Markos moved his horse over and grabbed the creature’s reins to calm it and keep it from riding off into a bog.  “Chok’tem, it is not too late! Bring him forth!”

“You have broken your word!” came the lizardman’s voice in his breathy broken Common.  He was inside the stone building, beside the wooden cage.  “Why should we believe?  Retreat now! Leave! And then no bloodshed!”


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## Gold Roger

That's quite a start, I'm eager for more.

By the way, will the RBDM board return at some point or have you given up on it?


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## el-remmen

Gold Roger said:
			
		

> That's quite a start, I'm eager for more.




Well, I have the first three sessions written up, and we play the fourth session a week from today.  I hope to keep caught up in writing them.

I plan to update about twice a week until the updates are caught up with real time, and then we'll see how often they come from there (probably three times every two weeks). 



			
				Gold Roger said:
			
		

> By the way, will the RBDM board return at some point or have you given up on it?




The RBDM club has been moved from my old boards because of all the tech issues we kept having. Unfortunately, its new location means we cannot have public areas of the board. . . well, kind of. . .


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## el-remmen

*Session #1: “A Party at Sluetelot” (part 1 of 3)* (1)

_As the drunken haze that was mistaken for a corona of glory about the sigils of their Houses faded away with morning, word came of the great disaster in the City of the Spices. All the people of Thricia were united in their horror and sympathy at the event, and it seemed a poor time for these minor houses to announce the creation of their adventuring charter, and their quest for riches and notoriety….  But not one of the Houses wanted to be the first to suggest delaying or canceling the agreement, but what was to be an event worthy of a great banquet and ostentatious party became humbler and humbler, and fewer people could be expected to take part for fear of appearing disrespectful.

Most people see what is now being called “the God-king’s Cold Revenge” as an ill-omen of a bad time coming, but in her great speech from the steps of the High Temple of Isis, the Margrave said that Thricia was to go on as it always had. So when she heard of the charter, she openly encouraged it in court and declared she would be sending “the young sons and daughters of Thricia a gift to aid them”.  As Lord Paullion Tenbrook V was present at court when this was announced, he felt the need to send a gift as well, and the small, but tasteful banquet in honor of the charter’s official signing will be held in private suites in the inn locally known as ‘Death & Taxes’ in the town of Sluetelot on the 9th of Sek, also known as Anhur’s Day of Honors._

The mid-spring warmth of Ra’s Glory, washed over the town of Sluetelot in golden waves, distorting the distant glare of the Captured Sea to the west.  Markos Ackers was saddened to step off the sloop, as it reminded him of what might have been a happier times – Happy then, but not always happy to think of now.   Of average height and very slender build, he flicked his cloak off and immediately a servant took it from him.

“The page will bring your horse to the stables,” his father said as he returned from the Harbormaster’s office.  “Stabling has been arranged for everyone in the charter.”    Jansen turned to the tall young man with the reddish-blond hair, and bright red cassock.  The cassock was woven with golden threads that held tiny gems in place in an intricate brocade about the shoulders and chest.  He had sharp features and hazel eyes. About his neck was a golden solar disk emblazoned with an ankh. “Laarus, perhaps if you need a horse as well, you can inquire about purchasing or borrowing one there later.”

The young priest nodded to his uncle, and then the three began to walk into town.  Markos and Laarus looked up at the great walls and towers of Havesting with awe.  They could see tiny figures scrambling around siege engines, and atop the balustrade of a great sea wall that reached out into the harbor to reach the shrine of Tefnut, and divide the port into two large areas.  Everywhere was the cry of men and gulls, and the cracking of the wind and the creaking of ships.  In his forties and well-traveled due to his working for House Raymer’s nascent mercantile business, Jansen Ackers was less impressed. He had brown curly hair worn to the shoulders, in Thrician style.  If he and his son had the same complexion, it was only because Markos was weathered a soft-brown by his years at sea, making his yellow hair seem even brighter.

Sluetelot was a big town, and growing still.  It was a collection of white and blue houses, many with tin roofs, but some had roofs of blue slate.  A white stone wall surrounded what locals called _Old Town_, and where the town had grown beyond the wall, was called “_New Sluetelot_”.   They had to walk through the harbor fortress itself, where Jansen’s credentials, and the respect given a priest of Ra got them through the lines of the many visitors waiting to be allowed into the town very quickly. 

They were reminded of the peace knot law ordinance in effect in Sluetelot, but no one bothered to check their weapons.  The main thoroughfare out of the fortress led right to the middle of town, where the Death & Taxes Inn and the luncheon in honor of the signing of Charter of Schiereiland would take place.  

“Father, I am still confused as to why this is such a small affair,” Markos asked Jansen.  “I mean, after the tragedy of the City of the Spices, would not a great party in honor of this charter raise morale?  Especially, if one believes that it shall really be for the benefit of the people of Thricia, that is…”

“Well, that Margrave gave her blessing… What more can be asked for?” Laarus interjected.

“A great banquet might have been nice,” Jansen replied.  “But I think it is better to come in quietly and later be noticed, than to be announced only to disappoint.”

Laarus nodded in agreement.

“I just hope we can use this charter as an opportunity to actually help people, and not just some political ploy,” Markos said.

“The margrave has ever stood to defend the people against the tyranny of Thricia’s nobles,” Jansen smiled with his obvious sarcasm. He opened his fine vest, and undid a button of his silk shirt, as the walk in the sun was beginning to make him sweat.  “If she has given her approval, it is because she believes it will be helpful to Thricia in some way.”

“Yes, I am sure she has her reasons, even if they are not readily apparent,” Markos replied, as they came into view of the inn.

Death & Taxes was situated at the corner to the entrance to what was called “the Great Meeting Well Plaza”, or sometimes “central Market”, as nearly everyday merchants hawked their wears all about the great marble lipped well in the plaza’s center.  The inn was a two-story building, with ivy growing up one side and over most of the sloped roof.  There was a garden in front with wooden benches that faced the overgrown and unkempt yard of a cottage across the way.

Laarus made out the spire of a temple of Isis across the plaza as they came around the inn to enter its common room.  Within the dim interior, they found the proprietor hastily directing others to clean, as he wiped the bar himself.  It seemed the place had been quite lively the night before, and though it was afternoon, the aftermath was still being taken care of.

The obsequious innkeeper, Barton Digits, greeted them effusively, and led them up to the second floor where the entrances to two suites across the narrow lacquer-paneled hall from each other were open.  A hand-painted sign next to the door on the left had an arrow pointing towards it.  It said, “_Schiereiland Charter Luncheon”_. 

Bleys Winter was prompt as he always was. Seventeen stone and four inches over six feet, he cut an impressive figure in his dark purple watch-mage’s robes filigreed in silver, which he in an unusual style, more like a travel cloak than robes.  The collar of a crimson shirt stuck out from beneath his studded leather armor.  Bleys had long dark locks; dark eyes and was clean-shaven.  He nodded to his father’s words, but his eyes were following the woman who had greeted them upon arrival to the posh suite.  She was Euleria Finch, and now she was greeting three newcomers Bleys did not recognize.  Bleys’ father, Callum Winter, stood no less straight for being nearly four inches shorter than his son. He looked much like Bleys, but with twenty years on his face.

“Welcome.  You do us honor,” Euleria said to Markos, Laarus and Jansen as they walked in.  She was tall for a woman, with freckled olive skin, and a build like an awkward teenage boy.  She wore trousers, a shirt and vest much as a man might, if this were not Thricia, where robes and even kilts are the habit.  Her short dark hair did not do much to feminize her, but she had wide and welcoming smile, and looked each noble in the eye with respectful acknowledgement.  She explained that not all the other guests and signers of the charter had arrived yet, and directed them to the opulent spread of food on one table.  Beside it on another smaller table, amid plates and bowls, was a small cask of ale, and several bottles of wine.   A wench was present to serve the food, and was perplexed by Markos’ attempt to serve himself and the apology that followed it.

There were other guests already present and arriving.  A tall man of significant girth eating from a plate filled with cheese, fruit and bread, and slurping wine from a glass he was resting on a small end table.  He had long curly locks, and a round youthful face with very red cheeks.  He wore a floppy burgundy beret, and a lyre resting on a chair nearby.  He appeared to be in his forties.  An obvious Librarian of Thoth walked in, perhaps in his late twenties. He dragged his left leg a bit, and had a portion of his head shaved to reveal where an old black scar told of near fatal wound.  He nodded awkwardly to Euleria Finch and sat in a corner to write in a journal he carried, along with a wooden folder tied with ribbons and holding scrolls of some kind.

------------------------------------

“It’s always so damn hot!” Agamemnon Briareus swore. He dabbed at beads of sweat on his balding head with a kerchief, and cursed again, as he flicked at the heavy brocaded woolen coat he wore.  “Ra’s damned Tenbrooks and their damn weather! No wonder they are always at each others throats down here.  It is too hot for men or beasts!”  He was burly man of no great height, but his width gave anyone walking past him pause.   Though his hairline was receding, the middle-aged man has long locks of blond hair and rugged good looks.

“I am sure the people of Sluetelot are used to the climate,” Timotheus replied.  Agamemnon glared at his nephew, and Telémakhos risked a surreptitious look of warning to his cousin, being more aware of his father’s ill-tempers.  Timotheus smiled broadly, uncaring.  He wore a blue kilt, a brown leather vest, and a white tunic with blue piping.  Copper gleamed on his left wrist in the form of the stylized broken manacle of Nephthys. His reddish-blond hair cut short and his square jaw was clean-shaven, keeping him youthful despite his soldier’s gait and tall broad frame.  He wore a saber at his side.

At Death & Taxes, Barton Digits’ voice quavered with fear in the presence of Agamemnon Briarius.  He led the three nobles to the suite and Euleria Finch immediately came over from where she spoke to corpulent man with the lyre to introduce herself.

“Ra’s damn it,” Agamemnon swore under his breath.  “Who invited the gimp?”  Telémakhos looked up and saw his lame older brother closing his book and standing, walking over with his ever-present difficulty to greet them.  Telie felt the red flash of guilt on his face that he always felt when around his brother, since the time of the accident that left him so afflicted.  He adjusted his pristine white toga, with its red sash and gold chain, and patted at the perfect golden curls that framed his almost girlish face, looking down uncomfortably as he shook his brother Nikephorus’ hand. Agamemnon barely grunted his greeting, but Timotheus greeted his cousin with genuine warmth, asking after his health.  As Telémakhos’ looked up his eyesight trailed to notice a woman standing near the back of the suite.   She was nearly as tall as Telie, who was no giant among men, and had long dark hair, alabaster skin, large blue eyes and an ample bosom. She had a beauty that would be hard to forget, and while Telémakhos knew her to be Lavinia Vanderboren, he was having a harder time remembering if they had ever shared a liaison.  She was the daughter of sometime business associates of his family, but if he recalled correctly, her parents had both died only a few months before.

Euleria explained what the agenda for the luncheon was, and how they were waiting for the arrival of one more of the charter’s prospective members.  Timotheus upset the serving wench by serving himself, and Sir Agamemnon immediately ordered the girl to hand him a flagon of wine.  Telémakhos considered approaching the woman in the back of the fine suite, but there were more arrivals.

A short glabrous priest of Ra arrived in a maroon cassock with a broad golden torc about his neck.  He was Dracius of Ra, a former mentor of the young priest Laarus Raymer, and he went over to greet one of his favorite students.  A man of undeterminable age came in, he was certainly among the oldest in the room, but his face still seemed young despite his pug nose and droopy eyes; Blond was growing in at the roots of his long dyed black hair.  He wore a woolen green kilt and a white shirt of lighter fabric, with a golden vest.  A man, perhaps in his late thirties, of medium build and with the short dark hair, curled beard and olive complexion of a Herman-Lander entered.  He wore brown woolen trousers, and light navy blue coat over a cream colored shirt.   A middle-aged woman, most of her youthful beauty gone to replaced by a distinguished visage that was no less attractive, walked into the suite.  She wore the long black traditional habit of a priestess of Isis with its silver colored front and collar.  Among her long dark brown locks were thin braids ending in bright beads.  About her neck was a silver holy symbol; an ankh resting in the curve of crescent moon.  She was Leisel of Isis.

Soon after, a young woman dressed in scale mail and carrying a spear arrived.  She was tall, with short dark hair, and dark eyes.  She wore a holy symbol of silver in the shape of a small stylized spear about her neck.  It had an ankh etched on it.  She was accompanied by a man who had a similar serious countenance, but his dark hair was thinning and he was much older.  He too wore armor, and had the obvious stature of a knight. This was confirmed when Euleria welcomed him as Sir Lionel Ostrander, and shook his daughter, Victoria’s hand as well.

So finally, everyone was there.  Euleria coughed to get everyone’s attention and called the would-be signers up to the front of the room. She began to speak.

“We are honored on this day to take part in and witness the signing of the historical adventuring charter by the young sons and daughters of Thricia, for their own benefit, that of their houses, and that of the people of Thricia.  In honor of this charter, the Margrave has sent a gift.  She has hired me and paid in advance for a year of my services as steward for the group.  Whatever is needed, whatever logistics… I shall do my best to acquire, achieve and serve.  I will book passage, inquire for lodging, arrange interviews and grant whatever aid in planning and execution you may need of me.  And when you are abroad on explorations and quests, I shall look after your interests more locally.  When the year is over, you may review my efforts and decide at that time whether you would like to keep me on in a role as steward, and pay my usual salary.”

She paused and smiled, and looked at Victoria, Telémakhos, Timotheus, Markos, Bleys and Laarus in turn.

“In addition, other Houses have sent generous gifts,” she continued.  “House Tenbrook have paid that this and the suite across the hall be at your service for seven months.  This includes meals and drink served here.  However, anything purchased in the common room downstairs must be paid for as normal.  From House Barhyte, notable and honorable liege of both House Ostrander and House Briareus, you have free stabling and care of your horses for an equal time while here in Sluetelot.  House Curen, the liege of House Raymer, has arranged discounted prices for courses and training at the University of Thricia in Moon City, if it is availed of within three years.”

There was polite applause, and Telémakhos raised his mug to the man with the dyed hair and droopy eyes. He recognized him as Joezyn Barhyte, uncle of the head of that house, and an influential man in mercantile industry.

Nikephorus stepped forwards slowly and pulled from his folder two long sheaves of parchment.  Upon them in a clear and elegant hand were the words of the charter. Euleria took them from the priest with a bow, and laid one copy on a table, and held up the other.  As no one volunteered to read it aloud when she asked, she did the honors.
----

*The Schiereiland Adventuring Charter*

We, the undersigned, as duly designated representatives of our most noble Houses, do join ourselves in solidarity of arms and fraternity of spirit in service of the common good.  In doing so, we knowingly and with sober intent assume the duties of Noble Adventurers under the auspices of the Crown of Thricia, with all rights and responsibilities legally appertaining thereunto.  We do solemnly swear in the names of the gods, our most noble Houses, and Her Majesty, the Margrave Katherine Pepper, to adhere to the following principles:

 To obey the laws and uphold the values of the Crown of Thricia;
 To place the interests of the Crown, as embodied in our most noble Houses, above all personal interests;
 To battle the enemies of the Crown and of the people wheresoever we may encounter them;
 To hold true to one another in the face of peril;
 To bring glory without loss of integrity to ourselves and our Houses;
 To behave in public with such decorum as befits nobles of Thricia;
 To grant all members of our company an equal voice in determining our path and number, irrespective of wealth or status, except where outlined differently in this document;
 To follow the wisdom of our people and culture and always have among our number a representative of the Academy of Wizardry as a full and equal member;
 To divide all spoils by a number equal to the number of members of our company plus one, with the extra share being divided by the founding Houses of this charter, Ostrander, Briareus and Raymer.  Additional payments to these Houses are otherwise left to agreements reached with their members to be paid out of their personal share;
We call upon Isis to guard us from harm, Ra to light our way, Anhur to guide our blades, Fallon to show us compassion, and Nephthys to grant us courage.  May Thoth bear witness to this document, and may He inscribe our names in his Book of Truth.

_Signed this day, the 9th of Sek, in the year 637 M.Y.,_

----

She placed the copy she read from on the table, and Nikephorus of Thoth placed a small bottle of ink and a quill beside it.  Laarus of Ra did not hesitate and was the first to sign both copies, with Bleys the Aubergine right behind him.  Victoria of Anhur signed next, but Timotheus looked at the paper again before signing, and though Telémakhos signed right off, the observant might have noticed the slight quiver of his hands. Markos Ackers seemed to be in no rush, and everyone else had signed and stepped away from the table when he came over and signed both copies with a quiet sigh.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Charter of Schiereiland!” Euleria Finch gestured broadly to the six young nobles, and this time the applause was more enthusiastic.  Glasses and mugs were raised and toasts were given to honor them.

_to be continued. . ._
------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) The first session of the “Second Son of a Second Son” campaign was played on Sunday, January 21, 2007.


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## el-remmen

I wanted to make another quick note about a way the format of this story hour will differ from "Out of the Frying Pan":

In the past I avoided spoilers - what I mean is, that in my previous story hour if something happened that was a secret to most of the PCs, I did not refer to it in the story until was actually revealed.

For example, while I would describe Jana and Markle occasionally talking privately, it was not until it was revealed that he was enlisting her aid in the attempt to rob the royal treasury did it become clear what those discussions were about.

In the "Second Son of a Second Son" story hour, I plan to make use of the SBLOCK tag to hide away those kinds of scenes so that readers and players can avoid seeing info they might not want to know yet.

So for example, it would look like this:

[sblock]This is the secret scene.[/sblock]

I am doing this because since I plan to be closer to caught up all the time, things revealed in the re-telling may end up effecting the game inadvertantly.  However, when it comes to things that I am ABSOLUTELY sure would ruin the fun if one of more players found out ahead of time, I will write around it altogether.

Expect the next installment of Session #1 on Thursday night.


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## Telémakhos

*Nice*

Yo yo yo. Nice start. As you can see I have a new username to go with the campaign. I am using the obscure gmail account to represent.

Anyway, I am loving things so far. I think these guys are sure to be at least as dysfunctional as your last group.


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## el-remmen

*Session #1: “A Party at Sluetelot* (part 2 of 3)

The young nobles all shook hands in greeting and recalled times they had met before, as some of them had here and there at balls, festivals, tournaments, weddings and funerals. Bleys withdrew to talk to his father once more, and Markos sat back down to nurse some ale, and listen in.  The other four stood around the table with all the food and began to talk avidly of possible plans.

“Does anyone know of anything that _needs_ doing?” Victoria Ostrander asked.  She seemed as comfortable among men as any of them.

“Well, hobgoblins have often harassed the roads in the eastern foothills of Westen-scherp Muur,” Timotheus said, pouring himself more wine. He tasted it and his eyes went wide.  “Wow. This is good wine…  Anyway, while they are always beaten back, no one has ever taken the time to hunt them down and wipe them out…”

Bleys the Aubergine was listening in as well, as he stepped over to re-join his father, however, the bearded Herman-lander pulled him aside.

“A moment of your time, young master Winter?” the man asked. 

“Yes?”

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said, as he led Bleys towards another small table where he poured them both drinks. Bleys demurred.  “I am Cavalind Rattlendale, of the _Verdun_ Rattlendales, and I rejoiced of having heard of this signing and having the opportunity to be here, as I have come to Thricia to recruit adventuring bands such as yours.”

“For what purpose?” Bleys asked.

“As you know, the Kingdom of Herman Land has been embroiled in a long and horrible war against the traitorous Black Islands Barony, and most of our fighting resources are pointed in that direction, and most of our adventurers are either already involved, or have fled for other parts of the world to escape conscription and make their fortunes free of taxation…”

“What does this all have to do with us and with Thricia?” Bleys asked curtly.

Cavalind looked around hoping perhaps someone else might join them and listen to his pitch, but seeing this was not to happen, he plunged back into it with the watch-mage.  “There are a lot of matters left unattended.  Things that the throne relies on adventurers to keep in control… Like goblin populations, and the discovery of ancient tombs that might pose a danger to the populace… Things of that nature…”

“Yes, but that has nothing to do with Thricia, and thus nothing to do with us,” Bleys said.

“But… but… of course, it has to do with Thricia,” Cavalind was flustered. “You can make your fortunes, while you reinforce the bonds of friendship between our two nations…  And your charter and noble backing would probably get you breaks on taxes on whatever booty you do discover… Rumors abound, like…”

Bleys raised his hand and repeated.  “This is not in our interest.  This is not in the interest of Thricia.”

Cavalind closed his mouth and nodded.  Wringing his hands, he spoke again after a long pause.  “I am sorry… I must be talking to the wrong person…”

“Yes, you must be…” Bleys said, and turning saw his father was now talking with Sir Lionel.  He moved to join them, noting that Markos Ackers had now joined the others, but Telémakhos had moved away and was talking with the portly Joezyn Barhyte.

“Thank you for the generous gift of the stabling,” Telémakhos said to one of the elders of his liege’s house.

“Bah! Don’t thank me, thank my nephew the Lord,” Joezyn replied amiably.  The older man held a large tankard, from which he took a healthy swig. “I’m just glad to see some of our youth getting out there and trying to do something, instead of resting on their laurels and living off of daddy’s coin.” He laughed heartily, and clapped Telie on the shoulder.  “Have you all talked about what you might do?”

“This is the first time we are all together at the same time,” Telémakhos replied. “So we have not had an opportunity.  Do you have any suggestions?”

“Well, now that you mention it, there are the ‘_King Stones_’,” Joezyn said. “Have you heard of them?”

Telémakhos shook his head.

“Old old barbarian chieftains who declared themselves kings in the time after Sorlorn’s Realm, before the Time of the Six Kingdoms, or right at its beginning,” the older man explained. “They entombed themselves like the kings of old, worshiping their beast gods, or whatever heretical views they had on the gods of Ra… What have you… This is down in the Disputed Territories, in areas still held by their nomadic descendants, but they are all fighting… All the barbarian tribes of the southern Spice & Thread Islands joining together in great hordes and attacking settlements of the Kingdom of the Red God of the West. No one knows why, but they are doing it, and in the meantime, the King Stones will be more accessible…”

“Tomb-raiding?” Telie asked and smiled nervously.

“Not really,” Joezyn smiled back warmly and winked.  “No, not at all.  These burrows have long ago been defiled, and are home to various critters… Kobolds and the like… And anyway, it is not like those savages were ever buried with the rites of Anubis.  There would be no sacrilege.”

Timotheus stepped over to join them, as Joezyn went on to explain that exploration of the Disputed Territories was needed to help prepare for a push to retake this land for Thricia. 

“We would certainly be interested,” Timotheus said.

“And if you can give me some assurances of your intentions to go there, I can arrange for a rough map of the stones themselves,” Joezyn offered.  “They are built into the side of a great crescent-shaped hill.”

The conversation with the others had meandered from topic to topic. It had been talk of hunting hobgoblins that had shooed Telémakhos from the conversation, but this was followed with talk of perhaps electing a leader, at which point Victoria immediately nominated Laarus of Ra.  But then Timotheus had brought up the subject of a name for the group.

“Is that really an important topic of discussion at this moment?” Victoria Ostrander said, after a few ridiculous possibilities were suggested.

“No, what matters is choosing what we are going to do with this mandate to help the people of Thricia,” Markos said.  “If we are to make our fortunes, so be it… But let it be in the service of those who need help most.”  The scrawny tanned young man gestured with his cup as he spoke, splashing wine.  It was then that Timotheus joined his cousin and Joezyn.

“Of course,” Laarus agreed, and Victoria nodded her head.

“Bleys! Join us,” Laarus called to the Academy alumnus when he saw him standing by himself.  “Tell us.  Does the Margrave have a purpose for us to serve?”

“Purpose?” Bleys looked surprised.

“You are her representative in this charter are you not?” the priest of Ra asked.

“No… At least… I do not think so,” Bleys paused. He looked into the distance as if thinking over a problem, and then looked to the priest again.  “I am here as a representative of the Academy of Wizardry, and as such I am here to represent and defend the interests of the people…”

Telémahkos excused himself from Joezyn Barhyte and his cousin, and walked over to where the beautiful Lavinia Vanderboren was chatting with the Herman-lander noble.

“Miss Vanderboren,” Telie greeted with a bow, taking her hand and kissing it gently.  He held on to it an extra half a moment, as he looked at her, and then turned to the gentleman.

“Telémakhos Briareus,” Calavind said. “I am honored to meet you and to have the opportunity to be present at such a historic occasion.  It is my understanding that there has been no adventuring charter of this kind in Thricia in many many years…”

Telémakhos nodded.

“Well, opportunities abound in the Kingdom of Herman Land,” Cavalind Rattlendale went into his schpiel.

When the Herman-lander finally excused himself to get another drink, encouraging Telémahkos to seek him out in Herman Land if he was interested in the offer, the other charter members were calling him over to the table again. Bleys the Aubergine, however, left the group making directly for the corpulent bard, Darbold the Gay.  He had been introduced as a member of the watch-mage’s council, and was having the wench fix his fifth plate of food.  Joezyn Barhyte was talking with Agamemnon Briareus.

“What is ‘aubergine’ anyway?” Timotheus asked Markos.

“Deep purple, like eggplant,” Markos replied.

“Heh. Bleys the Eggplant,” Tim chuckled.  “I’d love to know why his classmates give him that one…” (1)

“I am happy to see you here,” Telémahkos said to Lavinia, still at the rear of the suite.  The woman looked down demurely and smiled.

“I do not mean to bother you on this important day,” she said. “But I must admit I come here to seek your help…”

“How can I be of service?” Telémahkos had somehow perfected an expression of equal parts concern and whimsy.

“I would rather we talk in private,” she replied.

“Funny, I prefer a more private meeting as well,” Telie winked.

“Telie! Come over. We have things to discuss,” Timotheus called to his cousin again, and this time Telémahkos walked over, but not before gently kissing Lavinia’s hand again.

“I just finished telling the others about what Joezyn told us about ‘the Kingstones’,” Timotheus said as Telie finally joined them.  “What did that Herman-lander have to say?”

Telémahkos explained about the opportunities in the Kingdom of Herman Land, but it was generally agreed that the group wanted to remain in Thricia, at least for now.

“Is there not something we can do to help the people displaced by the great tragedy in the City of the Spices?” Markos asked.

“That seems like an honorable goal,” Victoria replied. “I would support such an action.”

“There are already many people giving better aid there than we can give,” Timotheus said.  “We are not carpenters or engineers.  I do not think we could do much but get in the way.”

“But are not many people displaced?” Markos asked. “Might not crime and chaos breed in such a situation…?”

“Neither are we police,” Timotheus replied.

---------------------------------

“Has there been any progress in determining what really happened to the local watch-mage?” Bleys asked Darbold. (2)

The bard’s head drooped, and his smiling visage melted.  “None more that I know of…”

“So there has been an investigation into it,” Bleys continued.

“Leisel of Isis took charge of the body, if that is what you mean…”

“It is not what I mean,” Bleys replied.  “I mean, have the exact means of the murder and those responsible been determined?”

“Leisel said there was nothing more to figure out, and that is enough for me,” Darbold the Gay replied.  “When it first happened, rumors abounded that Weirspierogen folk were responsible, and it took quite a bit of effort to keep the locals from piling into sloops to make their way across the bay and burn down Weispierogen in revenge…”

Bleys rubbed his chin and nodded, and spied a look over at Leisel of Isis, where she had walked over to talk to the rest of the group. “And where did they get this idea?”

“Who knows how rumors are started?” Darbold said. “It is no secret that the towns of Drie-Hoek Bay have often feuded.  Barakis’ death was as good a reason as any to take up old enmities again.”

“And you knew him well?”

“Very.  We are old drinking and adventuring companions,” Darbold explained.  “And when he was appointed watch-mage of Sluetelot he asked me to be on the town council, along with Leisel, though she is no longer a member…”

“She isn’t?”

“She resigned a few weeks before Barakis’ death,” Darbold replied.

“Why?”

“Church responsibilities, I guess… Well, that and she and Barakis often quarreled about his carousing and drunkenness.  She did not think he was serving as a very good example for young Master Floris Tenbrook.”

“Who?” Bleys asked.

“Another member of the watch-mage’s council,” Darbold said.  “A young noble, not unlike this lot you have cast your fortune with today… After I married my lovely flower, and became a father, well… I was not as readily available for Barakis’ nightly sorties into inebriation.  Young Floris took my place, I guess…”

“Where is the late watch-mage’s house?” Bleys asked, never pausing for pleasantries.

“It has already been checked for anything that might have enlightened us to what happened to him,” Darbold replied.

“That is not what I asked,” Bleys said.

Darbold the Gay made a face that expressed anything but gaiety, clearly annoyed with the young watch-mage interrogating him.  “His house is right across the way there,” he said. “Often when the night ended here at Death & Taxes because the town-watch would complain of the noise, the party went over to his house and yard, as no one dared tell him to keep it down on his own property…”

“Very well… Thank you,” Bleys nodded and walked away.  Liesel of Isis had left, as had Joezyn Barhyte.  Agamemnon Briareus was making to leave, and was drawing his son out into the hall, as Timotheus waved from the doorway, saying he would be back soon.  Markos was leaving with him, interrupting Laarus conversation with Jansen Ackers to tell him so.

“In here…” Agamemnon pushed Telémahkos roughly into the open suite across the narrow wood-paneled hall and followed closely with the heavy intimidating footfalls of an ever-angry father. 

“Okay.  I am leaving…” While he ostensibly drew his son into the opposite suite for privacy, Sir Agamemnon’s voice was overly loud, and those gathered at the doorway to the other suite could clearly hear his harsh words. “You are on your own now, so don’t f*cking embarrass me or the family.”

“Yes, sir…” Telémahkos replied meekly, his usual grin and bravado melting away.

“I would rather that you came back to me in a box like your brothers than to have your cowardice be the f*cking gossip of the year… Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir…”

“And if you do die, acquit yourself with some damn dignity,” Agamemnon added. “Try to be f*cking useful for once, even if it is in your death…”

“I won’t disappoint you,” Telémahkos said.

“Yeah, well… We’ll see,” Agamemnon’s voice grew a bit softer in volume, but did not lose its aggressive edge.  “There is still time and opportunity for you to earn all the things you think you are entitled too just because you are the fruit of my loins, and if not… Well, the twins are still young…”

The burly father slapped his son hard on the shoulder with his ham of a hand.  “And take care of your bastard cousin…” With that, he left.  Telémahkos took a moment to straighten his toga and smooth his hair and take a deep breath before heading back to the party, but Lavinia Vanderboren intercepted him in the hall, and he drew her back into the other suite.

[sblock]
“I am really sorry to disturb you on this day…” She began, obviously brimming with emotion.

“It is no disturbance.  I am happy to see you again,” Telémahkos smiled wide.

“I know that the past is the past,” Lavinia said. “And whatever we might have shared was a one time thing. I am not so naive as to think it means more than it did… But… I don’t know who else to turn to.”

She looked down and folded her arms across her chest, looking as if she might cry.  Telémahkos scoured his mind for a memory of a night with such a buxom beauty, but could recall nothing.  But that did not mean it had not happened.  Telie had long ago lost track of the number of his liaisons.

“Ah, but there is no reason it must remain that way,” he placed a hand gently on her shoulder and she looked up.  “Now tell me, what is the problem?”

“As you know, my parents died not long ago…” Lavinia began.

“Of course, you are so upset! My condolences, of course, and my apologies for not having been able to make the funeral…”

“It is quite alright,” Lavinia replied, sniffing back a tear.  “I loved my parents, but I fear they never outgrew that adventurous spirit that first led them to established the Vanderboren Mercantile Nexus, and it led to their death.  They worked hard and overcame many obstacles to try to fulfill their dream of establishing stable trade routes to the Hellish Isles using the Neergaardian Fort Thunder as a base, but… Well… that is beside the point.  They are gone, and now I find myself to be sole owner of our family business.”

“It must be quite a weight on your shoulders,” Telémahkos said, putting his other hand on her other shoulder, and risking a half-step closer to her.

“Well…” She looked down again. “I would gladly share the responsibilities and rewards with my younger brother Vanthus, but I fear he may have inherited too much of our parents’ adventurous spirit.”

“Is he in trouble?”

“No… Yes… Not yet… Oh, I don’t know… He just started hanging out with the wrong crowd, using the business to visit shady people,” she said. “He seems to think it is the only way to get ahead is to get your hands dirty, but… He is in over his head.  I know him, he… he is delicate… he could get hurt, or caught and hanged!  And for what?  I think it is the grief over our parents that drives him to do these things…”

“And what exactly is he doing?” Telémahkos asked, his interest now piqued.

“Helping smugglers,” Lavinia answered.  “At first he tried to use the business’ resources, but I caught him and would not allow it to happen, and now… Now he aims to go and work for them directly, and he said something that really scared me…” She moved in close to Telie pressing her bosom to his chest and looking right into his eyes, and her voice became a ragged whisper.  “He said, something about a plot to attack on the naval fleet of House Wetherwax.  I think the men he was helping are planning some kind of extreme means of getting their good through, if they cannot hide it among legitimate goods.”

“Where is your brother now?” Telémahkos asked.

“Last I know, he left for Tribunisport from Azure five days ago,” Lavinia responded.  “So, he should be there by now.  Do you think…?  Do you think you might bring this band of young nobles to my aid?  If you foil the pirate plot and save my brother, none need ever know of his involvement, and I would be so very very grateful.”  She looked down and away and pulled free.  “And of course, so would the Vanderboren Mercantile Nexus.”

Telémahkos grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I shall do what I can to help him, and if that means steering this group to Tribunisport to look into a pirate plot, then so be it!” He pulled her close to him and stole a kiss.  “And to help _you_… As always, you can count on my discretion.”  They kissed again.
[/sblock]

When Telémahkos came back into the first suite, everyone was gone but Euleria Finch, Darbold the Gay and the serving wench.  As he asked for more wine, Bleys came back into the suite and walked straight towards Darbold. 

“Sir, I went to look at the former watch-mage’s house, and upon the door there was a sign to see you for all inquires,” Bleys said, as Darbold looked up from his sixth plate of food.

“Yes?”

“Do you have the key?” Bleys asked.

“Yes,” Darbold balance his plate in one hand, and gestured to a key on cord about his neck

“May I please borrow it?” 

“Are you here from the Academy to officially investigate this matter?” Darbold asked, he put down his plate and straightened up to his full height, still about five inches shorter than Bleys.

“No, but if it is the matter of a watch-mage it concerns me enough to investigate,” Bleys replied.

“The Academy already sent someone to investigate,” Darbold said, smiling again.  “I am not sure if he done, but he is not in town, so who knows where things stand…”

“And who is this person?”

“Abberd the Argent,” Darbold the Gay winked.

“Oh… Um, very well then,” Bleys bowed his head slightly.  “I am sorry to have bothered you.” The young-watch-mage walked back out the suite and Telémahkos followed.  He went out into the inn’s garden, where Laarus waited.  

“Nevermind, brother Laarus,” Bleys said.  “There is no need to enter the house.  The matter has already been investigated by someone I trust implicitly.”

_to be continued. . ._

-----------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	At the Academy of Wizardry, it is your fellow graduating classmates that choose your honorary color name.

(2) Darbold the Gay is a member of the watch-mage’s council and was introduced to the other guests as such by Euleria.


----------



## Tony Vargas

Maybe other fans of Out of the Frying Pan have figured this out for themselves, but I'm still a little confused:  Exactly who is playing whom this time around compared to last time?  And, who's new?


----------



## Ciaran

Tony Vargas said:
			
		

> Maybe other fans of Out of the Frying Pan have figured this out for themselves, but I'm still a little confused:  Exactly who is playing whom this time around compared to last time?  And, who's new?



As a player, I'd be entertained by your guesses.


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## el-remmen

Tony Vargas said:
			
		

> Maybe other fans of Out of the Frying Pan have figured this out for themselves, but I'm still a little confused:  Exactly who is playing whom this time around compared to last time?  And, who's new?




I can tell you, or would you rather entertain Ciaran?  Up to you. . .


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## Tony Vargas

I'll give it a try:

Bleys the Aubergine - Rastfar, because he's writing the journal.  From the stat draft thread, then, it apears Bleys is a Fighter/Diviner, which explains the saber and studded leather armor. Rastar, IIRC, ran an Aquerra game but wasn't in OotFP.

Timotheus Smith - Cairan, for the same reason.  Meaning he's the high-STR/CON fighter.  Quite a change from Martin the Green.

Telémakhos Briareus - Ratchis.  He's the character that seems the least like Ratchis, and I know the player mentioned wanting a change.  

Laarus Raymer - Mofos21, per the stat draft thread.  Bastian wasn't around that long, and I never got a good impression of what his player was like.

Victoria Ostrander - Gwar2d2, per the stat draft thread.  No idea who's screen name that is.

Markos Ackers - Martin Olarin, process of elimination, plus Timotheus's Prayers indicate he's a wizard, and MO is down for a 'pure wizard' in the stat draft thread.  I think he's the first non-Academy wiz we've seen in Aquerra.  So far hasn't made nearly the impression that Kazrack did...


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## el-remmen

Hey Tony, You did a good job guessing/deducing. . . 

Let me go over the players

*Bleys* - fighter/diviner - played by Rastfar (aka Sean). He ran The Promised Land campaign, and his handle ("Rastfar") is from a dwarven marshal of Thor he played in the long-standing 2E Aquerra game, "The Oath".

*Timotheus* - fighter - played by Ciaran (aka Eric M.) who played Martin the Green (an illusionist) in the "Out of the Frying Pan" campaign.

*Telémakhos* - aristocrat/rogue - played by Ratchis (aka Eric G.), who played the half-orc ranger/priest of the same name in the "Out of the Frying Pan" campaign.

*Laarus Raymer* - priest of Ra - played by Mofos21 (aka Jesse), who played Bastian (fighter/ranger/witch) in the "Out of the Frying Pan" campaign..  He also played Nolbie the gnome in The Promised Land campaign game.

*Victoria Ostrander* - militant of Anhur - played by Gwar2d2 (aka Ken) who played Jeremy Northrop (fighter) in the "Out of the Frying Pan" campaign.

*Markos* - wizard - played by Martin Olarin (aka John), who played Kazrack Delver (fighter/rune-thrower) in the "Out of the Frying Pan" campaign.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #1: “A Party at Sluetelot (part 3 of 3)*

Meanwhile, as Victoria and her father visited the local temple of Anhur to celebrate the Day of Honors, Timotheus Smith and Markos Ackers had slipped off to a shadier part of town looking for a card game, and perhaps some rumors. 

When informed by Barton Digits that Death & Taxes itself had many excellent card games and other games of chance that developed every night in the common room, Markos asked which places in town they should avoid.

“Well, sir… Definitely the Golden Cock,” Digits replied.  “It is only cock-fights to bet on anyway, and you will get your pouch pinched besides.”

“Anywhere else?” Timotheus asked.

“Um… The Sign of the Black Sword… You know, _the Black Sword_…? Rumor is the proprietor was once a member of that infamous ship’s crew and still has contacts with that kind of lot…”

“And where would that place be?” Markos asked, his face lighting up.

“Huh?”

“Yes, you know, so we know where not to go,” Markos recovered.

It was a twenty-five minute walk to the northeastern quadrant of town.  The mid-afternoon sun was not relenting, as they made their way through the narrow streets of this ward that disrupted the grid of streets in the rest of town.

The place was dark, and there were two tables of men playing cards, while three others sat at the far end of the bar.  Timotheus and Markos entered, and felt eyes on them as they approached the bar.  The bartender walked over spitting into a glass to wipe it.  He was an emaciated old man with leathery skin that hid the faded whorls of tattoos on both his arms.  He had a mostly bald head, with a trail of coarse white hair at the very back, and his left eye did not seem to move as readily as his right.  

He introduced himself as Chap’t, as he picked at the dry crust scabs on his blackened lips.  He mostly ignored Tim, but got a good sense from Markos’ own weathered look. Soon Markos and Timotheus were knocking back shots and preparing to enter a card game.

They only played a few hands and came out even, not including the round of drinks they bought their fellow players, but Markos was able to learn of a contact in Tribunisport for ‘men like him’ that might be looking for work.  “And your big friend, too… But you’ll have to dirty him up a bit, methinks.”

Also, there was frequent insulting talk of Weirspierogen and its people.  It was clear everyone here held them responsible for the death of town’s watch-mage. Everyone had liked him.

As Victoria Ostrander and her father returned from the temple of Anhur, where she had taken part in seven on seven footlist with weapons bearing mercy-sleeves, they discussed the other members of the charter and the Houses they represented. (1)

“And beware of Briareus,” Sir Lionel warned.  “I do not know of their younger generation, but that House will ever be looking to their past and seeking ways to re-create what is ought more than a legend these days…”

“I believe that with Laarus of Ra present they will be less likely to attempt to deceive or betray,” Victoria said.  “Together, we shall be vigilant for unjust behavior.”

“The Raymers are an old family, and in the past have been friends to the Ostranders, but do not forget they serve House Curen, who are not to be trusted, what with their open opposition to the Academy, and their Setites…”

“Setites?”

“Every family has had them, but some more than others…”

“Do you know anything specific about the other members?” Victoria asked.

“The small one only recently returned from a childhood abduction by northern pirates,” Sir Lionel said.  “Um…Markos…  And Telémahkos, well, technically he is his father’s heir to Epithalassos-by-the-Sea, but he is naught but some affable ne’er-do-well. And the other… Tim? Yes… Timotheus… Until recently he was just some grunt helping to protect caravans coming out of the mountains… A bastard of Sir Erasmus Briareus, but he was just recently recognized… Who knows how those throwbacks decide who to keep in their bloodline…?”

Everyone gathered after sunset to eat dinner in the common room of the first suite, by lantern light.  Euleria Finch was there, but Callum Winter and Jansen Ackers had retired to their own rooms, and Sir Lionel took one of the spare beds in the other suite.

“We should definitely go to the Disputed Territories,” Telémahkos announced as they ate.

“I am not convinced that we should wander far from these boons we have been gifted with,” Bleys said.

“And I think we might do more good north against the hobgoblins,” Timotheus said.

“Hobgoblins are dangerous foes, perhaps it might be better to cut our teeth on something more…” Markos began.

“You mean like a training mission?” Timotheus interrupted.

“That seems like a good idea,” Telémahkos said. “And the Disputed Territories is the place to do that, and on the way we can stop at Tribunisport…”

“Why Tribunisport?” Markos asked.

“As I told Bleys and Laarus as we awaited your return, I have heard of a pirate plot to attack the Wetherwax naval fleet,” Telie explained.  “We have to go south to go to the King Stones anyway, might as well pop over there and see what we can find out, and if we can find evidence, we can alert the noble Houses, and…”

“How have you come by this information?” Victoria Ostrander asked.

“I would rather keep that to myself for now,” Telémahkos replied.

“To what end?” Victoria followed up.

“Well, I wish to protect him from…” Telie began.

“As a word of advice,” Victoria raised a hand.  She had small hands, but they were calloused from spear-fighting and leather reins. “It is usually faster and easier to speak what you truly mean…”

“I just think it is better to wait until we know each other better,” Telémahkos replied with a smirk.

“Very well,” Victoria said.

“It doesn’t seem very heroic,” Timotheus complained.

“As long as we actually help people, I do not care what it is,” Markos said.  “And it seems to me, stopping a pirate plot is more helpful than robbing tombs…”

“You fear hobgoblins, but are willing to take on a ship full of pirates?” Victoria was skeptical.

“Not a ship full of pirates!” Telémahkos objected.  “A _pirates_’ plot to be uncovered.  We can just find the evidence and turn it over.  This isn’t about fighting on the high seas.  And anyway, even if we are involved we can get the aid of local authority.  In fact, it will be more like we’d help them…”

“And, as we travel down to Tribunisport, if we happen upon any local troubles that need our handling, we can do so,” Markos added.  

“What kind of local trouble?” Timotheus asked.

“Let’s say we pass through a village and hear of a group of five bandits waylaying people, or something…” Markos began.

“Five?! But we are only six!” Telémahkos objected.

Victoria did not bother to hide her disgust with the young Briareus.

Bleys stood. “As more than one of you is at _least_ mildly intoxicated, I advise we leave any real decisions for tomorrow. I bid you good night.”

The rest of the group looked up at the abrupt watch-mage with puzzled expressions, weakly wishing him goodnight as he left.  

“Eggplant…” Timotheus muttered.  Markos and Telie snickered.

The conversation went on into the night, though Victoria and Laarus retired not too long after Bleys did.  As Timotheus and Markos continued to drink and talk tactics, Telémahkos went down to the street and the long way around the block to end up behind the watch-mage’s house.  He crept quietly in the dark, enjoying a cool breeze coming in from the bay that had wiped away the day’s humidity. He made his way to the backdoor.  He tested it and it was locked.  

Telie reached down into his sash and pulled out narrow metal tools, and taking a quick look around he squatted by the lock and went to work at it.  It clicked open a few moments later, but instead of going in, he put away his tools, pulled it shut (but not locked) and crept back to the street, and then walked nonchalantly back to the inn, stopping at the other suite.  Rapping on the wooden frame of the screen that divided the sleeping areas of the suite, he sat himself down at the foot of Bleys’ bed. The watch-mage was writing in his journal by lantern light.

“I just wanted to let you know,” Telémahkos said quietly.  “That I was just outside relieving myself and noticed and the watch-mage’s backdoor is unlocked.”

“You pissed on the watch-mage’s house?” Bleys asked, cocking an eyebrow, but not revealing any emotion.

“No!” Telie’s voice was momentarily too loud, and he hushed himself.  “I was just in the area… around it… near it… and I happened to notice…”

“By trying the door…”

Telémahkos nodded.

“Did you lock it back up?” Bleys asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, but I thought you’d want to know.”

“Yes, thank you. I would like to know,” Bleys replied.

Telémahkos left the watch-mage and went back to the other suite, where Maarkos and Timoetheus were finally preparing for sleep.


Osilem, the 10th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Laarus, Victoria and Bleys were the first to awaken in the morning, with the former taking care of his _Lauds_ prayers in the garden, facing east as Ra’s Glory rose.  Victoria Ostrander bid goodbye to her father, who wished her luck and reiterated his pride in her, and then joined Laarus for the end of his prayers.  

As Laarus came back into the inn, he ran into Dracius of Ra.

“Ah, young Laarus,” the elder priest greeted.  “I had hoped to see you before I returned to Lilly City.  I wanted to talk to you about what your group might undertake as their first mission.”

“Any suggestions are welcome,” Laarus replied.  “Especially from the wise and experienced.”

“Well, as you know the barbarian hordes of the southern Spice & Thread Islands are attacking the settlements of the Kingdom of the Red God of West, and there are those of us in church that believe that this is no coincidence, but rather it is backlash for assaults against these barbaric people by the followers of the Red God of the West.”

“Hmm, that makes sense…”

“And these assaults against the barbarians might be preparation for an attempt to retake the Disputed Territories, as a preliminary maneuver towards another invasion of the magocracy,” Dracius explained.

“Really?  Is there evidence that this is the case?” Laarus asked.

“Not as of yet… And it is for that reason that I would suggest leading your group in that direction,” Dracius replied.  “For whatever other reason you are down there, you can gather information on the situation. You can see if there are war camps, or towns being established… This information would go along way to favor the cause of us Thricians who would like to see the Disputed Territories retaken for Thricia.”

“But would that not violate the Treaty of Devil’s Grasp?” Laarus asked, being well aware of Thrician law and its history.

“Only if the infidels are not violating the treaty already,” Dracius said. “We all know that the Disputed Territories have often had people from both sides enter it to hunt and adventure, but the treaty is clear about war parties and settlements…  In the past, when border towns have been attacked by groups of Red God dervishes, the government of the Kingdom of the Red God of the West - when they have deigned to respond to diplomatic overtures - claim that these groups are acting on their own without government support… But we all know this is a loophole they use to further their conversion agenda.  If we could find evidence of this, well the Treaty of Devil’s Grasp would be null and void, or at the very least it would have to be re-negotiated.”

“There is much to think about here…” Laarus began.

“Of course there is,” Dracius said.  “But remember, this is not an official order.  You and your companions are free to follow-up or not as you will.  As official policy, the Thricia’s church of Ra supports and maintains the efficacy of the treaty…”

Laarus Raymer of Ra nodded, and shook hands with his former mentor and bid him farewell.

Meanwhile, Bleys the Aubergine was consulting with Euleria Finch back in the suite.  He asked her to send a message to Darbold the Gay to ensure that the door to Barakis’ cottage was re-locked.

“Also, I was wondering,” he asked. “Do you know whose decision it was to have the 'party' in Sluetelot. It seems a long way to go for a bunch of Shiereilanders…”

Euleria cleared her throat before answering. “Well… Ostander and Briareus were fighting about where to hold the party, with opinions changing several times - they were considering Old Raymer when they found out about the gift from House Tenbrook - and figured this was as good a compromise as any.” 

Bleys looked at the steward and frowned. “Euleria, are you holding something back out of a sense of decorum?” (2)

“It is not my place to offer unsubstantiated opinions…” She replied, looking down, and then back at the watch-mage.

“Is it your place to offer suggestions?'”

"It is my place to do what is asked of me within the rule of law. But for some things. . .I must be asked."

“Theoretically, if you had to _suggest_ another purpose to it being held in Sluetelot, what would that be?”

Euleria sighed.  “I can think of three possibilities: One, the Academy is notoriously slow about appointing new watch-mages - by having the chartered group stationed here, there will be a watch-mage present in town at least some of the time, however unofficially. Two, the relative closeness of the Disputed Territories makes me think the powers that be want someone down there as their eyes and ears. Three, House Tenbrook likes the idea of manipulating their gift to have the Schiereiland lesser houses working in their interests to some degree…” She looked embarrassed to have to express such speculation aloud, but Bleys, typically oblivious to the subtle emotions of others, did not notice.  He thanked her for her help and dismissed her. (3)

Soon everyone gathered in the common room for some oatmeal, apple slices and buttermilk biscuits for breakfast.

“So shall we have Euleria arrange for a passage to Tribunisport this afternoon?” Telémahkos asked, dipping a biscuit into the oatmeal and then shoving it into his mouth.

“To what end?” Bleys asked. He looked up at the young member of House Briareus with his steady emotionless gaze.  “We have not decided what it is we are doing, how can we know where we are going?”

“I thought we decided to look into this pirate plot…” Telémahkos replied.

“Perhaps, _you_ decided, but I recall saying that we should leave such decisions to when none of us were under the influence,” Bleys said. “But until there is more you can tell us about this plot and the source of the information, I am not sure it is wise to follow up on this…”

“How can we get more information without investigating?” Telémahkos asked in reply.

“Why not travel to New Harbinger, as that is in the right direction, and then from there decide if we need to go east across the narrows to Tribunisport, or southwest into the Disputed Territories?” Laarus suggested.  “It seems there are other reasons for us to go into the Disputed Territories.”  The young priest of Ra explained what Dracius had told him.

“Does anyone have a map?” Markos asked.

“I do,” Euleria said, drawing out a leather folder and a piece of parchment from within.

“A map! How did you come upon that?” Bleys asked.

“As a steward it is important to divine what your clients might need of you,” Euleria explained.  “This is far from my first post, and I have collected many useful tools and knowledge, both as an apprentice and a steward in my own right.”

“I see that the Margrave’s gift is a very valuable one indeed,” Bleys said with a rare smile.

After looking at the map of Thricia, it was decided that Euleria would look into passage to New Harbinger, and possible transport for the horses.  She would also send word to Joezyn Barhyte to see if they could procure the map of the King Stones area, and any additional information about that place.

“And don’t forget that Leisel of Isis may be returning at lunchtime to give suggestions from her church regarding some task we might perform,” Timotheus added.

“She is?” One might have thought Bleys were surprised, if he had not spoken in the same even tone he always did.

“Yes, she said she would… Or send a message… When she said goodbye and wished us luck yesterday,” Laarus said. “She was going to consult her Sisters.”

Since they would not be leaving yet, the members of the Charter of Schiereiland decided to head over to the temple of Anhur to use their training court in order to spar, and get a sense of each other’s martial skills.  Markos stayed behind.

Brandishing several silver coins when approaching the donation urn at the temple, Telémahkos successfully palmed them, dropping only one copper coin, which he bounced against the sides of the urn to make it sound like more than one coin going in.

------------------------------------------------------

It was about an hour after noon, when they returned to Death & Taxes to wash up, eat lunch and continue their discussions on what to do next.  Leisel of Isis arrived mid-meal to explain that even though she could find no specific tasks for the group to undertake, that recently some members of her order returned from the Disputed Territories with abandoned and orphaned children in tow.  It seemed that the barbarian tribes left behind their young, elderly and some of their women when they went on their rampages.  This left the most vulnerable members of those tribes ready victims for monsters and evil humanoids.

“If you do go to the Disputed Territories, I would ask that you keep an eye open for such suffering children, and return them here to be looked after by the church of Isis, so they might grow up in a loving environment, and free of the depredations of their barbaric lifestyle…” She said.  “If you do go, I recommend seeking a guide among the halflings of the Border Shires, as they know the Disputed Territories better than most.”

The noble companions thanked her for her suggestion, and after the priestess left Euleria made some suggestions of her own. Booking passage for the horses to Tribunisport would take time and money, so she suggested the party ride to New Harbinger, and leave their horses there if they planned to catch a ferry across the narrows to Tribunisport.

A tall sinewy figure was momentarily silhouetted at the entrance to the inn, and in strode a man with long slick brown wavy hair.  He wore a billowy yellow shirt, and tight brown leather pants tucked into tall boots.  He wore a rapier on one side and a basket-hilted dagger on the other.  A gold locket encrusted with emeralds hung about his neck, resting in his ample chest hair.

“Hey!” He called as he approached the table.  They could all see how disheveled he was, and the smell of liquor preceded him.  “You must be the Schiereilanders, huh?”   The man threw himself down onto a chair near their table, and it was they noticed how drunk he really was.  “I heard you were coming, and I wanted to get a good look at you and know your faces.”  He looked at each in turn.

“And you are?” Timotheus asked.

“This is obviously Floris Tenbrook, member of the watch-mage’s council,” Bleys said. (4)

The young man stood suddenly and bowed.  “I see my reputation proceeds me.” He staggered to the right and then stood up straight. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, one more drink and then off to sleep…” The young noble staggered to the bar, yelling for Barton Digits to pull him an ale.

“Excuse me, Euleria,” Laarus of Ra leaned forward to the steward, as the others watched Floris leave.  “I am without a horse… Do you think…”

“It is already taken care of, sir,” Euleria replied. “It was not announced at the luncheon, but House Barhyte arranged than if any of your number should need a horse, one will be provided for you at the livery now providing stabling for those that do…”

She turned to the whole group and continued, “It seems Joezyn Barhyte is taking advantage of the hospitality of Karmoaz Hold, so while I sent word to him, we will likely not get an answer until late tonight or tomorrow.  Which leads me to another question: Would you like for me to accompany you to New Harbinger?”

“Yes, we would…” Markos said immediately.  

“However, Markos and I were talking and we thought it might be good to find some hired swords,” Timotheus added.  “Can you look into that for us?”

“Hired swords?  To what end?” Bleys asked.

“And perhaps an archer as well?” Markos asked, ignoring the watch-mage.

“Whether we are going to be dealing with pirates or going into the Disputed Territories, it would be wise to have a few more warm bodies with us in case of danger,” Timotheus said to Bleys.  “It should only cost us a few copper a day…”

“Yes, I agree,” Telémahkos said.

“But why get them now if we do not know where we are going?” Victoria asked.

“I still feel that we have more than one set of authorities directing us towards the Disputed Territories, and not much to lead us towards Tribunisport,” Bleys said, looking at Telémahkos.  “Are we to bring these hirelings on a weeks long, perhaps months long journey into the frontier?”

“We can afford it,” Timotheus said. “And whatever more we need we will take from the spoils we will assuredly find.”

“Well, it will take some time to find appropriate hirelings,” Euleria said, not displaying any annoyance whatsoever. “I shall make inquires at Havesting, and then I can accompany those we hire on a ferry to New Harbinger and meet you there, as you are going overland.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Markos replied.  “And perhaps look into some porter as well… We may need people to carry our gear.”

Bleys frowned in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.

“However, I will need some coin to get all of this going.” The steward added.

After a brief discussion, Victoria and Telémahkos gave ten silver pieces each, while Markos donated more than three times that from his large pouch, pregnant with more coin than that.  It was agreed that this amount spent upfront would be repaid out of whatever spoils before it was divided among the group, or even the share was taken for the founding Houses.

“In case you were wondering where half the name of this place comes from, good sirs,” Barton Digits said, coming over to refill their mugs with more ale.  “I am licensed by House Tenbrook as a money-changer, tax-collector and notary. I would be happy to give you all a preferential rate for my services…”

They disbanded for the afternoon to wander town and buy gear.  Markos, Telémahkos and Timotheus planned to return to the Sign of the Black Sword that evening, but the next morning would have them on the road south.

*End of Session #1*

----------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	This battle was not played out.  Rather, I just described a little bit of what it was like to Victoria’s player and we assumed the other militants cured any damage taken.  If the whole party had been involved I would have played it out, however.

(2)	I asked for a sense motive check here, and the result was this impression.

(3)	This exchange happened over Instant Messenger, but I included it chronologically in with this session.

(4) Bleys learned of Floris and his drinking from Darbold the Gay.


----------



## el-remmen

We play session #4 tomorrow, and stay tuned for a special bonus "InterSession" that occurs between Sessions 1 & 2 sometime tomorrow night. . .


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession 1.1 - "A Conversation at the Inn"* (1)

Laarus followed Bleys up the steps towards the suites, as the others dispersed to deal with their chores directly from lunch.  He walked, holding his hands clasped and limp in front of him, in the style common to the priests of the seminary, and with slow, deliberate steps.  He hung his head, cocked slightly to the left, his coutenance one of deep concentration

As he arrived on the second floor, he called to the watch-mage who was about to enter the suite on the right. He hurried his pace to catch up.  “Bleys.  Could we talk for a moment?  Privately?"

"Certainly, I am at your disposal,” Bleys replied gesturing to the priest to follow him into the suite.   “What ails your thoughts?"

"It's not what ails mine.  It's what ails yours." Laarus paused briefly, as Bleys walked towards a window to lift the sash and let in some of the sea air.  "You seem strongly against investigating the plot against Weatherwax.  Why?  I don't feel your worry is the same as Markos' and Timotheus' was."

Bleys abruptly whirled around and casts his gaze at the priest.

"Interesting…  I am glad you came to me with this, and glad that you came to me with this alone.  You do me the honor of  avoiding an embarrassing scene.  For obviously something does trouble your thoughts, and it is that I am the voice of dissent.  And you query if it is to my character; what is it about me that you don't know? Or, it could be that your query may stem from something I _do_ know?  And I wonder which?” Bleys spoke in a tone as if simply thinking aloud.  He looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, and then looked back down at the priest. “But be not troubled.  While I do not know the concerns of the others, mine is practical.  I consider you a man of reason.  Is it not reasonable that we should follow the path set before us so obviously?  To the Disputed Territories.  We are given boons enabling us to stay closer to Sluetelot, in aid of our quests.  While the Disputed Territories are not near, they are not so far as Tribunisport.  Nor shall they prove as expensive to reach.  It seems obvious to me that both Isis, and by your own admission, Ra, give us direction to the southwest.  And so, should you decide here and now that you believe it is in the Charter's best interest to hire passage across Drei-Hoek Bay to Tribunisport to follow uncorroborated rumors of a pirate threat from my brother-in-law, the affable ne'er-do-well, who incidentally refuses to provide _his_ source of information…  If you believe that the Thrician Royal Navy needs us to save it from a few pirates, then you will brook no further argument from me, and our course is chosen."

Bleys the Aubergine stood as erect as a soldier awaiting orders, waiting quietly and expectantly in his deep purple cloak and his crimson shirt.

"Southwest?  Yes, that would bring us to the Disputed Territories.  And yes, the Church of Ra and Liesel of Isis have directed us to the Disputed Territories, but neither have they set a certain path for us.  The suggestion to travel southwest was made by one whose interest was in the looting of tombs found there.  Is that where your interests lie as well?"  Laarus paused again, briefly, trying to read the expression of the so-far inscrutable young watch-mage. But, he continued before the watch-mage could answer. "The interests of the Charter are for us to serve the Crown, its Houses and People and to battle their enemies.  Both routes allow us to fulfill our oath.  As for not sharing his source, he has sworn to someone not to, it shows Telemahkos to be honorable.  I feel his source may be less so, as he requires such secrecy.  That does not mean truth lacks or that we should turn a deaf ear."

Bleys waited for more, but when the silence became too long, he exhaled and spoke: "Well, of course, my interests lie with the Charter first and foremost.  And I believe that those interests are specifically Thricia, her peoples and the Margrave.  I also believe that while we do not have specific tasks set before us, we would be foolish to not take advantage of any assets we may have by way of what we have been offered, both in resources and information.  But regardless, I thought I was merely making suggestions as to a course of action, and was not adamant or firm as others.  As for Telemakhos not sharing his source: It may make you consider him honorable, but I believe it reflects poorly on how he judges our characters.  Were he not to trust us, why enter into this pact with us?  He could of at least given some insight into his reasoning.  Instead, we are to blindly do the wishes of House Briareus?  But I digress…  I will admit that I have some personal interest in visiting the King Stones, but I do not let this cloud my judgment in the least or most importantly, interfere in my mission: which is serving the Margrave's wishes.  As I said, tell me now that we go to Tribunisport and you will have my support.  I thought I made that fairly clear."

"It's not my position to tell you where to go.  The Charter granted us all an equal voice.  I felt you were reluctant to use it in public.  That is why I come to you in private.  We must _learn_ to trust in each other.  It is not because we already do that the Charter exists; it was created and signed due to politics," Laarus replied.  He took a deep breath.  “For you, it was the politics of the Margrave that had you sign the Charter.  You appear to desire to serve her and her wishes well.  What are her wishes at this time?”

Bleys began to circle the room, "Alas, I am not one for politics.  Perhaps not being of a noble House I am reluctant to drown others out with my equal say… Mayhap that much is obvious already."

Stopping at the end of the long table, he laid his hands palms down upon it, "I speak not for the Margrave… I only know that it is as a result of her wishes that I, a Watch-Mage, am here.  I don't expect you to tell me what my voice should be, but know I give your station the respect it commands, unlike some… perhaps…  I fear that others may not respect stations of importance, be it Sunfather or Watch-Mage, and respect only politics and the importance of their House.  As to my reticence to speak in public, fear not for I have not lost my voice.  Indeed, I merely wait to speak until my words have gravity.  And sometimes that requires patience, so that I might know to the fullest the facts of what I am to speak about.  Of my recollection, it was Briareus whom mentioned the King Stones, as you say, and as we know Briareus who brought us the rumors of pirates in Tribunisport."

He eased himself on to the end of one of the long benches, keeping his eyes on the priest, "Again, I appreciate this matter being one of privacy, and agree that we must come to trust one another.  Indeed, I wish for nothing more…  Perhaps it is obvious already that you command my respect.  As does the Militant, whose title alone speaks much of her character…  Perhaps equally as obvious are my tepid feelings for your cousin and House Briareus.  I know nothing of them personally, I still suspect they may be too quick to carouse, and too slow to aid.  I am hoping that the road ahead proves me wrong.  But know this, while we are in any town proper, should their glib tongues or thirst for drink get them into trouble of any kind, they will receive no support from me."

Bleys poured two cups of water from the pitcher on the table and drank deeply. He pushed the other across towards the priest, and refilled his own cup. "Laarus of Ra, you still have yet to tell me what you think our best course of action should be.  Do I make you reluctant to choose?  You already know my position."

"I have not seen yet what is the best path.  The troubles in the Disputed Territories cannot be ignored or forgotten.  Plus, its investigation comes at the request of my superiors." Laarus picked up the cup of water and took a sip. "Though the situation is grave, it does not appear to be of such immediate importance that we should neglect aiding others.  I don't feel our party could handle a pirate attack as well as the navy of House Weatherwax.  Such an attempt would be foolhardy.  By investigation we could find out the who and when of the plot, aiding House Weatherwax to be better prepared for attacks or to end the plot before it gets that far."

He placed the cup back on the table.

”And it was Joezyn Barhyte that told us of the King Stones, not House Briareus, though he did tell Telémahkos and Timotheus,” Laarus continued.  “What makes you think that is it House Briareus wants us to check into the pirates?”

“I meant Telémahkos and his bodyguard specifically when I said Briareus,” Bleys replied.  “He was the one that relayed the information to me. As for Tribunisport and the pirates, I am only guessing… My humble apologies if I have misled you.  I am unused to the intricacies of political innuendo.”  He broke off a hunk of bread and smeared soft cheese on it.

“In any event, it seems our decision is delayed and we will be going to New Harbinger first,” Laarus said. “We don't know Telémahkos’ information is true, but that doesn't mean it's false.  We need to know more to see which it is.”

Bleys the Aubergine waited as if certain the priest of Ra would say more, but Laarus remained silent.

“Is that it then or do you yet have further need of me?" the watch-mage asked.

“Nothing more."  Laarus finished the last sip in his water cup, sets it down, and began to walk away.  After a few steps he turned back towards Bleys.  "I have some business to attend to. Thanks for your time…See you at dinner?"

Bleys produced a small book from his rucksack and laid it on the table, opening it next to his plate.  Without looking up he replied,  "You certainly will; someone has to help you keep an eye on the riff-raff.  Besides, maybe we'll get lucky and Telémahkos will invite his anonymous companion around to join us. “His delivery was so monotone, Laarus  could detect no sarcasm. “I appreciate your candor.  Good afternoon."

 “May Ra’s light shine on you then,” Laarus of Ra said as he left.

*End of InterSession 1.1*
------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This exchange was played out via e-mail between Sessions #1 and #2.


----------



## Telémakhos

Man, Bleys is a prick.


----------



## Dawn

Excellent!  Just caught up and am ready for more.  Good to see you and your gang back together for another SH!


----------



## el-remmen

Dawn said:
			
		

> Excellent!  Just caught up and am ready for more.  Good to see you and your gang back together for another SH!




And good to see you back!  I wonder who else of the ole readership still around?  (I mean aside from Tony Vargas, Gold Roger and Manzanita).

As for being "ready for more" - I hope so. . . expect another installment either sometime this evening or sometime tomorrow during the day. . .


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #2 – “The Road South” (part 1 of 3)* (1)

“Would it be possible that we might be supplied with a packhorse out of House Barhyte’s generous gift as well?” Timotheus asked Euleria Finch at dinner that evening.  She stood a distance from the table, dressed in comfortable clothes as if about to go for an afternoon’s ride, but standing up very straight and attentive to each word.

“I shall send word ahead to the livery and see and this is possible,” Euleria replied.  Markos had just been bemoaning the amount of gear he would have to carry when they traveled, being more used to ships, and Bleys the Aubergine mentioned that his own horse was heavily laden as well.

“Have we considered which route would be best to take to New Harbinger?” Timotheus said.  “Earlier Euleria mentioned the choice of the High Road and the Beach Road…”

The Beach Road, if it could be called a road wound down right against the eastern coast, and was the quickest path to New Harbinger in theory, but was rarely used, as many of its secret coves were home to brigands and amphibious monsters.  The High Road was more direct, but wound over some steep hills that would slow progress south by nearly a full day.

“I am in no particular rush,” said Telémahkos, grinning nervously and taking a sip of his wine.  “I say we take the High Road and be safe about it.”

“I would rather arrive sooner, and if we meet some brigands on the road then we will be doing Thricia a service by dealing with them,” Timotheus replied.

“Agreed,” Victoria nodded her head.  “And I am sure Laarus would agree as well.” The priest of Ra had retired to his bed early, not feeling well after eating something of dubious origin in the market earlier in the day. (2)

“It might be good to get some practice on some bandits before we move on to more dangerous foes,” Timotheus said.

“We should not underestimate bandits,” Markos said  “Let’s say for example, we face five bandits…”

“You and you’re five bandits!” Telémahkos stood suddenly and pressed down his golden curls with the back of his hand.  “I think I shall see what Death & Taxes has to offer tonight…” And with that he left the suite and headed down to the common room.

The young son of House Briareus was greeted by the sound and smells of a packed common room.  A bard was plucking on a lyre atop a table in one corner, but his strains were hardly heard over the whole place singing along with “_I Smack the Tax Man in the Mouth With a Fist Full of Coppers_”.  Telémahkos went over to the bar and after a quick shot of spirits, joined his excellent voice to the throng, swinging his ale back and forth to the music.  Soon, a local wench had grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into the circle of dancers, and of course he knew all the steps.

“Let me ask you,” Timotheus began, twisting his body towards Victoria.  He was sitting on a divan beside the militant of Anhur, as Bleys and Markos listened from chairs across from them.  A few times Markos looked as if he might speak, but never could seem to get his words into the flow of the conversation at the right time, and swallowed them instead.  Bleys was ever-silent.  Out of her armor, and in a plain gray dress, the female warrior had a rough-edged beauty.  “In regards to the disposition of our respective Houses to each other… I just wanted to make sure that such enmities might not carry over to our charter…”

“You are of House Briareus?  I mean, I know you are, but I mean…” Victoria searched for words that might not give insult.  “You have been recognized…?”

“If you speak of my bastardry, no need to dance around it,” Timotheus said.

“I did not know how to ask without offending,” Victoria replied.

“Why should I be offended?  I’m a bastard, so what?  I have nothing to be ashamed about.  I am not responsible for it,” Timotheus smiled widely as he talked, and leaned over to the low table to pour himself some more wine.  “But yes, I am officially of Briareus, and for my own part I hold no ill-will to House Ostrander…”

“Nor I to your House,” Victoria said.  “Though… I wonder if the same can be said of all such members…”

“Such as?”

“Sir Agamemnon…”

“Oh yes! I saw him and your father glaring at each other across the room at the luncheon,” Timotheus smiled again, at the memory. (3) “Agamemnon is not known for his manners or his ability to hide his feelings…”

“Again, I did not mean to offend…” Victoria said.

“None taken! Agamemnon’s an ass! What do I care?” Timotheus laughed.

Victoria was taken aback and looked to the other two members of the charter who were present.  Neither had a thing to say.  “And your cousin, Telémahkos, he does not mind you talking of his father this way?  His own personal feelings about House Ostrander will not color his interactions with me?”

“T.K.?  Ha! Ask him about his father when you get a chance,” Timotheus was still laughing. “In fact, I want to be there when you ask him, it should be good for a laugh, and then you’ll know where he stands in regards to his father’s feelings!”

“Perhaps when he returns from carousing and is foolish with liquor,” Victoria allowed herself a mischievous smile, and Timotheus laughed again.

“Well, I expect each of our families have hopes for our group,” Markos finally spoke up.  “But for my own part, it is the Margrave’s wishes that I am most concerned with fulfilling…”

“Hey, I just want to do some good and kick some ass,” Timotheus replied, filling his cup again.  “Whatever gets me that in the short term, I am happy to do.  His vision met that of the watch-mage, and the tall warrior gestured to Bleys with his cup and smiled. “With integrity of course.”

They heard the swell of the crowd’s cheer down in the common room.

Telémahkos had just finished singing the seventeen verses of ‘_the Ballad of the Edge of the World_’ with a group of sailors when the patrons grew hushed as a figure made his way through the crowd hanging at the door.

“Floris Tenbrook has arrived, and now the party really begins,” the bard on the table announced, his voice carrying over the crowd by means of a cantrip.  The bard struck up a faster tune, and the dancing began anew.  Two saucy wenches came over to serve the handsome young noble.  One took his cloak, and the other brought him a drink, as he sat down at a table to join a card game, flicking silver coins off his fingers.  

He downed his ale and before the cup struck the table a shot of spirits was waiting for him.  He snatched it and stood up like a shot, leaping onto the chair with deftness.  “Let’s have a drink to ole Barakis!”

“A drink to Barakis!” the whole crowd cheered, and Telémahkos joined in.  Earlier in the night he had learned that house rules were that everyone drank when the former watch-mage’s name was mentioned, as he had asked around what people knew of the Beach Road.

“The Beach Road is where Barakis the Bold was killed,” someone told him.  And then added “Barakis the Bold!” as loud as he could and everyone downed their drinks at hand.  The patron turned back to Telie “People say that Weirspierogeners hide on that road to waylay locals.  It was them that got him.  Damn, Weirspierogen! Damn Devenpeck!”

“Hey! Hey Briareus!” Floris had his knees up on his chair and was waving Telémahkos over to the card table.  “They play cards up in Schiereiland?”

Telémahkos nodded.

“Well, show me how then!” Floris Tenbrook shooed away the player sitting across from him and gestured for Telie to sit.  “We’re playing Margrave’s rules…” He began to explain to Telie the local variations of “Bluff and Draw” as he dealt.  Telémahkos listened attentively, as he casually loosened his toga to better hide the cards he planned to palm.  One of the wenches brought a round of drinks for the table.

“Keep ‘em coming, honey,” Floris winked at her.

---------------------------

Upstairs, after a long general discussion of tactics, Victoria was checking on Laarus, while Bleys used the piss-pot in the other room, leaving Markos and Timotheus alone for a few moments.

“I wonder if Telie is ready to move on to another bar,” Timotheus wondered aloud.  “You will come with us, right?” He turned to Markos.

“Well, actually… to be honest… I was not sure I felt comfortable going there with your cousin,” Markos replied.

“Why?”

“I just wasn’t sure if he’d be the type to blend in there.  It might cause trouble,” Markos said.

“Then let’s go without him,” Tim smiled, and stood, finishing his mug of ale.  “We’ll slip out the back.”

Markos shrugged.  They bid goodnight to Victoria and Bleys and went on their way.

---------------------------

“Who’s cheating?” Floris roared, knocking the cards out of the hands of the player on his left.  Telémahkos gulped and looked around, but Floris ignored him, dragging the other patron from his chair by his collar.  “Are you cheating?  Because I know I’m not cheating, and we know he isn’t cheating…” He pointed at Telie.  “There is no way someone of noble blood would cheat at cards for a few measly silver, right, Briareus?”  The Tenbrook youth looked Telémahkos right in the eye, and Telie nodded vigorously, and then shook his head just as vigorously, not sure which way would mean he agreed.

“Get out of here!”  Two large patrons walked over at Floris’ signal and carried the card player from the inn and Floris called over another to sit in.

Telémahkos kept the wench he had been dancing with close by for “luck”, reaching over her to grab at his drink, but grabbing at her instead.  She giggled and handed him the drink, her hand brushing his.  He looked at her face and shuddered, so looked down at her ample cleavage instead.  It was his turn to deal, and slamming the deck down he called out to Bes before he began.

As the night ended, Floris slapped Telémahkos on the shoulder and gave him a brotherly embrace.

“You’re okay, Briareus,” Floris Tenbrook said.  “Look, do me a favor.  When you get to New Harbinger, give them to the captain of the guard for me…” He tucked a folded up letter into the folds of Telie’s toga, not far from where cards had been hidden most of the night.  “When you come back to Sluetelot, come find me… We’ll _talk_…”


Tholem, the 11th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Morning came sooner than some members of the charter would have liked; morning, but not light. Soon they were gathered around a table in one of the suites, eating breakfast, as Telémahkos told them a little about what he had learned the previous evening.

“All I am saying is that if the former watch-mage of this town, Barakis the Bold, who by all accounts was a watch-mage here for fifteen years, was killed on the Beach Road, we should rethink taking that path.”

Markos muttered something.

“What was that?” Telémahkos asked.

“Nothing.”

“Am I wrong to think Barakis would have had a greater power than the six of us can represent?” Telémahkos turned to Bleys and the watch-mage shook his head.

“Yes, but the fact that he was so powerful suggests that someone laid in wait for him.” Laarus commented.  He was feeling much better, and was dressed in his scale mail armor, and a line of silken bronze ran down each pant leg into his fine riding boots.  He wore no helmet.  “I doubt some random brigands would have defeated him… So, I do not think we can use that report as a reason to fear the Beach Road.”

“I agree,” said Victoria.

“As do I,” said Timotheus.

“That settles it,” Markos added.

“Was he alone?” asked Bleys.

“I do not know,” Telémahkos replied.

“Perhaps we should see if we can find out on the way to the livery,” Bleys said.  “At the very least it may shed some light on the possible dangers of the Beach Road.”

“Is there anything else you be needing of me before you go?” Euleria asked the group.

“So, everything we need for our trek will be provided for us?” Victoria asked.  “Trail rations and the like?”

“Um…” Euleria began.

“No,” Markos said shortly. “We were to take care of that on our own yesterday afternoon.”

“Well, I did not…” Victoria stared hard at Markos, and the Raymer eventually looked away.  In the household of Chalkteeth where Victoria grew up, the steward would have handled all such considerations.

“I am sorry, Mistress Ostrander,” Euleria looked flustered.  “I was given no order to purchase such supplies, or I surely would have…”

“What about the money we gave her?” Victoria asked Markos, still not looking away, or acknowledging the steward.  “Was that not what it was for? A general fund for our expenses?”

“No,” Markos slowly looked up at the militant of Anhur.  He simmered with anger.  “That coin was to secure us some hirelings and pay for the expenses of bringing them to New Harbinger, and also to send messages ahead of our coming.”

“Very well then,” Victoria turned to Euleria again.  “I will need some rations.  Please secure me some immediately.”

“I shall endeavor to try,” Euleria replied, revealing no annoyance with Victoria’s sudden commands.  “However, it being so early the market is not yet open… Let me inquire…” The steward stood and turned to leave, but turned back.  “If it is pleases you, I can meet you back here as you return with your horses on your way out of town for any last commands, and of course, to give Mistress Ostrander her rations…”  And with that she left.

The livery was in the area of town called New Sluetelot, beyond the dirty white stone wall of Old Town, and after a twenty minute walk, they found stablehands readying their horses.  Telémahkos sought out one of the hands that might know some local gossip wanting to find out more about the Barakis the Bold and his death on the Beach Road.

“Was he alone?” Telémahkos asked.

“Depends on who you ask,” the kid replied.

“What do you mean?  Who says what?”

“I mean, some people say he was alone and others will tell you they were there and fought with him against three dozen Devenpecks with flaming swords and nearly died in the process,” the kid spat out his skepticism.

“And you?  What do you believe?” Bleys asked, overhearing and walking over.

“Eh,” The kid shrugged.

“Is there someone who is likely to have actually been with him?” Timotheus asked, as he came over as well.

“I guess, Sir Floris Tenbrook,” the kid replied. “But he’s never said, that’s just what I’ve heard…”

Telémahkos gave the boy a couple of copper coins for his trouble.

“I still think we should take the High Road,” Telémahkos said to the others, as they walked their horses back across town.  Bleys was leading the packhorse as well.  It was older than the rest, but still fairly healthy, and would serve its purpose as long as it was not pushed.  “Let’s put it to a vote.”

Telémahkos was alone in his vote, and so the Beach Road it was.

They waited for a time in front of the Death & Taxes Inn, but Euleria Finch was not about.  Bleys went in to find her, but she was not in the inn.

“She is probably still trying to find Victoria’s rations,” Markos murmured.  

Barton Digits came out bearing a basket and smiling widely.  He had packed them lunch for the road, and suggested they eat it for lunch before some of its more delicate contents wilted and soured.  The charter members thanked him, and Timotheus made a great show of upturning his coin pouch to give Barton his last three silver pieces as a tip.

Ra’s Glory, was peeking out from behind the harbor fortress, its light obscured by strands of gray cloud rolling in from the southeast.  The morning was humid, and Telémahkos fidgeted in his chain shirt, pulling it away from his neck and scratching at where it touched his bare skin.  

Finally, sighing and puffing, Telémahkos began to squirm out of his armor.

“Leave that on.” Timotheus admonished.

“I’ll put it back on when we get going,” Telémahkos complained. “It is heavy and it’s hot!”

“You have to get used to it,” Tim replied.

The sounds of the central Well Plaza market stalls being set up floated over to them as they saw Euleria emerge from amid the carts and tarps carrying a sack and jogging in their direction.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” the steward said, handing the sack to Victoria of Anhur.  There were five days of rations within.  She turned to the group as a whole.  “And now if there is nothing else, I have an appointment to see to regarding interviewing some potential hirelings for you.  I shall present you with an itemized list of expenditures when we meet in New Harbinger.  If all goes well, I should arriving there before you with the hirelings, and will have made preparations for your stay.”

They bid the steward good-bye and good luck, and mounting their horses headed for Old Town Bridge and the way out of town.
_
to be continued. . ._
---------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	This session was played Sunday, February 4th, 2007.

(2)	Laarus’ player was late to the session, so we began without him.

(3)	He is referring to the luncheon of Session #1


----------



## el-remmen

How is everyone liking the pace of posts?

Too fast? Too slow?  Just right?

I am planning for another one tonight. . .


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #2 – “The Road South” (part 2 of 3)*

The Slutelot Canal was first made by the people of the Sunra Kingdom during the Third Age, in an era called “the Time of the Six Kingdoms”.  Records of how they were able to accomplish such a feat of engineering are incomplete, but in 239 H.E. construction began to re-create it, and now it runs nearly forty miles, connecting the Captured Sea with Drie-Hoek Bay, to bring the goods of inner Thricia to the outer islands and the world.  Old Town Bridge is approached from the north by a winding ramp that climbs to a height sufficient to cross the canal, and at its center, thick hinged metal plates could be drawn open by oxen, allowing very tall-masted ships to pass through. 

Bleys, Laarus, Markos, Telémahkos, Timotheus and Victoria rode their horses over the bridge. They were waved past lines of peasants with hay filled carts waiting to get into the town, and laden merchant wagons waiting to get out of town by the bridge guard.  Nobles and esteemed priests would not be made to wait or pay the toll.  A light rain began.

The other side of the bridge had a similar winding stone ramp that led to the narrow shore of the canal, just north of South Wall.  ‘South Wall’ was actually two walls, and they were made to walk their horses through one gate and then nearly half a mile to the west before emerging from the gate in the southernmost of the two walls.

On their right, between them and the distant emerald sheen of the Captured Sea were rolling farmlands as far as distant dirty-looking hills that caressed the southeastern edge of the sea.  As they rode southward, the land on their left gave way to tall beach grasses and the sound of the bay lapping against the island’s eastern shore welcomed them.  At mid-morning a sandy track diverted to the left and the followed it noting a hand painted wooden sign declaring it the Beach Road.  Soon they were following a trail within sight of the bay. It wound around tall basalt outcroppings in many places, or else was washed away in a spray of sand and surf.  Sudden gusts of wind sent fat raindrops clattering violently against the pea green sea.

Laarus and Timotheus led the way, with Victoria and Bleys taking the rear; the latter bringing the packhorse along as well.  Telémahkos and Markos took up the middle rank.

As they approached mid-day, the rain let up and they saw a group of fishermen repairing a net near the surf.  Telémahkos rode ahead to talk with them, Timotheus riding up behind him.

“Hail and well met!” Telémahkos called to them.  

“Hail good sirs!  Taking the Beach Road are ya?  Brave men… Brave men…” The old fisherman chuckled.  He was missing a good number of teeth, and only had patchy steel gray hair on his wrinkled head.   The others were younger and fitter, wearing tall leather boots and kilts.

“Yes, we heard there were dangers on the road,” Telémahkos replied.  “But you are here and working unharassed…”

“We’re still within a day’s ride of the Old Town, as you well know,” the old fisherman said. “But after a day… Well, it does get a bit rougher…”

“In what way?” Telémahkos asked.

“What kinds of dangers might we expect?” Timotheus asked.  Bleys rode up as well.

“Ya know, the usual… Greenbacks… Ya know, Lizzies, right? And the froggies sometimes…”

“Greenbacks? You are referring to lizardfolk?” Bleys said. (1)

“Aye,” the man spat.

“And the froggies?” Timotheus asked.

“The ‘wugs, sir,” the man replied.  “And of course, damn Weirspierogener brigands! Pfah!”

Telémahkos looked to Timotheus.

“They hide in the bogs on the far side of the track and leap out atch’ya,” the fisherman went on to explain.

“And the lizardfolk attack travelers as well?” Bleys asked.

“Ach! Who knows? Half the time they want to eat ya, that other half they wanna trade ya a bone necklace!” The fishermen all laughed.

“Wanna buy some fish?  Only three coppers,” asked one of the younger men, holding up a line of seven fish, each about seven inches long. Telémahkos nodded.

The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland ate the lunch provided by Barton Digits in shade of a tall bluff.  As they mounted to ride on, they noted large wagons up on what must have been the High Road.  But as evening fell, the High Road was far from sight again, and they made camp in a wedge of black stone, which helped to hide the fire from the road and the distant bluff.  They cooked the fish on the fire, and then split into watches.  

Markos and Bleys took first watch, and the watch-mage showed the sailor how to brush down and care for his horse. Wise use of _prestidigitation_ made the cleaning portion much easier, and Markos ended up taking care of everyone else’s horses.


Telem, the 13th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

A day and half later, the companions broke their second camp.  This one was in spot set back from the breach, where a narrow stream of fresh water trickled into the sea.

“We saw some boat traveling north in the night,” Bleys told the others.  “It was small galley of some kind, and set with torches on its sides.”

“I think it was a ferry going to Sluetelot,” Markos reasoned.  The others shrugged, and the journey southward continued.

At mid-morning Victoria spotted a great plume of dust, as some group of riders passed the up on the bluff, which the Beach Road had veered inland and close to once again.  The bluff itself was becoming less and less of a sheer cliff, and descended slowly and unevenly towards the beach to the south. She mentioned it to the others, but no one seemed to care much.

It was a couple of hours later when another cloud of roiling dust appeared up on what was left of the bluff.  Now the way up was not nearly as steep and tall beach grass shored up the slope.  They could see a handful of riders coming down in their direction.

“Stay alert! Riders!” Timotheus called to the others.

“Look at the standard! Yellow and black, the colors of House Swann,” Telémahkos said.

“Just because they appear to be of House Swann does not mean they are,” Bleys warned. 

“I shall greet them,” Victoria Ostrander spurred her light warhorse forward, past the others and soon was many yards ahead.  

“Victoria! Wait! No!” Timotheus called, but the eager Militant of Anhur was already galloping away.  He increased his own pace, and Bleys moved up between Markos and Telémahkos, who fanned out.

Victoria could see the lead rider was a man of slender build; he wore a chain shirt with a yellow and black tabard over it.  He was guiding his horse down the treacherous slope with the lightest touch of his reins, as he had a short bow resting on the saddle pommel before him, an arrow bouncing up and down with the horse’s gait, but no doubt a half-moment from where it was to string and then to air.

There were six other riders, five of which were in studded leather, with dirty but young-looking faces.  They wore similar tabards, all with a quartered field, the black swan of House Swann in the top left, and a gull hovering over a stylized curling wave in the bottom right.

“Hail!  Who travels the Beach Road?” called the lead rider, slowing his pace.  Victoria could not see his slender features that betrayed the elven heritage of some near ancestor.

“I am Victoria Ostrander, Militant of Anhur, and these are my companions!” she announced.

“Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland!” Timotheus added as he finally caught up.  The others slowed way down, as the armored riders fanned out.  They saw the rider closest the half-elf was a grizzled middle-aged main a suit of chain mail.  He bore the standard.

“I am Lieutenant Lorkas Twelf, we hail out of Gullmoor, a keep of House Swann, in search of brigands who have been causing trouble in the vicinity of Bog End, which is where we most recently ride from,” the half-elf said.

“I am Timotheus Smith of House Briareus, as is my cousin, Telémahkos,” the tall blond smiled and gestured to Telie, who waved.  Laarus and Bleys rode forward, but Markos hung back with Telie. 

The others introduced themselves as well.

“We have seen no sign of brigands,” Timotheus said.  “Did you chase them from nearby?”

“We have not seen them,” Lorkas said. “We were told of their presence and sought them out.  We think they have a hideout nearby on the beach somewhere, but we are not sure where… Though we did track them on the High Road…”

“Is that the High Road right there?” Victoria asked.

“Yes,” the half-elf nodded.  “You are close to where the two roads converge again, in the hamlet of Bog End.

“We are traveling to New Harbinger,” Timotheus said.  “Is there some way we might help you, or some news we might carry?”

Lieutenant Lorkas hesitated, and then looked to the older-looking man in chainmail before answering.  “Well, we were being led in our hunt by Sir Quintus Gosprey, when he left us to pursue some contact he felt would have information regarding the location of the brigands’ hideout… He was supposed to have caught up with us by now, but there has been no sign of him either.  He returned to somewhere near Bog End, perhaps if you pass through there you might ask of him, or if you see him, send him our way…”

“Of course!” Timotheus said.

They all nodded to each other and bid their farewells, and then the two groups went their own ways.

“You should not have charged ahead like that,” Timotheus admonished the militant.

“And why not? I was not so far ahead that you all could not have caught up with me,” she sneered.  “And if need be, I could have swung Argos around closed our distance in an instant.”

Timotheus just sighed and took his spot back at the front of their line.

As the afternoon dwindled towards evening, the track that was the Beach Road, turned southwestward, and the companions found themselves climbing a shrub-covered hill as the sun melted orange into the Captured Sea.  The shadows were long as they passed several houses of mud and straw among some poorly constructed wooden structures.  The land sunk again, and the steep way wound out slowly in a barren patch of rocks and mud, and finally merged with the hard flat stone of the High Road, coming through the tiny village from the north, continuing south by southeast.

Just beyond where the two paths converged was a dark bog that went as far as the eye could see, and built upon a dock hanging over the fetid water was a public house.

“This must be Bog End,” Timotheus said.

“Let us hurry and find out how much further to New Harbinger,” Bleys said, riding forward. “If it is not much further I would not be averse to riding on a bit into the gloom to arrive today…” The watch-mage’s words trailed off as he noticed a hut door clatter shut as they rode by.  He made note of which it was.

They could hear high spirits and angry voices from within public house.  A dirty yellow sign hung from a post, showing a poorly drawn neck of some waterfowl being twisted in a cartoonish fist.

“Welcome to the Wringneck!” Timotheus laughed, as he and the others tied their horses to the post out front.  There was already a light warhorse tied here.  It was saddled and its legs and lower body were splattered with greenish mud.

“Don’t bother going in there,” Bleys said.  “It’ll only be trouble… I will be right back.” The purple and crimson-garbed mage hurried back up the path to the door he had seen shut before.

Bleys looked back to see his companions gathering round the entrance to the pub and shook his head.  He knocked softly on the door to the hut, and there was no answer, but certain he heard someone within, he knocked again.

“Who’s there?!” came the frightened voice of an old woman.

“I am Bleys the Aubergine, watch-mage,” Bleys called through the door. “My companions and I are bound for New Harbinger and wanted to know how much further it was…”

“Oh! Uh… Three or four hours south, I guess…” the woman called back.

Bleys thanked her and began to walk back to the pub, noting that at least some of his companions had gone in.

“Come on! Show us yer cunny then!” The pub exploded with laughter.  Timotheus stood in the doorway, with Victoria on one side of him and Telémahkos on the other.  The stench of stale sweat and beer permeated everything within.  There were many small round tables and a handful of long benches, and at the far end of the one room, was a makeshift bar made from tall wooden tables, with several large casks behind it.

The clientele were common men of a range of ages from their teens to their toothless venerability, but most dirty-faced middle-aged workmen in overalls and damp boots; a few wore straw hats.  There were a handful of trollops in the common room as well, hanging with loose bodices on drunken men deep in their cups, or giving a flash of a breast or a squeeze of a buttock for a spare copper as they poured drinks.

Timotheus was regarded by a broad young man with bush of wild orange hair standing by the door with his hands folded across his great chest.  

At the center of the pub was a circle of five men laughing at a boy of about fourteen summers who was getting up off the ground.  He had long chestnut hair in the Thrician style, and wore a chainshirt and a muddied tabard displaying the wave and gull of the Gospreys of House Swann.

“What common and ignoble men you are!” he complained in a voice that was supposed to be haughty, but was reed-thin.

“Shut up and sit back down!” said the largest of the drunken commoners about him, and he pushed the boy down with a boot to the ass.  “Ya come crying to us and then you insult us?”

“You know, Bleys has the right of it,” Telémahkos said to his cousin.  “We should just ask someone in a hut.”

Timotheus stepped into the tavern, and Victoria followed.  Telémahkos looked around before taking a meek step in.  Laarus kept an eye out for Bleys, while Markos stood in the shadow of the doorway, taking in the situation.

“Good sir!” The boy sprang to his feet, and tried to reach Timotheus, but another kick and a smack on the back of the neck, and he was on the floor again.  The five men burst out in laughter, and there were grumbles and jeers from the rest of the crowd as well.  The boy looked up at Timotheus.  “You seem like men of some birth, will you not make them pay for failing to help a knight against the lizardfolk?”

“I got your lizardfolk right here!” One of the commoners made a lewd gesture and then bent over to grab the boy by the ankle and drag him back.  A patron at an adjacent table emptied the dregs of his mug on the boy’s head as he passed.  This drew more laughter from those that could see.

“You do not look like a knight…” Timotheus had to keep from laughing, looking at each of the men with narrow glare.  “Tell us what is going on!”

“Unhand the boy at once!” Victoria barked, her voice as harsh as a schoolmarm’s. 

“No need for violence!” There came a high-pitched voice from the front of the pub.  Atop the makeshift bar stood a small and pudgy figure.  It was a halfling in a soiled apron, with black curly locks and a set of impressive jowls.  He wore black boots.

Timotheus looked to the young bouncer.  “This is gonna get ugly if you don’t call your boys off.” 

The bouncer just shrugged and shook his head, “Just don’t you dare think about weapons.” He cracked his knuckles and stared down Timotheus, being two full inches taller than the Schiereilander.   Tim nodded and smiled and then charged into the group of men, seeking to drive them apart with his sheer size, but he tripped up over the first commoner, who jerked out of the way with the awkward grace only a drunk can have.  Timotheus slid headfirst along the floor to an explosion of laughter from all the patrons.  He scrambled to his feet.

“We are agents of the Crown! Desist at once!” Telémahkos called out in the most authoritative voice he could muster, but was met with more derisive laughter.

_to be continued. . ._

-----------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) “Greenback” and “Lizzies” are disparaging names for lizardfolk.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #2 – “The Road South” (part 3 of 3)*

“Laarus! Get your ass in here!” Markos tapped his cousin on the shoulder impatiently as he saw three of the commoners grabbing at Timotheus.  The big man avoided two of them easily, and palmed the bald head of another shoving him back.  The squire spun around to break free of the grip of another of the men and got a fist in the face.

“You dare strike the squire of a noble knight!?” the boy said, the cracking of his voice undermining his attempt at noble mean.

“All right! What’s all this then!” Laarus of Ra barked stepping into the inn.

“Get the f*ck out of the way!” Timotheus grabbed the squire in a loose headlock and began to drag the boy away from the scrum.  Victoria moved to block pursuit.  “Settle down,” she said.  “We’ve just come for the boy.   We’ll leave peacefully once he is taken from here safely.”

“Blimey! It’s a lass in armor!” said one of the commoners.

“Must be a northerner!” said another, hurrying around her to grab at Tim, but missing.  

“Attention!” Markos was up on a table, a quick flash of false fire emerging from his hands. (1) “We are agents of the crown!  Cease and desist as my companion has ordered or know that this establishment will be watched more closely in the future!”  He was forced to duck and cover his head as the patrons sent hailstorm of wooden mugs in his direction.

“Are we leaving or are we going to make these commoners pay for their impudence?” the squire asked Timotheus, slipping from the man’s grip and standing behind him.  Tim did not respond, struggling from keeping two commoners from pinning his arms, as a third sent a flurry of drunken fists in his direction.

“By the Glory of Ra!” Laarus called channeling divine energy to surround himself in a hemisphere of daylight, (2) that made some of the patrons at nearby tables rear back in fear and hide behind their chairs.  “Cease and desist!  Stand down!”

“DO NOT DEFY THE PRIEST OF RA!” came Bleys’ voice booming by means of his _announce_ spell, but there was another rain of cups, some half-filled with ale.  The watch-mage stepped into the inn and surveyed the scene and had the squire shoved in his direction.

“Don’t let the baldies tell you what to do!” came a weasally voice from across the inn.  It was a tall lanky commoner waving a pitcher of ale in the air, sending great splashes in all directions.  “We keep our own counsel in this part of Thricia!”

“They’re probably Weirspierogeners!” cried another.

“Naw, they’re northerners!” came the answer from across the pub.  He pointed at Telémahkos.  “Look how that one’s dressed!”

“Who asked them to come down here and innarupp our fun?” asked the one on the table.  

“Shut up!” Telémahkos commanded, throwing a metal mug at the man on the table striking him right in the head.

“Bleys, this is Sir Quintus Osprey’s squire,” Tim said.  “Keep him safe.” And he turned back to the brawl. 

There was another rain of utensils, mugs and bowls, and Markos ran for the door, avoiding being grabbed by a corpulent patron, by Victoria’s interference.  She was grabbed about the waist by the largest of the brawlers, but she forced her way free and knocked into one of the three trying to get Timotheus down on the floor for a better beating.

Laarus was surprised when a fist came his way.  He avoided it only to be grabbed by two others, who pawed and ripped at the priest’s fine travel clothes.

“Stop attacking the priests you ignorant sons of whores!” Timotheus roared, pulling one arm free to slam a fist into the nose of one of the patrons grabbing at him.

“You ugly wart-covered cocks!” Markos swore, coming back into the fight to pound one of the men on Laarus in the back of the head.   The man turned around surprised to find Telémahkos suddenly beside the thin-framed wizard.  The blond ne’er-do-well had somersaulted off a chair, and closing his eyes punched out with an awkward fist.  He felt something crunch.  Telémahkos looked down to see a blood pooling out on the floor, flowing from the now unconscious man’s mouth and nose.

Suddenly happy, Telie spun around and gave the bouncer a wink.

“Are you mad? Let go of the priest!” Victoria tried to pull men off of Laarus, latching her muscular arms around one’s neck.  “Timotheus! Help me!” (3)

The fight became a scramble of bodies in the center of the pub.  Laarus began to drag the fight towards the door by pure strength, while Telémahkos backed away as two of the patrons came at him.  Bleys told the squire to stay where he was and leapt up on the table Markos has been on just moments before, raising his arms in the air to allow his watch-mage’s robes to flair out and be seen clearly across the room.

“Fools!” He cried.  “Can’t you see one of your number is hurt and may be dying?! Stop already!”`

Three of the patrons at a nearby table stood laughing and tipped over the heavy wooden table the watch-mage stood on.  Bleys leapt deftly to land on his feet with the table between them, and then ran back towards the door, cursing under his breath as he went outside, followed by the squire.

“You want some of this?” Timotheus slammed his fist into the face of a patron, and could not hide his glee as the man crumpled from the blow.  He spun around and shoved another back and took a swing.

Markos kicked at the men grabbing Laarus, helping the priest to free himself, as Victoria and one man stumbled away in each others arms.  “Get off me!” she commanded, but he smiled and winked and pinned her arms around her and began to brush his sore–covered lips against her face.

Laarus checked on the bleeding man on the ground, calling to Ra to close his wounds in case there was a danger of his dying. (4)

“Timotheus! I could use some help over here!” Telémahkos called to his cousin, a bruise swelling up where a fist had grazed him.  But three more patrons had joined the fight against the tall young man from House Briareus, angered by his cockiness.

“Telémahkos! I’m coming,” Timotheus rushed past his foes, feeling knuckles slam his temple.  He turned away from the blow and drove a fist in the back of the neck of one of the men menacing his cousin.  The man folded with a moan.

Using the momentary distraction Telémahkos leapt onto the end of a nearby bench as one of the men that had tipped over the table stood over it. The bench flew up between the man’s legs and he fell over with a grunt. The toga-toting young noble kicked the man in the face twice, until he stopped trying to get back up.

Markos moved over to put a man between him and Tim and kicked him right between the legs from behind.  The drunken man howled and grabbed at his privates.

“People stop this madness!” It was Bleys again.  He ducked as he rode Victoria’s warhorse into the bar.  Everyone stopped for a half moment and looked up at him as if he were the mad one.

“No horses!  Get that horse out of here!” The bouncer grabbed at the reins and the horse began to rear up.  

“No horses! No horses!” the halfling proprietor’s high-pitched voice was heard to echo.

Thankfully, Bleys was a skillful enough rider to keep Victoria’s steed from kicking the bouncer’s face in.  He dismounted and called to the squire.  “Boy! See to this horse.  We shall handle every thing here.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said with easy deference, and he led the horse back out.

“Okay, little man, kiss this!” Victoria drove her forehead towards her opponent’s face, but the man shoved his head into the hollow of her shoulder avoiding the worst of the blow, and popped back up to kiss her again and laugh.  Laarus moved to pull the man off the struggling militant of Anhur, but the man managed to spin her around to avoid the priest.

“You stay right there!” Timotheus pointed to the man still hopping around with his hands cupping his crotch and spun around to step behind a man going for Laarus.  The man spun around too late and Tim’s big fist sent him down to the ale and blood covered floor.

“I give up!” said a man closer to fifty than forty who had helped topple the table.  He put his hands up and stepped away from Telémahkos, but eager now, the young man took advantage of the opening and cold-cocked him, sending him down.

“You should leave fighting to men!” said the man still grappling with Victoria, but she broke free of his pin and slammed her forearm in his chest to drive him back.  Another man took a swing at her, and as she stepped to avoid it, her opponent grabbed her once again.  “Have you come for another dance?”

She roared in frustration.

“Good to meetcha, sir! Good to meetcha!” said a stooped greasy man with slicked long black hair and a dusty black cloak.  He had a powdery pallor, and a patchwork goatee.  Bleys the Aubergine nodded and stepped around him warily heading for the bar, choosing to ignore the dying melee.  The watch-mage had walked calmly past the fight, ignoring patrons that grabbed or punched at him, and now this man followed closely on his heels.

“Barkeep!” Bleys looked up at the corpulent halfling still standing atop the makeshift bar to watch the brawl.  “A bottle of your best wine and six glasses, please.”

“Please sir, call me Wallaby!” the halfling said, looking down.  “They call me Wallaby Wringneck, though that is not my real family name, but it is the name of me place.”   He leapt down behind the bar and disappeared, though his voice came out from behind it, cutting through the noise of the fight.  “Now, we have no wine… At least none worthy of you and your fine companions, but we have do have a fine local brew…”

“A pitcher of that then, and some water,” Bleys cut him off. “And make sure the water is not muddy.”

“They call me Mister Tickle,” said the dark-haired man, leaning up against the bar beside Bleys.

The fight wound down.  Timotheus left a trail of groaning or unconscious patrons behind him, and finally, the bouncer came over and easily peeled Victoria’s opponent from her, saying, “This fight is over.”

The drunken patrons who were at the edge of the fight began to back away at the bouncer’s words, and Telémahkos got up into the face of them, menacingly.  He punch one man when he opened his mouth to speak.

“Ow! He said it was over!” the man complained.

“It’s over now,” Telémahkos retorted.  He shook his the hand he had struck several people with because it was throbbing, and frowned when he noticed some skin scraped off his knuckles.

The bouncer recruited some the patrons who had fought, but were not unconscious to carry their beaten friends home, and sent others to fetch the sons of the fighters to get them.

Laarus of Ra looked over those who unconscious to make sure none of them were too seriously injured, while Telémahkos Timotheus, Victoria, and Markos joined Bleys at the bar and had some ale to slake the thirst of brawling.  

One of the floozies, with long brown curly hair and most of her teeth still in her mouth took an instant liking to Telémahkos and sidled up next to him to whisper and kiss at his ear.

“We just have some spirited patrons around these parts,” Wallaby Wringneck was explaining after introducing himself to the others. “Just some good clean fighting… Nothing crazy… Keeps them from doing anything too bad… If you know what I mean… That lad just came in here at the wrong time, I guess…”

The squire introduced himself as Valerius Esmus Tarchon.  He explained that he and his master Sir Quintus Gosprey had gone into the bog in search of a contact that would provide information regarding the whereabouts of some brigands they were after along with a patrol out of Gullmoor.  The patrol continued north to see if they could pick up the trail, while he accompanied his master. 

“Yes, we ran into the patrol on the Beach Road,” Timotheus said.

“And then we were beset by lizardfolk and he was taken away, probably to be eaten,” Valerius said.  “I was able to get away, and came here to find help for him.  The gods smile upon me, for you have come to my rescue from these common ruffians and now can help me rescue my master…”

“Who was this contact?” Bleys asked the boy.

“I do not know.”

“And what do you mean exactly by beset?” Bleys continued his questioning.

“They rose up out of the water on either side of the track, and Sir Quintus dismounted to talk with them, and suddenly more appeared and took hold of the reins of his horse!” The boy’s lip quivered as he spoke.  The first ones grabbed him as he tried to draw his sword, and he called for me to flee, so I did so.  I am certain they plan to eat him!”

“If he has not been eaten already,” Timotheus said.  

The boy looked down for a moment and then back up at the young nobles.  “I can lead you to where it happened. You must rescue him.  I implore you!”

“I am not sure how wise it is to go wandering the bog in the dark,” Markos said.  “They may have been attacked on the track, but I am sure wherever the lizardfolk took him, it was deeper into the bog…”

“We need to recruit a local to help us, perhaps,” Victoria said.  “But the negatives of the situation are really quite beside the point.  We have a duty to go try and save him.”

“We do?” asked Markos.

“Yes, we do,” replied Timotheus. “This is just the kind of thing we were looking for, a little adventure while helping people.  And helping a son of House Swann cannot be bad for our reputation…”

“You hear that knight they are talking about? Gosprey?” The woman hanging on Telie was whispering his ear.  He had an arm around her waist, and his hand clutched tightly to her ample thigh.  “He’s a right bastard and doesn’t deserve to be rescued.  No one here likes him.  Why do you think they fell upon his squire?  He is always pushing people around and he did this to me…” She pulled down her blouse to show deep black and green bruises on her breast and side.  “And there are more…”

 Markos walked over to the bouncer to recruit him, impressed by his strength and demeanor, but Cuttsy begged off.  “I’d rather not go into the swamp at night.”

They all re-gathered out on the dock to talk it over in more privacy.

“I think it is death to go now,” Markos said.  “The bouncer will not go and he is local… We should wait until morning…”

“Also…” Telémahkos looked around and then leaned in to speak quietly.  The squire had been sent to ready the horses, including his own. “The barmaid has bruises from Gosprey.  The villagers have good reason to not like him.  I’m in no hurry to fetch him out of the swamp.”

“But if they captured him, they may have captured other people,” Timotheus reasoned.

“You make a fair point,” Telie replied.

“Have we heard of anyone else being taken?” Bleys said, shaking his head.  “Something in the squire’s tale strikes me as wrong…”

“It doesn’t matter.  We must go,” insisted Victoria. 

“Boy! Come here!” Bleys called Valerius back over. “Is it true your master beat on that woman?” The watch-mage pointed into the pub at the serving wench.

Telémahkos’ eyes opened widely and he stepped to the side behind the squire to get the watch-mage’s attention.  He cocked his head and frowned and shook it.

“Who has said such a thing about Sir Quintus?” the squire was shocked. “He is an honorable man and would do not lay his hand on such a trollop for any reason!”

“I do not think anyone wants to fight a duel over such accusations,” Telie said, his eyes were still opened wide as he gestured to his neck with an open hand.

“What is the matter with your eyes?” Bleys asked back, oblivious to his blunder.

Telémahkos sighed in frustration.  Bleys walked over to one of the patrons now dragging folks out onto the dock.

“You know this area?” he asked. “You know the bog?”

“As well as can be known,” the man replied.

“And there are lizardfolk in there?”

“The greenbacks? Yeah, they showed up recently though… Maybe less than a year…” 

“And they attack people?” Bleys asked.

“Not that I know of… Most smart people avoid them…” The man said.

“Will you guide us?  We will pay you two pieces of silver… One now and one when we return.”

The man nodded his assent.  And introduced himself as Tavius.  He wore a shiner on his right eyes where Telémahkos had struck him at the end of the brawl.  He was lanky and tall with the shaggy long brown hair common to Spice Islanders, and the shabby woolen and burlap clothes of a commoner, with torn high pants, and tall oilskin leather wading boots.

“Well if we must go, I am glad we have gotten us a local guide,” Telémahkos said, as Bleys returned with the man.  “Though chances are if they planned to eat him, he is probably already eaten.  And if we are actually voting on going, I vote against it.”

“If we are lucky perhaps they ate his horse first,” Victoria offered.  

A vote was taken and it came down to a tie.  Laarus, Victoria and Timotheus were for going, and Markos, Bleys and Telie felt they should wait for first light to enter the bog.

“But … But … Where is your noble spirit of adventure and righteousness?” Valerius protested.  “These savage monsters have my master, and I must try to save him… With or without you…”

“Going back into that bog by yourself would be foolish…” Markos said.

“Then I must go to Gullmoor and report this to Sir’s father, and how you plan to wait until dawn to go…” The squire replied.

Telémahkos’ shoulders sagged.  “Wait a minute…”  He walked back over to Tavius and drew him away, whispering  “I will pay you two extra silver if you take it slow… Maybe lead us through a safer part of the swamp until dawn breaks?”

“Right-o, governor!” Tavius winked.  “Like a tortoise I’ll be!” Telémahkos slipped the man the coin with some sleight of hand.

“Okay! I changed my vote… Let’s go!” Telémahkos said turning to the others.

“It is a mistake, but I will abide by the group’s choice,” Markos said.

“I have to go get my pony,” Tavius said.  “Or if you like, I can find a barn where you can keep your horses and we can go in on foot…”

“I would rather keep my horse with me,” Victoria said, and the others agreed.  “But I shall accompany you to get your mount.”

“Have it your way!” Tavius smiled, and walked off, followed by Victoria.  He took nearly forty-five minutes to return, and gave Telémahkos a wink when he did.

“He put the saddle on backwards and it had to be redone,” Victoria explained.  “Twice…”

And with that, they began to walk their horses into the bog…

*End of Session #2*

-------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Markos used _prestidigitation_ for this weak effect.

(2)	Priests of Ra may expend a turning attempt to manifest _The Glory of Ra_; a _daylight_ spell.

(3)	Of course our first real fight involved a huge grapple with multiple participants. . . But at least we went over those rules and pretty much have those rules down for the future.

(4)	While we still play with the 3.0 rule that any non-lethal damage beyond that needed to knock someone out becomes real damage, I mistakenly subtracted the additional real damage from 0 hps, instead of the man’s full hit points.  He should not have been dying.


----------



## monboesen

A surprising amount of the new characters come of somewhat as pricks in these first updates


----------



## Ciaran

monboesen said:
			
		

> A surprising amount of the new characters come of somewhat as pricks in these first updates



You think?


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## el-remmen

monboesen said:
			
		

> A surprising amount of the new characters come of[f] somewhat as pricks in these first updates




Whaddya expect from nobility? 

Can you rank them in order of least to most prickish?


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #3 – “Into the Bog” (Part 1 of 3)*

Tavius led them to a broad muddy field behind the village to the west.  The muck was deep, and they could see rough edge of the bog’s willows and thorny shrubs a few hundred yards ahead of them in the light of the waning moon.

“Ra smite it!” Telémahkos cursed.  He had veered way off the general path Tavius led them on and his horse got one hoof stuck deep in the mud. (1)  He yanked at the reins awkwardly and kicked futilely with his legs  as the horse whinnied nervously.

“You didn’t need to go that far out,” Victoria said.  She dismounted and walked over to help free the horse, instructing Telémahkos what to do.  “No! No! You are fighting me!  To the left!”

When the horse was finally freed, Timotheus had turned back, followed by Markos.  Laarus of Ra rode up ahead to stop along side Bleys and talked with him in quiet tones.  Ahead, Tavius and Valerius the squire waited for them.

“Telémahkos! This is ridiculous! You know if you pulled something like this when we are in a dangerous area you could get yourself killed! Or any of us!” Timotheus scolded his cousin.

“He was just stuck for a moment. He is free now,” Victoria said, taken aback by Timotheus’ outburst.

“This is just the kind of stupid thing that could get him killed,” Tim said.  “I won’t have him killed on my watch!”

“And that is why it is foolish for us to go into the bog at night,” Markos said.  “It increases the chances of one or more of us dying by an unacceptable margin…”

“And what do you suggest?” Victoria asked.

“That we wait until daylight…”Markos began.

“I thought we went over this? Sir Quintus will likely die if we tarry too long,” Victoria replied. “Time is of the essence.”

“I do not agree,” Markos said.  “Either they have eaten him already in which case, our hurrying and blundering into bog is only a danger, or they still hold him alive, in which case we lose nothing by waiting until first light.  Lizardfolk can see well in the dark.  We cannot.”

“Is this not what we discussed and voted upon?  Need we go over it again?” Timotheus asked, exasperated.

“Yes, we voted on it, and I said then what I am saying now, but there seemed to be some renewed doubt, so I was reiterating my point,” Markos replied.

“Well… I could stay behind with the horses…” Telémahkos started.

“No! Let’s go and stay close to me!” Timotheus did not hide his emotions.  He spurred his horse and headed back towards the guide and the others.  Bleys and Laarus were just starting to turn around to see what was keeping the others when everyone fell in line again. This time, Telémahkos was close behind his cousin, and Markos rode along side, continuing to argue his point.

Tavius reached the edge of the bog.  He looked back at the group from the entrance to a gravel track winding into the darkness, to make sure no one was straggling too far behind.  He raised his lantern high as he straightened his tall lanky form on his mud-cover pony.  A sudden breeze carried a fetid smell down their line.  

Markos held up his horse to fall back into his spot on the line, as suddenly Telémahkos started having trouble with his horse again.  It whinnied and then its rear dropped towards the mud and it half-stumbled back forcing Telie to grab about it neck to stay on.  The ends of his blue-white toga dipped in the mud, and he sighed as he pulled at his chain shirt, and then looked at the reins in his hands as if they were foreign to him.

“That’s it! I change my vote!” Timotheus announced, turning around at the entrance to the bog.  “This is too risky!”

“So, you are suggesting we leave a noble to his fate…” Laarus said in an even tone that somehow still suggested disappointment.  His sharp features, with a prominent hawk-nose and his close-cut red hair and thin eyebrows helped to reinforce the authority of his holy symbol and bejeweled and gold-threaded finery. 

“I could go back…” Telémahkos began again.  He slipped his old fashioned Lethean helmet off his head, careful not to catch the knot of blond hair that stuck through a round slot at the top of the helmet.

“No, we should all go for help,” Timotheus said.  “We should go to Gullmoor and see if we can raise some men-at-arms from Sir Quintus’ father’s keep, instead of going into the swamp looking for trouble…”

“Who is looking for trouble?” Laarus frowned.

“We are going into the swamp to save a knight from lizardfolk who abducted him.  Do you think we will be able to just ask nicely and they will give him back?” Timotheus.

“Yes,” said Laarus.  “If they fall under the jurisdiction if the Thrician Racial Covenant, then perhaps they simply need to be reminded of their responsibilities to it as well.”

“Unless of course, they see our arrival are an invasion of the territory, in which case we may be liable to their sovereign laws, according to that same covenant,” Bleys explained in his typical emotionless tone. 

“Be that as it may, diplomacy shall have to be our first and most aggressively pursued option,” Laarus said.

“I still think this is foolish,” Markos said. The small man looked uncomfortable on horseback.  He rubbed the back of his suntanned neck after slapping at a midnight mosquito. “We should seek out the knight’s keep and seek his kin to aid us in his return.

“Your opinion is known to all, cousin Markos,” Laarus replied.

“And sirs… If I can be so bold to interrupt,” Valerius had leapt of his horse to help lead Telémahkos’ steed to surer footing.  “Gullmoor is nearly two hours away at best, and is past the deep part of the bog…”

“The kid’s right,” Tavius said.  He was covering his mouth intermittently to arrest his laughter at the party’s bickering.  “Unless you have a boat and good route mapped out, we’re talking six hours to get out there and then back out to where he said they took him from…”

“If we are to continue on then let us do it more slowly and carefully,” Telémahkos said.

“Yes, I agree,” Timotheus said, sighing. “And… If I call a retreat, I want everyone to retreat, okay?  Do you all agree?  I don’t want anyone lagging behind to play martyr…” He looked around and there were a few nods, but Victoria’s face looked stern in the lantern light.

“Victoria?  Do you agree?” Timotheus asked again.

“If you choose to retreat and want to lead the others to safety, then that is your business,” Victoria replied.  The militant’s dark eyes were shadowed by lantern light against her open-faced helmet; her dark hair curled out beneath the edges of it. “I shall do as Anhur would have me do.  It is up to you if you should choose to shame the gods by fleeing…”

Timotheus’ jaw dropped, and Markos winced at the woman’s cutting disdain.

“Fine,” Tim decided to ignore her tone.  “Then we all agree; if I call a retreat, Victoria shall be the rearguard.”

Tavius of Bog End warned them to be quieter.  Timotheus followed him with Telémahkos close behind, and then came Bleys the Aubergine, Valeris the Squire, Laarus of Ra, Markos Ackers and finally Victoria.   Markos tried to hand the militant a lantern.

“No thank you,” Victoria said.  “If we should need more light I can call to Anhur to provide.”

“By the time we realize we need light it may be too late,” Markos said.  “This will help spot anyone approaching from a distance…”

“I do not need to carry it…” Victoria said.

“We need light and whoever holds the light is a target, thus… I need _you_ to carry it,” Markos said with a weak smile.

“Heh,” Victoria spurred her horse and snatched the lantern from the diminutive man.  “If we are attacked I will be handing it back to you…”

“Of course,” Markos replied.

Bleys lit a gnomish torch, and the green-hued spitting flame of the strange light source hovered around him.

The track through the varying dripping growth of the bog was made of piles of gravel smoothed out further and further into the wetland.  In most places, it was two or three feet above the surface of the fetid water around, but in others the track was flooded over, and cracked by thick vines that had pushed their way violently through the piled stone.  Every now and again, they had to dismount at Tavius’ direction to lead their horses over wooden planks laid across sudden deep narrow gullies, or slick and uneven muddy streams.   Other times it was simply the thickness of the growth above that forced the riders off their mounts. 

Isis’ light flittered fitfully from the waning moon, hovering somewhere between half and a quarter, casting muted webs of shadows on the companions as they marched deeper into the bog for over an hour on edge with every nearby croak, screech of bats overhead, or random gurgle of the water all around them. But suddenly there was another sound:  A muted neigh followed by some splashing.

Ahead the track veered to the right, and on the left of it was a deep pool of black muck.  The sound came from within the pool.  Timotheus readied his shield and drew his sword.  Telémahkos dismounted and began to load his heavy crossbow.

Laarus of Ra leaned over to Bleys with a smile. “If this is the reaction to a horse, I fear for our future endeavors.” 

“Can we be so sure it is a horse?” Bleys asked, ever-serious.

Tavius spurred his pony forward and raised his lantern as everyone, but Victoria, dismounted.  Those at the front could see the upper portion of a warhorse in the thick muck at the center of the pool.  It was kicking and leaping to free itself, but was only succeeding in wedging itself deeper and deeper. 

Bleys muttered an arcane word and smeared a bit of phosphorescent moss on the bridge of his nose and suddenly the light of Tavius’ lantern shed light twice as far for him.  (2) The watch-mage could see large rounded rocks creating a craggy wall beyond the pool. 

“You heard that?!” Laarus asked.  There was an animalistic clicking coming from beyond the pool.  There was an answering triple-click and a hiss.  Bleys noted glowing eyes low between twq rocks where the sound had come from, but when he turned to get a good look they were gone.

The horse struggled some more. The muck in the pool churned, gurgled and splashed.

“How do you suggest the free the horse?” Timotheus asked Tavius. The local guide shrugged his shoulders.

“It is a waste of time to try to get it out,” Telémahkos said

“My cousin may be right,” Timotheus said.  “It will take a great deal of effort and we still may not succeed in anything but being delayed.”

“I have a spell that could help in freeing the horse,” Markos suggested, moving forward amid the horses.  He had to squeeze by Vaerius who was struggling to keep three horses in line, as the nearby horse in danger was making them skittish.  “But it will take me fifteen minutes to prepare the spell in question…” (3)

“We are here to rescue the knight, not his horse…” Telémahkos said.

“Is there a difference?” Laarus asked. “I mean, might we not need his horse if we rescue him and need a quick escape?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Bleys said with a grunt.  He was loading his heavy crossbow.

“I will prepare the spell.” Markos moved to the back of the line again, and spreading out his cloak, sat down on the track to prepare his spell.

The clicking and hissing came again.

“Tavius, what sort of creature do you think is making that sound?” Timotheus asked the guide.

“Oh that?  That’s them there, muckies… ‘Muckdwellers’ they call them.  We call them lizard rats,” Tavius said. “They generally too afraid to mess with humans, but they are clever.”

”So they are animals?”

“Well, smarter than a dog,” Tavius said. “But not as smart as a human or a greenback…”

There was an excited hiss and the stuck horse let out a stomach-turning scream as a small reptilian creature, vaguely bipedal, with a crest on its head and back, and a stubby tail about half the length of its foot-long body leapt onto its haunch.  It was brown and green, and latched itself onto the side of the horses neck and began to tear small strips of flesh from it.”

“Lizard rat!” cried Tavius.

Bleys the Aubergine’s dark purple robes rippled like shadow in the lantern light as he spun to fire his heavy crossbow at the creature.  The bolt flew high, as he was trying to avoid hitting the horse.

“Let them have the horse!” Markos called to the others, slamming his book shut and giving up on his study. “Why bring them down on us?”

“What a tiny lil thing!” Telémahkos cried.  “It’s almost cute.” He fired his heavy crossbow as well, and also missed.  He turned to his cousin. “Maybe we’d be better off aiming at the horse and putting it out of its misery…”

“Tavius, you have the light, you keep an eye out!” Timotheus ordered, dropping his shield and sword in the mucky gravel and drawing his longbow from his horse.

The horse screamed again and leapt futilely as a second of the creatures leapt upon its flank.   The horse’s agony echoed across the bog, as did the voices of the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland.

“Telémahkos! Timotheus! Beware!”  From her vantage point still atop her horse, the woman warrior had noticed the wake of two small forms approaching the edge of the pool.  Two the tiny reptilian creatures splashed out of the mire about ten feet in front of the line.  With a flick of their little heads, they spat globules of swamp water at the two cousins, but both were able to turn their heads and avoid whatever effect was meant from the attack.

“Ahhh!” Telémahkos’ womanly cry echoed as he panicked and hurled his heavy crossbow at one of the creatures.  As usual, Bes’ luck was with him.  The weapon slammed into the creature and then the bowstring caught about its neck and spun around knocking it twice more before dragging it the muckdweller into the muck it emerged from. (4)

As Laarus moved up, shield strapped to his arm, and drawing his flail, Timotheus sent one of the attacking muckdwellers yelping into the muck as an arrow buried itself in its side.  “Laarus! Don’t get to far too far ahead.  We don’t want to be separated.”

“We are being watched from behind!” came Victoria’s warning from the rear of the line.  She had noted the silhouette of humanoid creature at the edge of the shadowy illumination of Markos’ lantern. 

“Move the horses up,” Markos called to Valerius. “We need to keep the group together, feeling the gap between the rear and the front groups had gotten too wide.  The horse screamed again, and this time it managed to make a great, almost impossible leap. It floundered on its side for a half moment, and then sunk again, having only moved perhaps six or seven feet. In that same moment, two more of the muckdwellers popped up and spat, and this time Timotheus cried out as the burning swamp water blinded him.  He quickly pulled his bow over his shoulder and wiped with one arm, while reaching for his waterskin with the other.

Bleys moved along side Tim and took a shot with his crossbow, missing again.  “I am on your right,” (5) he said to the blinded warrior.  Laarus managed to get near one and crushed its skull with one heavy blow from his flail.

“Mighty Anhur! Our enemies seek to surround us in the darkness!  Give me light to foil their plans!” Victoria prayed and suddenly the tip of her long spear shone like a bright torch.  She raised it up to cast light widely, but the silhouetted figure she had seen was gone.

A third muckdweller was now tearing off chunks of the dying horse, while another popped up and spat at Laarus, blinding him as well.  Tim had given up trying to wash it out and was fumbling on the ground for his sword and shield. 

“Tim! Do you see my crossbow over there?  Can you get it before it sinks?” Telémahkos was on the other side of his horse from the battle, retrieving a dagger and his rapier at a careful pace.  Tavius held both the reins of his pony, and of Tim’s horse, keeping them calm in the chaos of the fight.  He looked over at Telémahkos with astonishment, disgust and amusement.

“That is my master’s horse!” Vaerius cried when he was finally close enough to see into the center of the pool by the lantern light.  He was struggling back and forth to keep the horses calm and move them up the track two at a time at Markos’ direction, but did not seem to be doing it fast enough for the sun-tanned son of House Raymer.  He turned to see if Victoria was following him, but was shocked to see her going back down the track away from the rest of the group.

“Stupid bitch,” he muttered.

“Forget your crossbow! Find my waterskin!” Timotheus yelled back to his cousin as his vision returned.  He scooped up his shield and weapon.  “Let’s keep moving forward and drive these things back.  Keep shooting!”  He charged up and cleaved a skull in twain, and spun to block the spitting attacks of three others with his shield, as he heard them leap up out of the pool at the top of the track.

“How can I shoot without a crossbow?” Telémahkos asked dejectedly.  He stepped out carefully from behind his horse and threw a dagger at one of the muckdwellers menacing Laarus, missing. 

There was a twang as Bleys let loose with another crossbow bolt as he guided Laarus back away from the melee.  However, half a moment later, the priest’s vision returned, as streams of greenish tears poured down his face.  He let loose with a sling stone at one of the muckdwellers on the horse and missed. Noticing the ones at the top of the track he crammed his sling in his belt and drew his flail once again.

Bleys dropped his crossbow and drawing his saber charged into the muckdwellers attacking Timotheus. Laarus of Ra was on his heels. Tim, however, was not having much trouble.  He killed one easily, and another flinched from a swing that missed and then fled. Bleys startled another, and before it could flee, Laarus killed it with a crunch.

“There is not enough room!” Valerius complained.  Markos was still trying to move everyone’s abandoned horses up the narrow track by slapping them on the hindquarters, while Valerius with frazzled nerves tried to keep them calm and move them with more care.  Most of the horses, including the packhorse, were not trained to remain calm in battle situations, and the scent nearby dying horse did not help.

”Whoever it was, is gone,” said Victoria riding up to re-join the others.  The remaining muckdwellers fled into the rocks beyond the pool, laden with huge strips of raw horseflesh.

Telémahkos stepped into the edge of the pool to retrieve his crossbow from the muck, having to reach his arms up to his shoulders to get it.  It would have to be cleaned well before it could be used again.

Victoria described what she saw behind the group, and everyone was fairly certain it was one of the lizardfolk.  

“Well, they know we are coming…” Timotheus said.

“We could have guessed that already,” Markos replied.  

“Could they have sent those creatures after us?” Victoria asked.

“Doubtful,” Markos said. “Most likely they were just drawn by the defenseless horse and thought we would take their dinner from them.”

Hardly more than twenty-five minutes later the gravel track led to rocky island covered in mud and roots, and lined with many small willows.  The moon was setting, but they could see the blue-black outline of great hill before them against the night sky.  They had noticed the hill once or twice before on their journey, looming.

“This where it happened!” Valerius announced.  “My master dismounted over here, and then the lizardfolk emerged from the left and right.”  The squire dismounted and walked over to each spot he was pointing out.

“Lizardfolk of the bog!” Bleys called out into the darkness.  “We have come seeking Sir Quintus Gosprey!  We wish to parley!”  The watch-mage’s words echoed across the swamp.

_to be continued…_

----------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Telémahkos was actually using a combination of handle animal and bluff to delay the group further by pretending to be inept at riding it in the muck.  All the other times during the journey into the swamp where he has horse trouble are similar attempts.

(2)	This spell is _low-light vision_

(3)	The spell he was thinking of is called, _float_.  In Aquerra, wizards may overwrite prepared spells by spending 15 minutes per caster level to do so.  However, the spell to be written over is immediately spoiled when the process of preparation is started.  Thus, if the preparation is interrupted, the wizard merely has an unusable slot until he has an opportunity to begin preparation again.

(4)	On his turn, Telémahkos threw his heavy crossbow taking the –4 penalty for an improvised or non-standard weapon, but hit anyway, and doing enough damage (on 1d3) to take out the 2 hp muckdweller.

(5)	All tactics talk during combat in our games has to be done in character and characters can only speak on their own turn.  This includes aiding/guiding characters that have some form of sensory deprivation, such as being blind.


----------



## Telémakhos

Loving it!

Can't wait for Sunday.


----------



## Manzanita

Well, I managed to get behind on this story hour, and now I realize I shouldn't even be reading it, since I'm involved as a player in a campaign drawing on some of the same source material.  My loss.


----------



## el-remmen

Manzanita said:
			
		

> Well, I managed to get behind on this story hour, and now I realize I shouldn't even be reading it, since I'm involved as a player in a campaign drawing on some of the same source material.  My loss.




Hey Manzanita!

Two things, if your group is ahead in the adventure path (i.e. two or more adventures in) then I don't think it will matter in the present, and since I plan to take it totally in my own direction not based on any of the actual later adventures this will definitely be safe for you to read in the future.

Anyway, at this point we still don't know what the PCs will be doing, so it might be that those hooks are completely ignored anyway.


----------



## handforged

Just noticed the new story and got caught up.  I am really interested in how this story will be "more like normal Aquerra" than the OotFP campaign.  So far the characters are also pretty interesting, but I hope that there is less bickering as they get to know each other.

~hf


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## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> I hope that there is less bickering as they get to know each other.
> 
> ~hf




We have yet to see the light at the end of that tunnel. . .


----------



## Ciaran

The group dynamics in the game are pretty interesting.  There are two pretty stable voting blocs in the group; at three members each, this should keep the party deadlocked, but each character has enough drive and depths to swap sides on one issue or another.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #3 – “Into the Bog” (Part 2 of 3)*

They waited for a while and Bleys called out again, but there was still no answer.

“Okay, but where to now?” Markos asked.  The boy looked around confusedly, so everyone looked to Tavius, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, we never really go very far past this point,” The guide said.  “This length of the track is old, but if I was going to search anywhere around here for a place to hole up with a captive, I’d guess the old Sunra fort at the foot of the north face of the hill over yonder…” Tavius raised his lantern and pointed to the shadow of the bluff ahead of them.

“What can you tell us about this fort?” Timotheus asked.

“Not much,” Tavius replied. “Locals avoid it.  It is mostly fallen apart and not very safe and all sorts of different creatures are said to have laired there at one time or another…”

“While I do not know of this one specifically,” Bleys added. “There are countless ruins like it in this part of Thricia.  The Sunrads were prodigious builders and saw ‘civilizing the world’ as a mandate of Ra.”

There seemed no other choice but to make for the fort, even though they were all exhausted from the day’s long ride on the Beach Road, and their poor horses were beginning to show their weariness as well. 

“The way gets tougher from here, and rather round-about,” Tavius explained. “There is no track this far out, so stay alert and lead your horse where I go… No where else…”

Bleys the Aubergine lit a second gnomish torch as they left, however, their progress was delayed by a sudden stubbornness in Telémahkos’ horse.  The blond son of Briareus dismounted and with the squire’s help began looking for a stone stuck in the animal’s shoe.

“If this keeps up someone is going to have to put that old nag out its misery,” Victoria Ostrander commented, clearly disgusted with Telie’s inability to manage with his horse.

“One thing’s for sure, some nag needs to be put out of her misery…” Telémahkos muttered, and Valerius was aghast when he overheard.  Telie shot him a wink.

Their horses whinnied dolefully as they followed Tavius through shallow water and muck filled gullies and around and over rocky islands.  They noticed the path they followed led away from the north face of the great hill, and while occasionally it would turn towards it, Tavius would lead them away again.  Finally, when they were a few hundred yards from the hill, he had them walk their mounts across a shallow pool of green water, and then take a more direct path around the hill towards the keep.

The moon had sunk beneath the horizon and nearly three hours had gone by before they reached the muddy plain that led to the ruined walls of the keep.  The old fortress itself was naught but a few dark shapes against the night sky, before them was a pool of black water that surrounded the keep’s foundations.  Streams and eddies churned about the mass.

“Lizardfolk of the bog!” Bleys called out to the keep.  “We have come seeking Sir Quintus Gosprey!  We wish to parley!”   An echo was the only response he got.  

Timotheus borrowed Victoria’s spear and tapped the water ahead. The ground was uneven and the deepness varied.

“Can you lead us across this?” Timotheus asked Tavius.

The guide was crouched and looking out across the water.  “Perhaps with some daylight,” he replied sarcastically.

Laarus Raymer of Ra called his god and caused _daylight_ to shine from the guide’s lantern. (1)

“There. Now you have your daylight,” Laarus said, flatly.

”Yeah, and everyone for miles around knows we’re here,” Tavius shielded his eyes from his over-bright lantern, frowning.  “Okay. Let’s go…”

They followed in a close straight line as they made their way across the mud, alert for any movement among the ruin or atop it. The daylight of Tavius’ lantern made certain that anyone for miles around would have a chance of spotting them, so they did not worry to try to hide their approach.   The keep’s gatehouse towers were still standing, though the one on the left had nearly half of it torn away, and no roof.  There was no gate either.  Not that it mattered, there were huge sections of wall missing on the left and right and the taller square towers at the corners were mostly collapsed, with bulging brick walls reinforced with mud.  Vines were growing on everything, and the sheen of swamp water and muck reflected off of everything in the light.

Tavius and Telémahkos remained behind with the horses, while Valerius accompanied the others.

“We may need your sword,” Bleys said to him.

They stood about twenty-five feet from the gate, and the light of the lantern endowed with divine energy showed the remains of some wooden barrier long ago erected to take the place of a gate.  Now its warped planks were half buried in muck.

“Should we go in?” Victoria asked no one in particular.

“Lizardfolk of the bog!” Bleys called out for a third time. “We have come seeking Sir Quintus Gosprey!  We wish to parley!”   

“We should not go into a dark and ruined keep against possible enemies unless we feel we absolutely have to,” Markos said.

“Halt humanssss!” There came a sibilant voice from twenty feet atop the right-hand gatehouse tower.  They looked up to see a green and brown mottled lizardman. They thought of him as a man, but truth be told there was no way to tell gender with his kind.  He had brown comb atop his head, and similar hard ridges on his shoulders. He wore a leather smock tied with a snakeskin belt. On his back was a quiver of javelins.  They could not make out the weapons at his belt; swords of some kind.  “You are forbizzen here!” He hissed.  “Go awaysss and zoo not zome bazk!”

Bleys the Aubergine looked at each of his companions as if to give opportunity to stop him from speaking for them, but no one said a word.  “I am Bleys the Aubergine, watch-mage, and Alumnus of the Academy of Wizardry. My companions and I come seeking Sir Quintus Gosprey.  We heard word that some of your kind may have taken him captive.  Do you hold him?”

“No…” the lizardman hissed. “Uh… No… No…”

“Well, that wasn’t very convincing,” Tim smirked.

“That is certainly one of the creatures that took my master!” Valerius cried out and pointed his sword up at the tower. Bleys cuffed the boy without a second thought, and Valerius reached for his mouth and turn away. 

“Shut up, boy.” Markos said to add insult to injury.

“That boy claims it was your people who took him,” Bleys called up.

“Who are you?” the lizardman asked.

“I already said, I am Bleys the Aubergine, and we are representatives of the Margrave,” replied Bleys. “And what might we call you.”

“Am called Chok’tem,” the lizardfolk said. “Now humans go.  Danger there isss for you heres…”

There issued from within the darkness of the ruined keep a murmur like the voice of a man. The companions looked to each other, and Laarus put his hand on the pommel of his flail.

“Are you sure there are no humans in there?” Bleys asked.  “We thought we heard a voice…”

“Many soundssss ssswampsss many soundsss,” Chok’tem replied. The lizardman looked back over his shoulder, and then down at the group.

“Perhaps you should call on the Covenant,” Victoria said, moving her horse over to be near the watch-mage. 

“We have no desire to violate the Thrician Racial Covenant, and seek only the abducted knight,” Bleys said.  “We do not want to violate your laws… Perhaps you might allow us to look around the keep under your watchful eye, and see for ourselves that no man is held within it.”

“We hassss sssssigned no Covenant,” Chok’tem replied.  He seemed voice seemed dismissive.

“Well that settles that then,” Laarus commented.

“We can hear him inside, Chok’tem,” Markos called up.  “Can we not reach an agreement for his return?  What is it you seek?  Perhaps we can help you get it…?”

“No more promisessss,” Chok’tem replied.  “The humansss lie and did not keep words given.  He must be kept until the time passes…”

“So you _do_ have him…” Markos said.

”Is someone there?” came the voice of a man from within the keep.  “Hello?”  The voice was abruptly cut-off.

“No… Uh, yessss…” Chok’tem said, confused as to what to say.  “Here he must stay until the time is over,  Go now.  There is danger here for humanss…”

“Danger here?  Are you the danger?” Bleys asked.  “Do you plan to harm Sir Quintus?”

“What is this ‘time’ you speak of? Markos asked.

“Issss our businessssss,” Chok’tem hissed.  “Issss bezween ussss and the humanssss knight… We will not harm him.  He mussssst sssstay here until the time issss passssst.”

“And then you will let him go?” Bleys asked.

“Yessssss…”

“Why?” Victoria called up.  “Why must this time go by?”

“Issss our businessssss,” Chok’tem said again.

“And how long is this ‘time’?” Markos asked.

“Variesssss,” Chok’tem replied.  “Three rissssingsssss, four, five, maybe six rissssingss and settingsss of the sun…”

The party discussed the situation quietly among themselves, coming to the general agreement that the lizardfolk must feel betrayed by the humans for some reason, and this was their attempt to remedy it.  Nearly everyone also seemed to feel that the knight was in no immediate danger of being killed, however, Laarus was unsure as he felt Chok’tem’s attitude was one of evasion and lies.

“He said they did not hold him, and even after we heard his voice the first time the greenback denied it,” the priest said.  “Suddenly he admits it so we forget the lie?  They hold the knight and are not under the jurisdiction of the Thrician Racial Covenant… We would be in our rights to go in and free the knight by force if we have to…”

“He has said repeatedly that they plan him no harm,” Markos replied.

“They lied once, why not again?” Laarus said.

“And you plan him no harm, correct?” Markos called up to the lizardman again.

“No harm.  No harm.  We know the men will come from the fortress… Many men… if he is killed… We have no zesire to see him harmed…”

“Hmmmm, that’s a good point,” Timotheus murmured scratching his chin.  “Valerius, how many men does Sir Quintus’ father have at Gullmoor?”

“Um… maybe two dozen that can be readied quickly…” The squire replied.

“Chok’tem!” Timotheus called up.  “If we cannot see Sir Quintus for ourselves, we will be forced to go to the keep and return with soldiers…”

“No!” Chok’tem nearly growled.  “Thissss isss our busssinesss…  He wasssss to speak for usssss to Lord Swann… He gave empzy words… The wordssss of men are empzy…”

“But how can he speak to Lord Swann for you if you hold him?” Markos said.  “What if one of us were to take his place here, and we could escort him back to his keep and make sure he talks with Lord Swann on your behalf…”

“Lord Swann would not be at Gullmoor…” Timotheus whispered.

“Shush!” Markos admonished.

“We should leave the squire in his place,” Laarus suggested quietly, leaning over to Bleys. 

The watch-mage frowned.

“Is it not the duty of a squire to help his master in all ways?” Laarus asked the watch-mage. “Sir Quintus’ presence unharmed will help in our negotiation with House Swann in figuring out how to deal with this whole situation, and we can hear his side of the story…”

“We shall leave his squire in his place!” Bleys called up to Chok’tem. “He is as valuable a captive…”

“Bleys! We will do no such thing!” Timotheus protested.

“Imzzoszzsible…” Chok’tem replied.  “No more worzs may be spoken until the time has passed… You must not go and tell them.  You must let the time pass…”

“If you cannot tell us what this ‘time’ is and what purpose it serves we cannot help you…” Markos changed his tact.

“Issss not my place to sssay…” the lizardman said.  “Isssss our business… And ourssss alone… Bezween ussss and the knight…”

“So, Sir Gosprey promised them something and then did not follow through and now they are holding him for some amount of time…” Markos pondered the question aloud, turning to the group. “Perhaps they need for him to witness something?  The consequences of his betrayal…?”

“You are grasping at straws,” Victoria said.

“When straws are all you have to grasp on to…” Markos turned away again.

Telémahkos began to approach the fort as well, impatient for news of the discussion, as he could hear nothing from where he stood with Tavius.

“May we at least camp here and rest our horses?” Telemahkos called up.  “We have ridden them all night and they are near exhaustion.”

“Yes, in the day time we may talk again and come to some compromise…” Markos added.  “We will leave when the sun rises again.”

”Wait!” Chok’tem disappeared from the top of the derelict tower, but another lizardfolk in a leather smock and similarly armed took his place, but stood further back from the edge, not acknowledging the party.

“You think he’s not the leader?” Timotheus asked. “Is he going to get permission?”

Markos shrugged.

“So we came this far only to wait?” Victoria asked.

“Let whatever will happen happen under the light of Ra’s Glory in the morning, when we and our mounts are rested and ready for the challenge,” Laarus said.

Chok’tem returned more than twenty minutes later.  “You may campsss on the muzz plain,” he told them, pointing back the way they came. “We will sssspeak again in the next rissssing… And you plan to leave zen, or the rissssing afzer the one to zome?”

“After the next,” Markos replied.  “The next rising is too soon to make a difference…”

“Yessss…”

Markos, Victoria, Timotheus, Bleys, Laarus, Telémahkos and Valerius rode back to where Tavius waited and then back out to the muddy plain where they made a camp the best they could and gave the last of the feed to the horses.

“Well… I’ll be heading back then…” said Tavius as the others settled down.  “I’ll be taking those two silvers ya owe me on being led to the greenbacks…”

“How much?” Markos asked.

“Uh… Two silvers…We agreed that you’d pay me one up front and another two when I led you,” Tavius said.  “Well, you’ve been led.”

“The agreement was for one piece of silver upfront and another when you had led us to the lizardfolk,” Markos said, and Bleys nodded.  “Who said it was two?”

“Uh… Are you sure it wasn’t two?” Tavius looked nervously from Markos to Bleys and then to Telémahkos.  “Maybe it was Master Telémahkos that said it…”

“Oh! It is only two silvers!  He did a good job! Give it to him,” Telémahkos said, covering his subterfuge.

Markos nodded and handed over the coins, but then said again.  “How much?  How much more to have you stay and lead us back when we are done here?”

“Well, it is really not an issue of coin…” Tavius began, rubbing the back of his neck, picking at a cake of dirt that was building there.  “It is coming on dawn and my son will be waiting for me to take the boats into the deep bog… And then in then afternoon I have to help the old lady gather the peat…”

“How much? How much to compensate you for another day’s work?” Markos continued to ask.

“Well, not less than uh… another two silvers…” Markos gave him one coin now, and would give him the other when they returned to Bog End.

“This is turning into an expensive guide,” Timotheus commented.

They set a watch, Laarus taking part in the first shift so he could prepare spells at dawn.  It was mid-afternoon before they were all awake once again.

_to be continued. . ._
-----------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) *Glory of Ra:* A Priest of Ra may expend a turning attempt to cast _daylight_ with a range of 60 feet. This may be cast on a willing target, or else centered on any inanimate object or point in space. For purposes of duration, make a turning check to determine the caster's effective level. Note that a _daylight_spell centered on the caster is also always the additional result of a successful turning attempt; this lasts ten rounds.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #3 – “Into the Bog” (Part 3 of 3)*

Anulem, the 14th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

“I think the next time we parley with the lizardfolk I shall reveal that I speak their language,” Markos announced.

“Wait!  You can speak their language?” Timotheus was astounded.  “Why did you not say anything before?”

“Well, I figured it might be best to hold this back in case we might be able to learn something if they assumed we could not understand their tongue and spoke freely before us,” Markos explained.  “But now I think I think it will be better to reveal it and hope that wins us some sympathy in their eyes, and it will help us communicate better in our negotiations and assure some understanding…”

“I speak some _hobbo_, but I don’t expect that to endear me with any of them,” Telémahkos said with a grin.

“I am nearly out of provisions,” Victoria said.  In fact, all of their supplies were running low, having expected to get to New Harbinger a day ago.  In addition, the horses would need to be brought somewhere to graze.”

“We should trade with the lizardfolk,” Markos suggested. “If they live here they must have some provisions, plus it will give us a chance to talk to them some more.”

“I was thinking about the situation,” Bleys said, in his normal quiet tones. “And I was wondering, if Sir Quintus had dealings with the lizardfolk as we suspect, why did he leave the hunt for the bandits to come find them?”

“Perhaps the lizardfolk know something of the bandits,” Markos suggested.

“If I may interrupt, sirs,” Valerius said, his eager energy much dampened by Bleys’ blow in the pre-dawn hours. “But my master never had any dealings or contact with lizardfolk that I ever knew…”

“And who would know better what a knight does than his squire who is always with him?” Timotheus said.

“How long have you been his squire, boy? Bleys asked Valerius.

“A little more than four months…”

The watch-mage turned back to Timotheus. “So what he knows or does not know of his master from so short a time has no bearing.   The connection could have easily have been made before then…”

They rode back down to the keep, their mounts all cranky from the days’ long rides.  Once again Tavius stayed with the packhorse and his pony further away from the keep.  

It took a long time for Chok’tem to appear at the tower again.  They called for over twenty-minutes and even considered that the lizardfolk might have fled in the darkness of the pre-dawn hours, but in the end the reptilian humanoid in his cured leather smock hailed them with a hiss.

Markos called up a greeting in the lizardman tongue.

“Why did you not say you could speak our tongue when we spoke last?” Chok’tem asked, suspicious.

“We were communicating fine in Common, I saw no need, especially since it hurts my throat to speak it,” Markos replied.

“Yes, your accent is strange,” Chok’tem said, and then snorted.  It might have been a laugh.

Markos negotiated the trade of two daggers for some provisions.  They left the daggers by the gate and left for less than an hour.  When they returned there was a sack on a post, and inside were four fat leeches three long, and a giant snail with its shell cracked open and about a forth of the meat inside torn out.

“Oh delicious!” Telémahkos sneered.

“Well, the snail is good,” Markos said with a forced smile.  He looked up to the lizardfolk.  “Thank you Chok’tem…Have you considered our offer from yesterday?”

“Sir cannot leave until the time has past, Chok’tem said, reiterating his vague reasons from the day before.  “There is danger here for you humans… You should go and leave us to our business… Tell no one…”  He spoke in his own tongue, Markos translating.

Suddenly, there was cry of agony from within the ruined keep.  It was definitely a human voice.

“Is that Sir Quintus?” Markos called up.  “Is he being killed?”

“No,” replied Chok’tem.  “We do not wish to see him killed…”

“So, perhaps they only torture him,” Laarus commented to his companions, his face growing flush with anger at the contemplation of it.

“They said they wish him no harm,” Bleys said.  “I do not think he is being tortured…”

There was a sound and movement from the top of the tower.  Another of the lizardfolk arrived and spoke with Chok’tem in whispered tones.  

“I shall return,” he told the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland, and disappeared into the keep, leaving the other of his kind behind to stand guard.

“And what is _your_ name?” Markos called up to the new lizardfolk.  He was lighter in color, and the mottled brown of his reptilian hide was in larger scattered splotches.  He too had a crest on his head, though smaller than Chok’tem’s.

The lizardfolk replied with a collection of syllables and hisses that made Markos scratch is head.  He gave the name a try, but the lizardman shook his head and said it again.

“Klock’chtok?” Markos tried again.

“Yessssss…”

“Where has Chok’tem gone?”

“He is called away…”

“Is Chok’tem the leader?” Markos asked, continuing his inquiry

“How long are we going to wait?  You heard his cry…” Laarus said to the others.

“We cannot just charge in there…” Timotheus said.

“Charging in there is exactly what we should do,” Laarus replied overly loud.  Klock’chtok broke off his conversation with Markos to call a warning into the keep that the adventurers might be charging in.

“We plan to do no such thing,” Markos called up to the guard.  He then looked to his companions.  “Right?”

“Would someone care to go for a ride?” Bleys asked.

“I do not believe this is the time for that…” Victoria began

“We may be forbidden to enter the keep, but I thought we might get a better look at its dimensions by riding around it,” Bleys replied quietly.

The chatter was broken by another agonizing cry from within the keep.  Laarus Raymer of Ra did not hesitate, and drawing his flail he spurred his horse.  But Bleys reached out and grabbed the reins of the priest’s horse.

“Be not a fool!  They are prepared for a charge! At the very least let us go around,” the watch-mage said.

“Then go around!” Laarus replied sternly.  Bleys let go and the priest charged in, calling on Ra to _bless_ their coming battle.  Victoria and her mount charged right in after him.  

Past the gatehouse, the inner keep was a mess of broken walls, and pools of stagnant water collecting on the uneven ground, and seeping out where stone had sunken into the loam.  There was a stone building lacking a roof in the center of what was once a great courtyard, but the wall that stood behind it was now piles of rocks in a great pool of green water being fed by countless little streams from all directions.

Victoria reared up at a thickly woven straw mat over fifteen feet to a side laying in the middle of the courtyard, not far from the broken wall that led into the roofless building.  Two lizardfolk, also in leather smocks, stood at each side of the ten-foot gap, hissing and brandishing machetes.  They were dark green and mottled with brown, and had lower thicker crests on their heads that resembled Klock’chtok than Chok’tem.

But Laarus charged on and as the mats gave way beneath his horse’s front hooves it reared up and whinnied in dismay.  The animal kicked it forelegs and spun itself frantically, while Laarus held on desperately, trying to retain control.  At least he had not ridden into the pit the mat, now askew, had hidden beneath it.

“Going around will give them a chance to kill Sir Quintus! Charge!” Markos said as he spurred his horse to charge in as well.  Timotheus was right behind him, yelling, “Sir Quintus! Shout as loud as you can so we know where you are!”  Valerius went with them.

Bleys looked to Telémahkos.  The son of Briareus had not made a move to follow the others.  He met the watch-mage’s glance and nervously pulled at some loose blond strands sticking out from his old-fashioned helmet.  

“Shall we go around?” Bleys the Aubergine asked his companion, gesturing over to the north side of the keep.  Telémahkos nodded, so the watch-mage turned his horse and led the way carefully through one of the broader streams and around the crumbling outer tower.

Klock’chtok let out a violent set of barks and hisses towards the stone building.  He had moved over on the gatehouse tower to look into the courtyard, and saw Timotheus come bursting into the courtyard, while Markos hung back near the gatehouse.  He knew that the lizardman guard was calling to Chok’tem for permission to attack.

“Chok’tem! It is not too late to reveal Sir Quintus! We can still parley and no blood need be shed!” Markos called.

“They have me in here!” came a strained voice from the stone building.  “They have me in here! Just don’t kill them!”

“_Approach,_” Victoria said to Klock’chtok, divine authority in her voice. The lizardman climbed over the crumbling wall and hanging there for a moment jumped, landing painfully on one leg that collapsed beneath his weight.

Timotheus rode right up to the entrance to the building and could see the corner of some kind of wooden cage, but an uneven brick wall obscured most of it.  There was a narrow stream running into a pool collecting in one corner and a rotting wooden door acted as a kind of footbridge.  

The lizardman on the right grabbed at Tim, but as the tall man shifted in his saddle to avoid being grappled, the horse was spooked and reared.  Timotheus landed on his hands and knees, spinning at the last minute to land softly.  The horse snorted and turned taking off for the center of the courtyard again.  Markos moved his horse over and grabbed the creature’s reins to calm it and keep it from riding off into a bog.  “Chok’tem, it is not too late! Bring him forth!”

“You have broken your word!” came the lizardman’s voice in his breathy broken Common.  He was inside the stone building, beside the wooden cage.  “Why sssshould we bezieve?  Rezreat now! Leave! And zhen no bloodsssshed!”

“I have him covered, Sir!” Valerius the Squire rode over to aid Timotheus, and he stabbed at the lizardman on the left with his short sword, but the blow was parried by the creature’s machete.

“Let me out!  Valerius, is that you?! Let me out!  They are liars!” Sir Quintus’ cries were interrupted by a bellow of agony and the sound of vomit splattering.

Laarus of Ra finally got his horse turned around and under control, and rode up to cover the lizardman that had grabbed at Timotheus, allowing the broad young veteran to crawl to his feet unattacked.

“Halt! Or this one dies!” Victoria yelled unheard across the courtyard where the fight was too chaotic to notice much beyond it.  She had her long spear trained on the neck of Klock’chtok, who was slowing getting to his feet.

Machetes rang against Timotheus’ saber as he rushed into the building past the lizardfolk guards.  He was startled to see Bleys the Aubergine carefully guiding his horse into the building from another huge gap in the wall, this one in the rear right corner, where a tendril of the green pool at the rear of the ruin entered. 

In the rear left corner was a cage made of tall thick wooden stakes driven deep into the earth.  There was no door.  Inside was a tall man with long curly brown hair and wearing a dull gray breastplate that hung awkwardly on his swollen frame.  He was clearly young, but his face was sallow and dirty, and he had the grizzle of beard coming in.  It was Sir Quintus Gosprey.  He had no weapons.  

Chok’tem was standing by the cage, and a fifth lizardman stepped towards Timotheus.

“Victoria!  They are not listening to you! They attacked!” Telémahkos informed the militant of Anhur.  He did not follow Bleys.  Instead, he drove his light warhorse back towards the gatehouse from the other side, and attempted to trample Klock’chtok with his horse.  The lizardman rolled out of the way, and Victoria’s cover of the creature was blocked.  She tried to smack him with the side of her spear, but Klok rolled and crawled further down the cracked curtain wall, into a an area where water pooled about a foot deep.

“Chok’tem, I am sorry that we will have to risk harming you to subdue you,” Markos said to the lizardfolk leader.  He had ridden his horse around the straw mat and was looking past the fray into the building.  “If only you had told us what was actually happening… _Sagitta Magicus!_”  An arrow of shining liquid slammed into Chok’tem’s side.

Chok’tem hissed angrily and leapt over the stream to help his companion flank Timotheus.  Tim was holding his own against the machete blows of the first foe, but Chok’tem clearly had a puissant of arms the others did not.  He held a machete in one clawed hand and a short sword in the other.  Tim spun, but felt the machete sliced his wrist open, even as the shortsword blade was slammed against his side, making his armor ring.

“Out of the way! I don’t want to fight, but I will kill you in I have to,” Timotheus warned, as he blocked and spun again, side-stepping to put his back to the wall.

“Call them off and we can still help you,” Bleys was saying to Sir Quintus.  The watch-mage rode right up to the cage.  The knight opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly doubled-over.  Bleys noted a trailing stain of green and yellow vomit on the man’s chin, neck and breastplate.

“Good watch-mage,” Quintus croaked.  “There has been a misunderstanding… Just let me free and we will flee…”

“Tell them to surrender, or we will show no mercy,” Victoria said to Klok t’chok, still back near the entrance to the ruin.  She hesitated to move against the lizardman, as Telémahkos turned his horse around by the gatehouse.

“Are you going to fight him or talk him to death?” Telémahkos asked the militant.  Klok tried to edge out of the reach of Telie’s lance, and the blond ne’er-do-well reflexively stabbed.  There was a jet of green blood as the lizardman fled around the corner of the broken outer wall.

“Victoria! Telémahkos! I know you are nobles and all, but perhaps you can stop chasing a straggler and come help Tim and Laarus,” Markos called to them.  He had stopped his horse outside of the building, as Valerius and Laarus still struggled with the lizardmen guards at the entrance.  The squire was seriously wounded, and Laarus was covered in both green and red blood, swinging his flail from horseback.

“You are not taking me down,” Timotheus grunted, as he went on the defensive and backed into a corner.  Chok’tem and the other lizardman moved in and pinned him into his position.  “Help!” he added.

Bleys awkwardly loaded his heavy crossbow on horseback, still looking at Sir Quintus, “Let us see if at the end of crossbow bolt you are more willing to speak clearly about what is happening here…”  But half a moment later, the watch-mage was startled by Chok’tem.  “This is our businesssss!  I said, thisssss wasss our businessss!” The lizardman hissed.   Bleys cried out in pain as he was clipped by the machete, and his horse reared, dropping him into the stream.   Whinnying with terror, the horse road off.

Bleys quickly got to his feet and left his crossbow on the ground, drawing his saber with a ring.

A huge chunk of wall fell away as Telémahkos’ lance bit deep into it.  Klock’chtok had stepped out of the way.  Victoria turned away from this battle and charged into the melee at the entrance to the building. The lizardman facing Laarus of Ra, though wounded, was managing to avoid or block most of the priest’s blows. He side-stepped to avoid one more, but did not notice the militant until it was too late.  He stepped right into range of Victoria’s long spear.  He bellowed and fell over bleeding out.  Laarus did not hesitate.  He leapt off his horse and hurried into the building to flank the foe Timotheus still faced.

Victoria came to Valerius’ aid, as the boy was still struggling against the first foe.

“Let’s just get out of here!” Telémahkos cried out, riding away from Klock past the straw-covered hole.

Markos rode his horse over to take Victoria’s place in aiding Telémahkos, as Klok emerged from the shadow of the wall, to stand next to the edge of a cracked well with a rotted wooden cover. The lizardman now had a javelin in his off hand.

“Nice to act the way your father expects and not the way he hopes…” Markos mocked Telémahkos, so the latter spun his horse around again, and again charged with his lance at Klock’chtok.   A sudden puff of fine yellow particles like pollen roiled out of the pit as Telémahkos rode by, but he rode out of it quickly and did not notice any affect.  He could not tell what exactly it had come from.

Klock’chtok growled as he felt the bite of the lance in the thick meat of his hip.  The lizardman leapt back and let a javelin fly, but he misjudged his step and slipped, leaving him open to another attack. (1)  Markos threw a dagger that missed.  “Get on your belly and I will have them spare you,” he hissed at the severely wounded Klok in the creature’s tongue.  But there was no time to react, Telémahkos charged in again and there was an explosion of blood, as the off-balance lizardman could not avoid the lance.  Klock’chtok fell over, apparently dead before he splashed into the muck.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this,” Telie smiled.

Bleys cried out as Chok’tem’s short sword bit into his foot.  The watch-mage sidestepped and took up a defensive posture, blocking machete blows that would have cleaved his head from his shoulders.  He struggled so hard to keep himself alive, having no opportunity to look for his own openings to attack.

“Chok’tem! Just stop!” Sir Quintus hung on to the wooden bars as if he might fall over. “I will get them to stop and spare you!”

“Thanks, Laarus!” Timotheus said, as he and the priest dogged the other lizardman in the stone building.  A hack from Timotheus’ saber cut the nub of an ear from the creature, and it was stunned, dropping its machete and clutching at the side of its head. (2)

“Chok’tem! One of your kin is dying!” Victoria called into the house.  “Finish this now, or I will finish him!”  She stood over the crumpled form of one of the lizardfolk at the entrance, while Valerius was hurrying his horse around the building to enter from the other gap in the wall.

“Zell them the businesssss! Tell them!” Chok’tem slammed the side of his sword against the wooden bars as he hissed at Quintus.  Suddenly, Valerius was riding his horse right into the building and stabbing at Chok’tem.  The lizardman leader retaliated, but his blow was blocked.

“Valerius! Noooo!” Quintus cried out.

“Yes! Explain the business,” Bleys said, stepping up to the cage as well. 

“Valerius, stand down!” Victoria ordered the boy, and the squire dismounted, to stand next to Bleys.

“Yes… Yes… This can all be explained,” Sir Quintus said.  He looked up at the gathering warriors with bloodshot eyes, but suddenly a change came over his face as he gripped the bars and tried shaking them loose.  “But just get me out! Get me out!”

Laarus’ flail struck the lizardman he and Tim were fighting in the head and the creature went down. Still wary, Timotheus stepped over near the cage.  “All right, we are not attacking… Now explain!”

Bleys stepped in to support the tall veteran.

“He… It’ssss…” Chok’tem hesitated. “It is the Sssshannis’ effect.  He can’t be without it.  We are breaking him…”

“Victoria! Victoria!” came Telémahkos voice from out in the courtyard.  “Some kind of yellow powder came out of that pit and Markos breathed it in!”  The former sailor had ridden by the pit, in trying to get to the stone pit and the a great cloud of the stuff had erupted from below.

The Militant of Anhur spun around in her saddle to see Markos, face covered in the yellow powder that emerged from the pit, crouching down to slide the thatched straw cover off the pit.  Markos’ horse was walking calmly away.

“Do something! Knock him down! Grab him!” Telémahkos cried.

“Gladly…” Victoria turned her horse around and rode with great speed, reaching down the grab Markos’ thin form, however, Markos shied away and leapt right into the pit.   Victoria reared her horse and as she was turning again, there was another blast of the yellow powder.  It had deliciously sweet smell she could not resist.  She dismounted and began to walk towards the pit.

Inside the building, Telémahkos could hear Sir Quintus weeping.

*End of Session #3*

-----------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Klol ch’tok fumbled, getting this effect: _Off Balance._ Make Balance check vs. DC 20 or be flat-footed for one round.  (See also: Critical Fumble Results – All Weapons)

(2) Timotheus scored a critical hit.  The result was: Apply Crit Multiplier to Damage Roll – Reflex Save (DC 10 + ½ damage) or Ear Removed, Stunned for one round. - Note: that  “Multiplier to Damage Roll” means that only the die is rolled the extra times, any bonuses to damage are not multiplied. (See also: Critical Hit Results – Slashing, and Applying Critical Results)


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #4 – “Delirium Tremens” (part 1 of 4)* (1)

“Timotheus! Are you all right?” Telémahkos called into the building while giving the pit a wide berth.  He was still on horseback, and leaned forward to get a look into what was going on in the building.  “There is some sort of strange yellow powder out here, and Markos has leapt into the pit!”

Timotheus and Bleys had Chok’tem penned in a corner made by Sir Quintus’ cage and the stone wall behind it. Laarus of Ra left the bleeding lizardfolk he had just defeated and calling to Ra, stepped behind Timotheus and healed some of the tall veteran’s wounds.

“No! Victoria! Stay out!” Telémahkos was heard to say as he rode his horse through the gap in the wall.  The militant of Anhur had leapt off her horse and into the uncovered pit as well.  A sweet smell rose out from within it.  Victoria’s horse snorted and turned, and began to walk slowly towards the pit as well.

“Bines my companionssss woundssss and I will sssee to yoursss,” Chok’tem hissed to Bleys, looking right at the watch-mage.  The lizardman put away his weapons and raised his hands, looking as if he wanted to step by them.  “And keep everyonessss away from pit…”

Seeing that the lizardfolk no longer wanted to fight (there was another that withdrew from melee, waiting tensely in the corner), Timotheus gave Chok’tem room to pass, heading to the gap in the wall to talk to Telémahkos who was keeping a safe distance from the pit.  “What the hell is going on?”

“Can you bind, boy?” Bleys looked to Valerius the squire, and pointed to the lizardman bleeding out nearby.  Valerius nodded and in a moment the two of them were doing their best to stabilize the reptilian foe.  Luckily, Bleys the Aubergine always carried a healing kit, even if lizardfolk physiology was alien to him.

With a muted scream, Argos, Victoria’s warhorse followed her blindly into the pit, the equine’s face covered in the yellow pollen.  There was a loud crunch from below. The scream stopped.

“Oh no!” Timotheus said.  The tall warrior stepped towards the pit, but Telémahkos leaned over and stopped him.  “Victoria is in there, too, but you have to stay away from it, or you’ll be affected, too.” From his perch atop the horse he could see green creeping vines clinging to the side of the pit.  There were some sort of large leaves as well, but he did not get a good glimpse, and it was too deep to see Markos or Victoria; only Argos’ flailing legs.

Chok’tem leapt into the pit, as the other conscious lizardfolk stood at its edge.  There was another blast of the yellow pollen from below, but the lizardmen did not seem concerned. (2)

Laarus of Ra was crouched over another of the lizardmen, binding its wounds frantically.  He looked up at the pit through the gap in the wall and called to anyone who would listen, “What did he mean help them?  What is happening down there?”

“Jusssss sssstay back!” Chok’tem called out as he hefted something from the pit towards his companion.  “Help my people…”

“You know, if we’re not supposed to kill them anymore, and uh… actually help them, then…” Telémahkos looked down at Timotheus from his horse as the latter led the former’s mount away from the building.  Telie’s eyes shifted back and forth guiltily, and his shoulders were hunched.  He pointed across the rubble-strewn courtyard of the ruined keep. “Then, uh… that one over there wasn’t looking too good after I ran him down…” He was referring to Klock’chtok.   “Maybe we should go hide the body…?” He added in a whisper.

Timotheus shook his head in utter disbelief of the sudden turn in the situation.  “Go!” He sent Telémahkos riding across the courtyard to see to the lizardman, as he grabbed his own horse, which was wandering nervously nearby.  “Laarus!” He called to the priest of Ra. “There is another over here that is gravely injured!” And he rode in that direction as well.

Timotheus arrived in time to see Telémahkos leap back startled as he let go of Klock’chtok’s leg.  When he had pulled at the motionless lizardman to drag the body off, it had turned and moaned and a new gout of fresh green blood exploded from its wounds.  “Oops!”  Tim leapt off his horse and the two of them began to tear their cloaks and togas to bind the dying thing’s wounds.

“Laarus!” Timotheus called again.  “This one is going to die without a touch of Ra’s blessing!”

“I assume you’ll help me if it seeks revenge on me, right?” Telémahkos asked nervously, his shaking hands covered in viscous green.

Laarus was still binding the lizardman on his own when he saw Markos being pulled away from the pit by one of Chok’tem’s companions.

“I can do nothing for this one,” Bleys announced, standing away from the dying lizardman he and Valerius were working on.  “Timotheus cut him too deep.” (3)

Unbidden, Valerius Tarchon crawled over to give what aid he could to Laarus, while Bleys hurried over to check on Markos.  The tanned head and neck of the former sailor was covered in fine mucus filled with yellow spores.  He shivered and jerked and his eyes fluttered open and closed.   “_Perceptio veneris_” Bleys cast his cantrip to reassure himself that yes, Markos indeed poisoned.

Moments later, Victoria was pulled out by Chok’tem and the other lizardman.  She too had the spore-filled mucus about her head and was suffering some kind of palsy and stupor.  Markos sat up and wiped the stuff from his face, coughing and shaking his head.  He looked at his hands and saw the mucus all over them, and wondered at it for a moment.

“It was like a dream,” he said to Bleys. “The leaf with yellow frills enveloped my head and then blackness… peace…”

Laarus and Valerius succeeded in staunching the wounds of the lizardman they were working on and discovered the one Bleys abandoned was still alive and went to work on that one.  Out in the courtyard, Telémahkos and Timotheus bickered and stopped and started again, but it was no use.  Klock’chtok shuddered and died.

In the ruined building, Laarus and Valerius succeeded in saving the other dying lizardman.

“I am glad everyone finally came to their senses,” Markos announced with an air of self-satisfaction that turned to sorrow when he saw that Klock’chtok was dead.

Telémahkos moved away as Chok’tem approached.

“I… I am sorry your friend died,” Timotheus said awkwardly.

“Klock’chtok…” Chok’tem kneeled beside his dead companion and lifted its head onto his lap with affection.  He looked right into the dead lizardfolk’s eyes. “You were my clutch-brother, born of my brood…”  Markos translated the words quietly for the others.  And then suddenly, Chok’tem took a huge bloody bite from the side of Klock’chtok’s neck, and choked down the huge hunk of flesh.
“Isis!” Timotheus swore and leapt back, while Telémahkos who had crept forward again, curious as to what was going on, turned his head and heaved up his trail rations.

Chok’tem grabbed Klock’chtok’s corpse by the leg and dragged the corpse across the courtyard with disregard for any respect for the dead. Klock’chtok had ceased to be a friend or companion to Chok’tem.  He was now simply meat.

Victoria Ostrander had lost her senses.  She had been under the effect of the ‘yellow musk plant’ much longer than Markos, and babbled incoherently to herself, and was fascinated by shiny things.  Bleys and Timotheus helped to get her out of her armor, and took turns keeping her out of trouble.  She was like as an adult-sized child, and a slow child at that. (4)

”Ha! Frog talk!” she laughed and pointed at Chok’tem when the lizardman spoke.

“How long will she be like this?”  Bleys asked. 

“Dependsss,” the lizardman replied.  “Two or four days.” He held up two and then four of his gray-clawed fingers.

“I am sorry that this foolishness led to the death of your companion,” Bleys said to the lizardman leader.

“He is gone and his sssspirit will go back into the tribe even assss hissss former flessssh will feed the broodlingssss,” the lizardmasn explained.  “It wasss our own fault to trussst the humansss…” 

“And what is this ‘Shannis effect’?” the watch-mage asked.

“Heh, drugs…” Timotheus said derisively when he heard Chok’tem explain that Shannis was a drug made from the pollen of the yellow musk plant and a local mushroom spore.  He pulled out his steel flask of foul spirits and took a long swig, offering some to his companions.   Sir Quintus was still weeping, huddled in a ball in a corner of the makeshift cage.

“Sir Quintus… Are you ready to talk?” Markos asked. “How shall you have us handle this to avoid scandal?”

“You must wait the time…” Chok’tem said.  “His mind will come and go…”

“No… I can talk… I…” Sir Quintus Gosprey coughed and turned around to sit with his back to the wall.  His face was sallow, and his eyes narrow slits of bleary red.  “Is Valerius here?”

“No, we sent him to see to the horses,” Bleys said.

“Good… I do not want him to see me like this… I don’t not want him to know…”

“I think it may be too late for that, but nevertheless he is not here now,” Timotheus said.

The knight let out a weak sob and was silent for a long moment.

“The time must be waited,” Chok’tem said. “Hissss reassson will come and go…”

Markos shook his head, looking over the cowering knight, the unconscious lizardfolk, and then his injured companions. “This is so typical of what happens when…”  He stopped himself.

“Typical of what?” Timotheus asked.  “When what?”
Markos looked hesitant to continue, but now everyone was looking at him.

“Typical of… uh, when those in power… um… decide they want to play,” he finally replied nervously, but his words gained more surety as he spoke.  “Usually others pay for their fun…”

“Well…” Timotheus began, but he was interrupted by the croak of Sir Quinuts’ voice. “He is right… This is all my fault…”

The knight sat up again and looked at the young nobles outside his cage and shuddered.

“You broke your promisssss!” Chok’tok pointed a clawed finger accusingly at Sir Quintus, hissing.

“When I first…” Sir Quintus looked up suddenly and looked around wide-eyed.  “Is Valerius here?”

“No, he is out tending the horses,” Timotheus replied.

“His reason is addled by the Shannis, or lack thereof,” Bleys said. “He has asked that and I have told him already…”

“I just want to be sure…” Sir Quintus’ voice was raw whisper.  “I don’t want him to know…”

“Perhaps you should let him come listen,” Markos said, his tone still disapproving. “Right now he is operating under the false notion of what it is to be a knight.”

“No, he has the right notion… It is my actions that are wrong,” the knight said.

“Absolutely!” Timotheus said, frowning.  “Most knights aren’t… A lot of knights… uh… not _every_ knight fails to…”

“Just let him explain…” Laarus said.

“If you keep talking like that you are going to make me sick!” The knight’s demeanor changed as a sudden anger came over him.  He stared at Markos with real hatred, gritting his teeth.

“So?” Markos replied with a smirk. 

“Maybe we should wait to talk about this when he is better…” Timotheus said, but as quickly as it came, the anger was gone and Sir Quintus finally continued.

“When I first sought out the Shannis it was because of its numbing properties… I suffered terrible wounds to my legs and back in the Battle of the Burning Rift that ailed me long after that battle was done…  And in seeking it out I discovered the smuggling operation, and justified my more and more frequent returns for the stuff by telling myself I was gaining their trust in order to discover their real leaders and bring down the organization…”

Quintus swallowed hard and looked around again before continuing.

“I… I collected the pollen of the plant from Chok’tem and his people and provided it to the brigands who paid me in the refined product,” Quintus continued. “I wanted to gain their trust and discover where else it was sold… What else it might be used for…”

“Did it work?” Timotheus asked.

“The addiction came on too strongly and quickly,” Quintus replied. “All I know is that the men you call ‘the brigands’ are led by a man named MacHaven, and once I heard him mention a connection in… I think it was Tribunisport… named Connduel.”

Telémahkos looked at Timotheus when Tribunisport was mentioned. 

Sir Quintus Gosprey began to cough, and then rolling over on to his hands and knees vomited again as his whole body shuddered.  The signers of the charter of Schiereiland moved out of the building to get away from the smell and give the man some privacy to fight off the addiction.

“Do you mind if we camp here in the keep while we wait for him to recover?” Bleys asked Chok’tem

“Has the bloodlust left you humans?” Chok’tem asked.

“I never had any…” Bleys the Aubergine replied, but he looked to the others. “We’re done fighting… Am I correct?”

Everyone nodded or grunted their assent and the group proceeded to make camp in the clearest portion of the courtyard they could find, away from any crumbling walls.  Laarus of Ra and Bleys the Aubergine pitched a tent, as Timotheus got some coin from Telémahkos to go pay off Tavius and send him back to town.  No one wanted him catching wind of the knight’s state.

“Why don’t you pay him yourself?” Telémahkos asked his cousin.

“I don’t have any money!” Tim complained. He pulled his empty coin pouch from his belt and shook it upside-down in front of his cousin’s face.  “I’ve got nothing!”

Telémahkos sighed and handed over two silver coins. 

They had Valerius watch over Victoria while the others made camp.  They also asked that Chok’tem retrieve the Militant of Anhur’s gear from her dead horse and he complied, covering the pit back up when he was done.

Timotheus returned telling Telémahkos that Tavius wanted a tip as well. 

“I’ll handle this…” Telémahkos said, annoyed. He walked out to the muddy field where the guide still waited. 

“Off with you!” Telie said to Tavius.  “You have made enough profit off of this endeavor… More money than you make in nearly a month’s time…”

“Heh. Awright… Okay,” Tavius smirked and began to get his pony ready for the trip back. “Tell everyone I said good-bye and if you ever need another swamp guide you know where I live and, uh… you know, I hope none of your friends ever find out about your little… uh… delay tactics… It’d be unfortunate…” He winked.

“Yes, and it would be unfortunate for you to end up in the swamp, lifeless,” Telémahkos replied with casual menace.

“Well, you know…” Tavius mounted his pony and turned it. “Sometimes that kind of risk is just part of the job…” He did not appear intimidated by the very thinly veiled threat.

Back at the camp, Telémahkos said to the others, “It seems that Tavius might choose to repay our generosity by spreading ugly rumors…”

“Did you give him a tip?” Timotheus asked.

“I gave him nothing,” Telémahkos replied. “He had had enough.”

“Yeah, but those rumors are the reason why you always tip the help,” Timotheus smiled.

-----------------------------

An hour or so later, Bleys the Aubergine sought out Chok’tem once again, asking what Sir Quintus had promised him in exchange for gathering the pollen.

“That he would sssspeak to Lord Sssswann about my tribe,” Chok’tem said.  “To give him our messsssage…”

“And what is your tribe called?”

“C’tobe’flau’ka,” Chok’tem replied. “But the humansss have tazen to cauzzing us the Goldenstraw Lizsssardfolk.”

“And what was this message?”

“We had to flee our lands to the far sssouth,” Chok’tem explained, as Markos and Timotheus walked over to join the conversation. “But we knew these were human landsss and did not want to cause conflict.  We ozzered to pledge our ssspearsss to Lord Ssswann and to pay tribute in return for protection… ssso that we may not need leaze our landsss again.”

“And what was the response? Did he relay the message?” Bleys asked.

The lizardman shook his head in an exaggerated way that was clearly an imitation of human gestures.  “He ssssaid that Lord would need much convinssing… He kept sssaying, ‘more zime’, but he broke promise… He never asked…”

“Where is the rest of your tribe now?” Bleys asked.

Chok’tem would not reply.

“I assume your tribe is more than these four,” Bleys said, and Chok’tem nodded again in his exaggerated way.

“That is none of our business,” Timotheus said.

“Of course, it is our business,” Bleys replied, curtly.  The watch-mage turned back to the lizardman.  “Why do you not recognize the Thrician Racial Convenant?”

“Our former landsss are not in what the humansss call Thrissssia,” Chok’tem replied.  “Far south. Past the rift…”

“The Disputed Territories,” Timotheus said.

“We travel there… Perhaps one of your tribe would be willing to serve as a guide…” Markos suggested.

“And break more promisessss? No!” Chok’tem barked.

“I have broken no promise,” Markos replied.

“I think Lord Swann would be agreeable to such an arrangement,” Bleys said.

“Are you sure?” Timotheus asked.

“To have a tribe of lizardmen to pay your tribute and fight for you… Would this not be a great boon to his House?” Bleys reasoned.

“I agree with you, but I do not think everyone is so open-minded and rational,” Timotheus explained.

Markos continued his futile negotiations with the incredulous Chok’tem, as the others listened on, equally so.  Laarus of Ra and Telémahkos had come over as well, but growing bored of the talk stepped away from the building.

“What do you think? If we bring this knight back to Lord Swann we might garner valuable support,” Telémahkos said to the priest.

“Yes, as Swann and Wetherwax are allied, it may even help in discovering more of the pirate plot you spoke of,” Laarus said. “Though I do wish you could say more about it…”

“Well…” Telémahkos looked around to make sure none of his companions were close enough to hear as he lowered his voice. “Would you be willing to overlook the involvement of one of these so-called ‘pirates’ if he were an aid to us in foiling the plot?”

“I would be willing to not seek prosecution if he seemed sincerely willing to redeem himself and give productive aid to our cause,” Laarus said.

“You see this information came to me from someone who is concerned that her brother may do something wrong, but he has not actually done anything wrong yet… And if we can get him to help us and turn away from that life, no one needs to know…” Telémahkos explained.

Laarus of Ra nodded.  “As a priest I value truth, but as a noble I understand about discretion…”

Telémahkos told the young priest of Ra about Vanthus Vanderboren and his misguided involvement with smugglers as they made their way back to the camp to await the others.

_to be continued. . ._

-----------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Session #4 was played on Sunday, March 4th (aka GM’s Day!)

(2)	Lizardfolk are immune to effect of yellow musk creeper pollen.

(3)	Bleys and Valerius worked on the lizardfolk for 5 rounds, but failed the healing check to stabilize it.  (Click here for info on Aquerra’s rules for death & dying), and here to see how the heal skill works in Aquerra games.

(4)	Victoria lost 7 points of intelligence total, dropping her to a 3.


----------



## BlackCat

*Prickery*



			
				el-remmen said:
			
		

> Whaddya expect from nobility?
> 
> Can you rank them in order of least to most prickish?



I finally caught up after a few installments got ahead of me. Now that I'm current, I thought I'd pick up this line of op/ed and post some of my impressions on the prick level of the PCs in ascending order:

6. Timotheus: I like the characterization here. I think he is definitely struggling with his newfound ascension to recognized bastard nobility. He's totally rough around the edges and very protective of his ne'er do well cousin. That is very endearing to me. Bravo!

5. Victoria: I like how she's got an impulsive streak there. She clearly wants action and is ready to go for it but also seems to have some conflict with the role of a noble. I really can't wait to see her deal with a purely social situation. I hope she finds the softer side of Sears (not that that's where she should buy her wardrobe! .

4. Laarus: He seems to be holding back a lot. I think there are lots of pressures he's dealing with and I'm interested to see how he balances all the expectations that others are going to  burden him with. I think he needs to come out of his shell somewhat but the reason for that shell is perfectly understandable.

3. Telemakhos: I had some trouble between his placement and Laarus', honestly. I think that they are just about even there, as far as pure dickery is concerned. But ultimately, it's Telie's job to be the dick that does some of the things the more honorable party members will not do so he got the higher rating. I really like him, though. Great job! If he ever wants to worship a certain goddess with whiskers and claws, he (the player) knows where to go.

2. Markos: Honestly, he's something of a mystery to me. That might be the point and if so, good work! I am interested in learning a lot more about his past and motivations. I'm hoping that it plays out in a very meaningful and interesting way. But he's a dick. That has some room for interpretation though. I just don't get his point of view yet.

1. Bleys the Aubergine: Wow. He's so beautifully disdainful of others I love it! This is clearly someone who's done well at a difficult training process who's totally oblivious or completely uncaring of the fact that he's probably made a lot of enemies along the way. I have to say I can't wait for him to grow and maybe get a heart. Of course I realize that he may be using his attitude to defend a sensitive psyche but if so, excellent work!

All in all, I really can't wait for more...especially for more Swanns!

Aw, crap! I just realized I have to read the Journal and the Prayers. Sheesh!


----------



## Ciaran

An insightful assessment, BlackCat.  Though as to some of the "less dickish" characters, I think we'll find that they're just keeping their dark sides under wraps for the moment.


----------



## BlackCat

Ciaran said:
			
		

> An insightful assessment, BlackCat.  Though as to some of the "less dickish" characters, I think we'll find that they're just keeping their dark sides under wraps for the moment.



Why thank you, sir. I did try to keep things away from simply "Wow! What a dick!"

I look forward to seeing the dark side of any character manifest itself in ways that are meaningful and move things along!


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #4 - "Delirium Tremens" (part 2 of 4)*

Ralem, the 15th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.) 

The next day felt agonizingly long.  The sun wove its way around gray spitting clouds coming out hot enough to make the swamp sizzle until it made its way behind a strip of cloud again.  Timotheus Smith did not let the day go by without forcing Telémahkos to practice his skill at arms.  He drove his cousin hard and even sparred with Bleys, commending him on his swordsmanship, for a wizard.  Valerius alternated between caring for Victoria and for his master.  The latter had spent nearly an hour near dawn ranting at the top of his lungs and then mewling like a tortured kitten about his pain for another before slipping into something closer to a coma than to sleep.  Victoria was slightly more clear headed the next day, but not by much.  They kept her in the tent as much as possible, and changed the subject whenever she asked for Argos. 

Markos spent most of the day with his nose buried in a book, occasionally scribbling a note with a piece of charcoal in the margins.

The night before it had been agreed that they would wait for Sir Quintus Gosprey’s recovery, and decide then what to do with him, and whether to keep his secret.  Bleys promised Chok’tem that they would make sure the knight kept his promise and would talk on his behalf to Lord Swann, and that if Sir Quintus would not, he would carry the word himself.  Chok’tem did not seem too impressed with the watch-mage’s promises.

As evening fell, Telémahkos and Timotheus went for a walk about the ruin, talking something over; sometimes heatedly.  By this time Victoria was much closer to her normal self, but still a bit slow with her words, and had joined the other around the fire that Valerius made for them.

When the cousins returned, Tim sat down, but Telémahkos remained standing.  “I just wanted to say something while I had everyone gathered together,” he cleared his throat, and increased his volume to be heard over the cacophony of toads and insects rising with the darkness.  “I just wanted to…”

But Timotheus stood, interrupting. “Can I just say something?  As a general rule can we just _try_ to stick together in a fight?”

“No!” Telémahkos said. “As a general rule I think tactics are better served by my skills if I stay out of the fight a little while and move in where there is weakness, or to make sure we are not being flanked…”

Markos snorted loudly and then covered his mouth to muffle his laughter.

Telémahkos continued, but glared at the lithe sailor. “…I am not a frontline fighter…”

“But that’s not the same as being a ways away…” Timotheus argued.

“But you have to look at the context, you can’t blame me…” Telémahkos’ voice raised in pitch as did his frustration.

Tim threw his hands up.  “I am not talking about blaming or accusing anyone…”

“I am,” Markos said, slipping his words into a pause in Tim’s. 

“Oh! C’mon, Markos!” Timotheus snapped.  “All I am saying is _next time_… Let’s do it better next time… Okay?  Let’s drop the subject…”

“You’re just delaying the inevitable,” Markos said. “We need to hash this out.  Because some people were too busy playing with one lizardman in the rear while everyone else was trying to deal with the real threat, and trying to help Sir Quintus…”

Telémahkos protested, and soon the two of them were yelling at each other regarding tactics and the each person’s role in the party.

“Are you going to fight or what?” Timotheus asked, with a slight mocking tone.

”They are already fighting,” Bleys said in his monotone. “The wounds scored from battles with words often cut deeper than blades.”

“Every word you say just reinforces that are naught but a bleeding cunny,” Markos spat.  “Everyone knows why you were running around dealing with one while everyone else did the real fighting, even if they won’t say it…”

“Victoria was with me…” Telémahkos said.  

“Are… Did you just call us cowards?” the militant finally spoke, confusion evident in her voice.

“Yes,” Markos said spitefully.

“Let’s let it go…” Timotheus tried.

“I think it better to air it out now,” Laarus spoke up

“No, I concur with Tim,” Markos suddenly changed his tact. “I am getting angry in thinking about the subject, and quite frankly I shouldn’t get angry at all, because this is just about what I expected from a group of nobles… So I apologize to you all… with a few exceptions.”

There were groans around the fire.  “Oh, thanks a lot!” Timotheus rolled his eyes.

“The brilliant tactician…” Bleys muttered sarcastically.

“Whu… What exceptions?” Victoria asked, scrunching up her face in confusion, trying to reconstruct the argument in her addled mind. “What don’t you apologize for?”

Markos was taken aback by the question. “I don’t apologize for… _anything_.”

“My mind may be foggy, but I am not stupid enough to not realize you just contradicted yourself,” Victoria replied. “You just said you apologized… Am I merely confused?”

“You are right,” Markos said, his tone growing more and more petulant. “I do apologize.  I apologize for making an issue of something when I should not have a right to be surprised by what I see from you all… which is exactly what I expected…”

“That is no kind of apology!” Victoria said angrily.  “That is not an apology where I come from…”

“Basically, he expected us to be idiots, and by not doing what he thinks we should have done we have displayed our idiocy,” Telémahkos said.

“Markos…” Timotheus said calmly. “If Victoria kicks your ass I am not helping you… You are digging your own grave.”

“I am not afraid,” Markos replied. “I have gotten my ass kicked quite often. I am still gonna speak my mind.  I am not a coward like some others…” He let his eyes trail towards Telémahkos.

“Fine, then I will give you one night to prepare, and to think over your words,” Victoria stammered. “And if you are still this angry in the morning, then meet me… uh… outside of the keep…”

“The muddy plain beyond the gate would be a good open place for a duel,” Bleys offered.

”Uh… Yes, that will do…” Victoria agreed.

“I’m not gonna wait until tomorrow,” Markos said, as he stood. He raised his hands and gestured with a fist for the militant of Anhur to stand, as he stepped towards her. “Come on. Let’s go.  You’ve got an issue? Let’s do it…”

Everyone scooched back a bit and began to get to their feet.

“Markos…” Laarus began.

“Very well…” Victoria said as she slowly stood, but before get all the way to her feet, Markos stepped in and socked her with a hard jab to the chin.

“Treacherous dog!” Victoria roared.

“Okay everyone, give them room!  No weapons!” Timotheus said, stretching his arms out to corral the fight away from the fire.

Sighing, Bleys the Aubergine walked away to check on the horses.

“Treacherous? Dog? You all and all of your station are the ones that are treacherous, and pampered and used to getting whatever you want!” He took another swing, but Victoria was no stranger to fighting.  She grabbed his arm and twisted it hard behind his body, locking it there. 

“Take back your insults,” she said as jerked the arm harder.

“Take back you air of entitlement!” Markos mocked as he shimmied out of her hold and spun around, but was startled by a forearm to the face that was followed by having his head and arm locked against her side.  Victoria was not wearing armor, just a simple gray shift over leather trousers.  Markos dropped his legs, sending Victoria off balance and she had to let go to keep from falling.  She stumbled forward avoiding the wizard’s wild punches, and they struggled for a time, neither one of them getting an advantage, until a well-placed kick between the legs sent Markos stumbling back, gasping.

“Ooh! That’s gotta hurt!” Timotheus called out, his wide smile shining in the firelight.

“Take back your insult to Anhur and my family,” Victoria said.

“If the truth is an insult, then be insulted!” Markos said between gasps.  He rushed the militant, but she was ready for him again, grabbing him about the neck and squeezing and twisting, until Markos shuddered and passed out.

“Okay! Let him go.  You won!” Timotheus said.  She dropped him into the mud, and Laarus and Timotheus carried him over to the tent, making sure he was not hurt too bad.


Isilem, the 16th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.) 

The next day Markos crawled out of the tent achingly.  He found Telémahkos by the fire pit, practicing his juggling.  The blond noble let the stones he was practicing with drop into the mud.

“It is a good thing your own morality is superior to that of nobles, or else you might not have been able to punch a woman in the face,” Telie said with mocking tone.

”She challenged me…” Markos protested.

“Oh yes, I know… And I am sure she was ready for that first blow,” Telémahkos replied.  “You know, the only good shot you got in?”  He turned to pick up the stones he had let dropped.  “Now that I know about your ways, I expect a blow from behind any moment now…” He said without looking at Markos.  

“Your kind have gone through life getting everything you ever expected,” Markos continued.  “I am not play a part in keeping that up…”

“Yes, right… Because somehow you know something of my life from the few days we have know each other,” Telémahkos replied, finally turning.

“Well, you have done nothing to make me doubt my assumptions,” Markos said. 

Bleys was cleaning the horses, and packing gear in hopes of getting out of the bog that day, when Victoria walked over to where the animals were kept.

“Has anyone seen Argos?” she asked, echoing her question from the day before.

“The horse is chum for the plant in the pit,” Bleys replied, in his typical cold demeanor.

“What?” Victoria turned and took a step towards the covered pit, but Timotheus who was walking over stepped in her way.

“It was the plant that caused your befuddlement,” Bleys said.  “Stay away.”

“No one tried to get him out there?”

“It fell and broke its legs.  You know what happens to horses that break legs,” Bleys said.

“Why don’t you tell her he suffered horribly while you are at it,” Telémahkos said shaking his head as he came over to join the conversation.

“Chok’tem killed it before it could suffer for too long,” Bleys explained.

“You are not going to be insulted by that now, are you?” Markos asked sarcastically, but the sarcasm was lost on the militant of Anhur.

“No, it needed to be done… And I am sure that if the lizardman could not have done it, one of you would have…” Victoria said, with sadness in her voice.

“Of course. I have too much respect for the noble animal to let one suffer like that,” Bleys said.

They went into the ruined stone building to check on Sir Quintus.  He was awake and alert and insisted he was ready to be freed and to deal with his obligations.  However, when Chok’tem arrived a few minutes later, carrying a mesh bag full of small flopping fish, he said the knight was not yet ready to be let go.  

“Perhapsss tomorrow…”

“Perhaps we should leave him here to recover and go speak to Lord Swann ourselves,” Markos suggested.

“Why won’t you let me do it myself?” Sir Quintus asked.  “I will do it.”

“Because you are unreliable and without honor,” Bleys replied.

“Let him prove himself,” Laarus said.

“It is just that I want my name kept out of the business with the smugglers and the shannis,” Sir Quintus said.  “If I go, I can talk to Lord Swann and keep my promise and give a version of the story that is best for everyone without asking you to lie or omit…”  The knight’s voice was a hoarse whisper, and he panted heavily between words, wiping spittle from the corner of his mouth.

“I have already promised to bring word to Lord Swann myself,” Bleys said.  “I will not lie to Chok’tem…”

“You said if Sir Quintus did not…” Markos said.

“No, I simply said I would.”

“What if he delivers the message in your presence?” Markos asked.

“That could be satisfactory…” Bleys replied.

“But I cannot go right away,” Quintus interjected.  “I need to find my men…”

“Perhaps you do not understand your choices here,” Markos said roughly. “You can come with us from here to talk to Lord Swann in our presence, or you can go your own way and we will tell him the tale and leave no part out. We will not lie for you…”

“But they will be looking for me… I have a responsibility to them…” 

“They are most likely back at your keep by now,” Laarus said.  “We passed them on the Beach Road several days ago…”

“Then accompany me to Gullmoor so that they might know where I am going, and…” Quintus began.

“For what? So you can have your men arrest or detain us?” Bleys interjected.  “I think not.”

“And a true nobleman and knight should take responsibility for his actions,” Victoria said.

“I am more than willing to take responsibility…”

“But you want to leave your name out of it…?” Victoria was puzzled. “Accept your shame and get past it.”

“Maybe in your House things are different…” Sir Quintus said.

“If you are fearful of losing your status in your family for your mistake, I am sorry, but you need to understand that you made a mistake,” Victoria said.

“It is not my own status, but that of my family…”

“Well, your choice is simple and under your own control,” Markos said. “Shall I reiterate it?”

“I shall accompany you…”

Now that that was settled, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland made to go back to their camp.

“Wait!” Chok’tem called to them.  “I need to asssk ssssomething of you… Pleassssse do not yell and fight in the night… There are other things in the swamp that could be drawn by the noisssse…”

Timotheus and Telémahkos laughed, but Bleys looked at Victoria and Markos sternly, before turning back to the lizardman and nodding.

_. . .to be continued. . ._

----------------------------------------


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #4 – “Delirium Tremens” (part 3 of 4)*

Osilem, the 17th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The next morning found a fully restored Victoria discussing tactics with Markos.  They talked for a long time without the interference of the others

“I am sorry for my rash words spoken in the heat of my anger,” Markos said to the militant. “I know your actions in the battle were not done out of cowardice. It is just that I cannot agree with the tactics of it…”

And on and on the discussion went… Eventually the others joined it as well, but before it could become another quarrel it was agreed to let the discussion lie until another time.

Chok’tem announced that he would be willing to let Sir Quintus go.  “His body has been broken of the need, though his mind might still dwell on it,” the lizardman said in his tongue to Markos. “He should recover fully as long as he does not use the shannis again.”

“Perhaps we should search his things to make sure he does not have any more of it,” Markos suggested.

“He does not have it,” Chok’tem said.  “He came to us because the desire had grown so strong upon him from not having it…”

“The truth of the matter is… the men you refer to as ‘brigands’ were only near Bog End to pick up the raw pollen,” Sir Quintus said, as the other lizardman pulled up the stakes that confined him.  “The problem was that there was none to pick up because Chok’tem and his people had withheld the pollen because I was taking too long in talking to Lord Swann on their behalf…”

Bleys nodded to Chok’tem approvingly.  The knight continued, “I came into the swamp to convince them to give up the pollen, as I was afraid that the longer MacHaven and his men were around, the more chance there was they would cause some trouble to the locals, and… and the greater the chance that my secret would be revealed.  But… when I arrived, the lizardfolk captured me instead to break me of my habit.”

“Are you happy that they did this?” Markos asked.

“I fear I may never be happy again,” Sir Quintus Gosprey replied with resignation in his voice.

“And Valerius… You will keep his secret?” Markos turned to the squire.

“Yes…” the boy answered dejectedly.  “If he is to redeem himself he need a clean slate and he will need help, and what else does a squire do but help his master?”

They were two horses short, what with Sir Quintus Gosprey’s horse having been eaten by the muckdwellers, and Argo falling into the plant pit, so the packhorse was fitted with a saddle, and the gear it carried was spread out among the others.  Sir Quintus took Valerius’ horse and Victoria rode the packhorse. Valerius walked, climbing onto Markos’ horse when deeper water required a mount.

Chok’tem led them back to the track by a winding way that still took less than half the time than that of Tavius.  The lizardman did not even say good-bye.  He slipped back into the brush and was gone before anyone noticed.

The topic of tactics came up again as they slowly rode out of the bog.  As usual, Bleys stayed out of it, perhaps not even listening, and Laarus while attentive, was quiet, and after a few words, both Timotheus and Telémahkos tried to stop listening – but it didn’t work.

“All I am saying is that any tactics that allow you to walk away from a fight with no one on your side dying could not have been too bad,” Victoria said. 

“I totally disagree,” Markos insisted. “Next time someone’s cowardly demeanor could lead to someone else’s death…”

Telémahkos, who rode right in front of Markos, turned around, not stopping his horse.  “Just to let you know, I will not dirty my hands here and now, but if you insult me again in public I will meet you with steel.”

“…And he continues to live up to my expectations,” Markos said to Victoria.

“You cannot continue to impugn the honor of others without expecting to be challenged on it,” Victoria replied.

“Even if we fought and he killed me, it would not make him any less a coward,” Markos replied.  “But I will let it go, for now…”

A break in the foliage could be seen up ahead and deep muddy field where Telémahkos’ horse had gotten stuck was in sight when Timotheus saw Laarus suddenly sway in his saddle. 

[sblock]
The sharp smell of burning chemicals filled Laarus’ nostrils and he felt his stomach immediately turn. His vision dimmed and when it began to return, he no longer saw the swamp around them, but some cramped dark place where he could see a ‘Q’ branded onto the side of a barrel.

Laarus could feel something welling up in his throat and suddenly there was a loud explosion that caused the world to go white for half a moment as it echoed in his mind.
[/sblock]

The priest of Ra leaned over suddenly, his body flopping loosely as if drunk and he coughed up a stream of yellow bile.

“Laarus! Are you alright?” Timotheus asked.   Laarus sat back up and wiped his mouth with a kerchief he drew out of a pocket in his doublet.  “I am fine. I just got nauseous there for a moment… I am fine now…” Laarus looked even paler than usual.

“Isis protect us!” Timotheus hissed, covering his mouth. “He has the bog flu!”  He made a mental note to not share a room with Laarus wherever they ended up staying that night.

Just after mid-day they finally reached Bog End, but rode another couple of miles south of it before stopping to have lunch not wanting to be seen by locals. Once again Sir Quintus tried to convince them to allow him to return to Gullmoor Keep first, but Markos reminded him of the choices, and the knight acquiesced.

The road south grew wider and better maintained the further they went. The bog gave way to narrow strips of forest divided by steep bald hills, while on the left the sea came into view and then fell away, leaving the road atop tall jagged bluffs.  Soon the hills to the west were gone and the strips of forests divided large farmsteads.  All afternoon they passed peddlers and other locals with ox-drawn carts and wheelbarrows filled with springtime fruit, but it would not be until nigh sunset that New Harbinger would come into view.

It was an octagonal fortified town of yellowing white stone with eight tall towers about is outer wall, and a tall spire of a citadel at the northern side.  It abutted the rocky shore, connecting to a fortified harbor with smaller towers that reached the water’s edge.  There were many ships docked there.  The cry of gulls made Markos’ frustration with his companions melt away in the moment.

The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland came down the slope towards New Harbinger, and the size of the place became more and more apparent.  

“Wow, this is bigger than the Gate,” Timotheus said as the road wound down to the cleared lands about it.  There was a livery among the few buildings that began a few hundred yards away from the wall, and Sir Quintus explained that there was a local ordinance regarding horses in the town’s narrow streets.

A middle-aged bearded man named Tolliver ran the livery and he was expecting them.  “I was asked to look out for your arrival by your steward,” he said. “And I am also to tell you to ask for Lieutenant Ferris Twelf at the gate.”  The party took their gear from their horses and walked to the entrance of the town.

The drawbridge was still open, but the great portcullis decorated with wrought iron black swans was lowered, and after a brief questioning they were shown through a narrow door in the gate into an enclosed bailey with countless niches for bowman on either side.  There was a great wooden gate reinforced with iron that led into the town itself, but a smaller door was set into it.

Lieutenant Ferris Twelf met them there and greeted Sir Quintus warmly, but immediately asked him as to his health.

“Welcome to New Harbinger,” the lieutenant said turning to the other and introducing himself.  “The captain of the guards wants to meet and talk with you, and he has been summoned. Your steward arrived a few days ago and alerted us to your coming.  She and your hirelings have taken rooms at the Sign of the Green Gem, the only inn of repute in town, and may have arranged for rooms for you there, as well.  However, the current season means that there are many merchants in town, so if there are no rooms, I have been instructed for you to send word to the citadel so they might see to your hospitality.”

This lieutenant Twelf bore little resemblance to the lean half-elven officer they had met on the Beach Road.  He was shorter and rounder, and had no visible elven heritage to speak of. (1)

“Speaking of hospitality, Ferris… I have to see the Lord immediately,” Quintus said.  “It is very important…”

“I’ll have someone bring you there right away,” the lieutenant replied, and he summoned one of his guards.

The knight turned to the young nobles and thanked them for their help. “If you are ever in the area of Gullmoor again and have need of aid, please seek me out…”

“Sir Quintus,” Bleys stepped over.  “Did we not agree that you would speak to the Lord in our presence?”

“Yes, that was the agreement,” Markos reinforced.

“I am more likely to get an actual audience with him at this time if I go alone, rather than show up with six young nobles in tow,” Quintus replied, his exhaustion evident in his voice and manner. “You are being asked to wait here, and have other business in town, I would rather get this over with…”

“And how will we know that you have fulfilled your promise?” Markos asked.

“You can confirm with the Lord when you speak to him,” Quintus replied quietly as to not have Lieutenant Ferris hear. “And if you find that I did not inform him satisfactorily, well then… do what you think you must…”

The lieutenant looked confused by the sudden heated whispering when he turned from giving his guard his order to escort the knight and his squire to the citadel, but the party acquiesced and the knight and squire were led through a narrow side door into the town.

A few moments later Captain Aurelius Oberto arrived.  Tall and handsome with long brown hair held in a tail by gold thread, the captain wore a chain shirt, and had a long sword at his side. His golden tabard bore a quartered field with a black swan in the top right and a bluish-green gemstone in the bottom left.  He smiled broadly as he approached the young nobles, bowing and then shaking each of their hands as he introduced himself and welcomed them, guessing each of their names.  The captain gave a strange look at Markos as he shook his hand.

“And how long do you plan to stay here in New Harbinger?” he asked everyone.

“Not long…” Laarus of Ra replied.  The young priest looked to the others to reinforce his reply, before continuing. “Perhaps three days?”

“More or less,” Timotheus added.

“But if we have to leave suddenly that won’t cause anyone any…” Telémahkos began to ask.

“No… No… I was just curious.  The gates are closed at sunset, but other than that, you can leave whenever you like, but…” He paused. “Well… The citadel steward asked to be informed of your arrival, so if I were you I would expect to be invited to dinner there for an audience with Lord Swann.”

“Yeah, sure… that’d be great!” Timotheus replied with real enthusiasm.

“Well, don’t take my word as invitation,” the captain clarified. “I am just saying that her asking is a good indication that a invitation will come…  So, please keep that in mind as you make your plans.”

“Thank you for letting us know, we will plan accordingly,” replied Victoria.

“Also, master Bleys,” he looked to the tall purple-garbed watch-mage.  “Your fellow alumnus wanted me to tell you to come see him when you arrived.  Do you know Oroleniel the Salmon?”

“Yes,” Bleys said, bowing his head slightly in thanks.  “He graduated two years before I did…”

“Well, that was basically it… I just wanted to see you with my own eyes so I can report your arrival with utter truthfulness,” the captain said.  “And if there is anything you need while you are in town that we can help you with please see Lieutenant Twelf, and if there anything he cannot help you with, he will refer you to me.”

“Actually, I may as well ask now… What temples do you have in the city?” Victoria asked.

“Only Tefnut has a proper temple,” the captain explained. “But there is a shrine to Horus near the harbor, and also a plaza that holds shrines to several gods, including the triad of Ra, in the northwestern quadrant.”

At the captain’s signal, the inner gate was opened to let them into the town proper, and they were immediately struck by the pungent scent of spices and the sea.   The town beyond was mostly draped in the gloom of the day’s last moments.  There were many winding streets thought tight clusters of buildings, some of which where wooden and leaning towards ramshackle, but others were of white stone; most of them had their roofs and walls painted with quicklime. All of them were one story, except for one building near the center of town.  This one Lieutenant Ferris Twelf pointed out as the Sign of the Green Gem.  Beyond this to the left they could see the towers of the citadel, and to the right those of the fortified harbor.

Bleys, Laarus, Telémahkos, Timotheus, Markos and Victoria walked down the main thoroughfare, where guards were lighting lanterns at the edge of the entrance to each cluster of buildings, lighting their way.   

_. . .to be continued…_
----------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Lieutenant Ferris Twelf is actually a cousin of Lorkas from the human side of his family. The party met Lorkas Twelf in Session #2.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

I am currently about halfway through reading your previous story hour (which I think is very well written and entertaining)
One thing that struck me was that there was a bias in favor of clerical spell casters (as pointed out by others before me ) mainly due to the fact that there was an extreme low availability of magic items and coupled with that was  the difficulty  arcane spell casters had in obtaining new spells. 

It also stuck me that the players never attempted to construct there own magic items or even brew a potion. 

Was this a game style thing or an Aquerra rules issue?
Are Players allowed to take a craft magic item feat?

Is Aquerra inherently low magic or was that just for the previous campaign?

As a dm do you think magic items help balance out the power the players have?
Especially when they get to mid or high level play?

Keep up the good work

thanks


----------



## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> I am currently about halfway through reading your previous story hour (which I think is very well written and entertaining)



Thanks! 

And by the way, if you are reading the actual old threads (as opposed to the word doc compilation, you are welcome to bump them )



			
				darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> One thing that struck me was that there was a bias in favor of clerical spell casters (as pointed out by others before me ) mainly due to the fact that there was an extreme low availability of magic items and coupled with that was  the difficulty  arcane spell casters had in obtaining new spells.



It has struck me as well, and while I have not changed arcane casters,  soon after OOTFP finished I went back and redid all the priesthood powers and spell lists and also made the requirements for praying for spells stricter - increasing the probability that at some point in the campaign a priest may have to go without their alloted spells.

Also, keep in mind that I have not abandoned the 2E mindset that you can use RP restrictions to balance crunch benefits. . . I enforce those pretty strongly and being a priest has a lot of responsibilities and guidelines that go along with them.



			
				darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> It also stuck me that the players never attempted to construct there own magic items or even brew a potion.
> 
> Was this a game style thing or an Aquerra rules issue?
> Are Players allowed to take a craft magic item feat?



Well, as for the first question, the answer is: Both.  The use of training rules means gaining an item creation feat can be difficult because you need to find someone who has one, and pay them.  But also, the way they work has been limited to require specific formulas be known for specific items and also power components to "seal the magic".

So yes, players can have their characters take item creation feats, it is just not east to do. 

Also, the last game had almost no downtime, which is a big consideration in the taking of such a feat.  Why take it if you won't have time to make stuff?  Other campaigns may have more downtime (I think this one will).



			
				darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> Is Aquerra inherently low magic or was that just for the previous campaign?



I call it "moderate magic".  Low magic makes me think of Conanesque level magic.

But yes, definitely lower than "standard".



			
				darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> As a dm do you think magic items help balance out the power the players have?
> Especially when they get to mid or high level play?



I'm not sure what you mean by this. 

Balance out against what?  Creatures of equal CR?  I guess they would, but I find it easier to tailor the encounters than to give out more magic.



			
				darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> thanks



You're welcome.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

Sorry I could have been clearer. 

 What I mean is do you think magic items balance the relative strength of each party member ?
So that for example a fighter could contribute against a demon
As opposed to becoming canon fodder
so that the palidin can move in and take charge

Thanks for taking the time to answer me


----------



## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> Sorry I could have been clearer.
> 
> What I mean is do you think magic items balance the relative strength of each party member?
> So that for example a fighter could contribute against a demon
> As opposed to becoming canon fodder
> so that the palidin can move in and take charge




Still not sure I get you on the paladin part, but I don't know about magical items balancing out the relative strengths of the party members, it is not really something I have put much thought to.  I think of the party as group in terms of what challenges they face and how they face them and in individual strength of any character is not all that important in that perspective (unless a foe has an attack for mthat could possibly kill one particularly weak member with one attempt - which is a rare thing).  I think generally everyone is close enough in power that doesn't really matter and everyone has an opportunity to take part.




			
				darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> Thanks for taking the time to answer me




Are you kidding?  I love this stuff!


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #4 – “Delirium Tremens” (part 4 of 4)*

The Sign of the Green Gem was packed with patrons.  The odor of scented candles wafted over the stench to sweat and ale, as the strains of bard plucking a lyre floated over the rolling wave of voices raised in merriment.  The crowd was mostly men in the maroon and black doublets common to merchants, surrounded by sons already growing to resemble their road-weary fathers. There were also about a dozen women, some of which were working here this evening, though for the rest it was not so clear.

The innkeeper, one Wilson Tummins, greeted the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland effusively, guessing who they were as soon as Timotheus asked after Euleria.  He sent a servant to fetch her, and then yelled to another to clear a table for them. But he also warned them, that while Euleria had been able to make some arrangement for quarters, it might not be enough to suit such noble guests.

As they took their seats pitchers of ale and clean mugs appeared by means of smiling serving wenches, and they were offered a choice betweens the daily brown stew or today’s roast game hen.

“Has Euleria Finch taken care of paying for this?” Timotheus asked.

“I will find out,” said the serving wench, but when she returned it was with the food, informing them that no, Euleria had not made provision to pay for their meal.

Timotheus grabbed his money pouch from his belt and held it up upside down for all to see, waving it like a limp flag in a faint breeze.  “My money’s pouch’s as flat as a grandmother’s teats!” He swore.

“I will pay for you,” Victoria offered.  “And for anyone else who cannot pay…”

“Thank you, Victoria,” Timotheus replied with a kind smile and genuine gratitude. “It is just that we didn’t make a bronze penny off of that…”

“Off of what?” Telémahkos asked.

“Our first adventure,” Tim replied.  He turned to the one of the servants walking by. “Could you bring us some Old Wes?”

“No,” replied the servant curtly.

“You don’t serve it, or you are out?”

“We don’t serve it.”

“But why not? It is made in the Border Shires, and we get it all the way in Schiereiland…” Timotheus was perplexed.

“Well, Schiereiland is really far away from here,” the servant replied, annoyed.  He walked off.

“Does that make sense to you?” Tim asked Victoria.  The militant shrugged her shoulders.

Euleria arrived as they were still eating, wearing a dark green outfit with doublet, vest, trousers and high boots, as if she were about to go riding.  Unlike most women in the place, she wore no make-up.

Telémahkos, Markos and Timotheus all stood as she arrived, but the other three remained eating.  Euleria seemed put off for a moment, and then demurred gesturing for them to be seated again.  She would remain standing.

“I am glad that you have finally arrived.  I was beginning to worry that something had befallen you on the road,” she said.  She went on to explain that she had hired two sell-swords in Sluetelot, along with a boy of about fourteen summers to act as porter.  The sell-swords were named Dunlevey and Falco, and they came highly recommended.  The latter had served mostly as a scout, but the former had worked as a guard for House Tenbrook.  She also explained that she had sent word ahead to Tribunisport to allow the lord there to know they might be coming, and had taken the liberty to send word to the Border Shires in case the party decided to go that way.

“Speaking of the Border Shires, is there some conflict with them here we should know about?” Timotheus asked.

“They are not well-liked here,” Euleria explained. “There has often been conflict between House Swann and the halflings of Thistlewoodshire.”

“Why? They’re halflings!” Timotheus exclaimed, and then lowered his voice. “Who can not like halflings? They’re pretty inoffensive…”

“Well, let’s just say that at one time of another the land that is now Thistlewoodshire belonged to House Swann…” Euleria began as Timotheus let out an “oh” of understanding.  “Lord Gosprey of Gullmoor?  He calls himself the Count of Thistlewood, and that drives the halflings mad with anger.”

Timotheus Smith shrugged, suddenly bored by the topic.  There was a brief argument about whose idea it was to hire a porter, initiated by Markos – everyone else insisting it had been his idea.  Euleria confirmed this when asked.

“You are very efficient, Euleria,” Bleys complimented their steward.  “Thank you.”

“Yes, very good,” Victoria said praise sounding awkward in her tight-lipped manner of speaking.

The steward went on to explain that this was the time of year merchants came to New Harbinger to secure spice and other goods for the rest of the trade season, and because of this she had only been able to procure two double rooms.  The young porter was asleep in one of the rooms right now, but the two mercenaries could be sent down to sleep in the common room and bedrolls could be used on the floors.

Laarus preferred to call on the hospitality of the citadel, and Euleria would be sent to inquire before it became too late.  But before she left, Bleys brought up the salary of the hirelings.

“We agreed upon fifteen copper pieces a day for the sell-swords and but one copper per day for the porter, plus room and board, of course…” Euleria stated.

“Fifteen!” Timotheus was surprised.  “I didn’t get that much when I worked as a caravan guard!”

“They are well-trained,” Euleria replied. Tim frowned.

“Are you already paying them?” Bleys asked. Euleria nodded.  She went over some their skills.  Falco was an archer and a woodsman.  Dunlevey was skilled in the use of several kinds of swords.  The boy porter was quick-witted and strong.

“I am having a hard time accepting that we are going to be paying people to possible bring them to their death,” Bleys the Aubergine commented, his flat tone occasionally swallowed by the raucous crowd around them.

“That is _why_ they get paid,” Timotheus laughed.  Bleys glared at the expressive young veteran.

“So they know what they are getting into?” the watch-mage continued his questions, not taking his eyes off of Tim. 

“I am sure they do…” Timotheus said.

“I would not have hired them if I was not satisfied as to their capability, both mentally and physically,” Euleria said.

“And the boy, as well?” Bleys asked.  “He knows what he is getting into?”

“I think that serving as your porter is a better choice than what his life would have been like otherwise,” she replied. 

“Which is?”

“On the streets of Sluetelot, living copper to copper…”

“Very well…” Bleys relaxed slightly.  “Euleria, again, you have served us well.  Accolades.”  She gave a quick bow and then headed out to the citadel.  She said she would find Falco and Dunlevey at the tavern they were at and send them back to meet their employers.

“Oh, wait! One last thing,” Euleria hurried back over from the doorway.  “I was able to contact Joezyn Barhyte regarding your interest in the King Stones and he sent me this map to pass on to you.”  She gave Bleys a folded piece of parchment stained with age and scribbled over in several hands. (1)

The young nobles finished their meals.  Laarus of Ra ordered that a bath be drawn for him and despite Bleys’ request that he remain to meet the hirelings, the priest did not want the water getting cold.  He also asked that his clothes be laundered. (2)

Telémahkos joined the bard in song, drawing long applause and many copper coins thrown into the bard’s urn.  

“Is he begging?” Victoria asked Timotheus, unused to a noble singing for spare coin in an inn.  Tim laughed and called for another pitcher of ale.  Markos looked increasingly uncomfortable in the crowded and merry tavern.

Telémahkos looked happier than any of the others (except perhaps Tim) had ever seen him.  He had the whole crowd singing a traditional Thrician drinking song, and he walked over and even got Bleys to sing a line with him.

The hirelings arrived soon after.  Dunlevey the Swordsman had a long sword on his left, a short sword on his right, a great sword on his back and a wicked looking dirk in a sheath on his boot; all tied with red ribbon in a peace-knot.  He was around six feet tall and had a bush of red-brown hair and a pock-marked face.  Falco fletching was three or four inches shorter, with greasy long black hair tied in a ponytail, a hooked nose and narrow green eyes.  He wore a scimitar at his side. 

Timotheus and Bleys took some time to further question their hirelings, but Victoria headed out for the Plaza of the Shrines soon after she met them.  Markos Ackers headed out as well, seeking a tavern that was more to his liking.  He found out where they had been (a place called “the Bird’s Eye”) and he headed in that direction.  Dunlevey was a little drunk, but very friendly and respectful, and obviously eager to make a good impression on his noble employers, while Falco might have been able to teach Bleys a lesson in terseness, as he gave one word answers, when not simply nodding or shaking his head.

Once satisfied, Bleys the Aubergine excused himself and headed out of the inn as well in order to visit the local watch-mage, Oroleniel the Salmon.

Falco retired, but Dunlevey and Timotheus got on right away and soon they were drinking and schmoozing with other patrons as friends and equals, not as employer and employee – working hard to get a couple of local ladies to give them some attention.

Telémahkos, on the other hand, did not have to try to hard at all.  The young Briareus had good looks, charm and talent, and in this environment it shined through as an aura of confidence that was obscured in places like bogs and abandoned roads.  Soon he was dancing with a voluptuous woman named Amalda.  She worked for the _Great Matet Merchant Company_, giving ‘special aid’ to its employees while they were on the road.  A woman of loose morals and easy laughter, Telémahkos found her arousing, but that included his suspicions, so he tossed his belt pouch of coins to his cousin to watch over.  However, being flat broke, Timotheus used some of that coin to buy drinks for himself, Dunlevey and the cold ladies they were talking to.  Telémahkos would chastise his cousin for this later.

Euleria returned about an hour later with news that she had arranged for the party to stay at House Swann’s citadel, but they needed to be over there within the hour.  Timotheus and Dunlevey left to go find Markos, just as Victoria arrived from her prayers at the Plaza of Shrines.  Bleys the Aubergine returned after having told the local watch-mage that he would return for another visit soon, sensing that the half-elf was eager for company.  He immediately went over to Telémahkos, who was dancing close with Amalda, the both of them giggling drunkenly like teenagers.

“Away woman, he is done with you,” Bleys said, rudely pushing between them.  Amalda stumbled away in shock, but Telie gestured for her to stay close by.

“The watch-mage mentioned a party of adventurers that passed through here recently from the Disputed Territories,” Bleys told Telie.  “It seems they may have lost some of their number, see if you can find out what happened.”

As Bleys walked back over to the table, Telémahkos grabbed Amalda and apologized for the interruption

Amalda pointed out her employer as he left the common room, and Telémahkos asked if she could arrange a meeting with him.  She said she’d try.  He then went on to ask her about the talk of the adventuring party Bleys has mentioned.  She explained that the merchant caravan she was a part of had met them on the High Road. The party had lost two members, one of which was a priestess of Isis, and they were carrying a gravely wounded “northern barbarian priest of the dwarf hammer god”.

“Thor?”

“That’s the one!”

“And what led them to such dire circumstances?” Telémahkos asked.

“Well, I was not present when Master Lowe spoke with them, but the rumor around the caravan was that this group had come upon a camp of dervishes training for an attack on Thricia, and had barely escaped at all,” she went on to explain.

Laarus Raymer of Ra re-appeared fresh and clean and back in his jeweled cassock, his travel clothes would be ready the next day.

While they waited for Tim’s return with Markos’, Telémahkos went around back a shadowy corner out in the rear alley for a few sleazy moments with Amalda.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The hour was waning as they all finally made it to the citadel gate, escorted by two pages bearing lanterns.  They were allowed in through a narrow entrance around the side, and past a narrow courtyard to a narrow alley made up by the citadel and one of its outer buildings.  Here they were led down stairs to a narrow hall of austere windowless cells with straw mattress cots, a writing table, and a chest of drawers with a washbasin and fresh linen atop it.

The New Harbinger Citadel steward was a plumpish woman approaching middle age with a bob haircut with streaks of white in the black, and a broad slightly misshapen nose.  She was called Tabitha Mark.   She explained that they were not to leave the guest hall without permission, and that there were guards at either end of the hall if they needed anything.  There was also a common room where breakfast would be served in the morning, but that if anyone were hungry now, she would have something brought down from the kitchens.

“Also, will you be available for dinner tomorrow night?” she asked.  The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland accepted the invitation without hesitation 

And then thanking her, the young nobles gathered in the common area they had been provided to talk some before retiring.  Telémahkos informed the others about what he had learned from Amalda regarding the other adventuring party, emphasizing the camp of dervishes.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but this news does not exactly increase my enthusiasm for going to the Disputed Territories,” Telémahkos said.

“You? Scared? Naw!” Markos smirked. 

“You know, one thing about this whole discussion that was never brought up is the fact that you were not exactly embroiled in the battle in the stone building either,” Telémahkos mentioned.  “If I remember correctly you were out in the courtyard yourself.

“I am a mage, and as such gave support with my spells when I could,” Markos said by way of explanation. “I cannot be expected to jump into a melee when my skills lie elsewhere…”

“Can we speak civilly for a moment?” Telémahkos asked, looking up from his oatmeal.  “I hope you can hear what I am saying despite being burned by a deep bitterness whose origin I do not know…  You can acknowledge that a mage does not fight as a warrior would, so would it not make sense that someone whose skills are more aimed towards being a scout, for example, be used differently as well?  So telling me that I should have been at the forefront of that battle is a similar case.  It does not help.”

“Well, m’Lord,” Markos sarcasm dripped off his lips like stray bits of porridge.  “May I speak freely without fear of your using the training you received as part of your station in life against one whose circumstances kept them from getting the same training?  Huh? M’Lord? Sir?”

“No, better just to think on what I just said…” Telémahkos replied, and then stood, excusing himself for the night.  

“Telémahkos is right on at least one thing, let us leave such talk for tomorrow,” Victoria said.  “It is late.”

“Yes,” Laarus of Ra agreed.  “We can discuss what our next move may be over breakfast perhaps.”


Tholem, the 18th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Loud knocking on each of their doors awakened them.  After several days of camping on the roadside or in the bog, their sleep was deep and much appreciated. And after morning prayers they gathered in the common room to chew on bacon, and slurp down bowls of steaming oatmeal chock full of nuts.  There was wine and goat’s milk provided as well.

“So the plan is to go to Tribunisport and see if we can find out more about this pirate plot, and then decide if we will follow up on that, or go to the King Stones in the Disputed Territories,” Laarus started up.

Victoria and Timotheus nodded, and Markos said, “Yes.”

“I am not sure if this plan is the best,” Bleys the Aubergine offered.  “It seems we have little to go on in terms of this _plot_, and a trip to Tribunisport will cost us coin we may not have, especially since we are now spending over three silver pieces a day for our hirelings…”

“True,” Victoria said. “And there is the cost of either ferrying the horses or keeping them here…”

“It seems to me that unless we have some news of the plot we can bring to the authorities, we should go to the King Stones and forget about going to Tribunisport,” Timotheus said.

Telémahkos let out a deep sigh.

“The only thing I will say on it is that I am baffled by the actual ethics of this group in terms of deciding what we should be doing, when we have something we _know_ is happening, as compared to some rumors of what _may_ be happening with dervishes, or chasing after some gold… I am just surprised at your choice when we have something nearby we can look into that might really help someone…”

Markos snorted with laughter.  “Your talk of ethics amuses me.”

“Let me see if I can clarify where I am looking at this from,” Victoria said, ignoring Markos.  “While we know for certain of nothing happening in the Disputed Territories… True… All we have regarding this pirate plot is…”

“Right… My word,” Telémahkos finished for her. “As a nobleman that should be more than enough…”

Markos laughed again, spitting oatmeal onto the table. 

“But it is not more certain than other information we may have…” Victoria continued.

“Oh certainly it is!” Telémahkos protested.

“More than a priest of Ra?” Timotheus interjected.

“There was nothing in what Laarus told us of what the priest of Ra said that should lead us to think any trouble is imminent,” Telémahkos reasoned. (3) 

“But with this new news of dervish camps?” Victoria said. 

“Yes… Does that not lend aid to the tales of troubles in the Disputed Territories?” Laarus added.

“How is that different from all the years of back and forth skirmishes and raids?” Telémahkos asked.

“That may not be a new development, but _we_ are a new development,” Victoria said with pride in her voice.

“Well, we all knew such things existed when this charter was signed and this is the first I hear that we want to involve ourselves in the borderlands strife,” Telie filled a mug with wine.  “There were a variety of things we could get involved in…”

“Right, but the borderland strife and one other thing,” Victoria pointed to the map, which was unfolded on the table.  “Seem to lead us in the same general direction…”

“Personally, I think pirates are more likely to be troublesome to common people,” Markos piped up. “And so, I would want to look into that, but if there is an invasion… Well, in the long run that causes more suffering…”

“Yes, and if we find that the followers of the Red God of the West are planning an invasion, if we find these camps and get a sense of their number we can send word to the Margrave and make a difference that way…” Laarus added.

“This conversation has become absurd!” Telémahkos was flustered. “There is no indication that any kind of invasion is imminent!  Even if there is an invasion being planned, I do not think it is so pressing that we should ignore this other matter that may only take a day or two to find out there is no problem… But I fear that it will be worse…”

“What is it your fear will happen?” Bleys asked.  “You seem to be the only one with any information about this, so perhaps you can tell us more about what you know we will see the situation as you do and make our decision easier.”

Telémahkos sighed again.  “The reason I have been tight-lipped is because of the politics of the parties involved, and someone of a noble house, or a close ally may be involved, and I have been asked by someone who cares about this person to intervene before he makes a stupid mistake…  From my perspective, whether his shame comes to light or not, we are still doing something by preventing this from happening.”

“It seems like cleaning up after the stupid mistakes of nobles might become a habit for us,” Markos sneered.

“As I said before, I know of a plot that is happening in this place and it involves an attack on the Wetherwax fleet,” Telémahkos spoke each word loudly and slowly.  “If we don’t want to do anything about it, that’s fine, but that baffles me as to the group’s ethics and its purpose.”

“Why not just tell the watch-mage of Tribunisport…” Timotheus began and looked to Bleys.

“Cwell the Carmine,” Bleys said.

“Cwell the Carmine,” Timotheus repeated.  “And let him investigate it.  It is not as if we are especially suited to this mission.”

“And, well… Not to be too blunt,” Victoria of Anhur added.  “But this is a danger to only one noble family, while the Kingdom of the Red God of the West is a threat to all of Thricia.  Some unorganized groups of pirates will never be a real threat to the fleet.”

“I guess I will have to continue to be baffled,” Telémahkos said.

The discussion descended into the logistical details of costs to go to Tribunisport and that of provisioning themselves for a long trip into the wilderness.  Bleys bemoaned the fact that they were paying the hirelings three silvers a day without even knowing where they were going, and that would not be needed in Tribunisport and be even a greater drain to keep provisioned on the long trip to the Disputed Territories.  Well, he didn’t really bemoan, being Bleys, but was as close to bemoaning as could be detected in his steady voice.

No one had any argument against his points.

Realizing how low on funds they really were, the talk moved to which of their choices was more likely to bring monetary reward, but were unable to come to an agreement on that either.

“Can you tell us any more about this noble who is involved?” Victoria asked Telémahkos getting back to the topic of the party’s choices.

“He is not a noble, but a son in one of Thricia’s richer and more influential family,” Telie explained.  “Also, this information was shared with me with the understanding that I would attempt to dissuade him from his rash action before reporting this to the authorities… Therefore, I will not betray that because of a promise made.”

“Wait… So how would we get rewarded if this must be done in secret?” Victoria asked.

“I hope to be able to persuade this person to turn against the plotters and we can bring them to justice, or bring _that_ information to the authorities,” Telémahkos explained.  

They decided to postpone any decision making until after the dinner with Lord Swann that evening, in hopes that perhaps he might give them some reward for aiding Sir Quintus, which might ease their monetary woes.

In the meantime, Telémahkos would wander around New Harbinger to gather what information he could.  He asked Timotheus to meet him at the inn for lunch.  Markos went back into his cell, burying his face into a book, while Victoria went into town to purchase some things, including, perhaps, a new horse. 

Bleys the Aubergine turned to Laarus of Ra, “Would you care to accompany me to see my fellow Academy alumnus? I met him last night and I am sure he would not mind the extra company.”

“I am honored that you would invite me,” Laarus replied.

*End of Session #4*

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) You can view a scan of this map by clicking here.

(2) Priests of Ra have must abide a by the rule of finery to remain in their order.

(3) This is a reference to Laarus’ conversation with Dracius of Ra in Part 3 of Session #1.


----------



## el-remmen

Look for the first of three special "InterSessions" that took place between Session #4 and #5 via email to be posted sometime Monday evening.

Originally, it was going to be posted behind a spoiler block, but more recent events in the campaign have made that unnecessary.


----------



## monboesen

Remind why these characters are adventuring together ?


There seem to be much interparty conflict and so little comradeship that several (at the least Markos and Telémahkos) would seem more likely to just leave.


----------



## el-remmen

monboesen said:
			
		

> Remind why these characters are adventuring together ?
> 
> There seem to be much interparty conflict and so little comradeship that several (at the least Markos and Telémahkos) would seem more likely to just leave.




Well, I think the easiest answer is, because of familial responsibility and expectation.  They have all signed on to this charter that their noble houses have sponsored to a degree and to just leave would reflect badly on them and their house.

Now, that is not to say they can't leave - but the consequences might not be so good.

As for the conflict itself - it is going to get worse before it gets better, unfortunately - but I hoping that we are past the worst of it (having just played Session #6 yesterday) because while it made for an interesting dynamic - it was taking up too much time, focus and energy of our sessions and ceasing to be very fun to have to sit through anymore.


----------



## Telémakhos

In  the case of Telie, he really has no choice unless he wants to be disowned. Not that he would mind that either if the circumstances were right, but for the first time in his life he sees the possibility of gaining independence without losing all of his privelage.

So, he hates Markos and knows the others all have holier than thou attitudes but for now they are a means to an end. And his cousin is a good man he would like to see make something of himself so he would like to help him as much as his limited courage will allow.

Telie keeps lashing out at Markos in moments of exteme stress because he presents such an easy target. The irony is how much they seem to agree with one another in matters not regarding noble privelage and battle tactics.


----------



## Telémakhos

BlackCat said:
			
		

> Why thank you, sir. I did try to keep things away from simply "Wow! What a dick!"
> 
> I look forward to seeing the dark side of any character manifest itself in ways that are meaningful and move things along!




My apologies for not responding to this earlier. I think this was really spot on, and things get more interesting as we go along. I think things are settling into a place where nuance may come more into the mix, which will be a nice change.

Now, if I could just stop John from pissing me off so much, I could get closer to a purely character reaction to Markos.


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## BlackCat

Telémakhos said:
			
		

> My apologies for not responding to this earlier. I think this was really spot on, and things get more interesting as we go along. I think things are settling into a place where nuance may come more into the mix, which will be a nice change.
> 
> Now, if I could just stop John from pissing me off so much, I could get closer to a purely character reaction to Markos.



No apologies necessary.

I don't think I can help you with that last. He had a talent at pissing me off in OOTFP but it's not a surprise considering race and alignment and general character demeanor. In this case, there may be similar circumstances as far as House, alignment and attitude are concerned.

It's just important to make sure that any particular discussion (read as argument) is relevant either to character or story development and that it doesn't take too much time from others. I realize, though, that it's very easy to lose track in the heat of the moment.

I'm really looking forward to getting more opportunities for insight into the other PCs. Telie himself is a pretty interesting character and I like seeing him in action.


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## Ciaran

Telémakhos said:
			
		

> And his cousin is a good man he would like to see make something of himself so he would like to help him as much as his limited courage will allow.



Amusingly, his cousin would say the exact same thing, but the other way around.


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## el-remmen

*InterSession #4.1 – “Oh Captain, My Captain!”*

Telémahkos summoned a page as he made to leave the Citadel that morning and had the boy send word to the Captain of the Guards that he had a message for him. (1) He spent the first part of the morning playing cards at _the Bird’s Eye_, probing for information as innocuously as possible among the hard-core gamblers who has been going all night.   In the mid-morning, after a run of bad luck, though he got up and headed out to the market to talk to folks around there, but aside from some vague word of an unusual number of Herman-landers over in Tribunisport, there was nothing of interest.

He hurried over for lunch with Timotheus at _the Sign of Green Gem_, and not an hour after that he was back at the Bird’s Eye trying dice with some better luck, but still not finding much that seemed like a lead to an attack on the Wetherwax fleet.  Before the dice got cold on him, he stopped and headed out again to try to roust up some rumors around the docks.  He was stopped by a townguard.

“Follow me,” said the man, wearing the long thin beard with no mustache that was the custom among the Swanns and the people of New Harbinger. He carried a spear, and wore a heavy mace at his side and shield on his back.

Through a few narrow winding streets, down an alley and around back of a quaint stone house, he was brought to a patio with a small wooden table flanked by two benches.  A window in the back of a house looked into a kitchen where a goodwife sang sweetly while preparing something.

“Sit down,” the guard said and then left.  A moment later, Captain Aurelus Oberto came out of the house, grim-faced. Telémahkos stood to greet him, bowing slightly.  The captain stopped on the opposite side of the table, placed a booted foot up on the bench.

"You have a message for me?"

"I do." Telie reached into his belt where he had the note given to him by Floris Tenbrook stashed, and handed the small folded paper to captain.

A widening smile appeared on the captain’s face as he read. "Sit."

The captain sat as well, and the woman came out with a tray with two small cups of a steaming black coffee and a small bowl of sugar and two tiny spoons.  She did not look either Telie or the captain in the eye, and curtsying, went back inside. She was young and pretty, with a sort of vacant look that Telémahkos found appealing.

"I take it you drink coffee?  This is some the best.  The real stuff, not that dwarven mushroom sh*t. . ."
Captain Auerlius Oberto put half a spoonful of sugar into his coffee and stirred.  "So, did you read this note?"

Telie took a long careful sip of the piping hot coffee, enjoying its bitterness.

"I am intrigued by your question, so why don't we assume I did read it?” Telémahkos smiled as well as he put down his cup, looking the captain right in the eye.  “Whether or not, I have, rest assured that you can ask of me whatever it is you have in mind…" (2)

The captain’s smile widened to show perfect white teeth. "We can use good liars, but perhaps not so good that we cannot detect the untruths ourselves. . . so I guess you will do. . ."   He winked and took another sip of the coffee. "As for what I want of you. . . It is not what _I_ want, but what _we_ want - and what we want is for you to add your support to a group of concerned citizens of the Magocracy that I am representing at this moment. . .  A group that has foreseen the coming political and social turmoil throughout central Aquerra, and wants to minimize the consequences of that chaos, but also to take whatever advantage of it we can to ensure Thricia's future prosperity and security. . . " He took another sip. . . "I mean, you _are_ a patriot are you not?  Or you would have not have signed that charter. . .  But you are clearly also a man seeking to make his own place in the world. . ."

"I am indeed a patriot of Thricia and also a loyal scion of House Briareus. It is also fair to assume that if I am able to enrich myself and my House while helping my kingdom, I would be a fool to protest,” Telémahkos paused to drain the tiny cup. The afternoon sun was hot, and the coffee made him sweat. “However, that being said, I am also not looking to carry a large target on my chest to encourage slings and arrows...” 

Telémahkos waited to see if the captain would say anything, but was met with silence. The woman came out with a iron kettle to pour more coffee, and brought out a plate of tiny cinnamon pastries.  

“So, tell me of your proposal," Telémahkos finally broke the silence when the woman left.

"Ideally, not one of us would have a target on our chests - but sometimes the coat of arms on your tunic is target enough for some. . ." Aurelius replied, reaching for the sugar bowl. "Tell me. What are your feelings on our barrel-making friends?" (3)

"I have been a foreman at the family mines. Barrels can be very useful at times," Telie smiled and took a bite of a pastry. "My compliments to the local baker, captain. This is most impressive… Anyway, barrels and those that make them… I think it is enough to say they serve their purpose. On the other hand, they have not all been reared with the idea of playing nice with others and sharing when there is enough to go around.”

Telie dipped was left of his pastry in the coffee.

"Those barrel-maker's bosses are all found in Herman Land, and as the need of coin grows there, they think they have grab more and more from here, causing practical, but law-abiding men, such as you and me, to have to pay attention to the legal indiscretions we might have ignored before.  It may be coming time to pull our teat from their mouths, before they decide they want to turn us over and really have a go. . ."  The captain cleared his throat and took another sip. "And speaking of teats to be sucked, I heard you and your companions are thinking about going to the Disputed Territories. . . It would be a shame if every barrel in that land, when it is opened up, ends up coming from the same source. . . "

"How can we change what is in the barrel before we arrive to know where they are?" Telémahkos asked, hoping he was not losing the thread of the obtuse conversation.

The Captain replied: "What might be in those barrels remains to be seen, but for so long that group of concerned citizens of our mutual interest have been unable to spread any news aside from that that might be found in a barrel, or would be of interest to those that sell barrels - if you follow me - but this close relationship also means that the framework is already in place to replace that barrel lobby - but we need people to spread _that_ message. (4) The Disputed Territories will open up, and when that happens - be it through war or negotiation - would you not want it be organized Thricians who spread that news and show their influence?  Heralds of a new order that does away with the petty needs and measures of barrel-makers. . ."

"And whom do you see replacing the barrel's friends? Is the aim to replace those who are there now with people more in line with our thinking so we do not need to reinvent the thing?" Telémahkos asked.

"If you were to inherit a manse with a staff that knew the local land, the house, the locals and how to serve their master faithfully would you not keep them on?  All you would need do is spread the word that you were the new master. . . " The captain picked up a pastry as if to eat it, but put it back down and took another sip of coffee instead. "The question is. . . Are you willing to help spread that message?"

"I suppose this brings us back to the question of how big of a target I wish to wear. I am willing to do many things, but under the right circumstances, the right cause, in service of my crown, without betraying my charter or House ... I think I need more information at this point." Telie sipped his coffee.

"Adela!" Captain Aurelius called to the woman in the house with a sudden stern voice. She hurried out and he made a dismissive gesture to the table. She quickly cleared away everything, including Telie's unfinished second cup of coffee.

The captain stood, and once again propped one foot up on the bench. "That is not how it works, Master Briareus. . .  Information is the most precious commodity those people of our mutual interest have access to, and I think you understand, that sometimes the less you know the better. There is a certain amount of faith required to work in the borderlands of law.  Trust is earned by means of small steps, but what is more important than trust right now is just knowing that you support the cause your brothers died for. . ." (5)

Telémahkos stood and tried to keep his composure, but was certain he might have blinked one too many times. "I cannot speak of these unknowns, but I am loyal to my brothers' memory," he replied with a bit of heat in his voice.  He adjusted his cloak in an exaggerated display of aristocratic manners and continued "If I am given cause to believe I can support something they believed in deeply, and better yet, bring to light any facts that lead to those that plotted their demise, assuming they did not all die on the _other_ ship that sank that night ...(6) If I am given reason to believe this, I will not fail to find out more and act accordingly... I obviously cannot say more without the invaluable information others hold."

He stepped over the bench and turned as if to leave. “Good day Captain, and thank you for the delicious treats."

"So should I take your leaving to mean that you have no interest in doing something specific that can lead to that invaluable information?" The captain asked, ignoring Telie’s tantrum.

"No, you can take my leaving to mean I no longer expected to learn anything useful and that my time has some value while I am still in a town ... by all means, what is it you hope I can do?"

"I want you and your companions to infiltrate Kraken's Cove. . ."

Telémahkos sighed. "Something I have already considered. But how does a charter of adventuring nobles infiltrate such a place? Especially when it seems like there has been a great deal of fanfare associated with our movements? It is not myself I am concerned about of course. But you do realize I have a watch-mage and two priests of law with me, yes?" Telie turned back to Oberto expectantly

"The fanfare can easily be avoided.  For one, don't ask you steward to send out messages to all local nobles about your movements and arrivals," Aurelius Oberto said, not bothering to hide his disdain, but his stance softened.  "As for the other, perhaps the word 'infiltrate' was too strong.  It may be technically a lawless place - but it is still a place where smugglers and the less law-abiding of our merchants gather to make trade - and it is technically not in within the borders of Thricia.  In other words, you could get access there, if it were arranged through a contact of mine. . . And what you and your companions do while there would be up to you. . . what matters is that our message is sent. . . And that part would be yours to handle. . ."

"Does this place have dealings with Red Godians? Perhaps if I were to ‘find’ evidence of a conspiracy here in Harbinger, I would have what I need to get the upstanding members of the charter to move in this direction. You spoke of the Disputed Territories, which is where my companions wish to be. What is the connection with the cove...?" 

The captain let out a huge laugh. "The Rubes! Ha! Who do you think the smugglers get their sugar, coffee and spices from?  Though, I guess they are _lapsed_ Rubes, but who can pay attention?"

"I know a lot more about the Hobgoblins up north than the situation down here: So, former Red God followers are traders or they run plantations? Where do they get their goods from?” Telie asked. 

"Everything down there belongs to the church, and that includes all lands and all products of the lands - but that doesn't mean that crops don't go missing . . . They have a tradition down there called '_Midnight Harvest_'. Overseers wake up in the morning and a whole section of plantation is picked clean. . ."

“Do you know anything about Dervish activity of late?" Telémahkos figured it was worth asking to see if his companions’ fears had any foundation.

"Just the usual rumors. . .  nothing of substance. . . But anyway, do I have your interest now? Shall I put you in contact with my man in Tribunisport so you can arrange passage?" the captain asked.

“Yes.” Telie replied.

"I am glad to hear it," He walked closer and clasped a strong hand firmly to Telie's neck and shoulder and smiled.  "I am sure I don't have to say this, but once this conversation is over we should return to less familiar relations, and of course to anyone else it will be as if this conversation never happened. . ."

He stopped himself shortly. "Did you tell anyone about the note you brought me?"

"No. And my discretion is assured," Telémahkos replied.

"Of your discretion I am certain. . . I mean, people have ended up on at the bottom of a staircase with their head cracked open for less…  But good… Discretion is good… But if for some reason someone were to ask, you were just bringing me our mutual friend's latest King's Men (7) move to me - as we have been playing a game for nearly a year now via messages…"

Captain Aurelius Oberto stepped towards the house's backdoor. "When you get to Tribunisport, look up a fat Herman-lander named Boris Crumb at the Brown Turban. . . He will see to getting you to the cove.  Another agent will be contacting _you_ about the specific message.  Farewell."

Telie stood there for a moment, nodding, and then slowly departed.  He felt his head spinning as he headed back to the citadel to freshen up before meeting the merchant Cornwallis Lowe.

*End of InterSession #4.1*

----------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) See Session #2

(2) Of course, Telémahkos _did_ read the note.  It told the captain that Telémahkos was of a like mind as they were and he should be offered a job.  It also noted that Telémahkos would have probably have read the note.

(3) This is a reference to _The Coopers_ the Thrician arm of Berman’s Gang, a Herman-lander Thieves guild, and the most connected criminal organization in the Spice & Thread Islands.

(4) This obtuse talk filled with innuendo and code is referring to the Herald’s Guild, a Thrician organization that lost all repute due to selling out all sense of integrity and privacy in passing news and messages to _The Coopers_.  The innuendo here is that the Herald’s Guild could take over the running of the criminal enterprises, squeezing out the Coopers.

(5) Three of Telémahkos’ brothers died in 564 H.E. (635 M.Y.) aboard _the Siren_ when it was purportedly attacked by pirates.

(6) *NOT FOR SsoaSS PLAYERS*: [sblock]Telémahkos is privy to information that one of his brothers, Jason, survived the initial attack and knew it was an inside job.  However, he was caught up to soon after and killed as well.  Telie was fishing for information here, mentioning another ship to see if the captain might let go of some more info about what happened, since he seemed to know something about the real reason they died.[/sblock]  
(7) _King’s Men_ is Aquerra’s version of chess.  It is not unknown for people distant from each other to play by means of passed messages.


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## el-remmen

For those of you interested in seeing our group in all its geeky glory, check out: The Second Son of a Second Son Campaign Cast Photo


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## Ciaran

I'm glad that Timotheus has been getting a good bit of screen time in the Story Hour so far, since he doesn't show up in any of these InterSessions.  I feel so left out!


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## el-remmen

*InterSession #4.2 – “At the Watch-mage’s House”*

As Laarus and Bleys made their trek through the narrow streets of New Harbinger towards the local watch-mage's house, the priest noticed his companion's every step betrayed signs of discomfort.  Bleys felt a hand press firmly upon his back, as he continued to walk, and heard Laarus' voice clearly call: "May the warmth of Ra's light ease your pain."  A sensation of warmth passed through the watch-mage's body, as the last of the bruises from the battle with the lizardfolk faded away.

Oroleniel the Salmon lived in a small cottage tucked behind two large buildings near New Harbinger Gate. The half-elf answered the door with a wide smile.  Dwarfed by Bleys, the half-elf had very pale skin with mottled spots of blue-green on his neck.  His green hair had yellow highlights, and was very long and worn in one thick braid.  His large green eyes opened even more widely in obvious joy at having company.  He wore pinkish-orange Academy robes.

"Master Bleys! I am surprised and pleased to have you visit again so soon!"

"Oroleniel, good morn.  I had nothing further to attend to until the formal dinner this evening.  Not being particularly comfortable imposing upon the hospitality of House Swann, I figured that you might not mind if I found refuge here for a spell.  I hope you don't mind but I've brought along a companion of the Charter: Laarus of Ra,” Bleys said, more verbose than Laarus had ever witnessed. “Laarus, this is Oroleniel the Salmon, Watch-Mage of the Academy.  He graduated a few years before me."

Laarus nodded and extended his hand to Oroleniel,  "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Oroleniel gestured for the two of them to enter the well-appointed cottage.  "I was about to make some tea.  Would you like some?"

Inside they saw a white and gray gull hopping up and down a rafter above, squawking at them as they entered. "Oh don't mind Coleridge, he's a crotchety old bird."

The gulls squawked even more angrily as the watch-mage put a kettle on the iron stove, which he lit with a quick cantrip.

"Please. . . Please sit. . .” he told them gesturing emphatically when Laarus hesitated for the host to take a seat as well. “Don’t wait for me, I need to see to the tea, and plus I picked up some wonderful sweetbread in the market this morning. . .Let me cut us a few slices. . . Now was there something specific you wanted to consult about?"

"No, nothing specific, really.  I hope we are not imposing.  Though perhaps you could tell of this drug called shannis?" Bleys sat in one of three large stuffed chairs that surrounded a low table.

The half-elf busily prepared a tray as he talked.  "Shannis? I am curious why you ask of it.  I know something of it. . . It is sometimes called 'Soldier's Boon' or even 'Soldier's Bane'. . .  Rare and expensive, it has a numbing effect that is not dangerous in small doses. . . or so I have been led to believe. . ."

He set the tray down on the low table and asked Laarus how he'd like his tea.  He remembered precisely how Bleys likes it (lemon, no honey) from the night before.  The priest of Ra replied, sitting upright and folding his arms across his lap.

“Is this the same variety of tea as you served last night?” Bleys the Aubergine asked politely.

"Yes, this is pinesmoke black tea, grown on Black Thread Island. . .Delicious!"  Oroleniel smiled and patted his stomach.

"We've heard of individuals who are transporting this shannis for sale.  Its trade does not seem to be viewed favorably.  Though, I don't know its legality," Laarus commented. 

Bleys drank deeply from the cup of hot tea,  "Mmmm, pinesmoke...  Do you know how the shannis is made?"

Oroleniel handed Laarus his tea and sat across from them with his own cup.  The gull hopped from the rafter to the windowsill and then to the back of the watch-mage's chair.

"I am not sure how it is made,” the half-elf replied. “Except that it uses the pollen of some dangerous marsh plant and some kind of mushroom - but the process is a mystery to me.  I understand it is inhaled through the nostrils."

After a few more sips of tea and a bite of sweetbread, their host continued, "As for the legality, I am surprised a priest of Ra would not be versed in such things. . . I do not think it is illegal to own it or use it yourself, but if a local watch-mage or magistrate wanted to declare it a poison, then its sale and transport in quantity would be illegal, and also any bulk amount of a crafted product, poison or not, falls under the need of peddler's license. . ..Could you share with me what this is about? Is the sale and transport of shannis what brings you to New Harbinger?"

Laarus carefully squeezed a bit of lemon into his tea, placing the rind back on the saucer. He took a slow sip, savoring the flavor. He permitted himself another sip before responding to the Oroleniel's comment.  "Contraband isn't my area of expertise," he informed with a stern tone.  "That is not what brings us to New Harbinger.  We'd already planned on stopping here on the way to our next destination."

"I meant no disrespect, good sir. . ." Oroleniel said, a smile never leaving his lips.  "I spoke out of turn, what do I know of what is taught to young priests of Ra? I spent some months in Herman Land after my graduation and before my appointment here, and there, as you know, the church of Ra is involved in every aspect of law and the judiciary. . " He stood and offers refills.

Bleys leaned back in his chair as if to study the structural integrity of the rafters for a time before speaking. "We only happened upon our limited exposure of the shannis on our journey here, but it is not the purpose of our sojourn.  There is a tribe of lizardfolk whom we know have harvested the plant pollen necessary for its creation.  Specifically, I was more curious to learn what you may know about the mushrooms, or a man in the bog who sings to them?" (1) At this last sentence, Bleys leaned in a bit scrutinizing Oroleniel's face for any immediate reaction.

"A man who sings to mushrooms? Ha!" Oroleniel laughed.  "I have heard of no such man, though admittedly I know next to nothing about what folks call the Crossroads Bog. . . it being relatively small and all. . ."

Bleys was unamused by the half-elf's attitude.  "Well, I guess there is no accounting for local legend.  My mistake…" He grew quiet, enjoying another cup of the pinesmoke black tea.

Orolieniel refused to let Bleys recede, "But why ‘a mistake’?  As I said, I know next to nothing of this bog - so I cannot clarify the matter for you. . . but perhaps if you explain how you think this man is connected to the shannis trade I might at least give you a different perspective on the puzzle pieces you _do_ have.  . . You will have to excuse my ignorance, but my expertise lies in the Great Wanderings of the elves and the conflicts of migrating and neighboring cultures. . ."

"Well, I only mean that I was simply mistaken to ask you.  You obviously know nothing of what I was asking is all.  As I already said, mushroom spores are required to make this Shannis.  I was merely inquiring, thinking perhaps this 'legendary' man may know more about them,” Bleys replied flatly. "But if the shannis is not illegal, then my inquiries are unnecessary...."  Bleys again found refuge in his cup.

Oroleniel the Salmon smiled and gave a forced laugh as if Bleys made a joke.  "If only legal and political matters were so black and white!"

With an arcane word from their watch-mage host, an invisible figure began to clear the dishes. Coleridge the gull leapt up onto the half-elf's shoulder and was fed some bits of sweetbread. "So, what _is_ happening with the Shannis? Is there a local problem with it I should know about?"

"Well that depends…  Is the shannis a problem?  I must assume that its use is new in the area.  Do you know what its effects are?  Perhaps you could enlighten us, as I myself am unaware of how it works." Bleys plucked his cup from thin air, before it could escape him, not wanting to waste the final sip of the flavorful tea from the overeager _unseen servant_.  Oroleniel commanded it to put the cups and saucers back.

"Aside from some specific locals who became addicted, I would not say there have been any broader problems that have come to my attention regarding it." Oroleniel the Salmon got up and put on more water to boil. "As for the effects, it has a numbing effect with an associated euphoria that varies based on the strength of the dose.  It also can have the side effect of rash or spontaneous actions.  It is as if it can drain the very wisdom from a man. . .  Overdose and withdrawal both cause wild emotional fluctuations, from what I understand - and a more severe clouding of wisdom."

"Then its use must certainly be new in the region, for the growth of something so potentially harmful to the mass populace should certainly be addressed.  It is like a plague, for which the only cure is abstinence.  People willingly wasting their hard-earned coin on a drug that robs them of their wits?  Certainly if they are not savvy enough to protect themselves, it is our duty to do so.  What are you and House Swann doing to wrest its deathgrip from the people?  Perhaps we can be of some assistance?" A tinge of eagerness actually entered Bleys’ usual placid voice, as if ready to charge forth from the hut to see to the task immediately.

Oroleniel looked surprised.  "You have not told me anything of what you know to lead to that conclusion. I just said there have been some isolated cases. . .. But, I think its addiction is only a problem to those who use it for a long time.  Its numbing qualities can still be very useful to those who suffer from debilitating chronic illnesses that cause pain. . .  So, to answer your question more directly, nothing is being done."

Bleys looked to Laarus, staring hard at him.  Though he might have simply been looking through him, as he turned thoughts over in his head.  Finally, he exhaled heavily. "Very well, since you are obviously confused and eager for more information, allow me to disseminate.  But first, let me urge you, this is in confidence and know I give you this as a fellow Watch-Mage, believing the greater good is served by my doing so."

Ever-insightful, and sensing that Bleys was about to tell the details of Sir Quintus Gosprey’s shame, Laarus stood up, attempting to draw attention towards himself. "You've spoken much already," the priest said, looking at his wizardly companion, "Enjoy your tea.  Give me the honor to share our knowledge about this shannis."  Laarus gazed at Bleys for a moment, ensuring the purple-cloaked watch-mage was amenable to this arrangement.

Laarus went on to explain about Sir Quintus and his men, the brigands/smugglers, how Sir Quintus worked alongside the lizardfolk to get the components of shannis and provide it to the brigands/smugglers, in hopes of uncovering the criminal elements behind the drug ring. He mentioned the names Sir Quintus supplied them with (MacHaven and Connduel), in hopes they might be familiar to Oroleniel.  The priest paced a small area of the room while he spoke, looking towards the floor at times, and others at Orolenial. He left out Sir Quintus' addiction and the deal with the lizardmen to speak with young lord Swann. He did briefly mention, however, that the lizardfolk had helped Sir Quintus in hopes of building some form of alliance with House Swann.

"So, you see,” Laarus concluded. “Though they've not seen fit to get it legally ruled a poison, House Swann does seem concerned with stopping those transporting and selling it."

There was a long quiet moment before Oroleniel said, "Sir Quintus?  Is he not Sir Quorland of Gullmoor's son?  He earned his knighthood at the Battle of the Burning Rift by leaping over a wall of flame to kill the opposing force's priestly leader.  It is said he suffered some terrible wounds in the process. . ." The watch-mage was quiet for a long time again, considering the tale he had been told, before speaking again. "Do you know if Lord Gosprey of Gullmoor has sought the aid of Lord Swann?  Or is it perhaps a more localized issue?  I would take your recruitment to their aid to mean that he has not. . However, this is not a surprise to me considering the delicate political situation in House Swann right now. . ."

"I do not know of such aid being sought, and I do not feel our recruitment sheds any light on it.  It was Sir Quintus' supposed disappearance we were asked to look into.  Though, I sensed his men didn't know how involved he was in the plan to capture these shannis smugglers," Laarus of Ra replied. "Our talk now is of our own choice.  We've not been asked for any other aid by Sir Quintus or House Swann in the matter."

"And yet you continue to look into the matter, so you must feel there is more to it, or that it goes deeper and poses some danger. . . I have not heard of this MacHaven or the other name. . . But there are many that smuggle goods from the Glogrichio and beyond. . . Cwell the Hawk would be the one to ask."  Oroleniel the Salmon looked to Bleys as he said the name of the watch-mage of Tribunisport. "As for the lizardfolk's desires… Well, it is not that I know of anything specific about Lord Swann’s feelings about the lizard people, but the fact that his most favored knight is sometimes called '_the Lizardbane_' may reveal something about that house's attitude in general. . . "

“I can only hope that the new Lord Swann's eagerness of youth does not cloud his judgment from making a decision that is best for his people," Bleys said, standing. "Perhaps there are more than a few answers in Tribunisport." Almost absentmindedly, he broke the remaining pieces of his sweetbread into small bits and threw them down to Coleridge, who was looking for crumbs and squawking occasionally.

"I am curious, have you any theories about Barakis the Bold's untimely demise?" Bleys changed the subject as he sat back down.

Oroleniel the Salmon let out a long low breath and then stood.  Coleridge hopped down onto the watch-mage's shoulder, as the latter walked over to the window. Oroleniel took the bird from his shoulder and held him up and out towards the window, standing near motionless for a full minute, before the familiar flew off.

"The only people who really know aren't talking, and it really is not my place to ask, unless I happen upon more information that can lead in some direction or another…” Oroleniel the Salmon finally replied, as he turned around. “My own limited inquires have been exhausted…"

"Is that all?” Laarus asked with sudden intensity. “I feel you might know more.  If you'd share, I'm sure the weight you're feeling would be lessened." (2)

"Weight? Feeling? Whatever do you mean?"

Laarus stood and placed his cup down on its saucer.  He looked towards Bleys. "Leave me with Orolenial for a moment."

"Hmmm....."  Bleys looked to Oroleniel for a response.  "You have me at a disadvantage… Did I miss something?"

"I must have missed it as well," Oroleniel replied, frowning and then looking to Laarus.  "I am at a loss for what you are implying. . ."

Laarus walked over to the window where Orolenial was standing, putting his back to Bleys.  He clasped his hands in front of him and fixed his eyes on the half-elf's. "There is more you aren't saying.  I see it bothers you.  You're nervous about sharing with Bleys.  So, speak to me," he said quietly. Being closer the half-elf's height, Laarus bowed his head slightly and turned his ear to the watch-mage, giving him the opportunity to speak more privately.

Oroleniel the Salmon stepped away from Laarus as if startled. He sighed and his shoulders sagged.  "I mean no disrespect, but there is no way I can express what are unsubstantiated opinions without giving insult. . . It is not that I am trying to be unhelpful. . ."

"This that weighs on your heart appears too heavy to be unsubstantiated opinions.  I feel you yet have more you can say,” Laarus insisted.  “More that can lead to the truth and bring justice to the guilty. You are not disrespecting me.  Your silence insults your late fellow watch-mage."

Laarus maintained eye contact for a long moment, and then turns and walked back to his seat, making eye contact with Bleys along the way and giving him a short nod.

"It is not you I would insult. . ." Oroleniel said with a sigh.  "As I have said before those who _know_ are not talking, so who am I who was not there, and not having any special knowledge or evidence to speak against someone else?  Down that path lies rumor and injustice, and I will not be origin, or part of, that. . ."

"Very well, I respect your position.  Perhaps we have imposed too long," Bleys stood and made for the door.  Turning with raised eyebrow, he added: "But one last thing, can you tell us who it is that you think _knows_?"  

"Ask your former master…" The half-elf said, looking down.  He took a deep breath and then his demeanor became gregarious again as he showed them to the door. "But if there is anything else I can help you with you while you are here, let me know.  This last exchange has soured your visit some, which is the last thing I desired. . . and so, would like a chance to make it up to you. . ."

Laarus shook the watch-mage's hand, "You've been most hospitable.  May Ra's light shine on you and light you the way."

"We are not soured, Oroleniel the Salmon. We are only seeking answers.  It is commendable that you wish not to sully the reputations of others by propagating half-truths, speculations, and rumors.  We will speak again, I hope sooner rather than later.  I should enjoy some more of that pinesmoke," Bleys shook his fellow watch-mage’s hand and turned to walk away with the priest without a backward glance.

As the Bleys the Aubergine and Laarus of Ra strolled back, the priest seemed  lost in thought, and no words passed between then until they had nearly reached the citadel. 

"Who is your former master?" Laarus asked.

Bleys kept a steady pace, without breaking stride, he replied flatly, "Sir Abberd the Argent, of House Schemerhorn.  Uncle to the Margrave,” Bleys said, not looking at his companion, or slowing his pace. “I resided in the Golden Tower of the West for nearly three years before entering the Academy of Wizardry.  In Sluetelot, Darbold told me it was Sir Abberd who had been sent to investigate the matter of Barakis' death.  I saw no further need for inquiry."

"You saw need to inquire of Orolenial.  Something still bothers you about the matter?" Laarus asked.

"Well, it is a mystery.  I was merely inquisitive is all…  I thought perhaps if some knowledge was to be shared a fellow watch-mage would have more than that slovenly backwater bard,” (3) Bleys allowed himself a rare sigh. “Apparently I was wrong.  If there have been answers found they must not have been made public to the rest of we alumni."

There was another long silence before the watch-mage continued. "And I wish you had not brow-beaten Oroleniel, I fear it reflects poorly on me.  We were guests in his home.  He is lonely is all, and eager for company, otherwise I'm sure we may have both received a tongue-lashing from a graduate more senior.  Cwell the Carmine, for example."

"His lies reflect poorly on _him_.  He knows something more than his personal opinion.  Your broaching the subject made him very nervous.  Why would he feel that, if he knows nothing?  He was hiding something,” Laarus insisted. His brow furrowed as continued.  "I'm beginning to sense the truth is not wanted to be found.  Tell me, do you know what Barakis had accomplished while serving as watch-mage, or what he hoped to?"  

"Again you have me at the disadvantage.  Either you have had a revelation from Ra or you are vastly superior to myself when it comes to reading the subtle nuances of body language and tone of voice.  I wondered how it is you knew he was lying, but I do not doubt your divinations.  I agree the truth must be serving some other purpose, perhaps protecting someone or something.  An agenda?" Bleys paused, while musing, before continuing. He stopped walking. "I suspect Oroleniel was nervous that we, an Academy Mage and a Priest of Ra showed up at his door making inquiries.  He may have suspected that we had indeed suspected him of some involvement.  But, I do not think he is the type to harbor secrets."

The taller man resumed the pace back toward the Citadel, "As to Barakis, he was, as you may have gathered, best known for his carousing, drinking, brawling.  He had no real enemies or agenda of his own that I know of…  Perhaps he was merely a target of circumstance or an unwitting pawn in someone's game.  As of now, I am content to keep my ears open, as it is not my place to make any official inquiries, especially at the risk of offending my mentor.  I'm sure you understand."

Laarus nodded.  "I understand the delicacy of politics. I understand when I can speak freely and when I must hold my tongue.  It may not be your place to make inquiries but as a shining servant of Ra, it is _my_ place to seek the truth, ensure His laws are upheld, and mete out His justice. My gut makes me feel there's something else."

"I guess mine does too then, eh?” Bleys frowned.  “Why else would I still be asking about it?"  Bleys receded into his thoughts as the duo reached the Citadel.

Laarus' lips stretched into a brief smile at Bleys' comment, but the walk concluded in silence, the watch-mage considering another visit to his fellow alumnus later in the afternoon.  Alone.

*End of InterSession #4.2*
-------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Tavius made an off-hand remark regarding the hermit that sings to mushrooms in Session #3.

(2)	Laarus of Ra made a sense motive check to determine that Oroleniel the Salmon seemed to be holding something back in Bleys’ presence.

(3)	This is a reference to Darbold the Gay.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession 4.3 – “Just Business…”*

That afternoon Amalda met Telémahkos with a chaste kiss and a wink in the upper hall of the _Sign of the Green Gem_. "Master Lowe knows you are coming and is eager to meet you.  He is inside with his middle son, Plavus who shares his business savvy.  His other two sons and his daughter are about somewhere well."

She knocked softly on a room door and let herself in.  After a few words that came through the closed door as a murmur, she opened it again and called Telie into the suite.

Cornwallis Lowe appeared to be nearing his fifties, but in good health. He wore a red and green kilt and a long lighter green-colored shirt tied in an elaborate knot with the edge of the kilt and tied again with gold tasseled silken rope. His long brown hair was whitening, but not thinning, and he had alert light brown eyes and a paternal smile.

"Master Briareus! It is a pleasure to meet you!" The merchant stretched out to take Telémahkos’ hands and shake them firmly.  "This is my son Plavus." Standing next to him was a squatter and darker version of Cornwallis. The son, likely in his late twenties, smiled nervously and nodded.

Amalda lets herself out with a quiet and respectful, ‘good-bye’.

"The pleasure is mine," Telémahkos replied with a hearty handshake.  He made a respectful gesture to the son. "Plavus."

Cornwallis Lowe gestured for Telie to sit in a low stuffed chair across a low table from two chairs that had been pulled up for the merchant and his son. He poured the young Briareus some wine and then a glass for himself.  Telémahkos smiled and noted the quality of the surroundings. This was clearly the most expensive set of rooms in the place, and many personal items had been brought in to make it more comfortable.  Over Lowe’s shoulder to the right was a curtained doorway to an adjoining room.

“This is beautiful land around here,” Telémahkos said taking the glass and trying to think of a pleasant and innocuous way to start the conversation.

"Aye, it certainly is beautiful, but I prefer the amber plains of Schiereiland myself.  I worked a trade route from Heartspire to Hillsgate for over ten years, and I still dream of that place…” Lowe was wistful.  “One day soon I hope to have the coin to purchase some land and build a more permanent legacy for my family…" He raised his glass and his son followed suit, "But enough about me, let us toast to you and your braves companions that I have been hearing about. . . Well, the word is you have only just gotten started, but if the nobles I have known are anything to go by, I am sure you already have several irons in the fire all of which require discretion."

Cornwallis Lowe smiled and raised his glass even higher, "To House Briareus and the Charter of Schiereiland!"

"Here, here!" Plavus added weakly.  The younger man's smile reminded Telémahkos of a face someone would make when straining on a chamber pot.

"Here here!" Telie echoed and took a sip of the wine. It was strong and sweet, just how he liked it.

"House Briareus has a long mercantile tradition. I can honestly say trade has been our lifeblood," Telémahkos said.  “I think my goals fall somewhere in the realm of that tradition…”

"And what are our children and their children if not a means of extending that lifeblood and tradition beyond our own allotted time?" Cornwallis said, getting very serious and reaching over to clasp Plavus' shoulder paternally.  "A father must ever seek to expand his wealth and resources so that his progeny might have an even better life…" He took a sip of wine.

"If you know of my own father's path then you know my family believes deeply in that same value," Telie replied with feigned emotion. Sometimes he amazed even himself with just how easily he could turn it on and off.

"I know of your honorable father, and his sharp and uncompromising mind when it comes to business.  He is no doubt a great man. .  But he is established and rich. . . It is with the younger generation and how they surpass their fathers that I am concerned with, and that is why I was so happy to hear of you and your group," Lowe paused and took another deep sip and then refilled his cup. He gestured as if asking if Telie would like a refill. And Telie nodded. "Are the rumors I hear of your plans to enter the Disputed Territories 
true?"

"It appears that sometime soon we will be heading there. I hear there may even be land suitable for the nobility of Thricia to cultivate. There might be some money to be made for a trader down there if a town or keep of some sort is established or re-secured."

"The apple does not fall far from the tree it seems," Cornwallis said with a wink. "For it was something along those lines that I wanted to talk with you about… That is, when the disputed territories are open up the way the western frontier has been, and when a declaration of homesteading is made, it will be those who are prepared to seek out and hold lands that will succeed the most; those ready to set up routes by which needed goods can be sent to and brought from there." He stopped and took another sip. "And those who know of lands… who might have access to maps or detailed directions to fertile and safer places to go along with that preparation, they will be in the best position…And the wealth that will come from being in that kind of position will purchase a form of independence and influence that I feel is harder and harder for the younger noble generations to attain…"

"It certainly is,” Telémahkos smiled realizing that they were closing in on the heart of the matter. “It would seem that those who can supply information and logistics will be seeking those with the standing and resources to settle these areas. I suppose some might already be making arrangements to assure themselves such a position early in the game. I am sure there will still be a price to pay to gain this advantage on the competition, but I am certain it will be worth every silver piece." He drained his glass and accepted another. "Now that I am aware of these opportunities, I am very interested in expanding my family’s holdings, status and fortunes simply because I know it is going to help my beloved kingdom and better yet, will relieve my 
father of his worries about my future. The problem I face right now is a lack of financial stability within the charter..."

"Yes, coin is certainly an issue…" Cornwallis raised the bottle to pour more and seeing it is empty, put it back down a little too hard.  "And if we can come to an agreement, I would certainly invest some to help in your endeavors. . ." He clapped his hands loudly and called out, "Ida! Attend to me!"

The curtain to cordoned off section of the suite was pulled aside, and for a second Telémahkos could see another man standing back there, but the man was easily forgotten when Ida came walking through.

She was a lithe girl of about fifteen summers - petite, with long golden brown hair, and a soft radiant beauty like a romantic painting.  She wore a flower patterned silken dress that Telie reckoned cost more than everything he wore.  Ida was demure and graceful, gliding over with a freshly uncorked bottle of wine in her hands.  Telie could see the label facing him, "_Pyla Reserve_".  She had soft brown eyes, and each of the handful of freckles on her nose were like a mote of stardust…

"My daughter… Ida…" Cornwallis said, standing.  Plavus stood as well, but Telémahkos was already on his feet, bowing.

She curtsied.  "How do you do, sir. . .?" she asked in perfect practiced diction. Ida filled Telie’s glass and then her father's.

"Where was I?" Cornwallis asked rhetorically. "Oh yes. . . Investment.  I also wanted you to understand that I there are some business relationships that coin alone cannot arrange. . ."

Ida blushed, and her air of innocence redoubled as she stood there awkwardly, before remembering to pour some wine for her brother.

Telémahkos was quiet just a little too long before saying, "Yes, of course, more than coin alone..."  Telie nodded distractedly as he made a mighty attempt not to look upon the daughter for overly long.

"As I said," Cornwallis continued, putting an arm lovingly around his daughter's shoulder as he gave her a kiss and shooed her off.  "I am most concerned with the generations that come after me and that their lives 
and that of their children will be in a better place than I am now. . ." Lowe smiled broadly. “And to that end I am willing to invest not only coin in your efforts to aid our business arrangement, but invest my children in this endeavor as a means of investing in their future…If you get my meaning… And it is for this reason that as part of our understanding, I would like for you take one of my other sons with you to the Disputed Territories.  He is trained in martial skills, but just as importantly he is a gifted surveyor, knows his letters and speaks four languages. . ."

"This is an interesting development. You do understand that the charter lists in excruciating detail how any riches we discover are split, yes?" Telie mulled the idea in his head. "Your son's role would be to help with 
cartography and dealing with local populations? We certainly see ourselves as liberators and heroes rather than merely on a quest for land. That being said, many of us do also wish to honor our Houses as best we can."

Telie sipped his wine and took another long look about the room. "So, where is this son? And can you tell me where he may have learned his craft?"

"Like Plavus here, my son Tymon learned a great deal on the road with me, bringing goods up and down the coast to and from Schiereiland to New Harbinger and back - but recently he just completed a series of courses at the University of Thricia. . . He is actually at the port right now with some of my employees securing some shipments of spices to be brought north, but I can arrange for you to meet him later tonight or sometime tomorrow. Actually, you may have seen him in the common room last night, he is taller and broader than me, and, but darker. . .taking after his mother in that regard, like Plavus here. . ."

The merchant continued: "As for the split, I willing to pay for his travel and needed gear for the journey, so that is not an issue - and as for any recovered treasures, we are more than willing to leave it to a handshake agreeing that you can give him whatever you consider fair for his help - whether that be from your own share, or from some agreement made among your companions… On a case by case basis, of course."

"What sort of martial training does your son have? I am certain that the biggest qualm my companions will have is not wanting to responsible for bringing a merchant to his death."

"My son was trained by the former head of my company's caravan guard.  He has been involved in more than one battle involving bandits, and once against a treacherous kobold ambush…" Cornwallis poured even more wine for the both them, smiling proudly at the recollection of his son’s heroics, and ignoring Plavus who seemed to be nursing his wine. "But I was speaking of your companions…Before we make a final agreement, I was curious… How well do you get-on with Mistress Ostrander?"

"She and I get along fine. I am not certain of her inner thoughts of course since she is a woman…” All three of them burst out into self-satisfactory man-laughter, and then Telie continued, “But then again, she is an Ostrander and I do not expect any of that House to look very kindly upon House Briareus. That being said, I think she is much more concerned with Anhur and honor to worry much about politics. Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering if you knew if she was close to her uncle, High Inquisitor Estatius Ostrander, of the Margrave's court. . ."

"No idea… But I could always ask her,” Telémahkos replied dismissively. “But regarding coin, I was thinking that two hundred and fifty silver pieces might be a reasonable number to acquire my support in this situation. The coin would allow the charter to not worry about immediate needs and rather concentrate on the correct next step. If we were to gain land in the Disputed Territories, your company would be among 
the most advantaged merchants we work with. I would love to offer you exclusive access but I am certain my father would not be happy with that. Also I can assure you that your son would be more than fairly compensated in return for this generosity on your part."

Telie finished his fourth glass of wine.

"Well, if those lands are made available in the same form as that in the western frontier was given, that is, first come first serve with the condition of there being evidence that the land is being worked and remains productive - then those who are prepared will arrive first. . . It would not be a matter exclusivity… So do not worry yourself on that point…" Cornwallis Lowe looked to his son and nodded, and Plavus got up and went to the back room.

"It is commonly known secret. . ." Lowe winked when he said this. "That Esatitius Ostrander is one of heads of the pro-expansionist movement, but he is also kind of an outsider in his family, and since he and Sir Lionel Ostrander, Victoria's father, are the only children of the same mother in that particular branch of Ostranders - I thought perhaps there might be a little of that outsider status for her as well… And so she might stand with her uncle on the issue. . . And if so, this might help you in your own endeavors… Or should I say, _our_ endeavors now that we will be working towards a common goal."

Telémahkos mulled this over, but did not respond to it, his mind still on Ida.

"When we are done, I request the honor of bidding your daughter farewell, and if my companions and I decide to stay in the town another day, I would like to have tea with your beautiful daughter with a chaperone of your choice of course,” Telémahkos said as respectfully as he could, trying to hide his nervous excitement.

But it was as if the merchant could read Telie mind, for he stood when Plavus came back into the room followed by Ida.

"Ida, come and bid this fine young man farewell. . " Her father said to her.

Blushing as she glided towards Telie, she immediately looked down when their eyes met. "It was my pleasure, sir. . ." She said as she daintily offered her hand and curtsied.

"Nay, m'lady, tis all mine, as Bast herself has blessed my eyes this day..." Gently and slowly he bowed low gave her the lightest kiss on her hand.

"I do. . . um I do hope that we get to meet again soon," Ida bated her eyelashes and looked down again and then turned to leave.  As she got to the curtained doorway to the adjoining room she looked back at him, and seeing he was still looking let out a little yelp and hopped behind the curtain.

It is then that Telémahkos noticed Plavus was sitting and writing at a desk against the wall. Cornwallis led him over. On the desk were two piled stacks of ten Thrician gold pieces each and five stacks of ten Thrician silver pieces each.

"If you will sign here," Plavus said handing Telémahkos a quill.

"Stand up you idiot! Let him sit!" Cornwallis Lowe smacked his son in the back of the head, and Plavus leapt off the chair to allow Telie to sit.

The paper was two copies of a simple receipt acknowledging Telémahkos’ acceptance of two hundred and fifty silver pieces from Mister Cornwallis Lowe in return for "future special considerations".

Telie took the quill and sitting, took a deep breath and signed his name twice. "I may need to be circumspect when I explain to my companions where this coin has come from. They are very suspicious...." He said as he put the quill down. 

"You know best your own business," Cornwallis said with a smile, risking the familiarity of a pat on the shoulder.

"And I need to emphasize the danger you are sending your son into,” Telémahkos said, turning in the chair to face the merchant. “We have already traveled into a deadly bog in the middle of the night and done battle with vicious lizardfolk. This is no caravan. My companions are looking for trouble so they can right wrongs... I am happy to have your son along but he will need to join us as my hireling. You and he will be relying on my own honor and generosity until he proves himself to the rest of the company."

Telie got up and Cornwallis Lowe walked him to the door.  "My son is not only aware of the danger, he is eager for the adventure.  He has sharp eyes and a sharp wit and will only be an asset. When and where shall I have Tymon seek you out?  Or should I simply send him to your steward for the arrangements of travel?"

Arrangements were made for Tymon to meet with Euleria that evening, so that she may question him a bit and make arrangements for him to meet the rest of the group the next day.

"I do look forward to forging a lasting alliance between my House and your family, if Bes and the other gods see fit for this to happen."

Telémahkos headed back to the citadel to get ready for dinner.

*End of InterSession #4.3*


----------



## Telémakhos

That Telie sure is entertaining. 

I figure with my 9 wis I can imagine I am trluy in love with Lowe's daughter.


----------



## BlackCat

All I know is that I hope that Telie knows how or can learn how to juggle real fast! He has a few balls in the air at the moment and his footing isn't as even with the group as one might like.  I really do like how he goes for it with those around him and deals with the people that approach him.

He's swiftly becoming my favorite. Say what you like about him but you gotta admit, the boy's got STYLE and that's a facet of a very interesting character.

Kudos, Telie!


----------



## Telémakhos

*bows*

Thank you.

It is going to be interesting to see how he holds up if we are on the road/in the middle of nowhere for a long time.

He is a lot more fun to play than dour Ratchis.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #5 – “Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner” (Part 1 of 3)* (1)

As evening approached the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland gathered in the common area of the lower level of the citadel, down the hall from their cells.  Euleria had just dropped off the itemized list bill of how she had spent the fund she had been provided with, and it showed that only a very small amount was left.

”Well, I think I have a partial solution to our money woes,” Telémahkos said to the others.  “I made contact with a merchant named Lowe, and in return for special consideration from me in the future, he has offered his son as a kind of hireling, and gave me two hundred and fifty silver pieces…”

“Special considerations?” Victoria asked.

Telémahkos Briareus explained about his meeting with Cornwallis Lowe, about the expansionist movement that foresees Thricia retaking all or part of the Disputed Territories, and how the merchant’s son was not only well-educated and versed in four languages, but also knew how to fight and had several engagements with bandits and kobolds already while guarding his father’s caravan. (2)

“I was thinking I would put one hundred of those silver pieces into the general fund for Euleria to continue to use, and then pay for the provisions of this extra hireling out of my own money,” Telémahkos explained.  “He would be my man…and thus would be my responsibility.”

“So do you plan to use your own divine healing energies to close his wounds or save his life, if he should get wounded?” Bleys the Aubergine asked.  He was cleaned up for dinner, his face cleanly shaven.

“What do you mean?  Is my devotion to Ra and Anhur in question here for some reason I cannot see?” Telémahkos asked. “I thought…”

“What Bleys is trying to say…” Markos interjected rudely cutting Telie off.

“I was speaking…” Telémahkos said.

“Yeah, and I’m interrupting… What Bleys was trying to say was that while you may claim he will be solely your responsibility, responsibility for him will fall on us all none-the-less,” Markos said, heat already growing in his voice.

“Is that not the case with the other people who have already been hired?” Telémahkos asked, sighing.  “We all share in some responsibility for them in the sense that they are our comrades-in-arms…”

“No, I don’t see that at all!” Markos snapped.  “We all share equally from the benefits of those other hirelings, while in this case you get all the benefit…”

“That is not the case, I have explained all his skills… Surely that is useful to all of us…”

“And what about the benefit of the side deal you brokered with the merchant that you stand to make a profit off of?” Markos replied.

“How come you to know this Lowe?” Bleys asked.  Telémahkos explained about meeting Amalda and her arranging the meeting, as her employer had heard of them and of the charter.

“So you want to add this other hireling,” Victoria of Anhur said, working things out slowly and aloud in her usual way.

“But instead of us paying him, he’s paying us!” Tim smiled.

“He is not paying us…” Telémahkos objected.

“His _father_ is paying us…” Tim corrected.

“He is not _paying_ me, the money is more of an investment,” Telémahkos tried to explain.

“Right! The money is being paid only to Telémahkos and not to the group, that is the difference right there!” Markos said.

The argument exploded.  Markos and Telémahkos firing invectives at each other that echoed out of the common area and down the narrow stone corridor beneath the citadel somewhere.  

The former harped on and on about how the latter would be benefiting off of the rest of the group’s effort while trying to make it sound like he was doing the group a favor by “taking responsibility”.  Telémahkos explained that he meant _legal_ responsibility in terms of fines and restitution if the servant were to cause harm.

“That just shows how much a weasel you are,” Markos said.  “You do not get to define the debate to some narrow definition of responsibility and then expect us to swallow it!”

Telémahkos offered to put all the money he had gained into the group fund as long as everyone agreed to be equally responsible and honor the agreement with Cornwallis Lowe.  Markos refused.

“I have no desire for monetary gain by this method,” he said.

“Then why do you care?” Timotheus asked.

“It is a matter of principle,” Markos replied.  “Why should he get to manipulate the group into abetting one his schemes so that he might make a profit?”

Bleys the Aubergine had Markos explain his position again directly to him, and then the watch-mage tried to explain it in more neutral words to Telémahkos.  He then had Telémahkos explain to him his position, but as Bleys began to explain to Markos, the former captive of pirates made a comment that Telémahkos felt compelled to reply to directly, and the argument exploded again.

Bleys sat back abandoning his attempt at mediation with only the slightest gradation in his typical indifference.  To those who knew him well, it might have indicated disgust…

Timotheus Smith stood from the table looking for the page that had been there, as he wanted wine, but there were no servants around.  He remembered that they would all be due at the dinner soon, pressing his fine doublet smooth against his chest with the palm of his big hand.

Markos stomped out of the room, throwing his hands in the air, and Timotheus went after him.  They returned a few moments later, and in the meantime, Telémahkos told the others a bit more about the merchant’s son.

“But you have not met him?” Bleys asked.

“No.”

“Have you something to add now?” Bleys asked Markos as he came back in.  The young mage wore the prideful glare only a teenager can perfect.

“No… It will come down to a vote, and I know most people here don’t care, and Telémahkos will be able to take advantage of the group for his own good,” Markos said.

“So you object to this whole thing in principle?” Timotheus asked.

“I have already made clear why I object to this,” Markos began.  He explained again how Telémahkos was manipulating them, but Telie took exception to how his position was being characterized.

“I _am_ doing you a favor!” Telie said.

“You see! He takes us all for fools!” And the argument exploded yet again; Telémahkos trying to downplay the chances of his profiting greatly from the deal, and bringing up the possibility of his taking a loss, while Markos insisting that making deals that would net Telémahkos perhaps tens of thousands of silver pieces was not doing them a favor.

A young servant boy stuck his head in the door and looked around.

“Yes?” Markos asked brusquely.

“Uh, um… I was told to come tell you that dinner will begin in thirty minutes time,” the servant said.

Markos thanked him.

“If I am going to be thought so low of by this whole group, I will not be able to stay in this charter,” Telémahkos said, looking to someone for some support.

“I believe that is a topic that you would need to take up with your father,” Bleys said, and Telie scowled at the watch-mage. 

Laarus of Ra asked Telémahkos more details regarding the deal, but Markos interrupted, explaining again it was not the details he objected to, but rather how Telie presented it.  Before the argument could take off a fourth time, Timotheus insisted the group vote on it right away and move on.  But an actual vote turned out to be unnecessary.  No one was as adamant about the issue as Markos was, and aside from asking Telémahkos to show her the receipt he had gotten from the merchant and some clarification of what “special considerations” meant, the topic was dropped.

“It makes most sense to decide if we are actually going to Tribunisport first before making such decisions anyway,” Bleys said.

“I am getting to that,” Telémahkos said.  “It seems there might be some connection between the planned attack on House Wetherwax and the Disputed Territories after all…” Telémahkos explained how his source had revealed that Rubes, or ex-Rubes were among the smugglers, bringing goods out of the Kingdom of the Red God of the West for sale in Thricia.  He told them how Kraken’s Cove was the name of the place where smugglers met to trade the illicit goods and move them out.

“And pirates?” Victoria asked.

“I don’t know if they are pirates,” Telémahkos replied. “They are smugglers.  If once they get in their ships they start attacking other ships or raiding villages, then they are pirates, too…”

“My point is,” He continued. “There is reason to think that this smuggling operation may be the source of the attack on Wetherwax, and the motive behind it may be a move on the part of the Kingdom of the Red God of the West to prepare for invasion. And… it seems the man I am looking for, the merchant’s son I mentioned… that is where he is headed…”

“Explain what you mean by ex-Rubes,” Bleys asked,

“People of the Kingdom of the Red God of the West who are no longer of the faith,” Telémahkos explained. “Or at least, they claim to be, but it may be that they funnel coin back to their kingdom for whatever plots they may have…”

He went on to explain how a man named Crumb was recruiting crews for the smuggler ships in Tribunisport, and had drawn a good number of Herman-landers seeking to flee conscription for just this work.  He told them that his source had provided Crumb as a means to get into Kraken’s Cove.

“Who is this source?” Bleys asked.

“I cannot say,” Telémahkos replied.

“Of course,” Victoria commented with a smirk.

“I too have heard of this Kraken’s Cove and was told to seek employment there in Tribunisport,” Markos backed up Telie’s story. 

“And if people are being recruited for this attack, whether willingly or no, it makes sense to use both ex-Rubes and Herman-landers which cannot be traced back to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West.”

“That makes sense to me,” Markos replied, slowly leaving the sullen state that had settled on him after the arguing.   “And if we are willing to take a cue from an old bard’s tale, perhaps we can arrange to get ourselves hired on if we were to properly disguise ourselves.”

“I had considered that,” Telémahkos said, careful to keep his tone innocuous as to keep the discussion flowing smoothly, as he and Markos seemed to be on the same page. He turned to the others. “Look, you wanted more information about the attack, and it seems to me that this is the place to go to get that information.  All we need to do is get Euleria to announce that we are going somewhere else other than Tribunisport, and then while we are there Markos and I will make contact with this Crumb and we will take it from there…”

There was a brief discussion about whether it was better to take the guise of merchants looking to buy goods or that of sailors, but Victoria interrupted it by expressing concern about the ruse and her honor as a militant of Anhur, and that of Laarus.

“Keep in mind,” Telémahkos explained to her. “Kraken’s Cove is a meeting place for trade not a pirate war camp.  If it is a place that otherwise legitimate merchants go to then it is doubtful it will be a place of wanton evil that will force you to drop your guise and endanger us…”

“If we are to go, I much prefer we go as merchants,” Laarus of Ra said.  “As pirates we may be tempted to act poorly, as merchants, we may remain within the law…”

“Kraken’s Cove strikes me as a lawless place altogether…” Bleys said.

“But not so lawless or else it could never be maintained as a place to trade,” Telémahkos said.  “And as long as we look like we can handle ourselves we are less likely to draw unwanted attention.”

“It seems this course of action is a lot more to go on to help people than to wander aimlessly in the Disputed Territories looking for dervishes, or raiding some tombs,” Markos said.

“And, technically, Kraken’s Cove is _in_ the Disputed Territories, so we can always go on from there if we want to,” Telémahkos added.

It was agreed that they would see about heading to Tribunisport the next day, but once that was agreed upon, Bleys Winter brought up the subject of the expense of the hirelings, and how they were of less use in going to Kraken’s Cove than to the King Stones.

Another servant came to remind them that dinner would be starting in a few minutes.  Telémahkos thanked him and flipped him a copper piece.  They continued their discussion.

“I think we should get rid of the two hirelings were paying and keep the one we’re not paying,” Telémahkos suggested.

“And the porter?” Bleys asked.

“Dismiss him, too… I don’t know whose crazy idea that was,” Markos said.

Timotheus was against it, feeling it’d be rude to dismiss them after their having done nothing, and wanting more warm fighting bodies around whether the party went to the Disputed Territories or to Kraken’s Cove.

“They have been more than amply compensated for their time,” Bleys said.

“And I will throw them some extra coin to keep them in our good graces in case we ever need to re-hire them,” Telémahkos offered.  “We don’t want to have to pay them for sitting around while we do our investigations, and the less people we have to sneak into Kraken’s Cove, the easier it will be to pull off…”

“I have been of the mind that we were too hastily hiring these men since the idea was first brought up,” Bleys added.

“If this cove is in the Disputed Territories, why not go there overland?” Timotheus asked.

“It can only be reached by the sea,” Telémahkos said.

The suggestion was made by Laarus to send Falco and Dunlevey to the Border Shires to gather information and scout out the area, surveying for possible danger and perhaps making contacts.  The boy hired as porter would be dismissed and a lower fee could be negotiated for times when the hirelings would not be involved in combat.

Markos heartily supported his cousin’s idea, and Timotheus was in favor of it as well, but Telémahkos and Bleys were against it, and Victoria was unsure they would agree to it.  So, it was decided to let the hirelings decide for themselves.  If they accepted the terms they would be sent off, if not, they would be dismissed, but everyone agreed on dismissing the porter either way.

Wanting for everyone to be fully informed in case the information became important at dinner, Bleys went on to tell the group what he had learned about the area of the King Stones from Oroleniel the Salmon.

A brief discussion on the differences between the Beast Gods and the gods of Ra’s Pantheon, and whether violating tombs consecrated to one might violate the sacred laws of the other, was interrupted by Bleys explaining that most of these places had been violated by the goblins and other creatures living there centuries ago.  He went on to point to the map they had gained from Joezyn Barhyte (3) showing where the words “Ray-Ree” were written in charcoal along one side.

“That is the barbarian tribe that once defended those tombs,” the watch-mage said. “They long ago either failed at or abandoned that duty, but their descendents still consider this their lands. So my thinking was, we should endeavor to ally ourselves with these people if possible, and rather than plunder these tombs, we can help them to clean them out their goblin vermin, and thus gain something more valuable, a potential powerful ally… That is, if can convince their barbarian minds of the value of such an alliance.”

“That is a good idea,” Telémahkos said.  “If they can be taught to be more effective warriors they can be an effective defense against the forces of the Kingdom the Red God of West…”

“Um… Sirs?” There was a young voice at the doorway.  “Dinner has begun…”

The young nobles all leaped out of their seats and hurried out into the hall and up to the dining room, led by the servant.

_. . .to be continued. . ._
------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	This session was played on March 18th, 2007.  Experience points were awarded at the beginning of the session, but no one gained enough to advance in level.

(2)	See InterSession #4.3

(3)	Joezyn Barhyte was met in Session #1.  You can see the map by clicking here


----------



## Telémakhos

Wow, we did NOTHING that session (okay, part 1 of 3 so it wasn't an entire session in the common room but at times it felt that way). So awesome. 

You do a great deal depicting the ponderous nature of the arguing without making the retelling ponderous as well.

The good and bad of it is that I love playing Telie in almost any circumstance, but that also means I can play through hours of arguing if not reigned in.


----------



## el-remmen

And so, it finally happens.

Today we played Session #7, but I never got a chance to finish writing up Session #6 for the story hour before today, so I am now officially behind for the first time.

What does this mean for the loyal readers?

Not much in the short-term as I am just now starting to post Session #5, but in the next week or so the installments are going to slow way down to something less frequent than every two to four days, which was how often I was posting until now.

Crunch time is upon me for the end of my first semester of grad school, so with all the papers and reading I have to do, time for the story hour is not as plentiful. . .

But. . . be that as it may, expect another installment tomorrow night or the day after.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #5 – “Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner?” (Part 2 of 3)*

The dining room was a large chamber decorated with marble. There was a broad open window with intricately carved painted wooden shutters, which were open to reveal the beautiful pea-green waters of Drie-Hoek Bay, shining in the dying light of the evening sun.   The long table was covered in lovely ceramic plates inlaid with tiny figures of golden swans, and tall intricate silver candelabras holding yellow candles.

Young Lord Swann’s family and entourage were announced before he was, as each of the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland stood at their chairs smelling the delicious food that had been laid out on a sideboard. 

There was the citadel’s seneschal Corwin Locksley, a tall man of plain features and long blond hair, and the Grand Vizier, Tiperol Dust, a dark and handsome man in robes that were designed to suggest those traditional to the Academy of Wizardry, but did not cross the line to inappropriately similar. He could not have been more than five or six years older than Bleys; young to hold the obscure title of Grand Vizier. (1)

In came Sir Novius Wilmus Swann, who walked over and shook Bleys’ hand with cold polite recognition.  The well-known knight, now closing in on fifty summers, was married to one of the Margrave’s aunts, and knew the young watch-mage from his time at the Golden Tower of the West, seat of House Schemerhorn.

He nodded to others.  

Decima Aurora Swann was a pale and swollen middle-aged woman with a nervous demeanor and an awkward gait.  Timotheus greeted her happily, explaining who he was, as her young son, Heydricus, was being fostered at High Talon.  She had a breathy nervous twitter that was always echoed with a weak cough. Decima was followed by Novaluna Julia Swann, a young plump, but pretty girl of about sixteen years, with fine golden brown hair.  Her shoulders sagged and she took her seat without looking over the guests.

Sir Septimias Benedict Swann was her brother.  About the same age as the young noble guests, but with a prideful stature that made him seem older.  He had the same golden brown hair as his sister, and upon hearing his name several members of the party remembered the reputation his name had garnered: _Lizardbane_.

The penultimate arrival was Lord Swann’s young sister, Octavia Camilla Swann.  Quiet, pale and petite, she was dressed in long white dress with a black collar. Her strawberry blonde hair in two braids was wrapped up into bun and held together by a lovely scrimshaw comb.

Lord Septimias Gaius Swann entered last, not overly tall or particularly handsome, it was not hard to see eager youth in his eyes.  He wore long white tunic trimmed in gold thread and tied with a black sash.  His hair was darker than his sister’s, and he wore a sword to dinner.

There was little conversation during the first course, a pinkish crab bisque, but as plates of bitter greens drizzled with oil were served, the young lord began to address them.

“If you are permitted to say, what brings you, specifically, to New Harbinger so soon after the signing of your charter?” Lord Swann asked.

“We have traveled here only as a stop on our way to further journeys,” Laarus of Ra replied for the group.

“I will take that as meaning that you are _not_ at liberty to say,” Lord Swann let out a short laugh, and everyone around the table echoed it with forced laughter of their own.  Markos noted that Novaluna Julia Swann still sat downcast, and her own soft laughter was delayed and brief.

“Would it be rude of me to bring up business while we eat?” Lord Swann continued. “I’d hate to bore everyone else, but you will forgive me these digressions from typical polite dinner talk, yes?”

Everyone nodded and agreed.

“I received a visit from Sir Quintus Gosprey last night, at quite a late hour for an unannounced visit,” His voice was a pleasant tenor made sour by a penchant to emphasis the lower registers of his voice, as if still playing at being a man. “But he made this business with the lizardfolk you aided him with seem fairly important.  What is your take on these creatures wanting to pledge their spears to House Swann?  Very unusual, don’t you think?”

“Unusual perhaps, but advantageous to your House,” Bleys said.

Telémahkos thanked a servant as his glass of wine was refilled automatically for the fourth time.

“That is very gracious,” Lord Swann said to him, as Markos thinking he was following proper etiquette loudly thanked a servant helping him as well. “But you should not thank servants… It makes them insolent.”

“If infrequent and sincere appreciation should not spoil them,” Telémahkos replied smiling.

“Well… As they say, different people have different ways to handle servants and children!” Lord Swann laughed again, and again it was echoed around the table.  This time Markos had to fight off the scowl that was creeping on to his face. Julia Swann was coughing into her napkin. “But to continue with the topic at hand…”

“Was that all he said of the lizardfolk, that they wanted to be recognized in this way?” Telémahkos asked.  

“He said there was some sort of misunderstanding with the lizardfolk and they had felt threatened, and that after a brief fight you had helped him convince them to abandon their violent plans, and to seek more diplomatic means of living peaceably with the people of Bog End as their neighbors,” the lord explained.

“I would not want to contradict the honorable knight’s story, but I would have to say they were never had any kind of violent intention to begin with,” Telémahkos commented.  “As was said, it was a misunderstanding.”

“Yes, they seemed very agreeable,” Laarus added.

“Yes, they can sometimes seem that way,” Sir Septimias Benedict Swann joined the conversation.  “Were you able to determine where their village is?”

There was a long pause as the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland looked at each other surreptitiously up and down the table.  Finally, Victoria answered, “We required a guide to arrive where we found the lizardfolk, and I do not think any of us can give reliable directions to where that was…”

“And it was not a village,” Markos added.

“There is no village in the swamp,” Laarus of Ra put it more succinctly.  “They came from the Disputed Territories and are still looking for permission to really settle the area, as we have said…”

“Yes… yes…” Lord Swann broke back in impatiently. “I will have to send my own agent…” He gestured to Sir Septimias. “For you know, even when such savage creatures make overtures to peace, their bestial natures cannot be trusted to maintain that attitude…”

“Excuse me…”Markos spoke up. “If I may ask, are there many people moving into that swamp?  I mean, is it a disputed area that might see some conflict with the locals if the lizardfolk move in?”

Lord Swann frowned at Markos from way across the table.  The skinny sun-tanned mage had been seated as far from the head of the table as he could be and not be across from the lord.  Timotheus was on that end the table himself.

“What do I know of the swamp and its people?” Lord Swann asked dismissively, his voice rising up to its normal tenor in his annoyance, but he followed it with a smile and a laugh that was once again echoed by the other diners. 

Bleys the Aubergine offered to return to the bog with Sir Septimias Benedict Swann to help with negotiations and investigations.  He explained that having already made contact with the tribe, he might be suited to aid in the endeavor.

“We could all go,” offered Victoria.  “Some of our members speak their tongue…”

“Really?” Lord Swann’s young face brightened with a mischievous smile. “Which is that?”

Markos raised his hand.

“Oh, you could you entertain us a bit with the strange lizard tongue?” Lord Swann asked, his youth becoming more and more evident.

“Certainly, I will be happy to entertain you,” Markos said, biting back his disgust.  He stood and began to trill and hiss saying common and simply phrases while considered what kinds of insults he might slip in, but catching the eyes of Sir Septimias Benedict, he changed his mind, figuring there was a good chance the knight known as ‘lizardbane’ might understand him.

Everyone applauded politely when he was done.

“Oh! What a foul tongue!” Octavia Camilla Swann said in her weak voice.  It was the first time she spoke, and she hardly touched her food.  She appeared close to emaciated, with her high cheekbones jutting out awkwardly to distort what might have been a pretty face.

Suddenly, Telémahkos stood and barked some harsh syllables.  “Can anyone guess what tongue that is?”

“It’s hobbo,” Timotheus said, and Telémahkos sneered, feeling that his cousin had ruined his fun by stating what he obviously knew.  The discussion veered towards hobgoblins, and the danger they posed in the north.

“Now _those_ are creatures that will never agree to the terms of the Thrician Racial Covenant,” Timotheus commented.

“But that would not be the case with these lizardfolk,” Bleys brought the subject back. “And imagine being able to open up a new avenue of trade if this tribe could be used to guard the Beach Road… I would be honored to help negotiate such agreements…”

“Hmm, your suggestion about the Beach Road is a very good one… But, I will allow my noble cousin, Sir Septimias to decide if such aid is needed,” Lord Swann.  “We handle our own affairs very well, and I have been taking a very open-minded and forward-looking approach to my newly acquired full lordship.”

Julia let out a little muffled laugh and then covered it with another cough.  Her brother, shot her a disapproving look. 

The next course was huge slabs of shark steak with a side of pilaf and steamed vegetables, and Lord Swann turned the discussion of news of the Herman Land Civil War. (2)  Lord Swann told of a tactic the Black Islanders were now using. Adventuring parties were hired to attack crowded civilian areas, while a second group used the distraction to steal or destroy something.  He mentioned the specific instance of the attack in Swampstop market that was used to cover theft from the Vaults of Draconis.

“It is a foul foul practice,” Lord Swann said.  “It one thing to use such groups for a specific mission or accomplish some precise tactical attack to cripple war industry, but to purposefully do wanton damage to the general populace?  There is no honor in such a means of war.”

There was speculation that such tactics might indicate desperation on the part of the Black Islands, but Telémahkos pointed out that all news he ever heard were in regards to the Black Islands winning battles and repelling invaders before they even got to shore.  “The news sounds ill to me,” he said.

“What do you think of those that say the Magocracy of Thricia should become involved in the war?” the Lord asked.

“I would agree,” Timotheus said.  “The Black Islanders are Set-worshipers…”

“Long has the magocracy had ties with Herman Land,” Laarus said, his quiet even tone forcing everyone to listen closely to his words.  “It may be that we need to come to their aid, not only for sake of friendship, but for a safer world.”

“But out own enemy is so close,” Telémahkos said, referring to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West. “I would hate for the Black Islands to somehow rouse up their desire to conquer all of the Spice and Thread Islands.”

“Oh! That would never happen!” The Grand Vizier finally spoke, dismissing the suggestion.  “The Rubes hate Setites as much as they hate any who worship the true gods of Ra’s pantheon. They are not ones to make allies…”

“But might they not be manipulated into attacking?” Telémahkos asked.

“Heh… I guess that is possible, but regardless there is the matter of honor in aiding ones who aided us, as in the war against the Kingdom of the Red God of the West a few hundred years ago,” Tiperol Dust said, obviously proud of his own knowledge of history. “While they had to withdraw when their king died and his heir did not have the same fervent interest in pursuing the war, we cannot let that past flaw mar our alliance.  We can show them what it is to finish a war… If their aid had not been withdrawn, perhaps today there would be no Kingdom of the Red God of the West, and the magocracy’s influence would hold sway over all of the Spice and Thread Islands…”

They moved on to talk about the current state of border disputes and skirmishes, and Sir Septimias Benedict Swann assured them that while there were more of late, there were not so many more as to be unusual or noteworthy.  Lord Swann made sure to add that he felt the halflings of the Border Shires were helping to exacerbate the problem with their frequent jaunts into the Disputed Territories to seek out Rubes that might be found there and raid and sabotage their homesteads.

“But I thought you said you were in favor of retaking the Disputed Territories and the driving of the Rubes out of the there,” Timotheus said, referring to earlier in the conversation.

“Yes! But that is not for any one House or group of Houses to decide and take such actions on their own,” Lord Swann said. “The Treaty of Devil’s Grasp was not made with one House, but with all of Thricia, and only the Margrave can rescind its provisions…”

“Perhaps the treaty can be re-negotiated, to split the Disputed Territories,” Telémahkos offered.

“Why should we do that?!” the Lord became flush with easy adolescent anger. “All that land was once ours, down to the southern tips and the fertile river delta.  If we are going to re-take it, then we should re-take it all on principle alone!”

Dessert was a delicious custard. Afterwards, Lord Swann excused himself, and retired along with his sister and the seneschal.  He thanked the young nobles for their attendance and offered them the hospitality of his house for their entire stay in New Harbinger. “Interestingly, my other cousin, Sir Septimias Benedict’s younger brother, was perhaps going to join your charter, and his father was in negotiations to do that when he was called abroad, and his son decided to accompany him instead.”  (3)

Julia clucked her tongue, gaining another stern look from her brother and a roll of the eyes from Octavia Camilla Swann.

Another round of drinks were poured, and the table was cleared, as some fruit, cheese and crackers were laid out on the sideboard along with small cask of very fine ale.  The remaining dinner guests stood to partake and mingle some before retiring for the night.

Victoria stood off a bit on her own listening to Bleys, Laarus, Markos and Telémahkos talk with Sir Septimias the Lizardbane about the Goldenstraw Lizardfolk and the knight’s experience with lizardfolk in general.  Markos provoked the knight into telling takes of his exploits against lizardfolk in the past.  Sir Septimias told a long tale involving the slaughter of an entire village (including crushing all the eggs), and how human corpses had been found in a hut hanging on hooks and being smoked.  He described in grizzly detail their missing limbs and bitten out chunks.

“We don’t have to worry about any quandaries of demeanor in Schiereiland,” Telémahkos said.  “Hobgoblins are always your enemy and always seek to kill you.”

Decima Aurora Swann kept Timotheus away from the conversation by taking her time in excusing herself with many little coughs, nervous laughs and awkward silences.  He gave her news of her son, (4) and she thanked him and wished him a good night.  Timotheus was then roped into a conversation with the long-winded Sir Novius Wilmus Swann, who told of his part in the raiding of the slaver city of Highport.  When Tim was finally able to get to the conversation with the others, it had moved to talk of the Hobgoblins of the Blue Claw, and he leapt into the subject readily.

Markos pulled Laarus away to ask his cousin if he thought it was okay to return to their rooms.  The young priest of Ra suggested his cousin stay longer as to not appear rude, so the former sailor stood to one side, looking around with discomfort.  He noticed Novaluna Julia Swann was standing by herself, drinking wine.  She looked up and caught his eye and sauntered over, dragging her feet in an unladylike manner.

“Who are you again?” she asked, with easy familiarity.  Markos introduced himself and they talked a little about the University of Thricia.

“Get tired of my brother’s stories?” she asked, with obvious disdain.  

“I just worry that the situation with the lizardfolk will come to violence when it does not have to,” Markos said with his usual honestly.

“Heh… It is unfortunate that my father, the Re… the _former_ regent is not in power here anymore,” she replied, quietly, looking around. “He would not have sent my brother for a mission that requires a touch more delicacy that my sycophantic brother has…”

Markos looked at her a little cow-eyed, and then buried his face in his mug taking a long sip.

She continued, “It is too bad that we live in a society where power is inherited regardless of worthiness…”

“I… I am surprised to hear someone verbalize thoughts that echo my own,” Markos said.

“Well… My eyes have only recently been opened,” she replied.  “I realized that even the words pledged to family could be cast aside for ambition…”

“Novaluna Julia…” Markos touched her arm with sudden affection. “Thank you…” She looked at him a bit nervously, and then looked down and took half a step away.  Markos took his hand away, realizing he was breaking the rules of etiquette. “I…uh… just wanted to thank you for showing me that I am not alone in thinking this way.”

“Let us just hope that when the time comes for choices to be made that will effect the direction of our fine nation that those people who think as we do are not too afraid to speak up…” she replied.

Soon, the after-dinner mixer ended, and the young nobles were shown back to their room by a couple of pages with candles.  Bleys and Laarus continuing a conversation about what the legal status of the lizardfolk would be if they served the Lord, but did not sign the racial covenant.  After changing out of their nicer clothes, they settled back into the common room to continue their discussions, though Timotheus and Telémahkos took a little longer to arrive.

As Timotheus walked past Telémahkos’ room, the latter pulled his cousin into it. “Tim, come here, there is something I have been wanting to tell you for awhile now…”

“Sorry, but you’re not my type,” Timotheus smiled.

“You only wish,” Telémahkos said, pushing his cousin with playful aggression.  He closed the door and kept his voice down as he explained some secrets to his cousin that he had long kept regarding the death of his brothers.  Timotheus’ own brother had been among those who went down with the _Siren_. Telie also revealed an aspect of the deal with Lowe he had not mentioned to the others; the merchant’s daughter.

“I just wanted to come clean with you, because I trust you,” Telémahkos said.  “But the others don’t need to know right now.”

“I understand,” Timotheus replied. “There is no telling how Markos might react.  You and he seem to really butt heads, huh?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what is wrong with him,” Telie said. “I think he is just jealous of me or something…”

“Yeah, what happened to him? He was so laid back and fun to be around when we first met, and then we get on the road and he changes,” Timotheus was perplexed.  They rejoined the others.  They had been left more fruit, bread and cheese, and slices of cold meat.  There were several carafes of wine.

Worried that Sir Septimias Benedict Swann, the Lizardbane, would like no better than to slay the entirety of Chok’tem’s tribe, Bleys suggested that they would have to go back. “At the very least we have to warn the lizardfolk, even if we are not invited to accompany Sir Septimias Benedict,” he said.

“It might make more sense to go without him anyway,” Markos suggested.  “If it is to give a warning…”

“I do not think we have to go back,” Laarus said, looking to Bleys.  “The message has been delivered as promised, and now the due authority is looking into matter.  We have done our part.”

“I disagree,” Markos said.  And so discussion began again in earnest.  Now, in addition to choosing between the Disputed Territories and Tribunisport, most of them felt they might need to back track to Bog End and warn Chok’tem.  The debate grew heated.
[sblock]
Laarus looked down at his hands. He found himself unconsciously rubbing at his fingers with his thumb. He wiped his palms for he felt some viscous sticky substance on them.  There was a flash of white, and suddenly his hands were all that were in his distorted field of vision, they were covered in something black and sharp with the smell of brine and burning…

Wooden planks creaked beneath Laarus’ feet and he felt it pitch to one side. Suddenly there was an explosion…
[/sblock]
Laarus jerked forward and splattered bile all over the table.  The others jumped back.  The priest of Ra looked up and swayed for a moment before his eyes came into focus.  He grabbed a napkin to wipe his chin.

“Heh. Laarus can’t hold his liquor,” Timotheus laughed.

“Are you okay?” Victoria put her hands under each shoulder to prop him a bit, but the priest shook her off.

“I am fine,” he said. “I have suffered from such spells since I was a child.  It is nothing to be concerned about.”

The debate continued heatedly as Bleys stood and walked over to the doorway, still listening. Then, looking up and down the hall he hurried over to one end, where a guard stood at the foot of spiral stone staircase.  The watch-mage could hear the murmur of his companions’ voices from here, and he knew that in total silence, what they discussed could be overheard.  He asked the guard to fetch the court physician for Laarus, a servant to clean the vomit, and for a message to be sent for Oroleniel the Salmon to be summoned.  

“I understand the lateness of the hour, but it is crucial Academy business,” he said.

When Bleys the Aubergine came back into the room, he reminded everyone to keep their voices down.

It was nearly an hour later that the half-elf watch-mage arrived.  Before that, a little bald man calling himself the court physician arrived to examine Laarus Raymer of Ra.  The priest of Ra accompanied the little man back to his cell, but refused to be examined, dismissing him, and re-joined his friends soon after.

Oroleniel was introduced to others, and was quickly brought up to speed about the situation with the Goldenstraw Lizardfolk and Sir Septimias Benedict Swann the Lizardbane.  Agreeing that the knight could not be trusted to truly attempt peaceful means of resolution with the lizardfolk, he volunteered to go and make contact with them and warn them.  He would invoke his authority as a watch-mage to insist on accompanying the knight.

“If I can’t get the powers that be in this town to like me, I might as well start getting them to dislike me,” Oroleniel said with a smirk of amused resignation.  “If I need to, I can always recruit Sir Quintus Gosprey, you said you helped him…”

“Yes, do that,” Telémahkos suggested.  “Just tell him, we told you that he knows what’s at stake…”

With that out of the way, the local watch-mage bid them farewell and left.  The young noble adventurers put it to a final vote, regarding deciding whether to go to Tribunisport or explore the Kingstones.  Bleys and Timotheus voted for the Kingstones.

“I’m not fighting ogres,” Telémahkos said as he raised his hand to vote for Tribunisport.  Laarus, Markos and Victoria’s hands joined his.

_. . .to be continued…_

------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Grand Vizier is a an obscure and antiquated term from the Third Age in the time of the Six Kingdoms.

(2)	The Herman Land Civil war began in 563 H.E. when the Black Islands Barony attacked Teamsburg under cover of night in the first attack in a war of independence.

(3)	This is a reference to Octavian Malathias Swann, who was to be a player character in the campaign if his player (Black Cat) had made the cut as part of the group.  The naming convention for the Swanns and some of the basic organization/lineage of the House were developed with his help.

(4)	The tradition of fostering children with other noble houses developed in the times when the noble houses often warred with each other in the Third Age, as a means of keeping hostages and reinforce agreements and treaties.  In the modern era, it is seen as a way to foster friendships between noble families and a means of getting a diverse education.


----------



## Gold Roger

Finally found the time to catch up. I have to say that I really like this group, even far more than the OotFP group at any point. They are all so entertaining.

Some thoughts on the individual characters:

-Timotheus: He's the battle leader. Not one for the finer points of ettiquette, he's the character most liely to be able of taking charge if need be. He's the most likely "gets along with everyone" candidate.

-Telémahkos: The kind of character that pushes every button. A facilator of troublesome situations that manages to be entertaining and not annoying (from the outside view). Imho, every proactive group needs such a character to keep the action coming. Completely opposite from Ratchis, who always sought to minimize trouble.

-Bleys and Laarus: I mention those two together because I really like their combination. Basically Laarus seems everything Bleys wants to be/thinks he is. A good judge of character, a mediator, mostly level headed thinker and wise counselor. Of course, Bleys could be all these things if it wasn't for his overreaching confidence, while Laarus seems to be quite low on the confidence department and hindered in his role.

Laarus also reminds me a lot of Beorth and the role he played in the OotFP group. Beorth was my favorite for some time back then, but the next two characters beat out Laarus in this campaign. Btw, I love the hook of Laarus little attacks. Can't wait for the explanation for that.

-Victoria: I dunno, she's kinda funny. Maybe because she's had some pretty bad luck so far (getting that big hit from the yellow musk creeper) or because she always is a little awkward. She's also quite different from the clichee of the warrior women I kinda expected. She's actually quite close in character to some of the female soldier I've met/seen so far in the airforce, which makes her a fair bit more believable than the old clichee.

-Markos: A complete neurotic wrack of a jerk by the looks of it. He actually seems quite simmilar to Kazrack, as both where the biggest initiators for intra party conflict so far. But while Kazrack always annoyed me a little with his stubborn way, Markos quite simply cracks me up. I mean, that guy has some serious issues and he just keeps exploding over insignificant conflicts. Kazrack was defiant because of principles, Markos is defiant out of principle.


I think my favorite part so far was the "duell" between Markos and half-drugged Victoria. Though the resent episode at the Swann's was great as well. That familie is one aristocratic mess. Kudo's to you and black cat on them.


----------



## el-remmen

Yo Rog!  Nice to see you see you back, and I am glad you are enjoying it.

Below are some comments on your thoughts on individual characters:



			
				Gold Roger said:
			
		

> Timotheus: He's the battle leader. Not one for the finer points of ettiquette, he's the character most liely to be able of taking charge if need be. He's the most likely "gets along with everyone" candidate.



I think he is the _potential_ battle leader, but he definitely is not there yet - both in terms of the story hour and how far we have gotten in the campaign ahead of that has been posted.  But I do agree that he is most likely to get along with everyone equally well.



			
				Gold Roger said:
			
		

> -Telémahkos: The kind of character that pushes every button. A facilator of troublesome situations that manages to be entertaining and not annoying (from the outside view). Imho, every proactive group needs such a character to keep the action coming. Completely opposite from Ratchis, who always sought to minimize trouble.



As a DM this is my favorite kind of character just because of what you describe. Of course, if everyone tried to play a similar character I would hate it - but it is nice to have some to feed adveristy and plot-hooks to who will eat it up eagerly. 



			
				Gold Roger said:
			
		

> -Bleys and Laarus: I mention those two together because I really like their combination. Basically Laarus seems everything Bleys wants to be/thinks he is. A good judge of character, a mediator, mostly level headed thinker and wise counselor. Of course, Bleys could be all these things if it wasn't for his overreaching confidence, while Laarus seems to be quite low on the confidence department and hindered in his role.
> 
> Laarus also reminds me a lot of Beorth and the role he played in the OotFP group. Beorth was my favorite for some time back then, but the next two characters beat out Laarus in this campaign. Btw, I love the hook of Laarus little attacks. Can't wait for the explanation for that.



I can see what you are getting at here, but I think it might be a little  over-stated.  I don't think Laarus quite is what Bleys wants to be, but he represents the potential for those leadership skills that Bleys is capable of and that should be expected from a priest of Ra.  I think any distance that Laarus falls short of the ideal is only a matter of his still growing into his role as a priest of Ra, which is perfect for a young priest. I think it is exactly as you say, a matter of confidence.  Bleys does not have over-reaching confidence, I think he is just has not figured out how to fully apply his education to reality because of the gulf between theoritical knowledge of how things work and how they really work - but he is learning quickly.

As for Laarus being reminscent of Beorth: I can see it.



			
				Gold Roger said:
			
		

> -Victoria: I dunno, she's kinda funny. Maybe because she's had some pretty bad luck so far (getting that big hit from the yellow musk creeper) or because she always is a little awkward. She's also quite different from the clichee of the warrior women I kinda expected. She's actually quite close in character to some of the female soldier I've met/seen so far in the airforce, which makes her a fair bit more believable than the old clichee.



Don't really have much to say on this one.  Not sure what you mean by "the character of female soldiers" - and I am curious what you feel the cliche of the female warrior is.



			
				Gold Roger said:
			
		

> -Markos: A complete neurotic wrack of a jerk by the looks of it. He actually seems quite simmilar to Kazrack, as both where the biggest initiators for intra party conflict so far. But while Kazrack always annoyed me a little with his stubborn way, Markos quite simply cracks me up. I mean, that guy has some serious issues and he just keeps exploding over insignificant conflicts. Kazrack was defiant because of principles, Markos is defiant out of principle.



Ah, the most problematic of the PCs because of his argumentativeness and adolescent immaturity - but at the same time the conflict with noble identity is something I find very interesting and that can lead the campaign to some interesting directions.

As for the comparison to Kazrack: Yep, I think that is fairly obvious.  I guess no matter how different our characters are, some aspect of our actual personality always comes through in time.  I took you statement: "_Kazrack was defiant because of principles, Markos is defiant out of principle_" to mean that Kazrack argued as a result of his dwarven/priestly principles, but Markos is that way because arguing/dissenting is in itself one of his principles.  Is that what you meant?

Anyway, glad you are following along. . . More to come at some point later this week.


----------



## Gold Roger

el-remmen said:
			
		

> I think he is the _potential_ battle leader, but he definitely is not there yet - both in terms of the story hour and how far we have gotten in the campaign ahead of that has been posted.  But I do agree that he is most likely to get along with everyone equally well.





Yeah, should have added potential. I pretty much meant that his personality type is that of a battle leader. Obviously, the group hasn't exactly found itself into a stable structure yet.



			
				el-remmen said:
			
		

> As a DM this is my favorite kind of character just because of what you describe. Of course, if everyone tried to play a similar character I would hate it - but it is nice to have some to feed adveristy and plot-hooks to who will eat it up eagerly.




My favorite player in my old group was this kind of player, he'd always at least try to push the buttons. So it was easy to recognise that Telie fit the deal as well.



			
				el-remmen said:
			
		

> I can see what you are getting at here, but I think it might be a little  over-stated.  I don't think Laarus quite is what Bleys wants to be, but he represents the potential for those leadership skills that Bleys is capable of and that should be expected from a priest of Ra.  I think any distance that Laarus falls short of the ideal is only a matter of his still growing into his role as a priest of Ra, which is perfect for a young priest. I think it is exactly as you say, a matter of confidence.  Bleys does not have over-reaching confidence, I think he is just has not figured out how to fully apply his education to reality because of the gulf between theoritical knowledge of how things work and how they really work - but he is learning quickly.
> 
> As for Laarus being reminscent of Beorth: I can see it.




Well, this may be arguable, but I think the two definitely contrast/complement each other in a neat way



			
				el-remmen said:
			
		

> Don't really have much to say on this one.  Not sure what you mean by "the character of female soldiers" - and I am curious what you feel the cliche of the female warrior is.




Well the reason I was kinda missing for the last three month was that the german airforce drafted me and I've just finished basic training now. And I've forgotten that the german word character doesn't translate into the english word character, but instead into personality.

Anyway, what I meant by the "cliche of the female warrior" is that whole Joanna of Orleans deal. When I first read of Victoria I pretty much expected a clone of that personality.



			
				el-remmen said:
			
		

> Ah, the most problematic of the PCs because of his argumentativeness and adolescent immaturity - but at the same time the conflict with noble identity is something I find very interesting and that can lead the campaign to some interesting directions.




Like I've said. Right now, he's my favorite, even though he's a total jerk.




			
				el-remmen said:
			
		

> As for the comparison to Kazrack: Yep, I think that is fairly obvious.  I guess no matter how different our characters are, some aspect of our actual personality always comes through in time.  I took you statement: "_Kazrack was defiant because of principles, Markos is defiant out of principle_" to mean that Kazrack argued as a result of his dwarven/priestly principles, but Markos is that way because arguing/dissenting is in itself one of his principles.  Is that what you meant?.




Exactly.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #5 – “Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner?” (Part 3 of 3)*

Balem, the 19th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Near midday they met with Euleria at the Sign of the Green Gem and told her their plans for travel and the hirelings.  She asked that Brand, the boy hired as a porter, be kept on as her assistant, and they acquiesced.  Neither Dunlevey nor Falco had any interest in going off to the Border Shires on their own, or for less pay.  Telémahkos paid them out from his own pocket, and gave Euleria ten gold pieces to add to her expense fund.

She expressed her doubts about Cornwallis Lowe’s son, Tymon, whom she had met the night before while the party was at dinner, but felt that Telémahkos needed to meet him himself to be sure.

He arrived just after lunch.  Tymon Lowe was a squat man in his late twenties, built like a barrel, with a receding hairline, big head and small face.  He was dressed in a coffee-colored doublet and his eyes seemed to bug out a bit every few minutes.  He was awkward and sweaty and stuttered and could not look Victoria in the eye, but he did appear knowledgeable on surveying and the culture of the Rubes.  He also spoke the Rube language, along with that of kobolds, dwarves and gnomes, and when he spoke those other tongues his stammer disappeared.  He also seemed to know numbers and figures very well. Tymon carried a longsword, but said he preferred a cudgel.

Satisfied with Tymon’s knowledge, Telémahkos had Timotheus bring the merchant’s son over to the citadel where they sparred in the courtyard cheered on by some the guards the young veteran had befriended the day before.  Tymon seemed to be at least as good in a fight as Bleys in terms of the skill he displayed, but was not particularly confident, and had a tendency to drop his sword when yelled at.  It would have to do.

As Markos left the inn to inquire about ferry passage to Tribunisport, he stopped and turned to Telémahkos.  “Oh, I might as well tell you before you head off to walk about trying to control everything and set up your little manipulations, you might as well find out about the Brown Turban (1) in Tribunisport.  It was where I was told to seek employment while I was there.”

Telémahkos’ face grew red with anger.  He drew a mailed gauntlet from his belt and struck Markos across the face with it.  He dropped it to the ground.  “You will not mock me.  There is no place for to fight here, but at first opportunity do not think you will get away.” He turned suddenly and stormed out of the inn.

Markos let out a laugh; ignorant of what he had just said that had offended Telémahkos. 

As he left, Telémahkos ran into Euleria again and he asked if she would send a message that they would _not_ be going to Tribuisport.

“Already taken care of, sir,” she replied.  “Laarus talked to me about it this morning, and I took the liberty to send word that you would be heading out to the Disputed Territories right away.  Master Laarus did not tell me to do that, but I got the impression that that was what he wanted but did not want to ask me to lie.”

“As usual you have gone above and beyond, and for that I thank you,” Telémahkos gave little bow of his head, and went off to meet Ida Lowe for tea.


Teflem, the 20th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The quickly fading gloom of the approaching dawn greeted their arrival at Tribunisport.  A sloop christened _The Sea Flower_ brought them across the Drie-Hoek South Narrows to the southernmost tip of Black Thread Island where the small fortified town was located. 

The ferry had set out nearly a full hour after dusk the day before, and had been delayed by a long stillness in the dead of night, where no wind could be found to tack against.

The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland could tell immediately that while it was about a third the size of New Harbinger, its port was bigger and more active, and they spotted several warships docked at the northern part of the harbor.  It was here that the House Wetherwax citadel stood, nearly the size of the rest of the town itself.  Tribunisport’s walls were made of a motley gluing together of stone, that looked fused in places, as if by great heat, but more likely by magic.  The walls stretched out on onto the water on atolls, capped by tall square towers and closed off by a great gate that was opening to allow the sloop into the inner harbor.  A third wall separated the port from the town itself.

Unlike the sweet smells of New Harbinger’s spice trade, Tribunisport was soaking in the smell of fish and morning fires being lit in the many little clustered homes. 

The young nobles stood huddled together looking around at the building activity of the port.  Some townguards walked past and looked at them, but said nothing.  They decided to take assumed names while here.  Victoria would be called “Olivia Greenfield”, and wrapped her cloak tightly around her body and kept her helmet on, despite the oppressive heat that foretold the coming of summer.  Laarus asked to be called “V”; a term of endearment granted him by Markos’ mother, which made the sailor-mage scowl. The priest of Ra did not want to lie about his name, but using a name he was sometimes called seemed an adequate way around that. Markos took on the name “Albert”, while Telémahkos would be “Johan”.  Timotheus would be ‘Argus’.

“I’ll be Torsten the Fist!” Bleys said with a rare smile. But, despite that, his voice was still nearly monotone. “Though I would have to buy a big axe to truly play the part.”

“I’m nobody important,” Tymon stuttered, his lips constant moving even in the spaces between words and phrases when no sound was issuing from his mouth; Sometimes he would nervously purse his lips over and over touching his top lip to his nose several times before even moving on the next syllable. “I don’t need another name…” His gaze caught Victoria’s and he turned his head away with slow fear, but his eyes trailed to stay on her on the last moment before his head was turned.

A local pointed them towards _the Battened Hatch_, a small inn that usually rented double rooms for the night.  The place only had four rooms, but they were all unoccupied, as their inhabitants had set sail at dawn. Bleys and Victoria took a room together, while Timotheus and Laarus took another.  Telémahkos and Markos walked into another room, but as Tymon made to follow his master stopped him.

Telie looked to Markos, who was dropping his pack on a bed. Markos looked up at him and said, “We might as well take care of our business now as any results of it will only help us blend in more among those we plan to infiltrate…”

“Go help the others settle in,” Telémahkos said to Tymon, taking the man’s bag and pulling it into the room, before closing the door.  Telémahkos spun around quickly to see Markos had his hands up in fists already.

Telémahkos grimaced and raised his own and then charged at the young man who was even smaller than he was.  Markos’ fist swing out and caught Telie on the chin.  The young aristocrat stumbled back and Markos laid another punch in towards the gut, but heard the crunch of metal links as he felt Telie’s chain shirt underneath his toga.

“You son of a bitch!” Markos cursed.  Telémahkos smiled and took a few shots himself, but Markos avoided the blows, ducking into ball to absorb what he could not dodge.  They locked up punching at each other as they stumbled about the room, slamming into the night table by the bed, and then into the wall.

In the room next door, Timotheus looked at Laarus when he heard the commotion and just shook his head.  “I’m going to go get laid,” he told the priest. “It’s been over a week…” And he headed out of the inn with some coin lent to him by his cousin the day before to do just that.

Deciding he wanted to get a sense of this town on his own, Laarus headed back out to the port to see what info he could gather, but he moved his holy symbol from around his neck to his belt.

Meanwhile, in the room next door, the two combatants broke apart.

“What is it with the f*cking chainmail?” Markos swore. “I knew you were a pussy, but gods!”  He rushed at Telie, but the young Briareus spun around and punched down, clipping Markos’ ear. “I was wearing the chain shirt when you challenged me to the fight, you lackwit!”

Telémahkos slammed his fist into the side of Markos’ head and then struck him again as he scurried out of the way to get clear to turn around and take another swing.  Telie locked the mage’s arms in his own for a moment and then pushed him off, trying for a forearm to the face as he did so.  Markos ducked again and then came up suddenly, charging. Telie stepped out of the way and Markos’ fist punched right into the plaster wall, making a small hole. He pulled his hand free and blood flicked across the room from his knuckles. (2)

“I’ve had about as much choice about the life I was born into as you have,” Telémahkos said, as Markos raised his fists again.

“I guess that is why they wanted to room together,” Victoria commented to Bleys when they heard the slams across the hall in their room.  The watch-mage shrugged and headed out to visit the local watch-mage, but he did not wear his cloak in the watch-mage style, turning it inside out and folding it over his arm, instead.

“You didn't choose how you were born, but you choose how you act now,” Markos replied, coming back in to continue the melee.

“Oh, you mean with politeness…” Telémahkos laid a punch into Markos’ skinny side. “And generosity?” He tried to punctuate his question with a right-cross, but Markos bobbed back and Telie was over-extended.   He had to grab on to Markos to keep from falling, and they locked again, stumbling against the door to the room.  Markos let loose a barrage of blows that made Telie let go, even if they did him no actual harm. 

Markos moved in again, but was met with a resounding blow that dropped him to the floor.  The young mage’s head lolled in and out of consciousness.  Telémahkos opened the door and called for Tymon, and with his servant’s help, put Markos in one of the beds.

A little more than an hour later, Markos stirred and sat up to see Telémahkos in new darker clothes; a brown doublet similar to those they had seen merchants wearing in New Harbinger, but a bit shabbier, and a dark-colored cloak of light wool.

“You ready?” Telémahkos asked.

“You only won because of your chain shirt,” Markos muttered as he got up.

The two young nobles, left the Battened Hatched, accompanied by Tymon, and made their way to _the Brown Turban_.  It was off the market, near the center of town, with its roof painted red, and a hanging wooden sign that displayed a bald head with tiny black flies circling it.  The inn was actually a nicer place than the Batten Hatch, with cushioned benches and an ornate wine rack on one wall in the common room.

The proprietor was Aramis the Kind, a dark-skinned, bald man with a smile as wide as his mid-section.  He wore light cotton clothes of white that were marked with streaks of sweat, and musky perfume wafted off of him.  He welcomed them with the precise diction of someone who hard learned the common tongue in adulthood.  He laughed often and was quick to make the two of them comfortable.  As it was the middle of the morning, there were no other customers around to distract him from giving them his full attention.

“So, I don’t have to worry about anyone trying to give me a brown turban, right?” Telémahkos with a sneer, as the proprietor brought them over two mugs of beer, and a shot of dwarf spirits.

Aramis burst out laughing. “Not for you!” He laughed again. “But only for those foul dervishes who make men slaves with religion! We spit on them! _Ptoof!_  We sh*t on them!” He laughed again. 

Telémahkos asked after Boris Crumb.

A tall hunched man in his late forties, in drab blue-green robes, and a frizzy crown of long hair around his misshapen bald head, walked into the common room.  Aramis the Kind called him over, and as he approached they could see the man had a silver eye with an ankh in the center of it about his turkey-neck.  He was introduced as Deetius of Ptah, Crumb’s aide.

Inquiring as to jobs, the Wayfarer of Ptah questioned them as to their experience.

“I served ten years on _the Lady’s Lament_,” Markos said.

Deetius droopy eyes opened a bit wider and he murmured something between incredulity and appreciation of what that meant.  The wandering priest explained they were hiring crew for a variety of ships working in the Wizard’s Sea, (3) and that the specific details of pay had to be worked out with specific captains, but he and Crumb were acting as middle-men to recruit these crews for commission.

“We can bring you to a place where a few captains might compete for someone of your experience,” he said to Markos.  However, they would not be able to speak Crumb directly until that afternoon, as he was still sleeping off the night’s revels.

Telie, Markos and Tymon returned to the Battened Hatch to share what little news they had and to rest and eat some lunch before going back to the Brown Turban.  Bleys the Aubergine had had no luck with finding Cwell the Hawk at his humble hut on the beach, and they found him discussing how payment in service worked for graduates of the Academy of Wizardry.  Neither Laarus nor Timotheus were back yet, when Telie and Markos went back to talk to Crumb.

In his mid-forties, Boris E. Crumb III was a portly man, barely five feet five inches in height. He had brown curly locks, and a brush-like mustache that obscured his top lip. His bright blue eyes, wide smile, and rosy chubby cheeks gave him an amiable look that belied his business.

He squeezed into a booth opposite them, shaking their hands as he introduced himself effusively.  He seemed to like the sound of his own name.  “So ya interested in getting a job on a ship, huh?”

“Actually, I was sent to you by a mutual acquaintance in authority over at New Harbinger,” Telémahkos explained.

Crumb’s smile turned into a smirk and he nodded and leaned forward. “Ah, I know who ya mean… Okay, I was expecting someone soon, just wasn’t sure who it would be…”

“We need you to get us and our friends to Kraken’s Cove…”  Telémahkos let the words hang there for a moment.  “However, we don’t want to end up pressed into serving on a pirate ship…”  Telémahkos eyes narrowed.

“Let’s be careful with what we’re saying,” Crumb said, and he gestured for Telie and Markos to come with him to a table near the back, away from the lunchtime crowd.  “Now, in terms of getting in there, I can get you in there… There are two ways… Three ways… and one I get the feeling from what you said you don’t want to try.  The other would require getting you in as merchants looking to buy or establish an agreement for trade…”

“That is way that appeals to us most,” Telémahkos replied.  “There are certain moral elements in our group that might chafe at the first… But what is the third?”

“Well… There is a way to get here by land… a secret way…”

“We were told there was no way to approach it by land…” Markos said.

“That is why it’s a secret!” Crumb said with a laugh. “But it really isn’t even really a secret, it is just hardly ever used, and no one would expect anyone to enter from that way… But depending on what you want to do there… and I don’t tell me what you plan to do there, because it is better for both of us if I do not know… well, Kraken’s Cove is not so big a place that you can spend much time there undetected, and if you are not where you are supposed to be as outsiders, well… let’s just say all the fast-talking in the world probably won’t be much help.”

“I think the merchant plan might be best then,” Telémahkos said.

“But that will take time to set up,” Crumb said.  “Business takes time to set up.  New recruits is easy…”

“How much time?” Markos asked.

“Well, I am making a trip out there tomorrow…” Crumb looked up as if doing figures in his head. “And I would need to be able to present legitimate credentials that cannot be traced back to me… I would rather not use this method.  Time and money are required for it…”

“So you say this place is small? Are there taverns there? I mean, is it sort of village?” Telémahkos asked.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no…” Crumb said. “It is a set of caves where goods are stored and traded out.  Wares can be sampled and ordered; arrangements can be made… That kind of thing…”

“If we knew someone there, would we be able to make contact with them before being challenged?”

“You know someone there?” Crumb asked, suddenly sitting up straight and running a finger through his brush of a mustache.

“_If_ we did…” Telémahkos replied.

“Tell me who it is and I’ll contact them when I go tomorrow,” Crumb said.

“I do not know who it is,” Telémahkos said. “It is someone that the person who sent me told me about…”

“Well, that I don’t know about,” Crumb said.  “But the place is not as big as its reputation would make it seem… Any subterfuge will eventually be discovered if you do not arrive there by ship…”

“And how long did you say it would take to arrange for us to adopt the guise of merchants?” Telémahkos asked.

“At least a week, maybe nine days… And I’d need forty or fifty silvers, at least…”

“And do you know anything about the possible actions out of the Cove…” Telémahkos paused. “The thing people have been chattering about here and there?”

Crumb’s bushy eyebrows rose.

“Wetherwax… An attack against their fleet?”

Crumb looked back down and shook his head. “I don’t know anything about it.  But doesn’t seem likely, since Wetherwax knows of the cove’s existence and allows it to continue to exist… Wouldn’t be in their interest to raise the ire of the navy…”

“So you don’t know anything about an attack or raid or invasion?” Telémahkos asked, more flagrantly.  

Crumb looked at the young man and frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“What are they recruiting for?” Markos asked.

“For work, on ships… I told you… There is a high turn-over of local Thricians and I helped draw a bunch of Herman-landers seeking to avoid conscription to come sign on and get paid and are guaranteed to be around and need work while the war is going on. It’s a win-win.”  He winked.

Realizing that this new turn of events would have to be discussed with the others, they arranged to return for dinner to inform him then what they planned to do, as Boris E. Crumb III would be leaving for Kraken’s Cove before first light the next day.

“Oh! One last thing,” Telémahkos asked Crumb as he was shaking their hands to say good-bye.  “You have not by chance met a young man named Vanthus Vanderboren while you were here, did you?”

“That kid? Yeah…” Crumb’s face wore a look of amusement. “Pretending to be a big time merchant… His documentation looked real enough and he had money… I took him over there two days ago to arrange to buy some stuff… Open up some route… Normally I would not have trusted him, but Brissa vouched for him… Though he’s probably her pigeon…”

“Who is she?”

“She’s local, here and New Harbinger, sometimes Weirspierogen,” Crumb said.  “Deals in information and in separating young men of means from their family’s silver… the usual…” He described her as pretty with brown hair. “No knock-out, but that kind of wild look nobles like when they’re slumming it.”

“Petite?”

“No, good build on her. She can scrap. You don’t hang around the barrel-makers if you don’t know what you’re doing… Ya end up pickled!” Crumb let out a snorting laugh

-------------------------------------------------.

Back at the Battened Hatch, Telémahkos told the others what he had learned, and once again was met with skepticism from some of his companions.

“Why would this Crumb just tell you this information?” Bleys asked.

“I assume he either owes a favor, or wants to be owed a favor to the person in authority who contacted me in New Harbinger in regards to going over there,” Telémahkos replied.

“It makes no sense that an attack would come from those that House Wetherwax supports,” Victoria said. “If that is even true…”

“It could be that the original information I got became confused and the attack is to happen on House Swann,” Telémahkos speculated. “I may have misspoken.”

“Misspoken? Every time?” Victoria raised an eyebrow.

“I just mean, I could have been repeating bad information every time,” Telémahkos replied.

Timotheus brought up the fact that they were still not sure what they were supposed to do once they were there. “If we have to sneak around and gather info, then why are we all going? And if we are going there to kick some righteous ass, why did we dismiss the hirelings?” The big man’s shoulders sagged a bit, and his normal demeanor melted into a frown of frustration.

The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland discussed the options and decided that as long as Crumb would be able to tell them the exact location of land route in and out, they could go posing as prospective sailors the very next day. In that way, if things turned bad they would not be dependent on a ship to escape.

Telémahkos and Markos would return to Crumb at dinner to ask him about this and report the decision.

*End of Session #5*

------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	A Brown Turban is the term for a disgusting act performed by Thrician partisans during the Red-Pepper War on the corpses of slain Rube officers and dervish leaders, wherein the red turbans worn by such were torn off and replaced with a steaming pile of excrement. The corpses were then left out for other Rubes to find.  Even though Telémahkos had heard the name before, he decided that Markos was attempting to make a fool of him by having him ask around town regarding a “brown turban”.

(2)	Markos fumbled suffering the effect: ‘Hit Self, Half-Damage’ – I re-interpreted this as his slamming his fist into the wall.

(3)	You can see a map of the Wizard’s Sea, here: http://aquerra.wikispaces.com/Map+-+The+Wizard's+Sea


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #5.1: “An Argument at Market”*

The late afternoon found Markos and Laarus in the market, seeking out appropriate clothing for the party to blend in as sailors for their trip to Kraken’s Cove. After looking around for a time, Laarus stood slightly back from his cousin, noting what items of clothing Markos was collecting for the rest of the party, as he haggled with the merchant. Satisfied that he had a grasp of the type of clothing that was needed, Laarus walked over to another nearby stall selling finer attire and began to look at similar items, but of more durable and comfortable quality. 

“You know, finer clothing may not fit into the image the group as a whole will be trying to convey,” Markos said, walking over with his unpaid for bundle of clothing under one arm.

"Do none who sail the sea wear such?" Laarus of Ra queried, holding up his selection. "I'll not wear such poorly-crafted clothes as you have chosen. I doubt our plans will be hindered by not doing so. And to bring up a matter we discussed earlier, neither should lying be a must. You wish me to break the vows and tenants of my faith. You think that's the only way to succeed."

Markos was taken aback by his cousin’s sudden accusations. "I feel you are mistaken," He said with anger growing in what had been a resigned tone. He held up the bundle of burlap and sailcloth clothing, "So sorry to upset your noble sensibilities, _cousin._  And while there are some who wear finer fare on the high seas they generally aren't the ones looking to be hired on as part of a general call for employment.  If we were passing ourselves off as some group above the typical riff-raff then finer clothing would make sense.  We are not.  Instead, we are acting as those answering a rumor of employment.  As for fibbing, if I said that lying is a must then I overstated my point. Lying is something that may be needed if we are to avoid discovery.  If the need is not there from the beginning, then it may not happen at all.  However, if your faith does not leave you room to be flexible you should have been more emphatic earlier on this matter, before we all agreed to this course of action.” Markos stood there fuming for a moment, looking up at his cousin, who was barely taller than he was.  “Excuse me - I will pay for these clothes, you buy whatever you like."  He walked back to the original stall, making sure to pick out an extra suit of clothes for Laarus as well.

The priest of Ra was waiting patiently to reply when Markos turned from completing his purchase. "I do not disagree with the route we've chosen, cousin.  It may be the only way to get there in time, and that is more important," he said in a hushed tone. "But that doesn't mean I am willing to stain my honor."  Laarus brushed by his cousin, making his way back towards another stall 

"I'm glad you don't now disagree with what we all agreed to prior,” Markos said, following closely behind his cousin, and talking in a harsh whisper. “As for your staining your honor, what effect would getting all of us killed because you couldn't figure out a way to have your faith jibe with telling a minor embellishment have?  Would you ever consider disguising the intent of your forces in a battle to encourage the enemy to make a mistake?  Actually, don't answer… Bring it up to the rest of the group as I don't have the patience to deal with this and I suspect I will somehow insult you.  Good day."  He began to walk off and then turned to add, "_Cousin._"

Knowing Timotheus was somewhere in the market as well, Markos wandered about until he found the tall Schiereilander chatting about current events with a knife-seller whose stock he was examining.

"Go talk about honor and fibbing to my knucklehead cousin,” Markos said to Tim. “If he is put in the wrong situation as things stand now, he is going to get us all killed."

"Well, hello to you too, Markos,” Timotheus said, making a dismissing, but apologetic gesture to the peddler.   “What's he up to now? Taking lessons from Little Miss Death-Before-Dishonor?"

"Oh.. uh.. Hello…  Yes,” Markos was taken aback by having his rudeness pointed out so casually. “Yes, I think it can be summed up that way.  Right now he is picking out clothes suitable to his stature.  To be fair, he may simply be looking for clothing good enough to endure wear and tear; we are, after all, going to wearing these a lot."  Markos hefted his bundle to show it to Tim. He had a strangely hopeful look on his face.

"Suitable to his stature?  But he's very – Oh! You mean _social_ stature.  What, is he buying cloth of gold?  A bandanna with the holy symbol of Ra on it?  It better not be cloth of gold, I doubt we can afford cloth of copper on our budget."

Markos smiled.  "He is paying for what he plans to wear out of his own pocket. Just go talk to him, please.  I'm afraid he is going to be asked a direct question by someone at Kraken's Cove and end up getting us killed by answering _honorably_.  I just don't have the patience to meander through the tortured logic of the faithful."

"Sure, might as well."  Timotheus Smith gave the knife-seller a couple of silvers and a smile in exchange for a shiny new dagger, and then he turned back to Markos.  "Not that it'll make much difference; you know we're gonna end up in a scrum at some point, no matter how hard you and T.K. try not to.  Anyway, where is Laarus?  Let's get this over with."

Markos simply pointed toward Laarus’ direction. "Please forgive if I avoid this conversation...."

Tim went over to the clothing stall where Laarus was picking through clothes.  "Hey there, distant cousin.  Do you got a moment to talk?"

As he handed his money to the merchant, Laarus nodded to Timotheus.  "I'm finished here.  Can we talk as we walk to the inn?"

"Sure thing."  Timotheus fell in alongside Laarus as the two made their way out of the marketplace.  "So anyway, I was talking to Markos just now, and he seems to think you're going to go blab to the pirates about who we are and maybe get us all killed.  And he asked me to come talk to you about it, so here I am."

"He thinks I should forgo my vows and the mandates of Ra.  Otherwise we'll fail or die.  I disagree,” Laarus replied. "I have no intention of announcing our presence to those we are after."

Timotheus took a moment to digest what he'd heard, then replied, "If you're not going to announce who we are, then what vows was he asking you to, uh, forgo?"

"He expects me to wear items cheaply crafted.  One of my station is required to dress with more decency.  And he's concerned that I be able to lie.  Truth's a virtue highly valued by Ra.  I do not desire to soil myself in His eyes."

"I don't see what the problem is with buying some nice clothes.  But as for the lying thing, no one's expecting you to do the talking for us, right?  So it's okay...  I mean, it's okay if the rest of us lie, right?  And you can just not answer things that'll get us in trouble, right?  Or is that lying too?"

"The rest of you may do as you wish.  I doubt we'll be in a position where you will be speaking under oath," Laarus turned his head to meet the soldier's gaze. "Though, it'll speak much of your character." He turned his eyes back ahead of him as he continued, "What answers I give will be done so with discretion.  I've no problem with that.  It _is_ the better part of valor, another of Ra's virtues."

Timotheus’ face flushed slightly.  "Well, I'm glad you'll let us lie for you.  I'm sorry you feel it says bad things about my character.  But you know, _I_ didn't want to be doing this.  _I'm_ not the one who voted for pretending to be pirates.  I wanted clean fights, not skulking around and playing spy.  But now that we're here, if it's a choice between lying and letting people get hurt or killed, you're damn right I'll lie about it, and I won't feel a damn bit guilty about it either."

"It appears you and my cousin are of like mind," Laarus stated very matter-of-factly.  "You both think lying will be a necessity to prevent death and keep up the pretense…” The priest opened his mouth as if to continue his thoughts, but instead just closed it and shook his head.

"I'm not going to be _pretending_ to be anything,” He finally continued. “We're being brought to our destination only because we're saying we're looking for work.  I intend to do just that.  Working alongside others there may be helpful in finding information we need." Laarus turned his eyes once again to meet those of his companion, "If you don't want to pretend to be something you're not, don't.  Honor the agreement you're making for our travel.  But if you'd rather play pirate, I hope you don't stray far from the lit path.”

"By the gods!  You are a hypocrite and an assh*le.  I _don't_ want to play pirate, so don't go putting words in my mouth!  And by your saying you're not going to pretend to be anything, you're not fooling anyone but yourself. And you know what?   I'm _not_ gonna lie for you, and neither is anyone else.  And you can find out for yourself whether it's gonna 'prevent dying' or not." Tim spat on the ground.  "Your vote got us into this.  Now you can choke on it."  He turned and stomped off, muttering to himself, "No wonder nobody likes any of the gods-damned priests of Ra…"

A satisfactory smile graced the priest's face as the bastard son of Briareus finished his tantrum, happy that he had gotten Timotheus to announce that nor he or anyone else would life for him. Laarus of Ra stopped in his tracks to allow Tim to continue the remainder of the walk alone.

And Timotheus did not look back.

*End of InterSession #5.1*


----------



## el-remmen

Just a note that I changed some of the attributions and added a line of dialog near the beginning to clear something up, even though it was not in the original emails.


----------



## el-remmen

*SPOILER WARNING!*

Just a warning to all you readers, that starting with the next installment there is the possibility of spoilers for Dungeon's _Savage Tide_ Adventure Path (starting with Bullywug's Gambit from issue #140), and while the implementation and outcome (and even who is behind it and what the term "savage tide" even means) will be _VERY_ different and I will not be running all the adventures in the path, NPCs names and specific scenes may still be the same.

The Savage Tide aspects will be included intermittently, so it is not as if reading regularly will give you regular opportunities to be spoiled, and I will post warning when one of the adventures (however highly adapted) from the A.P. is coming up.


----------



## el-remmen

*The Savage Tide Begins. . .*

*Session #6 – “Smuggler’s Gambit” (part 1 of 3)*

Anulem, the 21st of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland made their way to the harbor in the dark hours before dawn.  Among them they carried a large wooden crate with their spare gear and weapons crammed inside, hoping to get it on the beach where they could access it later.  Timotheus Smith of House Briareus wore a suit of studded leather he had purchased late the day before when it was decided that a breastplate might look out of place for a sailor or marine, Victoria wore the same.

The gates through the outer wall that led to the enclosed port were just opening as they arrived, and they were relieved they would not have to explain themselves to any townguards. Soon, they found the sloop called _Desiree_, and saw Crumb giving orders as three sailors prepared the ship, as a half-dozen young men wrapped in woolen cloaks against the morning cold went down into the hold.  Some other workers were carrying in what appeared to be casks of spirits.

Boris E. Crumb III walked over to greet them, introducing himself happily.  He asked each of them their names.

“Albert,” said Markos.

“Argus,” said Timotheus.

“Olivia,” said Victoria.

“Torsten,” said Bleys.

“Call me ‘V’,” said Laarus.

Crumb turned to the ship and called, “Cokie! Coh-Kee! Come over here! The passengers have arrived.”

One the sailors came over and the young nobles were surprised to see the small figure was a human girl of about 12 summers.  Her straw-like brown hair was tied behind her head with brown yarn, and freckles marked her jaundiced skin. 

“Cokie, go inspect the crate and make sure it is okay to be stored,” Crumb told the girl. He turned to Telie. “Johann, go help her…”

“Huh?” Telémahkos hesitated.

“Just go,” said Crumb shoving him gently.  “I want to check over your companion’s gear and dress and makes sure it hits the mark.” He gave the young Briareus a wink.

The girl looked up at Telie and smiled and he winced when he saw her rotting teeth and gums all along the right side of her mouth.  She led him over to where the crate had been placed.

As Telie and Cokie looked over the crate, she turned to him and said, “I am to give you this from our mutual acquaintance…” She handed him folded piece of parchment.  “This is your target.”

Telémahkos looked at the paper and saw the name ‘_Harliss Javell_’ written in an elegant hand.

“So this is the person I am supposed to contact in there?” he asked.

“I don’t know about that…” Cokie said.  “This is just you know… When our mutual acquaintance asked that you go to the Cove and do something… She is what you are supposed to do.”  The girl began to walk away.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Telémahkos’ voice betrayed the growing anxiety of his realization. “You make it sound like I am supposed to…”

“Look,” Cokie turned around, her demeanor nothing like any twelve-year old girl Telie had ever met before. “I don’t want to have to tell you your business, but you know… You are supposed to help, and make sure she never leaves Kraken’s Cove again…”

“Wait! Why? I never agreed to be an assassin!” Telémahkos hissed.

Cokie rolled her eyes. “Well, you are going to be expected to do whatever it is you are expected to do, and you aren’t going to like the consequences if you don’t…  But anyway, you are supposed to be helping the trumpet-bearers, and she’s a Red Lantern… (1) Her influence needs to be gotten rid of, and everyone knows it…”

“The Red Lanterns! Ugh!” Telémahkos buried his face in his hands. He looked back up.  “But won’t that help the Barrel-makers?  That doesn’t make sense.”

“Ours is not to ask why,” Cokie said, turning and walking back towards the sloop. “Now stop your crying and come on, Crumb’s gonna wanna be shoving off…”

Unlike the other cargo, the party’s crate was strapped down to the deck near the prow, while they joined the others down in the cramped hold.  Soon the _Desiree_ was heading southwest, fleeing the growing glow of Ra’s Glory in the east.

Timotheus and Markos started up a game of cards down in the hold, and invited Victoria to play, while Laarus kneeled facing east and praying to Ra to replenish his spells. Bleys the Aubergine looked over his spellbook in his own corner of the hold, while not far away Tymon checked and re-checked his bag nervously. Telémahkos was up on deck, remaining out of the way of the crew, breathing in the salt air.  The sea was rough and the sky was a roiling steel gray down to the horizon.  Every now and then it would spit a hard cold rain that would stop as suddenly as it had started.

As the card game continued, Timotheus and Markos started up on complaining about Laarus of Ra.  Tim retold his interaction with the priest of Ra in the market, and his tone of voice made it clear he was still offended by what he considered the impugning of his character.

Markos laughed.  “He sees things as black and white, and yet is still willing to go along with the ruse.”

“I do not see why you’d criticize Brother Laarus for being concerned about the moral implication of our actions and our adopted roles,” Victoria said, her voice growing angry.

“Because he’s a f*cking hypocrite!” Timotheus said a little too loudly.  “That’s why!”

“No, I’m criticizing him because he’s f*cking stupid,” Markos corrected Tim, laughter in his voice.

“I think you should show some respect for the priest of Ra,” Victoria said, sternly.

“I respect his faith, but his unyielding nature? That’s just stupid,” Markos replied.
“Excuse me!” Victoria left the card game.  

[sblock]All was black for Laarus as he felt the sickening sway of the ship beneath him, jerk more roughly than it should have given the current state of the sea.  He looked up and saw himself on the deck of a ship once again, and there was a cask of something bouncing across the deck towards the liferail.  He could see the ‘Q’ branded on the side.  As the cask smashed against the gunwale, it exploded, enveloping the front of the ship in a veil of sticky fire.  Suddenly, a burning figure in a toga stumbled out of the flames.  The figure gave Laarus the impression it was Telémahkos, but the toga and skin was peeling off in the flames wreathing his soon to be corpse.  There was another explosion and suddenly Laarus found himself on the deck of sloop that had pulled along side a cliff face that led right down into the sea. . .and then all was white…[/sblock]
Victoria was moving to get up to the deck and get some air, when Laarus suddenly stood from his kneeling position where he had been praying an hour and ran up on to the deck.  He threw himself down at the edge and vomited up a stream of clear bile.

“That’s really getting tiresome,” Telémahkos said when he saw the priest lying there panting for a moment. He went back below deck to avoid the sick priest, but as soon as Laarus was back on his feet and had wiped his mouth clean, he called down.  

“Telémahkos? Telémahkos, I want to talk to you…” Laarus croaked, looking as paler than usual, as he always did after these episodes.

“Anybody named Telémahkos down here?” Telie asked aloud, looking to his companions and the other young would-be sailors. 

“No!” Timotheus said, smiling.

“Never heard of him,” Markos added with exaggerated seriousness.

“Sorry! Nobody down here named that, _V_!” he called back up to the priest.  He sneered as Laarus came down and made his way past the cramped occupants towards the rear of the hold where a net held down a pile of casks and crates.  Telémahkos frowned and went over, when he noticed the priest’s eager searching.

“What are you doing? What are you looking for?”

“Tell me, are you familiar with why a letter might be branded into the side of a cask?  Does it identify the owner? The destination? The source?” Laarus asked.

“It could be any of those things,” Telémahkos replied.  “It could be what’s in it, too… Though usually my guess would be place of origin… Why?” 

“I was looking for the letter ‘Q’,” Laarus replied. “I thought there might be casks here marked as such…”

“Q? That’s Quillton, I’d bet,” Telémahkos guessed.  “But again, why?”

“I think such casks are being shipped and have something in them that might explode,” Laarus explained.

“That sounds like Red God Fire,” Telie’s eyes widened.  He went over to the cargo and began to search it carefully, shoving his hands deep into nooks to see if he could feel the brand on the hidden sides of casks, but found no such thing.

“What makes you think that such a thing would be here?” Telémahkos asked, when he went back over to Laarus.

“I just have a feeling,” the priest replied.

“You know, Laarus… It is not encouraging me to be open and honest with you when you are obviously hiding things from me,” Telémahkos said, and he went back up on deck.

Meanwhile, Markos and Timotheus had drawn Tymon and Bleys into their card game, and they told the watch-mage to be ready to interrupt Laarus if it sounded like he might give up their cover.

“My knucklehead cousin can’t be trusted to lie,” Markos said.

“Your lack of respect does you no credit,” replied Bleys. “I shall endeavor to makes sure cool heads prevail, but it would not be my place to interrupt a priest of Ra so rudely.”

“All I am saying is to keep you sword loose and ready, because it is only a matter of time before Laarus blows the whole thing and we’re going be neck deep in pirates,” Timotheus said, his voice thick with disdain.

They changed the subject, and soon the topic was the destructive capacity of Bleys’ magics. “I am a diviner,” he said, to explain his lack of substantial evocation.

Three hours later, _The Desiree_ was making its way southward as the hilly coast of the Island of the Six Kingdoms rose out of the mist off the starboard side.  Soon they were within sight of bright green bluffs sparkling in the clearing dawn as they plummeted right down to the water.  The sloop was making good time, as the wind was strong and favorable, and Bleys, Laarus and Telie made their way on the narrow deck to feel the warmth on their face and a bit of fresh air.

In the distance, boom…

Only a few onboard heard the distant echo, among them Bleys and Laarus, and they looked to where the sound came from.  Ahead and to the right the bluff swelled out into the sea like a fist rising out the water, and they could see a plume of black smoke rising from behind it.  The commotion aboard the sloop increased as more and more people noticed plume as it grew blacker and thicker, swirling and fanning out to darken the clearing sky.

Victoria, Markos and Timotheus came up top to see what was going on, and soon the plume of smoke was pointed out to them.  Telie, having already seen it, approached Crumb to ask his opinion on it, but the fat man was too busy giving orders to the crew.  Without losing speed the sloop began to cut to port to bend wide around the rock protrusion and get a look at what was causing not only the smoke, but not the occasional blast of fire evaporating into the clouds.

“If we are attacked, should we be below deck or above?” Victoria asked Markos.  “I am unused to battle at sea…”

“You do whatever the captain tells you to do,” Markos replied.

As the _The Desiree_ came around the outcropping they could see that just past it the bluff receded to create a sheltered cove, not more than ninety or one hundred feet across.  Two ships were tangled together as fire leapt freely back and forth from their immolated masts and sides.  They were floating together listlessly towards a third smaller ship, a cog, and bits of fire had already begun leaping onto it.  There were also large burning slicks of a black viscous substance on the surface of the water, blocking any entrance or exit.  A fourth much smaller ship, a sloop a lot like the _The Desiree_ was run aground, but far from the flames.  On the beach they saw the tiny figures of people running back and forth.  There was no hearing if they might be fighting over the roar of the flames.

It was Kraken’s Cove.  And just as quickly as they had come upon this scene the sloop left it behind, as confused voices rose up from all quarters.

“I guess that cancels that trip!” Crumb swore, but Cokie hurried over to him and grabbing him by the ear, pulled him down to whisper shrilly into it.  The fat recruiter’s shoulders sagged and he gave the order for less sail, slowing the ship down.  The young sailor girl ran over to where Telémahkos stood at the stern of the sloop, still looking at the plume of smoke and gave him an overly familiar slap on the arm.

“Get your friends together, get that crate open and get your gear on,” she told him. “You’re going in there.”

“Huh? Whu-what?” Telémahkos looked back and forth unsure how to respond.  He finally stammered, “How are we supposed to do that?”

“Don’t you worry about that part,” Cokie replied.  “We’ll get you in there, just get your people ready to go.  It looks like someone else might have made a move, but regardless you still have a job to do… Now, I have things I need to do to get you there…”  The girl turned to go back to her duties, but Telémahkos grabbed her arm.  She turned and yanked free shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

“If you actually expect to convince me to go in there we’re going to have to have a conversation,” Telie said to her angrily.

“I don’t have to convince you of anything,” She spat back.  “You aren’t talking to _me_, you’re talkin’ to _our mutual acquaintance_… And you can do or not do whatever you like, but I can tell you, he’s not gonna like it.”

“Are you just gonna sail us in there?” Telémahkos asked, incredulously.

“No! It’s all on fire!” Cokie said with obvious exasperation.  “We’re bringing you to a place you can get in from.  Once there you can go in or not for all I care, but someone else will care, you can bet on that…”

Telie noticed Markos walking over and Timotheus, Bleys and Laarus watched him get berated by a twelve-year old girl.  

“Johan, there will be a ship for us to return on, right?” Markos asked Telie, having stood nearby listening in on the conversation with Cokie.

“I don’t know…” Telémahkos replied, annoyed.

Cokie had walked away, and Markos walked after her calling, “Little girl! Little girl!”

“Albert! Keep your voice down,” Telémahkos admonished.

“I am calling after the girl, I _need_ to raise my voice,” Markos replied.  Telie walked away, making his way to the front of the sloop near the crate, but Markos followed, along with Victoria and Timotheus.

“Are we just supposed to go in there and fight and not know what it is we are supposed to be doing?” Victoria asked Telie.

“Who says we have to fight?” Telémahkos asked with mock ignorance.

“There are a couple of ships on fire, of course we’re gonna fight,” Timotheus said with an eager smile.  “Someone help me with my armor…”

“What’s the problem?” Bleys asked walking over. “We go in, see what’s happening and if there’s a problem we go out the back way…”

“Exactly,” Telémahkos said, trapped between his cowardice and his unwillingness to appear wrong about following this lead. He looked right at Markos. “We don’t need to be asking about a ship…”

“Hey dickhead,” Markos spat back.  “Don’t you think we’re better off knowing that a ship is coming to get us or not?”

“You just keep bashing your head against a situation you don’t like thinking your are going to get somewhere and you aren’t going to get sh*t,” Telémahkos replied, pointing into Markos’ face.

“I’m just asking a question, bloodrag,” Markos replied.  “I hope you f*cking drown!”

Telémahkos slammed his fist into the side of Markos’ neck.  The wizard’s knees buckled and he stumbled across the deck and turned.  Boris Crumb stepped between the two young noble grabbing each by the shoulder. “If you start fighting here I will throw both overboard myself,” he growled in a voice very much unlike his usual jocularity. 

_The Desiree_ slowed way down as it approached the bluff not far beyond the entrance to the cove. Here there was a natural nook in the face and eighty feet above there was a large rock overhang that curved into the cove.  The crew used poles to keep the jagged wall at bay, as Crumb pointed out a series of hand and footholds.  Telémahkos squinted and looked again and then let out an ‘ah’ of realization.  The niches were cleverly concealed, but Crumb had pointed out the pattern that if known by the climber made it not all that difficult.  Cokie handed Telie two big coils of rope.

“What is going on here?”  Victoria asked.  “What are we supposed to accomplish by going in there?”

“Don’t ask questions, Telie might punch you,” Markos said sarcastically, as he helped his cousin with his scale mail.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Telémahkos said to Crumb. “Let’s sail back.”

“We are sailing back, but I thought you wanted to go in there,” Crumb replied, puzzled.  

“Let’s just go in,” Timotheus said, airing his frustration.

“I agree,” Bleys said.  “We are here and something is obviously happening.  It behooves us to investigate.”

Laarus nodded his own agreement.

“Have you seen that climb?” Telie asked, pointing up.

“I’ll take my armor off,” Timotheus said.

“Just climb first and drop the rope, that’s what I gave it to you for,” Cokie rolled her eyes.  “It is not a bad climb at all.”

Despite her protestations, Telémahkos took the time to strap on his climbing boots to really feel safe about it.  He leapt deftly over to the narrow strip of rock below and taking a moment to reacquaint himself with the pattern of the handholds, he began the climb.  Cokie had been right. It wasn’t so bad.  In no time at all he hauled himself over a lip of rock, entering some kind of natural outlook that looked out over the water of Devil’s Grasp, and a view of the Drie-Hoek South Narrows.  He noticed that a narrow wooden walkway led steeply down a tunnel that was parallel to cove’s southern wall.  Sunlight was muted by puffs of smoke coming through gaps in the right side of the tunnel that were open to the burning debris-churning waters below.   

Telémahkos secured the rope around the narrowest outcropping of rock he could find and dropped it down to the others. Timotheus came up next, struggling with the weight and awkwardness of his breastplate, but he made it up and readied himself to help haul up the others and their gear.

“I think I may kill Markos,” Telémahkos said to his cousin.

“Either that or get a room,” Timotheus replied, grunting as he held the rope to help Bleys make his way up.

“I’m serious,” Telie said.

“Well don’t…” Tim looked right at his cousin, his big smile melting, and then blooming again.  “Because then I’d have to kill Laarus to keep him from killing you and we definitely don’t want that…”

One by one the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland made their way up, some climbed and others were pulled up, and all along, Markos complained that entering Kraken’s Cove under these conditions was a bad idea.  But still, he was pulled up soon after the remaining equipment, and Tymon who called up and waved his arms, fearing he had been forgotten, was pulled up last.

From in the cove they heard the protestation of the burning collapsing husks of the ships.  There were several screams of horror that echoed up to them, which ended abruptly.

_. . .to be continued…_
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) _The Red Lanterns_ are a criminal organization that have their base in Haffar’s Port, greatly feared for their cruelty, fearlessness and guile, they are always looking to expand their influence.  “Trumper-bearers” is code for the Herald’s Guild of Thricia.


----------



## el-remmen

*One More Note About Spoilers. . .*

I also ask that readers who comment in the thread not talk about elements of the adventure path (or individual adventure) beyond what has been posted in terms of the story as to avoid spoiling the players who are also reading this. . .

Thanks.


----------



## monboesen

This is somewhat unrelated. I seem to remember that you based the noble families on the works of some web site with a presentation of the noble families from George RR Martins A game of thrones series.


If that is correct could you guide me to that web site?


Thx in advance


----------



## el-remmen

monboesen said:
			
		

> This is somewhat unrelated. I seem to remember that you based the noble families on the works of some web site with a presentation of the noble families from George RR Martins A game of thrones series.
> 
> If that is correct could you guide me to that web site?
> 
> Thx in advance




Well, I grabbed the influence and reputation rules I am using from the AGoT d20 RPG (with some tweaks), and my version of the Aristocrat class is based on that game's noble class, among other things.

The Houses themselves are not based on G.R.R. Martin's they are probably more like the wizarding families of "old blood" in the Harry Potter books, though with Martin's dark politics in some cases.

Anyway, this site: http://www.towerofthehand.com/  has a ton of information on Song of Ice & Fire stuff and I have used it as a source when preparing actual AGoT one-shots.

Thanks for reading.


----------



## handforged

Well, I was able to catch up finally, and I am quite happy with where things are.  Although the bickering is somewhat annoying, at least it is clever.  I am pretty excited about where this is going.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> Well, I was able to catch up finally, and I am quite happy with where things are.



Me too!

These were some really fun sessions (6 thru 8), and I think if any of my players ever posted here they would agree (Well, maybe not Rastfar/Bleys about #8 - but you'll see why. . .) 


			
				handforged said:
			
		

> Although the bickering is somewhat annoying, at least it is clever.



Sometimes. . .  - Only in the truncated edited form. Being present for it is often no fun - but luckily once the action started the bickering was reduced to a more than tolerable level.  I threatened to send wave after wave of ninjas after them if they kept bickering half the session. 


			
				handforged said:
			
		

> I am pretty excited about where this is going.
> 
> ~hf



Me too! And I am not even sure where that is. . .


----------



## Ciaran

el-remmen said:
			
		

> These were some really fun sessions (6 thru 8), and I think if any of my players ever posted here they would agree



If there's anything you want me to post about, just let me know!


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #6 – “Smuggler’s Gambit” (part 2 of 3)*

Timotheus led the way.  The wooden walkway was a ramp in some places, and narrow uneven and steep steps in others.  It appeared that the salt air devoured this wood frequently, as many of the boards seemed like they had been haphazardly changed with whatever was available.  In some places the walkway was no wider than three and a half feet, but in many others it was barely two feet wide.  They made their way down as quickly as they dared, using the close walls and ceiling of the stone tunnel to maintain their balance.  Laarus, in his scale armor and steel shield strapped to his arm, was having a hard time of it, stopping often, and having to throw his shoulder into the bluff side a few times to keep from falling.

Markos and Telémahkos arguing over who should take up the rear delayed them for a moment. 

“Will you two crate it already!” Victoria admonished them. Telie got his way, and they continued. “This is a really bad idea,” he murmured as they made their way down.

“Then let’s just turn around and go back right now,” Markos replied. “I hate to admit it, but I agree with you…”

“It’s too late,” Telie sighed. “We’re outvoted. Now that everything is f*cked up, _now_ they all want to go in there… It makes no sense…”

Ahead they could see a gap in the tunnel on the right side, with sunlight streaming through the roiling plumes of smoke making its way in.  As Timotheus approached, he could see they were close to sixty feet above the water below, the burning slicks making even the perfect dive into a deadly proposition. Passing the gap was even more difficult as the wall on the left was curved away and jagged and the walkway was narrow here. It was more difficult to support oneself. 

Timotheus hurried across, hoping speed would make do where balance might fail him.  Bleys deftly made it across, looking down and ahead at the walkway, not out the chaos of the cove below them to the right.  Laarus of Ra, however, was not so sure of foot.  He stepped carefully and then stopped as his armored form swayed back and forth.  Suddenly, he threw his body to the walkway, feeling that he was about to tip over.  He slid to the right, and he had to grasp on for dear life, his legs hanging over the side.

“Laarus!” Timotheus cried as the priest of Ra dangled there, desperately trying to pull himself up.  He had just managed to get his legs up and was on his hands and knees and Telémahkos made his way to the front of the rear group, clutching Victoria’s long spear.  Laarus tried to get back on his feet, but again he slid down.  Telie leaned out and called to Tim to grab the other end of the spear, and they used it to support Laarus as he made his way safely to the other side.  Using the spear, the rest of the group was able to make it across, and Telémahkos went last, having no problem keeping his balance.

About twenty feet further down as another gap on the right, though shorter, and here smoke swirled with more strength.

“Nephthys!” Timotheus cried as he crossed. A sudden breeze cleared the smoke enough for most of them to notice that the third burning ship had broken free of the other two and was floating towards the bluff wall, and thus their walkway.  It seemed its burning mast had a good chance of slamming into the exposed walkway another forty feet or so down, where it hung thirty feet over the water.  “We need to hurry!”

But hurrying brought its dangers as well.  Laarus lost his footing again and tumbled painfully down the walkway slamming into Bleys, all bruised.  The watch-mage helped his companion to his feet; glad he was not knocked down as well.   

Timotheus made it across the longer gap and turned to aid Bleys as he made it across.  Laarus stepped aside to let Victoria and Tymon past.  The burning ship was very close now. A smoldering rope snapped causing a burning portion of sail to come floating into the gap, catching both the militant of Anhur and the hireling.  They reached the relative safety of the other side, but were both singed for their trouble.  They continued down at Timotheus’ direction, followed by Bleys, as when the ship slammed into the walkway, no place on it would likely be safe.

Telémahkos still had Victoria’s spear and he used it to aid Laarus once again.  He turned and reached the spear out to Markos, and when the small wizard grabbed onto it, the young Briareus yanked it hard towards him.  Markos stumbled, but kept his feet as there was a crunching and yawning of wood as the burning ship’s mast slammed into the walkway.  The shockwave sent Markos flying onto his face, and he shrieked as he realized his backside was on fire. He leapt back to his feet and smothered his back against the wall. They all ran the best they could, as the walkway was wider down here, feeling it shake beneath their feet. A blast of smoke and debris followed them out onto the strip of beach, as they hurried down the last exposed bit of it only a few feet over the water.

The beach was a strip of black sand over eighty feet long and fifty feet deep, leading to an uneven rock wall with a cavern entrance just south of center.  There was a metal rail bridge over an inlet dividing the north end of the beach from another cavern entrance.  Large pieces of burning debris from the ships were washed up at the end of the beach, but there was a sloop run aground not far from where the walkway let out. It had a metal plate etched with the name ‘_Sea Wyvern_’.  It appeared abandoned.  A pile of goods was near the center of this side of the beach, mostly smashed crates and barrels.  The smell of the great burning slicks filled the air, and it was clear to Markos that no escape would be possible on the sloop until those fires died down.

“Whale oil,” he said to the others.

The entire beach was littered with bones and pieces of corpses that appeared to have been ripped apart with great strength.  Other pieces appeared to have been chewed.  There were several spots where the sand was made into a steaming puddle of muck.  One of them seemed to be some kind of dark frogman beast.  Bleys approached it, kneeling to look closer at the bubbling pustules and flicking tendrils on the thing’s back.  He had just noticed that it was wearing the ragged remains of what appeared to be typical sailor garb when it suddenly exploded!

Bleys grunted and fell back as he was splattered with the caustic remains of the thing, brushing at it with his hands. His crimson shirt steamed as he stood, and he winced at the pain of the burns beneath the tiny perforations in it.

“Stay away from the dead frog-things,” Bleys said. “But… It looked like… I only go to see it close for a minute, but it looked like it might have once been a man…  Its frog-like foot had burst out of the leather of his boot…”

“Were-frogs?” Victoria asked.

“Whatever killed these men tore the very flesh from their bones,” Markos said. He turned to Telémahkos, who was examining a rough map of the cove Tymon had drawn based on Crumb’s description the day before.

“Where is the secret way out?”

Telie pointed to the wooden walkway they had come down.  “That was it…”

“Let’s get on this sloop and see if we can get out of here…” Markos said.  

“We are here, we might as well see what happened,” Tim replied.

“We can stay if you want, but I think we should get the hell out of here,” Markos reiterated.

“I agree that we should be ready to leave if we need to,” Telémahkos said.  “Secure the beach while Markos and I load our extra gear and whatever we can salvage from the goods here onto the boat, and make sure it is seaworthy…”

“We may not be able to get out of the cove, but we can at least sail away from the shore and whatever did this to those men,” Markos said.

“Unless whatever it is can fly,” Timotheus said.  “In that case, we may be stuck on the boat with nowhere to go…”

“Or if it can swim…” Bleys said.  He and Laarus were looking at the pile of goods for possible clues, but Telie came over and noticed a crate of expensive dishware that while opened seemed untouched.  He and Tymon carried it over to the sloop, on which Markos was already aboard, inspecting it, and removing the chunks of corpses on the deck; a deck awash with blood.

Timotheus went over and stood about ten feet from the cavern entrance, keeping a lookout, while Laarus moved to help lift things onto the sloop, and Victoria moved towards the north end of the beach, long spear in hand, trying to listen for any approach over the roar of flames and the lapping of the surf. 

Laarus was walking beneath the prow of the ship as Markos was at the top of it to reach down and help his cousin up onto the boat when movement further up the beach caught their eyes.  From behind a pile of smashed crates popped up a misshapen froglike head sticking out of the tattered remains of sailor’s clothing. It hopped up straighter with a strange gait, noticing the party for the first time.  It croaked angrily as it leapt over the corner of the crates and continued its awkward bow-legged approach, on amphibian feet splayed out from the remains of boots.  The frog-head had an oversized slavering mouth with shining jagged teeth, and its back was an undulating mess of bursting boils and sweating green and yellow tendrils of raw flesh.

“Timotheus!” Markos called out to gain everyone’s attention, and then with a couple of arcane words, a bolt of force, translucent blue and dripping as if made of water flew from his fingers and slammed into the creature. (1)

“What are those things?!” Tymon cried out as everyone else looked up in time to see the man turned frog-thing leap over twice it height, springing way up into the air to come down with a worrying bite on Laarus’ neck and shoulder.  The priest of Ra knocked it back with heavy blow that bounced off its rubbery hide. The savage frog-thing just shrieked and bit him again with greater anger, and Laarus crumpled to the ground.

“Down foul beast!” Victoria of Anhur cried, charging to the aid of her fellow priest.  She gritted her teeth as she shoved the point of her longspear into the thing’s neck.  She looked in time to see that a second of the things was leaping down at her and she pulled her spear back and pointed it up, catching the monster as it came down. It jerked on the spear point, sending a cascade of steaming green and yellow ichor into the black sand.  It landed on the beach still out of the area she threatened so proficiently with her spear.

“Surround them! Take them down!” Timotheus cried, charging down the beach to meet the approach of another coming out from behind the crates before it could leap to the attack.  The sand beneath his boots sent the swing of his heavy flail off balance, and the felt the jagged teeth rip at his arm.

“Bast protect me!” Telémahkos prayed as he picked up his heavy crossbow with shaking hands. As he leaned over to pick up a box of bolts, both came falling out hands and bolts spilled over the deck.  Markos got down on his hands and knees and picked them up too anxious to make a comment.  He began to load the crossbow.

Timotheus swore as a bolt from Tymon’s crossbow came too close for comfort, and he ducked to avoid the bite of the savage frog-thing attacking him.

“Everyone get on the boat!” Victoria cried.  “Anhur! Fill me with your strength and vigor so that I might protect my companions and lay low these foul creatures!” She was filled with the righteous fury of her god, and taking a half-step back she drove the end of her spear into one of the two creatures biting at her.  The head of the spear burst through the thing’s side, but it did not fall.  It howled out a resounding croak and redoubled its efforts to get at her, but her armor protected her from both.

“Our companions are falling,” Markos said to Telémahkos who cringed momentarily in the prow of the boat.  The wizard aimed the crossbow and fired at one of the things attacking Victoria, but all it bit was sand.  Telie drew his rapier and peeked out at the scene of the melee.

“I’ve just been playing with you,” Timotheus said to the mindless savage thing he fought, and his heavy flail landed on its head.  He heard the sickening crunch of the thing’s skull and one of its eyes melted down its misshapen rubbery face, but it did not fall.  Instead, it screeched and shook and flicked stinging ichor that oozed from its pores.  It bit down on Tim’s shoulder, hard.

As Victoria of Anhur struggled with her two foes, Bleys the Aubergine crept behind her and drew one of her short spears from her back and moved away again to get an angle to throw it.  He let it go and it fell short.  Suddenly Telémahkos came tumbling off the ship, rapier in hand.  He landed in the sand and crouched low, making sure none of the creatures were noticing him.  Telie hopped onto the other side of the first of the frogmen, and getting in a flanking position, caught the thing unaware.  The rapier slipped through the thing’s flesh easily.  Telémahkos’ stomach quivered as he felt organs burst within the thing’s body at the sword’s fine touch.  It croaked out dolefully and then suddenly reached backward, nearly twisting itself in half and bit at him.  Telémahkos leapt back, pulling the rapier out, and the thing collapsed, apparently finally dead.

“Tim! Don’t go too far away!” Telémahkos called to his cousin.  “Get back here!”

“He’s right!” Markos called, re-loading the heavy crossbow. “We need to concentrate our efforts!”

But Timotheus was too deeply involved in his fight with the raging frog-thing before him; at least thirty-five feet away from the rest of the group.  Bleys grabbed another of Victoria’s spears and stepped back just as the frog-man that Telémahkos had slain exploded!  The many boils and shaking tendrils on its body burst violently and the whole corpse disintegrated sending caustic ichor in a shower that burned Telie and Laarus’ unmoving form. (2)

Bleys let loose with the spear, but at that same moment Victoria sidestepped and her own spear slammed against her back.  Thankfully, her armor absorbed the blow. (3)  Cursing, Telémahkos moved cautiously over and stabbed the other of the frog-things, but it would not fall.

“Get ‘em, boss!” Tymon encouraged, firing and missing again.

Timotheus managed to knock his foe from his feet, as Bleys, having run out of spears to grab from Victoria’s back, pulled his saber and joined the melee.  Now he and Telémahkos and Victoria were surrounding the same one; Victoria fought in grim silence, seemingly never blinking.  Telémahkos winced as once of his blows extracted a piece of the thing’s liver, but it did not fall.  However, as it turned with it savage rage, Victoria was able to shove her spear through its torso.  It croaked and turned back to face her, pulling itself up the shaft of the spear with excruciating effort, trying to bite her before collapsing, but it could not reach.  Victoria pulled her spear free and without hesitation ran to aid Timotheus.

The frog-thing on the ground exploded, and once again Bleys felt the burning ichor splatter on his face and body.  Tymon let another bolt loose and this one lodged itself through the remaining creature’s eye.  Timotheus turned and pushed the charging Victoria back, as that one exploded as well; keeping them out of the radius of the blast.

Victoria of Anhur let out a long low breath as the fury of her god slipped from her mind and body, leaving a deep fatigue in its place. (4)  She walked over to Laarus of Ra’s unconscious form and checked on him.  He was not bleeding out.  With a touch and a word to Anhur, the priest’s wounds began to close and his bruises faded and he stirred. (5)  It broke the spell of momentary awe from the rest of the group as they considered the fighting prowess the militant had just displayed.

“Let’s get out of here,” Telémahkos said, as Laarus stood and then walked over to Bleys to close some of the watch-mage’s wounds with Ra’s help.

“Cousin, what are you doing?” Markos asked, leaping off the sloop.  “Bleys will not be fighting in the front rank… If you choose to endanger us all by healing him instead of Tim, who is seriously wounded… Well, just be aware that that is what you’re doing…” Sensing that another argument was about to begin, Bleys the Aubergine began to wander around the beach looking for a recoverable bow or light crossbow from among the dead. Laarus ignored his cousin, healing himself further, and Victoria saw to Timotheus’ wounds. Telémahkos went down into the Sea Wyvern’s hold to see if there were any dangers down there, including any casks branded with the letter ‘Q’; there were none.  Anything that had been on the ship had already been unloaded.  Telie came back up and repeated his suggestion, “Let’s get out of here…”

“We need to figure out what happened here,” Victoria said.

“It seems these creatures were once men,” Bleys said, walking back over, not having found what he was looking for. “If there is some disease or infection that caused this we may already be exposed… We should not leave until we know more…”

“We can get on the ship and sail out a bit and try to figure out what happened from there,” Markos suggested.

Everyone else but Telémahkos disagreed.  “We can’t get very far out because of the fires,” Tim said.  “You said so your self…”

“So, we are we not leaving?” Telémahkos asked.

“It does not look that way,” Markos replied with a sigh of resignation.

“We need to look around more and figure out what is going on,” Timotheus echoed Bleys and Victoria’s sentiments.  “Everybody keep your weapons ready, and load your crossbows…” 

“This has all been a mistake,” Telémahkos sighed. “I was set up… It turns out the real reason my source wanted us to come here was to assassinate someone…” He pulled the square of paper Cokie had given him from his belt.

_. . .to be continued…_
---------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:* 

(1)	This is just a magic missile, but I allow for players to come up with their own visual effects for spells as long as it remains consistent. These effects are just for flavor and have no in-game benefit or drawback.

(2)	While according to the unaltered savage template in the adventure, the creature explodes right away, I changed it to the next action to slightly weaken the creatures for a lower level group, but also because it then created a potential for tactical situations in how to battle them and escape from the range after they are defeated.

(3)	If you fire a missile weapon into melee and someone is giving the target cover and you miss by an amount equal to or less than the amount of the cover, then the missile strikes the cover (i.e. the other person fighting) as long as the hit is good enough to hit their armor class anyway.  In this case, the spear struck Victoria, but the attack roll was not enough to get through her armor.

(4)	When a militant’s _righteous fury_ is done, they are fatigued until they rest for a number of minutes equal to the number of rounds of fury. Barbarian rage works similarly in Aquerra.

(5)	Laarus had taken non-lethal damage in the harrowing escape from the walkway, and so he was unconscious, but not mortally wounded (i.e. not at negative hit points).


----------



## Ciaran

Finally, Tim gets a chance to cut loose!  No more throwing punches in barroom brawls or trying not to kill potentially helpful lizardmen.  Weird mutant frog guys trying to kill us?  They're going down!


----------



## Telémakhos

Since I am following this Story Hour much more than OotFP, I see how frustrating it is not to have more people commenting.

Hopefully as things heat up and the poop really hits the fan, more people will pipe up.

BTW, continuing to have a lot of fun and love my character.


----------



## el-remmen

See what my procrastinating on my thesis prospectus due in 7 hours gets you. . . 

Part 3 of Session #6, to come. . .


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #6 – “Smuggler’s Gambit” (part 3 of 3)*

Telémahkos handed the paper to Bleys.

“What?” Victoria was shocked.

“Then why did you agree?” Laarus asked.

“I did not agree… I was informed by that twelve-year-old girl… She gave me the paper with the name on it and informed me that his person was not to leave the cove,” Telémahkos explained.  “By the time it was revealed to me I had no choice… We were already here.”

“And I assume you weren’t planning on going along with that?” Victoria asked with suspicion in her voice.

“No of course not! I said, she _just_ told me… I did not agree to do it…” Telie replied.

“How is it you know this girl was the contact you were supposed to meet?” Bley the Aubergine asked.

“Well, I don’t, officially… The captain of the guard of New Harbinger put me in contact with Crumb and told me that then another of his agents would contact me after… By the way the girl said what I was to do, and her interactions with Crumb, it is safe to assume it was her…” Telémahkos explained.  “I mean, it could be possible it is a case of mistaken identity, and there are many agents being sent in and out of the cove covertly… But regardless, I am not going to say anything to anyone because I have no leverage with which to accuse the captain of the guard, and all I would be accomplishing would be getting myself killed…”

There was a long silence as everyone mulled it over, but Telémahkos suddenly smiled broadly.  “But lucky for me, we’ve gotten here and everybody is already dead!”

“And this Crumb? Did he know of your mission of assassination?” Bleys asked.

“I don’t know,” Telémahkos replied.  “I don’t think so… Not specifically anyway…”

“But he did know this Oberto,” Bleys continued.

“Yes, but I would prefer if you just forgot that name,” Telie said, his smile fading again.

“Oberto? The captain of the New Harbinger guard?  Servant of House Swann?” Bleys asked. “How could I forget it?”

“Look! For all we know he is just working against the smugglers the only way he can and is using me as an agent for the law,” Telémahkos tried.

Bleys raised an eyebrow.

“I hope you are not naïve enough to think that these things don’t happen!” Telie huffed.

“Things like what? Assassination?” Bleys said, his tone always flat.  Was he mocking? One could never tell.

“Yes.”

“How did Oberto know to contact you?” Bleys continued his questioning.

“I believe it was because of Floris Tenbrook,” Telémahkos explained. “I am… I know some members of the Herald’s Guild, and he gave me a message to bring to the captain of the guard.  It was a note. I did not mention it because it seemed a thing of confidence and seemed of no profit or concern to the group as a whole.  However, now it seems it has embroiled me in all of this…”

“You do not know the content of the note?” Bleys asked.

“Correct.” Telie replied. “Floris Tenbrook acted very affably towards me and did not directly… Well, now looking back there was some innuendo… I guess he did… He did manipulate me. He sent me to the captain with the note…” He sighed.

“And you know nothing of this person? This, Harliss Javell?” Bleys asked.

“No, the note from the girl was the first I had seen the name.”

“Did you get a physical description?” Victoria asked.

“No.”

From deep within the caves somewhere they heard the echo of deep croaking. Markos looked across the beach and sighed, “I’m ready…”

“I want to finish inspecting the beach,” Bleys said.

“Didn’t you hear that? Why is everyone acting like they didn’t hear that?” Telie asked nervously.

“We heard it,” Timotheus said, losing his patience. “One thing at a time…”  He walked over towards the cavern entrance; flail in hand keeping an eye out.

They found an opened case of wine with three bottles still intact. The labels bore silver grapes with purple leaves and read _Remoli_ in red script, with a faux banner reading “wine of the holy grape.”  When Tymon declared it a rare Red God wine worth as much as one hundred silver pieces a bottle, the crate was carefully carried onto the boat.  They brought along with it a leather ten-pound bag of damp saffron that Markos dried with a quick cantrip.

The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland made ready to explore the closer entrance to the caves beyond.  Timotheus took point, and Victoria was close behind with Laarus and then Bleys. Markos took up the rear, with Telémahkos and Tymon trailing to make sure nothing came around by way of the rail bridge to cut off their retreat.  

The entrance was barely nine feet high and seven or eight feet wide and not far into it, it branched into two directions, with a hooded lantern hung there at the fork.  It illuminated the dark cavern.   From within to the left they could all now hear a loud chewing, and the sound of meat being torn from the bone.  

“There could be survivors,” Victoria whispered.

“We should just go back to the boat,” Telie hissed up to his companions.

“We should find another way around into the room,” Bleys said, as he grabbed the lantern from the wall and began to withdraw.  The others began to follow his lead, not wanting to be left in the dark, with Timotheus delaying, to make sure everyone would make it out.  It was then that he saw two dark misshapen silhouettes appear at the entrance to the room marked “mess” on Telie’s crude map.

“There’s only two of them… We can take them!” Timotheus announced, eagerly.  Victoria moved over and readied her spear as the two frogmen loped forward, their tall bounds arrested by the relatively low ceiling.  Tim tried to wave them off by swinging his flail menacingly, but they fell upon him, worrying him with their jagged teeth, caustic saliva dripping down his side.

“Back up! Let them out so we can surround them!” Telémahkos called up.

“Strike and retreat!” Markos cried, but the battle was cramped chaos.  He got a shot in with Telie’s heavy crossbow as Timotheus withdrew some and the bolt buried itself in chest of one of them, but it did not fall.   The party slowly retreated drawing the two frogmen to the fork where Telémahkos waited hidden in shadow.  He let loose with a dagger, but the weapon bounced around ineffectively, and one of the frogs turned to look at him.   But as it stepped in that direction Tim’s flail caved its chest and it collapsed.  It croaked and bit at him, but he knocked it away with his weapon as he leapt back to avoid the blast of acidic ichor. The body oozed away to almost nothing.

“Now it’s your turn,” Timotheus quipped as he turned to the other, but as he swung his flail with eager strength, he lost his grip on the thing and it went flying down the corridor towards the mess hall.  “Uh… I meant to do that!” (1)

Laarus of Ra stepped in before the thing could take advantage of Tim’s sudden loss of weapon, slamming it in the face with his own flail.  Telémahkos moved in to flank, dancing about with his rapier drawn, stabbing and retreating 

“T.K. Get out of there!” Timotheus warned, as he drew his sabre.  The frog-thing bit at him, but his armor repulsed the blow, but now Victoria moved in, having dropped her long spear; slamming at it with a morningstar.  And Tymon, long sword drawn, moved in as well.  It was surrounded and a moment later they cried out as it exploded in all directions, burning Tymon, Telémahkos and Laarus who did not get out the way in time.

“Hmmm, I think that went pretty well,” Timotheus said, smiling and taking his helmet off to wipe the sweat from his brow.  Blood and dirt were smeared on his face.  He was breathing hard, and beneath his dented armor, he was covered in bloody bruises.

“You look like you are going to die,” Telémahkos replied.

“Well, that happens in this business,” Tim said.

“It burns!” Telie said, suddenly wiping at a bit of the frog-ooze that dripped from his hair onto his shoulder. 

“Aw! Don’t be such a baby!” Tim admonished playfully. 

“Let’s see what they were distracting us from,” Victoria said, leading the way into the chamber the things had emerged from. 

Telémahkos rushed into a corner and felt the hard lumps of the morning’s oatmeal come up and out of his mouth when he saw the entrails stretched about the former smuggler’s mess hall.  They were twisted and chewed and the contents squeezed out.  The chamber was truly a mess, with cracked bones, chipped wooden plates and smashed tables and benches.  In one corner was pudgy black iron stove with a flue that went up into a crack in the ceiling.

Markos muttered a question regarding Telémahkos’ manhood, and Victoria glared at him. When he had gotten a hold of himself, Telémahkos, made his way over to the stove to see if anything or anyone was hidden back there, while Timotheus, lantern in one hand and sabre in the other, was led by Victoria down a narrow corridor-like cavern towards another room.

Victoria was startled as he heard a clatter on the darkened rock above her. Timotheus raised the lantern in time to see a long green and black lithe but misshaped reptilian form covered in alternate lizard hide and the rubbery flesh of the frog-things.  It had a bulbous frog-head with an immense mouth filled with jagged teeth, but it had the short powerful arms of a lizardfolk, with black dripping claws. It let out a horrifying hiss-croak as it dropped.  Biting Victoria deeply on the shoulder as it knocked her back.

“Draw it back into the room!” Victoria said, as she withdrew and Timotheus gave her room by backing up.  Bleys hearing the commotion hurried over and waited with heavy crossbow loaded and aimed at the doorway.

“Master!” Tymon called to Telémahkos who was still looking in the deep far corner of the room.

“C’mon, you big slimy frog-f*cker!” Timotheus taunted as he came out into the room.  Victoria grunted as her armor absorbed more blows from the thing’s claws and bite, backing into the mess hall as well.  Bleys’ bolt cracked as it struck the stone wall above the thing’s head.   Tymon fired a bolt that missed as well, but Markos’ hit the mark.  Like the other froggish aberrations, this thing seemed oblivious to pain; its only motive force was a savage intent to devour and destroy.

“It must have been a lizardfolk before it was changed into a frog-thing like the smugglers,” Bleys said, starting to load his heavy crossbow again, as Timotheus rushed at the monster.  But it leapt, springing on its muscular rear legs to brush the ceiling as it passed over the tall veteran, and land with a devastating bite to poor Tymon. The poor hireling did not even get a chance to look up from reloading his crossbow.

“Tymon!” Telémahkos cried as he came over and placed his lantern the floor away from the melee.

“_Sagitta magicus!_ Markos cast, and a translucent arrow of blue watery light slammed into the lizard-frog.

Timotheus charged into it, allowing Tymon to withdraw, clutching at his many wounds. Tim’s sword slammed against it several times but its hide was warped and scabbing over from constant bursting blisters and green and yellow vibrating tendrils flicking caustic ichor, it was hard to cut.  “Nephthys! Guard me!” he grunted a prayer. Laarus came around to flank the thing, and suffered a rending bite for it, even as his flail blows were knocked away by the thing’s sheer ferocity.

Tim gave some ground, and as the creature turned to claw him, it stumbled, twisting its ankle. (2) It limped on, oblivious to the pain.  Timotheus set down his lamp and dropped his sword, drawing his flail.  “C’mere, ya egg-sucking fiend!”  Bleys let off a shot when he got an opening, but missed again, while Telémahkos continued to keep his distance, telling Tymon to do the same.

Victoria finally had room to maneuver and bring her long spear to bear.  She stabbed it in the chest, drawing a gush of green blood.  She pushed it back as Laarus and Tim bashed at it ineffectually.  Suddenly, Telémahkos came tumbling past in front of Victoria, yelling for her not to stab him.  He should have been more concerned with the monster.  As he rolled up to his feet and thrust his rapier, he over extended himself, allowing the beast to lean over and bite him deeply in the side.  A moment later, Telie was bleeding out on the damp sand strewn floor, amid the scattered intestines.

“Fall!” Laarus tried to _command_ the thing in the name of Ra, as he stepped back  But if it understood, it did not obey.  

“Someone save Master Telémahkos!” Tymon cried out nervously, firing his crossbow and missing.

“_Veneficus talum!_ Bleys chanted an arrow of white translucent light slammed into the beast unerringly.

As Victoria kneeled to close Telie’s wounds with a touch and a quick prayer to Anhur, Markos fired his crossbow again, and this time when the bolt buried itself in the thing’s chest.  It drooped forward for a moment as if about to fall, and then suddenly exploded with new ferocity, the hard crests on its lizard back bursting into madly flicking yellow tendrils.  

Laarus stepped back in amid the chaos and smashed it in the side of the head.

“If it drops it will explode like the others!  Some one get Telémahkos out of the way!” Timotheus warned, stepping forward to smash his flail in the frogman-lizard’s face, as it clawed him.

It wavered, and as it fell, it reached up and ripped at Timotheus’ leg with its teeth, dragging the big warrior down.  The pool of blood collecting around him, showed that he would not be getting back up without help. There was a sudden frenzy as the fear of the thing’s explosion into caustic ichor might kill Telémahkos and Tim occurred to them.  Victoria bravely leapt upon the dead lizard thing, covering its body with her own, to absorb as much of the explosion herself, even as Tymon covered Telie as well.   Markos was able to slam a broken piece of table between the dead thing and Telémahkos and his manservant just as it exploded, feeling some of the burn himself even as he shielded them.

Victoria rolled onto her back panting, the front of her armor scored by the ichor, and dozens of tiny round burns evident on her face and neck.  Laarus was the only other one to take significant damage, and he was now unconscious as well.  Victoria called to Anhur, “To see that your servants live to serve you another day…” And Laarus was kept from his descent through death’s door, while Bleys began to bind Tim’s wounds.  Victoria came over and helped.

They dragged the wounded back to the beach on over-turned tables from the mess hall.  They were placed as comfortably as possible down in the hold of the Sea Wyvern, and Markos made the sloop ready for setting sail.  Bleys, Victoria and Tymon tried to push the boat off the bank twice, but it would not budge.

“I’m not sure we can do this, Markos,” Victoria said.

“You’re pathetic,” Markos spat back.  Bleys frowned, and Victoria just ignored the slight.

The three of them pushed again, and then again, but still the sloop would not move.  It was wedged deeply in the black sand.

“Whu… Why don’t…” Tymon swallowed his words.

“Yes, Tymon?” Bleys asked, wiping his brow of sweat.

“Why doesn’t Master Markos jump out and help us push?” The servant said.  “If three of us could not do it, perhaps four could…”

“Every little bit helps,” Victoria said, looking up to the sailor-mage.

Markos sighed deeply and jumped off the sloop to help push.  It only took one try.

“Told you,” Tymon said, smugly.  “It was only a matter of apply the proper force to the mass…”

Markos brought the sloop about thirty feet from the beach and they dropped anchor.  Victoria went down below to get some rest and tend to the wounded with Tymon’s help, as Bleys and Markos hunkered down behind the gunwales and kept watch – taking turning looking out beyond the cove and into the beach

_The Sea Wyvern_ bobbed up and down turning this way and that in the swirling currents and eddies of the cove, but was held in place by the dropped anchor.  The hull was painted a dull purple and the foresail was a yellow color with a dark purple draconic figure rising out of a stylized wave. 

A couple of hours later, Markos hissed to Bleys and pointed out a small bidpedal creature that was stalking the beach.  It was vaguely reptilian, with a long tail and powerful rear legs and short foreclaws, but its head was that of a misshapen frog, and its scaly hide was patched here and there with rubbery frog skin.  

“Someone brought something here they should not have,” Bleys whispered as they watched the thing, sniff around a pile of crates and then smash through them.  It looked powerful despite not being more than four feet tall.  The creature hopped over to the walkway the party had entered the cove from and it disappeared up there for a time, but emerged again and went back into the caves.

Hours passed slowly.  In the late afternoon Telémahkos and Laarus of Ra awakened achingly.

“So cold… so cold…” Telémahkos complained. “Tell Wilhelmina…”

“Who’s Wilemina?” Tymon asked, draping another blanked over Telie. “You are going to be okay, master…” Tymon explained how Markos had protected Telie and Tim from the exploding lizard-frog-thing with a piece of a table.

“Is there any reason why we should stay?” Markos asked the others.

“To see what caused this,” Bleys replied. “If it is a disease, we may be exposed, and thus we should not return to civilization until we know for certain…”

Victoria agreed.

“I may not even survive the night,” Telémahkos croaked.  No one paid his complaints any mind.

Markos brought the Sea Wyvern another forty-five feet away from the beach, and a few hours later Timotheus awoke.

“Hey is everyone alright?” He asked, looking over to where Telémahkos lay in one of the hammocks. “Killer, are you okay?”

Telie just groaned.

“Hey! I killed that thing didn’t I?” Tim said, remembering the battle with the lizard-frog.  “I’m great!” He said with a smile.

More rest was needed. The two mages continued their watch, and everyone else went back to sleep after chewing on some rations, and rain began to fill the cove with steam, smothering the remaining burning patches of burning whale oil.  

Bleys the Aubergine pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and kept Timotheus’ longbow across his lap, covered from the damp.  He sighed and standing, went to the rear of the sloop to relieve himself.  As he returned, Markos cried out and pointed into the water in the direction of the beach.  Bleys squinted, by portside stern.  Two… No, three of the frogmen were reaching up to climb on to the boat.

“Isis, bless us!” With a foot up on the gunwale, Bleys Winter drew an arrow in Timotheus’ longbow and sent an arrow to bury itself in the climbing creature’s shoulder. It fell back into the water flailing, the water around it hissing where its ichor-blood touched it.  “We are besieged!”

A bolt from Markos’ crossbow sent another splashing to the water, but it only delayed the creatures.  They were soon making for the boat edge again.  The third creature made it to the deck, but as it stood, another arrow from Bleys sent it careening off the sloop as well.

Casting _mage armor_, Markos ran around to the starboard side and called down into a porthole.  “Wake the f*ck up!”

“We should draw them into the hold where only one can reach us at a time,” Bleys said.  One of the frog-things, looking like green death itself, leapt onto the deck and bit the watch-mage as he dropped the bow and drew his saber.

Below, first to awaken, Victoria of Anhur in her nightshirt and trousers and cloak, came to the steps up to the deck spear in hand.  There was confusion in the hold as the others awakened, hearing the commotion above but unable to see in the darkness.  Timotheus called for someone to light a lantern as he fumbled around for his sword and shield.

“Tymon! Light a lamp!” Telémahkos echoed his cousin, his voice shrill with terror, as he grabbed his rapier and made his way to the end of the hold furthest from the hatch.

“Down! Down, foul beasts!” Bleys yelled, forgetting his usual cold demeanor in the desperation of battle. “You will find me most indigestible!”  He hacked at them as they came in from either side of him, but his blows seemed to do little, as he drew back.  Suddenly, Laarus of Ra came bursting out of the hold in his nightshirt and shield, and slammed one in the side of the face.  The creature bit at him, and he leapt back.  It slammed into the side of the entrance to the hold, and then fell over into the water.

Markos Ackers hurried down into the hold.

“Anhur, since you choose to throw challenges upon me, give me the wherewithal to face them!” Victoria prayed, and suddenly the head of her spear shone as if with torchlight.  It was just in time to cast wild shadows as Laarus smashed another one of the things, but his arm was caught and yanked with great violence as the frog-thing made its final bite in its death throes. The priest of Ra collapsed, inches away from death’s door, but still conscious. (3)  He crawled back down the steps of the hold to avoid the area of the thing’s ichor explosion, and Bleys followed him, protecting the unarmored priest with the _mage armor_ spell.  

The deck hissed as droplets of the caustic ichor splattered everywhere, leaving tiny pockmarks in the wood.  Another of the frog-men came around the corner and began the awkward climb down the steps into the hold.  Laarus and Bleys made room for Victoria, who thrust her spear through the thing’s swollen neck from a safe distance with the reach of her spear.  It exploded, marking the wood around it, but not hurting anyone.  She stepped forward, wondering if any were left, when the one that fell overboard appeared at the top of the stairs.  She finished it with another spear thrust, and withdrew to let it explode as well.

“Let’s take this opportunity to move the ship further away from the beach… Shall we?” Markos said, hurrying out onto the deck to get things ready. Tymon and Telémahkos moved to help him, while Bleys and the others kept watch.

They sailed an hour to the southwest, leaving the cove far behind in the darkness of night.  They lay anchor, and Tymon took the second watch while the young nobles rested.

*End of Session #6*

---------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Timotheus suffered a critical fumble:  _Lose Grip on Weapon. Make Dexterity check (DC 20) or drop weapon._

(2) The creature suffered a critical fumble: _Twist Ankle. Speed reduced by 10 feet until 10 minutes of rest is taken._

(3) Laarus was at 0 hps.


----------



## Gold Roger

I really liked the last two updates. The group really shines especially in the last one, maybe because they don't get to bicker so much (though they still do-which is great) and get to kick some great ass against weird frog mutants (especially Victoria comes of as very capable). 

Loved the scene when one of the things in the mess is about to expode and desperate measures are taken to save the unconscious members.

I sadly don't own the adventure (The issue is sold out everywhere in germany I've looked so far), though I have the two thereafter and played the first adventure in a PBP.

How likely is it that we'll see the third adventure as well? I thought it read great (I'll definitely try to integrate it in my next campaign) and it would definitely be a hoot with this group.


----------



## el-remmen

Gold Roger said:
			
		

> How likely is it that we'll see the third adventure as well? I thought it read great (I'll definitely try to integrate it in my next campaign) and it would definitely be a hoot with this group.




If the opportunity presents itself, then I will run the third adventure (the only other one I own, I think - i might own the fourth one) as it will be appropriate. . . But if so, it will not happen for an other level or two.

Overall, my version of the Savage Tide is based on the outline given in the issue before the first adventure was printed, and what reading that inspired.

Thanks for reading!


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## Ciaran

Gold Roger said:
			
		

> (especially Victoria comes of as very capable)



Oh yeah, compliment the priestess, not the fighter.  Timotheus gets no respect!    

Seriously though, she is capable and competent, even if she does tend to be quiet and a bit socially awkward.  Anhur smiles upon her.  Plus, it's sort of a rule that the less someone talks in general, the more attention you pay when they actually do speak up.


----------



## handforged

I too enjoyed the action in the last two posts.  The complications of the exploding corpses is a nice touch to the battles.  And the bickering makes more sense when there is actually something going on to bicker about.

Good job Nemm.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #7 – “Negotiations & Love Songs” (Part 1 of 3) * (1)

Ralem, the 22nd of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Timotheus stirred and made his way up onto the deck where Victoria was keeping watch. Laarus, always an early riser, was quietly praying to Ra for his spells.  The priest of Ra faced east on his knees, arms stretched out before him.

“Hey Victoria! Wanna lay those healing hands on me?” Timotheus asked the militant, sounding lascivious.  She scowled at him, but soon curing spells were doled out all the way around, except for Markos who had recovered remarkably well.

Telémahkos and Timotheus praised Ra and Anhur as a way of thanking their priestly companions, and the former gave Laarus a couple of coins to bring to the church in his name.

The priest was surprised.

“Look!” Laarus pointed to the southwest.  At the edge of their vision a glint of red became the billow of a sail, and then the distant blurred form turned to the east and hovered for a while like a mirage.

“Are those oars?” Victoria asked.

“I think so,” Markos replied. “That is a big ship… A lot bigger than us… Is it safe to assume we don’t want to be seen if we can avoid it?”

“Can you see their colors?  Who do you think they are?” Victoria asked.

“I don’t know,” Markos said.

“Pirates?” Timotheus speculated.

“I don’t know,” Markos said.  “They could be anybody…”

“But we should be able to tell who they are by their colors, correct?” Victoria asked.

“I do not know who they are,” Markos said, with exasperation.  “We have no way of guessing who they are unless they were closer, but we don’t want them closer.  So can we please stop talking about ‘who they are’ and move on to ‘what are we going to do’?  And if everybody agrees that we want to avoid contact, I’d like to set sail right away…” 

“Can we avoid them?” Victoria asked.

“We can certainly try,” Markos replied with condescension. “Does anybody object…? No? Good.”  He set to getting the sloop ready to go.

“But we don’t want to look like we’re running away,” Timotheus complained.  “If they’re looking for trouble a sign of weakness will certainly attract them…”

“Don’t worry,” Markos replied, rolling his eyes. “I’ll sail casual…” He turned the sloop north for some time, until the other ship was way out of sight. 

As he took down the sail with Tymon’s help, Markos frowned at the gaudy and obvious markings on it, and called to the others.  “We’re going to want to change this sail at first opportunity… Uh, it’s of poor quality, and the hull needs some work, so when that is done, might as well repaint it, too.”

“I’m sorry, have we decided what we plan to do with this vessel?” Victoria asked.  “Are we keeping it?”

“We’re gonna sell it,” Timotheus said.

“Yes, if we plan to keep it and sell it, then we should probably change the sail and re-paint the hull,” Markos said.

“We can sail it back to Schiereiland and then go fight hobgoblins,” Timotheus suggested with his usual smile.

“At this point, hobgoblins sounds good to me,” Telémahkos sighed.

“That’s two votes for hobgoblins!” Tim cheered.

“This ship may have a rightful owner,” Victoria said.  “And if that can be determined then it will need to be returned to them.  We should not be premature.”

“It would be impossible to ever determine this ship’s rightful owner, even if there is one,” Markos said.

“Are there not registries for such things?” Victoria asked.  Markos sneered, as he’d hoped she might not know of such things because of her unfamiliarity with sea travel.  “Ships are costly…” She turned to the priest of Ra, “Brother Laarus, where is your mind on this matter?”

“Well…” Laarus began, but Markos jumped in. “Think about where we found this ship!  In a smuggler’s cover and everybody was dead!”

“If we should return to Kraken’s Cove and find the owners dead or pirates, it is within the law for us to claim this as booty,” Laarus of Ra said.  “But if we can find out who really owns this sloop then justice will be served one way or another.”

“And like I said, it will be near impossible to determine,” Markos said.

“Jozef Winter is the Harbormaster of Sluetelot,” Bleys the Aubergine said, speaking up on the subject for the first time.  “I am certain he would allow me to peruse the registries there…”

Markos Ackers threw his hands up in the air in defeat.

“Should we not be heading back to the Cove to finish our work there?” Bleys asked, changing the subject of the conversation.  

As Timotheus Smith was still injured and the priests had used all their daily granted spells to heal the others, it was agreed to wait another full day before returning to the cove, despite Bleys’ desire otherwise.  Telémahkos suggested returning to Tribunisport and altogether forgetting the cove, but no one took his suggestion seriously.

“I think at the very least it would be prudent for us to anchor closer to the cove so we might see if any ships arrive, or any that might have arrived in our absence, leave,” Bleys said.  Victoria and Laarus agreed, but Markos was against it, fearing that if a ship did come not only would they be able to see it, but it would be able to see them.  Telémahkos agreed, but was also curious about the activities of the frog-men themselves.

“Smugliwugs,” Bleys said.

“What?” asked Victoria.

“I heard Timotheus refer to them as smugliwugs,” the watch-mage said, never breaking a smile while saying the silly word.

Markos called for a vote, and the majority went with Bleys.  Once again, Markos made ready to move the sloop.

By mid-morning the _Sea Wyvern_ was within sight of the cove entrance, but just north of it.  The beach itself was obscured by the shadow of the bluff and the glare of the sun, but if anything of a reasonable size came or went, the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland would be able to see it.  Markos did most of the sailing himself, enlisting the aid of Tymon or Timotheus with terse instructions, while Telémahkos and Bleys were down in the hold, the latter having asked the former to talk privately.

Meanwhile, Markos and Timotheus had a long detailed talk about tactics that left the former exasperated.  Markos wanted to develop an elaborate method for striking at opponents in a coordinated fashion, but Timotheus was skeptical.

“Battle can be too chaotic for that,” Timotheus said.  “Better if we just have a tactical leader that can assess the situation and everybody listens to in those circumstances.”

“True, but we should still have some sort of plan set up,” Markos found ways to disagree even when he agreed, and went on to bore the veteran soldier with the details of how he thought tactics should work.  Tim humored him.

Below, Bleys the Aubergine pressed Telémahkos about the origins of his information about the plot against House Wetherwax, and Telie admitted that he might have been too hasty in making the connection between the rumor of the attack and coming from Kraken’s Cove. (2)  

“Could the attack on the royal navy come from another venue?” Bleys asked.  “Could it not be the result of some political deceits and deceptions?  Some internal feud that would be more difficult to entangle than the mere motives of some pirates?”

“It certainly could be,” Telémahkos replied. He went on to explain some of the on-going disagreements, machinations and struggles for power that happened in his own noble house.  “But what makes you think that it is…?”

“I warn you, that what you hear from me now, I cannot further corroborate or attest to how I should have come upon its knowledge.  These are words shared only between us, but I can confirm reports of just such a threat." Bleys the Aubergine said, taking Telie by surprise.

“On House Wetherwax?” Telie asked, in shock.

“Yes,” said Bleys

“And is it to be perpetrated by one of our member Houses?” Telémahkos asked.

“Not Briareus or Ostrander, nor Raymer have any direct dealings in the matter,” Bleys replied with specificity.  “The Houses involved are further removed…”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Telémahkos replied with a wink.

There were raised voices from above and their conversation was interrupted, as the distant red-sailed ship had been spotted again.  A faultless bird had landed up on the mast, and Markos climbed up to see if it bore a message, he noticed the glint of growing red.  It was coming from the northwest now, cutting in such a way that they could see the change in light along its side as its many oars rose high into the air rhythmically.

Markos had Timotheus raise the sail as he and Tymon, with Laarus’ help, got the sails ready to move the sloop again, to anchor in a position south of the cove entrance.

“Telie and Bleys sure have been down there a long time,” Timotheus commented.

“Maybe they are alleviating their loneliness with Thrician kissing,” Markos laughed. (3)

“That happens at sea,” Tymon said without a hint of irony, which caused Markos and Tim to laugh even harder.  Even Laarus cracked a smile, but Victoria did not appreciate the humor.

Telémahkos and Bleys only paused to listen to the commotion above.  Since no one called them and there was no sound of danger, they continued.

“You know, talking with you now and thinking back to the times I met you when we were younger, I have to wonder what happened to the boy I knew…” Telémahkos said with growing familiarity.  “I just remember you playing at knights with us even though you were a little older… You just seemed carefree back then and full of joy…”

“Do you think I wanted to become a watch-mage?” Bleys asked rhetorically.  “You, more than anyone here, should know that I only ever wanted to become the stalwart knight, like warriors of old, in defense of hearth, home and kingdom. Like Hogarth, my older brother, my father before him, and his father, but alas, as it was, my father had other plans for me.  And as it is, I know my duty, for we too are ‘_Proud to Serve._" (4)

“You are a bigger man than me, but we are more alike than you think,” Telie replied with a sigh.  “Do you believe that by joining this Charter I am fulfilling my own desires and not the design of my father?  I do not know if I have the fortitude to always obey my father’s wishes as you do with yours…"

“And what of your duty to Paulien and her children?” Bleys asked.  (5) “That is the most important duty you can fulfill in my eyes…”

“Your sister, niece and nephew will have a place of honor second only to my own wife and children if I establish my own estate," Telémahkos replied.

“She is _your_ sister, they are _your_ niece and nephew as well,” Bleys reminded his companion.  “She went to _your_  family and is the widow of  _your_ brother…”

Telémahkos nodded his understanding.  “And that is why I want to establish my own keep in the Disputed Territories and have my own means.  And it for that reason I have to pay the political game and keep aware of the dirt swirling around us…”

“Long I have resisted opening my mind to the machinations of the noble houses and the others that would have power, but it would seem if I am to fulfill my role as watch-mage, I have no choice…”

A little later as Telémahkos came back up onto the deck as they passed the cove entrance seeking a new anchoring spot, they heard a loud hammering echoing from the dark shadows within.  It had a quick violent rhythm, and it stopped suddenly, though a few of the young nobles thought they might have heard it more faintly and even more briefly.

“Perhaps it is a survivor, devising a way to leave the cove,” Laarus suggested.

“You think they’re building a ship?” Timotheus said with his typical broad smile and playful wink.  He ran his fingers across his cropped red hair, thinking it was growing out of its soldier’s length.

“A raft!” Telémahkos replied.

“Then we should go and deal with it,” Timotheus replied, getting serious. “We don’t want those things sailing away…”

“And get killed on the beach before we have barely gotten off the sloop… Good idea,” Telémahkos replied with obvious sarcasm.

Since the hammering had stopped and they knew they could see anything coming out of the cove they decided to continued to wait and spend their day resting.  Afternoon was growing long, as Ra’s Glory disappeared behind the tall bluff of the shore, and the hours stretched out into infinitesimal degrees of darkness that crept in from the east.  

Bleys the Aubergine and Telémahkos Briareus took the first watch together, and continued their friendly talk in careful voices that never became the harsh hissing of whispers.  Some time in the middle of their watch their heard the echo of the hammering again.  It was longer this time, and not too long a silence passed before they heard it again.  They waited expectantly for the sound to come again, but it did not, and after a time they continued with their talk, Telémahkos telling Bleys about his ambitious cousins the Ethons. (6)

Hours later as the second watch became the third, they heard some brief hammering that was stopped by a great roaring croak echo out of the cove.

“Has that hammering and roaring been going on all night?” Laarus asked.

“No, they heard the hammering on first watch, but the roar is something new,” Timotheus explained to the priest.


Isilem, the 23rd of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Sometime after dawn, the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland made ready to return to the cove.  Laarus and Victoria prayed for spells, while Timotheus prepared arrows with strips of cloth he had left steeped in oil overnight, hoping his makeshift incendiary arrows would help against the savage frog-men.  After some more healing was doled out, they all heard the croaking roar echo out of the dim cove once again.

“What is that?” Timotheus asked.

“More than likely it is the most lizard-like thing that Markos and I saw when we were standing watch the other night,” Bleys replied.  “It was some kind of two-legged reptilian beast, but like the smugliwugs its head was like a bloated savage frog, and its back was covered in the undulating tendrils and bursting boils…”

“When we return we will go back in the way we did the other day,” Timotheus said, as they went over their plan.  “I think we should avoid the rail bridge if possible…”

“And I don’t think anyone should assume that this roaring creature operates the same as the… ahem… smugliwugs did,” Victoria said, obviously annoyed with herself for using the silly term Tim had come up with and that Bleys had adopted.

“Do you mean that it may have different abilities?” Tim asked.

“It may be the thing that turned all the others into those frog-creatures,” Markos said.  “It may be a cursed creature that broke free…”

“In that case we need to be prepared to kill it as fast as possible without it getting a chance to bite any of us,” Timotheus replied.

“Oh, that’s really smart,” Markos replied sarcastically. “You go first…”

Timotheus smirked with his typical good humor.  He continued his tactical planning.  “I want the wizards to use all their magics on it right away.  Don’t hold back.”

Markos and Bleys nodded.

They drove the _Sea Wyvern_ onto the shore, and it was decided that Telémahkos and Tymon would wait with the sloop to make sure that if anyone did survive they did not steal the ship while the party explored the caverns.  Telie stood at the prow of the boat with his heavy crossbow in hand, while Tymon was on the beach itself, ready to push the boat out and jump on if trouble arrived.

The beach seemed even more littered before, and they could see the obvious signs of someone having scavenged, dragged and gathered the largest planks of wood they could find into a pile.  A hammer and a sack of nails were beside the incomplete frame of a raft.  What appeared to be the most recent plank added was cracked near the middle, but the raft did not look large enough to hold more than two, or perhaps three people.  There were some sacks of oats and three large casks of fresh water nearby as well.

Meanwhile Timotheus and Victoria led the way into the cavern, with Laarus right behind, followed by Bleys and Markos.  Past the cavern that served as a mess hall (7) they took the dark narrow passage to the right, which opened into a large chamber obviously once used as a place to display and trade wares.  Along the southern wall (which was the side they entered on) were wooden racks set with bolts of silk, trailed out and pinned to a lower piece of wood to show the quality of the material.  There was somewhere about a dozen thick rolls of silk, but most were splattered with blood and gore, or burned by the acidic ichor of dying frog-men.  In one corner was a large set of scales, and across from the silks was a wooden stage reached by three small steps, and three large rugs were piled next to it, though one was unfurled and stained.  Near the center of the chamber where several smashed crates and barrels of water, wine and beer, though some looked salvageable.   Lanterns hung at various places on the walls, and some were taken to help light the way.

A loud croaking reverberated from a hall across from where they had entered.  Out on the beach, Telémahkos heard it emanating in from the enclosed beach on the other side of the rail bridge, and growing scared, he had Tymon push the sloop into the water and hop on.  Soon the two were scrambling to keep the boat from spinning slowing out of the cove with a long hooked pole.

The rest of the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland moved towards that stony corridor to makes sure they were not snuck up on by any of the creatures.  Markos held everyone up as he noted a crate by the scales there in there corner, where rectangular stains told the tale of something that had been set out to dry there, but had been removed.

“Looks like it was books,” Victoria Ostrander said, as she was covering the group’s rear.   She turned to Bleys.  “Could they have been spellbooks?”

The watch-mage shrugged his shoulders.  They had not gone far down the narrow corridor, when two of the savage frog-men came hopping at them.  These looked slightly different than the one they had fought two days before.  They were naked, and one of them clearly had been a human woman in her previous life, as she still had one human breast lined with rubbery and blistered frog hide.  The other’s twisted human genitalia dripped the caustic ichor that seemed to permeate the flesh of these creatures.

_. . .to be continued…_

--------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This session was played on April 15, 2007.

(2) Telémahkos actually had no reason to believe this was the case except that Lavinia told him her brother might be involved in an attack and later Telie found out that Vanthus had gone to Kraken’s Cove.

(3) ‘Thrician Kissing’ is, of course, tongue-kissing.

(4) ‘_Proud to Serve_’ are the words of House Devenpeck and are on their coat of arms. Bleys’ branch of the Winter Family serves the Devenpecks.

(5) Paulien is Bleys’ older sister, widow of Telémahkos’ older brother, Jason.

(6) The Ethons are one of the lesser families of House Briareus, and are usually very much involved in mercantile trade.

(7) This is the room where the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland fought the transformed lizardfolk in Session #6.


----------



## Pyske

Just a quick note to say that I'm following along and caught up after this weekend.  I wouldn't want Telie feeling neglected, after all. 

One thing about reading nem's campaigns is that they always get me thinking about how I'd try to build my characters for the kind of adversity these characters always seem to face.  (And how I'd try to make a character who was agreeable / easy to get along with, like Tim, so as to avoid some of the bickering, but that's another story).

I'm always a huge fan of the amount of emphasis terrain gets in your campaigns, as well.  The walkway, the cramped tunnels, etc.

Honestly, with all the emphasis on grittiness, terrain, armor damage, etc., I always think that nem would be an ideal GM for a Riddle of Steel game.

Anyway, thanks for writing this up.  I'm enjoying the action so far, and looking forward to more of it.


----------



## el-remmen

Pyske said:
			
		

> Just a quick note to say that I'm following along and caught up after this weekend.  I wouldn't want Telie feeling neglected, after all.



Telie appreciates it, I am sure. 



			
				Pyske said:
			
		

> One thing about reading nem's campaigns is that they always get me thinking about how I'd try to build my characters for the kind of adversity these characters always seem to face.  (And how I'd try to make a character who was agreeable / easy to get along with, like Tim, so as to avoid some of the bickering, but that's another story).



So. ..  What would it be? 



			
				Pyske said:
			
		

> I'm always a huge fan of the amount of emphasis terrain gets in your campaigns, as well.  The walkway, the cramped tunnels, etc.



Actually, most of the environment for this adventure was already in the module, I just followed its logical conclusion.



			
				Pyske said:
			
		

> Honestly, with all the emphasis on grittiness, terrain, armor damage, etc., I always think that nem would be an ideal GM for a Riddle of Steel game.



One of these days I may run my late 3rd Age Ermainian Islands campaign, which was when the Kingdom of Herman Land was founded.  At that time they were behind the spell-casting curve, so it would be something like those old Conan stories with distant civilizations of powerful sorcerers, while the PCs would be poor bare-chested sword-wielding noble savages 



			
				Pyske said:
			
		

> Anyway, thanks for writing this up.  I'm enjoying the action so far, and looking forward to more of it.



I am glad you are liking it.  Expect another installment later today. . .


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #7 - “Negotiations & Love Songs” (part 2 of 3)*

There was the snap of a crossbow string as the female one was struck right in the neck by one of Markos’ bolts; the force of it driving her to the ground.  The other rushed forward, biting at Timotheus, who struck back with his flail, calling for Laarus to fill in the ranks beside him.  The priest of Ra complied, but the blows of his own flail bounced off the thing’s rubbery hide.  The other one was on her feet with incredible speed, croaking angrily as her jagged teeth tore at Laarus.

“Laarus, fall back!” Timotheus said, keeping his opponent at bay as he withdrew some himself.  “Victoria! Fill in the second rank!”

As Laarus complied again, Markos was able to find a gap in the line wide enough to throw a spear he had grabbed from Victoria, but the weapon clattered harmlessly against the wall.  Bleys the Aubergine was trapped back in the large chamber, unable to reach the melee, but Victoria was able to come forward, crowding into the corridor with Laarus and Timotheus, and thrust her spear at the things, but the close quarters confounded her.

They all withdrew as a group, with Laarus, Tim and Victoria each filling in the gap left by the other as they pulled back, exchanging blows with the monsters.  Finally, Laarus landed a solid and skull-crushing blow on the female one, and then leapt back to avoid the bite of her death throes.   They all withdrew to avoid the explosion of her flesh, but Victoria suffered a severe bite for her reckless speed.

As they reached the corner of the hall that led back into the trade chamber, Laarus grunted as he was bitten even worse than Victoria had been.   The militant of Anhur dropped her spear and drew a morningstar, as there was even less room here, but once again she left herself temporarily open and suffered another horrible bite.  Blood was pouring down her leg.

It seemed the creature would not die.  It absorbed their blows with angry croaks, and bit at them again and again without fear of death.  In fact, it bore so many wounds, it looked like it should have been long dead already.  Finally, Timotheus felt the thing’s spine crack as the head of his flail whipped around to catch it about the waist.  Everyone leapt clear before it exploded.

Back at the beach, Telémahkos and Tymon were desperately trying to get the sloop back to the beach with the hooked pole.

Bleys moved to a corridor on left side at the top of the trade chamber, just beyond the racks of silk.  He had found that two of the bolts were undamaged; one was cornsilk yellow, and the other a deep near-black purple that matched his unique watch-mage’s robes.  He carried them over to the stage and put them out of the way with some casks of ale the party gathered to bring back to the boat later.

All this time there had been a snorting and muffled croaking sound broken up by intermittent banging up a corridor in the southwestern corner of the trade chamber.  The watch-mage raised his lantern and noticed that there was passageway on the left about twenty-five feet up the hall.  It seemed blocked by some kind of tall wooden furniture, and something on the other side was slamming into it violently.   It shuddered again, as he withdrew to tell the others.

“It looks like someone shoved a bookcase or something in the way to trap some monster in that room, and it is going to get out very soon,” Bleys said, as he suddenly started gathering all the ruined silk. “Someone was damn lucky or quick… Or both…” He hurried down the hall and started to bunch the silk in front of the bookcase, and then poured a flask of oil atop it.

“Good idea!” Timotheus encouraged him when he realized the watch-mage’s plan.  Bleys smashed several lanterns worth of oil upon the silks and against the back of the bookcase.

Whatever was on the other side of the bookcase grew more frantic in its blows against the blockage, and Bleys withdrew, loaded crossbow in one hand and lit torch in the other.

“Maybe someone else should throw the torch so we might use our _magic missiles_ right away on this creature, for I fear it will  be the most deadly of them all,” Markos suggested.

“Fine,” Bleys replied.  The torch was handed over to Timotheus, who had his shield out, but sheathed his sabre.  Victoria and Laarus moved in behind them, with Markos nearby.  The bookcase shuddered again and began to tilt into the room beyond and push the oil-soaked silks out into the hallway.  The thing within let out a howl of rage that ended with a burping croak.

“Heroes of Thricia! Prepare for battle,” Victoria cried, as she called on Anhur to _bless_ the group.

They still had not gotten a good look at the creature, for the bookcase landed on its back with all its weight and it bellowed again.  As Laarus of Ra called to his god to grant him _protection from chaos_, Timotheus threw the torch and the pile of silks burst brightly into flame.  The creature croaked again, as it squirmed out from under the bookcase, dragging burning silks with it.

It was some form of bipedal reptile, but not humanoid like a lizardfolk.  Its body hung low near the ground and it head, whatever it might have once been, was now a tooth-lined frogmouth slavering; its long tongue lolling to one side, singed.  It had small muscled arms that ended in black claws that matched the large ones on its froggish feet. As it approached, they could see the splotches of rubbery frog skin along with lizard-like hide, and a tadpole tail.  It was about four feet high and made of packed muscle, and all on its back were flicking yellow and black tendrils and bursting boils of the smugliwugs. 

Markos and Bleys let loose with their crossbows, but neither bolt hit.  They drew back.

“It’s gonna be mad,” Timotheus warned as he reached for his sword.  The thing was upon Timotheus in one sudden leap.  The cavern was filled with the protest of Tim’s armor against the black talons, but the warrior was unable to get his shield high enough, and the frog mouth crunched down on his helmeted head.

“Come on! C’mon, ya crazy beast!” Timotheus goaded it, falling back to give himself room to draw his sword and ready his defense.  Victoria was praying to Anhur to enchant her spear.

“_Veneficus Telum!_ Bleys chanted.  “_Sagitta aquam!_ Markos joined his voice, and from each shot an arrow of light (though Markos’ was blue fluid light, leaving a trail of momentary droplets as it flew) that plunged unerringly into the creature, drawing moist bruises that oozed caustic ichor.

“Come on, beastie!! Victoria cried, letting the _righteous fury_ of her deity fill her.  Her arms swelled with strength, and she charged with great vigor, but the creature ducked the thrust of the long spear.  “Come face the fury of Anhur!”

“Fall back! We want to surround it!” Timotheus called tactics to the warrior-priestess.

“Victoria! I don’t know if you can understand us, but listen to Tim!”  Markos called to his companion with real worry in his voice.  “Pull back!”

But it was too late, the thing leapt suddenly to its left and rent great jagged scars in Victoria’s armor, drawing blood.  Talons punctured her leg, and Tim could see the kneecap split, as Victoria fell.  The thing bit deep on her left arm.

Timotheus yelled and banged on his shield, drawing the thing towards him, and Laarus stepped over quickly to stabilize the dying militant of Anhur with an orison. (1) 

“We’re screwed if you wizards don’t pull something out of your asses to save us!” Timotheus cried, as his sword blows failed to pierce the thing’s thick hide.

“_Veneficus Telum!_ Bleys chanted again, and another _magic missle_ struck the thing.  It roared and swiped at Tim catching him across the forehead, and sending his helmet off into the room. (2)

Markos and Bleys took turns trying to pepper it with bolts, one firing as the other loaded.  Laarus picked up Victoria’s spear, barely avoiding an errant bite from the beast, and took to fighting with it, to keep the thing at bay. He thrust the spearhead into the lizard-frog’s side, as it dragged Timotheus off his feet, clawing his thighs. Tim was bleeding out.

The two wizards, out of spells that could help, spread out, firing bolts from either side of the cave, as Laarus drew the creature back into the center of the trade chamber, absorbing blow after blow, and bleeding profusely, as he thrust Victoria’s enchanted spear at it again and again.

Markos stepped into the hall leading back to the beach.  It was the right hand fork in the corridor where they originally went left to enter the mess hall.  And as he re-loaded his crossbow, he wondered if he would have to flee if his companions all fell.

Suddenly, he spun around, hearing something behind him.  It was Telémahkos and Tymon hustling up from the beach.  

“What’s going on?  We heard screaming,” Telémahkos asked nervously.

From within they heard Bleys call out, “It’s coming!”

“You’d better get in there or you cousin is going to die,” Markos replied to Telie.

”Tymon! Go shoot it,” Telémahkos commanded his manservant, as he took a step back himself.

Tymon’s lower lip pouted out, and he looked back and forth nervously, but he stepped into the trade chamber and dropped his torch, to steady his loaded crossbow.  The thing looked up from Laarus’ now bleeding form near the center of the room.  The thwang of the crossbow was devoured by the roar of the bestial lizard as the bolt buried itself into its shoulder.  The creature began to convulse, its tendrils flicking back and forth even more wildly.

“Son of a bitch!” Telémahkos swore as he crept hurriedly behind the scales in the corner of the trade chamber.  “Shoot it again!”

Tymon did not even get a chance to look up from loading his crossbow when the frog-monster leapt into the air again, and landed atop him, tearing at the portly man mercilessly.  Tymon’s shrieks died as blood began to pour out in all directions.

“Bes! Bless me one more time with your luck!” Telémahkos prayed as he chucked at a dagger at the thing, striking it hard in the head.  It looked at him, but then back at Markos who was closer.

“Aaaah! F*ck!” Markos cried as he ran away from the creature around the perimeter of the room, hoping to reach his own dying cousin.

The creature shuddered as a bolt from Bleys buried itself in its neck, and it bit out in his direction with furious futility.  It fell inches from Tymon and exploded, burning the already dying man with his acidic blood.

Markos ran over to the dying Laarus and began to work at binding his wounds. “I need help over here,” he cried, but Telie was busy looking at Timotheus, who fortunately had stabilized on his own. (3)  Bleys worked on Tymon, who really was a mess.

“I really need help here!” Markos’ voice had a frantic quality the others had never heard before, but the situation was too stressful to really make note of it.  “My cousin is dying!”

“Who do I help?” Telémahkos asked himself aloud, looking back and forth.

“I am getting better at this!” Bleys announced, as Tymon stabilized (4), and this made Telémahkos’ choice easy.  He went over and began to help Laarus.   Bleys walked over and checked on Victoria, just to be sure, even though he had seen Laarus stabilize her during the battle.

There was a brief and heated discussion regarding the danger of moving the wounded versus the peril of staying out in the open where they were.

“We cannot get them onto the boat without opening their hastily bound wounds,” Markos said.  “But perhaps there is a safer place around here we can hole up?”

It was decided that Bleys and Markos would check out the roomfrom which the monster had emerged, while Telie remained behind to watch over the wounded.  Bleys loaded two heavy crossbows and laid them at Telie’s feet, “So you’ll be ready…”

The room behind the bookcase looked like a combination of a laboratory and someone’s personal quarters. Along one wall, some kind of purple tentacled plant was sliced to ribbons within a smashed glass enclosure over a large ceramic pot.  There was another much smaller one in a similar enclosure knocking futilely against the glass.

“Violet fungi,” Bleys the Aubergine said to his companion.  There was also a tall wooden tank of some kind, and a splintered and broken stepladder beside it that probably once led atop it.  In the center of this nearly round cavern that was about forty feet across was along table, on its side.  Smashed beside that was a huge glass tube that once held some kind of preserving liquid and some kind of embroyonic creature with a developing tentacled face, with out of place lupine features and gray hair growing in patches along its length of about three feet.

“What in the Hells is that?” Markos frowned. Bleys shook his head and looked away, noticing a desk and a cabinet in one corner.  Markos saw that there was the corpse of a gnome on the other side of the room.  It looked like it had been partially devoured by the reptilian frog-beast, but what was left had a leather satchel fastened around it.  Markos ignored it for now and walked past Bleys towards the cabinet.

“There is nothing to be gained by opening this cabinet now,” Bleys said, but Markos just shrugged and opened it anyway.  Within were a variety of herbs, molds, mosses and powders, along with two vials of a milky white liquid.

Markos happily grabbed the book and the vials, detecting that they were magical, but the other items were left behind until they could be collected more carefully.  Among the items here were several smashed beakers, and a collection of yellow powder and black spores that looked like what was needed to make shannis.

The room further up the corridor from the laboratory held two wooden cages.  One of them was smashed open from the inside and scored with acidic burns.  The other was filled with bones still covered with tiny bits of chewed flesh.  It was clear that slaves had been kept here, and upon their transformation they had turned on each other.  Whichever ones had broken out had either been killed or gotten away.

“The two we killed before must have been from here,” Bleys said.

The room smelled like excrement and rot.  There were sacks of oats and grain stacked on one corner, but ruined with gore and ichor.  There were two smashed chamber pots, their contents spilled out towards a crack in the cave floor, and two open barrels of what must have been fresh water were now fouled.

They went back to the trade chamber where Telémahkos waited, but Bleys was not satisfied that they were safe enough.  With Telie help he finished taking Timotheus’ breastplate off the tall warrior and put it on himself.  He then slipped on a helmet and took up Victoria’s morningstar.

“I will be back,” he said, walking out the corridor to the northwest, holding up a lantern.

“Telémahkos, you are good at sneaking,” Markos said matter-of-factly, taking up a crossbow. “Why don’t you go follow him and keep an eye out for him.  I’ll stay here.”

For once there was no argument, and Telémahkos did just that.  He followed the now heavily armored watch-mage through a small cavern that looked like it once served as a kennel.  The skeletons of mastiffs were still chained to the wall, the meat ripped off the bone by other canines, which were now ichorous stains on the droppings-covered rocky floor.  Beyond that another short corridor led to an area that branched out in three directions.   Ahead to the left was a much larger chamber, and Bleys could see there was various things hung on the wall, one of which appeared to be the nameplate from the rear of a ship.  To the immediately to the right was narrow passage that led to some cavern from which he could hear the faint echo of rushing water, and beyond that to the right as well, was a dark area of many standing stones creating some kind of natural maze.

Bleys the Aubergine froze and spun around, having heard something, and then called out to Telie.  “I see you…” he said.

“Markos sent me to look after you,” Telémahkos replied in a whisper creeping forward.  He looked into the large chamber to the left.  “Hey! There’s chests in there!”

“We’ll get to them later,” Bleys said, and walked down the corridor towards the cavern he heard the sound of water from.  This was a large cavern, of which more than half was a tide pool created by water gushing in at intervals through a gap in the middle of eastern wall.  Bleys noted a passage to the west, the top of which was just at the surface of the water.  

“It might be possible to swim up that way now, but at high tide it looks like the water reaches all the way up to here,” Bleys said to Telie, pointing out the line where the water reached on the rocky beach.  The closer portion of the cavern was set up as a bedroom, except most of the furnishings had been smashed in some great melee.  The ichor-stains of former smugliwugs were all over the place.  Bleys counted at least nine. There was a torn-up bed, a knocked over footlocker and the bones of a man in shreds of armor, in a pile with a fine rapier.  Telémahkos picked up the rapier, while Bleys walked over and checked the knocked over wardrobe.  Its doors were ajar and within he saw several long brocaded wool coats of the kind a naval officer might wear.  Most were ruined, but he pulled out two that were intact, but left them there.

Telémahkos whipped the rapier back and forth and smiled when he immediately noted the masterwork quality of the weapon. It felt light and perfect in his hand.  He walked over to the wardrobe and poked around, as Bleys walked to leave.

“Whoever was building that raft must have a really good hiding place, or got eaten,” the watch-mage commented, as he stopped and turned back to his companion, who had found a locket in amid the pebbles.

“Gods! I do so hope they were eaten,” Telémahkos said, but the tiny portrait painted in the locket distracted him. It was of a handsome young man with black curly hair and a bit of permanent sneer.  Telie recognized him. “It is Vanthus Vanderboren… The plot thickens…”

Bleys turned and left, followed a few moments later by Telie carrying everything he had scavenged, including an intact bottle of vermillion ink by the splintered desk.

Bleys went into the larger cavern with the ship names plates, for there were many more hung around the perimeter than he had first seen.  There was the Wavereaper, Asmod’s Hope, the Sea Ghost, Dozen’s Cousin, Lavly’s Future, Tiamat’s Wake, and the RMN Sea-Tamer.  

Hanging from the ceiling by chains near the center of the closer section of the oblong, almost peanut-shaped, room, was the yellowed skull of some great reptilian beast, like a gargantuan lizardfolk with huge teeth.  Against the eastern wall were three chests, one of which had been dragged away from the wall by a few inches and was out of the place against the depression it had made in its original position. Telémahkos fell to examining these as Bleys walked over to pedestal that held a display case.  Underneath a rectangle of glass were three leather-bound folios.  There was no lock upon the case, but Bleys was wary.  He cast _detect magic_ and looked again.  He could now see the faint outline of a rune appear on the front of the case.  He recognized the glyph as representing the combination of old arcane runes for ‘air’ and ‘cold’, creating ‘frost’.  Opening or breaking the case would set it off.

Bleys the Aubergine looked around with his enhanced vision, sweeping over the nameplates and the shark jaws hung on the walls. He looked over the chests as well, but nothing else was magical aside from the rapier now slid into Telémahkos’ belt.  Telie slipped a small leather case of tools from his sash, and got to work on the locks on the chests.  He was fairly certain he could open them by spend a long and careful time on each. (5) Within was more treasure than Telie had ever seen except in the stolen glimpses at the contents of his father’s favorite vault.  One chest was filled with Thrician coin, another with Herman Land and Black Island coin[/url], and the last was filled with the often-worthless Kingdom of the Red God of the West coinage.   There were also assorted jewels, including a handful of pearls, an emerald brooch and some garnets.

Bleys peeked into a room off the side of this larger chamber that was reached by going beneath the large nameplate for the _Sea Ghost_.  Beyond was a weapon storage room with all kinds of spears, crossbows, bolts, pole-arms and swords.

“It is Bleys and Telémahkos. Do not shoot us,” Bleys said to Markos in his even baritone as they came back to the great trade chamber.

Bleys the Aubergine fell to tending to the wounded as Markos and Telémahkos commenced to looting, dragging the chests back to _The Sea Wyvern_ and hefting them onboard.

When they were done with that, the two who were commonly foes were too filled with good cheer brought on by the promise of booty to fight.  They headed into the laboratory despite Bleys’ warning about possibly letting the violet fungi loose, or what might be in the tall wooden vat.

In there they carefully collected the herbs and components in the cabinet, and Marko found a red leather covered traveling spellbook on the corpse of the gnome, along with a satchel full of components.  Telémahkos found that the velvet-covered jewelry box held a necklace of pearls that was partially taken apart.  There were nine pearls to add to the five found in one of the chests.

When they returned, Markos took over looking after the wounded, while Bleys and Telémahkos went to reexamine the glass case holding the three folios.  As soon they were gone, Markos cast _read magic_ and starting reading through the gnome’s spellbook. (6)

One carefully fired heavy crossbow bolt later, and Bleys had the glass case broken from afar.  There was a sudden blast of white frost all around the pedestal.  Bleys approached and saw that the folios were the kind that held folded maps, and another _detect magic_ spell revealed auras that had been obscured by the _glyph of warding_ on the case.  These auras emerged from within the covers, so Bleys felt it was safe enough to pick them up, and slip them into a sack.

As he and Telémahkos got back, Markos looked up and said, “Alien-wolf embryonic specimen.”

“What?” Telie asked. “What was that first word?”

“Alien… It means ‘from somewhere else’,” Markos replied condescendingly. Telémahkos shrugged.

“There might be some thing in this book that might help us figure out what happened here,” Markos said, more to Bleys than Telie. “Oh, and there are a bunch of potentially useful spells here…” He spouted off the names of a bunch of spells, but Bleys did not seem to be paying much attention, having gone back to tending the wounded, which was what he thought Markos should have been doing.

“There is an eighty to ninety percent chance these are healing potions,” Markos said, holding out the vials of milky liquid.

“Then why not give one of them to your cousin?” Telémahkos asked.

“Okay,” Markos shrugged. “Any objections?”

“Yes,” Bleys said without looking up from his work.  “Even a ten percent chance that they are not is too big a risk for this situation.”

“Well, can you identify them?” Telémahkos asked.

“Yes, but I need a valuable pearl…” Bleys began.

“We just found a bunch of those!” Telie said, happily.

“And some fragrant incense…” Bleys continued.  No one had incense.

Hours passed. Markos continued to flip through the spellbook, while Telémahkos paced the cavern listening for any approach, and Bleys continued checking on the wound, shooing flies that would land on their bloody bandages, as he made them fresh again.  Late afternoon was approaching when Timotheus and Victoria finally stirred.

Victoria sat up in a slow and pained way, and immediately growled in pain as she tried to bend her right knee too quickly.  It would be some time before she could walk on it again with any comfort. (7)  She put her back to a wall and rested there panting after even that much exertion, her wounds threatening to reopen if she pushed herself at all. (8)

There was more discussion of moving the wounded, but Laarus and Tymon looked so close to death, Bleys did not want to risk it at all.  A few more hours passed, and Markos and Telémahkos went to the _Sea Wyvern_ to retrieve a cask of ale in order to have some.  Victoria was taking slow painful steps to stretch out the spasming muscles of her right leg.  And Timotheus, sat bored against one wall, longbow across his knees.

Suddenly, Bleys thought he heard footsteps coming from the passage that led to the kennel.  He put a finger to his lips, looking at Tim and then Victoria, and began to creep in that direction as quietly as he could, despite still wearing Timotheus breastplate.  Timotheus stood and put an arrow to the bow, and stepped forward as well, craning his neck to get a better look down the corridor, but Bleys was in the way.

“Hello…” A woman stepped out of the shadows of the kennel, placing a dim lantern on the floor as her right hand reached for the basket-hilted dagger in a sheath at her breast.  In her other hand was a fine rapier.  She stood about five foot nine inches tall and had long raven hair and a tanned olive complexion and green eyes.  She was a bold beauty with an athletic body, in tall soft leather boots and studded leather armor of exquisite quality adorned with pearls and a fire opal at the collar.

Bleys the Aubergine flinched in surprise, and his hand went for his sabre.  “You must be the ones who landed the other day and then took off.  Did your ship get destroyed as well?  Is that why ya took the Wyvern?”

”Who are you?” Bleys asked, not answering the question.

“I might be askin’ you and yours the same thing now, might’nt I?” She replied with a playful smirk.  “Seeing as I am here by rights awarded to me by the commander of Kraken’s Cove, Kilgante… And I don’t think the same could be said o’ you…”

“Kilgante?” Bleys asked.

“Kilgante Valeros… He runs… _ran_ this place… Now he’s chum for those frog bastards…” She replied.  “But you have still not said who you are… Are those watch-mage’s robes?”

“I am Bleys the Aubergine…”

“Heh… Well, I’m Harliss Javell,” the female smuggler replied with a smirk. 

_. . .to be continued…_

--------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) _Cure minor wounds_
(2) Timotheus suffered the following critical effect: _Helm Removed (If no helm then as #36)_; See Critical Hit Results – Slashing

(3) In Aquerra, we use a Constitution check against DC 18 to determine stabilization.

(4) Tymon stabilized on his own before Bleys finished administering first aid.

(5) Telémahkos took 20 on opening these chests after searching for traps.

(6) To see the spells in this book click here

(7) Victoria suffered this critical effect: _Apply Crit Multiplier to Total Damage (and armor DP damage) – Reflex Save (DC 10 + ½ damage) or Knee Split, -20 to Speed, -2 to AC, Save Vs. Knockdown at –4._

(8) Victoria was _disabled_, still being at 0 hps.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

"but nothing else was magical aside from the rapier "

what was it?

and what level is everybody

cool post

thanks


----------



## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> "but nothing else was magical aside from the rapier "
> 
> what was it?
> 
> and what level is everybody



Well, that remains to be seen.  It has not been _identified_ yet.

Everyone is second level.  See the first post of this thread to see links to their character pages the aquerra wiki.



			
				darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> cool post
> 
> thanks



Thank _you_.


----------



## Rastfar

I never took the time to describe his voice as baritone, but you are correct that is exactly what it is.

Thanks for taking the time to write this up, I feel that you perfectly capture my character in the re-telling.  I hope you are having as much fun running for him as I am playing him.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #7 – “Negotiations & Love Songs” (part 3 of 3)*

Markos and Telémahkos returned with the cask of ale, and Tim signaled to them to be quiet.  Telie made to creep along the perimeter of the main chamber, as to not be seen, while Markos made a show of rolling the cask to the middle of the cavern and loudly asking if anyone wanted any.  

“And who are you?” Markos asked, coming closer to the chamber entrance where Bleys spoke with Harliss, but still hanging back.  “Would you like some ale?  Why are you sulking back in the shadows?  There is no need to hide… Unless you are scared we might find out something about you…”

“I already don’t like your friend,” Harliss said, never taking her eyes off of Bleys.

“That makes two of us,” Telémahkos called from the shadows.

“How many of you are there?” Harliss asked.

“We are seven,” Bleys replied.  “What happened here?”

“All froggy hell broke loose because of a damn weasel I should have known better to ever trust,” Harliss spat. “What are you all doing here?”

“We are looking the brother of a friend of ours,” Telémahkos said, stepping forward, and giving up an pretense of hiding.  “Vanthus Vanderboren…”

“Vanderboren! Ha! It’s because of that pretending bastard that all this happened,” she said with an angry laugh. “But that’s okay… His comeuppance is on its way…”

“What do you mean by that?” Telémahkos asked nervously.

“Before escape became impossible I sent my first mate to retrieve some unlikely allies to go to the Vanderboren manor near Quillton that Vanthus has been using as a base, and kill that little bastard and his sister, and anyone else unlucky enough to be there…”

“What!” Telémahkos cried.

“Unlikely allies?” Bleys asked still placid.  “In fact, it may just be easier if you tell us your whole story…” The watch-mage’s monotone had the slightest flecks of skepticism coming off of it.

“Vanthus Vanderboren contacted me through means of his girlfriend, Brissa Santos. That little bitch has been trolling ports for a merchant’s son for years, and slitting the throats of others on the side, and I figured he was just another of her pigeon’s, but then seemed to be genuinely interested in acquiring… _special_ goods from exotic locations… Let’s say… And then all of a sudden, the two of them are up on the deck of _The Eastward Brother_ spilling whale oil everywhere and setting fires.  By the time I got there, they had fought their way onto my ship, _The Fast Facet_, and made straight for a chest where I kept an item I was transporting… a black pearl bigger than your fist…”

She paused and took another half a step forward, craning her head a bit to get a look in the room.

“Come in… Have some ale,” Markos said, tapping the cask.  Bleys and Telémahkos stepped back to give the woman some room.  Harliss took another couple of steps into the trade chamber, and then noticed Victoria moving to see her.  Every step the militant of Anhur took was a pained one.

“Militant of Anhur! What is your name?” Harliss asked.

“I am Victoria Ostrander,” Victoria replied with suspicion.

“Do I have your word that my open parley will not be used to lull me into an attack?” Harliss asked, curbing her churlish tone. “That is, as long as I make no attack on you, you shall keep your companions from doing so as well?”

“Aye… We observe the laws of parley,” Victoria replied. “Though, as you can see from my state, if my friends were to choose to attack you my defense of you would be short-lived…”

“Your word alone should be sufficient to shield me,” Harliss replied.  “Even if you do look about three steps away from a zombie…”

“More like four steps,” Timotheus said with a friendly smile. Tim’s eyes shone as he took in her lithe athletic form.

“So, the story… I caught him and his bitch on the deck of the Fast Facet and when I thought it would come to swordplay, he showed his yellow back and ran.  I caught him on the arm with me blade and he dropped the pearl, and some of his blood landed on it.  The next thing I knew, some kind of mist was rising out of cracks in it.  Now, I didn’t know exactly what it is this thing did, but I knew that didn’t look good, so I kicked it overboard.  Suddenly there was a flash, and everybody started changing… Exploding into horrible bullywug forms… Well, not everybody, about half the people, and the other half… Those that didn’t change?  They started getting eaten by those that did! Brissa changed, too… But by that time, _The Fast Facet_ was burning faster than she ever sailed, and Vanderboren had leapt right overboard, and swam away like a porpoise!  He must have had a boat waiting for him somewhere, because no one can swim anywhere safe from here unless they’re a lizardfolk, I guess… Anyway, I made my way to the beach, where pure hell had broken loose.  The battle was terrible, and I could tell right away we were losing…”

“You must be deft of blade or deft of stealth to survive so long…” Bleys interrupted in a natural pause in the tale.

“A little of both, man,” Harliss winked. 

“That’s who I’m supposed to kill,” Telémahkos whispered to his cousin, pulling him away, as Harliss continued.

“I want no part in killing anyone without knowing why,” Timotheus hissed back.

“No kidding… I don’t want to either, but the easiest way out of this is to simply not give her a ride out of here,” Telie replied.

“It’s not polite to talk while someone is telling their story, there lads!” Harlis said with more humor than anger in her voice.

”Oh… sorry, we were just discussing the pearl… You could buy a city with a pearl that size,” Timotheus replied, stepping towards here with easy familiarity.

“Not anymore you can’t… It was cracking up when I kicked it overboard,” Harliss said. “But as I was explaining, the two or three days before this happened, some bullywugs arrived looking for the pearl… I don’t know how they knew it was here… For that matter I don’t know how Vanthus knew it was here, or knew anything about it… He was here under completely different pretenses… He said he was here representing the Vanderboren Mercantile Nexus and that he and his sister, Lavinia, a not-quite high-born bitch, I am sure…”

“You will not speak of the Lady like that,” Telémahkos warned.

“Oh yes, be careful…Telémahkos is quite the moralist,” Markos smiled.

“I agree with Telémahkos,” Victoria said.  “Best to stick with your tale and save the offensive digressions…”

“Well, I was saying…” Harliss was annoyed. “These bullywugs wanted the pearl… They said it was sacred to them, had a shaman with them and everything… So when I ran into that ugly son of a pig that is my first mate on the beach, I sent him up the walkway to get out of here and get Vanthus.  I told him to tell them _he_ had it…”

Markos started laughing.  The others glared at him and he covered his mouth.

“Drevoraz will meet up with them and then make his way to a place where we have a sloop hidden and then sail to the last place we knew Vanthus was working from… The Vanderboren Manse in Quillton,” Harliss continued. “And there those frogs are gonna kill that weasel and his sister and anyone else who is there…”

“Oh, you’re evil! That’s not nice,” Timotheus said, shaking his head.

Markos burst out laughing again, and then tried to stop himself when his companions glared at him. “What? I mean… I know it’s terrible… But you have to admit, it is clever…”

“You sicken me,” Telémahkos said coldly, and then turned to Harliss. “His sister has nothing to do with this…  She is innocent.”

“As are any servants or others there who will get killed,” Bleys said.

“Well… that is unfortunate, then…” Harliss said with only faint sympathy. “But I guess that kind of thing can happen when you have a lying and thieving bastard for a brother who is too big for his britches…”

“Wow, a sacred magic frog pearl…” Timotheus said.  “Now that is adventure material!”

“You would make a poor bard,” Victoria said, allowing herself a smile.

Tim smirked.

“I would like to retrieve it,” Markos said.

Telémahkos rolled his eyes.

“Also, I just remembered…” Markos walked over to Harliss, pointing over to the crate in the corner of the chamber by the scales.  “There were some books or something there… Drying out, do you know what those were?”

“I do not,” Harliss replied.  Markos’ eyes narrowed. 

“And you were hiding all this time?” Bleys asked.  “Hiding and coming out to build the raft…?”

“Aye, but that creature found me, so I could only do a bit at a time… It was one of the bestial lizards from the Hellish Isles, but it became a savage frog, too…” Harliss answered. “But I assume you killed it…?”

“Yes,” Timotheus said.  Every time he looked at her he smiled again and raised his eyebrows as if asking a question, even if he was answering one. 

“Well, now that you are here, I do not need the raft anymore,” Harliss said with a smile. “You can give me a ride on the way to save the Vanderborens.”

“But you said your first mate left two days ago…” Tim said.

“Yes, but by the time he gathers up the ‘wugs and finds the ship and then sails, and waits for nightfall, there is a chance you can catch up to him, or at least arrive there before everyone is killed,” Harliss said.  “That is, if we leave right away… I will help navigate you there, in return you will drop me off somewhere relatively safe along the way, once we are close enough for you to arrive on your own…”

“But what about your first mate?” Markos asked. “If you accompany us, you can tell him to call it off… If we are on time…”

“What so you can turn your anger on me if we get there too late? No, thank you… I am giving you your chance to get there and save the woman, Drevoraz is on his own… He knows the dangers of this job…” She said.

“Would he not drop off these ‘wugs, if they even exist,” Bleys began to ask with apparent skepticism. “Leaving them to commit the murders?”

“Not if he know what is good for him,” Harliss said. “He knows that when he is given a job he has to stick around and make sure it gets done…”

“We have to go,” Telémahkos said.

“Even if we were to accept this woman’s word at face value, Laarus and Tymon cannot be moved,” Bleys said. “We must wait at least until the morning…”

“By the morning it may be too late!” Telémahkos replied.

Markos nodded.  “If there were any other way, I would agree with Bleys, but since innocents are at risk, we must take our own risks.”

As the others discussed what to do, Timotheus Smith continued chatting with Harliss Javell, while sipping some of the red ale.  “So how does one get involved in the smuggling business, anyway?”

“By knowing how to keep your mouth shut,” Harliss replied, curtly.

“Well, good thing for us you can smile with your mouth closed, or else we’d all be deprived,” Tim winked.

Harliss began to smile beside herself, but quickly turned it into a snarl that had an edge of playfulness. “Well, usually when I open my mouth for a man it is to give an order or bite something off…”

“Rowr,” Tim tried to waggle his eyebrows.

“There is no time to waste with this,” Harliss pushed Timotheus away hard, as he had stepped in real close, but still with a hint of the playful.  “Are your companions deciding?”

“I don’t think we should bring her,” Telémahkos was saying in a low voice to Bleys, Markos and Victoria. “She’s a murderer and a pirate, and can’t Markos get us there?”

“I could, but if she knows the way it will be best to have her plot the course,” Markos replied. “If time is of the essence and lives are at stake, such differences should be put aside…”

“And if your cousin were to die because we moved him?” Bleys asked Markos.  “Could that be put aside as well?  Are we to risk the lives of two of our companions on the word of a pirate who is obviously using what she knows to manipulate us?”

“What other choice do we have?” Markos asked.

“We wait,” Bleys replied.

“No. If time is of the essence, I fear the risk should be taken,” Victoria said.  “Laarus would not want innocents risked on his account.”

“We can use one of the rugs to carry them to the boat and lift them in,” Telémahkos said. “If four of us carry it, each by a corner, and are very careful, there should be little to no chance of disturbing their wounds.”

Bleys the Aubergine was outvoted, again.

“Harliss… What were you doing with this pearl?” Bleys the Aubergine asked her.

“Delivering it,” Harliss said.  “It has been retrieved in the Hellish Isles somewhere, and delivered to me. I was to deliver it to someone else…”

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore now, does it?”

“We will let you come with us if you let us see those books where were drying on the crate,” Markos said, trying to sound tough in his bluff.

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Harliss replied calmly.

“If I could make a guess as to what those books were,” Bleys said. “I would say they were ledgers with a record of every ship and perhaps person of import that has come through here… And if so, they are very valuable indeed, and thus her reticence to part with them…”

“All the more reason for us to see them…” Markos said.

“No. If such ledgers were in my possession they will not only remain in my possession, but you will give me a ride and drop me off as we discussed,” Harliss said with impatience.

“And why would we do that?” Markos asked.  “What if we just take them from you?”

“Firstly, I have your militant’s word that you will not do me harm, secondly, looking over all of you now, I think I could take you all as you are, so you should reconsidered threatening violence,” Harliss smiled, and let her hand rest casually on the hilt of her sheathed blade.  “And lastly, I have not said a word about you all looting this place and taking whatever you want.  And that includes the sloop itself, which if I remember correctly was stolen from the Vanderboren Mercantile Nexus.  I have what I have and you have what you have, and you should be happy to have it… Is that reason enough?”

“Are we really going to let this _woman_ dictate our actions?” Bleys was confounded.

“We have no choice,” Telémahkos replied with sagging shoulders.

Tymon Lowe was moved onto _The Sea Wyvern_ first with no problems, but as they hoisted Laarus up, Telémahkos noticed fresh blood staining the rug.  “Pull him up! Pull him up! He’s bleeding out!”

The priest of Ra was quickly laid on the deck and Bleys got to working on him with Telie’s help.  “I’m sorry… Next time I will listen to you…” Telémahkos said with true concern in his voice.

“We shall see…” Bleys replied.  Laarus of Ra had his wounds re-bound and he was carefully carried down into the hold and laid beside Tymon.

Harliss Javell produced a huge stuffed pack that she threw onto the boat, and then asked Timotheus’ help bringing two barrels of fresh water on board.  She took up a spot at the stern.

“Mistress Ostrander!” She called, as Victoria moved to the front of the boat, soon after the shoved off. “Our agreement still holds…?”

“I would be surprised if my companions attacked you while you slept, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” the Militant of Anhur replied.

“Who plans to sleep?” Harliss winked.

*End of Session #7*
------------------------------------------


----------



## Rastfar

> “Are we really going to let this _woman_ dictate our actions?” Bleys was confounded.




A point of clarification here:  This exchange led to Bleys finally 'losing his cool' (as tempered as it may seem), being frustrated with the group he lashed out.  His remark is *not* misogynistic.  To the contrary, it was the only respectful term he could think of at the time.  He was loathe to use myriad other words which came to mind first......and adding fuel to the fire.

I did enjoy this session though, but still believe there were some gaping holes in 'ole Harliss' story.

They will be revealed in Bleys' journal.....

(pimp)


----------



## el-remmen

Rastfar said:
			
		

> A point of clarification here:  This exchange led to Bleys finally 'losing his cool' (as tempered as it may seem), being frustrated with the group he lashed out.  His remark is *not* misogynistic.  To the contrary, it was the only respectful term he could think of at the time.  He was loathe to use myriad other words which came to mind first......and adding fuel to the fire.
> 
> I did enjoy this session though, but still believe there were some gaping holes in 'ole Harliss' story.
> 
> They will be revealed in Bleys' journal.....




Actually, I did not think of it as Bleys disparaging her as a woman, but exactly as you described, unsure what word to use, he fell back on the most basic description of her that came to him that was not an actual curse or insult.

As for the "holes", at least some of them are covered in Bleys' delayed interrogation of her at the beginning of the next session/installment.

Thanks for coming by and posting. . .


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #8 – “Frog Chase!” (part 1 of 2)* (1)

Osilem, the 24th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

A cascade of yellow powder blew out into the wind as Telémahkos emptied out each of the jars of shannis they had found in Kraken’s Cove.

_The Sea Wyvern_ moved listlessly across the corner of Devil’s Grasp heading towards the southern shore of Black Thread Island in the dead of night.  There was but a light wind, and Markos worked hard to get as much of it into the sails as possible, for it was not exactly most favorable to their course. Occasionally, he called over Telémahkos or Harliss to help.

Down in the hold, Laarus awakened.

“Is everyone okay?” the priest of Ra asked.

“We’re all fine. Rise and shine!” Tim greeted him happily. 

“I’m still aching,” Tymon croaked from a nearby hammock.

“We are alive, that means we are well enough,” Bleys said in his flat tone as he walked by, ducking to avoid the low rafters, to go up to the deck.  The watch-mage left Timotheus explaining to the priest what had happened.  Bleys looked around and saw Markos jubilant in his working the sails, as Telémahkos held the wheel. Harliss Javell was leaning over the back of the sloop and turned as she heard him, shooting him her usual smirk.  

Bleys thought back on the conversation they’d had on the beach the day before, as they all waited for Markos to return from swimming down to the bottom of the cove in search of the shards of the black pearl.  Aided by a spell (2), he had held his breath for so long, it seemed he might never come back, but when he did it was with news that he had found at least some of them and they were no longer magical.   He did not go back for them.

“Do you know of men called MacHaven, or Conduel?” Bleys the Aubergine had asked her, making the connection between the shannis found here and names they had gotten from Sir Quintus Gosprey. (3)

Connduel she knew. He often came to Kraken’s Cove to buy goods and make arrangements for other trades, but had not been seen in a few weeks. MacHaven was Connduel’s toadie, but she only knew him by name.

“And who was this Kilgante you mentioned? Some kind of chief?” Bleys asked.

”Valeros Kilgante… He was the Cooper’s man, at least for now… From what I understand he had other offers…” Harliss replied.

“Other offers? What do you mean?” Bleys asked.

Harliss shrugged.  “The man was good with his sword from what I heard, though I never saw him use it,._The Steel Whip_your friend carries has its own reputation…” Harliss said. She gestured to the magical rapier Telémahkos now wore. “But like most men, he could be bought…”

“What more can you tell me about the rapier?” 

Harliss had shrugged again. “Like I said, I never saw him use it.”  He asked her what she knew about a plot against House Wetherwax coming out of Kraken’s Cove.

“A plot against House Wetherwax?  Why would they do that when House Wetherwax allows that place to exist as long as it can profit from it?” Harliss laughed.

Bleys frowned.  “Tell me, how did you manage to trap that bestial lizard turned killer frog in that room behind the bookcase?”

“Heh. It seemed that Leemo had pushed that case into place to save himself from the transformed sailors, but must have smashed open his fungi geranium in the process, because that was what killed him,” She explained. “I just happened to move it out of the way and was about to search the room for things I’d need for my raft trip, when I heard the bestial reptile turned frog approaching.  I was able to hide behind the bookcase and push it back into place when it entered, hoping it would kill off the fungi… Which I take it, it did…”

“Do you have any idea what the potions Leemo had on him do?” Bleys asked.

Harliss shrugged yet again.  “He was the official inspector of wild life and herbs, that included poisons and drugs.  Whatever the potion does, it is probably some kind of anti-toxin or restorative salve…”

In the present, Bleys the Aubergine looked away and made his way to the prow still thinking on the little information he had gleaned from the smuggler.  She could not even tell him what the color or the name of the ship her first mate would using to reach Quillton with the bullywugs.  “We have a few possibilities hidden here and there, and no one person knows where they all are…” She had replied.


Teflem, the 27th of Sek – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Within a few days boredom had set in.  The southern shallow bay of Black Thread Island passed them on the starboard side, looming over the green water with tall, forested hills, and the sloop turned north by northeast around the corner of the island and finally catching a good wind. But Markos did not seem to mind the time aboard ship. He had not spoken a single snarky word or started an argument, except for when he had to remind Timotheus for not the first time that there was not room on the boat for sparring.  It was clear that whether it be up in the mast, at the helm, or simply at the prow breathing in the briny air, Markos’ soul was set at ease when he was at sea.

It was not so easy for the others, and down in the hold Bleys the Aubergine drew the leather-bound folios from his pack and started to examine them again.

Laarus and Telémahkos were having a long and sometimes heated discussion near the front of the _The Sea Wyvern_, while Victoria and Markos discussed what their approach might be when they arrived at the Vanderboren manse.  

“There’ll be a fight,” Timotheus said, walking past them.  “I am eager to get at it…” He continued to the stern of the sloop, sitting beside Harliss as he did for some time every day becoming increasingly familiar and flirty.  She played along in her own hard-edged way, but was clear in her attitude that under the present circumstances Tim had no chance.

“Fine,” Laarus of Ra said to Telémahkos. “I will fetch Bleys and we shall discuss this deal with the pirate and murderess.” The priest of Ra was unhappy about the agreement to let her go once they were within easy reach of the Vanderborn manse.  He wanted to bring her to justice, as he had not made the same agreement as the others. He felt it should be discussed and made his way towards the entrance to the hold.
[sblock]
The sounds of merriment and laughter were swelling over lively music that danced over the golden glow of yellow paper lanterns in the darkness of evening.  He stood somewhere dark, and the light reached him from afar… The sounds just echoes on the water… He heard the creaking of timbers and looked up to see a ship docked nearby.  He read the first six letters on its name plate, T-h-e G-o-l…, but his attention was drawn to a diminutive figure appearing on the deck. “It worked for that weasel, might as well work now…” The child-like voice said as he saw it kick something.  A cask came bouncing down the gangplank and there was an explosion that sent liquid fire in all directions, lighting up the night.  Telémahkos’ flaming figure comes stumbling in his direction. He grasped at his melting face as his tortured voice moaned, “I told you we should not have followed your visions… We should have gone straight to the manor…”  There is time to deal with the treason later…”

There was a second explosion behind him and went white… 
[/sblock]
Suddenly, the priest doubled over and staggered to the edge of the boat, spitting up a stream of clear bile into the waters of the Wizard’s Sea.

“Are you okay?” Victoria of Anhur hurried over to help him to his feet and check on him, while Timotheus Smith took it upon himself to get Bleys.  He went down into the dark hold and when his eyes adjusted he was taken aback.  There was Bleys, sitting atop the cask of whale oil, but he was surrounded in some kind of sepia-colored field of energy that shimmered and scintillated occasionally.  The watch-mage was motionless, holding open one of the unfolded maps from the folios found in Kraken’s Cove (4).  The other two folios were on his lap, also trapped in the field. 

Timotheus walked over and waved his hand in front of Bleys Winter’s face.  There was no reaction.  The warrior tried to touch the watch-mage, but the sepia-light hummed and shimmered and resisted him.

“Uh. . . Everyone?  You better come down here and look at this…” He called up to the other members of the Charter of Schiereiland.

“I though the Academy of Wizardry had certain minimum requirements for their student’s intelligence,” Markos said smugly.

“What could have happened?” Victoria asked.

“He did it to himself by opening the folio.  We _knew_ it was warded somehow,” Markos’s amusement quickly turned to annoyance. “He’s a damn fool.”

“Is there anything you can do to help him?  Can he breathe in there?” Victoria asked, concerned.

“If it is the spell I think it is, he should be okay, but there will be nothing I can do about it,” Markos replied.

“How long will it last?” Laarus asked.

“Days… Perhaps even _many_ days,” Markos said.  “Did I mention he was a fool?”

“Perhaps there is some spell in Bleys’ book that you can use to free him…” Victoria suggested.

“As much as I would like to use this as an excuse to look through Bley’s book, there would be no hope of finding the spell I would need to dispel this effect, and even if I did, I would be unable to cast it,” Markos explained with a weary tone.  He went back up on deck where Tymon had been left to watch over Harliss as she took the wheel.

Victoria went up as well, and Timotheus followed, sighing, as Telémahkos was craning his neck seeing if he could get a view of the open map within the aura of sepia light.  The effect made the map impossible to read.

“There is no need to discuss the Harliss issue at this point,” Laarus said to Telie.  

“Well, with Bleys out of commission I am even less confident of our ability of defeating Harliss, and we know she isn’t going to go quietly if we try to bring her to the authorities,” Telémahkos replied.

“It is not for that reason that I have changed my mind,” Laarus said. “I have reason to believe that the consequences of not going directly and seeking the authorities in Quillton would be not worth the risk.”

“And what is that?” Telie asked, incredulously.

“Your death…”

“What?” Telémahkos’ mouth was suddenly dry.

“I… I had a vision.  You were in it and immolated,” Laarus tried to explain.  “There was ship docked and someone exploded a cask of Red God Fire and you were caught in the blast.  It was Quillton. It was very similar to the previous visions I had with the same cask, with the ‘Q’ branded into it.”

“You have visions?” Telémahkos asked.

“Yes, and they have always come true…”


Ralem, the 1st of Ter  – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.) – Summer Solstice

As shadows crept across the landscape of Black Thread Island to their left, the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland waiting atop the deck of _the Sea Wyvern_ eagerly noted the lights of the approaching town of Quillton. Their stomachs growled as they had gone part of the previous day and this entire one with no food, having run out of rations.

“The manse has its own dock and is about six miles northwest of town,” Harliss explained as they drifted by the town.  The sounds and lights of some kind of festival reached them (5) as the sloop slipped quietly through the dark water, beyond the town’s large port and looming harbor fortress.  Earlier they had seen some fishing boats in the distance, and after a brief argument regarding approaching them, they decided against trying to buy some fish from them.

“I just hope we don’t starve to death when we are defeated and have to flee into the woods,” Telémahkos had said.

They were only two miles past Quillton when Harliss asked Markos to bring the sloop closer to the shore. “Ya shouldn’t be missing it from here, I’d gather…” she explained.  “And thus, this is where I get off…”

“Are you sure you would not rather come with us and call off your first mate?” Markos asked.

“Naw, you can do with him as you need to,” Harliss replied. “No way those wugs are going to back down, and Drevoraz doesn’t mean enough to me to risk crossing them…”

Harliss Javell grabbed up her pack and heaved it with all her might towards the beach.  It splashed into the shallow water.

“What? No kiss good-bye?” Timotheus smiled.

“You’ll have to buy that kiss later,” Harliss winked.  “Good luck!”  She dove in the water, still in her studded leather and disappeared for a few moments, before appearing about twenty feet away and swimming strongly to the shore. Soon she disappeared into the gloom, taking long strong strides through the chest-high water.

“She may be a pirate and a killer, but that’s some woman,” Timotheus said wistfully.  Laarus of Ra glared at him with disapproval. Timotheus gave him a wink.

The sloop continued along the coast and soon enough they noticed a large manor house atop a manicured green hill.  Markos spotted the dock as everyone else looked out for any other nearby ships, but there were none.

“Well… At least it is not ablaze…” Victoria said optimistically, but there was nothing obviously wrong at all.  They could see light in one window high up on a side facing them.

“Let’s go get a closer look,” Timotheus said.

“We need to bring Bleys!” Victoria said.  “What if someone comes back to the ship while we are otherwise occupied and steals it with him in it?”

“We can’t carry him around with us,” Timotheus said.

“We’ll cover him in a blanket and stash him in those bushes on the path up the house,” Telémahkos suggested.  The others agreed, and they did just that. 

The young nobles made their way up the winding path as quietly as they could, walking along the sides in the shadow of the tall firs that lined it.  When they came in view of the fifteen-foot tall stone wall that surrounded the building, Telémahkos was sent ahead to sneak around and see if he could get an idea of what was going on. 

“We should have announced ourselves,” Larrus Raymer of Ra said to the others. “It is not right that we should send someone to sneak on to the property…”

“Laarus, there was no light at the gate house and no one atop the tower… Something is wrong,” Timotheus replied.

“I do not like sneaking either,” Victoria said. “But sometimes sound tactics require effective reconnaissance.”

Telémahkos snuck hurriedly across the grass, hugging the wall just east of the gate and craned his neck to see if there was anyone up there.  There was none he could see.  He crept along the wall and looked around the corner into the darkness, and then tied his climbing spikes to his boots, and strained as he pulled himself up to the top of the wall.  He leapt over and ducked down, and then made his way down the length of the wall back towards the gatehouse towers atop the narrow catwalk.  He looked out at the manor house. It was three stories tall, and all the windows on the front side were dark.  A gravel path wound its way from the gate across the manicured lawn to the door of the house.  There was a fountain and a garden at the far end of the property.  

Telie leapt down the other side and darted to the corner of the house.  He crept along the wall and past a side door where he froze when dogs began to bark violently right on the other side of it.  Telémahkos waited a long moment, but while the dogs did not stop, nobody came.  He hurried past the side of the house and found another set of doors and a large tree growing penned in the far corner between the wall and the house.  There was light in an upper window on both the side and back of the house. He went back, climbing the wall again and making his way to his companions to explain what he had seen.

“We should announce ourselves,” Laarus of Ra said again.  “If there is trouble afoot let whomever is there come out and we shall deal with them.”

“Are you mad?” Markos’ face was contorted with disdain and disbelief.

“I don’t know about you, but I am not eager to have every bullywugs and pirate in that house come out and attack us all at once,” Telémahkos said. “There is no shame in using stealth against greater numbers…”

Soon, Telémahkos was back atop the wall, dropping a rope to make it easier for the others to make their way up, and once they were all crouched up there, he removed the rope as the others hung down and leapt into the grass.  Telie came down last.

There was a quick debate about where to go next, and as heated whispered voices floated across the lawn, they were all silenced by the front door opening.  The light beyond door came streaming out, obscuring the details of the crouched silhouetted figure standing there.  Whoever or whatever it was, stuck a head out and looked around, but not noticing anything, closed the door again.

The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland hurried along the shadow of the outer wall and then darted to the house gathering at its corner. Victoria winced with each hurried limp at the back of the group. The dogs began to bark again.  The party spread out along the front of the house and as Telémahkos crept towards the door it was yanked open again, and the froggy head of a bullywug stuck out and then took a step through the threshold.  It had an awkward springing step, and green and brown mottled hide, and a wide flat head and large moist eyes.  The bullywugs lacked the jagged teeth, the caustic tendrilled variety they had fought in the cove. It held a spear in its hands.  As it turned to look in their direction, Telémahkos rushed forward and thrust his rapier into its side, catching it unawares.   

“Charge!” cried Timotheus as the wug croaked the alarm and Telémahkos dodged the thing’s spear thrust.  The broad-shouldered red-haired warrior slammed his flail against the thing’s ribs, and it croaked in pain again.  It ducked back into the manor as another came through the other half of the double doors, leaping high into the air to thrust its spear down on Tymon who was running to his master’s aid.  The portly young man leapt back crying out in fear. “Master Telémahkos!”

Laarus called for Ra to grant him _protection from chaos_, as Markos moved up carefully crossbow in hand.  Victoria, who had been furthest away from the door, hobbled in the direction of the melee, still suffering from the knee injury she took in Kraken’s Cove (6).

Telémahkos leapt to his left and fell into a roll, trying to startle the bullywugs into letting him past unmolested and get into a better position to flank the opponent, but the wug was too quick. (7)  Telie groaned as the spear punched into his chain shirt. He stumbled away, skulking in the shadow of the eaves away from the fight, clutching his side.

Distracted by the developments, Timotheus barely had time to flick his flail to knock away the spear thrust to of a third bullywugs emerging from the house. He suffered a nasty scratch on the bridge of his nose, as it was. “Everyone move up!” Timotheus said in an even and commanding voice.  “Encircle and kill!”

The veteran’s responding blow caught the wug full on in the face with such explosive force that the other bullywugs croaked in fear, and barely got out of the way when Timotheus risked a backhand swing at it.

A bolt from Markos’ crossbow clattered across the melee as Tymon, long sword in hand, moved to help Timotheus flank the remaining wug.  The frog-man croaked in agony as the hireling’s sword sliced it deep in the side, sending it to the ground.  It hopped back to its feet with pained croaks, but overextended in its thrust and fell on its face once again. (8)

Seeing his opportunity, Telémahkos leapt out of the shadows, and stabbed the prone bullywug through the neck. Green blood pooled around it.  He felt the warmth of Laarus’ curing spell, as the priest stepped in behind him to apply the divine healing.

“I’m taking the runner! Follow me in!” Timotheus said, hurrying into the manor with his shield raised and his heavy flail at the ready.  Small lamps hung in sconces on the walls dimly lighted the foyer.  The black and gray-checkered marble floor bore a plush maroon carpet that was swollen with mucky water. The carpet led up three shallow steps that sub-divided the room, and lead to the slightly higher rear portion.  There were also two flanking wooden staircases that led up to a balcony on the second floor. Timotheus charged at the awkwardly fleeing bullywug, but it spun around and hopped away at the last moment.

“Timotheus! Don’t get too far ahead,” Telémahkos called, as he and Tymon followed right behind Markos. The blonde noble stepped to one side, hoping to be out of view of any wugs in the perpendicular hallway leading out of the room on either side, or the recessed doors at the back of the chamber.

The fleeing bullywug did not get far.  Tim’s heavy steps squished in the soaked rug as he used the force of his run to smash its skull.

“I don’t see anymore for now,” he said, turning, but still vigilant.

_…to be continued…_
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This session was played on April 29, 2007.

(2) The spell was _Long Breath_.

(3) See Session #4

(4) See Session #7

(5) While the celebration of the Summer Solstice usually occurs during the day, it just so happens that the town of Quillton celebrates its founding on that same date with a festival that often goes late into the night.

(6) Recovering speed lost to a critical hit requires full bed rest or a _restorative_ spell.

(7) In order to tumble through a threatened area at one-half speed as part of normal movement, provoking no attacks of opportunity while doing so, make a Tumble check. Opponents are allowed a base attack check modified by Dexterity against the Tumble check result to be allowed an attack of opportunity as normal. Check separately for each opponent you move past, in the order in which you pass them (tumbler’s choice of order in case of a tie). Each additional enemy after the first applies a -2 penalty to your Tumble check.

(8) The bullywug fumbled, suffering the following result: _Slip._ Make Reflex check vs. DC 15 or fall prone.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #8 – “Frog Chase!” (part 2 of 2)*

“I don’t see anymore for now,” Timotheus said, turning, but still vigilant.  “Everyone gather around me.”

“BROWK!” There was no time to comply. More bullywugs were hopping down the left hand hallway.  Tymon seeing his master hiding in the shadows behind the stairs on the right and joined him.

“I said fight with Tim!” Telémahkos admonished his servant and he dashed across the room into the shadows beneath the stairway on the left.  Laarus of Ra rushed forward and his flail struck the first bullywug to get to the end of the hall right in the face, knocking it to the floor.  Timotheus, having dropped his flail rushed forward, drawing his sabre and hacked the thing’s head off with one hard chop.  It never knew what happened.  Thick green blood splattered Timotheus’ breastplate, and he smiled.  He turned to face the other three wugs coming out of the hall and instinctively ducked to avoid the hop attack of one leading with its spear.  It landed in front of him.  

It croaked in alarm as suddenly Victoria was thrusting her long spear at it from nearly ten feet away.  The spearhead ripped into rubbery flesh and the frogman squatted in pain, luckily avoiding a bolt from Markos’ crossbow.  Tymon hurried past Victoria and slammed the wug on the back of the head with his cudgel.  Telémahkos hopped out of the shadows and moved to the other side of it, flanking with Tymon, but the wug recovered, and parried the rapier thrust with its spear.  However, it did not guess that Laarus would leave Timotheus to handle the last bullywugs himself, stepping over to slam his heavy flail into its head.  It fell to the ground and did not get back up.

“Browk!” The last bullywug thrust its spear again and again at Tim, but the brawny young man, knocked the blows away with his sabre, waiting for an opening.   He spun past it slapping away yet another thrust and then turned, putting the weight of his body into a hard blow that shook the wug, and it nearly fell.  Tymon took advantage of the opening, striking it with his cudgel as Telémahkos hopped in and thrust with his rapier again.  The bullywug slid off the blade to soak the rug with its green blood.

They made their way down the hall and found the rooms beyond abandoned.  The trophy room was packed up, with mounted animals covered in sheets, and crates nailed shut and covered with various labels.  The other room was a library clear of all but one book, which looking through, Laarus recognized as being written in the mostly forgotten runic language of the Mystic Ancients.  Markos, the last to leave the room, slipped the book into his coat. (1)

They came back out into the entrance hall and checked the four doors within the alcove opposite the front doors, and found they all led to an enclosed courtyard with a stream coming through a semi-circular grate low on one wall.  There were various flowering bushes carefully planted along the banks, and stone benches on both sides.  In the stream itself were the corpses of three bullywugs and a badger.

“What is a badger doing in here?” Timotheus asked.

“Might it be someone’s familiar?” Laarus of Ra suggested, unsure. 

Markos shrugged.  “If it had been summoned it would have disappeared when killed…”

It was decided they should move upstairs, as if there were anyone else on this floor they would have heard them and come out by now.

“Clearly there was some battle before we even got here, and whoever fought back fought well enough and survived long enough to kill these creatures and leave this area,” Victoria reasoned.  Timotheus Smith nodded.

“Master?” Tymon asked Telémahkos as the party made their way to the entrance hall stairs.  “Do you think that when you and Ida are married, we will all live in a house such as this one someday?”

“It is certainly possible,” Telémahkos replied, dismissively.

Upstairs, the contents of more rooms were packed up.  The beds in the guest rooms were stripped.  All was dark, and even the curtains were taken down.

“Could it be a summer home?” Victoria was perplexed by the state of the manse’s contents.

“I get the feeling things were being packed, not unpacked…” Telémahkos replied.

One small room revealed itself to be a shrine to the god Ptah, and as they left, Telémahkos grabbed a couple of small blocks of incense he saw laying around, remembering Bleys’ need. (2)  There was a former laboratory with a few strange specimens left behind: a fat green worm suspended in clear oil, a stuffed one-eyed bat, a patch of blackened hide and a shrunken simian head.  Markos wanted to search more closely, but the others outvoted him, pressing on.

There was a large bare room, which was an armory and training hall.  There were many weapons on a rack, including the exotic spiked chain, known as a _kau sin ke_, and a rare and expensive gnomish repeating crossbow.

Markos was commenting on it to Laarus when suddenly the Thrician doors (3) on one side of the room burst open and in hopped two barking bullywugs brandishing spears.  The first leapt up high due to the room’s tall ceiling and came down with all its might on Timotheus’ shoulder.  The metal spearhead screeched against the metal of Tim’s breastplate, and he felt the shaft slam against the side of his face.  The spear then clipped his thigh, drawing blood.  Timotheus wavered.

“Gods! Keep this man on his feet so he can defeat the bullywugs that have invaded this once peaceful home!” Victoria prayed to Anhur and reached out a hand to Tim’s back, healing his wounds.

“Tim! Kill it!” Telémahkos shrieked, leaping in rapier drawn to distract it.  He was deft at flicking the thin blade back and forth to keep the thing at bay, and manage to slap it on the arm, drawing green blood.

“BROWK!”

Laarus of Ra hurried over, heavy flail above his head, but as he brought it down, the wug caught the flail’s chain on the tip of its spear and plucked it from his hands, sending into the nearby hearth. (4)

“You’re going to pay for that!” Timotheus growled at the wug, but it deftly avoided the swings of the big man’s sword.  The second bullywug leapt high over the melee and brought its spear down on Laarus as the priest stepped away from the fight to grab a longsword off the nearby rack.  Laarus grunted and turning grabbed the sword, leaving himself open to attack.  Thankfully his armor absorbed the follow-up blow and he grabbed the sword off and swung at the thing with one smooth motion, catching it by surprise in the leg and gut.

“BROWK!”

Tymon hurried in, cudgel in hand, to slam the first bullywug still fending off Telémahkos and Timotheus. It thrust its spear into the portly man and he moaned and fell over, balled up.

“We got you now!” Telémahkos goaded, finding his opening.  The rapier slipped into the wug’s neck, and it collapsed.  Timotheus spun around and finished the one menacing Laarus.

As he called to Ra to heal his wounds, Laarus Raymer noticed his cousin, grabbing the repeating crossbow.

”Cousin.  Remember we are in someone’s home and cannot merely take whatever we may like,” Laarus admonished.  “There will be no stealing.  Put it back.”

“I will not be commanded, cousin,” Markos spat back.  “Why must you assume I was stealing?”

“Because you are taking something that does not belong to you,” Laarus replied. “What would you call it?”

Timotheus stepped over and put a firm hand on each of their shoulders.

“This not the time or place to argue,” Tim said, with an even, but stern voice. “Put it back…”

Markos gave Timotheus a surly look, but did as he was told.  In the meantime, Telémahkos had slipped a dagger off the rack and into tucked it unseen into the fold of his sash.

The young nobles moved down the narrow hall into the back room past the wooden doors, and around to a kitchen.  Again there were signs that this place was not in much use.  The large stove was covered by a large piece of canvas, and dishes and pots were packed into crates.  A smaller stove had one pot atop it, and there was a small wooden table with a basin and some dishes.  A staircase along one wall went back down to the first floor.  Timotheus decided to go down and take a quick look around.

The tall man’s boots creaked on the wooden steps as he made his way down, noticing that there was a lamp lit down there.

He was three-quarters of the way down when the smell of bitter burning tobacco reached him.  Tim paused before he had gone two more steps, but by that time it was too late.

“BROWK! BRICK!”

A bullywug was suddenly on the stairs just below him, stabbing at his legs with a spear.  Timotheus stumbled back as a second wug, hopped up to the base of the steps thrust her spear at him.  He barely avoided it, but felt the bite of a hand axe against his armor.  She had spots of brown atop a deep olive color, and wore an elaborately painted bone necklace

“BLORP! BLORP!” A third bullywug croaked loudly within the room below, which Tim could now see was a dining room. 

“There’s a big one down there!” Timotheus warned his companions as he hurried back up the steps.

Luckily, Victoria was adjacent to the open steps and thrust her long spear into the back of one of the bullywugs on Tim’s heels.  The wug slipped back down the stairs mewling soft pained croaks.

“Tymon! Back anyone up who is near one of those things if they make it up here,” Telémahkos commanded his servant and he moved over to other side of the stairway, to be able to look nearly straight down on any coming up.  Tymon followed him over there.

“LORB-LORB TUBB!” She loved to croak her own name.  Suddenly her powerful legs sent her forward to spring at the midway point of the steps and then changed direction to head towards the opposite side of the stairs. She flew past them, ducking a blow from Laarus, but absorbing hits from Timotheus and Victoria.   Telémahkos let a dagger go and it dug into her rubbery hide, but she would not be stopped, her tongue lolling out to one side of her wide mouth as she roared her mad croaks, flicking saliva in all directions.  Tymon cried out as he felt her spear slam into his studded leather armor.

“Master!” He cried out in fear.

“Tymon! Get out of here!” Telémahkos pushed his servant as he withdrew himself.

“_Sagitta Aquom!_” Markos cast, sending an arrow of watery blue translucent light to slam into her.  Victoria backed this up with another thrust of her spear from across the gap of the stairs.

Timotheus slammed down another bullywugs coming up the steps, but a third hopped up, striking Laarus. Timotheus ignored it, preferring to run over to deal with Lorb-Lorb.  She spun around, and slammed the head of her axe against Tim’s helmet, and then he felt the point of her spear in his groin.  Tim wavered back and forth, feeling pain wash up and down his left leg, and blood dripped into his eyes.

“Anhur!” Victoria called to her god.  “Keep this man on his feet whatever it costs!”  She cast _cure light wounds_ on Timotheus to keep him going, and he thanked her by chopping Lorb-Lorb’s head in half with his sabre.  He then ran back over to Laarus who was beating back the remaining wug and thrust his sabre through it sideways.  Its body jerked as it fell off the blade and on to the floor, where it convulsed for a moment before finally dying with a soft croak

“Yes! I am the best! I am the best!” Timotheus pumped his sword in the air twice, crying out with a wide smile, and then wiping green blood from his face with the back of his hand.

“Quick! Someone heal Tim, I think his head is swelling!” Telémahkos quipped.

“The zeal of battlelust has overcome him,” Victoria said, smiling.  “I know the feeling… Praise Anhur!”

“Praise Anhur…” Laarus echoed.

Telémahkos gave Timotheus and Laarus each one of the potions they had found in the laboratory in Kraken’s Cove.  “Markos says they are probably healing potions, but we cannot be sure… But if things start looking bad, you may want to risk it…”

They decided to go up to the third floor as it was the smallest part of the house and the last place to be checked, except for the back section of the house’s first floor, where they had heard the dogs earlier.

“I think Victoria should go first,” Telémahkos said.  “She is the least injured.”

”We will go up together,” Timotheus said, eager to finish the business in the Vanderboren Manse.

As Victoria of Anhur and Timotheus Smith came around the corner at the top of the stairs, the door to the master bedroom flew open.

“Let’s see who that is out there,” a gruff voice was heard to emerge from within. “I hope it is your weasel of a brother, so we can kill him and everybody else and be done with it!”

A tall raven-haired woman came stumbling out of the room as if she had been roughly pushed out, and behind her towered the broad and ugly figure of Drevoraz Krebran.   The woman wore a long lavender dress, and she had teary blue eyes, that looked up at them with amazement.  “It’s the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland!” She cried with obvious relief.

“Woman! Get away from him!” Victoria barked, readying her spear as she hobbled forward, but Telémahkos, seeing it was Lavinia Vanderboren, did not wait.  He vaulted over the stair railing from below, and then charged at the woman, pushing her back and protecting her with his own body.  He barely turned away from the deadly edge of Drevoraz great two-handed scimitar, which the half-orc raised from his side.

“You aren’t Vanthus, but you’ll do,” the half-orc snorted happily.  He wore studded leather, and a red kerchief with white stripes on his head.  A deep red scar on his face made his right eye a raw narrow slit.

The curved blade turned in his hand and he brought it back across, catching Telie under the chin.  The gregarious young noble gagged as the skin was torn from his neck and he collapsed. He was bleeding out.

“Telémahkos!” Lavinia cried out in alarm.

“Telie!” Timotheus echoed.  He pulled out the potion Telémahkos had handed him and quaffed it.  Nothing happened.  “Useless!” He smashed the glass vial against the stairs.

Markos took a shot that went wide, and Tymon moved up to fire from the same angle and did the same, but he was aiming at a bullywug that had hopped out of the room behind Drevoraz.

“No! Telie!” Lavinia covered Telémahkos’ body with her own, weeping.  “You came here for me!”

“Brother Laarus! See to Telémahkos!” Victoria called to her fellow priest as she kicked open a different bedroom door in hopes of finding another way around the narrow hall, but there was none.

Drevoraz leapt over the railing, landing halfway down the stairs. He looked up at the vulnerable Markos and Tymon with a grin as he began to climb the stairs.  His leap left room for another bullywug to emerge from the bedroom.

“When we are done, I’ll burn this place to the ground!” Drevoraz growled.  “Now! Where is the brother?!”

“He isn’t even here, you lackwit!” Timotheus yelled back. He moved down the hall and cut at a bullywug with his sabre.  Laarus followed up with a blow from his heavy flail and the wug collapsed.

“BLORP! CRICK! Where pearl? Where?” A squat and bloated bullywug with a more red-brown coloration to go with his drab green hide appeared in the doorway.  It bore a club, and wore a necklace of hair and bone.  Its eyes were a shining black.

Markos and Tymon hurried all the way up the stairs to avoid the climbing Drevoraz, and Victoria hobbled over to block his progress.

“Anhur! Bestow upon me the power of your anger and your focus so I may vanquish those who would invade this noble home!” she called out to her god, and was filled with Anhur’s holy rage.  Victoria stepped down and thrust the head of her spear right into Drevoraz’s side, ripping his armor open, and sending a torrent of blood to wash down the stairs.

“I hate Anhur!” Drevoraz moaned, as he stepped up within the reach of her spear and chopped at Victoria with his great scimitar, but she ducked to avoid it.

“Where pearl?” the fat wug croaked again.

“It was destroyed!” Markos answered.

“There is no pearl here! There never was!  You have been tricked!” Timotheus said, as he and Laarus continued to struggle against the two other bullywugs.

“Fall!” the bulbous bullywug _commanded_ with a croak, shaking his painted and carved cudgel and pointing it at Tim.  Timotheus felt a wash of magic come over him, as his legs weakened, but he shook it off.

“Nephthys, protect me! I will not be dominated!”

Tymon moved back to the top of the stairs and let a crossbow bolt fly, and it lodged itself in Drevoraz’s leg, as Lavina suddenly stood from where she had been protecting Telémahkos with her own body.  She gripped _the Steep Whip_, and seemed to have some rudimentary ability to wield it.

“Back boy! He’s mine,” Victoria warned Tymon off, but Drevoraz chopped viciously at the longspear to keep it at bay.  She had to pull back to get her spear in proper position again.  But the half-orc stepped forward and spat at Tymon.

“That other party couldn’t defeat me, and neither can you!” He followed this up with a nasty blow that cut Victoria’s already injured leg.

A crossbow bolt from Markos cut Drevoraz’s laughter short. It pierced his neck and the first mate tumbled back down the stairs, dying.

“You are not a very nice man!” Tymon yelled with child-like anger.  He rushed down the stairs, dropping his crossbow and pulling out his sword.  He chopped at the prone, bleeding half-orc.

Timotheus had managed to defeat one of the bullywugs, and Laarus was whittling at the other, but the fat wug shaman cast a curing spell on it.

“Stand aside!” Victoria commanded. Hobbling into the remaining melee.  She had dropped her spear and drawn her morningstar, slamming the side of the bullywug’s head, driving one of the weapon’s spikes deep into the side of its face.  It collapsed, and Tim took the opportunity of the distraction to push Lavinia out of the way of the menacing shaman.  Laarus of Ra, on the other hand, saw the enemy shaman was now alone, and bullrushed him back into the bedroom, out of the doorway, hoping to give everyone room to surround it.

“BROWK!” The shaman stumbled back, and then suddenly leapt with agility that belied his shape, smashing through the closed shutters and landing twenty-five feet below, out in front of the manse.

As Tymon, Laarus and Lavinia checked on Telémahkos, Timotheus, Markos and Victoria made it to the window to see where the wug went.

It stopped and turned to look at them, shaking its webbed fist. “You humans will get what you deserve when the Savage Tide comes!” It croaked.  

Victoria of Anhur grabbed a spear from her back and threw it, but her rushing caused her to knock her own helmet askew, and she had to stop to fix it. (5)

As the bullywug shaman disappeared into the darkness, Timotheus was able to set an arrow to his longbow and take a shot.  The satisfaction of the frogman’s croaking yelp was all he got, as the shaman continued to hop away.  Markos’ final crossbow bolt disappeared harmlessly into the night.

They could now see that scattered around the huge master bedroom were several bound, unconscious figures, one of whom was a dark-haired woman in mauve watch-mage’s robes.  

Victoria shuddered and then sat on the edge of the bed. (6) Lavinia ran downstairs and came back soon after with a box containing two potions, one of which she administered to Telémahkos.  She offered the other to the party, but they all refused, and it was administered to the unconscious watch-mage instead, who Lavinia referred to as Maeve the Mauve.  Remembering their own watch-mage, Timotheus asked Laarus to accompany him to retrieve Bleys from the bushes, after they carried Telie to what had been Vanthus’ room and the bed there.

Telémahkos groaned and stirred, asking after Lavinia.

“Lavinia is fine,” Timotheus replied, reassuringly. He added with a smile: “She really likes you, by the way…” 

“I am a moron,” Telie groaned.

“No, no… You did good… You did the right thing,” Timotheus wrapped him with a blanket.  “You may yet be a hero… Someday… Now rest…”

Detailed explanations would have to wait until the next day, as the hour was late, and everyone was exhausted, but Lavinia explained that she had recently hired _the Jade Ravens_ to help protect her against increasingly shady debt-collectors, as he brother Vanthus had been using her parent’s weak credit around Thricia, and borrowing on the company name from unsavory types.  The party was led by the son of one her parent’s former adventuring allies, a half-elf named Tolvin Kentai. He had been killed in the initial attack, along with his animal companion; a badger.

Among their number was a misshapen dwarf named Kashrus Kursh, who had escaped the assault and was hidden in a secret room the party never found on the first floor.

Lavinia went on to explain, that she was in the process of packing up things to be shipped back to the family’s other manse in Azure, and some of which was to be sold along with this property to help cover her debt.  However, the man who had agreed to buy was present, along with his son, and both were killed when the bullywugs attacked, and their bodies were in the cellar with that of Tolvin. 

The others had been spared because the bullywugs shaman, Augh Bohr, had wanted to bring them back alive to serve as sacrifices to his god.

Lastly, she explained that when she arrived here, she found that her brother, Vanthus, had been using it as some kind of hideout, since it was vacant, and that while she had found some of his things, he had not been around for a couple of weeks.

The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland were given guest rooms in pairs to sleep in, while the near-mortally wounded were given their own rooms.

*End of Session #8*

----------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Markos later returned the book to the library when it was discovered the owner was still about and among the living.

(2)	Bleys mentioned his need for incense in order to cast _Identify_ in Session #7.

(3)	I described these as “French Doors”, but did not want to use the term “French”, so they were dubbed “Thrician Doors” naturally.

(4)	Laarus suffered a critical fumble: 79 – 83 Hard Parry, Make opposed Strength check with opponent or weapon knocked away. Roll d8 for direction. Roll for 1d4 for distance in 5 foot increments.  I often take liberties in describing them, keeping the mechanical results the same.

(5)	Victoria suffered a critical fumble: 05 – 07 Helm Slips. Move-equivalent action to fix or –4 to attack rolls. (No effect if no helm).

(6)	When a militant of Anhur’s righteous fury ends, they become fatigued until they have rested a number of minutes equal to the number of rounds they were raging.


----------



## Tellerve

Good stuff all around!  Look at good old Telie jumpin' in for the heroics in front of the lady


----------



## el-remmen

After Session #8, we took care of a lot of “down time” stuff using email, IMs, and eventually I got us a forum set up so we could start threads for scenes, general logistical concerns, and secret communication with the DM, which allows us to role-play stuff out in the nearly excruciating detail we prefer, but without taking up hours of precious session time to discuss.

There are seven “InterSessions” that I will be posting before I begin on posting #9, which was our next official session, after a month’s break necessitated by Hallmark holidays and real life concerns.

*If you want to skip past these InterSessions right to the next session proper (#9) then click here.*

Readers might be interested to note that all the dialog in these InterSessions was written by the players themselves.  While I may cut sections or do some minor edits, for the most part it is their own words.  I will be curious if these ‘voices’ seem any different from those in the normal story hour installments, where I am reconstructing dialog a lot more often.

Also, not everything taken care of and every scene played out will make it to these InterSessions.  I chose based on the ones that entertained me the most and seemed most crucial to giving information that might be helpful later – but mostly I chose ones that showed the character in a new light, or in a very typical , but humorous, or satisfying fashion that reinforces what they are about.

I am not sure when I will get to start posting those, but perhaps the first will come at the end of this week.


----------



## Ciaran

el-remmen said:
			
		

> Readers might be interested to note that all the dialog in these InterSessions was written by the players themselves.  While I may cut sections or do some minor edits, for the most part it is their own words.  I will be curious if these ‘voices’ seem any different from those in the normal story hour installments, where I am reconstructing dialog a lot more often.



There are other reasons why the dialog will have a different texture.  We write differently from how we talk, and we have lots of time to consider our InterSession dialog whereas dialog during sessions is spur-of-the-moment.  That'll have at least as much of an impact as your having to reconstruct dialog during play.


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## el-remmen

Ciaran said:
			
		

> we have lots of time to consider our InterSession dialog whereas dialog during sessions is spur-of-the-moment.




Now I know why you took so long to reply in those threads, you were writing drafts!   

Personally, when running NPCs I do my best to keep the "written" dialog as fresh and spontaneous as possible.


----------



## Telémakhos

I think I am pretty good keeping things natural. When Telie is not in the middle of life and death situations he tends toward flowery language anyway.

But to Tim, you and I did two or three scenes in IM and though you have some time to consider what you are saying and we can edit a bit as we go along, it still seems like a pretty spontaneous medium.

Totally unrelated, I think I am doing a better job at keeping the myriad minor details only I care about to myself. I think the message board is going to be help in this direction since I know I have a place for the minutiae I enjoy indulging in at times.


----------



## Dawn

Excellent story!  Finally got back to reading this and am now caught up, again.


----------



## Rastfar

Oooph, poor Bleys, it appears that curiosity got the better of reason.

Curiously, I'd love to poll the readership.  How many of you all read Bleys' journal?  Is the _voice_ similar or disparate?  Is it helpful?  Insightful?  A waste of time?

I can't wait to read more........

*THANX!*  Keep up the good work _Nemm_.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #8.1: Denouement & Decampment – Telie’s Day (part 1 of 2)*

Isilem, the 2nd of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The sound of the door opening awakened Telémahkos from a fitful sleep of disjointed dreams.  For a moment he felt the bewilderment of waking in a strange place, and as he sat up suddenly, he felt the pain of his recent wounds and lay back down just as suddenly.  A quick glance at the window showed that dawn had not yet come.

Telémahkos remembered being made comfortable in Vanthus' old room.  Lavinia walked in dressed in a thick dressing robe covering a white nightgown, the hem of which hung below the short robe.  Her hair was up in a kerchief and she carried the lit stub of a candle in a holder.

"Oh, I am sorry," she whispered apologetically. "I could not sleep and just wanted to check on you.  I know you companion healed you, but you looked so bad…I wanted to make sure…I will leave you to your rest…"

She moved to go back out.

"No, please, I don't expect to be back asleep soon anyway," he whispered in a horse voice. Slowly and painfully he adjusted himself so he was sitting up in bed, leaning against a fat, comfortable pillow.

Telémahkos opened and closed his mouth a few times trying to moisten his dry mouth.

"Let me fetch you some water. . ."  Lavinia Vanderboren went out and then came back with a pitcher and a tin cup, placing it on the night table next to the bed and pouring him a cup.   After handing it to him, she carefully brought a chair over next to bed and sat. "I cannot express how grateful I am to you and your companions for aiding me and for trying to aid my brother… But especially you… As I know it must not have been easy to convince them to do, what with all the secrecy…"

Telie thanked her for the water and drank a cup full before speaking again. "It became something of a mess honestly. There are lots of rumors flying about and I think I told a white lie about some plot or another to get us going in the right direction. I worry about your feelings, but I worry more that you will embrace your brother once more to your disadvantage." He drank some more before continuing. "He is a louse, and I only say this bluntly because I do not have strength for the politeness normally required of one of my station."

"I. . . I just can't accept it. . ." She lowered her head into her hands, and when she looked back up she was crying. "I mean, he has always made mistakes, or wasted his energies in this or that fad or fickle interest that he would prove to have no talent for, and yes… He’d waste a lot of mother and father's coin… But that is all they were…Mistakes… If he has done evil it has been because of his own incompetence and short-sightedness, not because of his intentions. . . That must count for something. . . Right?"

She was quiet for a long moment, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Isis forgives. . ."

Telémahkos sat up and awkwardly tried to comfort her, wincing from the sharp pains of his movement.

"Isis does forgive ... thank her for that." He paused before continuing, trying to figure out the best way to say what he had to say about Vanthus. "From all descriptions he is selfish, self-centered, reckless and uncaring about anyone he hurts to get what he is after. I am sorry to force the point ... but do not let your beautiful heart allow you and your family’s legacy be dragged down by this scoundrel. Keep him at arm's length at least. I will do what I can to gain you some business if there is anything you can take on… Let this brat redeem himself and if he understands that what he has done is wrong and wants to make up for it, let him prove that in deed before you ever allow yourself to be in a position where he can get anything from you. I say too much, but I know people… and I do not want to see anything else happen to you."

"I cannot say I will not help my brother if he comes to me," Lavinia said, suddenly sitting up straight and wiping the last of her tears. "That would dishonor my parents and all they sacrificed for his sake…"

She stood and paced the room a bit, nervously, her mood suddenly changing. "Business! More business is what I need to keep this company afloat and keep all the vultures from picking off the last pieces of my parents' hard-earned fortune.  My plan was to use part of the money used by the sale of this place and the art in it to pay off the most pressing of the remaining debt, and then use what is left to fund an expedition to Fort Thunder to re-establish the most lucrative of my parent's trade routes.  They used to be adventurers . . . and hired others to do this kind of dangerous work. . ..Thus why I hired the Jade Ravens.  Now of course that trip is delayed because of the death of Mister Wayhand who was to buy the place, and with Tolvin Kentai dead…"

She walked back over and sat down, taking Telie's hand. "He was to be the guide, as he was from there and had traveled to and from the Hellish Isles several times… Until I can find I new guide, and perhaps a new band to go there, as the Jade Ravens may no longer exist without their founder. . ."

"There are no closer routes that can help in the meanwhile? What makes this route so valuable?" Telie paused only for a second as he had another thought, "And when we are done with our business in the Disputed Territories… But what wrong can be righted in such a voyage? Do you have any maps?" He got out of bed without embarrassment, despite being in his skivvies, and donned his toga. “How far away is this place?"

"Closer routes?" She looked up wide-eyed. "We have no routes.  We Vanderborens have always made our coin by providing others with what they need for trade and making a cut from it, or commission from the connection and networking of various independent craftsman.  However, in the last few years most of these companies have been cutting out the Mercantile Nexus, and making these deals directly, or finding their own in-house resources for such things.  The Fort Thunder route was the true source of my parents’ fortune… Though those shipments were rare and some never even got through, but the goods, especially spices and tobacco and coffee gained, meant each shipload was worth nearly a fortune in and of themselves… It was also my parents' true love, as the area provided them much adventure as they sought to open up new markets and make contacts with the various peoples of those lands."

She sighed and continued. "We are still bringing in some coin from our usual methods and the liquidation of some of our property, but even two trips from Fort Thunder could bring in more than I need to cover all the rest of the debts and build something more stable to serve as a legacy for the Vanderborens. As for a map, all I have is the one we found here among some of Vanthus’ stuff. . . Do not get up.  I can show you tomorrow when I return from town…"

"Alright, more on the morrow…" Telie got comfortable again. "Would you hold my hand until sleep takes me?"

And as far as he knew, she did just that.  

----------------------------------------------------

The sun was shining, and Telémahkos got out of bed and found a basin of fresh water and a sponge waiting for him.  As he was finishing washing up, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in…” Laarus Raymer of Ra walked in, changed from his more tight-fitting travel clothes into his red cassock. His face showed the easy redness of having been out in the sun doing his morning prayers to Ra. “Good morning, Laarus…”

Telémahkos was fishing through his pack, taking out some parchment and a quill, which he laid out on the barren desk in the room.

"Morning," the priest responded, nodding his head.  He looked over the amenities of Telémakhos' large room, more than had been afforded for any of the other Vanderboren guests.  "I trust you had a good rest?" Laarus queried, though his tone made it seem more of a statement of fact than a question. He closed the door behind him, "Do you have a moment?  I'd like to speak to you about Lavinia."

"Of course. Make yourself comfortable," Telie replied, sitting at the edge of the bed, leaving the single chair for Laarus' use.

Laarus sat down on the chair offered him.  He hung his head for a moment, composing his thoughts before speaking.  "I believe Miss Vanderboren deserves to know the full story," the priest remarked.  "You did not exactly have your wits about you last night, so you do not know, but I was reluctant to do so myself.  I didn't wish to share the full details in front of strangers, such as those of that other group.  Some of the specifics are more… personal in nature.  They should be handled as such." 

Laarus eyes turned towards Telémakhos.  "She appears to feel a close connection to you, Telémakhos.  It may be best for you to let her know the truth.  Or at least how the truth was presented to us."

Telémahkos sighed. "Well, I already told Lavinia her brother is a louse that he should not be trusted or allowed to have anything to do with her family's business. However, she is convinced that he is just misguided, willful and foolish. There is not much in the details that would tell her more, is there? She already knows he was misrepresenting himself as a representative of the company with his shady dealings and that his actions wrought the mayhem here. However, all he was doing, as far as I know, was trying to steal something of great value… I mean, I will speak with her again to give her some details and make sure she understands as fully as possible her brother's dishonesty, but I am not sure if you had something else in mind ... or if you have a different interpretation of these events."

"I was aware you'd spoken to her late in the night, she mentioned having checked in on you, but I was not sure you had talked about that.  If she's been informed of the events that led up to this attack and of the full involvement of Vanthus, his consort, and Harliss in this mess, that should be sufficient.  I believe that is all who, Bleys informed me, was involved." (1)  Laarus spent another moment in quiet reflection before continuing.  "I have no other interpretation of these events.  Our information's come from a source that is far from reputable.  In appearance it seems to be the full truth, but, we'd be foolish to assume it truly is.  Lavinia should be made aware of this as well."  

"I will, in the coming days, make sure Lavinia knows the story clearly."

“Tell me, did you speak with her about the supposed attack on House Weatherwax?" The priest asked.

"I have not done so yet. I have my paper out and hope to obtain more, because I think it will benefit us all if I take notes on what I learn and from whom and when. I seem to have a terrible memory." Telie seemed earnest in his desire to have a methodological approach to the situation.

"It is difficult to hold onto the facts alone and not shade them with your own assumptions.  That is why I've taken to writing down what I see, to keep the facts in order.  You may be wise to do the same."  The priest stood slowly, his body still aching slightly from wounds and weariness.  "Did you happen to tell Lavinia that the one who ordered the attack is in the area?"

Telie blushed. "I did not… Which is quite foolish of me. I suppose I wanted to forget that business. Alone and a wanted woman, I hope she just skulks off to lick her wounds somewhere else. Do you think she would come here to try to finish this business herself?" In answer to his own question he continued, "I hope news of her first mate's demise and the presence of our company and what remains of the other company will send her on her way before we ourselves leave."

"She may await for a better time to complete her revenge," Laarus considered.  "The local authorities should be notified, though.  Perhaps she can be captured and brought to justice before she can finish it.  I'll do that this morning."  Laarus turned and began walking to the door.  Just before the portal, he stopped and turned back to Telémakhos.  "Tell me.  Did Captain Oberto say why he wanted you to assassinate her?"

"He never mentioned her nor did he indicate I was to be killing anyone. He just made it sound like he was working against the Coopers, which makes little sense in light of the fact that Harliss's death would help the Coopers, not hurt them… It is the only thing that really hurts is my head when I think about all of this." 

He paused to take a sip of water from a nearby tin cup and then continued, "Laarus, my life will likely be in danger if it is known I have revealed the Captain's role in this. Please keep it between us." He looked pained thinking about the intrigue he had gotten involved in.

Laarus nodded.  "I do not wish to see you come to harm."  With that, the priest opened the door and concluded: "I'll leave you to your writing.  Good morning." He closed it behind him.

"You and me both,"  Telémahkos murmured as he turned to his parchment.

----------------------------------------------------------

Later in the day, after lunch, Laarus had gone into town, and Victoria was resting her leg, hoping to get it back up to speed in a few days (2), while Markos was off somewhere in the house avoiding everyone as usual.  Bleys was still frozen in the sepia shell. Timotheus and Telémakhos were fencing outdoors near the Vanderboren Manse, out by the empty water where the gulls soared.  The clack and clash of their blades filled the air, accompanied by the scuff of boots on gravel and the grunts and wheezes of exertion.

“So,” said Timotheus, “how long d'you think we're going to be out here?”  He swept his blade out lazily, daring his cousin to attack.

Telémakhos lunged, but his rapier was parried by his cousin’s saber.  “Out where?”

“Quillton.  Black Thread Island.”

“A while…  I think…What do you think of Lavinia?”

“She’s nice.  She likes you.”

Whipping his cloak at Tim’s blade, Telémakhos tried to deliver a punch with his sword’s basket-hilt, only to be parried and receive a stinging riposte for his pains.  “Ow!”  Telie stopped and took some deep breaths. "I don't know… She's a little tall for me… I like her, I think...” Telémahkos kicked dirt in Tim's direction and went for his heavily protected heart.

Tim's parry was a little slow, and Telie's point scraped on his breastplate.  “Good!” he called, beating at Telie's blade and thrusting, knocking his cousin’s blade completely out of line.  “No kidding.  You're her knight in studded armor.”

Telémakhos backed up, shaking his head.  He brought his rapier back in line and moved forward for a careful attack.  “Well,” he observed, “I am uncertain of her interest... but please, if Tymon is around when I am trying to talk to her, distract him... He has me married to his sister already… Not that I would mind... you have to see this girl…”

“I'm sure I will.”  Tim returned to guard position, awaiting Telie’s next attack.  “And there's no uncertainty about Lavinia’s interest.  She threw herself on top of you to protect you.  Then she tried to hold ‘em off with your own sword.  That's pretty devoted.”

Telie came in fast then, attacking low and high in quick combinations.  He was satisfied with how swiftly and precisely he moved with the rapier (3), given how pedestrian he was with any other melee weapon.  “I wish I could see things as simply as you do sometimes...  I almost got killed trying to save her...  I have no idea why...  I do not love her... but she didn't deserve that mess.”  He halted for a moment, panting heavily.  “Before I collapse from exhaustion, why don't you tell me what is on your mind?”  Telie finished a flurry as _the Steel Whip_ lived up to its name, hitting Tim left and right before he could even change his footing.

“Ow!  You're getting good with that thing.”  Ignoring the blood that began dripping from his right bicep, Timotheus continued, “I just want to know what we're doing next.  I'm hoping we can stop in at Azure, and maybe take a few days to hop up the road to Chalkour.  I got some people to see and some debts to pay.”

Hearing this, Telie completely dropped his guard during a semi-risky maneuver, only to be flattened for his mistake.  Tim offered his hand to help him up.

“Ugh.”  Telie’s nose bled as he took Tim's hand.  Wiping his nose on the back of his hand, he held his head back, occasionally snorting and then spitting out blood.  “First, I heard Azure and thought, ‘no f*cking way’...  and then I heard ‘debt’ and remembered my own…”

Tim grinned.  “Sorry.”

A moment later, Telémakhos hocked a huge gob of bloody phlegm and lunged forward, seeming more intent than ever to get in telling blows.  “I hate your uncle,”(4) he said, then fought silently for a bit, looking unhappy and almost dour.

Tim continued to fight defensively, though not enough to keep all of Telie's attacks from getting through.  "I'm not a big fan of his, either.  But no one said anything about going to Epithalassos-by-the-Sea.  I don't want to see him either."

"At this point, I just want stab something in the face, so before I do that to you, let me go get my sword and shield so I am little threat to anyone..."

Tim laughed.  "Sure.  I'll get my helmet on."

Telie stomped off to rinse off and have a drink, followed by Tim.  The two changed into heavier gear before heading back out to spar in the heat of the afternoon.

"Bleys is going to want to see his sister and her kids,” said Telémakhos, “And I should check in on them too...  I guess I can deal with another day of humiliation when I have so many behind me that I cannot count them all." He banged his broad sword on his shield and started to circle Tim awkwardly.

"His sister?  Oh yeah, one of your brothers married a Winter, right?"

Telie attacked, but his shield got in his way before he could get anywhere. "Son of a goat! ... Gods forsaken!.” He sighed.  “Yeah, she married Jason.”  He started circling, obviously not comfortable with attacking.

"Well, that's another reason to visit the old home.  And c'mon, isn't there anyone back there you want to see?"

The two exchanged blows, though dealing with the shield made Telie’s movements awkward.. "I guess if I get to see Medea... and her hated sister-in-law...  just...   don’t leave me alone... with my step-mom.”  Puffing and gasping with the effort, Telémakhos backed up, sweating. "Phew... this warrior thing is for the birds…  No offense." He winked and came in with some aggressive but ill-aimed chops.

Tim deflected a high cut from Telie with the upper rim of his shield.  "Sure, I've got your back.  And I'm sure my family would be happy to see you."

"You _have_ to be ki... oh, you mean your _family_. (5)  Yeah, that would be nice.  What can I tell my dad to get him off my back?"

Tim continued to fend off all of Telie's attacks "Hey, you can always tell him about all the beasties you killed and the cash you raked in.  He likes that kind of stuff, right?  And anyway, with a couple more years of practice, you can call him out and kick his ass.  You're probably faster than he was in his prime, and the man's getting old.  Old and cranky."

Telie slowed down a bit, obviously tired. "Yeah, killing my dad would solve my problems ... His hard way is why we are as rich as we are... or they are... you know what I mean,” he panted.  “They are all bastards…  I just want him to be satisfied enough to stay off my back... I will offer him some coin and show him the rapier... and tell him about Lowe and my possible… Ow!" Telie stopped, pulled off his helm and wiped sweat out of his eyes. He stood there for a moment, leaning the edge of his sword in the dirt. "Tell him about the possibility of establishing a keep or manor in the Disputed Territories..."

"That sounds -- Ow!"  Tim doubled over in surprise; Telémakhos had unexpectedly thrown his shield at the larger man’s chest, smacking into his breastplate with a loud clang.  This put Tim’s jaw right in position for a hard right from Telie's fist.  But instead of falling, Tim grabbed hold of his cousin.  "Oh, so that's how you're gonna be about it?  Fine by me!"  Smirking, he twisted Telie's arm behind his back.  "And when I said to kick your dad's ass, this is what I'm talking about," he added, pushing Telie to his knees.  "You just gotta show the old man who's boss."

“Gurp!”  Telémakhos gagged on the sudden pain.  “Owwww!"

"I'll let you up... just as soon as you say 'I'll visit my uncle'."

"I'll visit my uncle whose loins are obviously twisted byyyy... arghhh!"

"Oh, come on.  What did my lord father ever do to you?  Other than have your dad as a brother."

"And have you!!"

Tim chuckled.  "Oh, now that's just mean."  He twisted a little harder.  "And you're gonna be nice to me, aren't you?"

"Aiiiiiiiiiiii!  Of... course!"

"And we're going to Chalkour, aren't we?"

"By... my... vote..."

"Then we're as good as there."  Tim released Telie's arm, then pulled his cousin to his feet.  "I can almost smell Mom's home cooking."

"I can't wait to see you try to convince everyone else..." Telie rubbed his shoulder and started to strip down

"Oh, you're a lot better at that stuff than I am.  And you said Bleys also wants to go there, right?  I figure between the three of us, we should be set."

"Well...” Telémahkos began to walk to the water stripping off his clothes without shame. Naked, he dove in and when he came up he continued.  “Bleys may not know he wants to go there, but when I suggest we could see his sister and make sure all is well, he might see things my way." Swimming around casually, he started singing a beautiful (if slightly sickening) love song popular with the romantic set.

Following, Tim ducked his head under the water for a quick rinse.  "What about Golden Boy?  Do you think the whole repayment of debts and filial obligations thing will get him on board?  I figure Ra would be all in favor with that kind of stuff."

"If you want to talk about your debts…, Well, see how it goes.  I don't want anyone to know about mine. Then again, I’m supposed to be more refined than you."

"Is that the word for it?" replied Tim, splashing water in Telie's direction.

Coughing up water and wiping it out of his eyes, Telémakhos replied, "Yeah, that certain noble something that gets all the girls in a tizzy..."

"That reminds me, my little sister's finally filling out, and she still has a huge crush on you.  So when we go back to visit, NO TOUCHING."  Tim accompanied this statement with a glare of mock disapproval.

"Hey, you know she could do a _lot_ worse, both from birth and personality… Then again, she isn't marrying material, so I would need to make sure not to plant any little Telies in my wake…"  With that, Telie splashed Tim and swam for his life. 

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!" roared Tim, splashing after his cousin.

_…to be continued…_

-------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Laarus was unconscious during the first meeting with Harliss and had to learn her news second hand from Bleys when he awoke on the ship later.

(2)	Recovering from loss of speed due to a critical result requires either _restorative_ magic, or a full day of bed rest restores five feet of lost speed.

(3)	Telémahkos has the weapon finesse feat with the rapier, this using his dexterity modifier with attack rolls for it.  For the Aquerra version of the weapon finesse feat, click here.

(4)	Telémahkos is, of course, referring to his own father.

(5)	Timotheus is still close with his non-noble portion of his family.


----------



## Rastfar

That Telemakhos is such a joy to read.  Is the interplay scripted by the PC's here?  I love the exchange between Timotheus and Telemakhos, thoroughly enjoyable.  It shows great detail into their personal relationship.  Kudos to you both!


----------



## Telémakhos

I am almost embarrassed by the kudos but thanks!

I do not remember all the details of the Laarus exchange, but Osvaldo definitely added some narrative moments. I know that when Tim's player and I did the sparring exchange, we were in IM and we were definitely enjoying the descriptions of the sparring, and making its progression part of the narrative.

The omnipotent GM did some noticeable editing of that as well. It stretched on a bit at the end.

Really, downtime in this campaign is going to be some of the most fun I am going to have. 

I think this is easily going to be the best Aquerra campaign ever because of the experience O brings to the game, the setting, so much potential. I am looking forward to every moment.


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## Telémakhos

I just caught up on Bleys' musings. I think his inner voice fits perfectly. I think the inner voice is different in the outer only in that when Bleys thinks there is context and explanation. When he speaks, there are no wasted words and sometimes not enough of them to convey why he says the things he does (to someone like Telie who does not know well the inner workings of the righteous and forthright).


----------



## el-remmen

I am happy to see the comments!

And yeah, I added very little (if anything) to the exchanges between PCs, but did snip here and there for clarity/succinctness.

Also, just a note: I edited the last installment to include the embedded links I forgot last time, for those who like to see the entries for things/people/places on the wiki.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #8.1: Denouement & Decampment – Telie’s Day (part 2 of 2)*

In the evening, Telémahkos was waiting for Lavinia’s return so he could talk to her again.  When he heard she had come back from town, he sought her out, and found her sitting in the enclosed courtyard, which had been cleared of the bullywugs corpses.  She was staring into the moving stream and listening to its soothing trickle.

“How did it go with the watch-mage?”  Telémahkos smiled as she turned to look at him.  She wore a dark blue dress with a white lace top tied up with silver ribbons.  Her thick black hair fell over her shoulders in raven waves, and the paleness of her grief did nothing to undermine her beauty.  

He gestured with the bottle of wine and the two goblets he carried.

"Oh, fine. . . fine. . . Maeve actually did most of the talking. . . I thought he might want to come out here and talk to all of you, but he said that he trusted Bleys and that he should come find him when he was free of his affliction." (1) She looked down with a shy smile.  "He laughed when she described it to him. . ."

Telie smiled even more widely. "Markos seemed to find it funny as well. Wizards…" He shook his head in mock disapproval and set down the two goblets and poured the wine, continuing, "So, about your brother… I worry that he knew of the properties of the pearl that he was trying to steal and meant to use it for some nefarious purpose…" 

Lavinia screwed up her face and opened her mouth to protest, but Telémahkos interrupted, "Wait, I will not continue this with you. It had to be said and now it is done. I just need you to know these things so you can make your own judgments as informed as possible. As for the woman he tried to steal the pearl from, she was somewhere in the area as of yesterday. In agreement for her guidance to get to this manse as quickly as possible we had to promise her safe passage. Now, with her first mate dead and the bullywugs vanquished, I do not expect her to try anything now, but you should be wary."

"And this is the woman that wanted to kill Vanthus right? He is the reason she sent those creatures here in the first place?  It seems to me that we will not know what peril may or may not exist until we know where Vanthus is now… Do you think perhaps, he is already. . . I mean, from what was described to me, I am not clear on how Vanthus got away…"  Lavinia was obviously confused by the details of the events at Kraken’s Cove.

"He jumped and swam away as if by magic… Did he ever exhibit any skills for magic that you know of? Perhaps he learned the ways of witches without the family knowing," Telémahkos explained.

"THE WAYS OF WITCHES!?" She looked shocked and a little offended. "Vanthus studied a lot of things, but I don't think magic was one of them," She composed herself and finished the goblet of wine Telémahkos had offered her and re-filled it.  "Well, mother used magic, but neither of us ever showed much interest…  I. . . " She suddenly stopped and stood and turned away, whispering a gasped "Oh no…"

Lavina turned back around and tears were streaming down her face. "You said he was swimming and jumping beyond what a human could normally do…?"

"That is how it was described. And this was after being injured by a woman whom I believe could have killed several members of the Charter had we fought even if we were all rested and fully healed at the time of the battle."

"When. . . when my parents were killed their bodies were never recovered…And well. . . My father had a ring that our mother had crafted for him which he used to call his ring of ‘_Heroic Athleticism_’ - He used to joke that mother gave it to him because he was not manly enough for her…  But it let him do things like jump and climb and swim with incredible skill, beyond what any normal human can do without the aid of magic or the gods…"

She stopped and looked right in Telie's eye with a look of shock and disbelief.  "But. . . but. . .there must be more than one of those rings somewhere. . . Perhaps my mother had spare version stowed somewhere that 
Vanthus found… or perhaps it was the pearl that did it. . . I mean. . ."

She turned one way and then another, covering her face. "I… I can't…" She fled the garden and ran back into the manse.  Telémahkos tried to stop her, but she pushed him out of the way.  He sighed, and then followed.

Telémahkos caught up to her at the door to her bedroom, where she slammed it shut so hard, it popped open again, revealing Lavinia Vanderboren collapsed on her bed, sobbing.

Telie hesitated, but then went in and put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it slightly. He pet her hair gently. After what he thought was more than enough crying time, he began to whisper to her that he was there for her and just generally soothing nothings to try to get her to let up weeping.

After a time, without looking up, she said, "I don't know what to do… I… I have no proof… I don't know if I want proof… Or what I would do with it if I found it… He's my brother…There is no way he could have. . .  He must be ensorcelled…"

"I am so sorry, Lavinia… something between us that you can share with no one…" Telémahkos whispered in a hushed and pained voice, "I know the blood of my House runs in the veins in at least one who conspired against my brothers… It seems some people are just born broken ... I do want to help you any way I can ... but that is something to discuss later. I know my words can do little for you now…"

Lavinia sat up suddenly, not bothering to wipe away the tears still streaming down her face. "I must see him.  I need to find him, or have him found and brought to me…" Her grief did not abate, but anger now seemed to crackle off in a haze of strong wine. "I need to speak to him of my suspicion face to face and know for certain if it is true or not.  Not until I hear his words on this matter will I know what to do about it. . ."

"Do we have any hint where he might have gone? Is there perhaps something among the possessions he left here that you did not previously search through because you were suspicious of him?"

"No…I have no idea. . . But if he is fleeing from something and needs coin, he will show up eventually…" She finally wiped away her tears and stood. "I know you have your obligation to the charter." She turned to look Telémahkos.  He stood as to not be staring right into her bosom from this angle. She continued. "And I know you are off on some journey that will have you away for some time, but…  Will you continue to help me?  Will you send me word or seek me out when you return to civilization?  Perhaps by then I will have the coin to arrange for the journey to Fort Thunder.  If the map I found means anything… It might mean that he is headed there. . . I want you to keep it and have your learned friends examine it.  There are other places marked on it, perhaps therein lies some clue…"

Lavinia took both of Telie's hands and looked right into his eyes.  Tears were welling up in hers again. "There is a strong alliance that can be made between us, and ever have our families dealt with each other fairly.  If the last of what my parents worked for must fall into other hands… Perhaps it would be best if it fell into hands bonded with their kin. . .  But I speak too much and show my heart too readily… I should be ashamed, but this grief has made me feel like I have no one left to turn to. . .  No family whatsoever. . ."

She embraced Telémahkos and began to cry again.

"I will think of you while I am away and I will contact you when I am able. I will also see to it that my companions and I go after your brother when we are through with our business down south." He held her for a long moment and then pulled back to look her in the eyes again, "I am young and foolish and often as fickle as he wind, but you are a strong, beautiful woman and if you would consider me ... well, you know… When my time with the Charter ends, perhaps…"

They began to kiss, but she pulled away and looked down ashamedly. "No…I am sorry… I did not mean to put you on the spot. . . I know you have your own life and ways, and owe me nothing.  If when you return from your journey you still feel you want to help, well then hopefully by then I will be able to make it profitable for you and your companions…" She kissed Telie gently on the cheek. "You are a kind soul, Telemahkos. . . Thank you…  And now it is getting late, and tomorrow I have to return to town to see about finding buyers for the things you and your group brought back from the cove.  Good night. " (2)

Telémahkos smiled and turned to leave, but turned back again. "One last thing, beyond hearing that your brother was involved in foolishness with these smugglers, had you heard of any plots by these smugglers or other pirates that would entail an attack on any of the noble houses?"

"Well, yes…  As I told you when we met in Sluetelot. . . I once overheard Vanthus and someone I could not see talking down in the garden in our Azure manse. I was inside and heard through the window . . . when I looked out all I could see was an older man in travel clothes leaving… But what was said was something like, "And when the Wetherwax fleet is crippled, then our work will really begin. . . Oh!"

She walked over to a desk in her bedroom and took something from an upper drawer.  It was the map she had mentioned early that morning; the one found among Vanthus' things. (3)

"Thank you, this will help me a great deal with my companions." Telie stepped closer again, feeling electricity at their proximity. "I know my reputation, but not all of my decisions are rash or foolish. I am not pledging myself to you because of your loss or vulnerability. I wish to be with you because of your strength and determination." Telie kissed her on the hand slowly, maintaining eye contact. And with a wink, he was off.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Midnight found Telémahkos and Timotheus out in the garden within the manse wall, passing a jug of wine back and forth and getting increasingly sloppy. Occasionally, Telémahkos would mumble the words to a song and then stop, and take another long swig, and then mumble something unintelligible.  Timotheus was enjoying the slight spin of the world, grinning without end.

All of sudden, Telémahkos said: "Vanthus killed his parents." 

After a few seconds, Tim replied quietly, "Wow. That's f*cked up." 

Telie continued, "I have some ideas what we should do after the Kings Hills or whatever it is called .. " 

Pulling the jug from Telie's hands, Tim took a swig. "King Stones." 

"Okay, Kings Stones... There is a very valuable trade route Lavinia's family used to have from the Hellish Islands ... I am sure there is great coin to be made opening it again not to mention adventure and fame, and from the looks of the map Lavinia has provided me it is where her brother has gone… He is a danger beyond just being a crazy merchant's son ... He may be seeking a more powerful relic than the first one he found, and perhaps this time it will not merely be a cove of pirates that get torn to pieces if there at the wrong place at the wrong time." 

Tim answered with his usual mirthful sarcasm, "Sounds like a lot of ‘maybes’ there, Killer. Maybe we can look into it, if there's as much money in it as you say there is. But I really want to take back Aerothen and start cleaning the hobbos out of Westen-scherp Muur." 

Excitedly Telie replied, "And why not do that when we have more seasons under our belt and are ready to return home for good…? Or maybe the last thing the charter does is come to where it came from and clean house." He took another swig and then sounded annoyed as he asked "And what ‘maybes’ are you talking about? My guesses are gods-damn-golden and you know it… Vanthus didn't have the map for his health and this trade route _is_ worth a ton more than an iron penny (4)… No ‘maybes’ at all there, the ‘maybe’ is if we can get it open… But that's the same ‘maybe’ we have for any of this tripe, and that is, will we live to finish the job? This really means something to me… Lavinia really means something to me… And my father and your father at their primes would wipe the floor with the whole charter so if it was so easy to go take our land back, they would have by now, So, listen to your little cousin and think strategically…" 

By the end of his speech Telie seemed pleased with himself and drank more wine from the jug. He was careful to wipe it each time it is passed back to him from Timotheus. 

"I can think strategically just fine, thank you." Belching, Tim grabbed the jug back and took another drink. He continued.  "And like you say, maybe we won't live to finish the job. And if that's so, I'd rather die taking down hobgoblins and making life better for my family, my mom and dad and brother and sisters, than wandering around some heathen island past the boiling seas. I mean, I'll give that a shot too, but I got priorities, you know? And I bet I could take your fat old dad right now. Maybe they got good reasons for not handling things back home and maybe they don't. I'm not gonna give up on the idea just because they'd rather spend money on shipping lanes than on hired swords, or because they just plain don't have the balls." 

Satisfied, Tim passed back the jug. 

Telie sipped. "I guess we are at an impasse then..." He passed it back and fell sullenly silent. 

"Eh, we can worry about it after the King Stones. I mean, there's no argument there, right? Maybe someone'll change his mind before we're done there." 

"I guess it just makes me angry that this is even an argument… I mean, if it turns out we need an army for the Hellish Isles, fine… but Lavinia's family opened the route themselves so it sounds like we don't need one…We _do_ need one to clear the hobgoblins out .. Why not explain how we would have those resources following the King Stones? Or if we somehow found the coin to pay for such an army while there, then I will vote with you to go home, but otherwise you will vote with me to go after this bastard who killed the parents of my future wife ... " 

Tim's jaw drops. "Future wife? Didn't you say that the Lowe girl was your future wife? (5) I don't think the gods are big on multiple wives." 

In a very low voice, speaking at the same time as Tim, revealing the depth of his drunkenness, Telie said, "I think she will say ‘Yes’… You can't deny she is beautiful… And strong of will and body ... and smart ... she needs someone now." 

Telie mused, "And yes, well… Ida Lowe _is_ gorgeous, too…" He continued playfully, "Maybe if we shave you down and teach you how to speak, Lowe would consider you suitable if I promise to give the Lowe's an inside connection on Briareus trade." 

Tim scoffed. "Hah. I'm not getting married anytime soon. Women just slow you down when you let 'em tie you up with kids and marriage. I'm in no damn hurry." 

Telémahkos replied quickly, "Lowe's daughter is only fifteen. She is only going to get more beautiful." 

Tim shrugged, "And sure, if there's no cash in the King Stones after all, we can look into your Hellish Isles. But when we've got the cash for an army, even a small one, then we go back to Schiereiland and put it to use. Sound good?" 

"Do you think it is reasonable to say we need a force twice the size of what we have to defend our trade and mines? To go from defense to the attack? How many men would that be?" Telie asked.

Tim was quick with his answer making it obvious he had thought about this for a long time, "In the mountains, it's quality that counts over quantity; we can't just swamp 'em with men, which is why they're so hard to clear out. But if we get some good men and some extra battle mages and priests, we should be able to take out a whole tribe with a lot less than what we've got at Pyla and Chalkour." 

"And rockhead, we do need to make an argument to convince the rest of the charter to go and do this and you will need my help for that… Sheesh ..." Telie slurred his response, so happy in finding yet another reason for Tim to agree with him, he forgot the debate of it was over. He drank more wine.

 "No question about that, girly-boy. But I'm sure you'll see it my way eventually. You're a smart kid, so you know I'm right." Smirking, Tim reclaimed the jug. 

"The women love the girly-boys..." Telémahkos laughed loudly at his own comment, but continued. "Seriously though… Shouldn't we…Doesn't it make sense…" Telie slurred. "Shouldn't we be more concerned with situations that are changing? I mean, those hobs are gonna be there but this scum ... who knows what he will do ... ahhhh ... I don't ... I just want us to be like brothers and…” He belched and tasted wine come back up at the back of his throat. “…have the same goals…" Telie stood up, turned around and began to relieve himself in the grass, burping loudly again. Much of the jug was gone. 

While his cousin emptied his bladder, Tim looked up at the stars. "Of course we have the same goals. We just don't agree on everything. And you know that's what brothers are like. I wouldn't want you to pretend you agreed with me when you don't, and I hope you feel the same. Right?" 

"Of course…" Not surprisingly, Telie's drunken voice was suddenly filled with emotion. His voice caught on itself as he croaked out: "You are the closest brother I have..." He finished his business and took the jug roughly finishing it off, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, tears in his eyes. 

Timotheus hopped to his feet and tousling Telie's hair. He took the jug and tossed it into the garden's landscaped rivulet. "I know it, little bro." 

"If your family was in danger .. If the hobs were up to something new and we had to protect them ... I might get scared once we were on our way but do you think I would drop everything to go and help them with you? Even leaving this charter, maybe being disowned… Don’t you think I would?" He was very animated as tears ran freely down his cheeks. 

"Oh, quit your cryin'." Tim pulled his cousin into a rough hug. "No one's asking you to leave anything. You're not gonna leave the charter, you're not gonna get disowned. You're gonna do your family proud." 

"... and you're gonna kill a bunch of hobbos." 

Telémahkos pulled away after a moment and rubbed his eyes. "Alright, alright ... We'll figure this sh*t out… But don't you think it must be a sign from a god or something that I jumped in front of Lavinia like that? She is beautiful… " He started to looks wistful again. 

"Well, I jumped in front of her too while you were out cold. Think that means I'm gonna marry her too?" Tim dropped into a mock fighting pose. 

"No... It isn’t as big a deal if you did it, because you aren’t a big coward, like me ... I need to practice with my sword… Where's my sword…?" Telie stumbled back towards the manse. 

"Oh, that's why you use that prissy little toothpick! 'Cause you need something without an edge so you don't lop your own head off while fencing drunk!" Timotheus followed Telémahkos inside, leaving the water to chuckle over the sunken wine jug. 

Telémahkos went to the room he was staying in, remaining relatively quiet despite his drunkenness. He stumbled around a bit fumbling with his rapier and scabbard. "When I am the best duelist in all Thriica my father won't be able to call me a coward any longer!" 

Timotheus leaned against the doorway. "Eh, you don't have to be the best. You just have to be better than him. I figure that can't be too hard…Though being the best is good, too." 

Telie continued to struggle, "No… Nothing I do is good ... I am the worthless son…" Finally he got the scabbard tied to his belt. 

"Come watch my footwork." Telémahkos began to head back outside, taking two steps towards the door, but stumbled as he brushed against the corner of the bed, and nearly fell back onto it.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Blessed Nephthys," he muttered as he followed Telie outside, "I love my cousin, but please, you gotta give him some backbone. Amen." 

Telémahkos whipped his rapier in wide arcs in front of him as they walked back towards the garden, dropping into a playful roll every now and again, not being that bad on his feet, despite his wobbliness. "So, if we do go north, then what? What is your idea about all this?" 

"We get a stash of cash, hire a few dozen veterans and archers, and move in on Aerothen. I know there's maps of the place somewhere around Pyla, and of the area too, so we should be able to take out their ambushes. We just need enough magic to shake up the hobbos, hold off their witch doctors and maybe pop the gates, and we should be able to handle the rest." 

"That's an int .. " Telie stopped, and turning green, headed to some bushes. 

After ten minutes of heaving, Telémahkos went off to bed in an awful state, not saying another word to his cousin.

*End of InterSession #8.1*
------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) At this point, Bleys the Aubergine was still stuck in the _sepia snake sigil_ he set off.

(2) Lavinia Vanderboren offered to use her local contacts to have the party’s booty from Kraken’s Cove sold off and the treasure converted Thrician coinage. The party accepted.

(3) You can view this map by clicking here.

(4) Often referred to by merchants and rogues alike as "dead weight" Red God iron pennies are small, black tarnished coins less than a half-inch across that stain the fingers when handled. They are stamped with a sigil of four concentric circles. Iron pennies are only worth 1/20th of a copper piece each, but they are rarely (if ever) accepted outside the borders of the Kingdom of the Red God of the West. One hundred of these weigh a pound.

(4) See InterSession #4.3


----------



## el-remmen

Just a note to say I edited the last installment to include a note and link regarding Vanthus' Map that Lavinia gave to Telie.


----------



## handforged

I must say that I am so excited about this story.  The characters are becoming very real.  It feels like the bickering has settled to a reasonable level.  Yay!  I can't wait for more!

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #8.2: Denouement & Decampment – Bleys’ Day & a Half (part 1 of 2)*

Osilem, the 3rd of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Bleys Winter shook his head in confusion when the glowing amber shell about him dissipated and he found himself propped up in a bed in the Vanderboren manse.

Telémahkos and Vicoria were there to explain all that had happened since he had opened the folio and had been afflicted by the _sepia snake sigil_, while Tim interjected some humorous comment now and again. No one knew where Markos was at that moment, but Laarus was in town seeing his distant cousin, Lucian of the Spear, who was the high militant of the temple at Quillton and a member of the watch-mage’s council.  Bleys the Aubergine’s normal calm and cold demeanor was momentarily cracked with disappointment in himself, but then he straightened his shoulders and got down to asking the questions he needed to better understand the events that had transpired.

After a meal, and greeting their host to give her proper thanks and offer her his service, as guest must, he wandered about the grounds looking for Maeve the Mauve.  He found her sitting on a stone bench on a patio built along the path up from the dock.  She was looking out on the water, where a naval crew was preparing _the Sea Wyvern_ for a journey to Quillton, where it would be held until an investigation was complete regarding its original theft.

The others had informed Bleys the Aubergine that the sloop would be given to the group as a reward and gift, and they would have access to it as soon as the authorities were done with it, but it might not be for months. (1) 

“Hello, Maeve.” Bleys greeted his ex-lover in a flat but cordial manner. He kissed her cheek and hugged her loosely. 

“Bleys. . . You have recovered. . “ Maeve flashed a weak smile. “I have gone to see you a few times, but each time…the amber field… Whoever warded that book, it certainly wasn't a Vandermok, or else you wouldn't be here to talk to me… That is, if you plan to actually talk for a change. . “ She gave him a weary smirk.

 Accustomed to being treated as if everything he said or did was contemptible ever since their relationship had ended at the Academy of Wizardry, Bleys resumed the conversation casually, giving no hint of his surprise to see her. “Well, I consider myself fortunate. Though I must admit, my plan to elude the warding had obviously gone awry.” He offered a slight wince.  “I am surprised to find our paths crossing. I had not expected the pleasure so soon after our assignments. How come you to be in league with these Jade Ravens? You never mentioned them to Oliver or me at the Academy.” 

“My mother and Lavinia's mother hate… _hated_ each other, so as a form of revenge, Lavinia and I have been friendly whenever our paths crossed growing up… So when I received word from her that she needed help… Well, I was bored as hell in Vijand and avoiding Omerren the Mad - so I went to Azure and she had hired the Jade Ravens. . .” 

She signed, and straightened her pale bluish-purple robes, and smoothed down her short hair on one side, and shifted her weight to her left hip. “The funny thing is, I really can't stand Lavinia. . . She's just so damn sincere… Actually, she reminds me of you… And look, I nearly die fighting to help someone I don't like just so I can make my mother angry… Ha! Reminds me of why I went out with you…” 

Maeve the Mauve turned back to look at the water.  “After helping Lavina safely move her things and sell it off to cover the debt, she was going to finance a trip to Fort Thunder to look after some of her interests there…Where money can be made. . . The Hellish Islands should be fun, and as about as far as I can get from my family…” 

She stopped and sat back down.  “But now with Tolvin dead…I doubt we'll go. . .At least not until we find someone else who knows the area. . . Not exactly common…” 

Bleys watched her antics. “Now that's the Maeve I know: Never afraid to let your true emotions known. And I hope the time we spent together wasn't an entire waste, like your bannermen, I was always proud to serve.” (2) Bleys allowed himself a wistful look, but then quickly changed the subject. “So, you’d decided to join the Jade Ravens more permanently then? The Hellish Isles is indeed a long way. And the sojourn is as dangerous as the lands themselves, as I understand it. Who was going to finance the trip? Surely that's a costly endeavor. And while I know how you like to keep your own counsel, I am only inquiring as a friend, fellow Academy Alumni, and 'Devenpeck Winter...',” Bleys lifted an eyebrow. “…concerned for your safety.“ He sat beside her and looked her in the eye, having perfected the stare past the raven sheet of hair she habitually used as a means of masking her glare. 

“Yes…I am sure it’s all about being _friendly_…” She sighed. “I said already, Lavinia was going to pay for it with some of the proceeds of the sale of this manse. She can tell you her own business best . . . but from my understanding, she was going to pay off the worst of the debt and then use what was left to fund some attempts to make more money in order to pay the rest and re-stabilize the business. . .” 

“You always wielded the word better than the sword… But be careful, should you run all the way to Oolam to escape Magrite (3), the dangers that lie there may be more perilous.” Bleys replied in a flat, but commanding tone.

Maeve sighed again, never able, it seemed, to shake off her weariness. “But tell me, how is this Charter treating you? Is it fun being the Margrave's pet?” 

“The Charter…” Bleys exhaled deeply. And paused to compose his thoughts and Maeve rolled her eyes, as familiar with Bleys’ mannerisms, as he was with hers.

“I could think of finer company,” He finally said. “The brightest among them is also the most irksome. Is there such a thing as being too smart? In all honesty I cannot divine why he would join this Charter. He acts as if it is a sentence worse than the dungeons. We also travel with what you would call ‘a baldie’ (4). The two are cousins and could not be more opposite, but at least the priest of Ra is disciplined in social composition, though I suspect him a bit of a zealot. My brother-in-law, Telémahkos is a coward, but I see hope for him, should he ever grow a spine. I believe I am most fond of the Militant, which is not a surprise to you, I am sure.” 

Bleys searched her face for emotion, anything. After a brief pause said, “Oh, and there's the bastard Timotheus, I'd forgotten about him…” 

“Yes, I met them all already. And yes, the priest of Ra is a bore, and the militant? I always thought female militants are making up for something they wish they had with those spears of theirs. The irony is they are never going to get it wrapped up in all that armor…” She laughed. “Oh, and the way both Telémahkos and his cousin looked at me… Well, I might have struck them if they were not of noble blood. . .” She shuddered. “The one you say is too smart hardly said a word to me. . . Yes, it seems like a bunch of low noble cast-offs… and you…” She had a smug expression as she continued. “As for the Hellish Isles, since the trip will no doubt be delayed and Lavinia seems to have a strong liking for the Briareus, perhaps you might find yourself going there eventually instead of us…? You might think it dangerous for me, but certainly not for the ever-capable Bleys Winter. . .” 

Content to stymie further inquisition as to the Charter members, Bleys again changed tact. “Heh, I guess I would rather be ‘ever-capable’ than a low noble cast-off. But I've no desire to sweat through the jungles of the Hellish Isles. I'll cast my vote for 'no' when it comes. We are so diplomatic in our decision-making, but unfortunately, the others often find it folly to vote with me. We are heading to the King Stones though, but not for a few weeks…” 

“If I remember correctly you never seemed too worried about sweating before,” Maeve cocked an eyebrow. 

“There's a difference between good sweat, and bad sweat,” Bleys brushed the raven fall from her brow, and she leaned away from him.

“But it is just like you to make up your mind about something without knowing anything about it, and then nothing can sway you. . .” She continued. “It is easy to rule out possibilities when you don't know why you might need to follow through with them. . . But the King Stones. . . That should be interesting. . . You always liked Six Kingdoms stuff. . . That's the same time period, right?” 

 “Yes, that is correct. They are the same time period thereabouts. Our homeland is rich in history and this place, these King Stones are sure to be rife with it. Thrician history, Thrician culture, and its origins, _that_ excites me. Why should I care about some trading post across seven oceans? Making such a dangerous journey to benefit an impoverished merchant? I do not mind having made my decision already. But that does not mean I am impossible to sway… Just leery…” 

“Too bad, 'leery' isn't a color. 'Bleys the Leery' has a ring to it… Though there is some irony to 'aubergine',” Maeve smiled as if with secret knowledge. She stood up and looked once again out over the water. “Was there something else specific you wanted to ask about, or ask of me…?” 

Bleys had stood up as soon as she did, and though her words seemed like she was ready to leave his company, Bleys noted that her body language did not.  “Yes, there is. What are your plans for the evening meal?” 

“I do not know. I was going to ask Lavinia if she had further need of me, and if not I was thinking of perhaps seeing Malcolm the Bronze, as he has recently arrived back in town, and who knows for how long…” 

“Were it not an imposition, I would like to accompany you, for I too wished to see Malcolm the Bronze.” He fell in step with her, back toward the manse, staring ahead into the dusk. “…and I am not the Margrave's pet.” He offered reservedly. 

“I don't even have to close my eyes to imagine it,” She replied with a smile. “I see you pressed against her ample bosom like a toy dog.”  She laughed aloud. “I'll let Malcolm know you want to meet him when I see him tonight. I am sure you'll be able to catch him around town tomorrow or the day after… He'll be around at least that long; his council is convening.” 

“Very well then, Maeve. If you have need of me, I'll be around,” Bleys returned to his usual callous demeanor. “When did you say you were leaving again? I would not forgive myself if I missed the opportunity to see you off with your new friends.” Again he loosely hugged her, attempting to ignore the familiar smell of lavender in her hair.  He parted ways from her, hurrying ahead at a quicker pace, making toward the opposite end of the manse, and barely giving pause to await her response. 

“You've always known how to find me,” She said quietly, waiting behind to let him enter the house first.

Much later that night, when Bleys knocked on the door of her bedroom and was surprised to find that she had not come back from town.


Tholem, the 4th of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Quillton had two broad streets that divided the town into quarters, but all throughout were many narrow streets made narrower by many small flowering trees.  The southern side of town was a warren built upon a steep hill, scored with even narrower and winding streets.  Bleys the Aubergine stood looking up at it in the mid-day glare, having stopped to take in the town as he made his way to the market and the many shops that surrounded it.

Most of the people here were gnomes, and most greeted him happily as he walked by.

“Howdy Mister Watch-Mage!” They’d say with a wave or a nod.

Bleys nodded back with the occasional awkward smile, unused to the treatment.   He decided it must be residual goodwill from that they had for Malcolm the Bronze, the famously absent and adventurous watch-mage of Quillton.  There were a good number of humans living here as well, though he did not notice any large number until he reached the market.  The mid-day crowd was loud and boisterous, and not wanting to navigate it right away he ducked into a shop with many weapons on display, and was surprised to see that Timotheus was already here, making desultory small talk with the gnomish proprietor.

“Hello, Timotheus…” Bleys announced his approach in his usual flat tone. He did not look at the broad warrior, but instead lay his well-worn heavy crossbow on the counter, next to a half-full box of bolts. The proprietor came over to look at it, immediately remarking the poor quality of its craftsmanship with sharp tsking.  However, before the accustomed back and forth expected from such dealings could really commence, the gnome was called to the rear of the shop. He excused himself, twisting the ends of his long white mustache in his fingers.

“Hello, Bleys…” Timotheus finally replied.

“Listen, about Markos. Can you not speak with him?” Bleys turned and leaned back carefully on the low counter, only half-looking at Timotheus. “He seems to have more regard for the words from your mouth than any of us. If we cannot reach some accord, then we may be forced to reach dissolution.” A blade hanging on a wall nearby caught the watch-mage’s eye and he took it up. He tested the weight of the bastard sword in one awkward hand, and then tried two. Still not enjoying the heft, he set it back on the wall.  “And I fear that should he and I come to a head, we will cross more than words…” Bleys looked over the merchant’s bows. 

 “Sure, I'll talk to him,” Tim shrugged, as if thinking it was hardly necessary, or perhaps dubious of its effectiveness. “What's he done this time?” 

“To my knowledge, nothing, yet. That is the point. But now that I think on it, I do recall something about him threatening to punch you in the face…” 

“Oh yeah, he did say that, didn't he?” Tim stretched lazily. With a smirk, he said, “Ah, don't worry about Markos. If he gets out of line again, I'll give him a good reason to watch his mouth. But I wouldn't take him so seriously, if I were you. He's all talk and no walk.” 

Bleys picked up a longbow and eyed its length, comparing it to his height.  His eyebrows flinched, as if Tim’s casual demeanor might have irked him, but as usual, it was hard to read the mage’s emotions.
 “Look, Timotheus, he, you, and, I all know that you could put a bruising of some magnitude into him, but this is aside the point. It is his talk I take issue with; his walk is what prevents me from calling for him to be ousted outright…”

“Now hold on there…” Timotheus interrupted, but the watch-mage continued. 

“While his actions have only aided us time and again, we pay a dear price for them. He sows discontent in the group and more often than not he is at odds with one or more of us. His own cousin, a priest of Ra, does not earn his respect. No matter what god you hold dear, surely it’s unwise to besmirch the king of the gods; no? And I do not think a tithe satiates atonement, (5) but I digress…” Bleys took a deep breath when he was done.

“Look, I didn't say anything about beating the kid up. I'm just gonna... persuade him. I got a little brother and two little sisters, I can handle this just fine,” Timotheus flashed his broad easy smile.

“My request is not about resorting to violence,” Bleys continued. “It is simply this: Talk to him, hear him, show him the contempt he harbors for nobility is misdirected. We are lower nobilities… Cast-offs. I’m not even nobility, and you, by but a piece of paper. His resentment may have merit, but not in our group. This is our opportunity to prove ourselves better, prove ourselves something more. And he should be glad for the opportunity to be a part of that.” Bleys wiped his brow, sweat suddenly beading there, as if his cool demeanor belied some inward fire.

Giving Bleys a searching look, Tim asked, “You got any brothers or sisters, Watch-Mage? Or are you an only child? I bet you're an only child, am I right?” 

“No, I am my father's second son,” Bleys responded coolly. “My older sister married Jason Briareus, thus how Telémahkos is my brother-in-law. I believe you may see her soon. I also have a younger brother and a younger sister. But I don't know what any of that has to do with the subject at hand. Your body language led me to infer you meant some physical persuasion. I prefer you do not; so might I ask, Timotheus, what that approach is?” 

Bleys the Aubergine brought the longbow to the proprietor, seeing that the gnome was at the low counter once again. “I was hoping to trade the heavy crossbow in towards one of these…” They began to haggle over the price. 

“Huh?” Tim shook his head and followed Bleys to the counter, ignoring the mage's rudeness by bargaining with the merchant mid-conversation. “You're a real cold fish, Bleys,” He said as the mage was counting out silver coins. “I hate to think what your family life was like. But no, I'm not gonna beat him up. I'm just going to explain that if he wants to get treated like an adult, he'd better start acting like one. And that's the problem, everyone's treating him like he's grown up when he's not. He's just looking for attention, and arguing and fighting and even kicking him out of the group is just giving him that attention. There's much better ways to handle it.” 

Satisfied with his deal, Bleys turned to lock his black eyes with Timotheus. “You are right. I am glad we had this talk. And would you be sure to explain to him that self-loathing is also unbecoming. As I understand it, he is as noble of blood as any or all the rest of us. More so than I, anyway… (6) and you perhaps.” He picked up his bow, quiver, and arrows, and headed away.  He stopped and looked back. “I took a liking to your bow and was inspired to get one of my own. Have you ever used one of those bastard swords?”  He gestured to the sword he had been handling before.

Tim snorted with laughter. “Noble blood and bastard swords? Come on, Bleys, if you're trying to insult me, you'll have to try harder than that. I've heard it before, believe me.” 

Bleys eyes opened widely. “You think I mean to insult you? I only meant that it seems like a fine piece of steel, and one that requires dedication and commitment in its mastery. I thought perhaps you had the tenacity to do so. Maybe I am wrong. I apologize for I never mean to offend. I could not care less if you were the Margrave's father, or a whore's son. We have duties and I expect us to do them regardless, to the best of our capabilities.” 

“Are you for honest, Bleys?” Tim shook his head in disbelief again, but kept smiling, though the expression took a sour tinge. “I can never tell when you're being sarcastic, what with that big stone face of yours. Do I have the tenacity? Sure, I have the tenacity to master the bastard sword, or whatever it's a f*cking metaphor for. But I like my saber just fine, and I'd rather learn new tricks with that than pick up the basics of some other sword that just isn't my style.” 

As they headed out into the mid-day glare, Tim gestured to the freshly painted sign of a nearby tavern. “You're a weird one, Bleys, and you're really kind of a pain in the ass, but I think you're starting to grow on me. Care to hash things out over a drink?” 

“Thank you, no, as you already know I do not imbibe alcohol, and I do not know what there is to…hash out,” Bleys stumbled over the colloquialism.  “I have told you my intentions and concerns. When have I ever been dishonest with you? Have you known me to be sarcastic? I was only querying that with the extent of your martial background you may have had time to develop the skills required to wield such a different weapon. For it is anything but basic. It intrigues me, that is all.” 

Tim shrugged. “I guess… Thing is, I don't know if you've ever been sarcastic, because I can't tell what you're thinking half the time. You don't smile, you don't laugh… It's downright unnatural. But I figure, Marjorie (7) used to say they had a sarcasm class out at the Academy...” He paused for a beat, and then continued, “But I figure she was being sarcastic.” 

The pair approached the tavern beneath the sign of the Hawk and Gull. “Anyway, this looks like a nice place. I'm sure you can get some milk or juice or something. And we can talk about, I don't know, the group, ourselves, where we're going. And at least try and get along a little better. If you're going into battle, you should at least try to get to know your brothers in arms.” 

Bleys lifted an eyebrow. “Is that not what we have been doing? Combat makes comrades I've heard said. Again, I thank you for the invitation, but I must decline. I must see the armorsmith while I am here. It is a long trek from the manse and I would like to make as few trips as possible. Besides, you know how it is with armorers, their egos need stroking and you are always at the mercy of their schedules.” Bleys' delivery was as flat as ever. 

“Suit yourself,” Timotheus shrugged, his attention already drifting. “Have fun with the armorer. I'll see you around.” There was a buzz of carousing in the air as he entered the tavern; the door closed on his call for a drink. 

“‘Suit yourself’, I get it.” Bleys muttered to himself as he walked off to visit the Rare Earth Armoury. (8) “But. . .cold fish…?  And do I really have a big face?”

_…to be continued…_

---------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	This was actually a favor for the group, as they could not afford to keep it maintained and docked while they were away, they would be able to avoid fees while it was impounded by the navy.

(2)	“_Proud to Serve_” are the House words of House Devenpeck, bannermen to House Vandermok.

(3)	Magrite Vandermok is Maeve’s mother.

(4)	‘Baldie’ is slang among rogues and those contemptuous of authority for priests of Ra, who upon attaining a certain status in the church must shave their heads, whether male or female.

(5)	Markos gave Laarus and Victoria ten silver pieces each to donate in his name to their churches.

(6)	Not all members of the Winter family are nobility, only those who have married into some noble house or another. Many more, however, serve various noble houses.

(7)	Marjorie the Iron is the watch-mage of Chalkour.

(8)	The Rare Earth Armory is owned and operated by Harvel Hammeral, a gnome of some repute.  The place was recommended by Lavinia Vanderboren.


----------



## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> I must say that I am so excited about this story.  The characters are becoming very real.  It feels like the bickering has settled to a reasonable level.  Yay!  I can't wait for more!
> 
> ~hf




Consider yourself quoted in the story hour index thread.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #8.2: Denouement & Decampment – Bleys’ Day & a Half (part 2 of 2)*

Much later that same day Bleys found Telémahkos in the room he had been making use of as his own. The blond young noble was brushing his hair. Freshly laundered clothes were laid out on the bed.

“Telemakhos, I need three hundred pieces of silver. If you can lend me these monies, I can improve the chances that one or more of us will return from the King Stones alive,” The watch-mage said to him by way of greeting. 

Telémahkos looked as if he might burst out laughing, but managed to keep a straight face. “Hmm, I should be able to accommodate your request. Is it possible for me to get more information?” 

“I have the rare opportunity to purchase masterwork armor, tailored to the specifications that I as a mage trained in the martial skills needs. (1) In every way it allows me to utilize my skills more effectively. As it turns out, I seem to always be the one left standing after our conflicts. Bes winked at us the night of the smugglywug raid on _the Sea Wyvern_. I would not like to count on being so lucky again…” (2)

“Alright then. One favor I will ask of you in return,” Telémahkos readily agreed.  He was as free with money to the same degree as he craved it. “Please _identify_ the rapier. I do not trust Markos to tell me the truth about it.” 

“It was to be done by mine own hand, before you requested it. I am the diviner after all, and do not trust him myself,” Bleys gave Telémahkos a rare smile. It was strangely familiar to Telie, and he thought back to when they met as boys.

Telémahkos nodded. “If I may offer you my insight…” 

Bleys waited. 

“Pity and be wary of that one, but do not despise him or give up on him. He may not be made right by this experience, but he has been subjected to a life none of us could imagine... His mind is not all there, but perhaps if he can find his way among us... “ Telémahkos trailed off, as if considering the real likelihood of the proposition. “He is young and senseless, but he is only seventeen and served ten years of that on a hard-nosed pirate ship. I cannot help but think, there but for the grace of Bes go I.” 

Bleys recoiled a bit, his cool demeanor returning. “And what makes you his champion? Can you also be his mentor? He has no social grace. No respect. No sense of proper decorum. It seems his aim to alienate us all, and saddle us with his self-pity and shallow wallowing.” The watch-mage allowed himself a sigh. “Most of the time when I talk to him, I want to throttle him. I do not know why I say this to you, except perhaps that I feel as much pity as anger. And perhaps because I know if everyone does give up hope of being companionable with him, then it will certainly never happen and that will do none of us any good.” 

“It really does seem like dealing with a child,” Telémahkos conceded. “When I speak to him, I do so with politeness until he antagonizes me. Perhaps if I continue to show him that if he acts decently he will get treated in kind, it might encourage the behavior he missed out on being taught by his family.” 

“Well, I consider myself a patient man. And already the boy shows an aptitude for testing the limits of that endurance. To some degree I begin to think that this must be intentional, but why? If he longs to return to the sea so much, why does he not? Nevermind that. I will pose these questions to him…” Bleys remained composed, allowing none of the frustration with Markos evident in his words to encroach upon his tone. He shook his hair out, as if casting off the unwanted emotion. “But as to you, my brother-in-law, I find myself gladdened that we have been able to reconnect. And my hope is that you will have the temerity to use that sword by my side, rather than let it dangle loosely from your belt as you shy from our foes.” 

 Telie became a bit more animated and genuinely pleased.  He began to drape his toga about his body, wondering if he should call Tymon to help him. “I am also very happy about reconnecting and being reminded that we do share similar views on more things than not. And in light of this and the fact that I want to be as forthright as I can be, please understand that I will use the sword as best I see fit… Whether this means skulking in the shadows to get in an advantageous shot on a foul beast, lurking with my crossbow until there is an opening that will allow me to work with one of the stronger fighters such as Victoria or Timotheus. Or perhaps hoping to save myself until I can rush into the fray to rescue an unarmed innocent…” Telie winked.  “I realize my methods do not suit everyone and that I very obviously do not have steel in my veins, but I hope that my recent actions will demonstrate my willingness to risk my very life for a greater good.” Telémahkos displayed a mix of earnestness and hurt. 

“Yes, I am truly sorry I missed your display. Lavinia informs me that you acquitted yourself quite heroically,” Bleys ignored Telémahkos’ pained expression. “And while I do not possess the strength of Timotheus or raw tenacity of Victoria, I do not shirk my duty or responsibilities. Nor do those with virtue becoming a knight or a noble, and I now know that you have the capacity for that as well.” He looked down into the smaller man's face, holding his blue eyes in an intense stare, unwavering. 

Telémahkos turned and looked out the window to break the stare. 

“I think if my judgment comes to be trusted, it will not be much of an issue. It should be noted how I went down like a cart of stone when I did that….” He looked back to Bleys. “I will not claim that fear may never get the best of me again, but I am learning what to do in a fight, and since I have made it clear I am willing to risk my life for what is right, I hope that the choices I do make in future conflicts will not be as open to question…Or scorn…” A smile came first into his eyes and then across his mouth. 

“Ah, Telemakhos,” Bleys appeared slightly vexed, exhaling. “I think you are confused. I do not question your judgment, or your will to live. For I too am not the warrior that Timotheus is. I understand that as a result we are forced to be more cautious. I do not wish to perish any more than you do, and I do not hold scorn for you, quite the opposite; I am growing to regard your counsel in certain matters as highly informed. I am merely trying to express how disappointed I would be were you not to continue to live up to the measures of virtue I now know you capable of…”

“I do not wish to belabor the point any further as I trust you to be fair in your judgments of me. In regards to your request, I have done some figuring in my head and wonder if there is any way to acquire this armor if I were to give you less than the full three hundred silver. I have some debts that I am attempting to make right since Timotheus is insisting we travel back to Azure. That being the case, as my brother-in-law and companion in this charter, I consider your need the greater, especially since I am well within my rights to pay these debts at a later time…”

Bleys clasped the smaller man on the shoulder. “I appreciate your offer and loan of the silver and your honor is intact. Though I wish I knew you to be a debtor before I had asked to do the same. Would it suffice were I to only borrow two hundred coins?” 

“I will rely on your honor as a watch-mage that two hundred silver is all you need. What is left over will be quite sufficient to my needs and allow me to fulfill all of my obligations,” Telémahkos replied.  He took a pouch of coins from the desk and spilled out a great deal of it and began to count.  “What sort of armor is this, anyway?” 

Without hesitation Bleys replied: “I have commissioned a suit of studded leather from the master smith Harvel Hammeral here in town. He is highly proficient in his work, even having created armors for the receipt of enchantment.”  Bleys eyed the heavy pouch, noting the amount far exceeded two hundred silver coins, and their individual shares of the spoils. (3)

Telémahkos handed over the coin. “When I am done with my debt, I will be living off humbler means once more, but at least this burden will worry me no more.”  After a slight pause, “Timotheus and I are heading out soon. Is there any message I can take to your sister or your sister's children?” 

“Oh, yes, our sister, niece and nephew…” Bleys was as close to excited as he comes. “Please tell Paulien that I miss her, Anders and Spiro as well. Tell them that I think of them often. Actually, if you'd be so kind, I will scribe a letter for you to deliver. I appreciate the offer.” 

 “It would be a pleasure to do so. I will get it from you on the morrow.  Lavinia mentioned that Tim and I might be able to get passage to Azure via a mercantile contact of hers, and I think we are off around mid-day…” Telémahkos gave a polite bow as the Watch-Mage took his leave, eager to get started.

------------------------------------------------------------

“MARKOS!” Bleys shouted across the lawn of the Vanderboren Manse, having spied the teenager returning from town with the arrival of twilight. Telémahkos had left for town nearly an hour before and Timotheus was still not back.  Victoria was still resting her injured knee, while Laarus spent the day trying to translate portions of the book of the runes of the Ancient Mystics, as Lavinia gave it to him as a gift when he mentioned his interest in looking through it. (4)

“We must decide what to do with Leemo's book,” Bleys the Aubergine said brusquely, approaching the diminutive mage with long determined strides. “I assume that when you leave here, you are going to be expanding upon your knowledge. I must then also assume you figure the book into some part of that. Which is fine, I only ask that you let me hold onto it until then. As you know, it takes some time to scribe spells. And as we cannot both use it at once, well…” (5)

“Well, hello Bleys…” Markos replied with a smirk of annoyance.

Bleys drew up to him and continued, ignoring or not noticing Markos’ facetiousness. “Telemakhos has asked me to _identify_ the rapier. I will try to do so for the potion as well. I know not whether you can afford the supply for materials to scribe every spell you wish, but as you know I can already _identify_ the items. To that end, I know I cannot afford to copy as much as I'd like, lacking in both coin and time, so I am going to forego the sea-farer's spells and make decisions from there. I am most interested in the _mark of the arcane_, _animating rope, arcane insight, erase, expeditious retreat,_ and _jump_, should I have the time.” 

Markos looked up stiffly with a slight frown, and began to walk on towards the manse.  Bleys fell in step with him as he replied, “Take the book. What I would like to copy can be done at a later time. My main concern is seeking out a mage with a better understanding of our art than my own. I’m not sure, but I think I am very close to mastering the mental exercises needed to cast more complex spells, and with some tutelage I hope to be able to cast them by the time I return.” (6) He paused, and then asked although he already knew the answer, “Are you able to cast spells in the _second house_?” (7) 

“You are correct in your assumption. I am too green yet to be versed in spells of the second house. And when your studies are complete, your knowledge will surpass my own.”  Bleys continued, much more reserved, and monotonous, as he is wont to do.  “So, you will leave the book in my care. I appreciate the gesture. Are we agreed to use the book as a security should anything unfortunate befall one of our own? I will copy what I need into it before leaving it with Euleria when we set out next. I hope you will do the same; that is, assuming we can afford it.” (8) 

Markos paused for a moment as they reached the door, studying Bleys' countenance before speaking, “Yes, I think copying those spells that are most important to us into the book and leaving it with Euleria is a smart thing to do…” 

Bleys stopped in the foyer, opening his well-worn satchel, oblivious to the cue that Markos meant to continue. He pulled forth an assortment of items, cricket legs, wire, and feathers, amongst their number. “Keep these, they are yours. I have the same number should the need for more arise.”

“This would be a good time for us to reveal to each other exactly what spells we each know,” Markos finally continued after a world-weary sigh. “Or one of us may assume the other is using this idea as a way to learn the other's spells without fair trade.” Markos opened his own satchel to put away the components he had been handed, and fetched out his spell book, handing it to Bleys and then motioned towards the inner garden doors, where they might sit and continue their talk. “I also have some thoughts on training for spells of the second house.”

 “I do not appreciate the accusation,” A frown flickered at the corner of Bleys’ mouth and in a divot at the base of his brow. “And frankly cannot understand why you are so preoccupied with what spells I know or can cast. However, I can readily capitulate to your point. It would be unfair of me to assume that we could not avail of learning any spells available in a book we are sharing…” He waved Markos' book away and continued.  “I have not the spell necessary to read your book now. But I will tell you what I know, though I am sure you can deduce most. I am focused in divination as you may recall, thinking this the most beneficial in my pursuit of rarer and unique magic, the collection of those material components, and their preservation and delivery to the more sedentary of my fellow Watch-Magi. As of now I am only able to cast a few cantrips, and from the first house I know only a few tricks. Obviously it is important that I be able to _identify_ what we may encounter as well as protect myself should the need arise as I am likely to be involved in swordplay, thus I have often prepared, _mage's armor_. As a graduate of the adventuring curriculum, my spells are rounded out with the ability to _comprehend languages_, _preserve food_, and grant _low-light vision_. Should the environment become adverse I am able to ward myself as to _endure elements_ as well.” Bleys eyed Markos expectantly, as if awaiting some smarmy comment, but as it did not immediately come, he continued.  “If you are looking for sheer devastation or raw power I am afraid you are in league with the wrong wizard. My job is one of delivery and protection. We who graduate the Academy of Wizardry are dedicated to the good of the common people above all. As there are watch-mages who reside in and guard towns, lending the sagacious word to those in need, my position is to do the same for those who travel the by-ways of Thricia. All of them. And that means I have a lot of ground to cover. I may carry a scroll from one watch-mage to another, fill in one's absence, or secure a rare component for one not able to leave his post. These tasks combined with my prior training as a warrior make me ideal to this purpose.”  Satisfied that he had made himself clear, Bleys awaited Markos' reply.

Markos' face had hardened as the watch-mage spoke. “I have made it clear why I would like to know what spells you are able to cast and I have already told both you and Tim what spells I can cast; call it an accusation if you will but I made my statement equally applicable to either of us and made it hoping to avoid future misunderstanding.” His words snapped with angry breath, and then he rattled off a list of spells he knew. “Furthermore, you would do well...” 

“Young man, you must be confused,” Bleys cut in. “You never told me all the spells that were in your repertoire until this exact moment. Having been paying attention to those particulars, I have noted some of those, yes, but not all as you claim.” Bleys remained as cool and monotonous as ever, if even slightly slower in his delivery.

Markos slashed his chin downward to cut off his own words and took a deep breath.  His face relaxed, and his tone became softer, though there was still an edge of impatience to it. “I will be able to help you with casting spells of the second house when you are ready… Training is expensive, however, and I would appreciate if you could cover half the cost of my own training for spells when it comes time for me to train you. If you cannot afford this, I will not insist and offer training anyway as your mastery of said skills will only make me more likely to survive any danger we all find ourselves in.” 

“Now, am I to understand this properly, are you asking to borrow coin from me so that you might cover the expense of training at the University now?” 

Markos replied with exaggerated torpidity. “No - let me repeat: I would appreciate if you could cover half the cost of my own training, as in for spells of the third house, when it comes time for _me_ to train _you_.” He could not keep up the façade even for effect, as his words grew more rapid and heated. “And perhaps it is you who are confused…I would not have considered you an old man, but perhaps your apparently addled wits and your insistence on treating me as a youngster suggest otherwise. Do you not recall conversations between me, you and Tim about the importance of knowing what we each can do when we were on the sloop? Do you not recall my then saying to Tim, with you still there, what spells I can cast?” He paused and slowed down again. “I don't know if you are purposely obtuse or if it is some personality quirk, but it has been you, not I, that has been reticent to share information to this point while ignoring suggestions that sharing what we can do would only benefit all. I have offered you something I value: knowledge. I would expect you, as a diviner, to value it as well. Take it or leave it.” 

Bleys nodded, ignoring Markos’ histrionics. “Ah, now I understand. Your point about training was unclear to me. I apologize if asking for clarification is keeping you from more important affairs. Obviously we will have to agree to be at impasse. For I am not so old, nor are my wits addled. If any, mine are as clear as a Quark morn, for I shun drink to ensure as much. I recall the two conversations you had with Timotheus, and I do know that I never, as stated, until now knew your full compliment of spells. As to me sharing such information with you so readily, I am surprised that you, of all individuals, would not understand my hesitation. For ultimately, any spell that I were to share with you, should it come to nefarious end or serve malicious purpose, would reflect poorly on my judgment.” Bleys cocked an eyebrow. “Do you disagree?” 

Markos opened his mouth but spoke no words.  Bleys continued.

“I will be the first to admit that we have but known each other only a short time, and your comments of joining pirates, disrespect of Laarus' station, blanket contempt of the Margrave and nobility, and finding the prospect of the Vanderboren manse sacked by savage bullywugs laughable, these traits unnerve me. But as far as I am concerned, I am well justified in my reticence to share anything with you. But still I cannot help but query, since it has come up… If you are so miserable with the Charter and your assignment to it, why allow yourself to be so? Surely it is not in service to your noble blood? Your skills are commendable. The Winter Family serves the Royal fleet well, and House Wetherwax. I am certain that I may be able to secure you a position, a good one, aboard a ship of your choosing, in any of several different capacities. Perhaps even apprentice to captainship, or quartermaster, a boatswain's mate? What say you to that?” 

Markos face was a mask of incredulity, “And I thought you were different from the others…” He shook his head. “Yet you too will fall back on money and station to deal with a problem. No, Bleys, you can't buy me off. While I find most of the nobles I meet worthy of contempt I find the Margrave's stated mission a worthy goal. Do not conflate my opinions on each. As for Laarus, I have personal issues with him that his station does little to address… This manse being sacked was amusing in a dark way simply because it seemed to me a noble's folly was actually going to be punished… The thought of others suffering for this folly was all too familiar, however, and made whatever humor I found in the situation short lived. Pirates? Simple longing for a simpler time. For a diviner you are certainly unusually content to accept appearances. And, please, I beg you to answer, how can you confuse the sharing of information on what spells we can cast with sharing how to cast those spells?”  They realized how their voices echoed in the foyer as they noticed Tymon hurry by, but Markos continued. “It is only now, today, that we speak of trading spells, and that only indirectly through copying spells to a common book. Furthermore, do you have some rare and special spells I could not learn at the University by spending coin and noble influence? If not, then don't flatter…” He cut off his tirade, visibly collected himself and then continued more calmly, “Again, I offer knowledge. I offer it for our mutual benefit, though I believe you will have more to gain than I.” 

Bleys shook his head. “Don’t be petulant, Markos. You know what spells I can cast as I’ve told you. You know as well as I that sharing details of spellbooks naturally progresses to shared knowledge. Furthermore, I’m not attempting to buy you off, but by means of an introduction I only hope my surname could provide, attempt to assuage your yearn for the sea. But as it stands you have told me two things this day: First, you are here by choice, meaning when you signed your name on the Charter, as we all did, you foreswore your right to grouse. And second, that you are not the immature fool you allow yourself to seem, act a man and you shall be treated as one. “ 

Markos' eyes bulged and he began to turn red. He stared at Bleys for a moment and his hands tightened into fists at his side. Almost in a whisper, he said, “Henceforth, I will keep my thoughts to myself and cease my _grousing_.” He winced with the last word, as if it were painful to say. “I don't see much point in continuing our conversation and there is no point in trying to explain where I find fault in what you just said, so, I will excuse myself. But first, let me say that despite this conversation I will always be ready to share what I know so we may better coordinate our efforts. Now, please excuse me.” 

Markos stalked off, heading up the stairs to the room he was sharing with Laarus.  Bleys the Aubergine smiled as he followed him off with his eyes, before returning to the letter he was preparing for his sister.

*End of InterSession #8.2*

-------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Bleys’ masterwork armor grants an additional +2 of armor bonus, 4 extra armor points and lowers the arcane failure chance by 5%.  For Aquerra’s rules on masterwork weapons and armor click here. It cost him several hundred silver.

(2) See Session #6


(3) The split per character of the Kraken’s Cove booty came to about 1 gp, 435 sps, 158 cps, with minor differences in some cases depending on coins paid into a group fund given to Euleria.

(4) The book was found in Session #8, in the library of the manse, and was later put back.

(5) It takes 4 hours per spell level to learn/scribe a wizard spell.

(6) Experience was awarded during this period and some characters had to train for a new spell level, feats or other abilities. For Aquerra’s rules for training, click here.

(7) In Aquerra, arcane spell levels are referred to as spells of a numbered “House”. Thus, second level spells are “Spells of the Second House”.

(8) It costs 25 sps per page to scribe spells.


----------



## el-remmen

Expect another installment, later tonight or early tomorrow. . .

Hope I am not going too fast for you. . .


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #8.3: Denouement & Decampment – Farewell, Goodbye…*

Balem, the 5th of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

There was a certain gaiety and ease in the tone of the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland as they gathered to have brunch and discuss business before some of their number took their leave from the others temporarily. 

A table had been carried out onto the lawn, and they ate under the warmth of the rising sun, a refreshing breeze coming over from the nearby Wizard’s Sea.  Perhaps it was that they knew they would soon be free of their signed duty to one another, if only temporarily, but for once their voices never became too sharp.

Telémahkos blond hair shone in that mid-morning light, and he laughed at his own joke.  Timotheus guffawed and slammed the table with his big calloused hand, and Laarus’ polite smile was even more good-natured than normal.  The priest of Ra was immaculate in his bright red cassock, as he always was when not on the road.  His hair was recently cut; his teeth shone pearly white.  He stood as he noticed Lavinia Vanderboren was standing, and soon everyone was doing the same, Markos dropping his napkin to the floor as he did as the others; belatedly.

“Enjoy!” She smiled at them, all.  “I shall bid those of you who going on this day a fare journey… May it be blessed by Ptah with only curious and beneficial occurrences… I leave you now to your own business and will be busy with my own by the time you are done.  Again, I thank you all for your aid in my time of need, and I hope that I might soon be of aid to you all as well.”

Telémahkos said good-bye last with a chaste kiss, and waved when she turned to look at him as she entered the house.  He then turned to the others, grasping the ornate basket-hilt of the recently _identified Steel Whip_. (1)   Victoria Ostrander smeared butter on her bread with military precision, but somehow looked more feminine in a fine gray tunic and breeches, despite it being something a young affluent squire might wear.  The shine of her silver spear of Anhur about her neck was sending lights dancing across the table.  She brushed her lengthening black hair behind one ear, as she told an attentive, but ever-silent Bleys Winter what her training to acquire access to deeper mysteries of her order would be like. (2) Bleys had finished eating, and thus his knife and fork were neatly crossed atop his clean plate.  His crimson shirt was freshly laundered, and he had his watch-mage’s cloak draped over the high back of his chair.  His black eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Tymon staring overly long at Victoria, and the portly young man quickly looked down at his plate and mumbled to his eggs.

Telémahkos cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “I wanted to gather everyone just so we could talk over our plans and any last information we need to share.  I thought it would be important to keep certain things in mind as we traveled separately, in hopes perhaps of some of us learning more.”  The rest of the party looked up at him, as he had remained standing, while the rest retook their seats.  He could see that Markos has a book open in his lap, and was reading it happily, and only half paying attention.  Bleys was placid as ever.  Timotheus looked impatient, rubbing the fine hair of his soldier’s cut.  Tymon hung on his every word.  “To begin with, I can confirm the information I shared earlier regarding the plot against House Wetherwax I thought we were looking into at the start of this whole episode at the cove. Lavinia has told me that she once overheard her brother and someone she could not see talking in the garden at the Vanderboren Azure estate. She was inside and when she looked out all she saw was an older man in travel clothes leaving. As he left he said to Vanthus, ‘And when the Wetherwax fleet is crippled, then we can really start our work. . .’, or something to that effect…”

Bleys Winter nodded his head, apparently musing on the implications of what had just been revealed.

“Sure, I know some people I might be able to ask some questions of,” Timotheus replied happily.  He ripped a big chunk of bread from the loaf in the middle of the table and began to smear it about his plate to sop up the left over sausage grease and butter. He smirked distracted by the list of names he was tabulating in his head, oblivious to the bit of dark grease smeared at the corner of his mouth.

Telémahkos looked around, but no one else commented.  Laarus of Ra sipped some tea, while Victoria kept eating. Markos gave a half-nod, but barely  took his eyes from his book.

Clearly having expected more of a reaction, but getting none, Telémahkos continued, “And it appears quite clear that Vanthus murdered his parents."  He explained about how Vanthus’ magically enhanced athleticism was a clue to his involvement in the death of his parents. (3)  “Their bodies were never recovered.” 

He produced the map that Lavinia had given him and read a note off the back. “Even my fool parents cannot stop the inevitable…” The map looked as if it had been torn from a book or journal.

“After we go to the King Stones, I think we need to go after this bastard…especially if he is still working against Weatherwax,” Telémahkos concluded.

Bleys looked to Timotheus, curious if the big man might object to Telie’s use of the word ‘bastard’, but as he said nothing, nor seemed to care, the watch-mage spoke up with his own thoughts, "Again, Telemakhos, you make leaps based on something you know that I do not. What transpired with Lavinia's parents? What was the manner of their death?"

"Lavinia's parents were killed when their ship sank on the way back from Fort Thunder in the Hellish Islands,” Telémahkos explained, sitting back at the table, and pouring himself some wine to wash away the bitter coffer breath of his earlier meal. “The wreckage and some bodies were later found but Vanthus and Lavinia's parents were not among those recovered." 

“So we cannot know that they are truly dead then,” Markos said, finally looking up. “If there are no bodies, there is no evidence of his guilt…”

“My belief in his guilt based on the evidence, or lack thereof, won't affect how we deal with him anyway… If we agree he is a danger, we should go after him. I wonder… if there was… any evidence in…" Telie's eyes widened with a dawning realization.

"That's it!' he exclaimed, looking to Laarus.  He began to speak very excitedly. "Your vision… The ship… The barrels of Red God Fire with the ‘Q’ branded onto them! If that was not a vision of the past, I am still sure it is how Vanthus sank that ship and maybe how he plans to deal with us!" Telémahkos grew suddenly confused, and thus quieter. "…Or someone else in the future ... that we may be able to prevent? Uh…"

Laarus was startled by Telémakhos' outburst, but he quickly composed himself. And hung his head, deep in thought, and did not look up when he finally spoke. "It was certainly of the future," he began. "They always have been. Getting more frequent and detailed as the time of the event arrives. The last two were, anyway. I've not seen anything since. It should have already happened. But it didn't. I don't know why."  Laarus raised his head and continued, "Vanthus could have employed such tactics. But I see no reason why he'd use such against us. He may not even be responsible for the attack on his parents. His escape from Kraken's Cove strongly suggests he at least knows something, though. And without their bodies being recovered, the parents could, as Markos said, be very much alive." 

Bleys sat up and looked to Laarus, "Visions?" And then to Telémahkos, "Dare I ask how you know of the details of these visions?" He rubbed his chin, mulling over some other thought, before asking, "And Vanthus? How would he know of us?"

"Telémahkos knows the details of the vision because I told him," Laarus responded for Telie. "There were some items… I did not know their meaning and felt he would be able to shed light on it."

"My apologies Laarus. I did not really think of your visions being a secret before I had the thought about the barrels marked with a ‘Q’" Telémahkos covered his mouth in genuine embarrassment. 

Laarus shook his head and held up his hand, responding to Telémahkos "I did not ask for your discretion in this matter. It was bound to be revealed eventually. The truth can never stay hidden for long."

Telie nodded meekly, letting the last of his regret wash away before jumping back to the matter at hand. He turned to Bleys, "If Vanthus was skilled enough or knew enough people, he could have learned of us asking after him. I am sure he was aware of the charter just as general news." 

Obviously concentrating on these possibilities, Telémahkos began to pace. "I do not know, Bleys… Perhaps he learns of us in the future as we chase after him…  But then according to the one who should know best." He gestured at Laarus, and continued, "The time of my 'death' has already past." 

He stopped near Tim and added, "It is enough to make one's head spin."

"No kidding," replied Timotheus under his breath. "I'm staying out of this one."

“You seem to have a lot of faith in these visions,” Victoria began, but Bleys was voicing his confusion.  

“It seems what I have learned is that there is more to learn,” the watch-mage said. “As I suspect the rest of us are just as confused, and wondering…" He raised an eyebrow and looked square at Telémahkos. "Your death?" And then shifted his gaze inquisitively to the young priest.

"Laarus suspected that if we had stopped at the Quillton port rather than heading straight for the manor, I might… have been blown up. Since it seemed unwise to stop in the town first, it never became a necessity to reveal this information,” Telémahkos explained. “Especially since it was a bit disquieting.”

Markos shook his head slowly at Telémahkos’ words, but did not comment on them. He sat up and lay his book down, and asked sounding weary, "Is this something worth investigating while I am in Moon City? (4) I can bring the map with me, the notes from Leemo's book on transmutation, and whatever else. Leemo's notes are particularly intriguing in combination with what we know about what happened in Kraken’s Cove, which was where both Vanthus and pearl were headed, and now this map mentions a pearl and clearly specific places were marked on it for a reason. Anyway, gaining access to Moon City's library will be roughly…" He paused to think. "I’d say a hundred silver pieces a day." (5)

"You were not blown up," the priest corrected Telémahkos in the midst of Markos’ pause. The price might have been garbled in the crosstalk. "Though, the end result is the same. As you found that disturbing enough the first time, I'll refrain from going into the full details."

Bleys remained calm.  He noted Victoria’s silence once again, and then said, "I would like to hear more about these _visions_, if you were so willing to elaborate, Laarus. How do you know that they are always of the future? And you said something about barrels of Red God Fire branded with ‘Q’… Do we have any idea what else ‘Q’ might stand for?"

"Because that's what they are. They've always been visions of the future," Laarus stated.  He was addressing Bleys, but looked over at Markos who suddenly stood and began to examine the sky in the direction of the sea, one hand shading his eyes.  The priest of Ra continued, "These recent ones have involved casks, branded with a ‘Q’. Twice in a small, dark room. On a ship, I assume. Once rolling across the deck of a ship like those we've recently been upon. Once being kicked off another ship by a small figure. The last two I saw burst into flames and liquid fire, but I've always heard the explosion."

“The ‘Q’ is for ‘Quillton’,” explained Telémahkos. “It is a shipping brand.”

"So, you have had other visions of the future which have come to pass? Your whole life or only recently? Do you believe them divine insight…" Bleys, as always, was flat in tone, even when asking seemingly endless questions of the priest. "...of Ra? Are they manifested in this illness that gnaws at you?"

”We need to leave very soon if we are to make it to Quillton to get that ship,” Markos said, looking at Timotheus.  The big man stood and stretched, nodding.

“Yes, over the past several years," Laarus admitted hurriedly. "The bile forms at the back of my throat whenever they come. I must either spit it up or choke on it. The only ill part about it is what I'm made to see. But, they are not sent from Ra… That much I know…" He stood as well, and looked to Telémahkos and then his cousin, Markos.  “I will accompany you to town, for my training at the temple of Anhur begins today…” (6)

“As does mine,” Victoria stood as well.  Bleys was drawn into reflection, considering what Laarus Raymer of Ra had told them. 

“As I shall be arriving in Sluetelot first on my way through to Lilly City as soon as my training here is over, I shall take the tax money (7), and payback Barton Digits’ generosity by allowing him the profit of handling our payment.  I shall also check in on Euleria and see what progress she has made on our requests of her.”

“Yes, I sent the letter yesterday by faultless,” Bleys added, finally standing. (8)

“Until we meet again!” Telémahkos raised his glass, and the others hesitated and lifted glasses of their own.

“And when is that again exactly?” Markos asked, hefting his pack onto his back.

“Between the twenty-seventh of Ter and the first of Quark, at _Death & Taxes_,” Laarus replied.

Forced to race to town in the unrelenting heat of the approaching mid-day, Markos, Telémahkos and Timotheus barely made it aboard _the Silver Milk_; the caravel that would bring them to Azure in three or four days time.  Meanwhile, Bleys, Laarus and Victoria would remain in Quillton for training, though Bleys had yet to arrange for it.

*End of InterSession #8.3*
-------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Bleys had taken Telie aside that morning to inform him of what he learned of the magical rapier.  You can read about it, here

(2)	Victoria would be training at the temple of Anhur in Quillton.  Priestly training for militants involves a great deal of mental and physical punishment to strengthen will, resolve and concentration.

(3)	See InterSession #8.1

(4)	Markos would be taking advantage of the gift of discounted training at the University of Thricia in Moon City, which was given the charter by House Curen.  It was also the place where he completed his arcane training that he had begun aboard the Lady’s Lament.

(5)	This is a guess based on the fact that he is a former student.  Access to libraries in Aquerra is very expensive, with research at a Library of Thoth beginning at 100 sps / day.  Remember, Aquerra has a silver standard.

(6)	Priests of gods of the same pantheon can often train at each other’s temples, assuming there is a ranking priest present.  For some specific abilities, however, this may not always be possible.

(7)	The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland, as nobles, only needed to pay 3% of their gross earnings from plunder, rather than the normal 6% for all other folks.  This amount came to: 212 sps, 6 cps.

(8)	The text of the letter in the in the “sblock” below (not because it is secret, but only to save space):
[sblock] Euleria, 

Please have the horses brought to Sluetelot. We'll meet you there at the end of this month. We'd like you to secure provisions for us all for 2 weeks; you're at liberty to procure more given reasonable pricing. Victoria will need to inspect mounts as she will purchase a light warhorse. Our venturing leads to the King Stones by way of Wesmearshire. To this end, any further necessities you may foresee need met, you've discretion to do so. If Falco's still available, we'd like to re-hire him. Timotheus will hire Dunlevey if he's available. He offers month’s wages in advance; position potentially permanent, prospect of advancement. 

Laarus will meet with you several days before with further coin and instruction. 

Thank you, 
Bleys Winter [/sblock]


----------



## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> "but nothing else was magical aside from the rapier "
> 
> what was it?



Just a note to say that I added a footnote about _The Steel Whip_ to the previous installment that has a link to the sword's page on the wiki.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #8.4 – ‘Denouement & Decampment: “Aboard the Silver Milk”*

Teflem, the 6th of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Tim and Markos sat below decks in their tiny cabin on the _Silver Milk_, betting iron pieces in a rather dull head-to-head game of bluff & draw. The ship rocked slowly as it progressed northward.  Telémahkos was atop getting some fresh air and avoiding their cramped quarters for a while.  He was also avoiding Markos after a failed attempt at some kind of conciliation when they first came aboard the day before. (1)

"So, did anyone ever figure out what was up with that Vanthus Vanderboren guy?" Timotheus tossed a couple of coins into the pot. "Like, what the deal was with that map with the stuff about the 'Ivory Pearl'?" 

Markos was bored. "No… I do not think anyone did but I plan to look into it in Moon City." 

"Huh. You know, I've been to Azure lots of times, but I never got around to crossing the water to Moon City. I hear it's pretty impressive." He pushed another coin into the meager pot. "Raise you one." 

"It will cost a lot of coin to be thorough," Markos ignored the small talk regarding the City of Sorcerers. 

"Eh, it's no big deal. I'm not sure I want to get wrapped up in some other magic pearl hunt anyway, especially if it's just going to lead to more smugglywugs somewhere far away. We've got lots of better things we can do much closer to home, like the hobbos and the King Stones. Fold, raise or call, Markos,” Timotheus shrugged.

Markos said, "You left out "bluff." He then raised. "If this pearl is anything like the black pearl we should probably at least look into it. Even if we take some time before acting." 

"Sure, as long as you magic men can make sure that we don't get turned into smugglywugs like those poor bastards at the Cove. I got no problem with stuff I can fight, but being turned into some creepy mindless frog-thing isn't high on my list of things to do this year." Tim called Markos' raise and flipped his cards over. "Pair of rogues. What do you got?" 

Markos threw in his cards without showing them, "You're lucky you're playing with an honest mage. Avoiding being turned into anything is exactly why some research would be nice. Perhaps you could ask the rest about contributing funds to compensate me? I estimate a hundred to one twenty-five per day would be needed. Can't say how long would be needed so should probably just come up with a number of days we would stop at, though I suppose taking it one day at a time would be ok.” 

Tim rakes in the pot, shuffles and deals. "That's a sh*te-load of money, sailor boy. I say we hold off on that until after the King Stones. We make a decent sized haul there; maybe we can look into funding your anti-Ivory-Pearl research. But me, I'd rather sink our purse into doing some real, for-certain and good for folks close to home. Not on going on some wild goat chase for some magic doodad that may not even exist. Ante up." 

"I'm inclined to agree but I would like to get as much input from the others as possible. The only counter argument I can make is that I will have access to resources I may not have access to at a later time unless we are in Moon City's vicinity again. I raise in the dark…" Markos put his cards down and then looked at them again and sighed. 

"I cal…" Tim peered at his cards. "I wouldn't worry about that. Moon City's pretty central, especially if we come back up to Schiereiland again. It's right on the way. And you know I still want to come back up and clear the hobbos out as soon as we raise the cash for troops. Raise you one." 

"Yes, yes very reasonable. We should allow others their say, however." He flipped the next card over and then looked at his cards again before saying, "Raise you…uh…fifteen…" He looked Timotheus directly in the eye waiting. 

Tim rolled his eyes. "No sh*t, sailor-boy. Fold." He tossed his cards in. "Course everyone gets their say. We all agreed to that, right? I just hope we can work it out with everyone one-on-one first, because you know what any kind of group discussion with this bunch turns out like. That's the problem with not having a leader, everyone's gotta stick their own oar in and we waste five hours arguing over sh*t that ought to take two minutes." 

Markos appeared to be grinding his teeth, biting back on the sharp answer he would have liked to spit at Tim. Instead, he sighed and replied calmly, "I guess I simply meant to suggest we drop it until the others were present. I think we are in agreement though I could easily be swayed given what Lavinia told T.K. she heard." He quietly gathered and piled the cards before handing them to Timotheus for his turn at dealing. "As for the problems of not having a leader, I've been trying to push you to take a more aggressive hand in that - especially when violence erupts. I have some very basic ideas on what to do in a fight - just common sense things really - but you're going to have a better feel for things when the decisions need to be made quickly, I think, given your experience." 

Tim shuffled. "Thanks, Dad… Next time we storm a villa full of frog monsters, I hope you're there to make sure I can actually lead." He raised a hand to forestall Markos' reaction. "Sorry… I'm sure you're trying to help. But it's not me you need to push. I can lead men just fine if they've agreed to be led. But we got a bunch of snobby nobles here who signed a charter saying that everyone gets a vote. I'm doing what I can to keep on top of things in battle, but until they actually agree to follow me, the best thing is probably just to take it slow and hope they get used to it. 

Markos raised an eyebrow at being called "Dad" but did not interrupt. When Tim finished he cleared his throat, "Just push a little harder than you have been, alright? We had one battle where we coordinated our actions well and it was mostly due to our discussing things ahead of time… You didn't have to give many ‘orders’ as a result. Just a reminder to everyone to mind fields of vision and dart in and out, giving archers and such opportunities to time their shots effectively.” 

Timotheus began to deal the cards, as he replied. "Think about it. If I push too hard, who knows what they'll do? The last thing we need is them calling votes in the middle of a fight, or worse, they decide that if they gotta have a leader, they'd rather have Pukey the Golden Boy or Little Miss Never-Surrender, instead of a jumped-up guardsman who's got nothing to offer aristocrats except something as useless as ten years of experience."

Markos grunted and looked up. “By the by, I'm trying hard to control my anger and keep my displeasure with certain members of our group to myself - your being an assh0le because I think the group needs your direction and say so doesn't help."

"Aww, everyone's so _mean_ to poor Markos, after he's been so _nice_ to everyone." Tim chuckled, accentuating the words with an infantile sing-song teasing style.  He did not look up from his hand. "We all know you're a big brain, and like I said, I know you're trying to help. But no one likes a know-it-all. Especially one who's… what…? All of fifteen? I think you need a beard before you can pull off the 'master of all knowledge' routine." Tim made an attempt at a comical 'elderly sage stroking his beard' face, as he looked at Markos.

Markos' face hardened, looking away he said with angry wonder in his voice, "I'm a know-it-all and putting on airs of the wizened wizard because I've made some suggestions?" He refocused on Timotheus, the creases of his face deepened with anger. "And I was speaking of you, you f*cking prick! Not ‘_everyone_’. I expect the others to act as they do, and sure as there is whale sh*t in the ocean I don't feel sorry for myself for it. I know who they are and I know how I am… You, however, I didn't expect to be such a f*cking assh0le. And I may be a f*cking kid, but I've seen just as much sh*t in this world as you! If I have a gods damn idea I'm going to say it! And if you were smart," he stood up from the floor where they were playing. "…you would judge the f*cking idea and not who f*cking gave it!" He looked down from his standing position for a few moments, breathing heavily but then sat down abruptly, spitting out with disgust, "Just f*cking deal the cards… I'll leave you to your own council."

"Gosh, silly me," Tim replied mildly. "I sure am the assh0le. After all, I yelled at you, told you how to do your job, and threatened to punch you in the face. (2) Oh no, wait, that was _you_ talking to _me_." 

Tim set his cards down on the floor.  “What I did now was listen, and give my own opinion in a having-a-discussion kind of way, and thank you for trying to help. Okay, maybe I teased you a little bit. And boom, here you are, throwing a tantrum. I don't really mind, I've seen lots of 'em before from my sisters when they were little. But it really is pretty childish, no matter how much sh*t you've seen.”

"So, how many cards you gonna discard?" He added after a moment, holding the deck in his hands.

Markos looked disgusted, "Just give me three cards you condescending prick."

Timotheus slid the cards over with a wry smile. "Sure thing. Here you go, little cousin."

*End of InterSession #8.4*

------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	This was one of a handful of InterSession scenes that did not make it the story hour.  As much as I would like to be able to say that it’d be great to include all of them, that is just not the case.  Just imagine your typical Telémahkos/Markos interaction, perhaps with a misinterpreted apology in there, and that was basically it.  No need to beat a dead horse or anything…

(2) This occurred during the parley with Harliss Javell.  While the story hour did not cover it at the time, it later became a point of contention.  Basically, when Telémahkos and Markos were arguing over Markos’ laughter upon hearing that Harliss had sent the bullywugs to the Vanderboren Manse, Timotheus tried to break it up, and Markos threatened to punch him in the face for his trouble.


----------



## Telémakhos

> (1) This was one of a handful of InterSession scenes that did not make it the story hour. As much as I would like to be able to say that it’d be great to include all of them, that is just not the case. Just imagine your typical Telémahkos/Markos interaction, perhaps with a misinterpreted apology in there, and that was basically it. No need to beat a dead horse or anything…



That was a ridiculous waste of time. For those dying to know everything about the characters, Telie wanted to inform Markosk that he is going to ignore him when he is being an a-hole, but that Markos should, in turn, let Telie know when he is insulting Markos since Telie had not been able to tell when this is happening (except when he has tried to do so on purpose of course).

It went poorly from the start, with Markos taking everything Telie said as manipulation, which may be the case but is innate to Telie's personality so it all went south from there.

However, there were no blows exchanged, and I think Telie has been living up to his end of the bargain, treating Markos with respect and ignoring his jibes. Then again, Markos is much more likely to read and ignore the group these days than he is to openly insult. Though the negotiations with the hirelings got him going.

I think everything would go a lot more smoothly if a gnome invented ritalin for Markos to take. 

It's a slow day at work so this is what you get.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #8.5 – “Denouement & Decampment”: Meanwhile, Bleys About In Quillton*

Balem, the 5th of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

After seeing his companions off and an hour of uncomfortable poses at the _Rare Earth Armory_, Bleys Winter walked past the Quillton market.  He rolled his neck and stretched his arms, trying to work out the cricks that developed while Harvel Hammeral and his assistants measured and sketched, and asked him to change positions and then back again while they gibbering in numbers. He heard a deep voice call his name over the sound of the peddlers and their customers loudly haggling. Bleys blinked in the late afternoon sunlight, as he turned to see a tall handsome man with long black curly hair approaching. He had deep tanned skin, a well-kept goatee, and amber eyes. He wore bronze watch-mage's robes over a black tunic and close-fitting pants, and tall boots. His ears were pierced with only slightly more various silver hoops hold tiny sparkling gems than his fingers were covered in gaudy rings. 

"Bleys!" he greeted smiling. "I was hoping to run into you! I was just doing what watch-mage's do.  wandering about town talking to folks and seeing how they are and how I can help them… But I am glad I ran into you, I should have some time now if you'd like to walk with me back to my house and talk… Maybe have a drink…" 

Bleys met the eldritch-knight's eyes and extended a hand, careful to control his excitement. "Sir Malcolm the Bronze! I apologize for not announcing myself sooner. As you were busy, I took the time to visit your armorer. Harvel is obviously a master of his craft, and I am truly fortunate that he finds the time to hammer for me."   

“Oh yes, and Harvell is an excellent armorer… None better on the island, and among the best in Thricia. He must like you if he is taking personal time to work on armor for you… Usually he relegates his everyday work to his family…" 

Malcolm the Bronze shook Bleys’ hand firmly and he smiled widely.

"I imagine that it may have something to do with liking you, sir, but I am greatly appreciative nonetheless. I hope you do not think I take advantage of our shared alma mater," Bleys replied, his voice betraying his awe at having this conversation with the famous Malcolm the Bronze.  He cleared his throat, and regained his normal even tone. "He tells me he has crafted armor for you." 

"Yes. He did. . " Malcolm replied with a sly smile as if hinting at a secret. "As for taking advantage of our alma mater - well, that's what it's for! We take care of our communities and if we are lucky they help take care of us…It is a reciprocal relationship…Anyway… How goes the charter? Having fun yet? Any good plans? I assume this more than a social call… but a social call works just as well. . . "

"I have the time and can think of nothing that I would rather do than consult with you," Bleys added. 

"That's the spirit!" Malcolm said with an avuncular slap on the younger mage’s back as they begin to walk.  Bleys gave an uncharacteristic wince at the blow, which was harder than he expected, but then he noticed how broad the watch-mage really was.  He rivaled Timotheus.  

As Malcolm the Bronze led the way through town, the people… Well, _gnomes_ of Quillton all greeted him kindly, some interrupting to ask if they can come see him later. He treated each one of them with great respect and seemed to have total recall of their many names. 

"It like having the best of both worlds once you have established yourself," he said, musing. "Wandering and adventuring are fun and diverting, but it is in the coming back here that I see what all that work and danger are really for…”

Soon, he pointed out a large house near the center of the town as they approached it. It was two stories tall and loomed over the squat gnomish architecture used in most other places in town. In front of it is a large green plot on which is planted an exquisite garden. A small figure was working in it. 

Bleys admired the garden as they approached, but tried to keep the conversation going. "And here I worried the Charter's conception eclipsed by the disappearance of Agon's Reef. Even so far as the far shore of Quillton, you have heard of our coming? I must admit, it is not all the glory I had hoped for. Nothing so daring and as adventurous as I am sure you are accustomed to…" 

The gardener stood and waved as the two watch-mages came through the gate.

"Perhaps we will find more excitement when we travel to the King Stones,” Bleys added as the gardener greeted them warmly, standing beside a patch of yellow tulips.

"Hello Master Malcolm! Back from your walk already?" Malcolm introduced the curly-topped halfling named "Penn".   Bleys gave a courteous half-bow to the gardener.

"The King Stones, huh?" Malcolm said as he held the door to his house open for Bleys to step in first. "It has been a while since I have been there… But there's a long tradition of exploring that area… Lot's going on… Plenty of mysteries to still be discovered and solved… Ah!" He looked wistful. "It was a simpler time…" 

The front door opened into a main hall with a wide staircase that led up into a large parlor with a picture window. Here he asked Bleys to sit and called loudly for one of his servants. A petite woman with a round face, probably on the far side of thirty, came to the door. "Oh, hi Tanya! Can you please be a dear fetch us some wine and maybe something to nibble on…” She nodded and was off to do his bidding. 

The picture window was more glass in one place than Bleys has seen since his time at the Golden Tower of the West. It looked out on the town square and the market, and the towers of the harbor fortress was visible in the distance, as were the tall masts of the naval ships docked there. 

"We'll get back to the King Stones in a minute… So, I have to admit," Malcolm said, sitting down across from Bleys. "I did not know of your coming or even who was in your charter exactly until I spoke with Mistress Vanderboren the other day. She explained that you and your companions were looking to find her brother and save him from himself when you ran into those that wished him harm, or wished his family harm as a means of hurting him…?" 

"That is correct, sir, apparently the result of a series of unfortunate events, which we discovered while pursuing leads to a haven for smuggler's known as Kraken's Cove." 

"Hmm, yes… Well, if he made enemies in Kraken's Cove no wonder they tried to kill him…Sometimes you have to leave well enough alone… So I take it you went there? Were you quoted good prices?" He winked and then stood as Tanya came back into the room with a bottle of wine and two goblets. He turned to her and said, "You know what? I don't want wine in the afternoon, have Tomo bring up a couple of hand casks from the basement instead." She nodded and turned away again. 

"I hope you don't mind," Malcolm said, turning back to Bleys. "But meeting fellow alumni always makes me feel like I am back at the Academy, sneaking skins of mead into the dormitories, sneaking them under our robes after coming back from White Plumerock… Well, you must remember that stuff better than I…Not too long ago you were still doing it!"  He laughed and sat again. 

"Yes, I did graduate but only recently," Bleys offered timidly, not sure how else to respond.

"So… Any idea where this brother is now? Do you think people might still be wishing him or his sister harm?" 

Bleys did his best to elucidate. "Well, obviously Vanthus made an enemy of one Harliss Javel, the pirate who sent her first mate, Drevoraz Kabran and a hold full of bullywugs to savage the Vanderboren manse. And while I think Mistress Lavinia is in no further danger at the moment, her brother I am not so sure about. Vanthus now seems to be consumed for some quest after some magical pearls." Bleys eyed Malcolm for a reaction. “Apparently the destruction of the black one in the cove caused all of the unfortunate inhabitants there to be transformed into feral, tentacled, hybrid, bullywug creatures. Harliss blamed Vanthus for its destruction, thence laying said mission upon her crewman. Her tale had Vanthus escaping the cove aided by great feats of jumping and swimming." 

Again, Bleys regarded Malcolm carefully, checking for reactions to his revelations.

"What?!" Malcolm frowned. "This is the first I have heard of these pearls and this transformation! Please recount to me your tale from the beginning… and tell me everything you know about these magical pearls…" 

Bleys did not react to Malcolm's surprise, as if suspecting it. And with composure began to recount the tale of seeking out Vanthus and the rumors regarding an attack on House Wetherwax.  He also explained about the map folios and the _sepia snake sigil_, and finished with Aug Bohr’s escape (1), and the reference to the ivory pearl on Vanthus’ map.

“And as the bloated bullywug shaman hopped off into the night, he called back…” Bleys concluded. “Or at least, that is what my companions have recounted to me.  He said… something about how we’d get what was coming to us when the ‘savage tide’ begins…? Or maybe, he said, when it comes… Again, I was not there…”

During the time Bleys was telling the story, Tanya appeared with the two handcasks (2) and poured a rich frothing ale into two large mugs on a low round table between him and the elder watch-mage.

"The Savage Tide…? Hmmm…" Malcolm was quiet a long time. "I wonder if there is any connection to 'the Savage Tide' in Azure? Um, I forget his name, young kid…Must have been at the Academy at the same time as you, he runs the place by that name. . . If I understand correctly he inherited it from his grandfather who was also of the Academy… Other than that, I am not sure what it refers to… But I can try to find out…Now that I hear your story, the bullywug involvement makes a lot more sense, however, I can never imagine that ‘wugs would align themselves with anyone, unless it had to be done for their bizarre religious devotion." 

He took three large gulps of ale and then poured himself some more, gesturing to Bleys' mug.  "As for Kraken's Cove. . . It won't be long until the Coopers find out what happened…You know the Cooper's right? And if they find out that the Charter of Schiereiland were there, they may think you were involved… So be careful whom you tell… But boy, is _THAT_ going to de-stabilize the area. . ." 

Bleys grabbed the large foaming mug grudgingly and put down a large swallow with an audible gulp.

"Coopers? You mean barrel-makers? Yes, I understand what a cooper is…" Perhaps it was the taste of the ale, so uncommon for Bleys, but he seemed slightly annoyed. "But I fail to understand what they may have to do with the cove. It is my suspicion, however, that the place will continue to be used for nefarious purposes. But, I cannot understand why, if House Wetherwax, or Swann for that matter, knows of its existence, they allow such activity to persist…" 

"Bleys…" Malcolm smiled widely with paternal condescension. "The Coopers are a guild of thieves. They are the Thrician branch of what is sometimes called 'Berman's Gang', which are Herman-lander merchant/thieves. A bad bunch, but certainly no Red Lantern Gang… As for why the noble houses tolerate the cove, well, they profit from it… And they always know where the contraband is being traded - in a controlled and relatively peaceful environment outside of Thrician territory… Is that not preferable to many small clandestine possibly violent meetings that become more dangerous the more those involved have to worry about secrecy? But now, if the involvement of young nobles gets out, and if this Harliss lives, it is sure to be reported to her superiors, whoever they may be, it will undermine the security the smugglers felt they had there…" He took another sip. "Good stuff, right? Quillton Brew. . . At least sixty percent of the reason why I have stayed on here…" He winked again. 

Abashed by his display of ignorance, Bleys made no inquisition as to who Berman might be or what the Red Lantern Gang's province was. Instead he swallowed another less hefty mouthful of Quillton Brew, noting that it was good, bringing his palate to life after so long. 

"This 'savage tide' in Azure? Is it an inn? A Watch-mage runs it?"  Bleys finally asked.

"Yes, you know Azure…Council of Watch-mages and all that…The watch-mage of Graingate has always run the inn there. Just one of those strange little local traditions, I guess. Well, the kid there now, I forget his name… Something the white? No, not white…" He scratched his beard as he puzzled at it for second and then continued. "They change the name, but the new one… He gave it the same name his grand dad had… It was the '_Mulberry Bush_' during most of my time. . . You should know him, he could not have graduated more than two or three years ago…" 

Malcolm the Bronze stood and went over a table with small drawers and pulled out a pipe and leather pouch. "Have a pipe? Want one?" 

Bleys politely refused. "No, thank you all the same. I wish not to sully the flavor of this fine beverage." Bleys finishes his mugful. Malcolm packed his pipe and soon there is a sweet lime-like smell in the room.  

"Athoen the Blanche?" Bleys tried to remember, "Fercal the Sand?" 

"Athoen! That's it!" Malcolm laughed easily. "Pale as a ghoul. . .!"

Bleys the Aubergine produced the map folios, and held them out to show his senior. "These are the maps we recovered. I have yet to circumvent the warding on the bottom two." 

Malcolm took the folios and tossed them casually on the table. "I shall examine their wardings later, and if it is a simple matter I shall remove them for you. Were there other things you wished to consult me on?" 

Abashed again, this time by Malcolm's dismissive treatment of what he considered a rare and precious find, Bleys soldiered on. "Well, um, yes. I am excited to be visiting these King Stones. Though they are not exactly in my realm of knowledge, I have always been fascinated with the time of Thricia'sSix Kingdoms. You implied that you have been there. Any sagacious words?" 

"Hmm, well actually I was hoping that you might do me a favor… Do you know about the Moor-tombs?"  Malcolm sat back, down taking a long pull on his pipe before continuing.  He rolled his rings around on his fingers as he talked. "In my youth, when I visited the King Stones with some friends, we never got to see the one place I was most interested in exploring… I have an old map I could give you to find the place, though it was drawn from memory… And more information, of course… If you are interested…" 

Eager at the talk of high adventure Bleys let down his guard. He grabbed his refilled mug and took another long sip, nodding.

Malcolm continued: "As for the Stones themselves, I recommend exploring as close to mid-day as possible, as whatever humanoids are living there are usually active in the late evening and the time before dawn… Also, avoid the Baphomet Stone Maze…" 

"The Baphomet Stone Maze? Sounds mysterious…” 

"Let me say again. . . DON'T GO THERE,” Malcolm’s face grew serious, and his voice deepened with practiced authority. “It is for that reason that were never got to the Moor Tomb, that I spoke of… For my old companions' curiosity led to the death of one of our number and we chose to return to civilization instead…”

"If you order me not to go, I will not,” Bleys sat up straight, considering the connotations of the warnings of one of the most powerful wizards outside of the Academy Masters that he knew of… “But, may I ask, what more you know of it? Knowledge, especially of this kind, is ever my pursuit. It may help me further convince someone else to proffer from your wisdom some day. Sir, and if I may ask without being impolite, how green were you then?" 

"A race that was long considered extinct in Thricia, and most other places in Aquerra except perhaps the U.K.S.F… They live there,” Fatigue crept into Macolm’s voice. “And even though many years have passed and I have grown, I hope…wiser than those green years, I would not go back. We were warned and did not listen, and thus we were in the wrong… Green or not, it is a place best avoided.”

“But certainly, I'd be honored to do you the favor, but I don't quite understand…” Bleys wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin that he conveniently noticed beside the keg. “Do you merely just wish your curiosity slaked? What has kept you from the final tomb? I thought they'd all long since been plundered?"  

“Life being as it is, I just never got back there,” Malcolm replied, perking up again. “Regardless, the map I have shows the way to it. I don't think anyone has found it and lived since the last time I was in the area…  As far as I know, it remains untouched for over a millennia." 

“I see…”

Malcolm the Bronze leaned forward and continued in a quieter voice, as if practiced for the use when retelling lore. "Dalvan d'Amberville was a wizard that served Agon the God-King much to the chagrin of his fellow nobles of that lost house. The d’Ambervilles purged all those members of their house who served the God-king after he was defeated, and Dalvan was among those. In exile, he went among the people of the moors who among the ancestors of the Ray-Ree." 

“The name ‘Ray-Ree’ appears on the map of the King Stones we have,” Bleys mentioned.  “They are a barbarian people, are they not?”

"Yes. They are usually willing to trade information and give food for common tools and the like…But they are a proud people. Everything should seem like a gift freely given or else they will drive a hard bargain or refuse to trade at all."   Malcolm paused and furrowed his brow, and then slapped his leg. "Oh! So. . . Dalvan hated Fallon and her followers, and it said he had stolen an amulet once blessed by the mortal Fallon from one of her followers. He cherished the theft of it, and it is likely still among the treasure in his tomb. I would like to examine it before giving it as a gift it to the Church of Fallon, which is my primary intention…” He looked up and then smiled again. “Of course, you and your companions would be given the credit for retrieving it." 

Intrigued, Bleys peppered Malcolm with a salvo of questions: "The moors: who were they who lived there, barbarians as well? And did Dalvan just end up there or search them out? So, you suspect that the sole tomb that you did not enter is where Dalvan is interred? Along with this artifact of Fallon?" 

"The people of the moors were common folk and mercenaries driven out of the northern portion of the Island of the Six Kingdoms when Agon was defeated, for they had supported him…Legend says they were all evil people, though I doubt that… I am sure many were just caught up in the wrong place and had to serve him or die… And while death is ever an option for people such as you and me, a common person cannot be expected to do the same, or else they would no longer be common…” He cleared his throat. “I am fairly certain the amulet is there… And I know the tomb _is_ Dalvan's and thus likely to be well-guarded. I know of at least three groups that sought it out in the past and did not return… But they were from before my time. I have not heard about it again in all these years, and I keep my ear to the ground for the softest of rumors and news of adventuring exploits…" 

Malcolm paused and smiled again, seeing Bleys was excitedly trying to piece together the information he been given. "By guarded, do you mean traps… Wardens? Might there be some similarity to the other tombs I should know about?" 

"I do not know of what other tombs you know of, but it is certainly nothing as dangerous as the Mud-Sorcerers, for example, or I would not send one so inexperienced as you there… No offense. As to what kind of protections, it is hard to know except that Dalvan was something of a necromancer and that each of the wizards that ruled the people of the moors took pride in devising the protections of their tombs when immortality became inaccessible by other means… Of course, all of them were seeking to emulate Dalvan… and as far as I know, his is the only tomb left." 

"I take no offense sir. For I was still suckling at my mother's teat while you were already engaged in learning the ways of magic. I am green, I concede, but seeking to remedy that, though it may take some doing to convince my companions that this is worth doing…"  

"Seems to me like you need to learn how to make them think its their own idea," Malcolm winked. "But it should not be hard to convince them… It is less than three days march from the King Stones. The Ray-Ree should know the general area, and the map should help from there…”

The younger mage patted his sabre hilt, "I was also wondering if you might be able to procure the skills that would help me meld my arcane abilities with the martial skills I trained for in my youth," Bleys grew sullen. "As I have mentioned, I still wear armor despite the danger of its weight and discomfort disrupting the free somatic expressions required to cast.  It seems fruitless to abandon the training I had when I thought I would become a squire… The goal to someday, perhaps, even become a knight…" 

“Returning that amulet will begin to cement your reputation, and knighthoods are built upon reputation… Trust me on that one…" Malcolm the Bronze smirked. “As for casting in armor, I can introduce you to someone, if you want to get better at it. (3) It'll cost some, but it shouldn't take more than a week or so… If you can promise you'll do your best to get your group to check out the Moor-tomb I will use my influence for you to get you a discount…" The elder watch-mage’s smile never died. 

"Ah…" Bleys was somewhat deflated. "I am greatly interested but my desires far outweigh my purse…Unfortunately, I also lack the leverage to make the promise that my companions will want to look into this Moor-tomb. I would rather not give my word lightly to you, sir. But I can promise you that I will do my best to convince them. And I believe that they may be receptive, particularly the priests… 

"You don't have seventy-five silver?" Malcolm looked at Bleys with disbelief. 

Embarrassed for a third time, Bleys nodded and admitted that yes, he did have that much. They shook hands on the deal.  Malcolm told him he would send word to the manse once the arrangements for the training were made, and that he would also send along the map to the Moor-Tomb.  In addition, he would look into dispelling the wards on the map folios.

Bleys thanked him graciously.

 "And while I am sure you will decline, I believe proper decorum demands I offer you spell exchange. I am not so naive to think as I may have anything to offer you, but I humble myself all the same…" Bleys slipped his spellbook from his satchel and handed it over. Malcolm smirked and flipped through it disinterestedly and then handed it back with amusement.

“No, there is nothing, but I appreciate the gesture,” Malcolm said.  

 As Bleys the Aubergine left soon after, Malcolm told him that since he was called away on business often this would likely be the only time they would get to meet, but that Bleys should come back the next time he was in Quillton.

Bleys agreed.

*End of InterSession #8.5*
---------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	See Session #8

(2)	A handcask is a small cask of ale or mead with a handle for easier pouring.  It usually holds one and half gallons.

(3)	Soon after Bleys began his training with a local gnomish wizard to learn the still spell feat.


----------



## el-remmen

So is anyone finding these InterSessions remotely interesting?

I am nearly done with the next one (which may be in two parts), and after that there is only one more (which might also be in two parts) before we get back to the actual game sessions.

Unfortunately, between my (recently ended) summer class and preparing these for posting, I have fallen four sessions behind in writing them up (we recently played session #12).  

In the future, I think any significant between session downtime we take care of via email/messageboard will be handled in the story hour via flashbacks and footnotes in the normal session updates.  While I like the individual scenes, they are not as fun to prepare for posting as the sessions themselves, and in some cases can seem repetitive as the info gained in them has to be gone over again in the session itself.

I am not saying there won't be any more InterSessions at all, but am going to limit them to no more than 2 or 3, and not more often (on average) than every three or four sessions.


----------



## Rastfar

Well,I didn't realize that you would get so mired in these.  I thought that they would be easier for you to handle and post as most of the typing is already done.  A simple matter of cut-and-paste, but I guess not.

I thoroughly enjoy them as I am a completest.  But, if it is really a chore and slows things down so much, you should do as you've suggested.

Thanks for editing them though, and posting them up.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #8.6– “Denouement & Decampment”: Meanwhile in Schiereiland… (Part 1 of 2)*

Tholem, the 11th of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Telémahkos arrived in Epithalassos-by-the-Sea just before mid-day.  After paying off a debt to a gambling associate in Floodwall, he was able to talk some sailors he met into dropping him off on their way to Sluetelot.  He would meet up with Timotheus and Tymon (1) back in Azure the next day, and from there they would be leaving for Chalkour.  Originally he thought he would have more time, and had sent a message to his family’s trusted servant, feeling out the atmosphere about his father to gauge if a visit back home after having so recently left was a good idea.  However, he had come to the village before hearing back, realizing that in order to accompany Timotheus north their schedule would need to be more hurried.  Markos had taken a ferry over to Moon City the day before.

Telie walked through the dock market, taking in the many familiar sights, sounds and smells. “Mom” and Ham were selling their hearty stew and buttery bread nearby, and dockworkers and merchants alike were lining up for it. 

The Fighting Square was being raked in preparation for some brawls likely to happen later in the afternoon when the sun was not so hot, but right now it was very hot, and Telie looked over at the Longhouse remembering the coldness of their mead. The rowdy yelps of the Tholem crowd would soon emanate from there, as Tholem was pay day! 

However, before he could decide whether to risk a public appearance before seeing his father just to get a drink, he heard a familiar voice. “Master Briareus!” It was Mena, a long-time servant of his father’s household. He was dressed in his typical drab gray robes and sandals. A few strands of curled gray hair clung to his sweaty liver-spotted head. “What are you doing here already? I am just coming back from sending you word back!”  He spoke to Telémahkos with a familiarity that only a servant who had seen his master grow from a young boy could have.  There was even the hint of a careful scolding to it.

“Mena! It is good to see you,” Telémahkos walked over, shook the elder man’s hand, giving him a warm squeeze on the shoulder. “I am a busy man. I have to head to Chalkour with Tim tomorrow. Just taking care of loose ends as we finished one adventure and now head out to the Disputed Territories. How are things here? Are you well?”

“You should not have come,” Mena said in his usual even and calm manner, taking Telie's arm, and leading him to the direction of the edge of the village and the trail to the Briareus manse. “Bad things have been happening… And you cannot be involved…”

Telémahkos’ stomach tightened with nervousness and he stopped walking. “What is going on?”

“Keep walking!” This time Mena _did_ scold, as he yanked on Telie’s arm. “As you know, my connection to the Barrel-makers has always been because of my days working for the Herald's Guild as a… _courier. . ._ For all their faults, the Guild was made up of Thricians - and if the bosses were Herman-landers. . . well, I did not care because I rarely if ever dealt with them. . . But now some people don't seem too happy with the Barrel-makers anymore and their squeezing of their Thrician resources dry to cover for losses due to the war on their side of Aquerra… “ (2) 

He sighed and stopped for a minute to catch his breath in the shade of the eaves of a house at the edge of the village. Telémahkos looked up and saw two of his father's guards sweating out in the sun at the opening through the outlying trees to the path up to the manse. 

The old man continued: “So in the struggle for power some people have been dying…You know _accidents_, bar fights, sudden illness… Nothing suspicious…Except of course, it all is… And among those killed were my main contact, and conveniently, his replacement is a loyal Coop… (3) The father of the man I had to… _deal with_ that night. . . You know which night I am speaking of?”

“Yes,” Telémahkos replied in a course whisper. His mouth dried up and his lips got stuck on his teeth as he spoke. “The Guild is bringing Herms here? (4) Is there any way to stay out of the fight?”

“Not the Guild, the Coops… At least, that's the rumor. . . a few ringers to spill a little blood and show the Trumps (5) who is boss. . . But those who started to chafe and fight back, and want to drive out the Coops altogether aren't going to stand for it. . . This fight is coming. . . And it is going to be ugly. . .” 

Mena swallowed hard.  “There is some kind of evidence against me. This man, Kristopf, knows or suspects about the real fate of his son and has brought this information to your father…Now your father does not know the details of why and how this happened, and he does not care… The truth is…” He looked back and forth and then right into Telémahkos’ eyes. “The truth is your father is aware of my talents and contacts and has made use of them from time to time… But if this accusation becomes public there will be nothing he can do to protect me, and then the Coops will use the excuse of my coming public trial to kill me before I can rat on them…” 

He took a deep breath and took Telie's arm again as they continued up the path. The guards nodded their greeting as they passed. 

“But it gets worse…” Mena said even more quietly when they had passed them. “Your name has come up…”

Telémahkos squeezed his temples and wiped the sweat off his face, closing his eyes with passing anguish. “How? Has my father heard anything?”

“Conveniently… old rumors about Kristopf the Younger bragging how 'the young son of the lord' was going to let him into the House have re-surfaced… And while I have no doubt that he did the bragging, I am sure that it was to people who could generally be trusted to keep their mouths shut until they were convinced or paid to remember again… And that is why I said you should not have come,” Mena said. “Your father is furious about the accusations and the threat to his increasing business this entails. If he pushes back against the Coopers too hard, how many of his ships or caravans are going to arrive safely? And if that happens, how long until he will be forced to something about it? It would have been best if you had just stayed far away for now… But it is too late…”

Almost panicked, Telémahkos let out a harsh whisper, “Let us find me a horse and I will be off!”  But then he gathered himself and added, “No, the guards saw me. I need to give a grand performance…”  

He stood up straight and walked resolutely toward the manse.

Mena led the way into the house and the other servants greeted Telémahkos warmly, including a kitchen wench who had warmed his bed more than once. They made their way to Agamemnon's parlor/trophy room and then Mena left to fetch him. Telémahkos looked over the various weapons and mounted animals; examples of his father's prowess.

“Shouldn't you be somewhere robbing tombs and killing kobolds?” Agamemnon barked by way of greeting as he entered the room. He was flush and sweaty, and dressed in a light toga that revealed the dark coarse hairs of his stout muscular legs. He gave Telémahkos a rough little push into a chair and then took a seat himself. “What failures are you here to whine about? Are you here because you need money or help to get out of some mess? Mena says not, but that old man would feed you his teat if you told him milk would come out…”

“There is no problem, father. In fact, we were successful on the first adventure, the House split will be a modest amount of silver… but this is just the beginning. We head to the Disputed Territories next and Timotheus wanted to take care of some family visit so I joined him to let you know I was doing well… In fact, I have had some discussion with the merchant Cornwallis Lowe. There seems to be lots of trade opportunities down south and perhaps I can set up a new base for you down there… Is that something you wish?”

“Heh. If you think you can manage it… Lowe, eh? The name is familiar. But don't go mucking around with smuggling if you don't know what you're doing… Which you probably don't… Is that all you came to tell me? Some scheme that is going to require the re-annexation of the Disputed Territories to work? It seems your instinct for quick coin is as developed as your courage. . But it matters not… Go do whatever you want down there and stay away from Schiereiland for a time. It looks like I am going to have to dismiss Mena over that foolishness with that intruder a few years back, and I want you gone too, so you cannot be called to testify about it.”

Agamemnon’s small dark eyes never left those of his ne’er-do-well son, boring into him with contempt.

Telémahkos paused, and then tapped his temple. “I have an idea! Do you think Mena would want to join the Charter as a hireling?”

“Gods, damn it!” Agamemnon stood, towering over his sitting son. “THINK, why don't you! I don't know if you were dropped on your head as a child, or if being dropped on it now would fix you, but you certainly make me want to try!”  His big meaty fist pulsed as he squeezed his hand tighter and tighter, but he did not strike Telémahkos. Instead, he paced around the room, panting to let his purple-faced anger pass. 

“Actually, you had better hope these plans you are trying to make pan out, as we might be needing that income if everything goes as badly as I think it will. Gods damned Herman-lander thieves! Look, I don't want to see your face until I can actually trust to send you to do things for me… Difficult things… The kind of difficult things I long ago asked Mena to prepare you for when I thought Philo and Jason would be taking over for me and you would be doing something else useful for this family… Now it seems I have to hope you learn to do both… Or else wait until your twin brothers are old enough to do it…”

“Alright father, I will do what I can… I… uh,” Telémahkos stood, but his eyes never left the floor.  He continued in a low defeated voice. “I think I can become great with the blade… I will make… I can help with coin. I am sure of it and… and we will see what else needs doing once that happens.” 

Agamemnon only smirked, his body language making it clear their meeting was over.

“I only wish to see Paulien before I go. I will seek a servant. Good day, father.” Telémahkos did not even try to shake his father’s hand.  He left the room, and out in the hall he swore, “I will never return here as long as that man lives…”

------------------------------------

A little later, after finding a washroom where he could weep in private, Telémahkos washed his face and then summoned a servant to bring him where he could find Paulien, his sister-in-law; Bleys’ sister.

In a large sunlit parlor, Telémahkos found her sitting on the floor and playing with her children in a very unself-conscious way.  She was tall and thin, and had sharp, almost severe features framed by straight thick black hair.  She still looked youthful despite being nearly ten years older than him.  Her unusual looks gave her an indefinable beauty.  Also present was the light-haired and voluptuous Agatha, his stepmother. She was only a couple of summers older than he was, and quite lovely.  She sat in her chair with a paper fan as she watched the twins scamper around knocking over Spiro wooden soldiers.

“Telémahkos!” Agatha was exuberant when she saw Telémahkos, standing and hurrying over to hug and kiss him. Menaleaus, his younger brother began to cry, toddling over to grab his mother's leg possessively, while Paulien carefully tried to extricate Andrea’s hair from the claws of Nestor who was clearly already developing a cruel streak. Paulien looked up at her brother-in-law with a weak smile.

After some pleasantries and greeting the children, he asked Paulien to accompany him for a walk through the nearby orchard. “Your brother has given me a note for you and the shade is long enough for us to escape the heat.”

“Oh, of course, Telémahkos… I am glad my brother still thinks of me. It is too bad he could not come with you on this visit.” Paulien’s voice was smoky, deeper than most women’s, but with a delicate mellifluousness.  She stood and asked one of the nannies to watch the children. 

Agatha gave her a jealous glare and then planted a soft kiss on Telémahkos cheek close to his mouth.  “And how long will you be here? I do hope we get a chance to catch up and you can entertain us with tales of your adventures…” She said to her stepson.

“Unfortunately, not very long, but I will be back to chat,, Telie replied, offering his arm to Paulien as they leave the room. 

As they walked out to the orchard he began: “I wanted to let you know that I wish to take my responsibility to you and your children more seriously. I am not sure yet what this will entail, but know that I think about you and your children and plan on making sure you are always given what you need…” Telémahkos spoke with an awkward cadence ending his speech suddenly to wait for a reaction.

“Are… Are…are you asking if I would like to marry?” There was awe in her voice. “I mean, I understand the sentiment and it is honorable for a man to take care of his brother's widow… But we hardly know each other and I am not sure where this is coming from… I would have to think on it… Though it _would_ provide me and the children with a more stable place in the household…”

Telémahkos’ eyes open wide and he stammered. “Ahh! We both know how rash I am. Let us take a first step and not even consider that yet as I am going to be away for a while anyway. Know this, though… I consider you like a sister and even if I were to marry another you would have place of honor in my household, and I would make that bond legally binding so as to relieve you of worry. If I make anything of myself I will fulfill my brother's obligations one way or another.”

“So, you _aren't_ asking. . . “ Telémahkos could not tell if that was disappointment in her voice.  She continued: “I mean, the only legal obligation I can think of is marriage… Not that I care to dishonor Jason's name, but finding me a husband is the best way to make sure we are cared for. But then again, I worry a new husband will want children of his own, and Spiro and Andrea would suffer it. Someone who already considered them family would be the best choice.”  She stopped talking and walking very suddenly and scrunched up her face with suspicion.  “Did Bleys put you up to this?”

Telémahkos stopped as well, and smiled. “All he did was show his deep regard for you and your children, reminding me of responsibilities I have not paid much attention to before. Before I forget…” He reached into his toga. “Here is his letter.” 

He handed it to her and continued. “I can't ask yet for your hand yet. I can only find out where you stand because I have no means to support even myself let alone a family. My father does not trust me with much at this point. And when I say legal obligations, there are agreements that people reach… nobles reach about the rights and such of the members of their household… You could have a special place in my family. I am not a traditionalist, so excuse me if this all sounds odd to you. If I find other lands for the House to rule, we will need able-bodied lords and ladies to take on responsibilities and I am sure Spiro and Andrea would be perfect for such a thing. I am sorry to speak of so many uncertainties…let's leave it at that, and I will do what I can to fulfill that obligation willingly.” 

He noticed her turn the sealed letter in her hands. “Do you wish to read that now?”

“I would rather read it later,” She replied, still sounding a bit suspicious. “And I thank you for your concern and for trying to make plans that fit me and your brother's children. It is very noble, even if Bleys did put you up to it.”  She gave Telémahkos a light kiss on the cheek.  “When you see him, tell him he is as much in my mind as I am in his, and I look forward to his visiting as I have not seen him since the funeral…” (6)

“I will let him know…” He looked at her again in the sunlight, noting that much like Lavinia, she was taller than he was, but her beauty, while very different, was no less striking. He felt overcome with the emotion of the moment. “You are a beautiful, strong woman so do not think anyone needs to plot to have someone show interest in you… Anyway, it was good to talk with you, especially since I do not have many relatives here any longer that I can speak to with… much sincerity. Out of curiosity, How does Agatha treat you and the children?” 

He began to slowly escort her back the way they came.

“She treats me fine,” Paulien replied unconvincingly.

“And…” Telie stopped and looked at her gently. “Can I ask you a terribly personal question?” 

“Yes?” She replied, with a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

“Was love a part of your marriage to my brother? Was he a loving man?” In a quieter voice, he added: “I did not know him as well as I would have liked.”

“He was in his own way…” Paulien replied hesitantly. “As with any arranged marriage, it took time for us to get to know and love each other, but he was a good man, and very driven when it came to his work… whatever that was.”

“He was secretive about what he was doing for the House? Was he always having meetings with my other older brothers? Am I naive to think a House in this day and age can survive without daggers hidden behind cloaks?”

“I know nothing of daggers,” She replied. “But he was often traveling on business, or seeking out some spell. More than once he spoke of adventures in a kind of off-hand and vague way, and yes, sometimes he had Philo or Demosthenes with him…sometimes not…”

Telémahkos nodded and began walking slowly again, offering Paulien his arm and changing the subject.  “It is amazing how much Andrea looks like you, and Spiro, my brother. Isis has blessed you.”

_to be continued…_

-----------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Timotheus would spend this time drinking with old caravan guard buddies and visiting the local house of ill-repute in Azure, while Tymon visited family that lived in Azure.

(2) This is a reference to the Herman Land civil war with its rebellious protectorate, the Black Islands Barony.

(3) ‘Coop’ refers to the Coopers, an influential Thieves’ Guild.

(4) ‘Herms’ is Thrician slang for Herman-landers.

(5) ‘Trumps’ or ‘Trumpeters’ is slang for the Thrician Herald’s Guild, long beholden to the Coopers.

(6) There was a large funeral for Telémahkos’ three older brothers, and Bleys was excused from the Academy to attend and be at his widowed sister’s side.


----------



## Telémakhos

I completely love this stuff as I keep saying. I would feel bad if all our acting is deflating the hack and slash fun factor.

No I wouldn't.

Great fun!


----------



## Ciaran

el-remmen said:
			
		

> So is anyone finding these InterSessions remotely interesting?



I think they're awesome.  They provide perspective on, and insight into, the characters that we simply don't get from the sessions themselves.  More please.


----------



## handforged

Just caught up again, and I have to say that while I greatly enjoy the intersessions, I much prefer the actual games.  If I have to pick one, I pick the game sessions.  I am excited to see what Markos might learn during his time in Moon City.  And it will be interesting to see how the combat tactics change with everyone's advancement.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #8.6– “Denouement & Decampment”: Meanwhile in Schiereiland… (part 2 of 2)*

Balem, the 19th of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

By the time they reached Chalkour, Timotheus was tired of Telémahkos’ withdrawn mood.  The blond Briareus arrived from Epithalassos-By-The-Sea exhausted from his hard ride, with nary a grunt by way of greeting. They had accompanied a well-guarded merchant caravan going up in the direction of Pyla, as the road to the eastern foothills of the Westen-Scherp Muur was often dangerous. Telémahkos had climbed into one of the wagons, wedging his bedroll into a corner and went immediately to sleep.  Tim had to withstand the cutting comments of his old caravan guard companions, through which he had arranged the trip.  While he and Telie were guests of the caravan and were not officially expected to do any labor, good manners obligated that they help, but even after Telémahkos caught up on his sleep he did little.  He wandered away from the fire when song or jocularity began, and never took a watch.  Additionally, he had dismissed Tymon, allowing his servant to spend the rest of his break with his family in Azure.  They would meet up again later.

It took seven days of driving the heavy oxen further and further up into the hills until the wall of mountains on the horizon made night fall all that more quickly.  As slow as the trip felt, so too was Telémahkos’ mood slow to improve. 

“Don’t worry, cousin,” Telémahkos said when Tim complained. “Once I bask a bit in the warmth of your own family, I’ll feel a lot better.”

Timotheus normally cheerful demeanor was all the more effervescent when he first caught sight of the thatched roofs of Chalkour’s homes.

 “Here we are! Home, blessed home!” Tim took a deep breath of hill country air, redolent with the smells of grape and goat. “We'll stop over at my folks' house first, then we'll head over to the castle,” he said to Telémahkos as he shouldered his pack and began to take long-strides up the road towards the village, waving good-bye to his friends in the caravan. 

“Just a minute, hayseed. I'm going over to the foreman's station and finding out when we need to ship out of here to meet the others on time. I can meet you back at your folks,” Telémahkos called, and he headed down to where the merchants coming into and out of town registered with the local authorities, paid tariffs and made deals.

“Sure thing, Killer,” Tim called back. “Try not to get lost; I know how confused you get by all the trees and grass and sheep.”  “Hey, Evan!” Timotheus greeted a local youth, as he walked down the one thoroughfare in the village. “Can you go up to High Talon and tell my lord father that my cousin and I are in town? Let him know we'll be over to pay our respects after we get cleaned up.”

“Sure thing!” the kid said happily and headed out towards the small stone keep at the top of the neighboring and taller hill.

Timotheus waved and called to the villagers as he made his way to his step-father’s smithy.

"Look what the cat dragged in!" Tim’s half-sister Ivy's voice bellowed as he approached the smithy. She stepped in front of the doorway and gave the tall man a rough, but playful, push by way of greeting. "What are you doing here??!"  She did not let him in.  Ivy had long wavy reddish-brown hair and a freckled round face.  She was squat, like all the Chalkour Smiths. (1)

The clanging in the smithy stopped.

"Just came back to see my favorite little sister," Timotheus made an exaggerated show of looking around. "I don't see her anywhere, but I guess you'll do." Laughing, he pointed past her into the smithy. "Is that dad or Bird-Brain in there? And is everyone else around? I won't be staying long, so I want to get in all of the visiting time I can."

Ivy shoved Tim again. "Don't call my husband a bird brain, you son of an ogre! Anyway, both father and Nicky are working in there." 

As Timotheus stepped the rest of the way in, Hagen stepped up, leather apron wrapped around his thickening mid-section, to greet Tim.   He had curly reddish-brown hair and was nearly a full foot shorter than his stepson. "Son! It is good to see you. I was not expecting to see you so soon…" He put out one big calloused hand to grasp onto Tim's and the other reached up to squeeze his shoulder.  

Timotheus grabbed hold of Hagen’s hand and then pulled the man into a bear hug. "It's good to see you too, dad," he said warmly. "I had some time off from the charter, so I came up here to see all of you. Telémakhos is here too." Releasing his father, he continued, "I have to go see Master Erasmus as soon as I get cleaned up, but I'll see you all for dinner afterwards, okay?"

“We wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties with the charter or to your Lord father,” Hagen said with humility.

Timotheus nodded to the broad, blond and horse-faced Nick.  He was Hagen’s apprentice; betrothed to Ivy.

“Did they kick you out or something?” Ivy asked, smiling.

"Making us proud, I hope!" Hagen smiled broadly, and while facially he looked very different from his stepson there was a quality to the smile that was often seen on Tim's face. 

Telémahkos stepped in with a smile and a shy wave. 

The smith greeted Telémahkos as well, shaking his hand. He turned back to Tim: "You just missed your uncle Soren, he was here three days ago to speak with your Lord Father…"

"Oh well, maybe he'll stop in again while we're in town. Seems like I hardly ever see him anymore,” Timotheus shrugged. “Anyway... did I hear something about a husband? Did you guys hold the wedding without me?"

"Eh, you know Ivy…She's been referring to him as her husband on and off for a year now, depending on her mood…" Hagen says. 

Nick's grin melted as Ivy shot him a glare. "Father! You're terrible! Talking about me as if I weren't here!" She pouted melodramatically and takes up the basket she had used to bring them lunch. 

"Timotheus, I will see you later…" She said as she left.  Tim waved absent-mindedly.

Nick rubbed the back of his neck and walked back to the crucibles they were heating up. Telémahkos looked around bored, whistling a tune.

"Heh." Hagen paid no mind to his daughter’s tantrum, and continued. "As for your uncle, I doubt you'll see him. He took off with some your Lord Father's scouts to show them what he discovered, but I am sure you'll learn about all of that at the keep…"

"Well," Tim replied with a sigh. "I'd better get ready to see my lord father. It's really good to see you, though. It's good to be home." 

Timotheus headed out the side door towards the house across the yard to his mother and the rest of his siblings.  Telémahkos followed.  “There is a barge leaving for Azure on the twenty-second.  We have to catch it if we hope to get to Sluetelot in time.”

“Will do, Killer,” Timotheus replied.

"Where are we staying?" 

"We'll bunk down in my old room. I turned it over to Flora once I moved out, but she can go back to Ivy's room for a few days. You can take Andy's old bed. He's off on apprenticeship, and I figure you two are about the same size." Tim snickered. (2)

After many more greetings, hugs and tears, the two cousins, dropped off their gear, washed up, changed clothes, were fed and then made their way up to High Talon.

Timotheus called up with warm familiarity to the gatehouse guards.  As he led his cousin through the courtyard calling out for the steward, the other servants greeted him either coolly or effusively, but all of them were respectful to Telémahkos. They were led to Sir Erasmus' study, and Timotheus was taken aback by the sound of his noble father yelling at someone.  He rarely, if ever raised his voice. 

"Then check it all again and find it! A whole cart load of copper ore does not walk away on its own …" Erasmus Briareus was as tall as his son, but not quite as broad as his brother Agamemnon. He was lighter as well, having inherited the fairer traits of their mother evident in Telémahkos.  If anything, Telie looked more like Erasmus’ son than Agamemnon’s.  His collar was open, and his coat was folded over the back of an overstuff chair. He had one foot up on a low stool and a young boy was shining his boots.  Erasmus held a rolled up piece of parchment in one hand 

Timotheus recognized one of the mine foreman as the target of the knight’s derision.  The man walked out meekly, barely looking up to greet them.

"Greetings, my lord father! Would a hundred silver pieces brighten your day?" Timotheus stepped in with his arms open and wide smile.

“Timotheus! I had word that you had arrived.  This is an unexpected surprise!” He shooed the boy away and walked over for a firm handshake and manly nod of approval.  He greeted Telémahkos with cool familiarity. “Nephew…”

Telémahkos nodded back.

“I hope there is nothing wrong with that missing copper shipment,” Timotheus said. “We can help find it, if you need us to…”

“No! No!” Erasmus laughed off the suggestion. “It is just my lazy-minded foremen and their clerical mistakes.  I need to pay a healthy donation and get some local boy with a head for letters and numbers to join up the church of Thoth and come and work up here a few years… But, no… Everything is fine… And with you?  What have you and your charter been up to?”

Timotheus gave his noble father a truncated account of they had been doing in a familiar, yet still deferential way. Telémahkos only offered his view on things when a question was put to him, otherwise he tried to figure out how his own father could be so different, for while Erasmus had no less potential menace in his comportment, he had a genuine warmness towards his bastard son.

“So there have been no consequences of this event that you are looking for me to help you out of?  Nothing like that?” Erasmus asked, skeptical.

Timotheus laughed. “No! Not at all father…” It took a bit to convince Erasmus, but once he became so he warmed up even more and asked to have parts of the tale told him in more detail, being more concerned with the fighting tactics used and the general strength of the foes than any intrigues.

“It is unfortunate that your other charter members are not also here, and that you did not come sooner,” Erasmus commented.  “I would have hired you all to accompany your uncle Soren and some of my officers.  It seems he’s discovered some secret trail, partially subterranean that hobgoblins are using to travel down into  the Schrabs from the Oreithales.  It might be big numbers, and if so we may have to try to arrange something with House Roose to take care of it…”

“Oh yes, my… Hagen mentioned something about Soren having been around…” Timotheus was intrigued.  “Hobgoblins in the Schrabs… Interesting… And we’d be happy to visit House Roose for you if it comes that… Wouldn’t we Telie?”

“Um… Yes? Yes!” Telémahkos nodded vigorously.

“Make sure you go down to the kitchens and let them know you and Telémahkos will be here for dinner,” Erasmus said. “I will see you then…”

“Not tonight, father… I have having dinner with my mother, but tomorrow?”

“Very well…” If Erasmus was disappointed, he did not show it.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Timotheus and Telémahkos spent just over three days enjoying everything Chalkour had to offer.  They bought rounds at the Lighted Lamp, and there was not a dry eye in the house when Telie sang ‘_the Lay of Isis_’ and got tears of laughter when he acted out all the parts to gnomish song he had learned while slumming it one night in Quillton. (3)  Timotheus found time to gives bits of his share of the Kraken’s Cove booty to his stepfather and his mother and his sister to help towards her wedding.  Telémahkos spent afternoons practicing his tumbles in sheep meadows, ducking and rolling to emulate what Mena had described. (4)

In the early morning of the twenty-second of Ter they boarded a river barge, and joined a crew poling goods south back to Azure.  There they would catch a ferry to Sluetelot and meet the others.

*End of InterSession #8.6*

---------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) As with most small places in Aquerra, people’s surnames here are based on the traditional profession of their family.

(2) Anders (aka Andy) is Tim’s 14-year old half-brother.

(3) While in Quillton, Telémahkos spent one evening sharing songs and drinking heavily with the cast a gnomish theatre, and would have lost a great deal of coin in a card game if not for the generosity of the local gnomes.

(4) Telémahkos was doing self-training to gain the evasion ability of rogues.


----------



## Rastfar

Who is this Timotheus?  I dunno, but I like him.  Like, really, _really_, like him.  Where is this guy?  Can we get _him_ in our party?  Or is it that we are all such jerks that we stifle this side of his personality, making it cower in fear?

 :\


----------



## Ciaran

Rastfar said:
			
		

> Who is this Timotheus?  I dunno, but I like him.  Like, really, _really_, like him.



Thanks.



			
				Rastfar said:
			
		

> Or is it that we are all such jerks that we stifle this side of his personality, making it cower in fear?



Yep.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #8.7– “Denouement & Decampment”: The Road to Sluetelot…*

Ralem, the 22nd of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Laarus Raymer of Ra had arrived in Sluetelot the night before, but after meeting with Euleria Finch and seeing what progress she has made on behalf of the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland he headed out to Lilly City.  Three days before that he had passed through Moon City and had made an attempt to find Markos at the University of Thricia, where his cousin was training, but the city proved even bigger than he had imagined.

He took a barge down the Sluetelot Canal for something short of silver, and by late afternoon he was in ‘the Drowned City’.  Lilly City, also called ‘the City of Flowers’, or ‘New Heliopolis’ and at least once by a drunken bard, ‘the City of Too-Many Names’, was a city of canals, its buildings constructed atop the remains of the old city lost to the encroachment of the Captured Sea. The young priest of Ra was forced pay for a gondola to take him o the High Temple of Ra near the center of the city.

The temple had fort-like outer walls topped with a golden glass pyramid surrounded by seven tall hieroglyphic-covered pillars.  He knew that with dawn he would be up there singing praises to his god before the sacred flame, as that was holiest of Ra’s shrines in Thricia.    The filmy water of the city’s canals lapped at broad stone steps that led up to the thick bronze doors of the place, and the guards bowed to him as he entered. The temple foyer was a room paneled in beaten bronze relief of Matet’s journey across the sky, reflecting numerous candles and open braziers.

Laarus called a novice over. “Young novice, let Master Dracius know Laarus Raymer of Ra is here and requests an audience at his convenience.”  

The novice bowed his head. “Yes sir. . .” He hurried off. 

In the meantime, he sought out the temple steward and arranged for a cell to sleep in. Having led enough guests to their quarters as a young novice himself, he did not require someone to guide him.  As he brought his gear there, Dracius of Ra greeted him with a smile, hand outstretched to clasp.

He was an older man with a clean shaven head and a golden torc about his neck clasped firmly to his bronze-colored cassock.  “Young master Laarus! What a pleasant surprise! I would have thought you would have been deep in the Disputed Territories by now…”

“We made it to the Disputed Territories. But only to a secluded cove… We were investigating rumors of an attack against House Wetherwax, but found ourselves in a completely unexpected situation,” Laarus explained, stopping in the doorway to his cell. “House Weatherwax may still be in danger, but we've learned little else to lead us in the direction of the truth. We are now preparing to depart towards the Disputed Territories once again. We plan to stop in Wesmearshire on the way. There seems to be great interest in the King Stones, but I am uneasy about it. Do you know anything of them?”

“An attack on House Wetherwax? You mean on their citadel in Tribunisport? Or on their ships? Did anything come of the rumors? Or were they just that?”  He followed Laarus into the cell and closed the door behind them for more privacy.

“We were led to believe it would be against their fleet, but so far it has remained a rumor, but we all sense it is more serious. We only know of one who would have more information, but we don't know his whereabouts,” Laarus said.  He kept his hands folded in front of him and spoke in an even and unexcited tone, never looking away from the elder priest.

“And that is?”

“Vanthus Vanderboren. We don't know how he is involved. He appears to have had contact with one who is,” Laarus replied.

“Vanderboren? I seem to know that name… Son of Vareck of the Dancing Sword, correct?” Laarus nodded, and Dracius of Ra continued. “Interesting… Have you alerted House Wetherwax?”

“I have not.” He paused and bowed his head slightly to the right, deep in thought and then looked up again. “I don't believe anyone else has either. But, as I've said, it is little more than a rumor at this point.”

“But you must have felt there was something to it or else you would not have investigated it…” Dracius rubbed his scalp hard with his right hand. “My question is: If this Vanthus is a danger to the Wetherwaxes or has information that can guard them against attack should they not be told so they may raise their own effort to find him?”

“Feeling there might be something to the rumors does not make them true. One should pay mind to their feelings, but never mistake them for fact,” Laarus stated, as if quoting an old adage. “Had we informed Weatherwax of our initial assumptions, we would've misled them. We have little more proof of anything now. I would not wish to steer their efforts in the wrong direction.”

“How can you steer their efforts in the wrong direction by warning them of a possible attack and someone who knows more of it, young Laarus? I can understand not wanting to propagate rumors, but what do you think will happen if there _is_ an attack and the word gets out that you and your companions knew something.… _anything_ about it ahead of time?”

“I see your point,” Laarus conceded. “I still feel uneasy about doing so.” He gave it another moment’s thought, and continued. “I've not the time to visit them immediately. I'll need to meet with the rest of the group and convince them it is the just thing to do.”

“I can easily send word for you and tell them of this 'Vanthus', and you can go on with your journey to the Disputed Territories and the King Stones…” Dracius offered.

“I feel it would be best if we were to bring the news to House Weatherwax ourselves. Should I not be able to convince them to delay our departure, I'll send you a message gladly accepting your offer.” 

“It is no trouble at all. I am sending an agent of the church down there for temple business. It is someone I trust implicitly,” Dracius assured him.

“Have there been any new divinations concerning the Disputed Territories and the Kingdom of the Red God since we last spoke?” Laarus asked.

“Divinations? I am not sure which you mean…?” Dracius frowned. “But I would not be privy to the divinations of our higher priests unless I were being briefed for some duty I was being given.”

“I mean, do you have any further information on the activities in the Disputed Territories?” Laarus rephrased. (1)

“No. . . Nothing new… It has not been very long,” He smiled. “Now, did you say you had some questions on the King Stones?”

“Yes. What do you know about them? As I said, there appears strong interest to head there. But, I'm not so sure.”

“Well, I just have a general knowledge. Long ago they were the tombs of pretender barbarian kings, but have long since been ransacked and transformed into the lairs of various humanoids that are always vying for control of the resources in the area with the local remaining human barbarian tribes. . .”

Laarus holds up his hand. “I don't want to waste your time. I was more wondering if you saw any significance to the matter at hand.”

“Significance? I am not sure I know what you mean. . .”

“Traveling to the King Stones was first mentioned by Joezyn Barhyte. He suggested we could gain treasure by raiding the tombs found there. The tombs may be defiled. But some of those buried worshipped Ra's Pantheon, though in a different visage. I do not feel it is right to steal from their tombs. We've since learned of a group of adventurers doing just this. They encountered dervishes in the area. This news gives the area significance, as we know the Red God has at least a passing presence there. But, there are some in my band who are still interested in Barhyte's suggestion. And one who has another motivation, though he sees it not fit to share. This is what troubles me.”

“Well, if you know of dervish camps in the area of the King Stones then you know more than I do, for I have not heard of such. . . From what I know these camps are further south - but that does not mean there are not more in other places. . . The barbarian kings followed syncretic heretical cults. . . Their rituals of burial are not those of the recognized laws of Anubis. . . And even if they were, whatever belonged to the so-called kings originally buried there are long gone. . . If you do come upon a tomb that is still sealed from that time, then within will be a great amount of wealth - but you must decide then whether it would be a violation based on the situation, and if it is, then leave it sealed.”

“Are these kings of old not from the barbarian tribes that exist today? Are you saying that none of these tribes are true followers of Ra's Pantheon?” Laarus asked.  The young priest still stood, though the elder priest sat on a low stool, occasionally flexing his knee in slow exaggerated stretches.

“If they are remains to be seen. . . They have unapproved of traditions, and at such a time when the Disputed Territories are reincorporated into Thricia the church will have to make a ruling on those barbarians, and work towards bringing them into the fold of the proper way to honor Ra and the other gods. . . Again, this is something you will have to decide upon your arrival and interaction with them. . . As for the connection of the current tribes to those of old. .. Whatever connection it tenuous at best. . . Similar to those noble houses that declare themselves descendants of Harbinger or Amarantha…”

“I see. So are these Beast Gods not truly Ra and the other gods in a different visage? I always saw them as such. Not as a loose approximation of the proper gods of Ra's Pantheon. Or is only the barbarians' method of worship and their rituals suspect?” Laarus continued with his query.

“Generally, the latter…but do not think that all these tribes worship in the same ways or the same gods. . . There are as many different customs as there are tribes. . .”

“I was not assuming such. And I understand not all the beast gods have connection to Ra and his Pantheon.” 

Laarus took a moment of silence to let it all set in. “You've eased the burden on my mind. While maybe not moral, removing items from these tombs would not an affront to the gods. I've less to worry of my companion's behavior. I'll heed your advice and rule again once the evidence is seen.” 

Turning to his items, Laarus picked up his suit of scale mail. “I'm donating this to the church. I plan to purchase a different set of armor tomorrow.”

“I shall bring it to the armory for you, if you like, as you must be fatigued from your journey” Dracius said, standing and reaching for it.  Laarus thanked his mentor and handed it over.

As Dracius turned to leave, Laarus asked one final question. “Should I need to take you up on your offer, what is the name of the agent you are sending?”

“Eubren Winter of Ra.”


Tholem, the 25th of Ter – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Victoria of Anhur and Bleys the Aubergerine traveled with a caravan of gnomish merchants heading for Weirspierogen thanks to the efforts of Lavinia Vanderboren.  The road between was not safe enough for two to travel alone, and the gnomes were happy to have extra bodies to discourage bugbears and bandits. There the militant and the watch-mage would catch the ferry across Drie-Hoek Bay to Sluetelot . 

The road west made its way over and around wooded hills, coming round bends to come upon half-deserted hamlets of poor folks living off the land.  It skirted atop the bald foothills of the _Little Groots Mountains_, known for its goblins.  However, they traveled without event.

As neither was very talkative, they fell into an easy and comfortable silence around each other.  The kind of quiet respect that requires no verbal acknowledgment, and that even years of friendship cannot always muster.   When they did speak it was succinct comments on horses or birds (2), and once a brief conversation about the relationship of the gods to one another.

The journey had taken a hard week, spending most of their day walking, which made Victoria miss Argos all the more. (3)  They made their final camp just past mid-day in the shade of towering trees atop the final rise of the northern Ben Huevels where they gave way to Weirspierogen and the bay.  Bleys Winter thought of his father not quite a day’s ride to the south, and then his mind drifted to the map folios he carried, their wards dispelled by Malcolm the Bronze and their great value appraised by Lavinia Vanderboren.  He remembered that evening when he went to ask her the favor, and to try to fill in some questions he had regarding Vanthus, and her parents. He recalled how he had bended to one knee, her hand clasped in his and held to his chest as he swore, “I vow to do my best to bring Vanthus and answers back to you, my lady. From this night forth: I swear before Isis.” (4)

Bleys noted the Tower of High Hill and realized how close they really were.

Victoria walked over.  “Bleys, I was thinking we should request the hospitality of Sparlange… Since House Devenpeck  is known to be no friends of House Wetherwax, perhaps if we bring up the rumors of the plot while there something will come loose… Perhaps some name will be mentioned…”

“I would rather not,” Bleys replied flatly, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Could you not bed down at the Temple of Anhur? I am almost certain that Garkhan the Green would grant me hospitality for one evening.” (5)

Noting Bleys' rare show of discomfort, Victoria asked, "What's wrong? Didn't the others suggest that we all try to find more information about the possible plot against Weatherwax while we were going our separate ways? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Well, I can say that there is much you don't know?" Bleys sighed, it was half a statement and kind of a question. "Let me ask you this: Where do you stand on honor? Is it more honorable to serve duty and law, or to serve altruism and goodness?"

"Laws form the path by which we travel toward the light, so I do not feel the need to put service for one over the other. That said, law is the means and good is the end, if that answers your question any," Victoria responded, obviously confused by this sudden philosophical discussion, despite her immediate answer.  She considered Bleys for a moment, and then continued, "Do you have reason to mistrust the Devenpecks, but lack evidence? If so, what better opportunity to obtain some than staying at their manse?"

Bleys nodded as she replied, as if in agreement. "You are entitled to your suspicions, _I_ will not correct you.  He adopted a tone of formality and lowered his voice just slightly. He surveyed the hasty camp, looking for any caravan members who might be attempting to overhear the young nobles' conversation.  "However, Lady Victoria, it should be known that as second son to Callum Winter, patriarch of the Devenpeck Winters, Master of the Roost in the Ben Heuvels, in service to House Devenpeck, it would be uncouth of me to cast further suspicion upon the nobility of the house we dutifully serve, or propagate uncorroborated rumors as to their political machinations or agenda as I certainly have no evidence to do so. I must now beseech you to desist in your inquiry." Bleys looked directly at her with the last. "…And I would rather not look for venom and snakes in the vipers' nest. At least not yet, not now…"

As realization of Bleys' blood ties dawned on Victoria, her eyes widened, but quickly narrowed again. She returned Bleys' stare.  She whispered, "I had not spoken of suspecting House Devenpeck … My thought was that they may know of others with bad intentions toward House Weatherwax. I understand that it may be… _unseemly_ to use our benefactors for information this way, but I have no intention of accusing the Devenpecks or even of spreading any rumors of their involvement in the plot, since I have little reason yet to think they _are_ involved. My intention is merely to bring up the rumors of the plot as light dinner conversation, and hope that it will lead to some possible suspects we are unaware of. If you have some problem with even this, Bleys, I wish you would as straightforward as I have found you so far and tell me why."

Victoria Ostrander put her fists on her hips, striking an imposing figure in her scale mail armor, silver spear of Anhur shining around her neck.

Bleys looked about again, as if nervous. "Victoria, listen to me… Have reason… This is a conversation that we can no longer have. Not now. Not here. We may speak again in Sluetelot . I cannot go to Sparlange with you tonight. I can be no clearer on this." He leaned closer. "And while you may do as you wish, I would encourage you to do the same. At the very least, should you do so, make no inquiries while there, into this _suspected_ plot. And it may behoove us were you not to offer my presence in town. You are blooded of a minor noble house, should an accident befall you, well… excuses could be made." 

Bleys paused, but Victoria seemed to still be mulling it over, so he continued: "The Temple of Anhur, I am certain, could house you for one evening, would not protocol be slaked by requesting this?"

Victoria studied Bleys for a long time. "Very well, I'll take your advice, but we _will_ speak of this in Sluetelot . I mislike secrets among those who are ostensibly friends." 

The caravan master was calling out in his high gnomish voice that the break was over. “We should be in Weirspierogen proper in about three or four hours,” he announced.  Victoria walked to where the front of the caravan was forming up, not saying another word.

Later, Bleys reminded her that they would meet just before dawn at the ferry to Sluetelot .  She nodded her agreement.

----------------------------------------------

Hours later she was in the sparring court of Weirspierogen’s temple of Anhur, taking out her anger on a practice dummy.  The novices, who lined up to spar with the guest militant, as was custom in this church, did their best to hide their worry when they saw her brutal and precise blows.

The temple was halfway up the western side of High Hill.  From here there was a good view of Weirspierogen below, and it was much smaller and impoverished than Victoria had imagined.  Passing Sparlange on the way, she noted there was no lack of splendor and pomp there, and the temple of Anhur, while spartan, as was custom, was large and well-attended; everything of the finest quality.  

Militant Julian Spar played the part of host for her.  He had earned a reasonable high rank at this temple despite his youth.  He was friendly and eager to hear of her exploits.  He also passed on the high militant’s invitation to join him at his table at dinner.

------------------------------------------------

High Militant Crispus Devenpeck was a tall and handsome man just past thirty, his brown hair cut very close to his scalp, and counter to Thrician custom.  He took his meals in the mess hall with other militants and novices, at a table removed from the others, where he and his advisors could talk privately, if they needed to.  This time, however, the occasion was merely good form in handling a guest.

He stood as Victoria approached, reaching his hand out to shake it with the equal respect some militants failed to show women of their order.

“Well met and welcome,” he said, sitting down and gesturing for her to do the same. “I must admit I am surprised to see a member of your charter here in town without young Bleys.  I hope all is well with him…” He smiled.

“Bleys is alive and well and traveled with me here to Weirspeirogen,” Victoria replied. “Though he felt his visit was better spent consulting with the local watch-mage… I must compliment the impressive statue of Anhur above the sparring court.  It is a wonderful example of craftsmanship…”

“Yes,” High Militant Crispus replied, going along willingly with the change of subject. “It is a Brairley… A relatively recent installation, obviously…” (6)  And the talk went on in that fashion…

*End of Intersession #8.7*

-----------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) There was some confusion regarding Dracius of Ra’s use of the word “divined” when he first discussed the Disputed Territories with Laarus.  The latter interpreting it to mean, the information the elder priest was sharing was gained by means of divine magic.

(2) House Ostrander is known for their ability to breed fine horses, and Bleys’ father is the Master of the Roost, House Devenpeck’s aviary for faultless and falcons.

(3) Argos was killed by falling into the yellow musk creeper pit in Session #4

(4) This scene, too, is from an InterSession thread that did not make it to the story hour.

(5) There was also a scene covering Bleys the Aubergine’s visit with Garkhan the Green, some the contents of which may be covered in a future installment in the young watch-mage’s journal.

(6) Susan Brairley is a famous sculptor from Moon City, and is incidentally the mother of Gregori the Brown, watch-mage and one-time member of The Oath adventuring company.


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## el-remmen

And so, that is (finally) the last of the InterSessions between Sessions #8 and #9 - the next installment will be the first part of Session #9, which I will be posting as soon as I am done writing the whole session up (I am about 3/5 of the way through it).  But I also have Sessions #10 thru #12 to write up, and I am sure we will play Session #13 before I get that completed.

But I won't be working on it this weekend, as I will be away celebrating my birthday with friends (some of which are in this campaign). . .


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## Gold Roger

He, happy birthday then.

Finally caught up. Gotta say, while I enjoyed the intermissions, in the end I'm keen to see the actual play continue.


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## el-remmen

I have completed writing up Session #9, and I hope to get the first installment of it (1 of 3) up tonight after today's session (#13), and then get to writing #10.


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## el-remmen

*Session #9 – “Returning to Sluetelot & Leaving Again” (part 1 of  3)*  (1)

Ralem, the 1st of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The coolness of the night gave way to the cleaving heat of mid-summer Sluetelot.  The sea gave no hint of a breeze to alleviate the closeness, and Bleys the Aubergine was glad to get up early and greet the day rather than struggle for an extra hour of the damp tossing and turning, as Telémahkos and Timotheus were doing, weary from their late arrival by ferry the night before, followed by their immediate joining of revels.  Tymon was already up, washing his master’s travel clothes.

Bleys and Victoria had arrived in Sluetelot late in the evening two days before, where Laarus awaited them having returned from Lilly City that same afternoon.  They were nearly done with their own breakfast when Timotheus and Telémahkos joined them, and might have gone on their way if there were not news to share of their time apart, business to handle with Euleria, and grousing to do about the fact that Markos would be late.

“Did he say why he would be late?” Laarus Raymer had asked the steward of his cousin when he had passed through a few days before, doing nothing to hide his disapproval.

“His message only said that he training would take longer to complete than he first thought,” Euleria had replied.  Then as now she was wearing her typical tight fitting-clothes that seemed appropriate for an afternoon hunting foxes, and she had a calm demeanor only occasionally broken by the slightest of smiles.

The common room of the Death & Taxes Inn was empty of all other patrons, and still being cleaned up from the night before, as was common at this time of the day. Barton Digits served with even more obsequious joy than normal, having happily collected and recorded the tax the young nobles paid on their spoils from their adventure in Kraken’s Cove. (2)

Euleria presented them with an itemized list of all the expenses that had incurred since their last meeting.  No one objected to discussing financial matters in Markos’ absence, though the steward was certain to ask before she began. The expenses included purchasing provisions for their upcoming long journey and arranging for transport of their horses from the livery outside New Harbinger by barge to Sluetelot.  She also informed Victoria that three good light warhorses had been picked out for her to choose from at the stables in New Sluetelot. (3)

“I have also arranged for the halflings of Wesmearshire to provide a guide into the Disputed Territories, but I could make no details in terms of what it will cost.  It shall have to be negotiated when you arrive there.”

“Thank you, Euleria,” Bleys said to the steward.  “As always, your service is invaluable.  Much more than we could ever hope to expect.  You do those of your profession credit…”

Euleria smiled awkwardly and thanked him for his praise with sincere humility, and then she turned the talk to the hiring of Falco Fletching and Dunlevey the Swordsman.

“They want to re-negotiate their pay,” Euleria explained.  “They would be willing to lower their per day pay to five pieces of copper, or five-percent each of the gross spoils recovered while in the Disputed Territories, whichever is greater.”

The young nobles all found this very disagreeable, but Telémahkos was particularly vocal in his opposition to agreeing to those terms.  There was a long debate about crafting a counter-offer to the would-be hirelings, And Bleys suggested they dismiss them altogether, while Timotheus wanted to try to make an offer to Dunlevey to be hired on as his personal sword-arm, while Laarus was concerned with the phrasing of the charter when it came to the split of spoils and did not want to agree with any thing requiring a split off the top before the noble houses got their share.

“Why do you think they want to change their terms?” Victoria asked. “They were happy with less before.”

“I told you dismissing them was a bad idea,” Timotheus said.  “Sell-swords don’t like having their time wasted.”

Falco and Dunlevey arrived soon after and negotiations began in earnest.  It soon became apparent that the two would-be hirelings had decided to negotiate as a duo as to have a stronger bargaining position.  Worried that after taxes and paying the Houses, their own shares would hardly be more than what the two were asking for, they could not agree.  After a long discussion, Falco and Dunlevey were offered three copper pieces a day or two and half percent of the gross treasure recovered, whichever was greater.  The party would also pay for their provisions.   It was agreed. 

The discussion turned to what exactly the party would do next, and while the discussions were relatively peaceful without Markos around, but they were no shorter.

Laarus of Ra brought up taking a detour by Tribunisport to warn House Wetherwax that an attack on their naval forces might still happen, but the others were against any possible delay.  They were more agreeable to his alternative of having Dracius of Ra send word with his agent who was headed to the area anyway. (4)

Later that afternoon, Bleys accompanied Victoria of Anhur to the stables in New Sluetelot to look in on the party’s horses and aid her in the purchase of a new warhorse to replace Argos.  After some haggling on her part from the watch-mage, she bought a particularly hardy light warhorse that the hands had dubbed ‘Ironside’.  It was a gray horse with a mottled white belly and legs and a black mane.


Osilem, the 3rd of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Though evening’s shadows had arrived, it was still very light out this time of year, and the patio Death & Taxes was as crowded as the common room.

The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland were gathered around a table, finishing dinner and complaining that Markos had not yet arrived, when he was spotted pushing his way through the crowd without looking up, his nose buried in a small book he was paging through. (5)

“Markos!” Telémahkos called to him, getting up to meet him half way.  The slender mage looked up and made a weak wave by way of hello and continued upstairs to the suites. Sighing, Telémahkos went after him and brought him back to the table, so the party might discuss their options and fill him in on decisions regarding the hirelings and expenses.

Markos looked bored throughout the entire discussion.  They also told him about the vote to go to the King Stones, and he did not object.  All that was left was the matter of when they would leave.

“I would like to stay one last day or two in order to scribe some spells,” Markos asked.  “I have learned a new spell I plan to use on our front-line fighters… with your permission…” He gave a weak smile to the group, despite the contempt that burned in his eyes. “It would _enlarge_ you, making you stronger, and giving you more reach.  Victoria, I thought you in particularly would benefit from it with your long spear…”

The militant shook her head.  “I already have access to that spell by Anhur’s grace,” she said. “And I personally find the downsides outweigh the benefits.”

Markos’ lip twisted in disapproval.  He turned to Timotheus.  “And you?”

“Sounds fun,” Timotheus smiled, and took three big gulps of ale.

“If we are to be headed to the King Stones, I believe we may be able to kill two birds with one stone, as they say,” Bleys said.  “We might do service to the Triad (6) and to Ra’s pantheon by retrieving the amulet of Fallon.  I know the church of Isis, specifically would also hold those who accomplished this feat in high esteem.” (7)

Bleys the Aubergine brought out the map that Malcolm the Bronze  had provided him and retold what he knew of the Moor Tombs (8), and noted how both maps they had referred to the barbarian people know as the Ray-Ree.  He also told them of the amulet, and the likelihood of finding it.

Victoria and Laarus, of course, were eager to look into this and do honor to their gods and the followers that came before them, and Telémahkos and Timotheus had no objection to looking into it while they were down there.

“Anything is better than fighting ogres,” Telie said with a forced smile.

“Malcolm the Bronze  mentioned that the Ray-Ree are used to having adventurers come through their territory, and may help us, but they are a proud people and we must come bearing gifts… Tools that are rare for them, but common for us…” Bleys went on to explain.  We are to give them these things with no expectation of trade or payment.  Anything they give us will be as gift as well… But if we do not offend them, we will benefit from their aid more than the mere cost of such items…”

There was no objection to this at all, and soon Euleria was given the task of procuring such tools for the party to bring with them, given a budget of up to thirty pieces of silver.


Isilem, the 9th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

It was not until three days later that the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland headed out of Sluetelot once again, by way of the Beach Road as they had nearly two months before.  In that time they took care of last minute business, including packing their gear, agreeing to pay for Bleys to learn and scribe the _enlarge person_ spell as well, and discussing their route and goals some more.  In addition, a horse had to be acquired for Tymon.

They wondered at the reputation of the Beach Road when once again three days of travel on it brought no noteworthy event, let alone an attack by bandits.

“Bandits would not be foolish enough to attack a band of nine men on horses,” Bleys commented.

They hurried past Bog End, not wanting to deal with the aggressive locals, and Falco led the way into the rolling plains divided into perfectly square farmsteads.  Here local farmers waved to them as they passed on the dirt tracks that divided up the properties, and just before mid-day on their fourth day of travel they came upon a hamlet at some crossroads that was having their market day. Here they happily paid a few copper for homemade muffins, fresh cow’s milk still warm from the udder, and spicy blackened sausages on a stick.

As they made to leave, they were called to by a tall figure in long yellow robes.  As the man approached they could see he was a watch-mage.  He had long graying wavy hair, and a long face with a jutting dimpled chin.  He held a long ornate staff.  He introduced himself as Terrance the Yellow.

After a brief discussion of the weather and the possible dangers on the road, Terrence made mention to Bleys the Aubergine of one Jacoba the Brown, a watch-mage of House Brill who was stationed in the Border Shires.  He bid them farewell.

Before nightfall, the young nobles and their retainers made camp on the edge of a wall of thorny trees. 

“Beyond is Thistlewoodshire and the Border Shires,” Falco explained. It was rare that he strung so many words together at once, and he had a strange habit of picking one person he stared at when he spoke, even if he was addressing the whole group. “We will continue in the morning.  The narrow paths beyond are unsafe for our mounts in the dark, and there will be many places where we need to dismount to make progress.”

“Do you know this area well?” Timotheus asked their guide.

Falco shrugged, “As well as a human can.  I have passed through here once or twice, but though the halfling are always polite, they are not overly fond of big folk, which is what we are to them…”

“Wow, you are almost downright talkative tonight,” Timotheus kidded.

“I had something worth saying,” Falco replied curtly, and walked off to prepare his bedroll.

_…to be continued_

------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	This session was played on May 27th, 2007, in Maplewood, N.J., rather than our usual Brooklyn gathering place.

(2)	See Sessions #6 & 7 for the party’s adventure in Kraken’s Cove. Thrician law states that 6% of all spoils of adventuring or war must be paid in tax.  This is halved to 3% for those of noble houses, or chartered by a House or the Crown.

(3)	This was part of the instructions sent to Euleria via Faultless during the various InterSessions between Sessions #8 and #9. 

(4)	Laarus did send word to Dracius to have Eubren Winter of Ra pass on the warning regarding the attack.

(5)	Not to be read by other players in the campaign: [sblock]This is a book that was left for Markos at the front desk that Barton Digits had been informed not to show or talk to about to anyone else. [/sblock]

(6)	In Thricia, _The Triad_ refers to the alliance of the three goddesses, Isis, Nephthys and Fallon.  Otherwise, in most of central Aquerra it would refer to Ra, Thoth and Anhur.

(7) Upon arriving in Sluetelot, Bleys sought out Leisel of Isis to tell her of what Malcolm had told him and get her approval for the quest as a means of encouraging his priestly companions to agree to undertake it.

(8) Bleys learned of the Moor-Tombs from Malcolm the Bronze  in InterSession #8.5.  To see the Moor-Tomb map itself, click here.


----------



## handforged

It's good to get another dose.  Markos was surprisingly polite this time around.  I can't wait for the next combat sequence when we can see what everyone learned in their training.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #9 – “Returning to Sluetelot & Leaving Again” (part 2 of 3)*

Osilem, the 10th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Mid-morning found the signers of the charter of Schiereiland riding their horses at a slow walk single file along narrow winding tracks through thick woods.  The trees on either side of them were tall and tightly packed making it difficult to reach the tall green of the wooded hills that rose to the north. After a time they came across a low stone wall parallel to the trail, and could occasionally see a second similar wall about sixty yards away at the top of a gentle hill, also running parallel.  Eventually they came to a branch in the track guarded by a wooden gate connecting the two walls.  There they were greeted by the barking of dogs at the top of the hill, and halflings in studded leather armor at the gate.  Two held arrows gently to their short bows, while a third did the talking.

“We were told to expect you,” the halfling said in his child-like voice.

They were told to bypass the gates and take the branching southwestern track towards the village of Tunbury.  There their guide, someone named Brennis, would meet up with them and take them the rest of the way into the shires.

A few hours later, not long after they packed up after stopping for lunch, they heard the awkward clop of hoofs coming down the obscured embankment to their right.  A hairy-hoofed war pony broke through the trees ahead of them. It was brown, with patches of white, and a thick white mane.  It snorted.  Astride it was a tallfellow halfling with long curly locks and a narrow face. He wore a chainshirt, and had a long sword forged for his size in a scabbard on the saddle.  He raised his hand and hailed them.

“Hail, and well met!  Are you the nobles of the charter of Schiereiland?” He asked, his high voice not betraying his seriousness.

“Aye, we are,” Bleys called back, and the halfling visibly relaxed, smiling and bringing his pony up the track towards them.

“I am Brennis the Outrider. I bring you greetings from Lady Brigid of House Kilcullen and High Guardian Isolde,” the halfling said.

“Are you to be our guide to the Disputed Territories?” Timotheus asked.

“Nay, I am merely here to keep you on the right track to Wesmearshire and to he who will be your guide if you can come to acceptable terms,” the halfling outrider replied.  “Old Kermit is as good a guide into the Disputed Territories as you can find, and he knows the way to the fabled King Stones and the barbarian lands around it well…”

Brennis began to lead them down the track, and soon it widened enough to allow them to ride two abreast.

“I will bring you somewhere you can sleep tonight, and then tomorrow we will continue,” Brennis said to them.

They rode on for nearly another four hours before crossing an open field that came to a place where four grassy hills were sculpted with homes of the halfling village of Tunbury.  The local watch let them through the gate tipping their caps to Brennis, and a few to the party as well, and he led them through the hills to an expansive farm beyond.  A barn there would serve as their shelter for the night.

Though the barn was too small to fit all their horses, they would safe tethered outside, and two stalls had been opened for them, spare blankets and pillows folded atop a hay bale.  There was also a basket of food prepared for their dinner and a small cask of the local brew, which Timotheus was especially thankful for.

“How can we repay this farmer’s kindness?” Markos asked Brennis.

“Please… You are guests of Thistlewoodshire…” Brennis demurred.

“Oh? Are we still only there?” the young mage asked. “I thought we were in Wesmearshire…”

“Oh, no, we will not reach Wesmearshire for another day and a half,” Brennis replied.

The young nobles fell to discussing tactics once again as they ate, and after a few mugs of ale they were out in the yard for Markos to practice casting his _enlarge person_ spell.  Bleys and Victoria watched on soberly, as Laarus and Timotheus stomped around, the latter giddy as he swung his now six-foot long flail. 

There was talk of going through some drills in order to practice, but reactions were half-hearted, and fatigue and alcohol began to stretch their moods thin, and soon they were snoring softly in the dark barn, finally exhausted by their frequent clashes of temper.


Balem, the 11th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

All this day Brennis led them along more winding trails through thick woods, passing a few more of the low stone walls half-hidden behind tall hedges and wooden gates.   As afternoon waned he directed them to a small lean-to on the side of a babbling stream.   Here they would camp and replenish their skins and the horses could graze in the rich meadow on the other side of the water.

As Tymon built the campfire, and the young nobles and their hirelings pulled off their boots and armor, Laarus Raymer of Ra announced that it was his birthday, and drew a bottle of Remoli from his pack. (1) They had to make do with a small cup each of the valuable wine, but it was a fine little celebration, and after another long day of travel they would arrive at the place where they would meet their guide.


Teflem, the 13th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Wesmearshire was notable for its strings of burrows at the edge of meadows atop tall green hills.  Here the natural landscape provided the halfling villages with amazing defenses.  All the trails they took were way below these homes and meadows, and they could hear the clanging of goats’ bells wafting down to them.

Just about mid-morning they came to large burrow connected to a small barn, at the end of a field broken up by many little streams fed by a nearby river.

It was the home of Kermit Buckleburr.  He was harfoot halfling, not more than three and a half feet tall, but wiry, and his sun-weathered skin, thick brushy mustache and narrow-slitted eyes gave him an air of competence that belied his size.

“So you be the big folk that wanna head down to the Disputes, eh?” he asked, through a cigar wedged into the corner of his little mouth.

“Yes,” replied Markos. “We were hoping to negotiate your rate to guide us… I assume you know the area well?”

“Well enough,” replied the halfling, with a smirk.  “I been down there and back many times, and I know how to live off the range down there, and keep unseen.  Listen to me and you can survive down there, too…” Kermit smirked.  “As for my rate, well that’s simple enough, I get an equal share of whatever you find down there… But I don’t go in the caves… I’ll keep an eye out, and keep the animals, but I don’t go in… That’s part of the deal…”

Markos was speechless.  He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.  He merely shook his head and turned away sharply, and stepped away.  “No…” he mouthed.

“Or you can find your own way,” Kermit added, shrugging.  

“I shall leave you to your negotiations,” Brennis said, the awkwardness clear on his face.  He wandered over to chat with Dunlevey, Tymon and Falco, who were dealing with the mounts.

“We cannot afford to pay you that much,” Telémahkos said, working hard at hiding his own annoyance at what he considered an unreasonable fee.  “It is much more than we are paying our other hirelings, and they _will_ be going into those cave and risking their lives…”

“Where do ya think you’re going? The Disputed Territories are plenty dangerous on their own without going in caves, and I gotta find the safest way for nine big folk with ten horses, or do you know how to avoid the feeding grounds of landsharks?” Kermit spat.  He grew gruffer each time he spoke, his disdain for humans becoming apparent.

“Landsharks?” Timotheus was skeptical.

“Well, we cannot afford it, and thus are forced to give you a counter offer,” Telémahkos said, with seething diplomacy.  “If you will allow us a few moments to confer…?”

“Of course…” Kermit said.

“I was against hirelings from the outset,” Bleys commented, as the nobles huddled to discuss their options and the counter-offer.  “It eats into our coin to a degree beyond our ability to comfortably maintain.”

There was a long discussion and eventually it was agreed to offer the halfling guide the same as Dunlevey and Falco were being paid.  Kermit agreed.

“We leave immediately,” the halfling said.  “Let me get ole Duckhunter ready, and we’ll be off…”

“That your dog?” Markos asked.

“He’s not _my_ dog.  He’s just a dog and my friend,” Kermit complained.  “You big folk are always want to proclaim _ownership_ on everything…”

Curious about the process of using a canine as a mount, Victoria asked to accompany Kermit, and he agreed, seeming to find a human woman less objectionable than the males of her kind.

Duckhunter was a Thrician Tall Lushond. Charcoal gray with hints of red and brown, it was a tall and thick-chested dog, that whined happily when Kermit opened the door to the den where the beast made its home, connected to the halfling’s own modest home.

Victoria watched Kermit fasten a small leather saddle of excellent quality onto the hound, but was amazed by the lack of reins.

“Dogs don’t need reins when they been raised right,” Kermit explained. “They are better off with a kind word or a quick pinch to the scruff than being yanked around.”  The halfling guide also attached a small pack to the back of the dog’s saddle before mounting.

Brennis bid them farewell, and headed back towards Thistlewoodshire, while Kermit led the party due west into the borders of Rocropshire.  Kermit took the lead atop Duckhunter, taking them up drying dusty bluffs that left the thick woods and lush meadows of Wesmearshire behind.  Here the yellow chalky landscape was broken up by small copses of scrubby trees, or a lone drooping tree winding its way out of drying pools.  Up and up they climbed, as the land to the south fell away sharply.

“Aren’t we climbing away from the Border Rift?” Timotheus asked, unsure of his own knowledge of geography.

“Yep,” Kermit replied.  “But we need to take a long way around for the sake of the horses, and to avoid being vulnerable on the steep climb down.  Past the river above the Takken Falls, the descent is much more gradual, and better for our purposes.”

“And how will we cross the river? Is there a bridge?” Victoria asked.

“Look! Ferry…” Kermit pointed.  They had come to the top of a rise and below them a broad river valley extended, a shocking line of green bordering a wide river on both sides. To their left, which was south, they could hear the distant roar of falls, and see the tall cloud of spray that obscured the horizon in that direction.

A safe distance upriver from the falls, they could make out several buildings on the close side of the river, and a large flat-bottomed boat being poled into a space beside a dock.  The glare of the sinking sun obscuring the sight moment by moment.


Anulem, the 14th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

With dawn the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland waited as their entourage and mounts were poled across the strong river in pairs on the ferry.  It would take most of the morning, and Timotheus went first with Falco, and Laarus went over second with Dunlevey.  Meanwhile, the others discussed Vanthus’ map of the islands beyond the Sargasso Bands (2), Markos was eager to determine  if the pinhole in the map that was somewhere in the western Disputed Territories might match up with some known place in that area.  He asked Kermit, but the halfling was dismissive.  

“Nothing over there but barbarians and Dervish camps,” Kermit scoffed.

“You know of the location of Dervish camps?” Victoria asked, overhearing.

“Not specifically,” Kermit replied. “And nowhere near the King Stones… Those are places best avoided by halflings…”

“So you don’t know anything about a magical pearl in that area?” Markos asked.

“Pearl?” Kermit scrunched up his face in confusion.

“Yes! Pearl!” Markos spat, letting his frustration through.  Kermit looked to Victoria and raised his eyebrows as if to comment on Markos’ sudden flare of temper.  The young mage continued. “You do know what a pearl is, right?”

“I don’t know anything about a pearl in those parts,” Kermit said.  “It seems rather silly, it being so far from the sea and all…” The halfling whistled for Duckhunter and then went down closer to the dock to see if the ferry was returning.

_…to be continued_

---------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	_Remoli_ is a fine wine from the Kingdom of the Red God of the West. This bottle was among three found amid the spoils of Kraken’s Cove. See Session #6.

(2) Also known as ‘The Hellish Isles’.  Click here to view Vanthus’ map.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

looks like we are about to get too some action


----------



## el-remmen

Oh yeah, there is going to be plenty of action. Every session _since_ #9 (and including it) has had at least one combat encounter, some of which get pretty chaotic.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

It seams to me based on you previous story hour that your story telling seams better suited to recounting action rich scenes (which I Quite enjoy reading)
So I am looking forward to you next post

thanks

PS

Hopefully this does not come of as a back handed complement


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## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> PS: Hopefully this does not come of as a back handed complement





I'll take any kind of compliment I can get.


----------



## Ciaran

el-remmen said:
			
		

> I'll take any kind of compliment I can get.



Your story hour threads are highly entertaining.  There's deep character moments, exciting combat, and gorgeously described scenery.

In fact, it's only missing one thing.  That would be...  more Timotheus.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #9 – “Returning to Sluetelot & Leaving Again” (part 3 of 3)*

Ralem, the 15th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The next day they were heading southeastward again, the cliffs of the Border Rift, rising up to their left, and the water of the River Takken slipping away ahead of them to much sharper degree to the east.  It was clear that these lands were still often used by the halflings, but they had now officially passed out of Thrician territory.  The track they followed was wide and well worn, and in a few place, wooden staked fences held back packed earth bursting with grass sprouts.  Once or twice they even heard the ring of a goat’s bell, way up at the top of the bluff, which was not nearly as steep here as it was in the eastern part of the island. To the south, green and yellow fields of tall grass wavered in the wind coming down off the bluff.

Here they could spread out some, and ride with some speed for the first time, and it was not until after some miles that they saw anything unusual.  Falco noticed it first, but soon they could all see the corpses of men and horses strewn on the track.   They approached slowly, suspicious of ambush.  Kermit Buckleburr whispered to Duckhunter and he and his mount leapt off the track through the small apple trees and into the fields beyond to flush out anyone that might be in the tall grass.

Most of these men were wearing ring mail armor, a sure sign of their Rube origins (1), though a couple of men wore lighter armor.  There were broken spears and several scimitars scattered about.  Small arrows  had made all their wounds, including those on the horses, though, whoever had massacred these nearly two dozen men, had retrieved the arrows themselves.  They could only find one broken haft with a bit of blue-green fletching.

“Halflings did this,” Timotheus said.

“Who cares?  They’re Rubes!” Telémahkos pointed to one of the men in ring mail.  “These are probably dervishes come to raid the halflings.”    The men had long dark hair and sun-baked complexions.  All were clean-shaven, and the tattered remains of turbans were strewn everywhere.

“This one’s alive,” Bleys said, as he was going from body to body examining the details of the fight.  It was a young man in studded leather armor.  Unconscious, he had been lucky enough to stabilize on his own, but abandoned he would surely die.

“This is strange,” Flaco commented.  “Rubes don’t use horses, but these seem to have been…”

“They don’t use horses?” Timotheus asked.

“It has something to do with interpretation of scripture,” Tymon piped up, happy to contribute.

“What are we going to do with this guy?” Markos asked, pointing to the unconscious Rube.

Before a debate could begin, however, there was a cry from the field.  Kermit had spotted someone hiding behind a nearby tree, and now they could see the figure bounding in the tall grass, Duckhunter appearing mid leap behind it, Kermit on his back.  Victoria of Anhur was still on her horse, and spurred Ironside on to cut off the fugitive.

“Stop!” She cried out. “You will not come to harm if you surrender quietly!”

The young figure, a boy of perhaps fifteen or sixteen summers, cried out in a language most of them did not recognize, and cut to the right. Kermit and Duckhunter leapt to cut him off, easily, and soon they were driving the young man towards the trail.  The others drew their weapons and called out for his surrender.

The boy eventually fell over, tripping over a rock and looked up to see Victoria’s long spear in his face. 

”Get up slowly,” she said to him.  Soon, they had him on his knees over by the track.  He looked around at all the dead with a long face.

“Who are you?” Telémahkos asked him.  The boy steeled his freckled face. He had short brown hair, and was wearing a leather jerkin.  He had a long curved dagger at his belt.

“_No parlosh a’vochstra linguch echfidole,_” the boy said. (2)

“What?” Laarus frowned.

“Uh… He said, he doesn’t speak common,” Tymon offered.

“No! No common!” the boy spat on the ground.

Using Tymon as a translator, they gained few answers from the reticent and defiant young man.  More than once when refusing to answer questions, he announced his willingness to die.  The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland looked at each other with disgusted wonder. His name was Cosimo Najem and was a scout for the missionaries of the Red God leading bands of dervishes to explore the northern borders of the Disputed Territories.

“Raid villages and kill halflings, he means!” Kermit spat.

“Ask him where he came from,” Laarus asked Tymon.  “Was it the Kingdom of the Red God of the West? Is there a dervish camp nearby?”

“_Sheh fo’ch vichdub perchè hech bisogno dich alif guida voi licker degli asini de’jann,_” Cosimo spat back.

“Uh, he said, there is no camp nearby, that was why he was guiding them,” Tymon said to the priest, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead.  When asked about the horses, the boy explained that the missionary had led them had brought them along, which only made their presence more mysterious.

Anything of value had been taken from the Rube party by the halflings that had killed them, and so the debate arose of what to do with Cosimo and his unconscious companion.

Laarus considered the issue for a long time, but finally decided to use an orison to stabilize the dying Rube.  After this the debate shifted to whether or not to give Cosimo, and the still unconscious Amadeo, any rations to help them on their trip back south.

“It is a further journey back to where they came from than any provisions we could afford to provide them would cover,” Bleys the Aubergine said. “In addition, we owe them nothing.  They were leading raiders against citizens of our nation.  They are lucky we do not just slay them.”

Victoria nodded her agreement.

”We cannot just slay people in cold blood,” Timotheus objected.  “And I do not feel right just sending them off into the wilderness to starve.”

“If this young man is a scout, he should be able to forage for food,” Laarus reasoned.

“But it will be days before this other one is ready to travel,” Timotheus said.  “We need to leave them food at least that long.”

“We do?” Bleys cocked and eyebrow.

“_I_ do…” Timotheus said.

“I don’t care either way,” Markos said, sounding bored.

“Tim has a big heart,” Telémahkos smiled.

Timotheus shrugged and took two days of rations from the party’s packhorse and two from his own, and left them for Cosimo.

“And remember the mercy we have shown you here, and the mercy the priest of Ra showed your companion,” Timotheus said to the young Rube sternly.  “Translate!” He pointed to Tymon, losing his usual happy demeanor for a moment, and the servant did so.

“Uh… he said, thank you,” Tymon translated a string of harsh words from the boy. (3)


Tholem, the 18th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Three days later the young nobles and their hirelings had long ago left the track, blazing across the dry harsh grasses of this area of the Disputed Territories.  Occasionally, there would be a small copse of trees, and some held cool ponds fed by little streams emerging from lonely hills.  The party rose before dawn each day to get as many miles behind them in the cool thinning darkness, allowing them to stay out of the sun in the hours surrounding mid-day. Kermit would lead them to a shady grove or tiny cave to eat and rest out of the relentlessness of Ra’s Glory. Each night he refused to allow them a fire, and a few times he would disappear for an hour or so, giving Falco directions on how to guide the party in the meantime.  He would return sometimes with some rabbits or pheasants to ease the party’s reliance on their limited rations.  Once Falco managed to take down a sickly doe, which provided food for the big group for nearly two days.

They were heading nearly due south now, and the land was becoming increasingly dry.  The foliage here was made up of low scrubby trees, and thick rolling thorny bushes that created a barrier to the east.  To the west fingers of a sparse wood over a range of uneven ground obstructed much progress in that direction.

It was late afternoon and the group had spread out quite a bit, the horses slowed to a walk in the heat of the sun, and Kermit was at the lead, ever vigilant.

Ironside nickered nervously, and Victoria reached forward and patted the horse’s neck to soothe it.  “What’s the matter, Ironside?”

Suddenly there was movement in the thorny bushes and a wild boar, a runt for its kind, came rushing out in their direction.  All the horses shuddered nervously, and Victoria’s reared up.  As suddenly as the boar came rushing out, it began to stop, kicking up dust, seeming to just notice the party and all their horses.   They could see where thick thorns had torn up its hide on either side of its head and body.

“Something must be hunting it,” Timotheus called out to his companions, as Kermit and Duckhunter hurried ahead toward a tree in the middle of their path, coming around to face what else emerged.  The boar squealed nervously, and adjusted its path to hopefully avoid all the horses.

“Dragon!” Kermit cried, but in the chaos of the moment not everyone heard his cry of alarm.  There emerged from the thorny bushes a bright green draconic beast, nearly six feet long.  Its wings snapped as it gained a bit of height as it emerged.  Its tiny scales gleamed in the afternoon light, and it hissed, showing its long dagger-like teeth set in a powerful jaw.

Markos’ horsed reared, and the seaman-wizard was thrown from it.  The boar charged past, and Victoria, still not seeing the dragon cried out, “Are we just going to let it go?  It could be dinner!”  Telémahkos having dismounted on the far side of his horse, did not see the dragon either, nor did he hear Kermit’s cry.  He hustled forward towards the boar, crossbow in hand.  Looking up he saw small wyrm rise up, and he leapt back. “Let it take the boar!” he cried to the others.

Falco Fletching leapt off his horse and sent it away from the others with a slap to its rear.  He hustled over to the tree Kermit was near, getting down to one knee beneath it as he drew an arrow to his bow.

“Pull together!” Timotheus cried out to the others. “If it tries to take one of us, make it pay!”

“_Materia maxima!_ Markos intoned, and Tim’s voice grew deeper as he spoke, _enlarged_ by the spell.  Now he was nearly thirteen feet tall, and his flail was nearly as long as a man was tall.  He took a swing as the dragon was suddenly upon him, but it swooped out of the way and locked its teeth on his shoulder, his breastplate protesting.  Timotheus was barely able to push himself free.  Dunlevey ran over to support Tim, shield raised and long sword in his other hand, as Laarus dismounted and called out to Ra. 

“Ra! Please send us the holy light of your glory to burn this beast that dares attack your servants under your ever-watchful eye!” And a beam of golden light seemed to flash out of the sun itself.  The dragon shrieked as its scales began to smolder.  (4)

Kermit let loose an arrow from his position south of the melee, and the small dragon shrieked again.  The boar disappeared into the sparse wood.    

The dragon flicked its head back and forth now, seeming to realize it predicament as Victoria came around from its other side, still astride Ironside, and thrust her spear into its haunch.  Green steam blood splattered on the dry ground.

There was a crunch of it scales as Timotheus’ flail slammed into it.  It nearly lost its footing. “Take that, lizard breath!”

The small dragon had had enough.  It spun around and began to flee along the ground, using its wings to maneuver and get longer strides.  Timotheus tried to smash it again as it pulled away, but it was lower down to the ground as it crawled away, and he failed to compensate for his new height.  Victoria tried to stab it as it fled as well, but it sidestepped and avoided the bow. (5) There was something odd about the way it scurried away; something that seemed awkward for its sinuous body.

Another of Kermit’s arrows struck it, but Flaco who had been firing at it steadily, wary of hitting any of his allies accidentally, could not find the target.

Victoria spun Ironside around and charged again, as the dragon was making its way back into the thorny brush.  It rolled on one side at the last minute, avoiding the blow and then hopping up to gain a little bit of air, its head lolling a bit as it panted. Telémahkos rode up from its left, and lowered his lance even with it, but it hopped again, avoiding the blow.

“If you are not fighting, gather the horses, we need to move!” Timotheus called out to the others as he hurried on foot to join the fight.  “If this thing has a momma, we need to be long gone!”

Bleys, who had just dismounted and drawn his sword, put it back away and climbed back up to do the chore, realizing the fight would be over one way or another before he got a chance to contribute anything to it.

“_Sagitta aquom!_ Markos cast, and two arrows of watery translucent blue light struck the dragon as it hurtled itself into the brush, barely avoiding the blow of Tim’s flail as he arrived at the edge.  They saw it bound once more, and then disappear.

“That… that was a dragon!” Kermit said, sounding nervous. “That is the first I heard of dragons around here…”

“I take it that was why you never mentioned them?” Victoria asked.  “Still, it seemed rather small for what I have heard of dragons.”

“It was a young one,” Timotheus said.  “Or at least, so I would bet… We need to put some distance between us and this place…”

The others agreed.


Teflem, the 20th of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Two days later they skirted a dry lakebed just beyond a row of low hills, approaching the village of the Ray-Ree tribe.  The day before, as they made their final camp for the day, Kermit Buckleburr had made map in the dust with the end of a stick, showing the relative positions of the King Stones, the Mounds of the Ray-Ree, the tribe’s village, and the marsh held in by the hills they had passed.  The group had agreed to go directly to the so-called barbarians.

When Kermit informed them that the village would be just beyond he horizon, the signers of the charter of Schiereiland dismounted, and left Dunlevey, Falco, and Kermit to bring the animals along a bit behind them.  They did not want the tribesmen to think that they came as raiders, and Kermit explained that his presence might sour the meeting, as these barbarians did not tend to like non-humans.

Bleys, Laarus, Markos, Telémahkos, Timotheus walked forward and only a couple of hundred yards away they could see shacks made of thatch that looked as if they were made to be moved.  Three figures were jogging in their direction.  They were clearly two tall men, and an equally as tall woman.  They thrust spears over their heads and called out, “We are the warriors of the Ray-Ree!  We do not fear you!”

*End of Session #9*

---------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) The people of the Kingdom of the Red God of the West are not known for their skill at metallurgy and armor-smithing, having notoriously inefficient armor.

(2) Direct Translation: “_I do not speak your filthy infidel tongue!_

(3) Throughout the exchange, Tymon was softening the boy’s responses, just giving the gist of them without the invective and insults.

(4) This spell is _Holy Light of Ra’s Glory_.

(5) This was an attack of opportunity for moving through her threatened area.


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## el-remmen

So I just finished typing up Session #10 last night and started on Session #11, and I have to say it went a lot quicker and was a lot more fun to write than Session #9 and the InterSessions.

I hope to finish writing Session #11 over the weekend, or at the very least before I leave for GEN CON on Wednesday - and post the first part of #10 (which will be in 2 parts) before heading off, and then posting the second part when I return.

It's looking like we are going to be having a month and a half break in the game from now to mid-september, so I have a chance to close ground, though I have little hope of actually catching up.


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## el-remmen

*Session #10 – “Drunken Chiefs & Cattle Thiefs” (part 1 of 2)* (1)

“We are the warriors of the Ray-Ree!  We do not fear you!”

The three figures were clearly young.  Two men and one woman called out with spears over their heads.  Bleys took the lead, dropping his sword belt and his bow. Telémahkos tried to hand the watch-mage a shovel to bring with him, but typical to his manner, Bleys just ignored it, letting it fall into the dust as well.

“Hail and well met!” Bleys the Aubergine called out.  “I am Bleys the Aubergine. My companions are the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland, noble adventurers who come bearing gifts for your people!”

The figure in the middle came forward.  He was young man with long thick black hair dusted gray by the dry powdered ground.  He was the tallest of the three, but they were all tall and wiry, wearing thick leather bands tied around their feet and calves, and crude leather jerkins, decorated with thick and necessary stitches, and lined with tarnished metal studs.  The young woman wore a flute about her neck on a leather thong.  Her hair was dirty and braided, but her dirt streaked face seemed friendly.  The other young man was slightly shorter, but broader in the shoulders. His black hair was cut much shorter, and he wore a quiet grimace.

While they clearly walked with warriors’ gaits, they seemed too young to be the ones to come out and meet strangers.

“I am Marysus,” the man in the middle said, with an exaggerated smile.  He spoke common haltingly, the vowels were exaggerated and the diphthongs made into guttural noises. “We have been sent to bring you to the First Elder.  Your coming has been foretold.”

“Greetings, Marysus,” Bleys nodded his head in a half-bow, and Victoria and Markos walked up to join him.

“This is Trititia,” Marysus gestured to the young woman on the left. “She is the Voice of the Ray-Ree.  She is its memory and its tales.”  He then gestured to the young man on his right.  “This is Tanliss, son of Tanliss.  Son of the chieftain…”

Bleys introduced himself and then Victoria and Markos as well, each of the young barbarians raising a hand to them in greeting.  Trititia sang their names back to them, her accent thickening with song.  Urged on by Telémahkos, Tymon hurried forward with a sack full of some tools and other gear.

“We come with gifts for your people, and would enjoy the opportunity to present them to your chief,” Bleys explained.  “We wish to do your tribe honor and not encroach upon you in our forays into the King Stones and the Dalvan Moor.”

“You coming has been foreseen,” Marysus said again. “You are to come and speak with the First Elder, and may present your gifts to him…”

“We have seen that you have left your servants and the hairy-foot-child with your animals,” Trititia said. “Tanliss, son of Tanliss will go with one of you to retrieve them to the village, as the rest of you come with us.  The First Elder must speak to you of the Blood-Eye and the danger they pose.”

Tanliss nodded, but he never spoke a word.  Timotheus volunteered to go back with Tanliss and get the others, while Bleys, Telémahkos, Markos, Victoria, Laarus and Tymon followed Marysus and Trititia towards the village of the Ray-Ree.

The young nobles were quite right about the village seeming like it was not permanent.  The homes were shacks made of rectangular bundles of thatch tied together with thick hemp rope. There were also some larger huts that seemed to serve communal purpose, and the Ray-Ree began to come out and line up to watch the foreigners walk towards the only structure that seemed to have an actual foundation. It was immediately evident that everyone in the village was either no older than fourteen summers, or nor younger than fifty.  Marysus, Trititia and Tanliss, son of Tanliss, were clearer the oldest of the young people, but not one of them had reached eighteen. The people wore ragged clothing tied close to their bodies with spare patches of cloth. The children, their hair long, wild and dirty, had faces of unnerving solemnity, and the permanent grimaces of the old women gave the sense of lives of untold suffering and utter lack.  The old people were all shorn; some bearing scarred scalps as if the hair had been cut by force. It was strangely silent.

Telémahkos smiled and waved a shovel at the crowd, hoping to elicit a reaction, but there was none to speak of, just some unintelligible muttering among the women.

There were no animals around except for a wandering handful of scrawny goats, biting stubbornly at equally stubborn grass coming out in harsh shoots through the dry rocky ground.

The central building had a foundation made of stones cemented together and then covered over with a dome of hide nailed to wooden frame.  Trititia slipped through the dire wolf pelt serving as a door, and a few moments later, Marysus held it open and motioned for the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland to go in.

The inside of the hut was dim and cool.  There was a mix of musk and flowers in the air, and streams of light came through narrow slits cut in the hide.  The ground was covered in soft quilts.  Sitting on the floor was a man in a long gray poncho. He was very long-limbed, and had a long thick mane of white hair, streaked with black.  He had a sharp profile, and deep crags in his leathered skin.  He nodded as the party entered, gesturing them to sit on the floor before him.  The young Thrician nobles, did so, looking around to take their strange surroundings.  There was a young girl of about nine years sitting on a lone pillow.  Where her eyes should have been was just scarred over tissue, her head bobbled, following the sound of their arrival and awkward sitting.  There were four boys of about thirteen or fourteen dressed in painted hide armor, holding short spears flat against their tall shields.  They stood in pairs on either side of the mat of the First Elder, Admentus.

“Welcome Sons and Daughter of Thricia,” Admentus said, his common was much better than that of the young greeters. Though it was thickly accented, he had a good grasp of vocabulary. “It gladdens our hearts that in this time of need you come to us bearing gifts, but our need is greater than mere tools can provide for. While we cannot hope to buy your aid, for the Ray-Ree buy nothing, we can give you the gift of our hospitality, and share in what many young and eager Thricians have shared in over the years in their forays to the King Stones.  It was so when I was a boy, and it was so when the First Elder of that time was a boy…”

“I am Bleys Winter, called Bleys the Aubergine, watch-mage of the Academy,” said Bleys formerly.  “My companions and I thank you for your seeing us, and for your people’s hospitality.”

“It is not I who saw you, but our seer,” Admentus lay a large calloused hand upon the head of the blind girl.

“I am Telémahkos of House Briareus, my cousin Timotheus will be joining us as well when he has helped settle the horses and the tools we have brought as a gift for your people in return for your hospitality,” Telémahkos said.

“In return?  The Ray-Ree buy and sell _nothing_, but we appreciate your gift, and hope to make good use of them,” Admentus said.

“I am Victoria Ostrander of Anhur,” the militant introduced herself, and Laarus and Markos followed suit, but the young mage went further. “Marysus made it sound as if there was something else we could do in return for your hospitality, some aid in your time of need…?”

“The Ray-Ree buy nothing.  We exchange nothing.  All is freely given, or not at all… But, yes,” Admentus replied, but instead of explaining, he spoke some words in their harsh Rubar-influenced tongue, and a young girl, much the same age as the seer, came out from a dark corner of the hut bearing a huge skin, nearly as tall as she was.  She placed a small ceramic cup in front of the First Elder, and then one in front of each of the young nobles.  She then stood by Admentus, holding out the heavy skin, and he took it and filled his cup with some thick off-white liquid.  The girl took it back and then went over and stood beside Bleys.  The watch-mage followed suit, hoping he was following the custom correctly, and then the girl took the skin and did the same with each of the others.

Admentus raised the cup and waited for everyone else to mimic him, and then he drank deeply.  The others did the same hardly able to bear the sour taste of the fermented goat’s milk. Telémahkos coughed, and Markos grimaced. 

“As you have no doubt noticed our warriors are gone,” Admentus began.  “Our chief, Tanliss, father of Tanliss has led them all to the council of chieftains, where all the great tribes gathered to decide how to act in response to the incursions of the people who worshiped the Red God of the West.  It has been generations since such a council was called, but the hordes were gathered, and the cities of the Kingdom the Red God will suffer for the hubris of their priest-kings.”

“Yes, but Trititia said something about the danger of the Blood-eye?” Markos fidgeted, restless.

“Yes… The absence of our warriors leave us vulnerable to the bugbears of the Blood-eye,” Admentus replied.

“Bugbears?  Are they from Tar Fane?” Bleys asked, remembering the location from Malcolm’s map. (2)

“Yes, and for near a generation now, the Ray-Ree have avoided conflict with this tribe by granting the gift of a delicious brew for their chief, who is called Bruggah,” Admentus explained. “Left to their own will, the bugbears would stream out of the hills into the moor and hunt the aurochs we depend on to total destruction.  The Ray-Ree warriors would be forced to try to stop them, but even if we prevailed, the bugbear tribe serves as an obstacle to much more dangerous groups of ogres and giants that live beyond the Tar Fane… The gift of the brew, four times a year, has placated Bruggah, and he keeps his kind at bay, losing perhaps one aurochs a year to their raids.  But now Bruggah has returned ahead of time demanding more brew.  We fear that he has been informed about the absence of our warriors, and he seeks to press his desire for the beer… He has given us three days to produce it… Though he has been known to be late…”

“Who would have told him?” asked Bleys.

“Hezra, called Hezra Blacktooth, witch, and lover of orcs.” The crags in the elder’s face deepened when he said the name. “She was once the student of Rudwilla of the Toadstools, witch and midwife of the Ray-Ree, but is now exiled.  Gone for years, she was recently seen in the area, and long has she held bitter resentment to her former people and to Rudwilla.  It is Rudwilla that makes the brew for Bruggah.”

“So you fear this Hezra may try to interfere with the making of more brew for Bruggah?” Laarus asked.

“Yes… We have no warriors to spare to watch over her as she gathers her ingredients and prepares the crucial brew, for if the bugbears do decide to attack the village, every boy, girl and old man who can raise a spear or throw a stone will have to fight,” Admentus said, solemnly.

The girl was walking around and handing people the huge skin again and refill their cups.  Trititia began to sing a song in their strange tongue that obviously told a tale, perhaps of their coming, for they were sure they heard their names chanted in it.

Admentus drank again.  This time Telémahkos only pretended to drink, taking the smallest sip.

“We would happily gift you this aid,” Bleys said.

”Yes, the goblins have long been a danger to my people, so I know that they must be handled carefully,” Telémahkos added, as the others nodded their agreement.

“But why is it that your warriors have not slain this chief long ago?” Victoria asked.

“Bugbears we could fight, giants we cannot hope to last against,” Admentus replied.  “And if our warriors return and find us slain by the bugbears, then Bruggah and his kind will sorely pay for their crime… Have no doubt of that, but wisdom must be exhausted before revenge is considered.” Victoria lowered her head as if in deep contemplation of alternatives.

“What can you tell us about this Hezra Blacktooth?  Why was she exiled?” Bleys asked.

“She dabbled in magics that the Jackal God (3) forbids,” Admentus said. “She left our lands never to return upon pain of death.  She had already been cast out of the village proper for her bearing the half-breeds.  You will want to be wary of her sons who have the blood of the boar god’s runts…” (4)

“How many sons does she have?” Markos asked.

“At least four, perhaps more now? She has been gone twenty years, and as far as we know she went to the orcish lands to the due west.”

It was decided that the party would head out to Rudwilla’s cottage on the moors after they had partaken a meal with the tribe.  Dinner was served outside, a huge roasted aurochs which people were allowed to cut their own piece from with the knife every man, woman and child seemed to carry with them at all time.  There were boiled greens, and whole potatoes that had been shoved into the carcass that cooked as it roasted.  There was also a lot more of the fermented goat’s milk, though most of the party avoided it, Timotheus took a liking to it, comparing it to a drink made in the area of Chalkour.  

The young nobles noticed that anything they left uneaten a neighboring tribesperson would just reach over and grab and eat it, without asking.  They also noticed that those sitting around Tim seemed to be eating out of his bowl a lot, and then he stood and staggered and tried to excuse himself.  Telémahkos stood as well to help his cousin, and Tymon was right there on the other side.  Telie could immediately see Tim was flush and sweating.

“I don’t feel well…” Timotheus croaked.  It was bog flu, or something resembling it, and the tall warrior was guided to a ‘pest shack’ where the sick and dying were brought.  There the elder women of the tribe would care for him as the rest of the party used the remaining light of the day to get to Rudwilla’s in the swamp. The time limit of Bruggah’s return made waiting for their companion impossible. (5)

Marysus and an unnamed boy of about twelve summers were to guide the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland to a place where they could then easily explain to Falco and Kermit how to arrive at Rudwilla’s cottage.  The barbarians were uneasy around Kermit, and never addressed him directly.  For his own part, Kermit Buckleburr wore a smug expression as if this treatment was all that could be expected from big folk.



“Marysus will point out to you the Mounds of the Ray-Ree as a feature you can look for in the land should you get turned around,” Admentus said.

“Yes, those Mounds are on our map,” Bleys said, his eyes lighting up.

“They are resting place of our chieftains, great warriors and sages,” Admentus explained. “It is watched over by Brother Cineas who was but a novice when he let with his master Oneidas to the great council of monks abroad…” (6)

“A monk of Anubis?” Laarus asked.

“Yes… His patron is the Jackal God, as are all the guardians of the tombs of people honored by the gods,” Admentus replied. “Do not be so surprised that he has gone to your decadent world and chosen to come back… I too spent time in your lands when I was young, aiding a scholar at your University in Moon City, and seeking adventure in your lands, even as you do in ours… I was at the university during the coming of the Anarcanaloth!” (7)

Admentus coughed and sputtered, and the party politely smiled and gave him some respectful silence, unsure how to respond to this pronouncement, and then went to ready their horses for the journey to the moors.

As they marched across the increasingly muddy ground towards the moors, a lone low cloud momentarily abated the heat of Ra’s Glory.  Marysus pointed out an area to their right where they noticed some kind of narrow stream surrounding an area of tall earthen mounds.  The Mounds of the Ray-Ree.

“When we are done with this gift for the Ray-Ree we should go an visit the monk,” Laarus of Ra suggested.

“Yes, he may have a unique outlook on the area that it would profit us to know,” Bleys the Aubergine agreed.  “If the ‘_Devoured Town_’ (8) on the map Malcolm provided us  has to do with undead, as I suspect, then this Brother Cineas would be just the one to talk to.”

Not too long after, Marysus pointed out the edge of the moorlands, a ridge where poplars shaded a drop off.  Just beyond was a line of tall blue elms, and beyond that in the middle of pond fed by five tiny streams they would find Rudwilla’s cottage.   Marysus was careful to draw a line of landscape features from the edge of the moors towards the Ray-Ree camp.  

Some of the horses were reticent to enter the deepening water beyond the ridge, shaking their heads and blowing air hard out of their nostrils. Progress was slow, as Falco tried to pick a route along relatively dry land and still keep to the barbarian’s instructions.  Duckhunter was playfully leaping from root structure to root structure, Kermit holding tightly to his saddle horn. 

Eventually they came to the island and saw it dominated by a dome-like stone structure built low to the ground.  There was a small pen, perhaps for goats, that stood open and empty. The water was deepest here as they approached, and they got off their horses to climb up onto the island.

A narrow stream of smoke was emerging from a chimney atop the round structure, and they noted the door to the front hall, which stuck out of the front of the structure, was ajar.  As Falco and Kermit remained behind with the horses, Victoria slowly made her way around the right side of the cottage, while Dunlevey and Bleys made their way around the right, backed up at some distance by Telémahkos and Tymon.  Laarus made his way to the door and called in.  There was no response.

Telémahkos looked within a little fenced in garden, and noticed all the vegetables had been violently ripped up and the plants stomped down.

“Someone was here and they weren’t happy…” he whispered up to the watch-mage.

Victoria heard a sound like ‘_Kuh-Ziizap!_’ as she crept around the cottage, and there she saw the low wall of well with an askew wooden cover.  Hovering over it were two bizarre creatures.  They were balls of fur about a foot in diameter, with large bug eyes, tiny curved horns and a long bald tail that sizzled with lightning.  They flicked their tails against the cover and arcs of energy made the wood smoke.  (9)

“What in the Hells?!?” Dunlevey cried out as he came around the cottage from the other side.  The creatures began to bob through the air in his direction.  There was a hiss in the air as an arrow from Bleys’ bow made the lead creature spin for a moment, a jet of blood arcing to the ground.  It snapped its tail angrily and continued towards Dunlevey, opening a here-to-fore unseen fanged mouth.  He swung his great sword, slamming it away with the hilt as it tried to bite down on his neck.  Markos hurried forward letting a bolt fly from his gnomish repeating crossbow as the creature was pushed way, but it fell short.

The creature dove at Dunlevey again, and the bushy-haired fighter was forced to yank it off, dropping his greatsword to one hand.  The second one bit down as well, and he could not keep it off, feeling it begin to suck the blood from his body.  He cried out, and Bleys the Aubergine was beside him, chopping at the creature with his sabre, still holding his bow in the other hand.  Laarus charged from the front of the cottage, slamming the first of the creatures with his flail before it could attack Dunlevey again.  There was a revolting crunch and the thing fell to the ground.

There was a tearing sound as Dunlevey began to grow in size with arcane words from Markos, and the creature was forced to bite down to keep its grip.  Dunlevey’s body jerked as the thing whipped him with its lightning tail, and blue lights sparked up and down.  Bleys dropped his weapons and grabbed the thing in his hands, as Dunlevey grabbed at it instinctually.  Together they were able to rip the thing free, blood pouring down the hireling’s arm.

Victoria charged forward in the same moment, but the creature bobbed awkwardly out of the way of the spear thrust, but as it now turned to flee, she thrust forward again, and jerked it off its trajectory, trailing blood.  A crossbow bolt from Tymon finished it before it could get much further.

“What in the Hells were those things?” Dunlevey asked again.  Bleys walked over to the corpse of one and examined it by sabre-point, while Markos walked over to the well.

“You say they were hovering over this well?” he asked, as he lifted the cover.  The sun-drenched young sea-mage looked down and was startled to see the frightened eyes of a girl of about ten summers looking up at him.  She was clutching desperately to the rock wall, her bare feet on the earthen lip of the well.

_…to be continued…_

---------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Session #10 was played on June 10th, 2007.

(2) See the Moor-Tomb Map.

(3) The Jackal God is the form of Anubis when considered a part of the Beast Gods.

(4) The Boar God is another name for Ashronk, God of Orcs.  It is his guise as one of the Beast Gods.

(5) Timotheus’ player was unable to attend Session #10 and so his character contracted Bog Flu

(6) In 564 H.E. all monks of Anubis were summoned to a convocation in the Equin Isles.

(7) I really expected the players to be intrigued by this, or at the very least ask what an “anarcanaloth” might be… But nope!   

(8) Again, see the Moor-Tomb Map

(9) ‘Volts’ are another creature towards  my goal of including versions of as many 1E Fiend Folio creatures as I can.


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## el-remmen

Well, I am off to GEN CON tomorrow.

For those of you readers who are going to be there, I hope to run an Aquerra-style pick-up game at some point (probably Saturday afternoon). 

So if you are interested, pop me a private message or an email.


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## el-remmen

*Session #10 – “Drunken Chiefs & Cattle Thiefs” (part 2 of 2)*

Markos leaned over to help the girl out of the well, and Victoria moved to aid him when she saw what was happening.  Her name was Tora, and was Rudwilla’s apprentice.

“Did you scare lightning tails?” the girl asked in broken common, which was still better than most of the Ray-Ree the party had met aside from Admentus, Trititia and Marysus.

“We have been sent by First Elder Admentus,” Victoria explained. “To help Rudwilla make her brew.  Do you know where she is?”

The girl’s face grew paler and she nodded.  “Hezra’s sons come and take her… I… I hide, and I see them hit her and carry her off…”

“How many were there?” Markos asked.

“Four… I think, four… I heard them talking…Pig-bloods…” the girl replied, holding up four fingers in case she got the word for the number wrong. “They mentioned the old keep…”

“Do you think they brought her there?” Victoria asked.

“If she is a witch why did she not defend herself?” Markos asked.

“Markos, it does not matter,” Victoria said, sternly.

The little girl scampered away a bit, suddenly overwhelmed by the tall foreign strangers barking at her and each other in a language she barely understood.

“Girl, do you know where this old keep is?” Bleys the Aubergine asked.

She opened her mouth to talk, but then shook her head.  “A little?” she offered.

“If she means the ruins of the keep on the old borderlands, then I know where it is,” Kermit said, stepping forward.  The girl was startled by the sudden appearance of the halfling, and began to walk quickly around to the front of the cottage.  

Victoria, Bleys and Telémahkos followed.

Meanwhile, Laarus and Dunlevey had gone around back to the front of the cottage from the other side, looking inside to see it ransacked.  The girl stopped in her tracks as she came around and saw them.  Laarus of Ra gave the girl a polite little bow. “Hello!”

“What manner of creatures were those that were trying to get at you?” Bleys asked the girl.

“Lightning tails…”

“Did Hezra’s sons bring those here?” Bleys asked, but he could immediately tell the little girl thought it was a silly question.

“They live moor. They came because noise,” she tried to explain.  “I hide again…”

“This certainly is a dangerous place if those monsters are what pass for mosquitoes,” Victoria quipped.

According to Tora, Rudwilla had just returned from retrieving the final three ingredients for the brew when she was taken, and that the ingredients had been taken as well.  

It was getting dark and after a brief debate about going immediately, or waiting until morning, they decided to stay in Rudwilla’s hut with watches set outside to look over the horses and make sure no bugbears or any of Hezra’s sons came.

They did their best to help Tora straighten up the ransacked place, but luckily the brewing barrels were hidden away from the cottage, so they were still viable.  The girl would spend the next day seeking out the final ingredients and prepare to do her best to replicate her mistress’s methods if the party was unable to rescue her.


Anulem, the 21st of Quark – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The horses kicked up trailing plumes of dust as the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland galloped out of the moors west by northwest into a dry gray plain broken up by low bald brown hills.  Duckhunter ducked in and around the line of horses, Kermit exulting in the open run as much as the animals were.   He signaled everyone as they approached a long low ridge that was similar to the brown hills, but topped with green coils of flowering thorny vines.

“Just beyond here,” Kermit said.  Tymon stayed behind with the horses, as Kermit and Duckhunter picked their way up the steep slope of the ridge and motioned for everyone to crouch down as they came up, stopping just short of the top.  Squatting and laying there, they looked out at an arid field of cracked earth strewn with wind blown pebbles.  The lines of long dead streams wound here and there, and here and there were still signs of water, but in the form of slow moving mudflow.  One such a stream had been diverted to fill a makeshift moat about a small ruined keep. The moat appeared to be mostly dried, and some wooden boards served as a means of crossing it from the front.  The keep looked as if it had once been part of a much larger structure, long gone save for pieces of fractured curtain wall, and the occasional shadow of its foundation.

“These keeps are from the Time of the Six Kingdoms,” Bleys the Aubergine informed the others. “It was these keeps that defended the borderlands of the southern portion of the Sunra Kingdom and the First Kingdom of the Red God of West.”

“That’s fascinating,” Markos sneered.

The keep was perhaps six hundred yards from the edge of the ridge; so approaching it unseen was unlikely.  Where the ridge curved to the west, was much further away from great front doors facing where they hid, so they knew they would be out in the open much longer and thus likely to be spotted.

After watching the place for some time and seeing no one come or go, the young nobles discussed their options, from creating a diversion and trying to make their way through a hole in the northern wall of the ruined keep, to simply calling out and parleying.  In the end, it was generally agreed that they would approach as if they were seeking this place out as a respite from their mercenary adventuring, and not mention Rudwilla at all, in hopes that Hezra and her sons might be fooled into not using the abducted witch as a human shield or slay her when the fighting started.

They made their way down the ridge toward the small ruined keep on their horses, leaving Kermit to watch from above, as he re-asserted that he would not be doing anymore fighting than he needed to do.

“Hmm… Yes! This looks like a good defensible place to rest before continuing with our treasure hunt!” Markos called loudly to his companions as they approached.  Laarus of Ra frowned, not happy with the ruse and not participating in it, though he did nothing to dissuade his companions.

“It certainly seems abandoned,” Telémahkos replied.

The party spread out along the front of the keep, and Telémahkos began to bring his horse forward along the north wall towards the gap they had noticed, with Tymon right on his tail.  He noticed that two narrow wooden planks had been laid across the moat on that side, allowing access, however treacherous, to the gap.

Victoria of Anhur noticed the broader wooden boards that served as a bridge over the moat towards the broken front doors would probably not hold the weight of her horse, so she dismounted to cross.  As she stepped on the makeshift bridge, an over-sized mouth appeared in the center of it. 

“Be gone ye petty thieves, lest your heads be stuffed with leaves and left to stare upon my wall.  I have no time for guests AT ALL!”  The _magic mouth_ smirked and disappeared, even as its words echoed through the ruins.

“Heh. A rhymer,” Victoria smirked back, and took another step. She cried out as an arrow came out of the boarded up window above the doors into the keep, clipping her hip. Moving between Ironside and Laarus’ horse, she reached up and called to Anhur, granted the priest of Ra _bull’s strength_.  A second arrow made her leap to the side to avoid it.  

Meanwhile, Telémahkos and Tymon’s attention was brought to a tall slender dark-complexioned figure, with greasy long-black hair.  He had deep-set eyes and thick eyebrows, and seemed startled to see the two adventurer’s so close as he began to pass the gap.  He let an arrow fly at Tymon, but fired while off balance and nearly fell on his ass. (1)

“We got us an orc over here!” Telémahkos called to his friends.  “The company’s gonna give us a bonus!”

Dunlevey leapt off his horse and hurried forward to cross the bridge and rush the doors, as a third arrow pinged painfully off of Victoria’s scale mail, and she could feel the bruise begin to swell beneath.  The hireling, hit the dirt, hoping for a clear moment to resume his charge, but it was not to be.  As Laarus dismounted, he thought he heard chanting from behind the boards above, and suddenly, Dunlevey was back on his feet, having dropped his sword, and was running, yelling in fear in the opposite direction from the doors.

Anger making the priest of Ra’s face a stern mask, Laarus rushed across the makeshift bridge and through the doors.  As he ran, Markos pointed at him and chanted, “_Materia maximus!_”, and the priest began to grow, his long legs carrying him across. However, the heavy blow of a great axe greeted him.  He staggered back, seeing a nasty rent in his bronze breastplate. Victoria came up behind him, casting _cure light wounds_. But it was little help.  Laarus looked down in time to see the axe rising again in the hands of a half-orc that was gibbering with rage.  The foe had ghostly pale skin that revealed the veins and sinews beneath. He had an ugly fuzz-covered jutting jaw, broad shoulders, long thick white hair and yellow eyes.  The blow fell and Laarus fell with it, his _enlarged_ form collapsing loudly against the broken door, as he began to bleed out.

“Laarus has fallen!” Victoria called out, and felt a cold rush of fear wash over her, but her faith in Anhur was stronger than the same spell that had driven Dunlevey away.  He was still running.

During this time, Bleys turned his horse around to give it room to gallop toward the far end of the moat and leap over it, to support Telémahkos and Tymon.  He leapt off his horse and quickly fired an arrow at the orc on that side, but missed.  As the orc and Tymon exchanged missile fire, Telémahkos leapt off his horse and hurried over one of the beams crossing the moat. He threw a dagger as he came out of a cartwheel.  The dagger missed, but the half-orc gave ground, giving the white-garbed young noble a chance to tumble around into a position behind him, _the Steep Whip_ suddenly in his hand.  The orcish bowman, spun around and stepped back and Telémahkos instinctively shielded his face as an arrow came bouncing off the bone of his forearm.  He cried out in the agony of it.  The half-orc paid for turning his back on Bleys, feeling the bite of the watch-mage’s saber, as the latter rushed in to aid his companion.  The half-orc moved back again, to try to keep all three of his foes in his field of vision.  

Beyond the gap in the wall, was some kind of crumbly hall with an adjacent stairway up to the next level.  The stairway was hidden by the remaining portion of the outer wall beyond the gap.

“_Swim!_” Victoria commanded the raging barbarian that had downed Laarus. He could not resist, and hurried past Victoria and Markos, who was now moving up, torch in hand, and leapt into the shallow moat. (2)  The militant of Anhur followed this up by kneeling at Laarus side and _curing_ his wounds.  The priest of Ra stirred, and sat up in time to see that the barbarian half-orc had already shaken off the effects of Victoria’s spell.  Covered in mud and no less angry, the half-orc began to climb out of the far side of the moat.  His battle axe dropped somewhere in the mud.

“Ra! I call on you to smite this foe with your holy light!” Laarus prayed, and a beam of golden light flew out of the sky, and the half-orc sizzled.  He roared in agony, drawing a short sword from his side.  Victoria readied for the barbarian’s predictable charge. 

“Telémahkos!” Bleys tried to warn his brother-in-law, but it was too late.  So intent the blond noble was on the tall lithe half-orc that he did not see another had crept down the stairs and stepped out of the shadowy corner to send an arrow at him.  Telémahkos ducked feeling his hamstring spasm at the sudden movement. (3)  This new half-orc brother was savage-looking, with a long tail of steel-colored hair emerging from the base of his head, and scars all over his bestial face and muscular body. 

“Good shot, Lormax!” A third half-orc appeared mid-day up the stairs, firing an arrow of his own. He had tightly woven black braids that were close to his pock-marked scalp. His face was similarly afflicted, and he had a primitive-looking protruding jaw and yellow eyes.  “I couldn’t let Sequius have all the fun,” Lormax snorted in reply, referring the tall and lithe brother.

“You foul half-breeds call this fun?” Telémahkos growled.  “We’ll kill you all!”

“Yeah, fun…” Sequius let an arrow go that lodged against one of the studs on Bleys’ armor.  The watch-mage winced.

By this time, Falco had rode around the perimeter of the keep and leapt off his horse to come to Bleys and Telie’s aid, but in trying to hurry across the beams, he slipped and fell into the moat.  A few seconds later, he surfaced, brushing at something long and black attached to his body. 

“Leeches!” Falco cried.  The leech was nearly four feet long.

Bleys was distracted, and barely leapt out of the way of an arrow from Lormax, who withdrew into the corner.  “_Materia maxima!_ Bleys cast on himself, and the watch-mage grew to over twelve feet in height.

Realizing he was at the center of a triangle of bowmen, Telémahkos rushed Sequius, the _Steel Whip_ humming in the air, as it cut the half-orc’s neck open, sending a spurt of blood out.  Sequius leapt back, barely avoiding the constant stream of bolts coming from Tymon, still on the other side of the moat.

At the front of the keep, Victoria was jerking the barbarian’s corpse off the end of her spear, as Laarus of Ra called to his god to close his remaining wounds.  He felt the exhaustion of pushing his body beyond mortal limits, (4) but endeavored to continue, moving to join the other melee, followed by Victoria.  Markos had already gone around the corner, shaking his head with disapproval at Falco’s predicament, but doing nothing to help him.

“_Sagitta aquom!_ Markos intoned, and two of his watery arrows of light slammed into the chest of Lormax, who was sending an arrow to nip the back of Bleys’ large legs, as the watch-mage began to suddenly flee.  His face was with white with the fear of the same whispered arcane words that had sent Dunlevey away. There was a spellcaster at the top of the shadowy stairs, the watch-mage had caught a glimpse of Hezra before fleeing.

Telémahkos was relieved to have his companions arrive to support him, as once again, he had found himself between three foes that kept moving back and shooting at him with practiced precession.  It was only a matter of time before one of those arrows did more than clip his shoulder, or force him to duck hard against a wall.  He withdrew towards the _enlarged_ priest, and Laarus laid a hand on him curing him of some his lighter wounds, while Victoria seeing there were more foes called to Anhur with a powerful _prayer_ of combat, that her allies may prevail, and her foes quake with the contemplation of vanquishment.  

 The militant of Anhur grunted, as an arrow from Sequius, who was across the gap in the wall, punctured her scale mail, drawing blood.  An arrow from a bedraggled Falco drove the half-orc back, before he could follow up with another.  The scout had finally dragged himself out of the moat, looking pasty and annoyed.  Realizing he had dropped most of his arrows in the moat, he dropped his bow and drew his scimitar.

And suddenly, that whole room, and the rear hall with the steps were covered in darkness that ended abruptly, as if a solid curtain of night.  An arrow came out of the darkness, embedding itself momentarily in Markos’ shin.  The mage cried out.

Telémahkos enveloped by the darkness moved over to where he had last seen Victoria, whispering to her his location so she did not stab him in the dark.

“Ra! Grant us your light and cast away this darkness that is unholy to your sight!” Laarus cried out, filling the area with _daylight_.  The curtain of darkness washed away, and Victoria turned and charged at Sequius, forcing the skinny half-orc back towards the far wall. She thrust her spear into his side.  He slid down the wall, a bubble of blood bursting on his lips, his face one of surprise.  She turned towards Lormax, still in the corner, as an arrow from him had gotten her attention.

“Anhur! Fill me with your righteous might and fury that I may destroy these brigands!” Victoria cried out, exulting in the power of her god as it made her stronger, tougher and quicker (5).  She charged at Lormax, but he stepped aside at the last minute, and within the reach of her spear, forcing her to step back again.  She grunted as another arrow lodged itself in her scale mail. The other half-orc, called Orlec, was still on the stairs.  A touch from Laarus and Victoria felt some of her wounds begin to heal.

Telémahkos moved in to help keep Lormax on the defensive, whipping his magical rapier back and forth, menacingly.

There was a flash and the smell of brimstone, and suddenly a reddish-brown furred wolf appeared and charged at Falco, pulling the scout off his feet and savaging him some.  Lucky for him, Bleys was suddenly there, having come to his senses before he had gone very far, and able to pull a long sword from his horse on the way back to make up for his dropped saber.  He drove the fiendish wolf off of Falco, allowing the taciturn scout to crawl away and get to his feet.  A moment later, despite still being  _enlarged_ the wolf managed to drag Bleys off his feet as well, worrying his ankle.  Bleys Winter yanked his foot free and leapt to his feet, chopping down on the fiendish wolf with his sword.  Coppery steaming blood dribbled on the hardened earth from the beast.  It backed off as Laarus stomped over, flail above his head, to join this melee.

Markos stood back; lending his own bolts to those Tymon kept sending into the fray.

Desperate and penned in, Lormax raised his bow again, taking aim for Victoria, but this left him open to her spear thrust, which pinned him back even as he let the arrow go.  There was a metallic pop and then a sickening sound wet sound, as the arrow drove itself into her abdomen at a strange angle.  Immediately, she clutched at her side instinctively as her muscles tore. Blood began to gush down her legs. (6)  Lormax put another arrow to his bow to try to finish her off, but cried out as Telie’s sword bit him deep, and he was forced to withdraw.  Victoria was oblivious to the pain and tears streaming down her dirty face, still filled with the righteous fury of Anhur, and thrust her spear at the fleeing half-orc, but the attempt was futile.

Tymon finally braved balancing over the wooden beams, and joined the melee, long sword drawn.  He grit his teeth and moved towards Orlec to discourage him from sending more arrows at Victoria and Telémahkos.  Markos, realizing the battle was too chaotic to hope to use his crossbow anymore, drew a dagger and moved over to help pen in the wolf, which was bleeding sorely from a particularly brutal blow from Bleys.  Another, and it disappeared in a puff of smoke as it died.

Dunlevey charged into the fray, out of breath from his long run in fear and the run back. Looking around to see where he might be most needed, he headed over to Telémahkos and Victoria.  A moment later, his great sword had cleaved Lormax’s head open, and the half-orc was dying.

Orlec suddenly dropped into a roll and leapt away, trying to flee around the corner of the keep along the inside ledge of the moat.  Telémahkos gave chase, as did Markos, Falco and Dunlevey.  Victoria of Anhur moved to chase him as well, but the little she moved was by force of will alone; trailing a slick of gore.

Laarus called to Ra to _calm emotions_, hoping to relieve her of her rage, and allow them to see to her wounds, but her will was too strong. (7) But something inside of her must have sensed the danger, for a half a moment later, she shuddered and the bright shine of determination left her eyes, and she collapsed, increasing the speed at which she bled to death.  Bleys immediately got down on his knees beside her with his healing kit and went to work, and Laarus did what he could to aid the well-rounded watch-mage, not having any helpful spells remaining.

Around the corner, Telémahkos, Dunlevey, Falco and Tymon pursued Orlec.  Telie stepped over a ceramic potion vial that the half-orc must have dropped. Markos moved around the corner and stopped. Seeing the shattered clay, he suddenly realized that perhaps the potion he carried (8) might help Victoria, and he walked over to feed it to her while Bleys and Laarus worked to bandage her.  It did some to knit the strained muscles of her abdomen, but the wound continued to bleed (9).

“I surrender,” Orlec cried out, holding his short bow over his head when he realized he was surrounded, but Telémahkos stabbed him anyway.

“Hey! He surrendered!” Dunlevey complained, frowning.  The half-orc took the moment’s distraction to tumble out of the ring of foes and scamper along the wall and around the far corner of the keep.

“He didn’t drop his weapon!” Telémahkos replied, by way of explanation, going after him.

“He may have a potion!” Markos called, coming back to the corner.  “We need it for Victoria!”  

Telémahkos poured on the speed, and stopped short of the corner, and flicked his rapier at the half-orc and drew blood.  Orlec had hardly fallen, when the young son of House Briareus began to search him, running back with another ceramic vial.

This one was fed to Victoria as well, and for a moment the bleeding of her wounds slowed, allowing Bleys time finish his work before she died. (10)

“The witch has fled upstairs,” the watch-mage said with a hint of anger in his usually placid voice, looking down at the critically wounded militant.  “Let’s go…” He turned to lead the way up.

*End of Session #10*

----------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) The half-orc fumbled, getting this result: _11 – 25 Slip. Make Reflex check vs. DC 15 or fall prone._ He made his save.  For all the possible fumble effects, click here.

(2) In Aquerra, you are _not_ limited to the five examples listed in the PHB, but can attempt any one-word command with DM approval. The target must understand your language and recognize the chosen word for the spell to function.

(3) This is just a way of describing a very small hit point loss.

(4) In Aquerra, coming back from negative hit points by any means other than full rest means that you are _exhausted_ until you rest a full hour, and _fatigued_ until you rest 8 full hours (though the first hour can count against this if there is no interruption).

(5) Click here to read about the _righteous fury_ ability, and the three aspects she activated at once, holy invigoration, holy might, and holy vigor.

(6) This is the nastiest critical I have ever seen anyone take and not die:  _86-87: Apply Crit Multiplier +1 to Total Damage (and armor DP damage) – Reflex Save (DC 10 + ½ damage) or Impaled Through Abdomen, -15 to Speed, 2d4 STR damage, 1d6 DEX damage, 2d4 bleeder._

(7) Victoria made her save against the spell, as she was in her _righteous fury_, she could not willfully fail her save.

(8) This potion was found in Kraken’s Cove. See session #7.

(9) This was a _potion of lesser restoration_.  While it healed some of the ability damage Victoria took from the critical hit result, it could not actually close those wounds.

(10) This was a _potion of aid_.  The temporary hit points gave Victoria enough time before she would have to make checks against dying for Bleys to finish stabilizing her.  For the rules regarding how death and dying works in Aquerra, click here.


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## darkhall-nestor

Nice post LOVED the combat


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## el-remmen

*Session #11 – “Strange Brew”(part 1 of 2)* (1)

Bleys the Aubergine charged up the stairs, his deep purple cloak whipping behind him.  He had retrieved his saber, and Dunlevey was close on his heels.  Telémahkos crept as quietly as he could up the stairs behind them, hoping the sound of the two that proceeded him would mask his approach.  Laarus of Ra and Markos went upstairs as well, passing the cautious blond, and leaving Tymon and Falco to watch over Victoria.

At the top of the stairs a narrow corner led to a wider hall that led up to the front of the keep.  Bleys stood looking at the various wooden doors along the hall, and considering the iron-reinforced one at the end of the hall.  Light was coming through the thatched roof that was clearly not original to the structure.

“What next, Master Bleys?” Dunlevey asked, still wearing his perpetual smile, despite half-orc blood being smeared on his face and clothes.  The watch-mage simply put a finger to his lips and looked up.  Now Dunlevey heard it, too.  Something was skittering and hopping around on the roof.  As Telémahkos joined them, Bleys pointed to him and then pointed to the bar on the second door on the right, and then walked towards the end of the hall.  He kept his saber ready and pointed towards the thatched ceiling which he easily reached with is blade due to his _enlarged_ size.

The thing above made some more noise, and again everyone stopped, Telémahkos listening at the first door on the right, before moving on to the one Bleys has indicated.

“What! Wha-wha-Whaddaya want!” came the screeching voice of a raven above.  

“Well…” Telémahkos addressed the bird. “Now we’re here to collect the booty you left behind after making the biggest mistake of your life…” He was obviously continuing the ruse. (2)

“Witch! Show yourself and we will make your death a quick one!” Markos tried to sound intimidating, but all he won was a smirk from Telémahkos.

The raven crowed and then fluttered away, even as Markos cast _enlarge person_ on Dunlevey, so now two hulking forms crowded the narrow keep hallway.  The hired warrior stepped over to where Telémahkos was listening at the barred door, and reaching down ripped the bar from the doorframe with his big hands.  The door squeaked open and Telémahkos rushed past the large man.

“Ah! Now I see!”  Huddled in one corner of this room bare of all but a bucket and a straw mat was the bound and gagged form of white-haired old woman with cheeks like pruned apples and spider-web skin on sharp bones.  “So, how much is getting this prisoner back worth to ya?” Telémahkos called up to the roof, even as he kneeled down to whisper in Rudwilla’s ear. “We’re here to rescue you.  We were sent by the Ray-Ree.  Don’t make any sound yet.” He gestured with a finger to his lips to reinforce his point, and then removed her gag, and began to untie her.  She wept silent tears as she rubbed the burns on her freed wrists.

“If you’re still here we’re going to take your treasure, your hostage and then burn this keep to the ground,” Telémahkos called out again.  “Feel free to try to dissuade us…”

“Any suggestions about this?” Telémahkos continued to whisper to Rudwilla as he worked on the ropes about her ankles. “Can you help us fight her off? Kill her if necessary?”

“I… I am not prepared,” Rudwilla replied quietly.

Meanwhile, Bleys tried using his increased weight to kick the door at the end of the hall open, but ended up falling on his rear end when it resisted.  He stood and dusting himself off, braced himself against the opposed wall and gave a sudden short kick that crushed the door, so that a four-inch gap was visible along one side.  Dunlevey squeezed in beside him, and on a count of ‘three’ they smashed the door off its frame, and they heard the clang of the metal bar within the room.  Bleys charged in as it fell, looking around quickly and suddenly noticing the open slat in the large boarded window across from the door, he hurried to look through it.  This had been where the party has first had arrows rain down on them when the battle began. (3)

Dunlevey went into the room and looked around.  Aside from a cot and a footlocker, the only thing in this room of note was large stone table covered with interesting items, including the makings of an alchemist’s lab.

“What now?” Dunlevey asked, stepping over to the footlocker.

“We should get her out of here,” Laarus said, squeezing through the doorway as well.  Markos stepped around the  _enlarged_ priest, and began to examine the items on the stone table.  It was clear that the primitive nature of the laboratory set made easy travel with it out of the question. (4)

“Admentus sent you?” Rudwilla asked, coming into the room with Telémahkos her common thick with an accent.  She was clearly walking with some effort.

“Yes, and it seems the witch that abducted you has gotten away,” Bleys replied.

“Could she have turned into that bird?” Telémahkos asked.

Rudwilla shook her head. “Familiar… And you are right, met with overpowering force she will have fled, likely invisibly…  We need to see if she left the ingredients for the brew somewhere about…”

Dunlevey went to check the long room on the left as they came up the hall, while Laarus went back down to the others.  Bleys the Aubergine meanwhile had knocked the boards out of the window and used his magically increased height to easily climb down. He was worried that the _invisible_ Hezra, or one of her here-to-fore unseen sons, might abscond with their horses.  Making a quick circle of the ruined keep, he noticed a here-to-fore unseen secret door in a rear hall behind the stairs that now stood open.  He called to Falco, who checked for tracks as Bleys gathered the horses.

"Someone did flee through the moat, but their tracks are quickly obscured," Falco said, as he came over to the watch-mage.

Upstairs the others were checking the remaining room which was some form of barracks, with cots pushed together, and sacks of semi-rotten food, and crumbling holes in one corner where the half-orcs defecated.  There were some footlockers there, and Telémahkos warned the others to stay clear of the one in the laboratory while he checked the others.  He and Dunlevey collected some odd treasures from the lockers (5), and then he came back to check the larger locker for traps. 

Telémahkos rubbed his chin for a long time as he stared at the lock, and then examined it with a small glass he produced from his sash.  Finally, with a sigh, he took out his picks and went to work on the lock. It opened with a pop, and he finally exhaled, and confidently threw it open.   He looked away and towards the others gesturing at the clothing and other trinkets in the locker.  “Search away!”  And then he felt something crawling on his arm, and with the mounting horror that stretches a moment out into an hour, he turned his head to see a skeletal hand leaping at his exposed neck.  Its sharp finger bones tore Telie’s throat and he shrieked in an unmanly way, brushing at it wildly.  It angrily snapped the piece of wrist still connected to it by rotted sinew.

Markos was suddenly beside Telémahkos, stabbing at the disembodied hand with a dagger.  Or at least, where Telémahkos _had_ been, for the blond noble scrambled away as quickly as possible, punctuating each step with another girlish shriek.  Dunlevey stepped up and smashed down at the little thing with his _enlarged_ great sword, but it was too small and quick to get a good bead on. 

“Step back! Give me some room, Markos said, withdrawing and pulling some components from his belt pouch.  Dunlevey took another swing that went wide, and then took a long step back.  The hand however, moved too quickly.  Before Markos could get a spell off, it leapt at him and tore at his face.

“Ugh!” Markos cried, slapping it away.  “Get this f*cking thing off me!”

“Dunlevey! Get it! And don’t listen to Markos again!” Telémahkos commanded the hireling, making a show of bringing Ruwilla to squat behind the stone table in relative safety.

The now-hulking swordsman rushed forward and caught the skeletal hand with the tip of his sword, sending it flying across the room and against the wall.  The hand bounced back, and then leapt right at him, but he was able to knock it away with the flat of his blade, before it clawed him.  This time the slightest chip of bone was seen to fly off of it.  Dunlevey stepped back again, hoping that he had a better chance of hitting it when he had a clear view of it coming, rather than right atop of it, but the space was enough for Markos.  The small mage cast his spell, and an arrow of green bubbling liquid came flicking out of his hand, and landed squarely on the tiny undead thing, sizzling.  The acid wore away the bone with great speed, and soon nothing was left but a stain on the stone floor.

“Boy! It sure is a good thing that Dunlevey chose to listen to me,” Markos commented, glaring at Telémahkos as he got up from behind the table. Telie ignored him and wandered off, still bleeding from his many small wounds, hoping Laarus could help him.  Dunlevey followed.

Outside, Bleys had gathered all the horses, and soon after the others came down as well carrying whatever valuables they had scavenged from the place.  This included two of the three ingredients needed for the brew.

Rudwilla kneeled beside Victoria and put two fingers to the militant’s temple, and chanted some unrecognizable words.  A moment later, Victoria Ostrander was sputtering awake.  Her body pushed to exhaustion, she just sat and took long ragged breaths.  She would still be weak and slow for some time to come. (6)

“Assuming we are now done here now, I say once the honorable militant has recovered sufficiently to travel we go back and see to the making of this brew,” Bleys told the others.

“Yes, but we should burn this place down,” Telémahkos suggested.

“It is a well-built stone keep, despite the damage it has taken, “ Bleys said.  “It would take time to raze it properly, and besides, would it not be better to have places such as these available for repair, than to have to build new keeps when the time comes to reclaim this land of Thricia?”

Telémahkos grudgingly saw the wisdom in the watch-mage’s reasoning, and Laarus agreed, mentioning that the keep’s standing also served to preserve Thrician history.

--------------------------------------

Evening was not far away when the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland finally approached the Ray-Ree camp.  Rudwilla of the Toadstools rode with Victoria.

Timotheus Smith, still looking a bit pale, but lacking the glassy eyes of bog flu, was among the Ray-Ree children and elderly that came out to greet them. He was the only one smiling and waving as the taciturn barbarian people merely nodded in acknowledgement of their arrival. 

“Glad to see you are feeling better,” Markos managed to say without disdain.

“Yep! But you all look like you weathered a bit of hell,” Timotheus could not help but smile, glad to see them all among the living.

Timotheus and Admentus were quickly informed about the status of their mission and the escape of Hezra, and then continued on to Rudwilla’s cottage in the moors to guard over her while she completed her work.  Since he was feeling better, Timotheus was able to rejoin the party.

Back at the cottage, they found Tora crying, as she had been unable to retrieve the baby lemons needed for the brew, for more of the ‘lightning tails’ had been hovering in that area.  It was decided that Timotheus, Falco and Laarus would accompany Tora back to the lemon trees while the others remained behind to guard Rudwilla as she started her work, helping to bring the brewing casks from their hiding spot to the cottage.

Luckily, there were no monsters of the sort to be found in the area when Tora led them to it, and they were able to return unmolested.  Rudwilla would work through the night, as the party took turns watching as the others rested.


Ralem, the 22nd of Quark - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The night was long and filled with sounds foreign to the Signers, and while on watch they listened nervously to hear any approach over the cacophony of frogs and insects, but no sound ever came.  As dawn picked its way through the mossy canopy of the moorlands, Laarus and Victoria prayed for their spells, while Falco and Kermit watched.  The others were sleeping still.

Laarus Raymer granted Ra’s healing graces to Victoria and Telémahkos, while Victoria did similarly with Markos and Falco, as everyone awoke and prepared for the day.

Bleys and Markos had hardly sat down to prepare spells, and Telémahkos was leading Tymon outside to keep watch while the others had breakfast, when they heard a bellow from out in front of the cottage.

“I’ll bring you out some breakfast,” Telémahkos was reassuring a sad-faced Tymon, when they heard a guttural voice cry out, “Rudwilla! Rooodwiiiil-uh!”

The horses, all tied up to the left of the house, nickered nervously as three large humanoid figured walked up onto the island, past the animal pen.  

“Roooodwiiil-uhhhh! You best have brew!” the voice came again.  Marching towards the cottage were three hairy goblins broad of shoulder and over six feet in height.   The center one was particularly fat and wore a huge skin wrapped around his torso, outside of his poorly fastened chain shirt.  He had bloodshot eyes, and his sandy-brown hair was twisted into long dirty naps all over his body.  The other two bugbears had some girth to them as well, and they were studded leather ponchos tired with chain belts.  All three had big spiked clubs.

_…to be continued…_

----------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	This session was played on Sunday, June 24, 2007.

(2)	See Session #10 for the reasons behind the ruse.

(3)	Again, see Session #10.

(4)	This primitive alchemist’s kit weighed in at 120 lbs.

(5)	Amid various random coins were found a stack of old lover letters that were clearly stolen or found, some torches, flint and steel, silver arrow heads, and other various doo-dads and junk.

(6)	Victoria was still suffering from strength and dexterity ability damage.


----------



## el-remmen

I edited the last installment to add some minor details that I had forgotten about that were pointed out to me by one of the players.

Nothing crucial, but still added for the sake of completion.


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## el-remmen

*happy birthday, ciaran!*

*Session #11 – “Strange Brew” (part 2 of 2)*

Telémahkos held Tymon back from the doorway and ducked to one side, as Bleys came forward being led by Rudwilla, who looked annoyed, putting her fists to her hips as she stood in the doorway in her leather apron.

“Bruggah! You know you are early!” She yelled at the chief of the Blood-Eye with confidence.  The bugbear stepped forward, and it was suddenly clear from his stagger that he was more than a little drunk. His lieutenants seemed a bit tipsy as well.

“Bruggah get brew when Bruggah want!” The chief demanded, his broken common made harder to understand by his drunken slurring.  “Bruggah know! Bruggah decide! Bruggah Chief!”

“It is not ready,” Rudwilla replied with disdain.  “So either wait, or go ahead and attack and never get it again, no matter what happens!”

Bruggah cried out with great anger, and shook his morningstar above his head, but then lowering it to the ground just as suddenly with a loud belch, he said, “Bruggah wait…” He sat down to chug the last of what was left in his skin.

Satisfied with herself, Rudwilla turned and went back to her work.  “Aren’t you going to invite him in to watch?” Timotheus asked her, a smile on his face.

“No!” Rudwilla did not even look at him.

“Why aren’t we just getting rid of this bugbear problem for them again?” Timotheus asked Bleys.

“These bugbears act as a buffer between these lands and worse monsters beyond their hill,” the watch-mage explained.

“BRUGGAH! JASH APSHAI JASH SPISHOO LOXXO GUND!” (1) The voice came from outside, to the left of the doorway on the other side of the small island from where the horses were tethered.  “JASH APSHAI ORMUGAH TASH!”

Suddenly, from all directions about the front of the island there rose large desiccated ants, each about five feet long. Their shells were cracked and empty of flesh, their pincers sharp and bony.  They began to converge on Bruggah, who was still squinting trying to get a view of who had called out to him in the goblin tongue, not having bothered to get up out of the muck yet.  “Ish Mulcrod!” Bruggah said.

“Rudwilla!  We are looking to you to know if we should get involved!” Telémahkos called to the witch, who had come back to the door to see what was going on.  

She shrugged, “If Bruggah is killed there is no telling what will happen to the political situation…”

“Oh f*ck this!” Timotheus swore, and ran out to intercept one of the skeletal giant ants, and cracked the shell of one with his morningstar.

“Bruggah! I offer you aid on behalf of the Ray-Ree, should you choose to accept it!” Bleys called as he hurried out of the door, even as Laarus took his place there.   Bleys moved to his right and was suddenly started by a figure in his peripheral vision.  He turned in time to see an ugly humanoid with a look that made no doubt he was of Hezra’s brood.  The half-orc smiled, as he slapped the horses, now untied, crying out “HEE-YAH!” to send them into the chaos of the battle in fear.  Bleys stumbled back to avoid the possible stampede, even as Falco stepped beside him to let an arrow loose at the half-orc, missing.  The half-breed snickered and drew back towards a tree in one corner of Rudwilla’s property.

“Anhur! Make me your good right arm!” Victoria prayed for _bull’s strength_ as she hobbled out the door, spear in hand.

Hearing the militant, the watch-mage called to her, “Victoria! Hezra’s last son awaits over here!”

“Dunlevey! You stay with Rudwilla.  Tymon, help Bleys!” Telémahkos gave orders as he hurried out among the horses, hoping to grab his own and have the undead ants ignore him.  Dunlevey went back into the cottage to stand by in case anyone got through, while Tymon loaded his crossbow and moved towards Bleys. Markos joined Dunlevey, crossbow in hand, having not had a chance to prepare spells.

 It was clear that the bugbears’ drunkenness would interfere with their prowess, as they moved with exaggerated anger, breathing heavy as their morningstars struck the muddy ground more often than their ant targets.

“What in the Nine Hells is going on?” Timotheus called out to no one in particular as he crushed the body of one of the undead ants.  He started jogging towards another, but taking a roundabout way to look around for where the other goblin voice has issued from.  Suddenly, he felt the tingle of magic washing over him, as his limbs were momentarily brushed numb, but he shook it off.   “Magic! Who the f*ck did that?” He looked around wildly.

“May Ra calm the hearts of these steeds!” Laarus chanted, casting a spell, which caused most of the horses to immediately slow down, as their fear fled.  Telémahkos leapt atop his own, hoping to get a better vantage point to spot whoever had summoned the undead, and had tried to cast a spell on Timotheus.  Seeing that the horses, were now going to move away from the combat as quickly as possible without panicking, Laarus of Ra grabbed hold of his holy symbol and called out to his god, “Ra! Smite these creatures with your holy light!”

Light exploded from Laarus’ symbol, bursting like a wave in all directions.  The three bugbears grunted their drunken complaint at the light, but three of the ants crumbled to dust as the light washed over them.  The priest of Ra continued to glow, a hemisphere of daylight surrounding him.

Meanwhile Victoria of Anhur had hurried around the corner of the cottage as fast as she could despite her lingering wound and the weight of her armor.  Spotting the retreating half-orc, she called after him in challenge.  “You! Where is your bitch of a mother?” 

The son of Hezra banged his axe on his shield, roaring for her to come towards him, and to punctuate his summons, he hefted the axe at her.  Victoria felt the weight of the axe slam into her chest, the worst of the blow absorbed by her armor, but it was still enough to disrupt the spell she had started to cast.

“I won’t fall for your trying to get me close to the tree and whatever trick you have in mind,” Victoria replied, and she called to Anhur to grant her a _spiritual weapon_ that would fight at a distance.  A glowing spear appeared hovering in the air next to the half-orc.  It thrust forward, but he raised his shield in time as he drew his battle-axe.

From behind the tree appeared a reddish-brown furred wolf and it charged at Victoria, acrid stream rising off its body.  Falco let an arrow fly at the wolf but it missed, while Tymon let a crossbow bolt go at the half-orc, nicking him, as he stepped into it to avoid an arrow from Bleys, who like Markos was without spells.

The young mage was at the doorway of the cottage, watching the melee. Kermit has slipped out past him on Duckhunter to attack one of the ants. Markos called back to Dunlevey.  “Block the doorway so no one unseen can come in and threaten Rudwilla.” And with that he started to jog towards the left of the house to join the fight against the wolf and the half-orc, crossbow in hand.

Telémahkos tried to ride down one of the undead ants, but failed to compensate for how low to the ground it was and missed.  Catching sight of Timotheus, he turned the horse in that direction.  The Briareus cousin was charging towards another bugbear that had sent a javelin flying at Tim’s back as he tried to help Bruggah and his lieutenants with the ants.  

This bugbear stood at the edge of the island, a few feet from the mucky water of the moors, a few feet deep at first step. He wore a leather tunic and his brown fur was dyed black.  About his neck was an elaborate necklace made of bones encrusted with precious gems. He held a morningstar in one hand, and as Timotheus approached he could see the other was twisted and black, ending in an ugly, but powerful looking pincer.  He moved around deftly as Timotheus charged, and they circled each other.

“There’s a bugbear shaman over here!” Telémahkos cried out as he rode to join his cousin, and Laarus began to walk with purpose in that direction.

“_GOONDA LOXXO!_ the bugbear shaman, Mulcrod, chanted as he stepped away from Tim, and he began to grow in height and girth. In less than a moment, he was over thirteen feet tall and his morningstar was nearly as long as Timotheus was tall.

“Tim!  We gotta hurry up and kill this thing!” Telémahkos cried as he rode by, stabbing at Mulcrod with his lance, but the bugbear knocked the weapon off-line with his own.

“I’m working on it!”  Tim swung his flail, but each time the bugbear stepped out of the way with a snarl.  With one step, the shaman flicked his morningstar across his body to the right, and caught Timotheus full on in the face; only the fact that the bastard-born warrior wore a helmet protected him getting a spike in the skull.  Driven to the ground, he looked up in time to see Mulcrod’s pincer grab him tightly about the neck.  Timotheus coughed and pulled himself up, swinging out as he stood.

“I’m gonna take it out on your kneecaps!” Timotheus coughed, as he stuck with a bone-crunching blow to Mulcrod’s leg.  This exchange gave Telémahkos time and room to spin his horse around and come in from the water side and flank the bugbear shaman, but the goblin seemed an adept warrior, and continued to knock away or avoid his blows.

“Tymon! Falco! Shoot the wolf!” Bleys let an arrow go at the half-orc, who was drawing his battle-axe, but the son of Hezra raised his shield blocking the arrow.  Unfortunately for him, this left him momentarily open for Victoria’s spiritual weapon, and he cried out as it drew blood.  Sensing an opening, Falco fired at the half-orc as well, but missed.

“Falco didn’t listen! Falco didn’t listen!” Tymon tattled in a whiny voice as his own bolt missed the wolf he was instructed to aim at.  The wolf changed directions and went for the arriving Markos, nipping at his ankle, as the young mage pulled away with fear on his face.  It snapped at him again as he put distance between himself and the fiendish animal.

Bleys let another arrow fly at the half-orc, and it barked with pain and anger, jogging around to the other side of the large tree in that corner of the small island.  Victoria of Anhur wasted no time in having the _spiritual spear_ move over and attack the wolf, striking it deep to draw steaming blood that look like smelt copper.

It bit at the militant, but its teeth could not get a good grip around her greaves.

Unable to watch the battle and not take part, Dunlevey yelled to the retreating Markos to watch the doorway into the cottage while he ran at the wolf, great sword in both his hands.  He chopped down, cleaving it in the  back, and it disappeared with ‘pop’ and a puff of smoke.

“Many thanks, Dunlevey,” Victoria said with a fatigued sigh.

As Bruggah finally smashed one of the undead ants, allowing him to step over to aid his lieutenants, Telémahkos’ horse was whinnying in despair, as Mulcrod’s morningstar caught it on the flank.

“You goblin bastard!” Telémahkos swore, pulling his war-trained horse away.

Mulcrod grunted as he spun around to deal with Timotheus, who had used the momentary diversion to get in a solid blow on the bugbear’s hip.  Tim reared back so the shaman kept moving, swinging his morningstar at the horse again, missing.  However, when Telémahkos turned his horse, he left his flank open and he felt the tight pinch of Mulcord’s twisted pincer on his leg and he cried out in agony as he felt flesh tear.

“_Dosh crah’sh Apshai bloondich art et et coss!_” Mulcrod taunted him, though Telémahkos could only make out a few words (2), as he leaned over on his horse in agony, feeling blood pour down his leg.  Thankfully, Laarus finally made the long way around the fray and was able to reach up and heal Telémahkos as he called out to Ra.

“Dunlevey! Go aid Timotheus,” Bleys commanded, as he moved to a position to shoot at the now fleeing half-orc.  His arrow and Tymon’s final bolt both missed as the son of Hezra leapt into the brush, and Dunlevey ran across the melee in time to see Bruggah and his lieutenants destroy the last two remaining ants, and Timotheus smash Mulcrod in the face with his flail.  The shaman showed fear for the first time, and backed away. 

Bruggah, Chief of the Blood-Eye Bugbears, walked towards the cottage door with what passed for sober purpose suffering a few wounds from giant ant bites.

“Bruggah take brew now!” he said.

“The brew is not ready,” Markos gulped, being the only one between the brutish drunken hairy goblin and the inside of Rudwilla’s hovel. He pointed to his left.  “There are still combatants to be dealt with.”

“Little boy!  Bruggah will add you to his pen to go with girl,” Bruggah said.  “Now Rudwilla give brew to Bruggah!”

“Hold Bruggah!” Victoria said sternly, limping over to block the doorway as well.  “You will get your brew in due time…”

Kull and Grug, the bugbear lieutenants, walked over to stand at either side of their chief.

Mulcrod stepped back to avoid another blow from Timotheus, and right into the point of Telie’s thrusting lance.  The bugbear shaman dropped unconscious, immediately aspirating swamp water.

“Role call!” Victoria called out.  “Where is everybody?”

“All clear!” Timotheus said, lifting Mulcrod’s head out of the water to slit the monster’s throat.

“Hezra and her son got away again,” Bleys complained as he came around the cottage.  

Seeing the fight was done, Bruggah rethought his aggressiveness and went over to see Mulcrod’s body, passing Timotheus going in the other direction.  As Telémahkos, who had dismounted, turned the corpse over, Bruggah leaned over and tore the jeweled necklace from the shaman.

“Mulcrod dark insect god weak!” he said.

It took another three hours before the brew was ready, but Bruggah waited with the occasional pitiful grunt. In that time, Timotheus expressed his dismay when Markos and Victoria mentioned Bruggah’s reference to his ‘girl kept in a pen’. 

“If the bugbear numbers are small enough we should attack them,” Timotheus suggested.  “At least to free the girl, even if we do not kill them all in order for them to still act as a buffer…”

When asked, Rudwilla said that she thought the girl was Hezra’s daughter, though she would not be a girl anymore, as she was carried away over twenty years ago in the time when the deal was first made with the bugbear chieftain.

“Hezra’s daughter?” Telémahkos scoffed.  “Why risk our lives to rescue her if she might try to kill us herself?”  He shook his head.

Finally, Timotheus helped Rudwilla pour the brew into eight huge skins that were then handed over to Bruggah and his lieutenants.

“Bruggah return before winter for more brew… Double batch!” the bugbear chieftain said by way of good-bye, right after sampling the brew right away and burping happily.  He allowed his lieutenants the slightest taste each.  And with that, they left.

Rudwilla thanks the young nobles for their help by awarding them a large clay jar filled with the equivalent of seven _potions of cure light wounds_.  Timotheus was happy to drain some flasks of foul spirits (by drinking them) to make room for the potions, so they might be divided among the group.

“Do we have to worry about the witch returning?” Markos asked Rudwilla, but the corpulent witch shook her head.

“Not any time soon,” she said. “My guess at what happened was that she informed Mulcrod the shaman about the absence of the Ray-Ree warriors, perhaps knowing somehow that that he planned to challenge Bruggah for leadership of the tribe, and daring him to come command more brew was a way of doing so. Mulcrod probably figured he could take Bruggah by surprise far from the rest of the Blood-Eye, not expecting a group of adventurers to be involved. Know Hezra, she probably did not tell him, played down your prowess, or accepted your ruse at face value, and did not know of your involvement until they came here.  Regardless, now that most of her sons are dead and her ally is too, she should not be returning until she has had time and opportunity to hatch some other plan…”

Satisfied by the response, the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland rode back to the Ray-Ree village that afternoon.

“It would explain Hezra’s resentment of the Ray-Ree and Rudwilla if they did nothing to help the girl when Bruggah took her, and continued to exchange this brew for peace,” Timotheus said as they rode.

“Gifted, not exchanged… The Ray-Ree do not purchase anything… Please try to remember,” Bleys said.  “We can ill-afford to insult our hosts.”

“If Hezra’s sins must be paid for by her daughter, then so be it,” Victoria said. “Ever have children had to bear the sins of the parents.  It is the will of the gods that it should happen that way.”

Timotheus rolled his eyes.

They had dinner with the Ray-Ree that night, though the fare was much leaner than the time before.  Scraps of aurochs meat crusted with salt in some flavorless unidentifiable yellow mush.  Two old women clucked over Timotheus in their bizarre tongue, looking at the whites of his eyes and touching his forehead.  He smiled and shooed them away, drinking many cups of the fermented goat’s milk.

Afterwards, they met with Admentus in the meeting hut, and drank more of the stuff.  He thanked them for their aid and reiterated that the party was allowed to stay as long as they needed and may leave their horses here while they explored the King Stones.

Timotheus asked about Hezra’s daughter.

“She was orc-blooded too, the first of Hezra’s foul brood,” Admentus said.  “She lived on the outskirts of the village until she was seven or eight summers old…”

“Do you care to have her rescued?” Markos asked.

Admentus’ brow furrowed.  “Rescue here?  It matters not to us, but I doubt taking her from that life now would be a _rescue_…”

“Is that enough for you?” Markos turned to Timotheus smarmily.

Timotheus nodded.

“We would like to ask you more about the Moor Tombs,” Bleys said to the First Elder, but it appeared that Admentus knew very little of them, and recommended visiting the monk, Brother Cineas at the Mounds of the Ray-Ree.

At their own camp made beside a shack set aside for them, they fell to discussing their next move.  Bleys Winter wanted to explore the Moor Tomb and look into the retrieval of the amulet, and Laarus and Victoria agreed.

Telémahkos was against this, fearing the Moor Tomb would be too dangerous, having avoided being penetrated all these centuries.  Markos felt ambivalent about the tomb and was more curious about the ‘_box of wands_’, and so voted to go to the King Stones.

Timotheus thought it over. “At the very least we should visit Brother Cineas and see what he has to say about the moor tombs before we make our final decision…”

Bleys, Victoria and Laarus agreed to this compromise.

“As much as I want to go kill a bunch of goblins and I don’t like the idea of some trapped tombs, retrieving the amulet is probably more important, and the more pious thing to do…” Timotheus added. 

Telémahkos sighed and glared at Tim, “Can I talk to you privately for a moment?”  He took his cousin to just out beyond the doorway of the shack, as the others saw to their things and unrolled blankets and bedrolls.  Bleys, however, paused by the doorway and noticed Telémahkos standing with a hand way up on his tall cousin’s drooping shoulder. The blond Briareus was punctuating his points against going to visit the monk.

“All we need is for some crazy monk hermit to mention something that will get the priests all up and arms and then they decide we _have_ to go to these tombs… Tombs I have no desire of seeing now that I have once again been so well reminded of my own mortality…” he said, fervently.  “Laarus is a zealot, and we have to consider that when making these decisions… We might learn that going there is certain death and yet they will feel the need to go there all the more because of something said by the monk… We have to keep these scenarios in mind!”

Timotheus sighed and walked back into the shack.  “I change my vote… Let’s just go to the King Stones…”

“What? Are you not your own man?” Bleys said, his disdain for Timotheus evident on his usually placid face.

“I… Yes, I am…”

“It certainly doesn’t seem like it, if your cousin can tell you to change your vote and so you simply do,” Bleys replied.

“He changed his mind of his own accord,” Telémahkos said, walking in with a smile.

“Oh fine! We’ll go to the Mounds…” Timotheus threw his hands in the air, acquiescing once again.

*End of Session #11*

------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	The voice called out something along the lines of “The dark insect god will swarm over and devour your weak corpse, Bruggah!”

(2)	Telémahkos understands the hobgoblin tongue, and thus can make out a few words of the more primitive goblin dialect.


----------



## el-remmen

Just a note that I added about a paragraph of exposition from Rudwilla that I had forgotten about.  It is after the battle with Mulcrod.



> “Do we have to worry about the witch returning?” Markos asked Rudwilla, but the corpulent witch shook her head.
> 
> “Not any time soon,” she said. “My guess at what happened was that she informed Mulcrod the shaman about the absence of the Ray-Ree warriors, perhaps knowing somehow that that he planned to challenge Bruggah for leadership of the tribe, and daring him to come command more brew was a way of doing so. Mulcrod probably figured he could take Bruggah by surprise far from the rest of the Blood-Eye, not expecting a group of adventurers to be involved. Know Hezra, she probably did not tell him, played down your prowess, or accepted your ruse at face value, and did not know of your involvement until they came here.  Regardless, now that most of her sons are dead and her ally is too, she should not be returning until she has had time and opportunity to hatch some other plan…”
> 
> Satisfied by the response, the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland rode back to the Ray-Ree village that afternoon.


----------



## handforged

I finally caught up again.  School starting has a way of taking time away from pleasure reading.  And quite pleasurable it was.  Both of the fights were exciting, and I am enjoying the delicate politics of this foreign area.  The promise of the keep being revived as a stronghold of Thricia definitely sounds exciting.  Thanks again Nemm.

~hf


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## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> I finally caught up again.  School starting has a way of taking time away from pleasure reading.




Having started on my second semester of grad school, it also takes away from the pleasure of wriitng this thing and preparing for sessions. 



			
				handforged said:
			
		

> And quite pleasurable it was.  Both of the fights were exciting, and I am enjoying the delicate politics of this foreign area.  The promise of the keep being revived as a stronghold of Thricia definitely sounds exciting.  Thanks again Nemm.
> 
> ~hf




Thanks for reading.  I am glad you are enjoying.  

Each of the next four sessions have fights in them.


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## el-remmen

Hey all!

Perhaps it is bad form to bump your own story hour, but if I don't do it, who will? 

Anyway, look for an update this weekend as I will be posting all of Session #12 in one fell swoop. (_EDIT: Actually, looking over the installment again, I decided to break it into two parts_)  However, I plan to continue with my method of not post a session until the one after it is already written in full.  Yes, that means that #13 is already written, but it also means that it won't be put up until I can say the same for #14.

I hope you're all enjoying it.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #12 – “Choices. . . Choices. . .”* (1)

Isilem, the 23rd of Quark - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Morning found Timotheus Smith pale-faced and sweaty once again.  He had a relapse of his bog flu, and the old women of the tribe hustled him back to the pest shack to be fretted over and fed strange sickly sweet purgatives and an incredibly spicy tea.  Once again his noble companions were forced to go on without him. (2)

“You know, the only reason we are down here is because we can’t think of anything better to do,” Markos said, commiserating with Telémahkos about not wanting to go see Brother Cineas.  The blond noble nodded quietly.  “These pearls of power (3), or whatever they are, are much more intriguing, don’t you agree?”

Again, Telémahkos nodded, still fuming a bit about this journey to the Mounds of the Ray-Ree despite a night’s sleep.  He dreaded what would come of it.

They approached the moat about the area of the mounds on horseback, led by Kermit on Duckhunter, and found the island it held was shielded from view by a circle of tall swamp pines.  Looking beyond they could see the long earthen mounds, some as long as forty feet and as tall as fifteen, raised up on the slope of a hill.  However, the very top of it was obscured by a steep depression.

They could see the moveable wooden bridge on the other side, sticking out from behind some trees.  It looked heavy, and the deep round impressions in the earth on their side attested to this.

“Falco, get us across,” Laarus said to the hireling, and Falco frowned.

“And how should I do that?” he asked.

“You are the scout, you are supposed to know,” Laarus replied, evidently unimpressed with the question and Falco’s attitude.   “Wade in if you have to…”

Falco walked over to the edge and began to examine gap, but made no other obvious move to obey. The barrier was five or six feet deep before coming to the sludgy water of unknown depth. 

Sighing, Telémahkos fetched a rope and grappling hook from his horse and a moment later affixed it to a tree on the other side with a deft flick.  He fastened the other end to the saddle horn, and had Tymon hold the animal still as he shimmied across the taut rope to the other side. After quickly examining the well-constructed wooden bridge (it looked as if it were meant to be carried by four men), he crept further past the tall trees.  He noted that the mound covered island did not simply taper up towards the center and have one depression at the top, but rather there were two more dips concealed tiny manicured gardens of small trees and brushes flanked by smaller mounds.  Just at the edge of his sight, he could see a man fighting a loping figure with yellowed nacreous skin and stringy black hair.  The man was tall with sinewy muscle. His head was shaved save for a small braided tuft at the back. He wore a black tunic and a long brown kilt that wrapped around his waist, along with long beaded chain holding a silver ankh emblazoned on a black jackal's head at the end.  He fought with wide circling kicks, and close rapid punches, staying out of the range of the undead menace.  A second figure was charging out from behind a mound at the monk.

Telémahkos hurried back and took the grapple from the tree.  Dragging the bridge over he attached the grapple to one of the supports underneath, and called for Tymon to have the horse pull.

“The monk is in trouble!” He called over in a hissing whisper.  He stepped to one side as Bleys, Dunlevey and Falco galloped over the bridge once it was in place, and then Tymon brought him his horse which he mounted.

“I don’t know what those things are!” Telémahkos cried out to others, as Bleys let an arrow fly from his long bow and it bit into one of the mounds.  The watch-mage brought his horse around to the right, while Dunlevey slowed his, not sure if charging down the embankment through the trees was the best idea for one with his limited equestrian ability. Victoria of Anhur, however, had no such trepidations, and charged right into the fray on Ironside.  Unfortunately, one of the jaundiced creatures, naked and streaked with grave dirt, turned as she arrived, ducking the spear blow and clawing the horse’s flank.  The militant of Anhur steeled herself for her horse’s reaction to the wound, but instead it was rigid and an unmoving, its eyes open and not blinking.

“Unholy fiend!” Victoria swore, leaping off her paralyzed horse.  She drove her spear deep into the ghoul and it snarled, clawing the spear away.  Such a blow would have easily killed a normal man.

“What allies are these in my hour of need?” the fighting monk said, looking at Victoria, as he kicked the other ghoul back and fell back into a crouched fighting position.

Meanwhile, both Falco and Dunlevey were surprised by ghoulish figures emerging from the trees.

“Falco! To me!” Telémahkos called, fear in his voice.  He was hanging back still not far from the bridge, with Tymon not too far away either, held back by his master’s will.  

But Falco did not obey.  While Dunlevey had withdrawn from his opponent to better prepare his defense by dismounting, and readying his shield, Falco whispered with a tone known to those practiced in the arcane arts.  “Shu, I call on you to obscure the air with the mists of the highlands…”

Suddenly, a swirling mist burst out from his position, obscuring the area about the tree he was beside and the ghoul that was attacking him.

The ghoul Dunlevey had withdrawn from, decided to run at the still mounted Bleys instead of chasing the hireling, but the watch-mage easily pulled his horse’s head away to avoid the wild thing.  This one had long thick black hair crusted with blood, and wore woolen rags tied all over its body covered with weeping sores. 

“Ra! Use me as your vessel and reveal your power to these monstrosities!” Laarus of Ra called out, holding his ankh-emblazoned sun holy symbol aloft.  Most of the ghouls began to flee, except the one reaching for Bleys’ horse again. Dunlevey ran at it, chopping down at it with his long sword, but over-extending himself as it leapt back more deftly than he had imagined it could.  An arrow from Kermit, who had finally come over the bridge upon Duckhunter, lodged in the ghoul’s back.  (4)

Laarus turned his horse and drove it back toward Bleys, dismounting to aid with the one that had flouted Ra’s will.

“Are you alright?” Victoria asked the monk as the ghouls fled.

“I will be better once these creatures are destroyed!” He replied, charging after one of the undead.  His blow missed, as it leapt at the last minute, falling into a roll.  It climbed back onto its feet, and continued its run.  

That ghoul followed another into the muddy gap around the area of the mounds and soon they floundered and disappeared leaving behind large bursting bubbles.

“They may eventually make their way out the other side, but they will not return again so soon,” the monk said to Victoria, as they watched them sink.

The remaining ghoul had been quickly surrounded, and penned in by Laarus and Telémahkos, it was unable to avoid Dunlevey’s devastating blows.  He sliced hunks of bug-infested flesh from the thing, and it fell into a jiggling pile of congealing mess.

As they gathered to greet the monk, Telémahkos leaned over to Falco.  “I did not know we had a devotee of Shu among our number…” he said, with a sly nod.

“You don’t,” Falco replied curtly, walking off to retrieve his horse, which had sent out of the mist just as the ghouls had fled.

After thanking the young nobles for their aid, the monk introduced himself as Brother Cineas. 

“We are from Thricia,” Bleys said, with respect in his voice for the young monk’s station.  “We have been staying with the Ray-Ree and gifting them our aid.” He introduced himself and the rest of the party.  Cineas bowed low to Laarus of Ra, and gave an extra respectful nod to Victoria.

“Are you often beset by these creatures?” Victoria asked.

“They seem to have grown more brazen since my return from the convocation,” the monk replied. “It was when I was a boy that that a party of adventurers penetrated the seal that closed the portal to the kingdom of the ghouls… Since then, the Devoured Town might be more aptly named the ‘Town of Devourers’.”

“Yes, we were hoping we might learn more about this Devoured Town, and about the Moor-Tombs beyond the Ickle Trick,” Bleys said. “It is for this reason we have come…”

“Yes… I imagined it must be something like that, even when I was a young novice here learning with Master Oneidas, did adventuring bands such as yourselves come and seek out my master for his lore of the area,” The monk bowed again.  “Come with me and we shall share tea and discuss the matter.”

He led them to a very small cottage carved of limestone that was not common to this area.  Within its cool and barren confines, he brewed tea atop a tiny stone stove, and poured them some in cracked cups.  He ripped a loaf of bread apart with his hands to make sure everyone had about the same morsel.

The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland were disappointed with what they learned from Brother Cineas.  He knew little more about the King Stones than they did, as he considered those tombs defiled and plundered long before he was ever born, and beyond his ability or that of the Ray-Ree to reestablish or maintain.  He knew nothing specific about the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville, and warned them against trying to use the bridge out of the Devoured Town.

“Many stalwart groups have entered the ruins of that town well-armed and none have ever returned, well… None save the priest of Bast,” (5) Cineas said. “There are bound to be many powerful items there, brought by those groups, but the items did not seem to help.  Those who come seeking more them seem to ignore this fact…”

“How else can we cross the Ickle Trik?” Bleys asked. “How wide is it?”

“Wide?” The monk frowned.

“Yes, wide… Can we swim across?” Bleys continued his questions.

“Its width varies, but it is a strong and deep current.  You will be unable to cross unless you can… Perhaps conjure a boat…?”

“Well that leaves that out,” Telémahkos said.

Markos shook his head.  He had learned a spell at his recent stay at the University of Thricia that allowed him to conjure a boat. (6)

“Cineas, let me ask you, this tomb of Dalvan, would it not violate Anubis’ laws to penetrate it?” Laarus asked.

“He and his followers were known as necromancers. Their tombs are not consecrated and need to be razed,” the monk explained. “There are many in there, and in these past centuries some have been destroyed, andstill others have sunk into the loam to never be seen again.”

“But not the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville?” Bleys asked.  He opened the map that Malcolm the Bronze had given him.

“I do not know.  I have been to the moors, but have not seen it,” Cineas looked at the map.  “Ah! The masks.  I know of the masks. . . They are stone obelisks marked with masks… They lead to a stone spire deep in the moors.” (7)

“What else can you tell us about the moors on that side of the Ickle Trik?” Bleys asked.

Cineas warned them about something he called ‘the Cult of the Mummies’.  He did not believe they were true mummies, but could not eliminate the possibility that they were still undead.  “They may only be a tribe of men who dress as such, or some other creature entirely…”

Bleys explained that they were seeking an amulet holy to Fallon, and Cineas agreed that was a worthy goal.

“Would you like to accompany us?” Bleys asked.

“My duty is here,” Brother Cineas replied.

Not too much later the young nobles were riding back to the Ray-Ree village.  Nothing had convinced them of the need to seek out the Moor-Tomb immediately, and Telémahkos and Markos voiced their preference for exploring the King Stones.  Laarus and Victoria agreed to going there first, and Bleys remained silent, knowing his own will had been overruled.

_…to be continued…_ 

-----------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This session was played on July 8, 2007.

(2) Ciaran, who plays Tim, was unable to make it to the session.

(3) Despite being told that “pearls of power” refer to a specific kind of priestly magical item, Markos persisted on using this term.

(4) Corporeal undead have DR 5/ slashing.

(5) Readers of the “Out of the Frying Pan” story hour might have realized this is a reference to Roland Eremecia of Bast and one of the scenes from that campaign’s session #101.

(6) _Conjure Boat_

(7) _Click here_ to see the Moor-Tomb map.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #12 – “Choices. . . Choices. . .”(part 2 of 2)*

Osilem, the 24th of Quark - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

After spending another night at the Ray-Ree village, Bleys, Laarus, Markos, Telémahkos, and Victoria marched eastwards towards the King Stones.  They were led by Kermit and Duckhunter, and accompanied by Dunlevey, Falco and Tymon.  Timotheus was still ill.

The horses were left with the Ray-Ree, the barbarians ‘gifting’ them the care thereof.  Kermit warned them that the horses would leave them vulnerable to predatory attack if they were left tied up in the wilderness, and their strong scent would make their camp more attractive to monsters. The halfling would lead them to a fairly sheltered campsite where he could find them again, as he would be returning to the Ray-Ree village to lead Timotheus to them once the tall warrior was feeling better.

The land here was similar to that around the ruined keep at the old borderlands (1). It was a dry craggy plain broken up by the occasional mud pond surrounded by scrubby trees.  Ra’s Glory was unrelenting, and while Kermit led them by shaded routes whenever possible, the opportunities were very few, and despite a two hour break under some trees and being hounded by Kermit to drink lots of water, before night fell most of them were suffering from heat exhaustion. (2) They barely said a word as they stripped off their armor and lay atop their rolls, panting.  Kermit would take the first watch and would wake a pair of them later to take over, but they would be leaving before the sun rose again in order to get as many miles covered before they could be so afflicted again.


Tholem, the 25th of Quark - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The young nobles of the Charter of Schiereiland waited for the noontime hours to pass before preparing to try their luck in the area of the King Stones.  They had arrived mid-morning to a close copse of trees that provided shelter and was isolated enough from other such copses to allow anyone approaching to be seen at quite a distance.  From here they could see the silhouette a shady watering hole about six or seven hundred yards away.  Kermit explained that fresh water could be gathered there in the daytime, but that monsters and wild animals came there for water by night, so to approach it warily.

He pointed to the dark outline of the rising landscape to the south.  “There is the gorge of the King Stones,” Kermit said before leaving. 

Before beginning their explorations, Bleys asked Telémahkos to bring out the map they had gotten from Joezyn Barhyte (3), and they lined it up to their approximate position.

After a surprisingly brief discussion, they decided to go around the caves in the gorge and climb up to the forested hill above in search of the Flar’choo goblins and the legendary ‘box of wands’. (4)

“If we are here for anything, let it be this ‘box of wands’ that we may use its contents for further good in our home lands, otherwise we are naught more than raiders” Laarus had said, and Bleys agreed, as Telémahkos and Markos rolled their eyes behind the priest’s back.

They went over to the watering hole area and found that the muddy pool was fed by a spring and flanked with spears holding the skulls of some kind of small rat-like humanoid.

Falco found sign of a goblin trail and he led them south from there. They marched southward and after a mere half hour they were climbing the gentle slope to the hill, and could see the sudden depth of the gorge off to their right.  It disappeared along with the rest of the landscape into a thick forest of curling brown leaves and yellowing grass.

“This place is really dry,” Falco warned.  “We should be careful with any fire for fear a setting the whole forest ablaze.”  The scout led them along a narrow trail that eventually ran parallel to the eastern side of the u-shaped gorge, and they reasoned that after a couple of miles into the woods they would not be far from the lookout marked on map.  A fork in the trail they followed seemed to back up this supposition. Falco checked for tracks again and told them that there was frequent travel in both directions by small feet, most of it turning south there.  As they assumed the lookout was to the right, and so they decided to go that way.

About a mile and a half later he put a hand up to signal the others to stop.  He was close to forty feet ahead and signaled to Bleys that he saw one figure by pointing to his own eyes and then holding up a finger.

A lone goblin was standing behind a large tree at the edge of a sudden drop. It was about four feet tall, but stout. It had ruddy orange skin, and a big head with a broad face. It was dressed in leather armor studded with bone, and wore a small wooden helmet decorated with a piece of bone as well. The nobles and their retainers quietly fanned out.  Telémahkos and Bleys creeping forward with Falco, while Laarus and Victoria waited a bit further back not far from Markos and Dunlevey.  Tymon readied his crossbow as everyone did their best to be ready and get into defensible spots.

Bleys held back as Telémahkos went around the left flank and Falco the right, both noticed a second goblin appear from the cliff edge.  They knew then that there must be some trail just beyond and out of sight, and they guessed it led to the lookout marked on the map.

With a nod, Telémahkos and Falco let arrows fly, and in a flash both goblins dropped, but the second one tumbled back over the edge, sending up a stream of blood and a plume of dust.  There was a cry of alarm from below, and as Telémahkos hurried back towards Bleys, the others hurried forward, readying for any more goblins to appear.

The next goblin to arrive poked his head up carefully as he climbed up to the edge, and took a crossbow bolt to the chest from Telémahkos.  The creature bellowed, but miraculously was alive, trying to draw an arrow to its own bow.  A bolt from Tymon and an arrow from Bleys flew over its head caused it to duck as it loosed an arrow at the watch-mage.  Bleys leapt aside, startled.  A shot from Markos’ gnomish crossbow, as he stepped up beside the mage, sent the goblin to the ground, even as another appeared, with a companion right behind it.

“Dookaloo!” They cried in alarm.

Telémahkos fired again, but when this shot missed, he dropped his crossbow and hurried into the chaos of battle, rapier drawn.  The latest goblin to arrive tumbled back down with one of Bleys’ arrows in its throat.  While the other leapt aside to avoid the worst from one of Falco’s arrows, only to step into the arc of a spear hurtled by Victoria as she charged in.  Laarus came around the other side of the large tree and smashed the skull of yet another goblin that had thought to make its way up a bit further along the edge.  Its brains were splattered against the tree trunk. The priest of Ra swung his flail and sent gray droplets in all directions.

Now the last four goblins had made it over the edge in the mounting chaos, decided that perhaps it was best to flee back the way they came.

Two readied spears to cover the retreat of the other two, but one of those was cut down with one heavy blow of Dunlevey’s great sword.   Markos let a bolt fly into the other, and Victoria moved in to drive it back.

Bleys sent an arrow after one of the fleeing goblins, but missed, Tymon having better luck with the other.  A javelin from Telémahkos finished it.

Flicking the corpse of the goblin she had skewered out of her way, Victoria ran up to the edge of the drop off.  She could now see that the path wound its way down through thorny bushes and rocky outcroppings to the plateau overlooking the gorge of the King Stones.  The plateau itself had a few bushes growing in the muddy ground that covered it, and the scattered remains of what must have once been great statues of black stone, clearly not indigenous to the area, were also visible. (5)

Victoria saw the remaining goblin, ducking and bobbing as it hustled down the path.  

“There it is!” Victoria called, pointing with her long spear awkwardly with one hand as she reached to her back for a shorter one to throw.  Telémahkos hurried over and flung his last javelin, and it yelped as it clipped the top of its head, shattering the piece of skull on his wooden cap. Less than a moment later, it stumbled as Victoria’s spear bounced painfully off one of the bone studs on the goblin’s armor, but it recovered and continued to run.  

Telémahkos tumbled over the side and began to give chase, but an arrow from Falco caught it in the side of the head and it finally fell.  Not wanting to waste his effort, Telémahkos continued down to check out the lookout stealthily.

He stopped and stooped to pick up a small bow and a quiver of matching arrows from the dead goblin, and was startled when he heard Bleys’ voice right behind him.

“Do not be alarmed. I am using a spell that allows us to whisper messages back and forth unheard.” The watch-mage was at the top of the embankment, talking softly into his cupped hand.  “Describe to me what you see.”

Suddenly there came from the plateau a steady drumming, punctuated with rapid triplets after a seeming random number of beats.  Telémahkos crept around the last outcropping and looked around the wide plateau.  He described to Bleys what he saw:  the small bunches of bushes, and the shattered black stone torso of a statue that must have once been twenty feet tall.

“I hear drumming,” Telie said.

“Yes, we hear it, too,” Bleys replied, as the sound was echoing out over the gorge and through the forest.  “Do something about it…”

It was hard to tell where the drumming was coming from at first, but then, noticing how one of the small bushes wavered, Telémahkos raised the small goblin bow and awkwardly fitted one of the small arrows to it.  He gave a quick silent prayer to Bes and let the arrow go. 

The tiny thing sliced through the air in a perfect arc, ending with the mortal grunt of the unseen goblin. Telémahkos hurried over and pushed the branches aside to reveal his goblin arrow deep in the eye of a goblin with a now bloodstained drum on his lap. Telie smiled. (6).

“Done!” he replied to Bleys. 

Quickly looking around the watch-post camp, Telémahkos found little of interest and nothing of value, so he hurried back up the winding path to the others.

“That drum was echoing all over the place,” he said. “There are probably more coming…”

Reasoning that whatever additional goblins were on their way must come from the other side of the forked trailed, they hurried back in the direction in hopes of setting up an ambush.

*End of Session #12*

---------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This was where the party fought Hezra and her sons. (See Session #10)

(2) The party had all taken non-lethal damage and were fatigued or exhausted from the march through the incredible heat of the area.  Remember, it is mid-summer.

(3) To see the map click here.

(4) Bleys the Aubergine learned of the ‘box of wands’, from Garkhan the Green, watch-mage of Weirspierogen.

(5) On the party’s map of the King Stones, the nearly illegible writing on it near the “lookout” area, said “broken statues’, though they were originally not sure if it might say “broken stairs”.

(6) Telie’s player not only got past the 50% miss chance for the concealment of the bush, but also rolled a critical hit result, killing the goblin drummer instantly.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

“Dookaloo!”?



This Story hour keeps getting better and better 


Now that I have started my own thread I realize that it better to get any feedback than no feedback 

So thaks for your hard work


----------



## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> “Dookaloo!”?




No, more like *DOOKALOO!!!!*



			
				darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> This Story hour keeps getting better and better
> 
> Now that I have started my own thread I realize that it better to get any feedback than no feedback
> 
> So thaks for your hard work




Thanks for the thanks.  

I have been working on Session #14 instead of schoolwork   this weekend.  So I hope to finish it by Monday night sometime so then I can start posting Session #13.


----------



## el-remmen

Wow, Session #14 is taking longer to write than I thought it would. I am on page 10 of it and have not even gotten to the big fight at the end of the session.  I may not get to post anything until Friday of this week, or Thursday night at the earliest.


----------



## handforged

Maybe Telie's amazingness with the bow will give him some more confidence in upcoming fights, but I kinda doubt it.  Heat exhaustion is a nice touch.  Looking forward to the "big fight!"

~hf


----------



## Rastfar

> ...amazingness with the bow...




I've been gaming for 13 years.  That was easily the most incredible crit that I've ever seen.  

Oooh, and don't forget his 'amazingness' was with a _goblin_ bow (improvised weapon).  Hahahaha. 

I'm glad he's on our side......


----------



## el-remmen

Rastfar said:
			
		

> Oooh, and don't forget his 'amazingness' was with a _goblin_ bow (improvised weapon).  Hahahaha.
> 
> I'm glad he's on our side......




Not improvised, just a size smaller, so he suffered a -2 to his attack roll.  Still impressive, but not quite -4 for improvised.  Then again, a Nat 20 is a Nat 20, no matter what your penalty.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #13  – “Massacre at the King Stones” (part 1 of 2)* (1)

“I heard something,” Victoria said, suddenly raising her hand to silence everyone.  Well, not everyone.  The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland had set up an ambush along the goblin trail, just north of the fork they had taken to the left and to the plateau lookout just a couple of hours before. (2)  It was just that they took a long time deciding exactly where everyone should be positioned, and what the signal would be for action, and what constituted too many goblins and a quiet retreat rather than an attack.  To further complicate matters Markos wanted to be sure everyone understood how the flash of his _pyrotechnics_ spell would blind everyone if a signal was not created specifically for the casting of that spell, but no one paid much attention to him.

He walked back towards his spot at the rear of the line with Falco, mumbling.  “You know…” He called back. “I have a perfectly good tactical resource to use against multiple foes and no one gives a sh*t!”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t bark insults at people all the time, people would be more apt to listen to you,” Telémahkos snapped back, and then caught himself, wincing at helping to provoke an argument.  Markos came walking back, and soon Laarus and Victoria had walked over to Telémahkos’ hiding spot in the wedge of trees and thicket and the four them were discussing the details of the ambush plan once again.

Bleys was standing about twenty paces away up the trail behind a large tree, with Tymon crouched before it.  Dunlevey was across the trail from where the others had gathered to continue their debate, and he heard the crunch of leaves and a snuffling sort of sound.  Victoria heard it, too.

“I heard it, too!” Telémahkos replied to the militant with a shrill whisper.  He shooed them away.  Everyone hurried back to their spots, and Markos found Falco waiting in his.  He crouched behind the tree the scout hid at.

“What is happening?” Falco asked, breaking his usual silent demeanor.

“We heard something… Like a dog, or a wolf… I think the goblins are coming…” the piratical mage replied.

“Ra, let us smite these evil creatures and show them your bright justice,” Laarus of Ra murmured in preparation for coming battle.

Dunlevey and Victoria spotted a bobbing head approaching through a wide brush strewn area of the trail.  It wore an iron helm, and moved with an odd gait.  The sellsword looked to the militant, pointed to his eyes and then held up one finger.  She nodded her acknowledgement and turned to apprise Laarus of the approaching humanoid in a similar way.  The priest of Ra turned to look at Tymon, on the other side of the trail, on the north side of the fork, but the servant was crouched way down with his head ducked, shaking with anticipation of battle.

As the goblin came into full view around the bushes, it became clear why it seemed to move so strangely.  It rode a crouching wolf that pulled itself along on its belly as it sniffed the ground. There was a small saddle made of hide, but no reins. The goblin rode with its knees pinched tightly, a small bow on its lap. The wolf stopped on the trail not too far past Dunlevey, and nearly up to the point where Victoria would be clear into view.  It had left Telémahkos’ hiding spot behind, and while he craned his head to keep it view, it turned around. He froze, noting that it was a strange looking wolf, squatter and broader, with pug snout and charred black fur.  Suddenly it began it emit low yowls and grunts, and Telémahkos froze.  The wolf was not a wolf at all, but a _warg_ like those he had often heard stories of as a child.  It was speaking its crude form of the goblin tongue to its rider.

It turned back around; seemingly satisfied that there was nothing behind it, but Telémahkos was not so sure he had not been noticed on the wind that was blowing up from the south.  

Dunlevey must have thought the same thing, because he suddenly burst out of his hiding spot and ran at it.  Victoria of Anhur, happy to begin the battle, charged out as well, and the warg deftly crouched back, drawing its mount out of the way of the militant’s long spear.  And then she was on the ground, the warg pulling her ankle out from under her and worrying her calf.  She struggled to get up, and saw the mounted goblin smile as pulled an arrow back, taking aim to fire point-blank at her prone form.  She narrowed her eyes in determination, happy to meet her god, if this were it… But it was not her time; the arrow was loosed and buried itself into the dirt inches from her face.  The warg’s sudden movement to avoid an arrow from Bleys’ bow had sent the shot awry.  The watch-mage hurried up the trail, and Falco ran behind him, letting loose his own arrow, which flew over the combat harmlessly.  

Telémahkos crept out to the middle of the widened portion of the path to look and see if any more goblins were coming.  

The warg and rider sidestepped as Dunlevey tried to pen the monster in, and then it dashed through the thick brush towards the other trail past the fork, avoiding a desperate thrust from Victoria as she stood.  It began to howl.

“Tymon! Kill it!” Bleys commanded as he hurried towards the other trail and let another arrow fly.  The servant, who was now the closest to it, ducked out of the tree and fired his crossbow.  The bolt was lost in the dry foliage.

Markos pulled back the handle on his gnomish repeating crossbow as he moved over to the other fork, but as he fired, Victoria came bursting through the brush after the warg, spear held out before her as she ran.  The small bolt lodged itself deeply in the skirt of her mail, bruising her thigh. (3) However, it did not stop her, and the warg yelped as her spear scraped its hindquarters, drawing blood.

The warg turned quickly back to the original trail, hurrying through the area Telémahkos had once stood as the goblin cursed at it in their tongue.  Laarus moved to block its path, while Victoria and Dunlevey gave chase with Tymon right behind them, hopping awkwardly as he tried to reload his crossbow. 

“You can’t kill even one of these?” Telémahkos complained hurrying from where he had been keeping an eye out for more approaching goblins to stab the warg with _the Steel Whip_, now that the melee was close to him once again.  The warg yowled and sped back towards the fork, the goblin astride it ducking Dunlevey’s sword.

“It’s over here, Master Bleys!” Tymon cried out, sending another bolt into the dirt as the warg sped past his view.  The watch-mage paused and stepped back, but there was no clear shot until Dunlevey and Laarus crowded it back in his direction.  Again the warg cried out with its wolfish voice in gobbledeegook as Bleys’ arrow punctured its front leg, and then fell out with violent rush of blood.  It spun around again, and the goblin shrieked in fear as it noticed Falco step up.  The goblin fell off the warg, the arrow through its chest.

Relieved of its rider, the warg yelped and made a dash down the trail to the north, in the direction the party had first come from.

“May Ra stop this dark beast from informing the other vermin of this wood of our presence!” Laarus chanted, and a golden beam of light flashed out of the sky, burning into the fur of the warg.  It screamed a disturbingly human scream, and its sudden stumbled betrayed the fact that the _holy light of Ra’s Glory_ had also blinded it.

Falco turned as the warg bumbled past him, and let loose an arrow that buried itself in the scraggly knot of fur at the nape of its neck.  The warg continued to flee as fast as it dared, desperately moving from left to right, and painfully scraping the side of a tall rock as it went past it.  Telémahkos and Bleys hustled after it.  It turned still confused and blind and then yowled again, as Telémahkos thrust his magical rapier deeply into its side.  Again it took off towards the north, but by this time Bleys the Aubergine has scrambled to the top of the tall rock for a better vantage, and just when it seemed the warg would get away, the watch-mage’s arrow pierced its skull and it tumbled in the dirt, splattering the brown leaves with its blackish blood.

Meanwhile, Victoria of Anhur was up at the left fork, where the trail widened, on the look out for more goblins.  She took the time to call to her god and close some of her wounds as she waited.

“One god forsaken scout,” Telémahkos complained, as Tymon wandered about the area of the battle collecting what bolts and arrows he could, and Laarus marched up to join Victoria.  She pointed ahead as he reached her, and stepped to the right to stand behind a tree.  The priest of Ra noticed the top of two goblin heads creeping from bush to bush from the same direction the warg-rider had come, and he turned and signaled the others, holding up two fingers.  Markos and Bleys were the first to noticed and passed the news back, as the latter crept forward.

“Tymon, stick with Falco and fire when he does,” Telémahkos told his servant, and Tymon obeyed, theough Falco glared at him as if to say, ‘you are too close.’  Dunlevey moved up towards the front of the line, his armor ringing with every step, causing everyone to cringe instinctually. 

“_Materia maxima!_ Markos cast and suddenly Dunlevey began to grow, his head sand shoulders stretching high above the brush line. 

“Dookaloo!” The goblins cried, and now the sellsword could see that there were many more than two goblins in that area, as they raised their bows to aim for the new large target.  He took a giant step to his right and crouched behind a tall rock the best he could, so the goblins all trained their bows on Victoria instead.  She leapt back and forth to avoid them, but one caught her in the forearm.  She winced with pain and withdrew deeper into the brush to prepare for the second part of the battle.

“Anhur! Battle is upon us!  Prepare my companions and _bless_ their efforts!”  All those around her, felt the reassurance of divine energy guiding them to victory.

Markos moved forward near Falco and Tymon, as the latter ducked out from behind a tree to take a shot at the only goblin visible from their position. He missed.  Markos pulled a torch and with a magic word it was lit up. (4)  Falco turned and hissed, “Remember what I said about the dry state of the forest!”

“It is only one torch,” Markos replied with disdain, rolling his eyes.  Falco sneered.

The goblin archers advanced.  They wore small wooden helmets, and leather armor studded with polished knucklebones.

“We’ll circle around,” Bleys whispered to Telémahkos, as the two of them were hidden along the southwestern fork, and he began to cut around the brush to get behind the goblins.  Telémahkos, however, did not quite obey, spying his heavy crossbow and bolts not far from where he had been originally hidden, and from where Victoria now stood, he crept over there and picked them up, hoping he remained unseen, but his hope did not come to fruition. As a group of five goblins armed with spears came up from behind the archers swarmed around Victoria, ducking out of the way of her longspear, one of them bumped into the hidden noble. With a cry of alarm it spun around and thrust its spear.  Luckily, the suddenness of the attack, caused it to go offline, and Victoria was able to knock the curtain of spears around her out of the way with her own, keeping the goblins at bay.  She was able to withdraw enough to call upon Anhur once again, this time to grant her _bull’s strength_.

Laarus hurried forward, ducking arrows from the line of goblin archers.  The priest of Ra was doing a quick count of how many he could see.  Five archers before him, five spearmen around Victoria, and at least another five moving in from further down the trail.  He heard Falco cry out behind him as a goblin arrow clipped him as he advanced, Tymon running behind him.  The portly servant complaining, “I’m supposed to stay with you!”

Dunlevey’s loping steps took him over to the militant of Anhur to aid her.

“_Materia maxima!_ Markos cast again, and this time Laarus grew to nearly thirteen feet tall, drawing another cry of fear and wonder from the goblins.  The diminutive mage then ducked behind the rock, calling to the group. “When next I call upon magic, eyes forward!”

The priest of Ra’s pale grim countenance, grew all the grimmer as he stepped up to smash a goblin archer with the increased reach of his flail, now larger than the goblin target itself, but the archer hopped back, and it and its companions sent a flurry of small arrows to pierce the priest’s armor, drawing many tiny lines of blood.

Bleys moved into the clearing behind the battle, firing arrows into the fray as Telémahkos finally joined him.  The blond noble tapped the watch-mage on the shoulder and pointed to the south, there, just behind one of the branches obscuring the rest of the goblin trail, was another rider upon a warg.

“It took six to take one down before, and now there are only two of us,” Telémahkos sighed, trying to hide the fear in his voice with exasperation.  

The battle raged on the trail and in the brush.  Dunlevey cleaved one of the goblins in two, but again and again tiny arrows rained on the warriors and priests, ringing against their armor, drawing bruises and blood.  Laarus managed to smash another into a pulp with one heavy blow, taking advantage of their moving back bit by bit in order to fire on him without leaving themselves open.  They could not move fast or carefully enough.

“Now! Everybody!” Markos warned.  “He leapt atop the rock so that all the goblins might see him clearly, holding his lit torch over his head and called out, “_Pyroclasticus lux!_” (5)

The torch flashed brightly, even as it went out and suddenly there was a great cry from many of the goblins. They were blinded.  Unfortunately, Falco, Dunlevey, Tymon and Telémahkos were blinded as well.

“Master! Master! I can’t see!” Tymon cried out.

“What’s going on? What happened?” Falco said, an uncharacteristic note of fear in his rarely heard voice.

Dunlevey swung his great sword around wildly.

Telémahkos spun his blade around defensively, the _Steel Whip_ humming.  

“Just stay down,” Bleys said, wary of Telie’s weapon.  He let an arrow loose and a nearby goblin dropped.

Victoria of Anhur skewered a goblin near her, who while not blind, was startled by the flash and left itself open to the attack.  She flicked the little crumpled body off the end of her spear towards a blind goblin that was spinning around and shrieking.  Others were trying to withdraw more calmly, but ended up tangled in the brush, complaining to each other in their guttural tongue.

“Stay calm! It’ll last less than a minute,” Markos called to his blind companions as he made his way through the chaos.  He squeezed an adder’s stomach in his right hand and then clapped it against the powdered rhubarb leaf in the left.  An arrow made of pure acid flew from his hands and struck the goblin atop the warg.  It screamed, and the scream was echoed by the line of withdrawing goblin as the _enlarged_ Laarus stepped into their line, cleaving through their midst with his flail, crushing bone and sending sprays of goblin blood in high arcs.  Victoria was making her way through the line of goblins near her as well, stabbing one, and knocking it into another.

The warg took off down the trail, dropping its rider, who lay quiet for a moment, but then exploded into a sudden writhing pain that made it stop moving for good, as the conjured acid finished its sizzling.

“Right in front of you, Telémahkos!” Bleys warned his friend, as he dropped his bow and drew his saber, slicing the face open of the approaching goblin.  It was blind as well, and it shrieked, not knowing what hit it.

Telémahkos thrust his rapier in that general direction, missing terribly.

“Dunlevey! Move towards my voice!” Markos called to the hireling to get him away from danger, and behind some brush.  

“I still can’t see!” Dunlevey said, as he stumbled in that direction.

As their vision came back, Falco found himself crowded behind the rock with Tymon.  “Out of my way, fat boy,” he sneered, as he headed back into the fray, putting an arrow to his longbow.

“That’s not nice!” Tymon whined, giving chase now that he could see.

“Ah-ha!” Markos cried out, thrusting his dagger at an injured goblin, just as its sight came back.  He cut it, but it did not fall.

“Damn it, Markos!” Telémahkos cried, and thrust his rapier through the goblin’s neck. As it fell, he turned to the mage. “Can’t even deal with a blind goblin…”

Eager to get back to fighting, Dunlevey rushed at the remaining goblin spearman.  It thrust at him in a panic.

“Let it live!” Markos called to Dunlevey. “Telémahkos!  Tell it we’ll spare it!”

“Yes!” Bleys joined in.  “Tell him to put down his weapon…”

Telémahkos barked at the goblin in the hobgoblin tongue, comparing it female genitalia and threatening to cook it on a spit.  It dropped it spear and crawled over to Telémahkos, kissing the noble’s feet.

_…to be continued…_

--------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Session #13 was played on Sunday, July 29th, 2007.

(2)	See Session #12.

(3)	Markos fumbled. The result was _Reflex save (DC 15) or hit friend, half damage._

(4)	_Pretidigitation_ can be used to light a torch as a _standard action_.

(5)	This spell is _pyrotechnics_.


----------



## handforged

At least Markos is trying to be helpful. <grin>  Although I had a little trouble figuring out where everyone was during this thing with the multiple trails, I enjoyed the more challenging run in with the goblins.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> At least Markos is trying to be helpful. <grin>  Although I had a little trouble figuring out where everyone was during this thing with the multiple trails, I enjoyed the more challenging run in with the goblins.
> 
> ~hf




I don't know if this will help, but the battle took place along a narrow trail running basically from north to south, with a fork at about 45 degrees on the south end, splitting southwest (to the lookout where the first goblin fight was) and to the southeast.  The latter widened a bit, but was obscured by lines of bushes before narrowing about 45 feet beyond (this was where Telie and Bleys were fighting the warg-rider near the end.  Between the two forks wa a wedge of trees and brush, with enough of an open area to allow hindered movement between the two branches of the forking trail, which was where the first warg and rider were running round and round in circles being chased.

The tall stone that Bleys climbed up on was at the north end of the trail.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #13  – “Massacre at the King Stones” (part 2 of 2)*

“_You speak the tongue of the masters!_” It said in its own language, groveling.  Telémahkos gave it a hard kick to the face and it fell back sniveling.

Laarus gathered the bodies with the help of Dunlevey and Tymon, while Telémahkos stripped them of anything of value after having bound the captive goblin.  In the end they had slain sixteen goblins and one warg, but only collected a few handful of worn copper coins, some of which were Thrician, but others were very worn and unidentifiable.  They covered the pile of bodies with some brush.

It was agreed to return the grove they had made camp in and recover from their wounds.

As they made their way back, dragging the goblin along, it chided them in its tongue.  Telémahkos could only understand some of it, but was certain he was threatening them with being overtaken by another patrol of goblins.

“Shut your hole!” He shouted and punched the bound goblin again.  It whimpered, but was quiet when he raised his sandaled foot again.

Back at the grove, as the others cleaned off their clothing and armor, or rolled out their bedrolls in order to stretch out for a bit, Telémahkos did his best to interrogate the goblin.  The differences between the hobgoblin tongue and gobbledeegook made it difficult.

“It is a miracle that goblins can communicate with each other at all,” he complained to the others, noting that the goblin’s stupidity and willingness to lie didn’t help either. 

“How many goblins are in your tribe?” he asked.

“Many…many…”

“How many?”

“More than hand and one and hand and one and foot and foot,” the goblin nodded quickly. 

Telémahkos sighed. “It does not know numbers,” he said to the other.  “I am guessing it is saying its tribe is more than twenty-two or so… But I think that was a fair guess regardless…”

Question regarding the Tuk-Tuk also yielded no new information to the blond Briareus. He could not even confirm that they were a tribe of kobolds, but he reinforced his displeasure in true hobgoblin style, slapping, punching and kicking his captive whenever an answer did not meet his satisfaction.  

After an angry exchange, Telémahkos grew quiet and then asked a question again, and then rewarded the reply with another kick.  He turned to the others.

“It may be lying, but it mentioned something about its tribe having been visited by hobgoblin messengers or ambassadors… Something like that… From the far north… It called them the tribe of ‘the Sleeping Lizard,’ and they were seeking to recruit them…”

“Sleeping Lizard?  Could that be the Hobgoblins of the Blue Claw?” Laarus asked. 

“I fear so, and it matches it up with news we heard of a passage from Westin-Scherp Muur to the south that those hobgoblins were using,” Telémahkos replied. (1)

“How long ago did they come?” Bleys asked.

Telémahkos fell to trying to communicate with the goblin once more, growing more and more frustrated, and thus abusive.  No one else seemed to care about the treatment the goblin was getting, though Dunlevey and Falco fell to watching the perimeter of the grove in case any monsters approached.

“They are still there,” Telémahkos finally said to the others. “But it almost impossible to tell how many there are.  I guess, five… If that is what it means by ‘one hand’… But it’s so stupid, who knows…?”

Some more wrangling and beating led to information about a tribe shaman who had “great power and danger.”  It also mentioned a “box of magic sticks,” which the party took for the “box of wands”.  He had no more information about the hobgoblins, except that they came from a tunnel “far away”, but Telémahkos was also able to get an estimate of the number of wargs with the tribe; somewhere between fifteen and twenty.

“I wonder if it could learn magic?” Markos said apropos of nothing, as Telémahkos was slapping the goblin around.  “It would make for an fascinating social experiment.”

“That cannot be a good idea,” Bleys said in his flat tone.

“You must be jesting,” Victoria frowned.

Markos shrugged. “I am just thinking we can learn more by being kind to it, rather than letting Telémahkos make himself feel like a tough man by beating on a little creature…”

“But it is not kind, nor would it understand kindness,” Bleys replied.  “Goblins are malicious and cruel, and cruelty is all they can understand.  Though I can perhaps understand your sympathy… I am sure you were not treated with much kindness when you were a captive on a pirate ship…”

“We cannot know what it would understand,” Markos shrugged again. “It may be cruel in the short term, but in the long term, kindness may be much more beneficial for it and for us…”

“Yes, perhaps it might even become the next Margrave,” Victoria smirked with uncharacteristic sarcasm.

“Fash-nash the Unconquerable is the name of their chief, and the chief is not the shaman,” Telémahkos said, wiping sweat from his brow.  Every little bit of information took several minutes of wrangling and re-wording and a few slaps and punches.  It was hard work.

When Telémahkos looked ready to give up, Bleys the Aubergine drew his sabre and stood beside the bound goblin.  “Can I kill it now?”

The goblin looked up and though it did not understand the common tongue, it gathered the watch-mage’s meaning, and immediately fell to groveling at Telémahkos’ feet, licking his sandals and squirming with woe.

“Say that again?” Telémahkos barked at the goblin in the hobgoblin tongue, and the goblin yapped away.

“I think it is offering to show us to the tribe’s camp,” the young Briareus translated. 

Hoping to have more luck, Bleys cast his _comprehend languages_ spell.  Though the goblin would still not be able to understand them very well, he would be able to understand it.

“If we can find the goblin camp we can find and kill the hobgoblin ambassadors,” Victoria said. 

“Goblins don’t seem too tough, and we’ve killed somewhere around thirty of them, right? How many can there be left?” Telémahkos asked.  “I fear these hobgoblins are just one of many groups recruiting for some effort in the north… If we can kill these hobgoblins, or perhaps capture one, it will have made this trip down here well worth it…”

As exhaustion from a long day marching around and fighting goblins crept over them, Telémahkos tied the goblin captive tightly to a tree and gagged it.  The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland set watches and sacked out.


Balem, the 26th of Quark - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.) 

At the end of the first watch, Bleys woke Tymon as he was to take the second.

“Tymon, I have been wanting to thank you for your service,” Bleys said to him, and the awkward balding barrel of a man smiled with weak fear.  “You do your family proud, and your contribution is valued.”

“Eh… Uh… Um… Thank you? Oh, thank you,” Tymon looked down and then up and then sideways in the dim and fading moonlight. “Time to watch…”

“Yes, here… This will help, for an hour or two at least,” Bleys said, and used an arcane spell to grant him _low-light vision_.

“Oooh… Wow…” Tymon cooed and smiled.

It was less than an hour later when he was waking Telémahkos. “Master! Goblin voices!”

Out across the open plain they heard gruff voices and high-pitched cries.  The howls of wolves were heard as well.   It was in the direction of the watering hole, but they could see nothing out in the darkness.

Telémahkos woke Victoria and then crawled over to Bleys to wake him as well.

“They are probably just fighting over the watering hole,” Bleys replied and rolled over, pulling a towel over his face and scrunched deeper into this roll.

A few minutes later a long mortal howl stopped very suddenly and then all was silent.

---------------------------------------

It was not long after dawn, many hours later that everyone was awake, Laarus and Falco had taken the last watch, and Markos awoke halfway through, as if by habit.  After the mages and priests prepared their spells, they all breakfasted, and talked over their plans in the usual mode.  Some wanted to go directly after the goblins, but other wanted to see if the goblin captive could lead them to where the hobgoblin tunnel might be. 

Occasionally, Telémahkos would leave the argument in order to interrogate the goblin some more. “Where the land meets the sky,” he said, as he came back to the others.

“What?” Markos asked.

“That is where the hobgoblins’ tunnel is, according to the goblin,” Telémahkos explained.

“The horizon?” Laarus asked.

“In other words, ‘far far away’ or ‘anywhere’,” Telie said, rolling his eyes. “It is a dumb goblin with a limited and highly skewed view of the world.  It is not going to know…”

It was decided they would return to the scene of their last battle with the goblins and see if they might be able to ambush another group of goblins and see if they might capture one of the lieutenants.  Telémahkos was binding up his goblin captive with a makeshift leash when Falco called everyone’s attention to growing dust on the horizon, coming from the east. 

Their worry dissipated as it became clear that it was Kermit and Duckhunter, leading Timotheus to the grove upon his horse.

“Why did we have to march all the way here in the heat and Tim gets to ride his horse?” Markos complained.

“A single halfling might be able to bring a single horse back to the Ray-Ree for care, but do you think he would have managed with eight horses?” Victoria asked by way of explanation.

Markos grumbled.

Despite still looking pale and having his words occasionally framed by a rasping cough, Timotheus insisted he felt well enough to take part in the party’s explorations. (2) He was filled in on what had happened and on the information regarding the hobgoblin ‘ambassadors,’ and did not hesitate to give his opinion.

“If we wipe out every goblin in that tribe there won’t be any to be recruited,” he said. “And if we are lucky, we might be able to kill or capture these hobos before they head back north…”  

Timotheus, who had made a study of goblinlore (3), was certain that there could not be more than two or three times more goblins than they had already faced; that is, if their numbers were accurate.  “Two or three more ambushes on them and we can take on whatever is left in their camp…  However, we do need to do something about the wargs ability to track us by scent, or to notice we are waiting in ambush because of it…”

“What about skunk cabbage?” Bleys asked.

“Skunk cabbage?” Markos asked.

Bleys the Aubergine said he remembered several patches of the stuff by a stream they had passed only an hour or two’s march from the grove.  If the stuff grew commonly enough in the area, and they masked their scent with it, perhaps the wargs would be fooled.

“It could work,” Kermit said, when he was asked to lead them to the stream.

Once again, Ra’s Glory showed them no mercy, and the march out in the open to the stream left them feeling drained, but splashing in the pitiable stream refreshed them.  Bleys picked a few of the cabbages and tossed them to the others, breaking off pieces and wincing at the foul odor.

Laarus Raymer of Ra watched with disdain as the others broke part the thick leaves and rubbed them on their clothes and skin. He did not take part.  “I will not roll around in filth,” he said, and turned to walk away and get some shade beneath a small tree. Before he had walked very far, Telémahkos sent one of skunk cabbages flying to smash into the back of the priest’s head and neck.  As the priest began to turn back around, a second cabbage striking his side, this one sent flying by Markos, startled him. Timotheus’ laugh was interrupted by another skunk cabbage from the slight mage striking him in the face. A moment later, Markos was choking as Tim held him down and rubbed one in his mouth and face.  Bleys tossed a cabbage into Tim's face as well, as the big man looked up with a smile from teaching Markos a lesson.  Soon, a skunk cabbage fight erupted, with the dull green leafy bulbs being thrown in all directions.

At first Victoria was scandalized by the display, but in no time she joined in the fun, while Laarus, fuming, stalked off.  The captured goblin stared in amazement. When the fun was over, they lay around recovering their strength, and drinking water, and Bleys filled a sack with some extra cabbage, before they all headed back to the grove.

*End of Session #13* 

---------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Timotheus heard this rumor in InterSession #8.6

(2) Tim’s player had missed the previous session, and played Dunlevey until there was a reasonable time for Timotheus rejoin the party.

(3) Yes, someone actually spent skill points on Knowledge (goblinlore).  A fighter, no less!  I love it!


----------



## Rastfar

I laughed through the whole thing.   That was fun stuff, and well written,...thanx.



> Every little bit of information took several minutes of wrangling and re-wording and a few slaps and punches. It was hard work.




HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! 
That had me laughing aloud.  Poor Telemakhos....


----------



## el-remmen

Rastfar said:
			
		

> I laughed through the whole thing.   That was fun stuff, and well written,...thanx.




Glad you're liking it, and glad you're having fun in the game! 



			
				Rastfar said:
			
		

> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
> That had me laughing aloud.  Poor Telemakhos....




Poor Telémahkos?  Poor goblin!


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #14  – “Skunk Cabbage Ambush” (part 1 of 3)* (1)

“Uh-oh…” Falco called the others ahead to take a look at what he saw.  The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland had left the grove behind to follow the goblin trail back to the fork and perhaps set up another ambush, or find their way to the goblin camp, but instead they found the fork blocked off.  Small trees and brush had been cut to create an obstacle to the space beyond.  They were fairly certain that goblins awaited them there.

Before coming this way, they had searched the signs of a fight at the watering hole to find lots of muddy patches of blood, and more of the rat-like skulls propped up on crude spears all along the area.  There was nothing there to give them a clue of which way to go, except for a trail Falco had found of some large footed humanoid that broke off from the main group and returned to the gorge, instead of going up the goblin trail with the rest.  They had followed the main trail back to the fork, and now found themselves facing the obstructed path.

“It’s a counter-ambush,” Telémahkos said.

“We should withdraw,” Timotheus said.

“I agree,” Markos nodded.

“Probably, but we should make certain that there are goblins actually there and determine their number,” Bleys replied.

“What does the number matter if they are entrenched in defensive positions and have the advantage?” Telémahkos asked.

The watch-mage did not reply, but began to climb a nearby tree, hoping to get a better perspective on the potential ambush site.  He froze as he reached the second tier of branches as a snorting sound came up out of the bushes.

“Was that a snore?” Victoria asked with disbelief.

“We should just get out of there.  I don’t like this,” Telémahkos said.  Suddenly, he heard Bleys’ voice in his ear.  “I saw the leaves move.  Something is definitely there…” The watch-mage had also cast his spell on Falco so the two of them could relay messages to him as they scouted the situation.

Sighing, Telémahkos handed his crossbow to Tymon and drew _the Steel Whip_.  After a quick word with Falco, he began to creep through the brush around towards the left side of the fork, while the scout took the right.  Not too long after, they all noticed movement in the brush, and heard another muffled snort.  

“Come back,” Bleys told them both as he saw how far back the movement reverberated.  He did not have to tell Telémahkos twice.

“We need to get out of here,” Telémahkos said when he returned.  He looked up at Bleys, still in the tree.

“I am working on it,” Bleys replied, as he hung off a branch and lowered himself down.

“Stay alert, they know we’re here.  They might attack at any moment,” Telémahkos said.

“We might not be able to outrun them,” Timotheus said, his voice a mix of eagerness for battle, and worry about being caught in a tactically unsound spot.

“We’ll look for a defensible spot as we go,” Telémahkos replied.  And with that, they left, going back up the trail the way they came.  But there was no particularly defensive spot anywhere nearby, and after withdrawing nearly a mile and perceiving no pursuit, they decided to slow their hustle, and march out another mile or so before deciding what to do next.

“What if we go visit the rat-kin?” Telémahkos asked.

“To what end?” Laarus asked, his pallid face scorched dark red in places by their days traveling in the sun.  The priest of Ra did not hide his disdain at having to flee.

 “We might get them to help us,” Telémahkos said.  “They are the enemies of the goblins, and if they turn out to be kobolds as we suspect, then Tymon will be able to talk to their in their tongue and explain our offer.”

“What would that be?” Bleys asked.

“They help us or we raid their caves and kill them all,” Telémahkos replied, matter-of-factly.  “We can give them the goblin prisoner as a show of good faith, but if they help us against the goblins they can control this area. Or at least, we can tell them that, and afterwards if we want to finish them off, we can consider it then.”

Laarus frowned, but Victoria was passive as usual.  “We should go straight to the goblin camp and see if we can catch those hobgoblins,” the priest of Ra said, rubbing his scalp through his closely cropped hair.  “This is an issue of time.  They may not stay around long enough, and we will lose any hope of following them back to wherever the source of their schemes may be.”

Telémahkos shook his head, and Markos smirked.  

“Perhaps the prisoner knows of another route,” Victoria suggested.

Sighing, Telémahkos ungagged the goblin and began the arduous process of communicating with it. 

“It says of another way it can lead us to the camp, but that we have to go after nightfall,” Telémahkos turned to the others.  “He calls it a secret way.”

The young nobles now began to discuss how reliable the word of the goblin might be.

“Why at night?  The goblins are active at night,” Bleys asked.

“He says it is dangerous because of other monsters in the day,” Telie replied.

“What kind of monsters?” Timotheus asked.  “How is it secret?”

“It is impossible to understand him on those issues,” Telémahkos was obviously tired of talking to the thing.  “It said something about hiding and not being liked by its own people, and I understand why, it is a rotten cowardly little thing.”

“If that is the case, then why should we let it lead us?” Bleys asked.

“It knows we will kill it if it lies,” Telémahkos replied.

“We are going to kill it anyway,” the watch-mage said, coldly.

“We will have to trust that it values its life more than it is loyal to its people,” Laarus said with disgust.  “Evil creatures of this kind can usually be counted on to act in such a manner.  As I have already said, I see this as a time sensitive issue.  We need to take the chance for the sake of the north.”

“Okay, then if we have to go that way, we have to go that way, but if we have to wait for nightfall, what are we going to do until then?” Timotheus asked.  They had begun to walk down towards the plain through the dry forest, not far from the opening the King Stones gorge.  “How shall we spend our time so close to the cave of the rat-kin? Anyone? Anyone at all?”

After stopping and pulling out the map of the King Stones, they oriented themselves to it, and Timotheus noted a cave marked as ‘empty’. “If this place is correctly marked, we might want to look into making that bolt hole,” he said.  “I mean, a place to retreat to if the need arises.”

As they walked, Telémahkos continued to drag the goblin along on his makeshift leash.  It whined as they came out into the open and walked to the western side of the u-shaped gorge. Telémahkos jerked the leash, and the goblin turned to look at him with fear-filled rheumy eyes.

“If you stay quiet and obedient you should survive this encounter,” Telie said to it in the hobgoblin tongue.  It tried to grin at him, but choked on its gag and coughed, and then stumbled.

The foliage at the bottom of gorge had grown a great deal since the map in their possession had been made.  There were fragrant dogwoods in tight clusters that obscured the view to the far end of the gorge floor, and covered where the first cave entrance was supposed to be, according to the map. A blanket of petals drying in the sun rippled in the yellowed grass. There was much more moisture down here, as if all the rain in the area drained down into the gorge.  The Signers marched in a long line along the steep gorge wall, looking up nervously at the plateau above where the map told them had something to do with ‘black orcs.’

Telémahkos handed Timotheus the end of the rope attached to the goblin, and his cousin handed it back to Dunlevey.

“Why do I have to hold it?” the hireling complained.

“Would you rather be up front fighting?”

“Yes,” Dunlevey smiled.

“Well, so would I, so you have to hold it,” Timotheus replied, throwing the bushy-haired warrior a playful elbow.

After Timotheus turned back to his place at the front of the marching order, Dunlevey handed the rope to Bleys, who took it without a word.

Telémahkos led the way, as they all crept beneath the trees in a line; the taller members of the group crouched awkwardly.  Falco and Timotheus were close behind him and could see what he did, but everyone stopped abruptly. They were at what should have been a cave entrance, but the crack into the northern side of the gorge was obstructed with large stones and cemented with hard mud and tree branches.

“Ohp! Well, I guess we’ll just go kill goblins then,” Timotheus said.  Telémahkos turned and glared at his cousin and shook his head.

“There is another entrance marked on the map sixty or seventy paces further in,” Telémahkos explained, and began to lead the way once again.  Sure enough, not too much further they saw the narrow crack in the wall.   Trees were growing all around it, and a large stone seemed to divide the cave mouth into two entrances, one side much too narrow for a human to slip through without trouble.  Trees were growing above the entrance on the ridge wall as well, as here it was not as steep.  Telémahkos whispered to Falco to look for tracks, and he did not have to look very hard.  There were small humanoid prints, like large upright rats all over the place.

“Call out to them,” Telémahkos told Tymon. “Tell them we have come to make them an offer they would be fools to refuse.  Tell them they can help us or they can be destroyed…”

“Uh… Okay…” Tymon gulped, and then began to call out in a yapping and hissing language, cupping his hands to either side of his mouth to project his voice.  Those at the front of the line could hear scurrying from within.  Tymon called out again, and a few moments later a voice came yapping back.

“That makes no sense,” Tymon finally said when the yapping was done.

“What did they say?” Telémahkos asked.

“Um… I guess a rough translation would be, ‘Get in line…’” Tymon replied meekly.

“Ugh… Okay, ask them who we are in line behind…”

Tymon yapped some more, adding a low howl or two to punctuate his questions.  The yapping returned, and once again Tymon looked confused. “They are saying that if we go destroy the Ruk’Tuk and can bring back proof, they will consider giving us aid.”

“Ruk’Tuk?” 

After a few more yaps back and forth, Tymon relayed that this tribe was the Tuk’Tuk, and the Ruk’Tuk were heretics who had abandoned the Rat God for worship of the Dark Mantis, but more recently had come under the rule of something they called ‘_Malypies Smot Azeen_’.

“What does that mean?” Telémahkos asked his servant, but Tymon shrugged.  “It makes little sense to me. Something like, ‘the great green kobold lord monster.’”

“Oh that sounds pleasant,” Timotheus whispered with a wink.

“So they will not offer any help or information to aid in the battle against their enemies?” Telémahkos asked Tymon.

“All they keep saying when I ask is that they kill any they see,” Tymon replied. “It may just be beyond them to uh…  be able to imagine being allied with adventurers.  And they will not make any promises until the splinter tribe of heretics is killed…”

Telémahkos had Tymon relay some threats and promises, but the kobolds were having none of it, saying they did not understand the ‘crazy human words.’  Negotiation of a deal seemed beyond their feeble intellects.

“Help us or fight us!” Telémahkos called into the cave angrily.  Tymon repeated a translation, but before he was done they could hear many kobold voices within, and a scurrying of feet.

“They are preparing for an attack,” Tymon said to Telémahkos.

The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland withdrew, unsure of what to do.  Laarus of Ra knew little of the Dark Mantis, and nothing of _Malypies Smot Azeen_.

“I am not willing to get involved in some kobold religious schism,” Victoria said. “That is not what we came here for, and we have no assurances that going after these Ruk’Tuk will actually aid us in our main goal, which is the killing or capturing of those hobgoblin delegates.” 

“Worthless kobolds!” Telémahkos swore.

“You tried really hard, that is all that matters,” Markos replied with obvious condescension.  Telie snarled.

_…to be continued…_

-----------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This session was played on Sunday, August 5th, 2007.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #14  – “Skunk Cabbage Ambush” (part 2 of 3)*

Timotheus once again suggested checking the cave marked ‘empty’ on the map as a place to possibly hole up if necessary.  The others grudgingly agreed, giving up on the idea of recruiting the rat-kin, but soon fell to arguing about the best way to approach the cave, which was slightly less than half way up the gorge’s western side, south of those marked as ‘shrine of the boar blood’.  Telémahkos was concerned about walking out in the open beyond the dogwoods to the best place to climb up to it from directly below, but Timotheus was not sure if climbing from here and passing in front of the ‘black orc’ caves was a much better solution.

“If there are goblins on the lookout they will be able to see us make our way across the gorge floor,” Telémahkos warned.

“And if orcs come streaming out of the caves because we pass too close to them, we will be in a precarious position to fight,” Timotheus said.

The argument went round and round, with everyone giving an opinion, except Markos who seemed bored, and Bleys the Aubergine, whose placid face showed little.  It was not until he began to march off across the gorge floor on his own that his opinion was known.  The others followed him in a ragged line, Timotheus cursing the stubborn watch-mage under his breath.

They made their way up the gorge embankment, which had a couple of short awkward climbs, and soon were gathered outside the cave entrance. It was obscured by more flowering trees, though they looked sickly and dry. To the left of it was a cracked stone cover, long ago moved aside.  It was weathered and covered with moss, and had crude runes scratched onto is flat side.  About seven feet in the opening, a stone slab had been sunken from above to obstruct most of the way beyond.  All there was left was about three feet of gap off the rock strewn floor.

Bleys the Aubergine cast _comprehend languages_ and did his best to read the weathered runes on the broken seal. They told of a king of the Ah-Ree-Raa who battled the Sunrads, and was son of many more names than could be made out on the stone.  He stepped into the cave, squeezing in with Timotheus and Telémahkos, as Victoria, Falco and Dunlevey kept watch.   Laarus and Tymon were at the cave entrance.

The watch-mage cast _radiant spark_ and sent the tiny spark under the stone slab.  Timotheus crouched down and got a look at a widening cavern beyond.  It seemed very damp, and they could an echoing drip.  Meanwhile, Telémahkos borrowed a silver mirror from Victoria and adhered it to the end of his crowbar with some wax.  Timotheus moved out of the way and he crouched down and shoved the crowbar under as Bleys willed the _radiant spark_ back in their direction.  As the light approached, Telémahkos heard an amused grunt and suddenly the mirror revealed a snaggletooth hairy face, but just as suddenly a large hairy hand grabbed the crowbar and pulled.  Telémahkos reacted too slowly.  Startled, it was yanked from his grasp even as he squeezed his grip, and he fell on his rear.  Within he heard the amused grunt, like a laugh once again.

“Cover me, I’m going in there,” Timotheus said, beginning to crouch down, but Victoria put a hand on his shoulder.  

“For a crowbar?” Victoria asked with wonder.  “Obviously there are foes waiting on the other side.  I respect bravery for it does honor to my god, but it would be foolish to crawl under there into their arms.”

“I just want to kill goblins,” Timotheus sighed, sitting in the dirt, leaning his arms on his bent knees.

“I wanted to attack the counter-ambush,” Laarus of Ra said.  “It was not my wish to come here. I am still not sure what we are trying to accomplish by doing so…”

“You could not be more annoying, Laarus,” Timotheus did not bother to look up at the priest.

“I am not the one changing his mind all the time.  I have been consistent in my opinions,” Laarus replied in a calm tone that bore no reproach.  “The same could not be said about you…”

“If you want to be smug about something, Laarus… Find us something else worthwhile to do,” Timotheus said, getting back to his feet.

“I have already said what it was I thought we should do,” Laarus said, but the rest of the group grew tired of their arguing and made their way around the side of the gorge to another opening they could see from this one. It was the one marked ‘avoid’ on the map.

Laarus and Timotheus refocused their anger at each other towards the rest of their companions, as they made their way over.

“Cousin Markos, have you no opinion?” Laarus asked, as he arrived.

“No… I mostly feel apathetic.  All this bickering has broken me…” Markos replied, with a curious mix of amusement and resignation.

Timotheus did not pause, but made his way to the front, pushing past Bleys.

“Would you like to go in front?” Bleys asked.

“That’s my job!” Timotheus snapped back.

The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland explored the cave beyond and found it went much deeper than they suspected.  Carved corridors gave way to moist natural caverns that branched in all directions, and far to the left, they came to a large cavern holding shining water with huge patches of white and gray bat guano floating atop it.  The ceiling was a writhing mass of bats clutching the stone among many stalactites.  Bleys sent a _radiant spark_ out across the cavern, and saw a raised stone platform that looked like a dais of some kind, with over-sized stone furniture atop it.

The goblin captive was silent when asked if it knew what this place was, jabbering nonsense when it was threatened. They went and explored some of the caverns back to the right and found they led to a maze of tiny rooms carved by years of dripping water.  Everything had the green sheen of limestone.

“This place is too big to be used as a bolthole,” Timotheus complained.  “There are too many ways that might hide another way in here. We can’t control the environment, which is the basis for good tactics in defense…”

Markos nodded.

They all went back to the large bat cavern again, but Laarus of Ra broke off from them and went back to watch the entrance, uninterested in exploring the dais.  Markos followed him, shaking his head.

Victoria Ostrander of Anhur took an end of a rope and began to make her way across the shallow edge of the murky water.  Timotheus held the other end. She made it more than halfway when the path became too treacherous.  She slipped and splashed in the dirty liquid, staining her tunic and splattering her dark hair and white skin. The militant scrambled back to her feet, making more of a mess of herself and she barely made it back without falling again.

“Telémahkos should do it,” she said, but when Telie balked, Bleys volunteered.  Timotheus and Victoria held the rope, which the purple-robed wizard tied around his waist.  He carefully walked across, keeping his balance when his footing slipped, and eventually was able to climb up onto the stone platform, which was over five feet high.  He tried the rope off around some heavy smashed rocks near the edge of the platform.  Timotheus began to make his way across, clutching the rope.

As Tim climbed up onto the platform, Bleys let out a startled grunt and there was a sound like stone dropping on stone.  The tall blond cousin looked up to see the strangest sight.  There was a broken stalactite a couple of feet from the watch-mage, moving slowly away from the wizard.  At first Timotheus thought it was rolling, but then he noticed how the point of it began to point up a bit and it scraped along lengthwise.  The stalactite was just the stony outer shell of some kind of creature that hunted by dropping on things passing below it.  However, it only got one chance to try, and was now slowly making way to the wall for the long slow climb back up.

“What the hell is that?” Tim asked, as Bleys stepped over and picked it up by its shell.  The watch-mage turned and pointed the ‘broken’ end at the warrior to reveal the futile kicking of black crab-like legs within, and a small circular jutting mouth of jagged teeth, chewing dumbly.

“Dinner!” Bleys gave a rare smile, and then leapt reflexively as he heard something above him.  Two more of the creatures crashed to the stone platform, the sound echoing out into the shadowy illumination beyond Bleys’ spell.

Bleys knocked on one off the side of the platform using the one the held in his hands, and it splashed into the water below, while Timotheus smashed another easily with his morningstar.  As they began to walk the length of the platform to examine the over-sized stone furniture, another dropped and slammed heavily against Tim’s shield, which he had positioned over his head, while another clipped Bleys painfully in the shoulder, tearing his cloak and drawing a long line of blood underneath.  Timotheus smashed it, as the other made it frantic attempt to reach the wall.

“I don’t think you need to kill them.” Bleys said, evenly, still holding the living specimen he had picked up.

“Do you want them to keep dropping on us?” Tim asked with a smirk.

“I see your reasoning, though at the rate they move we will be long gone before they are in a position to drop on us again,” Bleys replied. 

Tim shrugged his shoulders.

“But yes, perhaps better to be safe…” The watch-mage said, and he smashed the creature’s shell open against the wall.  He squeezed the writhing creature within beneath his boot and it popped.

The furniture was a cracked stone sarcophagus, old and filled with cobwebs and stained with lime.  There was a throne built for someone at least ten feet tall, and the shattered remains of a table.  There was nothing of value here, so the two of them made the treacherous journey back. 

Out at the cavern by the entrance, Laarus of Ra was complaining to Markos about the group’s lack of focus when the others finally joined them.  Frustrated by their lack of progress, they decided to rest for a few hours and then let the goblin captive lead them the ‘secret way’ to his tribe’s camp.

After a quick _prestidigitation_ from Bleys to clean and dry her clothing, Victoria laid down for a quick nap, while the watch-mage cleaned and oiled his sabre and checked his bow for wear. Markos spent his time with his nose buried in a book.  Laarus sat with his back to the wall, with his head down in prayer or deep thought, while Falco and Dunlevey talked in quiet tones a little deeper in the cave.  Tymon fell asleep, while Timotheus and Telémahkos stood at the entrance looking out at the gorge and talking.

“We should have a leader,” Timotheus said quietly to his cousin.

Telémahkos’ eyes opened wide in exagerated surprise.

“It is the only way we are going to stop the arguments and the lack of focus,” Tim continued, pausing to cough up and spit out some lingering bog flu phlegm. “We change directions too easily… I am as guilty as anyone, so… How about Bleys?”

“Heh. Bleys goes off on his own as well…  That is not very leader-like,” Telémahkos replied.

“But Bleys is not the leader _yet_,” Tim said. “If he is given this responsibility he may step up to it.  Talk to him about it… Feel him out… You’re good at that…”

Telémahkos agreed.

“Hey! Did you see that?” Timotheus said, pointing to a cave entrance beyond the one they had tried before.  It was one of the ones marked as ‘Shrine of the Boarblood’ on the map.  Telémahkos looked and for a moment thought he saw a tall humanoid figure standing there looking in their direction, but then it was gone.

“Orc?” Telémahkos asked.

“I don’t know, but it is almost time to get going,” Timotheus said.  “Let’s get everyone up and ready…”


_…to be continued…_


----------



## handforged

I love the stalactite crabs!  It would be a great recurring menace, perhaps in a fight room, constantly having to dodge them.  Yikes!  Can't wait to see what's next.

~hf


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## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> I love the stalactite crabs!





PIERCERS!   

I love me the old school monsters!


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #14  – “Skunk Cabbage Ambush” (part 3 of 3)*

The goblin captive led them out of the u-shaped gorge of the King Stones, and to the west, marching along the edge of the great southern plateau, which the gorge was a great cleft in.  Above them in that direction, the sparse wood gave way to tall brown jagged stones that made a natural wall that obscured what was beyond.

“I hope this is not the Baphomet Stone Maze,” Bleys commented.  “For as I was warned of that place by Malcolm the Bronze, I will not go under any circumstances…”

“Why? What is there?” Laarus asked.

“He did not say exactly,” Bleys replied.  “Only that there live there a race long thought extinct in most places in Aquerra.”

The goblin pointed out a narrow way up the rocky slope that made for some awkward scrambling for the larger or more heavily armored members of the group.  At the top tall stones sunk into the earth made for winding paths through narrow ways.  There was something oppressive about the place, and the way the light of the waxing moon made deep shadows at each intersection was unnerving.  The goblin seemed really nervous, and frequently grabbed at the rope about its neck instinctually, pulling its hand away when Telémahkos gave it a hard yank.  As they came to a place that branched off in three directions there was a wooden arch built across their path.  At the center of it was carved oval frame surrounding a plaque with a stylized bullhead with silver sphere between its horns.

They stopped, and the goblin whimpered in its tongue, “No stop! No stop!” It pulled on the rope as if to goad Telémahkos to follow it.

“Anyone know what this means?” Telémahkos pointed to the symbol.

“Hathor. Demigoddess, servant of Isis,” Victoria replied.  Laarus of Ra nodded.

“That’s a good thing, right?” Timotheus asked, puzzled. The militant shrugged.

“Who lives here?” Telémahkos hissed at the goblin jerking the rope taught and dragging it over close to his reddening face.

“Two-foot aurochs” was the best translation Telémahkos could make from the reply and he passed it on to the others.

“Minotaurs?  I thought there were no more minotaurs,” Laarus said. (1)

“There are some in the United Kingdom of Superior Families, and apparently there are some here as well that are best left unmolested,” Bleys replied. “This is the Baphomet Stone Maze, and I for one, am not going in… I suggest we all turn around and find another way.”

The palpable nervousness rose in all of them, and Falco hurried back the way they came to make sure the retreat was clear.  Dunlevey drew his great sword and clutched it tightly in both hands.  Tymon was licking his lips over and over and over, his eyes darting to the symbol of Hathor and then down to the ground, and then to Telémahkos.

“Why did you bring us this way?  Is it not dangerous?” Telémahkos badgered the goblin and shook it, but it could hardly understand him, or him it.

“Yes. You big dumb noise,” It replied.

“Will they not come and kill us?” Telie asked, gesturing across his neck with a finger.

“Yes… Yes… Come to kill you, big dumb noise…” It nodded eagerly and then stopped suddenly, its eyes grew wide and it began to shake its head instead. “No! No! No stop!”  It pulled on the rope again, but Telie just handed it over to Bleys.

“It’s useless…” He said with a sigh.  The watch-mage sighed and drew his sabre quickly dragged it across the captive’s neck before it even knew what was happening.  As Bleys cleaned his blade, Timotheus cut its ears off and collected them in a sack.

“We should go and kill the kobolds,” Bleys said a few minutes later as they picked their way down to the plain again leaving the stone maze behind them. “We should kill the goblins and the Ruk’Tuk… Kill anything that moves…”

“I have no problem with that,” Telémahkos nodded.

Their bloodlust not sated, the young nobles decided to make their way to the watering hole and set up an ambush there.  It was hoped that the goblins came back there every night, and if not, a fight with some kobolds would have been as welcome.  As they arrived, a bear was drinking within copse that surrounded it, and they waited for it clear off before entering.

They waited long after the moon set, and then took turns catching cat-naps in the bushes, but except for some wild oxen and easy scarred off jackals, nothing came to the watering hole. Frustrated they crept back to their usual grove in the pre-dawn hours, to plan their strategy for the coming day.


Teflem, the 27th of Quark - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

“As I see it we have three choices: Go back now and warn about the hobgoblins, return to waiting in ambush until some goblins show up, or find and attack their lair,” Telémahkos enumerated the choices as he saw them, after a long, sometimes heated debate as to what to do next.

“Perhaps there is another choice,” Victoria said, tracing in the dirt with a spear. “Those goblins who are set up in ambush must get there from the opposite direction somewhere… Can we not go around and find a new place to set up an ambush?”

Timotheus stood, nodding eagerly.  “Falco can help us find a good spot…”

They rested until a couple of hours after noon, when the sun was a little lower near the western hills, and then marched towards the shade of the woods atop the plateau, but instead of going directly to the south as they had been doing Falco led them eastward.  They only cut southward slowly, marching slowly along the edge of the woods, until a plain of yellow grass greeted them.  In the clear afternoon light they could see the shadow of another forest some miles distant to the southeast.  Much closer however, was another wood that might be connected to the one they had just emerged from, so they followed the inner edge west by southwest, looking to see where they might find signs of goblin passage.

They walked some miles, stopping every few hundred yards for Falco to look around, and eventually spotted a watering hole in the middle of the narrowing wedge of tall yellow grass they had been circumventing.  Heading out there, as the sun moved behind a cloud, they could see it was not more than a mudhole, and only during more rainy times would it actually be of much use.  However, it was a good place to look for prints, and Falco found some, along with some warg droppings.  It led them to hurry back across the grass to the north as he followed a track of broken grass that was so obvious in places that Victoria and Bleys pointed them out.  

“Something big moves with these goblins,” Falco said.

“Ogres,” Timotheus smiled.

As the trail disappeared into the woods some very large black rocks rose from the soft earth, they decided this was a good place to set their ambush.  The rocks were big enough to climb up on, and hide behind other stones piled on there, or protuberances in the stone.  The stones  were cracked and those places were choked with weeds stamped down by goblin feet.  Several large trees and thick brush provided more cover.  They spread out and took their spots.

“To avoid some of you being affected by the blinding flash of the _pyrotechnics_ spell, I am going to call out ‘now!’ and wait to hear each of you say you are ready before casting it.  ‘Ready’ means you are closing your eyes… Or otherwise turned away…”

The other agreed.

--------------------------------------------------------

Dusk crept across the forest from the east, and with cramped muscles and whispered voices, the nobles began to second-guess their choice.

“Hush! Listen!” Bleys hissed, and the eeriness of the anticipatory silence following his last word chilled them as sound came to their ears.  Something was moving through the grass in their direction.  There was a deep meaningful grunt, and they all strained in the dying light to see the line of goblins coming from the southeast.   There was some quick signaling among the young nobles; doing the best they could to ready themselves.  The goblins stopped at the edge of the woods, and a bestial voice yelled at them in the goblin tongue.  Now a warg and its rider came into view, and it was coaxing them into the trail in the woods.  One of them complained, and was smacked for his insubordination, but all the goblins started to move as the towering figure of an ogre came into sight.

“Dookaloo!”  The goblins cried out as they spotted Laarus under a tree, and three of them immediately pulled their small arrows into their bows and let them fly. The missiles bit in the tree, as the sun-worshiper called out to Ra to ignite his armor with an aura of _daylight_.  The goblins cried out in alarm as the light revealed the adventurers in action.  Falco leapt up to a taller rock and let an arrow fly down at the approaching ogre, but it flicked it away like a gnat.  

The ogre was nearly ten feet tall, and had thick arms misshapen with muscles and covered in a thick dirty jaundiced hide.  It had a big head with a twisted face, with black lips and yellow eyes, and was dressed in hide armor dyed in great black splotches tied with thick stitches. It charged up onto the rock where Bleys had waited by Falco before the scout fled, and swung its great spiked club in front of it.  The watch-mage let out a grunt of pain as he crumpled with the blow, falling across the rock painfully.  He tasted blood and hustled to get away.  He rolled off the rock and dragged himself into a crouch behind Laarus.

“Anhur! Battle is upon us! Lend my your strength to push my mighty spear through the armor of my enemies,” Victoria cried out, raising her spear over her head as she stepped out from behind the tree.  She cast _bull’s strength_ upon herself, and drew the attention of three more goblin archers, and she winced as they bounced arrows off of her scalemail. 

Meanwhile, Timotheus stepped up onto the rock, saber and shield in his hands and gritting his teeth leaned in with a wide swing at the ogre, but the monster let out an amused grunt, and lowered its club to block it.  The blade bit into the club harmlessly.  Tim looked up at the ogre’s broken toothed smile, and suddenly it was growing closer!  Markos had cast _enlarge person_ on Timotheus from his spot in the shadows of a taller rock adjacent to the one the ogre was on. He went on to use _prestidigitation_ to ignite a torch.

The ogre howled with angry glee.  “You big, hit better!”  

Timotheus groaned as the ogre’s club crunched into his breastplate.  He took a half-step back, and let out a bloody cough.

Dunlevey and Victoria were fighting a knot of goblins on ground level.  The sellsword herded them with wide swings of his long sword towards the militant, who skewered them into the ground, jerking her spear from their corpses with satisfaction.  Suddenly, Dunlevey was nearly twelve feet tall, _enlarged_ by Bleys. Arrows rained around them, while some other goblins took advantage of Tim’s new size, and sent some arrows his way.

“Everyone!” Markos called out.  “Tim is gravely injured. Now!”

Laarus reached up and touched Timotheus from behind, calling to Ra to _cure light wounds_.  “Ready!” He called as stepped back against the rock and closed his eyes.

“Ready!” cried Dunlevey. He swung his sword wildly in front of him as he closed his eyes, feeling the bite of goblin arrows in the darkness.  Victoria left the goblins to the swordsman, withdrawing to cast a healing spell on Timotheus, squeezing in beside Laarus.  “Ready,” she called.  Telémahkos cried “ready!” not having joined the battle yet.  All he had done was piece the ogre’s calf with a crossbow bolt. It hardly seemed to notice.  Tymon, always following his master’s lead, if not his orders, had done much the same and his pinched voice alerted Markos to his readiness as well. “Ready!” cried Falco, as another of his arrows bouncing off the ogre’s iron helmet.

“Ready!” Tim cried, the reverberations of a parried blow running down his arms, and closing his eyes blocked out the hate-filled face of ogre. Its foul breath had been stinging his eyes. His sword cut a nick in the club.

“Ready! Ready! Ready!” Bleys said, turning and withdrawing around the tall rock.

“_Incendiuris lux!_ Markos cast,  raising his lit torch high.

The goblins cried out in alarm throughout the battlefield.  Markos opened his eyes and smiled to see the smoke rising from his extinguished torch, and many goblins wandering around confused.

The ogre cried out and lowered its club, reaching for its eyes.  Telémahkos leapt into the fray, rolling around it.  Timotheus smiled, ”Let’s see how you like it now!” He cut deep gash in the thing’s hide armor, and blood billowed from beneath.  The ogre’s bellows echoed across the dark forest beyond Laarus’ dancing _daylight_, and then it bellowed again as the priest of Ra stepped up on the rock, to fill in the space Tim left him by sidestepping.  Laarus’ flail crunched against the ogre’s knee, and it nearly fell, swinging its club wildly.

“Warg back here! Warg!” Tymon suddenly cried out from the edges of the light.  They could see it now, dashing into the light with great bounds, to drag Falco off his feet at his perch.

Bleys the Aubergine leapt up on the large sloped rock and an arrow from his longbow made the warg yelp in its nearly human voice.  But it did not flee, instead it wrapped its powerful jaws around Falco’s inner thigh and yanked the scout off his feet again, as there was an explosion of blood.  Falco’s scream was cut short as he began to bleed out.

Tymon dropped his crossbow and drew his long sword, hacking at the warg.  “Falco’s down!” he called.

“Take out the damn ogre!” Timotheus yelled, stepping back out of the way of the monster’s wide and wild swing.  Laarus was not as quick, and got caught under the arm.  He took a sharp pain-filled breath and grit his teeth.  Victoria lifted her spear and looked for an opening around the ogre.

“Dunlevey! Keep those archers that aren’t blind busy!” she called back over her shoulder.

“_Materia maxima!_ Markos cast, and now Laarus of Ra grew to tower over the frantic blind ogre.  Timotheus dropped his sword and shield and hefted his heavy flail.

“Come to papa!” he smirked, but the wild swings of the ogre kept his flail at bay.  “Flank the f*cker!” he added.

“Brilliant tactics, Sergeant Pepper!” Telémahkos quipped, as he rolled in a position on the other side of the ogre, deftly bouncing up to his feet.  The ogre never knew what hit it.  _The Steel Whip_ slipped deep up through it legs and out up through their lower abdomen.  Telémahkos jerked the rapier out as the great body collapsed. (2) Telie turned to the goblins below and roared with joy, ogre blood flicking off his sword. 

On the ground level, Dunlevey sent a goblin head flying into the darkness, and the ones that were blinded finally decided to flee, stumbling slowly, their arms out spread in front of them.  Victoria of Anhur turned away from the dying ogre to chase down the remaining goblins.

“There’s a warg up here!” Markos reminded the others, as another of Bleys’ arrows arced over it clattering at the mage’s feet.  “_Sagitta aquom!_ he cast, and sent two arrows of glistening liquid light into the thing’s haunch.  It yelped again, and took off in the direction of the deeper woods, leaping to avoid another hack from Tymon.  Bleys moved to cut it off and shot an arrow that disappeared into the darkness. 

“Next time leave some for me,” Timotheus complained to his cousin, as he took large loping steps towards the warg, swinging down with his enormous heavy flail.  He shattered the roots of a small tree, where the wolf-thing had been the moment before, but once again it was taking off towards the darkness.  Tim winced as goblin arrows bounced heavily against the armor on his back.  The blinded goblins had desisted their flight, as their vision had returned.  Dunlevey charged into their midst, sending one down with one sharp blow.  Timotheus hurried over to join the fight; Telémahkos was close on his tail.  Tymon climbed up to check on Falco, while Bleys redirected his final shot at the disappearing warg towards the first goblin that came into line of sight as he turned. The goblin stepped out of the arrow’s trajectory right into Dunlevey’s sword.    There were only two goblins left.

“I’m taking this one alive!” Telémahkos called to his companions.  He whipped his magical rapier across the goblin archer’s face, and dropped its bow and stepped backwards stunned.  Victoria stepped over and slammed the shaft of her spear against the side of its head and it dropped unconscious.

The final goblin wordless taunted Dunlevey as it continued to dance back, flicking arrows at him at point-blank range.  He was awash with the blood of goblins, but blood of his own wounds flowed as well.  Suddenly, Tymon came charging in from the right and cleaved the goblin’s head open and it collapsed.

“Should we take the ogre alive?” Markos asked, squatting over the dying monster, dagger in hand.

“No!” Telémahkos replied, and Markos did not wait to hear anyone else’ opinion.  He cut the ogre’s throat.

*End of Session #14*

------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Minotaurs are considered by most to be an extinct race in Aquerra, common only to the stories of the Time Before.  The largest population of them is found in the enigmatic United Kingdom of Superior Families.

(2) Telémahkos’ player seems to have incredible luck with rolling critical hits.  Keep in mind that one of the drawbacks of his magical rapier is that it only threatens a crit on a natural 20.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #15 – “(Aborted) Goblin Genocide!” (part 1 of 3)* (1)

“Hey! Do you see that?” Timotheus pointed to the flickering glow of a fire emerging from with a cave across the great gorge of the King Stones.  The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland were making their way back to the grove where they camped nightly to recover from the wounds suffered during their ambush of the goblins.  Their best guess was that those they ambushed were on their way to relieve another force set in ambush against them, and they were unsure of their ability to take on another such group so soon.

Making their way back around the portion of the woods they feared the ambush awaited them, they found the main goblin trail once again and were alert for any attacks coming out of the darkness. Thankfully the waxing moon gave some light to see by.  Earlier in their journey they had heard the snuffling of a warg some distance away and worried that a second group was seeking them out.

“Or perhaps the second group is avoiding us,” Timotheus suggested.  He was helping the critically wounded (2) Falco to walk along.  “I mean, we did kill… what? Two-dozen or more of them, all told?  They should be scared of us…”

“This new captive may have the information we need to devise a plan of assault on the goblin camp,” Bleys said, pointing to the bound and unconscious goblin Tymon had hanging over his shoulders.

“I see no reason to think it will be any more trustworthy or communicative as the last one,” Telémahkos sighed.

They were not far from the treeline when they saw the glow emerging from the cave.  They squatted down behind some brush and trees to watch.  Telémahkos pulled out the map and they determined that the light was within the southernmost of the two caves marked as having to do with orcs.

“That was where we saw the figure looking over at us early this morning,” Telémahkos commented.

“Who would be fool enough to make a fire in one of those caves and draw attention to themselves?” Bleys asked.   “Either it is someone who does not fear the attention, or a lure of some kind.  It could a trick of the goblins to have us go investigate… Or some other monsters looking for diversion…”

“Or they are clueless adventurers who are endangering themselves,” Timotheus reasoned.

“We should investigate,” Victoria suggested.  “At the very least watch for a while and see if anyone or anything approaches the cave, or leaves…”

“If someone is in danger they should be warned,” Laarus of Ra said.

“That is idle speculation,” Telémahkos replied. “There is no reason to think there are people there in trouble, or even that our help is sought…”

Timotheus looked around the group and sighed.  “Normally, I would say let’s go take a look, just in case someone is just dumb enough to make a campfire and draw monsters their way, but most of us are hurt, and Falco and Bleys are particularly hurt.  We cannot risk it.”

“We can always come back and investigate in daylight,” Bleys added.

It was agreed, and the young nobles marched the rest of the way to the grove.

A couple of hours later, the goblin began to stir, and it writhed frantically as it realized it situation. Telémahkos took a deep breath with his back turned to it and then spun around with the most fierce countenance that he could muster, barking in the hobgoblin language, and yanking the captive’s gag off.

“Common! Common! Common! Common! Me talk Common” It yelped as it pathetically kicked at the ground to get away from Telémahkos, who leaned over him menacingly holding his dagger.  The goblin _did_ speak the common tongue, or at least a few words of it, which along with the few words of the hobgoblin language it knew, meant Telémahkos could communicate with it much better than he had with the last captive.

“Who are you?” Victoria asked, as she and the others gathered around, a lot more interested in the interrogation now that they could understand part of it.  She still had the idea of capturing some kind of goblin officer for better information.

“Me goblin talk common!” It said.  “Me Takum'k!”  It looked up at Victoria and its eyes grew wider and it raised its bound hands to point at the silver ankh-branded spear, symbol of her god, around her neck.

“Test of Thutmose!”   Its fear turned to awe and then fear again as it lifted its swollen head back to take in the rest of the group.  “You Test of Thutmose!”

“Are you the boss of your goblins?” Victoria continued her questioning, but Telémahkos waved his hand dismissively.

“Are you an important goblin?” Telémahkos asked it in hobgoblin tongue.

“No goblin less important than Takum’k!”

“We know of goblins less important than you,” Telémahkos replied. “We captured him, too, and then killed him when he betrayed us.  You will meet the same fate if you do not do as we say.”

“Oh, Test of Thutmose! You say? Me do! Me pray pray Thutmose!” the goblins replied, growing reverent, and bowing down low to rub the side of its face in the dirt.  

“I don’t care who you worship,” Telémahkos replied, yanking the goblin back up to its feet by the scruff of the neck.

“No Thutmose? You like wolf god? Me pray wolf god!” The goblin was obviously trying hard to figure out what would please its captors.

“What is Thutmose?” Bleys the Aubergine asked.

“Eh, some goblin god,” Timotheus replied.

“He is called ‘Son of Thoth’,” Laarus clarified.

“What?” Timotheus was surprised by this information.

“It is debated if Thutmose should be included in the gods of the canon of Ra’s Pantheon, but it according the ancient tablets, Thoth poured all his negative thoughts and feelings into an urn, which was then stolen by Bes.  He tried to hide in the home of Anhur, but ended up losing it to the war god in a wager instead.  Afraid to steal from Anhur, Bes poured the contents of the urn into a clay statue, and it came to life.  This was Thutmose.”

“What does that have to do with goblins?” Bleys asked.

“It said that Thutmose created figures out of the clay of the River Prime and poured into each of them a little of the negative energy that was originally Thoth’s. It was in this way that goblins were made.  According to legends of the hobgoblins, Anhur trained Thutmose in the arts of war, and afterward he came back and created new and better figures from the clay. These were hobgoblins…”

“Yes! Thutmose! You Test of Thutmose!” The goblin echoed Laarus, and the priest sneered.

“Who calls us ‘Test of Thutmose’?” Telémahkos asked the goblin, raising his hand to threaten a slap.

“The Masters!” Takum’k cringed and then jabbered on quickly in a hodge-podge of tongues.  Telémahkos had to stop the creature and make it start over several times, and then asked some questions.  He let out a sigh.

“The hobgoblins are gone,” Telie said, turning to the others.  “They left soon after we arrived.  We are the ‘Test of Thutmose’ because the goblin tribe has to prove itself by defeating us… They took the ‘Box of Magic Sticks…”

“The box of wands?” Bleys asked.

Telémahkos nodded, and continued.  “They killed the shaman because he served the wolf god, and they also killed the alpha warg…”

“How will they know if we have been defeated if they have gone?” Victoria asked.

“Don’t you get it?” Markos laughed.  “They aren’t coming back.  They wanted the Box of Wands, and they got it the easy way.”

“There’s more,” Telémahkos said. “There was a priest of Thutmose among them, but also a militant of Anhur…”

“What!?” Timotheus was dumbfounded.  “A hobgoblin militant of Anhur?!  Can that happen?”

Victoria’s head bowed a bit as she replied, “It has been known to happen… Anhur is concerned with war and honor, and whatever else, it seems hobgoblins are capable of these…”

“But we can fight ‘im, right?” Tim was worried.

“Many times in history Militants of Anhur have found themselves on opposite sides of conflicts,” Victoria answered with great seriousness in her tone. “It does our god honor for us to test ourselves against each other. However, if he were to challenge me to a duel, I must be allowed to fight him alone, no matter what the outcome.”

“That’s fine,” Tim smiled. “And if it kills you, we kill it!”

Victoria of Anhur furrowed her brow. “I should hope that if that time came you would respect my wishes…”

“Yeah, sure… Of course!” Timotheus rolled his eyes and tapped his forehead when Victoria was not looking.

Telémahkos did some more questioning, and guessed that there were more than twenty-one goblins left at their camp. In fact, he had a feeling the number might be closer to sixty or eighty, led by a chieftain that was ‘powerful and sneaky’.  It could not tell him exactly how many ogres were around, but did mention a particularly big one called ‘Dunka.’

Once again, the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland fell to arguing their next move.  The debate came to down to whether or not they should try to track the hobgoblin ambassadors, or whatever they were, or if their abilities were best put towards destroying the entire goblin tribe.

“We may not be able to pursue these hobgoblins, but we may be able to deprive them of what resources they came to secure for any war to come, While these vermin all hate us humans anyway, perhaps it is time we remind them why,” Bleys said in his even tone, his voice not betraying any malice, just placid desire to do away with every last one of the Flor’Choo. 

“I don’t want to do either,” said Markos. “I want to investigate this pearl thing.  It is _that_ that interests me most.”

“The hobgoblins have too great a lead,” Bleys reasoned.  “It seems foolish to think we catch them, even if we knew where they were going…”

“They came from the north…” Tim offered.

“But how do we know they went back home, wherever that is?  They might be moving on to another tribe to try to recruit that one…”

“The recruitment was a ploy,” Laarus of Ra commented. “They wanted the ‘Box of Wands’ and now they have it and can use it against Schiereiland. I think it is our duty to go after them if we can…”

“For once old baldie here makes sense,” Timotheus said.

Consulting Falco, however, they realized that finding the hobgoblin trail would require searching the area in and around the goblin camp, as that was the last place they were known to be, and thus the only place a trail to follow could reasonably expected to be found.

“But that also means we may have to kill all the goblins in that area to get the time and peace we need to search for a trail,” Falco said in his typical whisper of a voice. “That is, if signs of a trail are not destroyed in the process of the melee…”

“Then perhaps we should just return to Thricia and warn the authorities of this danger,” Laarus of Ra suggested.

The young nobles agreed to sleep on it and discuss again in the morning.

_…to be continued…_
--------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Session #15 was played on Sunday, September 2nd, 2007.

(2) Falco was bitten by a warg in Session #15 and dropped to negative hit points.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

are you trying to work savage tide into your game


----------



## handforged

That last goblin fight with the ogre was great.  Nice to see the party in a challenge, but still come out on top.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> are you trying to work savage tide into your game




That is part of the plan, though I am not using most of the actual adventures from the Adventure Path (only Bullywug's Gambit so far) - instead I am using the outline of the path that came out in the preview and building the plot arc around what that inspires.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Hi el-remmen

I've been reading this story whenever I've had time in the last week, and have now caught right up to the end. I just wanted to say that I'm enjoying it tremendously - including the inter-session bits. You've obviously got a great campaign world developed - and great players too!

I did try and get in Out of the Frying Pan a couple of times, but never made it somehow. Perhaps I'll give it another go ...

Anyway. keep up the good work - I'm looking forward to more.


----------



## el-remmen

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Hi el-remmen
> 
> I've been reading this story whenever I've had time in the last week, and have now caught right up to the end. I just wanted to say that I'm enjoying it tremendously - including the inter-session bits. You've obviously got a great campaign world developed - and great players too!
> 
> I did try and get in Out of the Frying Pan a couple of times, but never made it somehow. Perhaps I'll give it another go ...
> 
> Anyway. keep up the good work - I'm looking forward to more.




Hey Half & Half!

Glad you are along for the ride, and let me say, yours has always been one of my favorite user names on the boards!

More madness soon!


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #15 – “(Aborted) Goblin Genocide!” (part 2 of 3)*

Anulem, the 28th of Quark - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

[sblock]
Laarus Raymer was in one of the reserved suites at Death & Taxes.  The light was dim and Markos was sitting across from him with a piece of parchment in his hands.  He studies the paper intently and then looked up, tears streaming down his sun-colored cheeks. “I don’t care if it’s a trap,” he said. “I need to know the truth.”

“Personally, Herman Land is looking better all the time,” Telémahkos said. Laarus looked up to where the voice came from, and the blond Briareus and his cousin were moving the corpse of some dark-clad figure towards the door. It swung open.  There stood Bleys, “More bad news… Orolenial has been imprisoned.  They are saying he did it because he is one of _the Pillars_.  There was a look of shock on Markos’ face, as all went white.
[/sblock]

“Brother Laarus? Are you okay?  Did you have another of your visions?” Victoria Ostrander kneeled beside the young priest of Ra, who had turned on his side just as she went to wake him for his watch. He coughed up clear bile and it pooled in the dry ground.

Laarus nodded, as he fetched a kerchief from his pack to wipe his mouth.  Victoria brought him water as he sat up.  The first lights of the day were just starting appear in the east.  Markos was awake, but had wandered off to relieve himself.

“So, I trust it was not a good vision?” Victoria asked.

“Never,” Laarus replied through another cough, this one dry and rasping.

“Did you foresee all our dooms?” Victoria was trying to lighten the mood a bit, but falling flat.

“Not all…” Laarus paused. “We were back at _Death & Taxes_, and there was a shrouded body being carried from one of our rooms… Not all of us were there…”

“Who was missing?” Victoria asked.

Laarus looked down instinctively, and then brought his sad green eyes up to meet hers.

“Oh…” Victoria’s face grew rigid.  “And these visions? They always come true?”

“Except for the last set involving Telémahkos, yes they all have…” (1)

----------------------------------

“So… Should we go investigate the cave with the fire we saw last night?” Bleys asked some hours later when everyone was finally awake, spells were prepared and a breakfast of jerky and stale biscuits was eaten.

“Did we not agree last night that we would?” Victoria said.

“It is a waste of time,” Laarus of Ra replied.

“I will do whatever Bleys says,” Telémahkos added oddly.

“Have you no opinion?” Laarus asked.

“No, I do not, and so I defer to Bleys, who should be the leader,” Telémahkos replied.

Laarus was taken aback, and Victoria looked at Bleys. The watch-mage’s countenance was as placid as ever.  He was looking at Markos and Timotheus as if waiting for an opinion on the cave matter, unconcerned with Telie’s assertion.

“I still think we should go after these _pearls of power_ (2),” Markos said.  “Forget all of this…”

“According to the charter we all signed, we are supposed to hunt the enemies of Thricia,” Laarus said, 

“We can do that anywhere,” Markos replied with exasperation.

“Well, seems like we’ve been avoiding doing that until now…” Timotheus added snarkily.

“If these hobgoblins are not the enemies of Thricia, I do not know what is,” Laarus said, a little bit of anger showing.    We need to find out what they are up to and warn people before it is too late…  Anyway, going to the cave will leave us in the open…”

“So? It does not matter,” Bleys said.

“How could it not matter?” Laarus asked.

“Wait!” Telémahkos raised his hands.  “I would like to set aside this issue for now and propose that we stop this unseemly arguing, and elect Bleys as our leader.”

“What?” Laarus looked at Bleys and then back at Telie.  “We do not need a leader.  The charter states we all have equal voices in our decisions.”

“But we _do_ need a leader, and the election of one does not contradict the charter if we all agree to it,” Telémahkos reasoned. “It is beneath those of our station to bicker so… It wastes time and energy.  Look at it this way, the Academy of Wizardry are the ones who rule Thricia, and he is a representative of the Academy…”

“The Academy does not rule, the Margrave does…” Laarus clarified.

“Who is advised by the watch-mages,” Telémahkos said.

“I second Telémahkos’ nomination,” Markos said suddenly, and Telémahkos did not hide his look of surprise.  “What?” Markos sneered. “I am just tired of the endless arguing, too… For once I think you have a good idea…”

“I still think it is bad idea,” Laarus said.

“I am not a leader,” Telémahkos continued to try to convince the priest. “And we all know Markos is no leader, though he has some decent tactical suggestions sometimes.  I would follow Timotheus into battle, but beyond that?  I do not think he is leader material yet…” He looked to his cousin. “Sorry…”

“S’alright,” Tim murmured.

Telémahkos continued: “Victoria, as a Militant of Anhur answers to you (3), and you are our guide in matters of the law and morality… But watch-mages are supposed to lead… They lead and defend our towns.  They command militias and hold sensitive diplomatic positions… It just makes sense…”

“Bleys is smart and competent,” Timotheus added.  “He has my vote.”

“That is three of six,” Markos said.

“This something we need to have a consensus about,” Telémahkos said.

“I have no doubts regarding Bleys’ ability,” Laarus said. “It is the necessity of an official leader at all that I have qualms about…”

“It is not as if we will all lose our right to voice our opinions,” Markos offered.  “If there is a really big problem, we will have to discuss it and decide as a group.  But in smaller matters, and in making choices that have no clear better option, we should do what he says, because… Well, just because!”

“Victoria? What do you say?” Telémahkos asked her.

“I have no problems with Bleys being the leader, but I defer to Laarus,” she said.  “But we have not heard from Bleys himself, would he even want to be the leader?”

Bleys rubbed his chin, as if deep in thought, and then finally said, “It is my wish to serve Thricia, if this is how I may best do so I welcome it…”

For a long moment the only sound were the calls of a flock of birds passing overhead, and then finally Laarus Raymer acquiesced.  “I am willing to see how this plays out…”

“So that’s settled… Congratulations, Bleys.  You’re the new leader…” Telémahkos smiled, but Laarus’ expression betrayed a lingering dissatisfaction.

“Now that that is settled,” Bleys replied. “Are we going to investigate the campfire in the cave?”

“You tell us, oh Leader!” Timotheus replied with a wink and a friendly smirk.

“I think we should…” Bleys said.

“Then that is the same as agreement!” Markos said, standing suddenly.  “Let’s go!”

All that remained to be done was deal with the goblin captive, and once again, Bleys calmly dragged the edge of his saber across the thing’s throat, killing it.

--------------------------------------------- 

They marched into the gorge and around the edge of the fragrant dogwood trees that obscured the mouth of the cave into the lair of the Tuk’Tuk kobolds.  They could hear frantic yapping barks echoing from within, and the silhouettes of small figures lingering behind the trees right above the cave, but they ignored it, making for the slope just beneath the cave they hoped to investigate.

The slope was steep enough in places to force them scramble up at times, and so the number of possible approaches to the narrow plateau that held the entrance were narrowed to a few. 

The cavern entrance was taller and wider than the others the party had encountered so far, but quickly narrowed, though it appeared to widen again about twenty-five feet in where it branched off in three directions.  There was no sign of an actual fire, though the ceiling was stained by smoke.  Suddenly the sound of a growling bark echoed out from within.

“Well, _something_ lives here…” Timotheus said.  “Ready to do some talking?”

“If it talks…” Laarus replied.

“Yes… If it talks…” Timotheus sighed.  He turned to Bleys.  “You’re the boss… Shall you call in for us?”

Bleys frowned at being called ‘boss’.  “You have bigger lungs,” he said.

“Hail the cave!” Timotheus called in, cupping his gauntleted hands around his mouth.

“Who’s there?” came a voice a few moments later.  It was deep and gruff and seemed to come from the center of the three passageways, which was the widest.  It turned to the right about ten feet pass the fork.  The growling bark stopped.

“Timotheus Smith and the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland!” Tim called back.  “Um… Who am I speaking too?”

“Ma! Ma! The Thricians are here!” The voice was muffled, as whomever was responding had turned his head to call back deeper into the caves.  The voice had an edge of worry and anger in it.

By this time the Signers were moving into the cave.  Timotheus led the way, Bleys’ _radiant spark_ following along behind his shoulder, and looked around the corner of the wide hall. There stood a humanoid of obvious orc-stock, with a black tangled beard, and pale skin that gave away his human ancestry.  He wore a chain shirt and let an arrow loose from his longbow.   Tim raised his shield in time to make the arrow clip the top of it and bang against his helmet instead.  He closed his eyes for less than a moment to shake off the reverberations of the blow, and opened them to see a figure eight feet tall, broad and ugly, in suit of makeshift studded leather and wielding a morningstar.

There was a fire pit between the noble adventurers and their foes, but there was no fire lit in it, just the chaired remains of the ends of some logs sticking out from a mound of ash. Telémahkos, who was hugging the wall on the right, took a peek and his eyes grew wide. “Isn’t that one of the half-orcs?  Hezra’s son?” 

Victoria of Anhur hurried past them, her long spear left behind due to the close confines, her morningstar over her head, but the ogre-blooded warrior slammed its club into her face, and knocked her to the ground.  It chortled with thuggish glee, and raised its club to strike her again, but Tim rushed in.

“Get away from her!” Tim roared, charging, but the hulking guard’s long arms let it slam him hard in the side as he approached.  Forced to take a step to keep his balance, his own swing went wide of its mark.

Laarus called to Ra to _bless_ the battle in their favor as he came around the corner to get a view of the melee. He saw Victoria springing to her feet hoping to surprise the ogre-blood with her swing, but it leapt back with more agility than it seemed capable of, what for its awkward build and gangly limbs.   Her wounds began to close of their own accord. (4) Markos called to him that he would be _enlarged_ once he gave the word.  

Meanwhile, the half-orc, who hung back behind the ogre, was giving him orders, “Grotitch! Move back!” Leading the ogre-blood back to where the stony corridor narrowed some, impeding passage around them and blocking the way to a large wooden door banded with strips of black iron that was set in the wall on the left.

“Anhur! I will not fall to the likes of this one!” Victoria called out, filled with the ecstasy of battle, as she stepped back to ready herself to leap back to it. “And nor shall my companions!  Shield this noble son of Ra so he may bring this ogre down!”  She leaned back and touched a hand to Laarus’ steel shield. (5)  The militant was forced to raise her morningstar quickly to fend off a blow from Grotitch.  

As Timotheus harried him back with a set of blustering, but ultimately ineffective blows, he noticed that there was a third figure in the hallway behind the ogre-blood.  Tall for a woman, she had a slouched posture, a pear-shape and an ugliness that could only come from orcish blood. She had jaundiced skin and hairy thick legs, with swollen black lips and a splayed nose. She had white-blonde hair, and wore a gray smock and no shoes, her toenails thick and yellowed.  “_Onina hwu!_ she chanted, and Tim felt a wave of cold fear wash over him.  He shook it off.

“Your magic won’t work on me, witch!” Timotheus bellowed, his wide swings falling short of Grotitch again and again.

“Grotitch! I said, get back!” the half-orc archer cried, trying to get a shot off, as Laarus rushed in to try to pen in the ogre-blooded man.  He grew in stature as Markos intoned his arcane words.  “Crusta! Get out of his way!” the half-orc added, looking to the witch.

“Ooh! Me likes him! He handsome!  Me want him alive!” Crusta pointed at Timotheus, and mumbled words of dark magic that sounded like mirthful laughter.

“Don’t shoot her!” Timotheus cried with genuine concern, as Bleys arrived to send an arrow at her.

_…to be continued…_

----------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Laarus is referring to the visions he had of Telie’s immolation in Sessions #4, 5, 6, 8.

(2)	Despite being told repeatedly that Pearls of Power refer to a specific divine item, Markos (or perhaps his player) insists on referring to the black pearl allegedly responsible for the bullywug transformation in Kraken’s Cove (and others like it that may exist) as ‘pearls of power.’

(3)	Deference: Militants of Anhur are required to show deference to both Priests of Ra and Librarians of Thoth, obeying their wisdom and authority.

(4)	Victoria had cast _Regenerate Light Wounds_ on herself the day before.

(5)	_Shield of Faith_.


----------



## Martin Olarin

> (2) Despite being told repeatedly that Pearls of Power refer to a specific divine item, Markos (or perhaps his player) insists on referring to the black pearl allegedly responsible for the bullywug transformation in Kraken’s Cove (and others like it that may exist) as ‘pearls of power.’




Using the term "pearls of power" is both an IC and OOC decision until Markos learns of this divine item and/or use of the term causes some confusion.

Thanks for all the hard work; I am enjoying the game and find the SH to be a fantastic tool for keeping track of things.  I have not read the entire story hour (catching the above quote by accident and out of context) but find Tim to be my favorite SH character with Bleys a close second.


----------



## Martin Olarin

Rastfar wrote:



> I laughed through the whole thing. That was fun stuff, and well written,...thanx.
> 
> 
> Quote:
> Every little bit of information took several minutes of wrangling and re-wording and a few slaps and punches. It was hard work.
> 
> 
> 
> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
> That had me laughing aloud. Poor Telemakhos....




Sorry to reference something so far back but I'm playing catch up.  The above had me almost rolling around on the floor - what put it over the top for me was: "It was hard work."


----------



## Telémakhos

We need to waterboard our goblins for now on. I might chip a nail.


----------



## Martin Olarin

Telémakhos said:
			
		

> We need to waterboard our goblins for now on. I might chip a nail.




Good idea since we would never torture anyone...


----------



## el-remmen

Let's avoid discussions with current political overtones. I would rather not moderate my own thread.

Thanks.


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## Martin Olarin

Finally caught up - great job.  I'm looking forward to future displays of prickery.  

Open call to readers to help me find a photo for Markos - kinda hard to find pictures of young males who look weathered and scrawny but tough (like beef jerky).  I spent about 4 hours one night and couldn't find anything close.


----------



## el-remmen

Martin Olarin said:
			
		

> Finally caught up - great job.  I'm looking forward to future displays of prickery.




Was the characterization of Markos everything you feared it'd be? 

Expect another update (part 3 of Session #15) to go up some time tonight.


----------



## Martin Olarin

el-remmen said:
			
		

> Was the characterization of Markos everything you feared it'd be?
> 
> Expect another update (part 3 of Session #15) to go up some time tonight.




Looking forward to the update and didn't see anything in M's characterization that didn't make sense given the circumstances.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #15 – “(Aborted) Goblin Genocide!” (part 3 of 3)*

The watch-mage had been hanging back near where the main cavern branched off in opposite directions.  Here, Telémahkos was having Tymon guard the passage to the right as he sent Dunlevey to reinforce the melee they could hear around the corner of the main passage.  The passage to the right was much narrower than the entrance to cavern, not more than five feet wide in most places, and Telémahkos was turning away from looking down it when he noticed a canine figure creeping in his direction.

“Warg!” Telémahkos cried out in alarm.  “Dunlevey to me!” He called the sell-sword back before he’d gotten very far.

“Well, I can’t get in there,” Dunlevey replied, as he came back into the narrow passage behind Telémahkos.  “Move back and I’ll take your place!” But Telémahkos had other plans, leaping to avoid the bite of the warg; he flipped over it to land behind, penning it in between him and the sell-sword.

The warg was slightly smaller and thicker than those they had seen before, and its fur was a dirty gray-white.  It shuffled to one side as it spun around to avoid the thrust of Telie’s rapier, but was not quick enough to avoid Dunlevey’s long sword.  It yelped and snapped at him ineffectively. 

“Falco! Watch the entrance,” Bleys called the archer back as he moved up, bow in hand to join the melee around the corner in the wider hall.  Falco looked around and then did as asked, taking a moment to glimpse the cramped fight with the warg in the narrow branching tunnel as he passed.   The warg had moved into the corner where the passageway turned to the right, keeping Dunlevey and Telémahkos from being able to flank it.  It viciously yanked Dunlevey off his feet, tearing at the bushy-headed man’s calf to draw streams of blood.  The warg let go as Telémahkos thrust at it, but in trying to bite the warrior again as he got up, it left itself open to a follow up thrust. Telémahkos grimaced as the point of the blade hit bone, and the whole blade bent, humming as he yanked it back.  The warg’s blood sprayed up at him and it went wild, snapping in all directions.  Dunlevey brought his sword across in wide arcing swing and the blade slammed into the passageway wall, flying out of his hands.

“Oops!” He cried stepping back to draw his shortsword, but then he cried out again.  He turned in time to see a lankier wolf, with red-black fur and steaming red eyes come charging out from the passage across the way, grabbing hold of the back of his thigh with its teeth.  “Devil wolf!” Dunlevey added with alarm.

Timotheus and Laarus fought side by side, the _enlarged_ priest of Ra towering over everyone including Grotitich the ogre, and together they blocked access to their foes. 

“Anhur! I have no room for battle, but you can reach where I cannot!” Victoria cried out to her god, and a ghostly spear shining with blue-white light appeared beside the ogre-blood, thrusting forth of its own accord.  Grotitch yelped and ducked to avoid it, leaving himself open to a blow from Laarus’ over-sized flail.  It slapped Timotheus in the side of the head with its club and moved back to draw the fight further down the hall.

Crusta cried as another arrow from Bleys clipped her shoulder.

“I said don’t shoot her,” Timotheus risked a stern look back at Bleys to his detriment, and the ogre struck him again, making his world a shaking blurry light for half a moment.  “Run!” he cried to Crusta “Get to somewhere it is safe!”

“Help me! Handsome man!” Crusta cooed, and she began to move her hands in a casting motion. Markos, who crouched behind the melee, had been waiting for just that and before her spell could go off, she was reeling from the blows from two of his watery _magic missiles_.  Laarus moved in, Grotitich put his shoulder down to absorb the brunt of the priest’s attack and swung upward catching Timotheus in the chest.  He had still been trying to clear his head.

“What are you doing?” Timotheus called to the half-orc witch. The last blow had focused his vision for him, and he slashed the thing’s leg with his saber.  It roared with dumb-anger. “Run, girl!”  An arrow from Bleys was sticking out of the ogre-blood’s forearm.

Crusta began to once again mutter the incantation of a spell, and Timotheus as certain he heard her call to Isis as she touched Grotitch on the back with a glowing hand, healing some of his wounds.  It was not enough however.  Laarus reverted to normal size as Markos dismissed the _enlarge person_ spell to allow the priest a chance to squeeze into the area.  Laarus charged in and slammed the ogre-blood full on in the face.  The echo of crunching skull ran down the hall, and Grotitch collapsed.

“No! No! No!” The half-orc archer cried out with woe and fear.  Tears streaming down his face, he sent an arrow that buried itself in Tim’s side.  The tall bastard son of Briareus fell surrounded by an increasingly large pool of his life’s blood.

“I hope he don’t die,” Crusta said, matter-of-factly. “He’s my new boyfriend!”

Before any of the Signers could move up the door on the right burst open and out came three of the strangest creatures they had ever seen.  Wearing nothing but ragged fur loincloths, they were some kind of strange orc, with gray skin covered in scars and lined with spurs of bone at their joints.  They had black greasy hair and long apish-faces with large nostrils and a single line of bushy black hair on their ridged brow.  Their hands were painfully swollen, permanently twisted fists covered with chips of bone that burst out through their hides.  Their eyes were yellow and rheumy, and nearly swollen shut.  They grunted as they lined up, their great fists bouncing in front of their faces like monstrous boxers.

“Who let out duh ‘grillions?” Crusta asked no one in particular.

Victoria willed her _spiritual spear_ to  move from the felled ogre-blood and thrust itself at Crusta, but the half-orc girl hopped away with a cry, and the spear disappeared.  Simultaneously, the militant kneeled by Timotheus, calling to Anhur to close his wounds.  Tim sat up suddenly, coughing, the weight of _exhaustion_ (1) pressed atop of his body.  “Hold the line,” he grunted as he stood.

“Falco! Tymon!  Bows and crossbows upfront!” Bleys called for reinforcements, having withdrawn back to the intersection.

“Eh! Tim’s about as useful as an ogre-ruined cunny,” Markos swore, lighting a torch. “Everyone sound off!”

“_Bragga dah!_ Crusta cast, her hands held up like claws, her eyes wide, her mouth a drooling snarl, looking right at Markos.  The mage felt magic wash over him, but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath and it never took hold.

“Ready!” cried Tymon having dropped sword to rush towards the melee crossbow in hand, eyes shut.  

“Tymon! Tymon! The light! You have the light!” Telémahkos voice echoed through the cavern followed by a growling bark and a complaint from Dunlevey.  Tymon spun around confused.

“Ready!” cried Laarus, hanging back from engaging with the strange orc-hybrids and closing his eyes.

“Ready!” cried Victoria and Falco.

The half-orc archer fled through the open door, closing it behind him.

“Markos! We’re ready!” Bleys cried, as the creatures came at them with fists flying.  A flash that the Signers could see even through their closed lids accompanied Markos’ voice. 

Dunlevey crowded in close to the warg trying to get away from the fiendish wolf, thrusting his short sword down at it wildly at it.  He looked up and smiled to see Markos leaving the blind mayhem of the other battle to fire a bolt from his gnomish repeating crossbow at the wolf.  The bolt missed.  Tymon came back as well, but as he was turning the corner to move up the hall he cried out as an arrow struck him in the head from behind.  Luckily, his helmet absorbed most of the blow.  “Master!” he cried, the lantern he carried swung wildly, sending shadows to dance about. Markos looked up the opposite passage.  The arrow had come from behind a curtain of furs about twenty-five feet down it.

“Tymon! Try and keep the light on us, but don’t die in the process,” Telémahkos called to his servant, amazed at his own ability to be flippant while so very very frightened.  He felt the satisfaction of _the steel whip_ cutting through warg sinew.  The ground was slick with its blood, but still it fought.

Dunlevey spun around and hopped back towards the fiendish wolf, chopping deep into its skull.  It collapsed and then disappeared with a puff of sulfuric smoke.  “There is an archer back there!” Dunlevey cried, charging across the main passage towards the curtained passage across the way.  Bleys moved in to take his spot, but leapt back startled. The warg had moved up the passage some and took a snap at him.

“Kill it!” Telémahkos cried in a high register as he came rushing out of the passage.  The warg spun around and the rapier caught in the roof of its mouth, splitting its face in half.  It fell to quickly bleed out.

Back around the corner of the main hall a blind Crusta finally found her way to the door and stumbled through it, while the ogrillions fought on, two swinging wildly in the dark, the other still sighted as is was lucky to have looked away when it happened.  Unfortunately for it, this also meant that it was the target of all the noble adventurers fighting here.  Victoria, spear back in hand, thrust at the sighted ogrillion, puncturing its chest to finally send it down after taking hits from Timotheus as well.  The tall blond warrior withdrew, however, too close to collapsing again. (2)

Victoria stepped back and called to Anhur to grant her the last of the healing spells she had prepared.  Timotheus felt the warmth of the divine energy wash over him, making sure he would not bleed out if he exerted himself, but it did nothing for his exhaustion and worst of his wounds. (3)

Falco sent arrows into the blind ogrillions, and one of them flinched, bringing its head right into line with the swing of Laarus’ flail.  It withdrew fumbling through the doorway, but as the other tried to follow it, it misjudged in its blindness, and another blow from the priest of Ra sent it to the ground.  The door slammed shut.  Laarus moved to follow, but Timotheus called him back.

“Everyone stop scattering!” he cried, dropping his sword and shield and drawing his bow. “Gather and support Bleys and Telémahkos!”

Bleys and Telémahkos were in the small room carved out of the rock that lay behind the fur curtain.  Dunlevey had torn it down only to be sent fleeing by a rush of magical _fear_ that came over him.  He took off out of the cave itself, leaping down the embankment out into the open gorge.

“Tymon! Watch the entrance again!” Bleys commanded, when he saw what happened to Dunlevey.  “Hezrah is about and we cannot let her get away!”  He charged into the room ducking out of the way of an arrow that struck Markos in the hip as the mage came around the corner.  Bleys the Aubergine recognized the half-orc archer as the same son of Hezrah they had fought outside of Rudwilla’s cottage. (4)   The light of the _radiant spark_ now followed him, having left Timotheus by the watch-mage’s mental command.  The room held some tools in one corner and a stone trough in the far corner, filled with some scummy water.  Another fur curtain obscured a passage at the right corner.

“Timotheus?  How are you?” Victoria asked, see how pale he was as she came around the corner, followed by Laarus.

Bleys dropped his bow and leapt at the half-orc, his saber sliding from it scabbard and coming down in a fluid arc.  The half-orc stepped to the side, hopping up onto the low trough.

“Watch out for something behind that curtain,” Telémahkos warned the watch-mage as he moved to pen in the half-orc.  He drew blood from his foe’s wrist.  The half-orc dropped his bow and drew his axe with such speed that he was able to parry Bleys and Telémahkos’ blows before he had quite brought it to bear.  He let the weight to the axe coming into his hands drive the haft into Bley’s gut. 

“Any minute now, Ma! I could use some help,” the half-orc cried out with desperation.  Suddenly, the smell of sulfur filled the small cavern as another fiendish wolf ran in from behind the fur curtain. It grabbed hold of Telémahkos toga and pulled him down, worrying him some with an unearthly growl.  

“Ahh! Ahh!” Telémahkos cried out, batting it in the face with the basket of his sword’s hit as he rolled over and scrambled to his feet.

“Telémahkos. Get up!” Bleys admonished as he cut the half-orc deep in the arm with his sabre.  The saber and battle-axe danced violently around and against each other, and again Bleys’ blade nicked the half-orc’s hands, drawing blood.  The watch-mage flinched as the battle-axe slid down the length of the saber and then bounced off the hilt. The flat of the axe’s blade slammed him hard in the face.

Markos was looking in from the corridor and ran back towards the cavern. “Things are looking bad in there!” he said.  “Get me a frontline fighter!”   Falco shrugged, and continued to watch the entrance, but Tymon walked down the passageway.  “Master?”  

Tymon hurried back out as Timotheus loped past him, looking much better after a _cure moderate wounds_ spell from Laarus of Ra, but still exhausted from his near-death experience.   Markos was right behind him, ducking to the right and letting a loosing a crossbow bolt that fell just short of the fiendish wolf.  Something banged against his ankle and there was a clatter of clay.  “Sh*t!” He accidentally kicked over a chamber pot and now the fetid contents were pouring over his boots.

The half-orc moaned as Telémahkos’ blade slid into his hip, drawing a deep oozing wound, and then the room was dark!  Or was it?  There was confusion as Bleys’ radiant spark disappeared and a sputtering torch in a corner sconce was all that lit the room.  Laarus arrived.

“Nephthys! Bless my blade!” Timotheus cried as he charged in taking Bleys’ spot.  The watch-mage leapt back flicking his sword back and forth defensively.  The orc was shocked by the suddenness of his arrival and did not lift his axe fast enough to fully block the blow.  Telémahkos stabbed the half-orc in the leg, and it reflexively chopped out scrapping a huge rent in Tim’s breastplate and knocking the tall warrior down. (5)  Laarus slammed the fiendish wolf with his flail.  Two more hits and it fell, disappearing as it died.

“Nephthys! Watch over us! Guard us well!” Timotheus prayed dragging himself free of the melee.  

“Don’t worry, Tim! I’m on this,” Telémahkos reassured his cousin.  He fell into a roll, trying to knock the half-orc off his feet, but felt the bite of the axe instead.  Only his chain shirt kept him from being split in half.  “Laarus! Help!” he cried, dropping his rapier as he futilely grabbed at the half-orc’s s legs.

The half-orc looked around.  He was bleeding profusely from his wounds, and half-leaning against the wall.  He dropped his axe with a shrug saying, “I surrender.  I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I don’t want to end up like my brothers!”

“Ask him how many are left!” Markos called across the room, and then his jaw dropped, noticing for the first time that Laarus had torn down the fur curtain in the corner of the room and was marching down into a dark sloping passage, filling it with _daylight_ as he called out to Ra.

“Accept no quarter! Kill that thing!” Bleys the Aubergine countermanded Markos.  The watch-mage ran out of the room towards the sounds of combat coming from the main passageway.  He stopped only to pick up his bow. Victoria and Falco were alone with the last ogrillion that come back once its vision returned.

“Glad to see you came to reason,” Telémahkos said to the half-orc, stepping back and picking up _the Steel Whip_, but Timotheus rushed in swinging at the foe.

“Whoa! I gave up, you rotten human scum!” It leapt at Timotheus, dodging a follow-up cut from the warrior’s saber, but failed to grab hold him.  The distraction served to allow him a chance to pick his axe back up, paying only with a hilt-punch to his gut.

“Laarus! It betrayed us!” Telémahkos called down the tunnel, cognizant of what the priest of Ra might think of their attacking a surrendering foe, and then he stabbed at the half-orc.  The axe-wielding son of Hezra leapt back, swinging his weapon defensively, his arms flagging. 

“Laarus!  Get back here, you stupid prick.  It’s beating on Tim now!’ Markos yelled down into the earthen tunnel that sloped down to the right.  “Great, it’s me, the trembler and the fighter that can’t hit the broadside of a whore’s ass.” He moved in to help pen the half-orc in the corner once again, dagger in hand.

“Finish this bastard!” Telémahkos cursed, and shoved his magical rapier deep in the half-orc’s gut, sending him to the ground to bleed out.  He looked to Timotheus. “We could interrogate him after this…?”

“I leave it to you to decide what to do with him, I’d better find Laarus before he gets into trouble,” his cousin replied.  “Markos, come with me.  Oh, and don’t think I didn’t hear that comment before… Next time, I shove your little crossbow up your ass sideways…” He leapt down into the curving tunnel after the priest, and Markos followed with a scowl.

Telémahkos kneeled beside the orc, and with a shrug slid the rapier deeper into an existing stab wound and jerked it around a bit, until fresh gouts of black blood seeped out in all directions.  Another one of Hezrah’s sons was dead. (6)

“Laarus has chased after Hezrah!” Bleys informed those back out in the hall as he joined the fight.  “Falco, back to the entrance.  Keep an eye out for Dunlevey, and make sure Hezrah does not get by you…”

Victoria looked battered but satisfied.  She took her time to yank her long spear free of the last of the ogrillions, now dead on the cold stone floor, before leaning over Tymon’s unconscious form to feed him a potion of _cure light wounds_.  He had come charging from his post at the cave entrance to support Victoria, and had paid for it with a deep gash in his head.

“Hey! You may want to come look at this!” Falco called from the cave entrance, and Bleys hurried over.  Out on the gorge floor they saw Dunlevey fighting for his life against a group of kobolds that had him surrounded.  He had made halfway from the dogwood trees to the base of the escarpment before having to stop.

“Dunlevey is besieged by kobolds!” The watch-mage called out, raising his bow, and instructing Falco to do the same.  Squinting against the light of mid-morning, they sent arrows down towards the melee.  The could hear the kobolds yap in alarm as the arrows seemed at first to come from nowhere, as they were so far from the cave entrance.  Telémahkos joined them, sending bolts with his crossbow.

The kobolds were small doggish humanoids with rat-like heads and blue-black fur.  They had beady eyes and tiny horns, and wore patched-up leather armor.  They thrust their small spears at him viciously.

“Dunlevey! Fear not!  We are coming to save you!” Bleys’s voice boomed with the aid of his _announce_ spell, and the kobolds began to scatter.  Even being outnumbered eight to one, Dunlevey had managed to kill three of them, and now numbers were no longer on their side.  One collapsed into the grass with a crossbow bolt through its rat-like snout.  It whined for a moment, and then was quiet.  Dunlevey was able to begin to scramble back up to the cave, sweaty, winded and critically wounded. (7)

“There was still fighting going on back there,” Timotheus was calling to Laarus who led the way along the winding earthen tunnel.  “We should go back…”

“Yeah, dumb-f*ck, you done yet?” Markos added, coming along behind.  The priest ignored his cousin and continued.

“I just want you to know, Laarus, that when we’re dead and you’re getting your glories before Ra, there’ll be one person in the Nine Hells cursing you,” Markos added.

Laarus stopped and turned.  “Then don’t follow.”

“Seriously, Laarus, why are you being so insistent?” Timotheus asked.

“Hezrah got away from us twice.  I do not plan to let her escape again,” Laarus said, and with that he turned and continued.  Timotheus and Markos continued to follow him.

The tunnel ended in a shaft in the low ceiling that led up to a wooden trapdoor by way of metal spikes driven through rotting wood planks and into the dead end wall.  Laarus did not hesitate.  He climbed up and pushed open the trapdoor.  Beyond was some smoky and dim chamber, but he did not get a chance to get a good look.  He felt the sharp pain of a spear thrust and suddenly he was back down in the tunnel with the wind knocked out of him.  Above, the trapdoor shut.

Markos laughed sardonically as Timotheus helped the priest of Ra to his feet.  “Can we go back now?” Markos asked.

“No!” Laarus insisted. 

Markos sighed, but quickly applied his resources and intelligence to the problem and devised a plan.  He lit up a torch and handed it to Laarus.  The young priest of Ra climbed up and awkwardly thrust open the trapdoor, while Markos stood directly beneath to make sure he saw the torch.  The shadowy figure above thrust its spear even as Laarus raised the torch, crying, “Now!”

“_Pyroclastus lux!_ Markos cast, and there was a flash of light. A babble of rasping high-pitched voices came from above.  Laarus tumbled back down painfully and Markos was barely able to get out of way.  Timotheus however, leapt to action, clambering up the makeshift ladder and into the chamber. He was awed by what he saw.  The chamber was hewn from the stone and some sixty feet across.  It was set on all sides with dirty straw pallets and ratty woolen blankets.  There were six small braziers giving a weak smoky light to the place.  Laarus’ _daylight_ streamed up from the shaft he was climbing for a second time. There was a wooden door set with iron bands in the center of the wall on the right, and there was a corridor about forty feet along the wall on the left.  And all about the room were the frantic flailing forms of orcish women.  But these were unlike any orcs he had ever seen or heard of before.  These had webbed gray hides and thick black hair in tufts on their heads and along their backs and legs.  They had large red eyes and naked flaccid breasts.  Heavy black chains set with cylindrical weights were manacled to their legs and wrists. There were nine of them blindly trying to flee, but having nowhere to go.  One knocked over a brazier and burned herself.   One had white hair and held the spear that was stained with Laarus’ blood.  She alone kept her head, swinging the spear back and forth in wide arcs and barking out in her best intimidating gestures.  She had no chains.

“Ooh! It’s my boyfriend!” Timotheus looked up and saw Crusta standing across the room.

”I’m so glad your safe!” He walked towards her, making his way around the orcish women and making a wide arc around the spear-wielding crone.  “You should stay back, my _friends_ are coming.  What is going on here?”

Laarus came up into the room, and his light filled the chamber and illuminated a hulking form emerging from the corridor.  It was a female ogre, with long dirty orange hair, and draped in a woolen smock the size of tent.  Her belly was swollen with pregnancy, and she leaned on the corner of the wall,  obviously having difficulty walking.

*End of Session #15*


----------



## el-remmen

---------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) In Aquerra, going from being mortally wounded (i.e. at negs) to positive hit point without actual physical rest leaves you exhausted.  After an hour of rest or light activity you improved to a fatigued condition, but that requires 8 hours of rest or light activity to overcome.  Alternately, _restoration_ spells can be used to circumvent it.

(2) Timotheus was at 0 hps.

(3) _Cure minor wounds_

(4) See Session #11

(5) In Aquerra, we play with rules for knocking foes down just from normal combat hits. See Knockdown.

(6) The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland killed the rest of Hezrah’s sons in Session #10.

(7) We try to refrain from using numbers to determine describe the wound condition on characters.  Instead, hit point total is divided into fourths, each one being equated to being lightly (3/4), moderately (between ½ and ¾), seriously (between ¼ and ½) and critically (between 0 and ¼) wounded.


----------



## handforged

Great fight!

I hope that the Signers can make it through the rest of this without losing anyone, as they are probably very low on resources at this point.

Good job again, Nemm.

~hf


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## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> Great fight!
> 
> ~hf




Thanks

I can't wait for 4E so that I can stage dynamic fights with different groups of foes and the PCs will have reasons to move around in combat like that this static trading blows 3E stuff like the above.


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## darkhall-nestor

They are always low on resources!

Would they even know what to do if they had a sudden windfall and were flush with gold and magic?

I bet the players still love the game even with the tough fights and low resources (or because of).

I know I like to read about it (even if it makes me feel exhausted).


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## handforged

darkhall,

I meant low by contrast to their normal amount.  They are nearly depleted of offensive magic, healing, and hitpoints and are heading into yet another confrontation.

Nemm,

excited to hear that you will be heading into 4E when it comes out.

~hf


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## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> Nemm,
> 
> excited to hear that you will be heading into 4E when it comes out.
> 
> ~hf




Actually, I was being sarcastic, which does not always come through the textual medium. 

I was poking some fun at the claims that 4E is going to fix the static quick combats of 3E, when I have been doing dynamic moving combats since day 1.


----------



## Tony Vargas

el-remmen said:
			
		

> I was poking some fun at the claims that 4E is going to fix the static quick combats of 3E, when I have been doing dynamic moving combats since day 1.



3E really does lend itself to "static, quick combats," at the standard wealth levels, if the players powergame.  Melee types will tend to avoid moving, so they can make full attacks (static), and almost any sort of PC can be min/maxxed to output massive damage (quick).  Obviously, neither issue is a problem in your campaign.  It's one of the things that makes it a pleasure to read.


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## el-remmen

Tony Vargas said:
			
		

> 3E really does lend itself to "static, quick combats," at the standard wealth levels




The worst thing to ever happen to D&D was the idea of "standard wealth level".


In other news, look for a *DOUBLE HELPING* of _"Second Son of a Second Son" Story Hour _ Installments this Thanksgiving Weekend!


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## Tony Vargas

el-remmen said:
			
		

> The worst thing to ever happen to D&D was the idea of "standard wealth level".



 It's not all bad.  Before that, the game was often all about what items your character had collected, now, items serve more as a foundation, while your class & feat choices make a real difference.  It'd be nice, though, if items were just story elements, though, rather than crucial character elements (unless you wanted them to be).  But, then, it'd be Fantasy Hero, not D&D.  

The classes /are/ balanced around standard wealth, though, and I still wonder that your campaign doesn't run into bigger problems.

AC, for instance, in a low magic game, must be abysmal, and that's hardly compatible with the draw-out combats that seem to predominate in Aquerra...?


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## el-remmen

Tony Vargas said:
			
		

> It'd be nice, though, if items were just story elements, though, rather than crucial character elements (unless you wanted them to be).  But, then, it'd be Fantasy Hero, not D&D.




I am of the philosophy that it is _all_ D&D.  The role of magical items does not make the game D&D or not, to me at least. . .

Personally, I think an ideal system would have a baseline of few to no magical items and allow for DMs to run games with more layers of gear - since it easier to add stuff to a game than to take it away.



			
				Tony Vargas said:
			
		

> AC, for instance, in a low magic game, must be abysmal, and that's hardly compatible with the draw-out combats that seem to predominate in Aquerra...?




Well, we do use a Base Defense Bonus house rule. . .


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## mofos21

el-remmen said:
			
		

> Well, we do use a Base Defense Bonus  house rule. . .



Edited to include link to said house rule.  In case anyone's interested ...


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## Martin Olarin

And don't forget the expansion of what you allow under the Masterwork rules.


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## el-remmen

Martin Olarin said:
			
		

> And don't forget the expansion of what you allow under the Masterwork rules.




Yeah, but very few people have actually taken advantage of masterwork items as it still tends to be very expensive.  If Kazrack had not returned the Hand of Natan-Ahb there was no way he would have afforded the 15K in silver that armor would have cost him.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

I think it’s great that you take the time to name some of the magic items you let you party members have and also that you give them a back story.

I personally like to give the more powerful magic items some detrimental qualities. Something that players may or may not want to live with.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #16 – “Hezrah’s Maternity Mayhem!” (part 1 of 3)* 1

“Oh, no no no!” the pregnant ogress cried.  She turned quickly, nearly falling over due to her awkward condition, and hurried out of sight back down the corridor.

Laarus of Ra swung his flail at the crone, but she cocked her head and moved out of the way with blessed luck.  But her luck did not last, the priest of Ra stepped around the spear with a sudden spring and caved in the side of her head with his weapon.   She collapsed without a sound.  The other orc women continued to screech and bat futilely at the walls.

“Get the hell out of my way you fncking idiot,” Markos pushed past his cousin and threw open the door on the right, relieved when Laarus’ light revealed what he suspected.  The door led back out into the hall with the fire pit where they had fought the ogre-blood. 2  “Hey! Hey! Over here! We need help!” He called for the others, ducking out into the hall.

“Tymon! Remain at the cave entrance and send Dulevey along when he gets here.  Hezrah must not escape!” Bleys said, hearing Markos call from just outside of the cave.  “Falco! With us!” And with that he dashed back into the cave after Telémahkos and Victoria of Anhur who were already answering Markos’ call.

Telémahkos tumbled into the doorway and stopped to take in the scene.  Two of the gray-skinned naked ogrillions emerged from the corridor just across from the door and a bit to the right.  Bleys rushed past Victoria, who was weighed down by her armor, as usual, and he entered the room bow in hand, to see Laarus walking towards Timotheus with purpose.  He could see that the tall blond warrior was shielding Crusta behind him.  

“Nobody hurt her! She’s a priestess of Isis,” Timotheus insisted.  He looked over his shoulder at her, as he turned to face the ogrillions.  “Stay behind me. Stay close…”

“He’s charmed!” Telémahkos hissed into the watch-mage’s ear, and then with a deft roll he was beside his cousin, urging him forward against the cautious ogrillions.  Laarus stood on Tim’s other side and began to call to Ra to close Tim’s wounds.  At that moment one of the ogrillions stepped in and slammed its calcified fist into the priest’s vulnerable jaw.  Laarus was able to groan out the last of his pray, though, and Timotheus’ wounds closed a perceptible amount. 3

“Markos, stay close to me,” Victoria said to the slight mage, marching into the center of the room, long spear before her, trying to keep their two foes wedged in one quadrant of the room while keeping wary of the strange orc females.  They appeared to have gotten their eyesight back, but were still cowering in the corners.  Markos followed her in loading his crossbow with the easy pull of a lever.

“Boyfriend! Don’t let them hurt me!” Crusta looked out from where she was huddled in front of Timotheus, and Telémahkos took advantage.  “I’ll help her, Tim!” he cried, and drove his rapier into her, drawing black blood.  She screamed and jerked back.

“She’s a priestess of Isis, you moron!” Timotheus roared, raising his sword threateningly.  “Do that again, and I’ll cut you!”

This was the opportunity the other ogrillion was waiting for, and in the confusion in leapt into the fray.  The first one slammed Laarus of Ra in the face again, and this time the priest collapsed, beginning to bleed out.  Forced to lower his sword to block a gut-busting punch from the other orcish hybrid, Timotheus’ attention was drawn back to the fight.  An arrow from Bleys kept the ogrillion from leaning over to continue its beating of Laarus.  The watch-mage’s arrow hung painfully from a flap of loose bloody skin on its chest.

Falco was sending arrows into the chaos whenever he saw an opening, but as usual he was not very effective.

There was a sizzling sound as Telémahkos noted that Crusta’s hand was awash in blue sparks of lightning that leapt at him as she reached in his direction.  She cried out again, as his rapier cut her side, but a blue arc of energy leapt to his chain shirt and suddenly his whole body was jerking spasmodically as he collapsed to the cold stone floor. 4

“Someone see to them!” Victoria commanded, as she moved in front of Bleys’ line of fire in order to stand guard over Laarus.

“Dunlevey! Tymon!” Bleys called for the hirelings, but they had not yet arrived.  “Markos, quickly, feed Laarus a potion!”

“Already on it, Bleys,” Markos answered, but he came no closer wary of the ogrillions and Crusta.  Tymon came rushing in, panting heavily.

“Master Telémahkos!” he cried. 

“Tymon! Give this to your master!” Bleys commanded, handing the portly young man a flask.  “_Veneficus telum!_” Bleys cast, an arrow of purple light slammed into Crusta’s side.  She cried out and fled through the door in the north wall.

“Timotheus! Your friend is safe,” Markos said, speaking of Crusta. “Withdraw and let me give you this potion!”  One of the ogrillions moved to follow Victoria as she withdrew and then she stepped into a hard thrust, catching it full on and burying the point deep into its shoulder. Its gray hide tore sickeningly as she pulled her weapon back to fend off its fists.  Though bleeding profusely, it was only more enraged.

The other ogrillion hopped back to avoid an arrow from Bleys as Timotheus withdrew.  He grabbed the open potion from Markos and chugged the contents, feeling some of his wounds begin to close as if they had never been there.  “Okay! Let’s try this again!” he said, with his not uncommon smile and leapt back into the melee swinging his saber widely.  The ogrillion slapped the blade away easily, but got distracted by its companion’s sudden fall from an arrow through the throat that found its way from Falco’s bow.

“Damn it, Falco” Victoria swore. She stepped around the scout, as he had gotten in her way to get his shot, and caught the remaining orc-blooded hybrid under the arm.  Its arm dropped weakly and then suddenly a bolt from Markos’ crossbow and an arrow from Bleys sent it to the ground to bleed out its remaining life.

“Someone help me bind Laarus!” Bleys said, getting down beside the dying young priest as he opened his healer’s kit drawing out thick gauze.

“Just give him a potion!” Markos said.

“Do we have anymore?  Potions are a limited resource.  It may be best to just bind him,” Bleys replied, still working at the priest.

“Better safe than sorry,” Timotheus said, and fed Laarus the potion, tilting his head back and messaging his throat as he coughed.   He was no longer bleeding, but even the potion was not enough to wake him from the severity of his wounds.  Groaning with exhaustion, the recently awakened Telémahkos crawled over and fed the priest his remaining healing potion, and a moment later Laarus Raymer was sputtering awake.

“Did we catch Hezrah?” Laarus asked, as he staggered to his feet with Victoria’s help.

“No, but the other witch went through that door,” Markos pointed to the door in the north wall.

The door was opened and revealed a hallway with a tall ceiling.  A wooden frame below that held a few dozen birds in various states of having been plucked or smoked.  There were also some large chunks of unidentifiable gray meat.

“Tymon, when we are done here, you will go through and collect everything that is edible,” Bleys told the servant.  The hall turned to the right.  The half-orc witch must have fled that way.  The watch-mage turned to Timotheus, “Stay here and watch the rear-guard.  More of those creatures may come from the other hall.”

“Yeah, and that way you don’t act all stupid,” Telémahkos added.

“Well, maybe you should stay behind, too, since you’re so bloodthirsty and was stabbing at a priestess of Isis!” Timotheus spat back.

Telémahkos rolled his eyes like a drunken thespian, making sure everyone saw him.

“All I am saying is,” Timotheus went on. “Try not to kill her…”

Telémahkos sighed, but Victoria stepped up. “I shall go in the front with Master Bleys,” she said, to Tim. “ I am willing to believe you and stay my spear, but only until I have made my own conclusion.”

“Fair enough, but I did hear her call on Isis when she healed that ogre out in the hall,” Timotheus explained. 5

The militant nodded and led the way, turning the corner and tearing the ratty fur curtain that obscured the room beyond.  It was part laboratory, part kitchen and part bedroom, illuminated by the _light_ emanating from Victoria’s helmet.  It was clear that Crusta was doing her best to hide, squatted behind the narrow flea-ridden cot.

“Boyfriend! Help me! I’m not doing anything!” she cried out to Timotheus, but could not hear, being kept out of the room.

“Release your hold on Timotheus!” Victoria commanded, but the half-orc witch just looked at her with fear and confusion.

“I’ve got a boyfriend for ya!” Telémahkos quipped, rushing into the room and leaping up onto the cot, crossbow in hand.  He let a quarrel go at point-blank range, but was so eager he did not account for sinking down into the cot as he leapt on it, and the shot managed to completely miss her.

“Nooo! I give up! I give up!” Crusta croaked, putting her flabby wrinkled gray arms in the air.  It looked as if she had recently lost a lot of weight, and her skin hung off her unhealthily.

Victoria stepped over and forced Telémahkos to lower the weapon. “No!  Bewitched as he may be, he says she may be a follower of Isis, and I swore I would find out before passing judgment.”

“She’s not a priestess of Isis,” Telémahkos replied with casual dismissal of Victoria’s concern. He began to reload his crossbow.

“Release Timotheus!” Laarus of Ra echoed the Victoria’s command as he came in the room.

Crusta shook her head and continued to look confused, making a little croaking noise in the back of her throat.

“Oh, just kill her, that’ll break the spell,” Markos said.

“Where is Hezrah?” Victoria asked.

“She… She ran away already,” Crusta replied.

“Kill her, before Tim gets bored and comes and sees what is going on,” Telémahkos said.  “He will not allow us to take her prisoner.”

“She will release him, or we will allow Telémahkos to do as he’d like, “ Laarus said coldly.  He looked directly at her as he spoke. Telémahkos raised his crossbow.

“Yes,” Markos turned to the half-orc girl. “When we call Timotheus in here you shall release him or we will kill you.”

Crusta nodded meekly.

Bleys called for Timotheus and the tall warrior came in with his usual big grin.

“How do you feel about her now?” Markos asked curtly, pointing at Crusta.

Tim’s face was blank and then sudden it was filled with anger and confusion.  “What did you do to me?” He stepped towards her with his arms tensed, his stylized manacle bracelet rattling.  Crusta looked down and away, shivering.  Timotheus’ shoulders sagged and then he stood tall again.  “Despite the charm, she really did call on Isis…”

Victoria Ostrander and Laarus of Ra began to discuss the possibility that an evil witch might call on Isis.

“I can’t imagine that Isis would grant her power to one that is not worthy,” Victoria reasoned.

“Witches make strange pacts and can do many strange things,” Laarus replied with a hint of respect in his voice.

Timotheus looked to his cousin and apologized.  “I know you were just trying to protect me…” He slapped him heavily on the shoulder and Telémahkos feigned punching his tall cousin in the chin, smiling.

“What is this?” Markos asked.  He had begun to look around and saw a list that was scratched into the wall with charcoal, and beneath it was burned a large rune.

The list read: 

_4d Ogr / 50s 
2d Br F / 10s
> 20 RR chil 
Hez: Prim 27_

The rune looked like some kind of ‘9’ with a smaller rune within the top loop of it. 6

“That is the symbol of the Master,” Crusta said.  She spoke with awe.
“Who is the Master?” Timotheus asked.

“He is the Master.  He comes from far away and commands Momma,” Crusta replied.  “She was making plans until the Test of Thutmose came…”

”The Test of Thutmose? Is that not what the goblin called us?” Victoria said.

Laarus nodded.

“Did your mother say anything about the Test of Thutmose?” Victoria asked the half-orc. “Where did she hear the name?”

“I don’t know.”

“She must have contact with the Flor’choo,” said Laarus.

“She told the Master about the Test of Thutmose, but he say Test of Thutmose was beneath his notice,” Crusta added, nodding her head in a way that was not unreminiscent of Tymon.  “But Momma is scared of them… They killed all my brothers, except Theorn.  _You_ all killed Theorn.” 

And then her yellow eyes widened and her mouth fell open, revealing her crooked blackened teeth and filmy tongue as she gasped.  “You… You are the Test of Thutmose!”  She pointed at them, but then withdrew her finger with fear and began to tremble again.

“So this Master did not appear afraid of the Test of Thutmose?” Victoria continued her questions.

“Not the Master! The Master has no fear.  The Master can do anything! Master came from Hell!” Crusta said.

“I guess we’ll just have to send him back then,” Timotheus winked, patting the hilt of his sheathed saber.

“Other Masters come from far and go to the Flor’Choo,” Crusta continued to volunteer information. “They learned of the Test of Thutmose…”

“Other masters?  Were they hobgoblins?” Timotheus asked.

Crusta shrugged her shoulders.

“What does the Master look like?” Laarus of Ra asked.  Crusta moved towards a small chest by the cot, and tension blossomed in the room once again, and she withdrew, pointing to it.  It was then that Laarus and Timotheus noticed that Markos and Bleys had retreated from the questioning along with Telémahkos and were whispering to each other by the entrance to the room.

“What are you whispering about?” Timotheus asked, stepping over there.  Telémahkos and Markos left the watch-mage and the warrior to talk, and began to rummage through the room’s contents.  Opening both the small chest and the larger one over by a stained stone table.

“The Master tall like ogre, but blue-skin and horns,” Crusta said as they did this. “Master can fly…”

“This is a den for breeding evil,” Bleys said to Timotheus.

“I know,” Timotheus replied, inferring what the whispered conversation had been about.  “We’ll have to kill all the orc-women, right?”  The tall warrior’s shoulders drooped and he sighed.

“Yes,” Bleys said with his usual coldness.

_…to be continued…_

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

*1*  Session #16 was played on September 16, 2007.

*2* See Session #15

*3* The casting drew an attack of opportunity, but Laarus succeeded at his Concentration check.

*4* _Shocking grasp_

*5* Again, see Session #15

*6* The rune: 



​


----------



## el-remmen

*Second Helping!*

*Session #16 – “Hezrah’s Maternity Mayhem!” (part 2 of 3)*

“We need to unchain them before we kill them, though,” Timotheus said, his words bearing the weight of some reticence.  “I cannot in good conscience do that, if only out of respect for Nephthys… But yes, we need to kill them.”

“Yes, that has already been determined. Are you steeling yourself, or trying to dissuade…?” Bleys asked.

“The former.”

“There is no shame in letting others complete this task if it proves too difficult for you,” Bleys replied.

“No.  I won’t shirk my responsibility,” Timotheus, standing up straight again and looking the watch-mage in the eyes. “It would be on me whether I acted directed to slay them or not…”

Bleys nodded.

Markos and Telémahkos found several clay flasks holding what they assumed were potions, and ordered Crusta to tell them what they were.  She could only guess, she said.  One would make you disappear, another allowed you to see in the dark, or so she said.

Among the flea-infested clothing and blankets in the big wooden chest, were some sacks of copper and silver coins.  Some of it was Thrician, but some of it was also Herman-lander, and imprinted with the stamp of mints in the Black Islands Barony.  Wrapped in a kerchief was an ivory plaque, about three inches wide and four inches high, not more than an eighth of an inch in thickness.  One side was painted like a trump from a set of cards, showing a blue-skinned demonic horned ogre, holding a staff, and carrying bound humans on its back.  It was marked with the same rune as was burned on the wall, and had a stylized ‘A’ in one corner and an ‘F’ in the opposite diagonal one. 1

“That is the Master!” Crusta said when she saw the card.  “Momma use that to call the Master to come.”

Markos used a _detect magic_ spell to examine the plaque, but there was no trace of a dweomer.  He turned the card back and forth examining it with furrowed brow, confused by its lack of aura.

“Perhaps this Master uses this object as a focus for his scrying?” Markos speculated while looking to Bleys for an opinion.

“It is possible,” the watch-mage replied, uncommitted.

“Momma makes ogrillions for the Master,” Crusta said.  “She prove she can make them for Master to use so she can serve Master and the other Masters…”

“The ones that went to the Flor’Choo?”

“No… The _other_ Masters…” Crusta replied, as if that made it clearer.

“That could explain the list,” Markos said.  “It is an order.  Four dozen ‘oh-gee-ar.” Ogrillions.”

“And the ‘bee-ar-eff’ could mean ‘breeding females,’” Bleys offered.

“Well, no use in stretching it out,” Timotheus said.  “If we are going to have to… Let’s do it and not make them suffer this wretched life too much longer…” He began to walk towards the door, and Bleys the Aubergine followed.

“I want to help,” Telémahkos said.

“Wait!” Laarus of Ra cried.  “You are planning to kill the breeders? Why? They are no threat!”

“They may be no threat in and of themselves in the short term, but they are being used to breed those ogrillion things,” Markos said.

“They are prisoners who were forced to breed against their will,” Laarus said. “They wear chains.  They are not warriors…”

“They are orcs,” Telémahkos said by way of explanation.

“It is too bad we have no means of making them incapable of conception,” Victoria said. “But that would take some learned herblore, and probably resources we are not likely to find.”

“Look Laarus, I don’t like it either, and I plan to remove their chains before they are killed so at least they are free,” Timotheus began.

“You’re going to what?” Markos scoffed.  “So we have to chase them around and kill them?  If we’re going to kill them, we just kill them.  It is a sad necessity, but a necessity, none-the-less…”

“I stand with Brother Laarus,” said Victoria.  “They should not be killed.  It is not honorable to kill the defenseless, women or children…”

“In the north, when a hobgoblin lair is found, every last of them is put to the sword,” Timotheus said.  “They cannot be allowed to regain their numbers because they hate humans and the other good races. They will never stop trying to raze our cities and kill us all… Anyway, it is what they do when they raze human towns… Do you think they would spare our women and children?”

“So we should look to hobgoblins as are moral guides? I think not,” Laarus replied, his face growing flush.  He began to walk back out in the larger room where the orc women still cowered.

“Heh. I guess he’s against killing the pregnant ogre, too,” Timotheus said.

“Pregnant ogre!” Bleys’ face betrayed amazement. 

“Yep, she’s big… Looked due to pop…”

“How long until an ogre baby is big enough to be a danger?” Markos asked Crusta.

”By the time the seasons pass twice,” Crusta replied.  “Same with the ogrillions… They grow fast. Momma grinds up the babies that don’t live and the breeders that die and feeds them…”

“Crusta, would you kill the orc women if asked you to?” Bleys asked her.

”To save my own life? Yes…” She replied.

“That is just is just wrong in so many ways,” Timotheus said, shaking his head.  He followed the priest of Ra out into the room. “Laarus, I just have one question: When you came up through the trapdoor, who stabbed at you with a spear?”

Laarus looked at Tim and then at the four groups of orcish women cowering in the corners.  They wore stained roughspun smocks, and scratched at each other as they fought to get behind each other and as far away from the noble adventurers as they could.  The room was a mess of blood, urine, ratty furs and flea-ridden woolen blankets.  The horrendous smell was made just something short of vomit-inducing by the smoking braziers.

“That one,” Laarus pointed to where the orcish crone lay dead, the left side of her head caved in.

“And what are those on her chest?” Tim asked.

“Breasts,” Laarus answered, furrowing his brow as he looked back at Tim.  His face bore a look of angry puzzlement. 

“Yes, Laarus… Breasts… Women orcs fight and kill, too…”

“They are not fighting and killing now, are they?” Laarus asked in return. “And the orc crone was scared and lucky.  She threatened us and paid the price.  The same cannot be said of these others.”

By this time, everyone had come back out of the smaller room, Bleys pushing Crusta along at saber-point.

“You know if you try to run we will chase you down and kill you,” he told her in his cold tone.

“Me figured…” She replied, drooling slightly with fear.

“Will you fight to protect these orcs?” Markos asked his cousin.

“Will it come to that?” Laarus’ anger was brimming. The young priest seemed barely contained, but still he did not raise his voice.

“Is that a yes?” Markos asked. “Because if you will raise your weapon to keep us from killing these orc women then I shall concede my position, however reckless it may seem to me to let them live…”

“Sometimes in the cause of honor we leave ourselves vulnerable, but that is why it is called ‘honor,’” Victoria reasoned.  She approached one of the orc women to remove the chains, and noticed the shackles had no locks.  They had been smelted closed around their arms and waists.  Nasty burn scars were visible around the shackles.

Pressed for more answers, Crusta was unable to say where the black orc women had come from, except that Hezrah often disappeared for days or weeks returning with outcasts and slaves in tow.  Among these had been a runt of a warg cub that had grown strong on orc and kobold meat. 2  Freed, they would be unable to return to their own tribes, and even if they could they would likely be killed as tainted outsiders.

Crusta snorted and grunted in the orcish tongue, explaining the prisoners that the young nobles only meant to free them, not kill or beat them.  The orcs were confused, but eventually calmed down and let Victoria do the carefull work of prying off the shackles with a mallet and an iron spike.  Timotheus helped her, and eventually took over freeing the rest.

“Tell them to flee far,” Bleys told Crusta.  “If I see them again I will kill them…” The orc women fled from the large room and towards the exit.

When asked what was in the cave just north of this one (also marked as being home to orcs on their map), Crusta said, “undead orcs.”

The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland collected their gear and loot and began to make their way back to the grove where they usually camped out.  Crusta was brought along as prisoner, her wrists bound, but her feet let free so she could walk with no trouble.  She looked around furtively and with great fear as they came out into the gorge and then out towards the plain.  Markos walked along side of her, asking her many questions about her knowledge of witchcraft and asking after her tokens.  She explained they were hidden and buried, but she would show him to them if he wanted.  The others were against the detour.  It would have to wait.

“So, what is the plan for tomorrow?” Timotheus asked Bleys as they walked.

“We go and kill the goblins,” Bleys said flatly.

“Except for the goblin women and children, them we leave to starve or to be killed by kobolds to show them the merciful ways of our gods,” Telémahkos said with a wink, making sure that Laarus heard him.  If he did, the priest of Ra ignored the jab.  He walked in the rear of the line occasionally talking with Victoria.

“You know, when it comes time to fight hobgoblins, we are going to have to be careful to stay away from the priests,” Telémahkos said to his cousin.

“It makes no difference,” Timotheus frowned.  “No one is going to stop me from doing what needs to be done when it comes to safety of our homeland…” Brimming with sudden anger at the thought, Tim slowed his pace to allow Laarus to catch up.

“Hobgoblins are different,” Timotheus began.

Laarus was puzzled.

“They are an immediate threat,” Timotheus continued.  “If we come across one of their lairs, they would all have to die.  Every one of them…  The fact that they are an immediate threat makes it a different case than with these orc women…”

Laarus of Ra shook his head.  “There is no difference.  Would you kill an innocent babe if it meant that all hobgoblins would die?’

“What?!” Timotheus was outraged. “You think hobgoblins are innocent?”

“That is not what I said,” Laarus replied.

“I am fncking insulted that you would insinuate that I would kill some innocent baby, and to compare a human baby to some fnckin’ hobos!” Timotheus marched back up the line fuming.

“The gods have always confused me,” said Telémahkos when he returned. “That’s why I like Bes and Bast.  Simple.  I need luck and I like cats.” He smiled at his tall cousin.

“I’d make a lousy priest of Nephthys,” Timotheus said, and marched to the very front of the line.  Only Falco walked ahead of him, sixty feet ahead of the group, as was his habit.

“Will one of you be my boyfriend?” Crusta asked with a saddened voice when got to the grove and began to settle in to rest of the remainder of the day. It was the hot part of the afternoon when they got back, and most of them flopped down to rest and drink water.

“I will be your boyfriend,” Markos said, feeling sorry for her.  Crusta gave a weak smile and sidled up next to him.  She was taller than he was, but gangly and stooped.

“I wish I could put soap in my head,” Timotheus said when he saw her cozy up to him.

“Why not try putting some on your body every now and again,” Telémahkos quipped.

“Hey! I bathe!” Timotheus gave his cousin a hard put playful shove and Telémahkos tripped across Victoria’s bedroll.  She gave him a withering look.

Later, after long examination, Markos announced that two of the potions taken from Hezrah’s lair were indeed potions of _invisibility_.

_…to be continued…_

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

*1* Click here to see a replica of the painted plaque.

*2* This was the warg that Dunlevey and Telémahkos were fighting in the narrow hall near the entrance to the cave in Session #15.


----------



## Martin Olarin

> “I will be your boyfriend,” Markos said, feeling sorry for her. Crusta gave a weak smile and sidled up next to him. She was taller than he was, but gangly and stooped.
> 
> “I wish I could put soap in my head,” Timotheus said when he saw her cozy up to him.




ok - this was ffing funny.


----------



## handforged

Thanks for the double dose.  Although this has already been said many times, you have quite a knack for giving your players some thought-provoking decisions to make.  Good job.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

Expect an update _tonight_.  However, the updates will be coming less frequently between now and Christmas because of the crunch of the final weeks of the grad school semester (I've got two 15 page papers and a sample syllabus to hand in).

However, I hope to make up for it and actually make an effort catch up to the current sessions in the month of January before the Spring semester starts up.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #16 – “Hezrah’s Maternity Mayhem!” (part 3 of 3)*

Ralem, the 1st of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

“Get up! Get up! Everybody up!” Markos and Telémahkos were kicking and shaking the rest of the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland and their hirelings awake.  During the first watch, as Markos and Telémahkos were bemoaning their lot being cast with the zealot priests, Tymon had spotted the shadow of a warg creeping away from the grove.

“If it was leaving that meant it got a chance to scout around unseen and unheard,” Markos surmised.  “Right now it is likely reporting to its superior and a plan of attack is being made.”

“The moon is bright enough, we shall be able to see them coming,” Bleys said.

“But we won’t know their numbers, and this grove is too small to last long as a place to hide against many,” Timotheus said.  “They can come all the way around it and attack from all directions, and we’d have nowhere to retreat to… They can see in the dark, we can’t…We should leave…”

“Can we not create traps and obstacles to funnel them in one direction?” Markos suggested.

”In the dark, and not knowing when they will be arriving?” Timotheus asked with disbelief.  “We should go…”

The others agreed, though Victoria of Anhur took no effort to hide her disdain for the party’s frequent withdrawals.  They gathered their things and took off at a steady march towards the stream and the skunk cabbage patch, hoping to arrive before the moon set. 

It was a long hard march in the gray light of Mind’s Eie, but Falco led them at hurried pace that left Markos and Tymon flagging.  They were grateful to hear the faint trickle of the stream and as the last light of moon dissipated they found a cluster of brush to hide in and wait.  Markos crawled under a low bush and went to sleep, wanting the rest necessary to get up and prepare his spells when morning came.  Crusta crawled in next to him, spooning his body with her own.

It was an anxious night, but no army of goblins ever arrived to test them.  As Ra’s Glory rose they set about to march back with frayed nerves.  There were still some miles away from the grove when they saw the column of smoke rising way up into the clear morning.  The grove had been chopped and burned.  It was no longer a fit place to make camp.

“See? They used fire without burning everything down,” Markos said to Falco with annoyance. 1

Falco opened his mouth as if to reply, but just closed it again and shook his head.

“Those damn goblins!” Timotheus swore.  “It is our responsibility that they fail the Test of Thutmose.”

“I would be happy to wipe the Flor’Choo off the face of Aquerra,” Bleys said.  “Let us deprive those hobgoblins of some troops to use against our homeland.”

“I disagree,” Victoria said.  Noticing Bleys was still hurt, she called for Anhur to close the watch-mage’s wounds.  “We are wasting time with the goblins here and jeopardizing our chance to warn the north of the hobgoblins’ efforts and this one that the half-breed called ‘the Master.’  Anhur knows I want to prove myself in battle, but preparedness is also part of war.”

“Good point,” Timotheus replied, quickly changing his mind once the thought of home entered it.  “I’m glad we came here and all, but maybe we should go back.”

“I think we should go to Schiereiland and tell your father what we have learned here,” Telémahkos agreed.

“And what of the Moor-Tomb?” Bleys asked.

“This seems more pressing than some old trapped tomb,” Telémahkos replied.

The Signers decided that their adventures in and around the King Stones were over.  Refilling their skins at the watering hole, they had Falco begin to guide them to the Ray-Ree village.  Once there they could decide if they would return to civilization or search for the mysterious Tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville.


Osilem, the 3rd of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Two days later the Signers were back at the Ray-Ree village.  Kermit had found them on their way, disoriented by the unrelenting sun of the Disputed Territories and suffering from heat exhaustion. He greeted the news of their abandoning the King Stones with his usual smirk of contempt.  He was on his way back from delivering Tim’s horse to the Ray-Ree. The halfling led them the rest of the way back to the village on Duckhunter.

After meeting with Admentus, the party sharing a meager meal with the tribe.  Crusta was introduced to the First Elder and to some of the members of the barbarian group, and as the child of a former member, she was offered a place among them, though if she wanted to practice witchcraft she would have to seek out Rudwilla and get her approval, and live out in the moors.  Clearly unsure of herself, the half-orc girl continued to follow Markos around, looking at him expectantly every time he spoke.  All during their journey he had made the time to talk to her, shared his food and water, and asked many questions about witchcraft.

They learned that while they were gone two women of the tribe had returned from the gathering of the hordes. 2  There had been three others who had headed back with them, but they did not survive the perilous journey.  The women brought news of the city of Majenta burning at the hands of the gathered tribes, one of the high temples of the Red God of the West had been defiled and the tribe shamans summoned their animal totems to fight among themselves and devour captives.  The entire Uzon tribe, the bear-warriors of the Isle of Dusk had been slain in a poorly planned assault on a dervish camp. A high priest of the Red God of the West had summoned a ‘black angel’ that could kill with its stare. Lavia, who was one of the women who had returned, was pointed out to them.  Her hair was a shock of white, and though she was still a young woman, her face was creased with sorrow.  It was but a glimpse of the angel’s face that had done it the other, Tora, had said, for Lavia no longer spoke.  They left the Ray-Ray warriors joined with other tribes in building boats to travel even further south and westward and continue their path of war and destruction.

Timotheus hooted his pleasure, and recommended cracking open the cask of Red Gritch Ale 3 the packhorse had been carrying around in celebration.  The others agreed.

After dinner, the young nobles gathered in the open hut provided them to discuss their plans.

“If we are going to go to the Moor-Tomb then I think we should send Kermit back with a message to send to my father about the Hobgoblins of the Blue Claw and the breeding experiments,” Timotheus said.

“If the matter is so pressing why do we not just return now?” Laarus of Ra reasoned.

“I’m all for going back,” Timotheus said. “What more can we do here?”

“There is a lot more to be done,” Bleys said.  “Aside from the Flor’Choo, there were other caves to explore and I was curious about the Dark Apshai Ziggurat.  Not to mention the Moor-Tomb.” 

“I think we should go back,” Telémahkos agreed with his cousin.

“I don’t particularly think this hobgoblin issue is pressing, but am more than happy to go back if it means we might get a chance to look into the matter of the Pearls,” Markos said, looking at each person with mock attentiveness. 4

“I would rather face foes with honor than to creep around a trapped tomb,” Victoria of Anhur said.  “But I stand with Brother Laarus.  As he goes, I go…”

“I still believe that we have much to gain by finding the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville,” Bleys said.  “Not the least of which is the amulet touched by Fallon’s mortal form, said to have healing properties.  Think of the good that object could do, and as I have said the Church of Isis has given their blessing to have such an item retrieved.  Is it not for this kind of thing that we gathered?”

The discussion lasted for quite a while, but as Markos began to nod off, leaning on Crusta, and Dunlevey and Falco returned from wandering the grounds without hiding their frustration with the prolonged debate, there was a vote on the matter, and it was unanimous. 5 The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland would seek out the Moor-Tomb on the following day, and Kermit would be sent back to civilization to send a message by faultless to Pyla.  The halfling was not happy about having to go and then return to guide them back, but he was offered extra coin, and he admitted that traveling alone would be safer for him.  

“Anyway, I didn’t fancy the idea of waiting outside that tomb for you to come out,” he added. “I figure I should be back in a fortnight… Uh, maybe more like twenty or so days…" 

-------------------------------------

Some hours later Timotheus woke up, and noticed Bleys awake, sitting in the doorway contemplating the full moon.  The blond warrior crawled over to him and scooted out of the hut, to sit outside and look out for a moment.

“Gotta pee,” he said, and wandered off.

When he returned, getting down to crawl back in among the lump of sleeping adventurers, hirelings and the dog, but then stopped and looked back at the watch-mage.

“I just want you to know,” he said. “That I saw the siege of Marrock, or its results anyway, and I know that hobgoblins burn and kill women and kids, and torture people and take slaves. My kin and my friends are at risk from those monsters, so I plan to be as stubborn as Laarus when the time comes to journey to Pyla and defend it.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Bleys the Aubergine replied in a quiet voice.  He never took his eyes from the night sky.  Timotheus crawled back in and dropped off to sleep.


Teflem, the 6th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Two days before the Signers had left the Ray-Ree village behind; once again, leaving it to the tribe’s generosity to look after their horses.  Timotheus gave three throwing axes to the barbarians as a gift.  They had been among the things recovered from Hezra’s cave.  Crusta was with them, deciding to let Markos decide for her when asked what she preferred doing.

“He’s my boyfriend.  He decide,” she said.  Markos insisted she come along, and said he planned to teach her to read.

“It was only her environment that made her like she was,” Markos explained to the others. “I mean, how do you think you would have ended up having grown up in a place like that?”

“We would not have grown up in a place like,” Victoria replied. “We are a civilized people…”

Kermit Buckleburr had mounted Duckhunter and taken off north that same morning.  Before he left, Timotheus paid the halfling ten extra silver coins, and thanked him for taking the message.

They had reached the Ickle Trik the night before, but decided to camp out before crossing the river since it had been getting dark.  In the pre-dawn hours of the third watch, after a long talk concerning the latter’s visions, 6 Bleys and Laarus confronted Falco about his use of magic in the battle against the ghouls when they went to visit Brother Cineas. 7

“It is like when the half-breed woman called on Isis,” Falco explained, when he was not given a chance to withdraw. “I called on the spirits that serve Shu to aid me on that day.”

“Witchcraft,” Laarus said.

“Some call it that,” Falco replied. 

“And where did you learn this?” Bleys asked.

“When I was a boy, from my aunt who raised me,” Falco said.  “She was the village mid-wife.”

“Like Rudwilla…” Bleys said.

“Yes.”

“Why did you not tell us of this before?” Laarus asked.

“It did not seem important to the job which you hired me to do,” Falco said. “Unlike some, I see calling on the spirits as something that should not be done lightly.  My aunt always taught respect and restraint.”

Laarus of Ra did not hide his displeasure, but after a warning against deceiving them, he let the topic lie.

After breakfast and spell preparations, the Signers looked to Markos to get them across the river once they climbed down the steep mossy embankment.  The water looked very deep and cold and moved very fast.

“_Creáre nautica!_” Markos chanted holding aloft a small wooden model of a row boat.  A moment later, there was similar rowboat of usable size dredged up on to the narrow banks of the Ickle Trick.  It took several trips and expert rowing to deal with the current, but eventually everyone made it across. 8

From there they marched north by north east, keeping the line of the Ickle Trick in view, but staying closer to the treeline to avoid being spotted too easily from its shore.  The ground was increasingly swampy, and mosquitoes crawled under their armor and around their necks taking long irritating drinks of their blood.  The air was heavy and the heat oppressive, but though it threatened rain, no rain ever came to relieve them.  Near mid-day they spotted the silhouettes of the ruined buildings of the town of Moor-Wall, and Falco led them even further east on their northward journey to not be see from there in turn.

“Laarus, what can you tell me about ghouls?” Timotheus asked the priest. “How is it best to fight them?”

“Slashing weapons,” the priest replied. “Piercing weapon may puncture organs, but being undead they do not need their organs. And while breaking bones with a blunt weapon can slow them down, it actually lopping them apart that is most effective.”

Timotheus carried this news to his cousin, and for the first time Telémahkos looked at his magical rapier with disappointment.  They quickly convinced Dunlevey to lend the smaller Briareus his longsword.

Looking at the map Bleys had gotten from Malcolm the Bronze 9, Falco led them back to the west, risking getting close to Moor-Wall in hopes that coming in the direction of the overgrown track that led from the bridge might give them a clue of what they were looking for.

‘Follow the Masks’ the map said, and sure enough, a bunch of them spotted the black lacquered mask carved high up on a bald petrified gray tree.  The mask was crude, but expressive, and had a rune of a horizontal line with a dot over its center carved on the forehead.

Standing beneath this tree they began to scan around at the same height and sure enough they noted a dark spot on a similar tree some several dozen yards away.  Approaching revealed a similar mask, but this one a sad countenance at odd with the smiling (if still frightening) face of the first mask. The rune was a short horizontal line with a dot hanging below it.

“These are similar to the runes of the ancient Mystics,” Laarus said.  “They were an expressive people, and much of their language is made up of runes signifying gradations of emotions which are combined in incredibly complex ways.  Some say that the language of the ancients was so powerful it had inherent magic-like properties.”

Victoria spotted the next mask from beneath that tree and then spotted yet another one.  Each one was about another few dozen yards further than the last one had been, leading them north by northeast.  Once the distances between them became so great that they had to fan out and look, Bleys took to tying a bronze-colored sash to the previous mask-carved tree to make sure they did not lose their way in the increasingly dense swamp foliage.  The sash was borrowed from Telémahkos.

Dunlevey spotted the next two, and Laarus did his best to translate each mask’s rune.   There was happiness and sadness.  “That one is… contemplation?” It was clear some guesswork was involved.  “And I have no idea what that other one is…”

Markos noted a stone wedged into a hole at the base of one of the sixth marked tree. Telémahkos checked it for traps and then pulled it out.  Inside was a stuffed bird, like a small partridge.  Its eyes had been torn out, and it was tied with red string.

“Could that be some kind of magic?” Timotheus asked Crusta. “Witchcraft?”

“It could be,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders.  Telémahkos put it back and covered it with the stone.

The seventh mask was very far from the sixth and took nearly an hour to find.  “Avarice? Greed? Something like that,” Laarus said of the rune on it, but more importantly they could see a large clearing just beyond the petrified tree.  Some kind of narrow stone structure was sticking up out over the treeline.

“That must be the pointed tower that is the ‘keyhole tower to tomb’,” Bleys said, holding the moor-tomb map aloft.  He led his companions in that direction, an uncharacteristic eagerness in his countenance.

*End of Session #16*


----------



## el-remmen

----------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

*1*  Upon first arriving in the area of the King Stones, Falco warned the party that the dry conditions meant they had to be wary of starting a forest fire. (See Session #12)

*2*  The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland learned that the warriors of the Ray-Ree had gone to the Council of the Chieftains to decide what to do about Rube incursions in their lands, and the taking of their children for dervish camps.  The decision was immediate attack. In the Ray-Ree culture (and in that of several of the barbarian tribes of the Spice & Thread Islands), women accompany their men to battle, taking care of their meals and weapons, and being responsible for bringing their bodies back to the tribe for burial should they fall.

*3* This was part of the booty the party gathered from the looting of Kraken’s Cove.

*4* Markos is referring of course to the black pearl of Harliss’ tale and from the notes on the map that once belonged to Vanthus Vanderboren.

*5* I have no memory of how this notoriously contentious group reached a consensus at all.  Perhaps it was only possible by means of some alien technology that then proceeded to wipe our memory of it, because when I surveyed the players about how the discussion had reached that point, none could give me any details.  And yet, I know it _did_ happen, because it was in the notes and the party did end up going there. Anyway, it is not as if anyone in the group claimed that it _wasn’t_ a consensus, we just don’t know how it happened.

*6*  This conversation was handled later via the messageboards, and can be read as InterSession #16.1

*7* The party visited Brother Cineas in Session #12.

*8* This spell is _conjure boat_

*9* See InterSession #8.5 for more information.


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## Ciaran

el-remmen said:
			
		

> *5* I have no memory of how this notoriously contentious group reached a consensus at all.  Perhaps it was only possible by means of some alien technology that then proceeded to wipe our memory of it, because when I surveyed the players about how the discussion had reached that point, none could give me any details.  And yet, I know it _did_ happen, because it was in the notes and the party did end up going there. Anyway, it is not as if anyone in the group claimed that it _wasn’t_ a consensus, we just don’t know how it happened.



As I recall, the deadlock wasn't broken until _after _Kermit stated that he'd be safer traveling on his own rather than with the group.  At that point, Timotheus (who really wanted the warning about hobgoblin activity to get through) switched his vote to staying on in the Disputed Territories while Kermit got the message to Thricia, and Telemakhos reluctantly followed suit.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #16.1 – “In the Dark Hours Before Dawn”*

Teflem, the 6th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

"May I speak with you?" the priest of Ra requested of the academy wizard. It was the coldest hour before sunrise, and the watch-mage and the priest were on watch together.  "Do you know who _the Pillars_ might be? As it would relate to a watch-mage?"

The rest of the Signers of Charter of Schiereiland were asleep, except for their scout, Falco, who was off seeking small game birds among the reeds beside the Ickle Trik.  Bleys the Aubergine risked throwing another small log on the fire as he mused. It crackled, sending sparks into the darkness. "Hmmmm, Pillars… I know the Pillars of Ra, if that is what you mean, but I do not know how they may relate to a watch-mage specifically. Why do you ask? Is this important now?"

"Not now, but soon" The priest paused, quietly pondering. “I am familiar with the Pillars of Ra, as well, but a watch-mage would not be one of them. And it'd be unlikely such an involvement would put them at odds with the law. So you know of no other group known as the Pillars?"

Bleys mulled the question once again, looking at the glowing outline of Laarus’ pale face in the fire light, perhaps considering the source of the question as much as the questions itself. "I believe there are the White Pillars in the City of Sorcery, but that is not a group, it is a location. Perhaps this is what you seek? All of this is very curious though. Does it stem from another of your visions?"

"Yes. Another insight into what will be, but has yet to come. Part of it concerns a colleague of yours. I do not feel the White Pillars would have to do with it. No man can be one of those."  Laarus paused in consideration only briefly when a sudden realization lit up his dull green eyes. "Unless there is a group associated with them…"

"Hmm, I need more detail to be of aid,” Bleys sat beside the priest of Ra, and cleared his throat softly. “As I understand it, you are telling me that you have seen some watch-mage in league with a group using ‘Pillars’ as a moniker or part there-of, and they are in conflict with Thrician law. Is this correct? Perhaps it would be best if you told me all you saw…"

"No, that is not what I'm telling you,” Laarus stood.  He pulled his cloak closer around him against the chill, and then kneeled beside the fire, warming his hands.  He did not look back at Bleys when he spoke, but deep into the fire.  “And that is not what I saw. One should be mindful of leaping to conclusions. It can lead you astray. Especially when concerning these visions." 

Bleys cocked an eyebrow. "Do not vex Laarus, for I am not drawing any conclusions. Quite the contrary. I wish not to presume anything, which is exactly why I ask you for clarification. For certainly making any rash judgment could lead to one’s demise, I know you agree…"

Laarus did not turn from the fire. "I shall not tell you all I've seen now, but I can tell you the piece that concerns what I have asked about.” He closed his eyes. "We're in our suite in Sluetelot. Most of us… You enter the suite reading a letter and say: 'More bad news. Oroleniel has been imprisoned. They say he did it because he is one of _the Pillars_.'"

There was a long silence broken only by the crackling fire and the first chirpings of birds who could see the sun before even the pious eyes of priest of Ra could. Finally, Bleys spoke, "Perhaps we should think on this differently. More specifically, less concerning Oroleniel, whom unfortunately I know scant little about, and more to do with you. And why you have these visions." 

Laarus stood and turned looking deep into his companion's eyes. "It is difficult, I know. My thoughts would pull in a hundred directions when these were new to me. But Ra has helped restore order to my mind. These visions cannot be overthought or underthought. If they are, you risk not seeing the truth. I've still to find the perfect balance. Even after all these years."  Placing a hand on Bleys' shoulder, Laarus continued, "Put your mind at ease. Your comments have already helped me see where information might be found." Bleys looked to the hand, unaccustomed to physical displays of familiarity, but looked at Laarus again as the priest brought his hands back together, intertwining his fingers. "Speak with Telémakhos. He may know something of the Pillars. He's quite knowledgeable about organizations throughout Thricia."

"As of yet, I am unable to ease what weighs on my mind. And I am glad the topic has been broached,” Bleys replied. “When we were at the Vanderboren Manse, you told me that you believed that these visions were not bestowed upon you by Ra. This thought ails me. If not Ra, then from whom? And why? How are you certain that your patron does not confer them? I know you say that they always come true, but nonetheless they make me uneasy, unknowing of their intent and derivation. You are one of Ra's most faithful servants. If someone else can meddle in your mind, how can you trust all that you see? And certainly you must be aware that it makes it harder for others to trust you."

"I know they aren't sent by Ra, because I know from where they flow. They do not come from another person, being, or entity. They do not come from anything with its own motivations, goals, or desires, I assure you, as I did Telémakhos."  The priest took a step back away from Bleys. "And they have all come to pass. Except for those a few months back. Distrust their veracity, if you wish, I can understand it difficult to see without proof, but me? The worth of _my_ trust is being questioned?"

Bleys was unphased by Laarus sudden shift in demeanor, and replied flatly. "No. I trust you. Do not conflate my words and my position. See it from our point of view. You are a priest of Ra - king of the gods. You tell us that you experience visions. You tell us that they involve the foresight of our demise, and that they always come to bear. And you tell us that they are not warnings sent by Ra. What would you think? If I am to accept wholly what you tell me, and I do, for I have no reason not to then what must I assume? Some other very powerful force is at work. It is hard to blindly trust those visions as altruistic, despite your best intentions. The very action you take in an attempt to save one of us may indeed ironically doom one or all of us. Do you disagree?” 

“I am aware of that possibility,” Laarus replied, briefly and solemnly.

Bleys continued, "You have admitted that the visions are but mere bits of information, windows upon a scene that is but a blink in time. Telémakhos may yet be destined for immolation. He may return to Quillton some day. Both he and the city remain, and there is no way for us to determine whether or not your vision related to our trip to the Vanderboren manse last month or some other journey next year." The watch-mage only paused slightly, plodding on in his flat tone. "But between those who are ostensibly friends should you not trust in us? Why is it so hard for us to collaborate fully in delving further into this mystery? Surely there must be some reason that you chose to come to me with the information that you have, and I am grateful for that. Allow me to help you further if you will, but hobbled with half-truths and hunches, I will be hard-pressed."

“I don't believe the visions are altruistic, and though what they show is sinister, the visions themselves are neutral. They only show what will be. But, I will use what I see, what I know, to bring light in place of that coming darkness, if I can… That is my choice. That is my duty."  Laarus paused for a moment, silently separating the change in subject. "And, I chose to come to you because I felt you might shine some light on the truth I've been shown. You could not. But, you've shown me another possible source. Until I learn more, I have nothing else to say on the matter. What I've told you is my only glimpse of the truth. It seems the rest of my vision has nothing to do with it. And revealing that will only serve to burden you and vex you. That is why I've said nothing of it. Not because of any lack of trust. All we can do now is search out the truth and not let hunches cloud our judgment."  There was another long pause. "But I can say no more about the source of my visions. I have told you all I am able without betraying the trust of others."

"Very well then, I respect your wishes,” Bleys said, letting go of the subject with dispassionate ease. “As I learn additional information I may be able to offer further insight. And in the meantime I will think on this more, perhaps with time I may recall something I was unable to immediately." 

Bleys focused on Laarus, holding his attention with his eyes as to emphasize the gravity of his words. "But if I may, a word of caution, Laarus. Do not martyr yourself for us. Such weight can wear heavily upon a mind. We are all grown men who willingly signed our charter, which means we are all bound to work together for weal or woe, do not betray the support you have available to you."

"I do not intend to martyr myself for anyone, and neither will I turn my back on them or betray them. When I felt Telémakhos could enlighten what I knew, I sought his support. When I felt you could, I requested yours. I understand the weight of what I carry. It is my burden. And I do not wish to cause another to bear its full load."

Bleys nodded. "Good, so then we are in agreement. When you have something further for me I will be anxious to lend what aid I may."

"I'm happy to hear I have your support," Laarus Raymer replied with a rare smile.  They heard Falco return to camp and Bleys was reminded of something else he wanted to discuss with Laarus concerning Falco’s mysterious spellcasting.

*End of InterSession #16.1*


----------



## handforged

Great little bit of dialog there!  Thanks for the update.

~hf


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## Gold Roger

Wew, finally had the time to read up on your storyhour. Great as always.

I remember reading info on the Nine in you older campaigns. This could get real interesting.


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## darkhall-nestor

Every thing all right 

You haven’t had an update in a few weeks


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## Rastfar

Well, Tis' the Season...and all that.  I assure you that he is fine.  Or at least as fine as he can be (there is no helping some things, not without serious pscyhotropics     )

If you are really jonesing, you can always bone up on the  diary of Bleys the Aubergine.


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## Martin Olarin

Story hour really helps me remember key events - thanks.  Looking forward to this weekend and dealing with the repercussions of Markos killing 1/2 the group.

Just kidding... _or am I?_


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## Cyronax

Hi el-remmen,

I loved Out of the Frying Pan and I am finally getting into your new story hour (new for me). 

I'm still in the early sessions, but its all great so far! I really like the party and the way you set up the adventuring charter. I will hopefully catch up in a week or two. I just wanted to emerge out of my typical lurker status and voice my appreciation. 

Thanks for the story   

C.I.D.


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## el-remmen

Hey all!

Sorry it has been so long since an update. Between the end of the semester, holiday season, being very sick and just not being in a D&D head lately the writing has suffered.

However, I am slowly (_slowly_) making progress on writing up Session #18 and when that is done I will post the first part of #17 (which is already done and waiting).

We have not played  a session since December 9th, but our next session is scheduled for a week from tomorrow (the 20th of January), and hopefully will continue on every 2 weeks from there as normal.

Peace.


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## el-remmen

*Session #17 – “Into the Moor-Tomb”*1, 2

The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland stood before a shallow pond of brackish water that was lined with tall flat ridges of stone entwined with sickly gray vines with yellowing fronds.  At the center of the water stood a black obelisk of six sides that came to a point.  Each face of it was etched in deep runes that were similar to the style they had seen on the mask signposts that led them here.3  It was over twenty feet tall.

“Is this like some kind of holy place for the locals?” Timotheus asked.

“There are no locals,” Bleys replied in his baritone.  He was looking intently at the obelisk.

“The mummy cult?” Timotheus asked, but no one answered.

“Well, let’s take a closer look,” Victoria began to march out across the shallow water, and Bleys and Laarus followed.  Timotheus had Falco and Dunlevey come with him to scout out the rows of stone around the pond.

“In context like this, it is easier to read the runes,” Laarus said, and he began to translate them aloud.  They were carved inches deep into the stone, and Victoria examined them closely, puzzled by their design.

The priest of Ra, read the southern face:

_Those crossing deeps to gain the ground. May fall as biting fear is found._

The southwestern face read: _One’s days can ne’er be forged anew, But magic may give great their due._

They heard Timotheus call out a warning.  Dunlevey had spotted something white move between some stones.  Falco and Timotheus moved to join him, Tim noticing some kind of form wrapped in strips of dirty white.  He moved in that direction, as Falco swung out to get a possible shot with his bow.  Distracted, they did not notice another of the creatures crouched behind a stone near Dunlevey.   The sell-sword cried out as he felt something grab him from behind.  It was a man.  Or was it?  Squat and muscular it was covered in strips of loose hanging white bandages made gray by dirt and bits of leaves and sticks stuck on it.  It moaned in an inhuman voice, rheumy deep-set eyes looking out from the folds.  It had powerful arms that it locked around Dunlevey, and the hireling could feel the bandages adhere to him tightly; he was stuck like a fly in molasses.4

The first creature they had spotted popped out from behind a stone near Falco, having crept back around.  The scout let an arrow loose, but blundered in his alarm, and the missile went wide.  He reeled as the strange mummy slammed him in the face with heavy black fist.  The thing’s hands were not covered in the dirty bandages.

“Get up here! It’s mummies!  They’ve got Dunlevey!” Timotheus cried, dropping his saber to draw a dagger.

“_Sagitta aquom_” Markos cast his _magic missile_ spell sending two bolts of watery blue light slamming into the creature.5

As Victoria of Anhur took up her spear and charged around the ring of rocks to get in sight of scrum, Telémahkos crept around, staying out of view and loading his crossbow, and Tymon stayed close mimicking his master.  Bleys the Aubergine withdrew to Markos’ position, Crusta cringing behind the tanned mage in her gray smock. The watch-mage took a shot at the creature harassing Falco.  He missed.  Timotheus Smith wrapped a beefy arm about the grappling mummy’s neck, and tried to pull out one of the creature’s legs with his own, to send it to the ground.  He stabbed hard with the dagger, but felt the awkward jerk as the point scraped through the loose bandages drawing yellow pus from beneath.  The dagger was now stuck to the creature, and Tim could not pull it free.  It was then that he realized two things.  The first was that the ‘mummy’ was not wrapped in bandages at all, the loose dirty flaps were some kind of disgusting hide that covered the thing, and second being that he too was now stuck to it, adhered in place by the hide’s properties.

“May Ra’s holy light clear the darkness from this place!” Laarus of Ra chanted, drawing his flail as he did so.  A golden beam of light flashed out of the sun and the mummy-creature attacking Falco moaned, as its shoulder began to smoke and the flappy hide began to roll back and blacken, revealing pink raw flesh beneath. 

“Give us the shinies!” the creature hissed as it throttled Dunlevey, the bushy-haired hireling’s face darkening with each futile attempt to free himself.

”Get the Hells off of him!” Timotheus yelled, but he was stuck as well and his attempts to give Dunlevey a chance to lever himself free failed.

“Falco! Get out of there!” Bleys called to the scout, seeing the raven-haired man’s bloody face.  He had been struck again, and again, each of his arrows doing no harm as they missed completely, or merely hung ineffectively, adhering to the false mummy.

Brimming with _bull’s strength_ granted by Anhur, Victoria dropped her spear and grabbed one of the grappling creature’s arms to help free Tim and Dunlevey.  In a moment, she was stuck and struggling as well, the four of them fell over into a squirming pile of desperate bodies, twisting and choking, their armor clanging against each other.

Another call to Ra to send the holy light of his glory down to strike the other ‘mummy’ failed, as the creature managed to sidestep when it noticed Laarus pointing at it.  The ground sizzled for a moment and then the beam dissipated.

“Markos, you fool!  _Enlarge_ Dunlevey already!” Bleys called to Markos.  The diminutive mage was making his way around to the melee from the other side of the pond, Crusta creeping along behind him.  The watch-mage sent another arrow at the one following Falco, but it had little effect, hanging inertly amid its flaps of skin with the other arrows.

Falco withdrew as Telémahkos hurried back to his pack to get _the Steel Whip_, dropping Dunlevey’s longsword as he did so.6  Instead of continuing to follow, the ‘mummy’ ducked around the tall stones and slammed a fist down into Dunlevey’s face.  The hireling was at the top of the sticky grappling pile still trying desperately to break free. “Someone help us!” he cried.  Deep in the pile, the other creature managed to twist it body around making use of its loose skin, and pressed a forearm down on Timotheus’ neck.  Tim coughed out a stream of raspy profanity, as he clawed ineffectively to get the arm off of him.

Laarus of Ra moved in, flail swinging over his head to drive the free mummy-thing away from the scrum, flicking away the punches of the creature with the weapon’s head.

“What are you doing? Get in there!” Bleys admonished Telémahkos finding the blond Briareus crouched behind a rock again, rapier tucked into his belt.   The watch-mage hurried by and took up Victoria’s longspear.  Markos finally came around the stones and could not suppress a laugh when he saw the scrambling scrum, but seeing that Laarus was now grappled and stuck to the other creature, he cried out.  “Don’t be stubborn, cousin!  Say the word!”

”Do it now!” Laarus replied, and a few moments later the priest of Ra began to grow so rapidly there was a sickening rip as the false mummy fell loose, leaving narrow strips of its sticky bandage-like hide on Laarus’ armor.

“One… Two…Three!” Victoria, Dunlevey and Timotheus were trying to concert their efforts to free themselves.  Timotheus had managed to reach up and squeeze the thing’s neck until it stopped moving, but they were still stuck.  Now having scuttled over closer to a rock, they were trying to gain leverage with their feet.  They were covered in muck, blood and broken reeds, flailing in about eight inches of scummy water.

“Can’t you use magic to free us?” Timotheus asked Bleys, but Bleys did not answer.  Instead he called for Tymon to join the fight with the other creature as he ran forward and thrust at it with Victoria’s spear.  Telémahkos had finally gathered the courage to tumble out from behind the stone and try to flank the creature with Laarus.  Falco had leapt up onto a stone and was loosing an arrow whenever he had a clear shot, which was not often.

“Does someone have a torch or something?  Maybe we can burn this thing off,” Timotheus called out, obviously frustrated with their inability to free themselves from the false mummy glue.

The remaining ‘mummy’ ran towards the pond, and Laarus took the opportunity to slam his enlarged flail into it back as it fled.  The head of the great weapon stuck to the creature even as it crunched flesh and bone beneath.  With a violent jerk, the monster hurried away, and the flail tore free.

“Keep shooting it!” Bleys commanded Falco and Tymon, though their bolts and arrows seemed to be doing little.  He planted Victoria’s spear head first into the muck and drew his bow off his back, and let loose another arrow that went wide as the thing weaved to avoid Laarus.  The priest’s great height and girth had given it momentary cover.  Telémahkos ran in from the other side, flicking a dagger at it that splashed into the water and disappeared.

Victoria of Anhur roared with the _righteous fury_ of her god and after a few hard frustrating jerks managed to free herself of the jumble of bodies and hurried out to the pond to join the melee, taking up her spear as she passed it.  Timotheus and Dunlevey continued to rock back and forth in place trying to get free.  Tim was so desperate he called over Crusta to aid them, as Markos had joined the others to take care of the final grappling adherer.

“You’re not my boyfriend anymore!” Crusta complained, putting her face real close to Tim’s to leer at him.

“Please help?” Timotheus tried more kindly.

The half-orc witch pushed them closer to a rock and Dunlevey grabbed it while she grabbed Tim’s arm, bracing a foot against the stone and pulled.

As Victoria skirted the pond to find the clear opening through the others surrounding the ‘mummy,’ moving as it moved, peppering it with arrows.  Telémahkos cursed as he dove in to stab it with his rapier, but had to draw back with the steel whip still stuck to the creature.  Taking its only opening the creature tried to run again, but Victoria had moved into place to block its exit.  Markos cursed at Laarus for getting in the way of his clear shots.  “You’re all hopeless!” Markos complained as the ‘mummy’ could not seem to be defeated.

Out of arrows, Falco drew his scimitar and joined the circle.

“Don’t let it get away with our weapons!” Telémahkos warned.

Another devastating blow from Laarus and once again his flail was stuck to the thing.  As it stumbled back from the blow, the priest lost his grip and the weapon shrunk back to normal size, still hanging from the thing.  Bleys cursed a moment later when his saber was also hanging from it, having abandoned his bow again.  Finally freed, Dunlevey came rushing over, great sword in his hands, the false mummy made one last attempt to flee, and ducking Laarus’ desperate swing, it popped up only to have Victoria’s spear slip under its chin and shove it back. There was a cascade of blood as the militant of Anhur torn her weapon free. As it collapsed dead, the red wash of its blood loosened the weapons stuck to it, and they could be retrieved.  Still filled with rage, Victoria continued to smash and pierce the corpse with her spear, until she finally sank to her knees and let out a long low breath of relief.

“You’re pathetic,” Markos murmured to Timotheus when he walked over to see the tall warrior still trying to free himself with Crusta’s help.

“Boyfriend! Don’t be jealous!” Crusta cried, dropping Tim’s arm, to wrap her own around Markos’ neck lovingly.

“It’s okay, Crusta,” Markos replied, gently pulling her arms away.  “We’re all friends here.  We have to help each other.”

Timotheus was quickly freed using the blood of the other corpse, and then Markos slit the thing’s throat to make sure it was dead.

“And how many times did Markos hit that thing?” Timotheus asked Bleys, the mage’s comments had stung.

“None,” Bleys replied in flat tone, and Tim threw Markos a glare.

“Is this really what mummies are like?” Dunlevey asked, leaning on a stone.

“I don’t think these were real mummies, or even undead,” Laarus of Ra said.  “Who know what kind of accursed men these once were, but from their guise I assume they are what were meant by the ‘cult of mummies’ Brother Cineas mentioned.”7

Victoria called on her god to close the wounds of Telémahkos and Dunlevey, while Laarus lent some of Ra’s graces to Falco.

Finally able to get back to examining the obelisk, Laarus finished translating the runes.

The southwestern face read: _The immortal clock will never chime, for he who fears a simple climb._

“What is this crap?” Timotheus swore.

The north face read: _The gold you give repays in kind.  Give well when asked and safety find._

The northeast face read the same as the southwestern one.  The northwestern face read: _Desire for gold may secrets show, But giving stills the fatal blow._

“Hmmm, the climb one is mentioned twice?” Victoria mused after resting a few minutes to recover her strength.8  She examined the deeply carved runes once again, and then without further words began to climb the obelisk, using the runes as foot and handholds.  At the top of the obelisk, the pointed top held two crystal lenses.  One faced southeast and was much smaller, and the other faced northwest and was much bigger.  They were both convex and clouded, and she could see nothing inside by putting her face to the bigger end.  She called down, describing what she saw, and Bleys suggested she put her eye to the small lens and look in that way.

Scrambling over to the other side, she did as he suggested and the distant landscape was astonishingly magnified, revealing the moors as a gorgeous vista.

_…to be continued…_

----------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This session was played on September 30, 2007.

(2) _The Moor-Tomb Map_ is from Dungeon #13.

(3) See Session #16. “Follow the Masks” was written on the map provided by Malcolm the Bronze.

(4) Once again I am proud to use a monster from the 1E Fiend Folio, the best monster book ever!  These are adherers, and the fact that they were used in the original adventure did a lot to convince me to incorporate it.

(5) Markos’ player (Martin Olarin on these boards) was unable to make it to this session, so all his actions and words are those of the DM as  he was able to resist coming down with bog flu.

(6) Worried about ghouls and needing a slashing weapon, Telémahkos borrow Dunlevey’s long sword in Session #16.

(7) See Session #12

(8) Militants of Anhur are _fatigued_ after using their righteous fury ability until they have rested a number of minutes equal to the number of rounds they were raging.


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## handforged

I also like the adherers.  And the clues on the obelisk.  I hope that you are able to get back into the swing of things after the holidays.  I know it is hard for me.

Thanks for the update.

~hf


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## Martin Olarin

Wow - I think those "mummies" were only mentioned in passing to me when told afterwards about the session.  Considering how frustrating the encounter seemed while reading I'm not surprised     Thanks for the update.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #17 – “Into the Moor-Tomb” (part 2 of 2)*

“It acts as a spyglass of sorts!” Victoria of Anhur called down with uncommon wonder in her voice.  She noticed a silver arrow between the two lenses and followed it with her eyes.  It revealed a lake set into a black hill surrounded by thick brush.  It went back several miles.

“That must be where the tomb is,” she said as she climbed back down.  Bleys had Falco climb up and look to get an idea of a route out to that place, while he produced the moor-tomb map and a quill.  He had Laarus read the inscriptions again, and this time he wrote them down, next to a quick diagram of the obelisk itself.

“Pointed tower keyhole to tomb,” Laarus said, remembering the map. 1

“Well, we looked through the keyhole and now we know where the tomb is,” Timotheus said with a smile.

Soon after Falco began to lead them deeper into the moors to the northeast. The insects grew unbearable making itchy welts on their face and necks that burned in the wet heat if scratched at.  At many points in the trek they had to wade though thigh-high muck, and cling to trees as they hurried along patches of what Falco thought might be quicksand.  It was nearly three hours later that they broke through the tall thorny brush around the black hill to find a clearing and the placid lake.  A gravel path led up to the lake edge and just beyond were five stone steps rising out of the water eighty feet in.  They led to a marble pedestal that held a great stained bronze bowl of some sort that looked as it was once at the foot of a statue long broken off its base.  Another eighty feet out past that was a metal door in an elaborate stone arch that was only reached by a narrow stone platform about five feet over the surface of the water.  It led into the tall cliff wall of where a great oval bite had been taken out of the hill.  The tops of the cliff walls were nearly one hundred and fifty feet up and crowned with sharp jagged rocks.

“Bes’ big-honkin’ cock!” Timotheus swore. “This looks like more magic stuff! Bah!”

“This is out of our league,” Telémahkos sighed.

“Why do you say that, Telémahkos?  Who is to say what is in our league?” Markos asked.

“Yes, magic is involved,” Bleys said. “Dalvan Meir, was of House Amber, he changed his name after he was banished by his family, but before that he was Dalvan D’Amberville, and he served Agon the God-King.  He ruled over the survivors and cast offs of Agon’s Realm after Agon was defeated by Sorlorn and Amarantha.  He built this elaborate tomb to protect his remains and his treasure, and his followers mimicked him in the centuries that followed.  There were once many such tombs to be found here, but most were long ago ransacked, or otherwise sunk into the swamp never to be found again…”

“If this is so simple we can handle it, why has no one else solved its riddles and made off with its treasures and the amulet of Fallon?” Telémahkos asked.

“I did not say it would be simple, but I still believe we can handle it,” Bleys replied. 

“We have the clues to aid us from the obelisk,” Laarus added.  “There are not many left who can read those runes…”

“You make a decent point, I guess…” Telémahkos’ voice still wore a tone of skepticism.

As it was getting dark and they were worried that they might be caught out in the open by more of the ‘mummy cultists’ as they took to calling the grappling adherers, they sent Falco off to find a defensible place to camp while they discussed the clues they had gathered so far.

“I bet we’re going to have to put money in that bowl out there,” Timotheus said.

“Desire for gold may secrets show, But giving stills the fatal blow,” Bleys the Aubergine read from the notes on his map. “My guess would be you are correct.”


Anulem, the 7th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Uneasiness settled on them with the morning mist that cut down visibility to a few feet, and that roiled above their heads in and out of the speckled light of Ra’s Glory coming through the thicket they slept beneath.  They groaned and stretched as they awakened upon the damp heather and prepared their return to the entrance to the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville wordlessly.

They marched back and soon enough Markos and Timotheus were rowing Bleys and Laarus out to the steps and pedestal on the _conjured boat_.

“Which one is your boyfriend?” Crusta asked Victoria as the latter watched the cliff for any unexpected surprises.

“None of them,” Victoria replied.  “They are my brothers in arms.”

”Bleys handsome…” Crusta said.  “Tee-Kay soft and mean like a girl… Me likes that…” She smiled her smile of broken rotted teeth and cracked black lips. Victoria shuddered. “You should tell him that,” she said.

“Boyfriend would get jealous,” Crusta said.

“It is not our fault if men get jealous,” Victoria replied with dead seriousness.

Just below the bronze bowl, carved into the rock were more runes, and Laarus did his best to translate them: _Respect this tomb, so firmly sealed / Most giving gain admittance / A noble gift will gain fair yield / A shocking due for pittance._ The bowl had a hole in the bottom, and Telémahkos was called over to check the area for any traps.  Markos fetched him in the boat, and Falco came along. The hole was not more than three inches in diameter and disappeared quickly to darkness sloping off to the north.  They could hear a faint buzzing coming from the metal door across the water.

“One gold piece each sounds about right,” Laarus suggested.

“That is an expensive experiment,” Bleys commented, but no one had any other suggestion.  Markos rowed back to the shore again to pick up Crusta, Victoria and Dunlevey.  Upon arriving the militant prayed to Anhur to reveal magical auras to her sight, but aside from _the Steel Whip_, only the metal door across the way was enchanted.  Telémahkos, Bleys, Timotheus and Dunlevey took the boat in two trips to the door and climbed up onto the stone platform, being careful not to touch the metal door.  They could feel a slight tingling coming off of it, and from here the buzzing was distinct and constant.  Bleys cast _radiant spark_ and willed it to follow Tim.  Markos waited in the boat by the steps, as Laarus stood over the bronze bowl with gold coins collected from those in the party that had any. 

The priest of Ra began to drop the coins one by one and when he reached ten, those by the metal door heard a loud clank on the other side and then sound of stone scraping against stone just behind it.  A few moments later there was another loud click and then the buzzing of the metal door stopped.

“Stop!” Bleys called back to Laarus, though the priest had already dropped an eleventh coin.

The watch-mage and the tall bastard of Briareus grabbed the handles of the sliding door and felt the sharp shock of electricity leap off of it and addle their bones.  Gritting their teeth they raised the door as the pulse of sparks grew steadily greater along with the pain.

“Hurry up!” Timotheus said through his teeth.  Laarus and Victoria leapt into the boat and were brought across, as Telémahkos did his best to quickly search the area just within the door.  Beyond there was a tunnel carved with long steps downward, the rounded walls and ceiling dripping with moisture.  He noticed a second door just within the metal one.  This one was made of stone and over a foot thick.  It must have been what they heard slide out of place when the coins were placed in the bowl.  He warned everyone that they would have to leap deeper into the tunnel once the metal door was let go.  When Laarus arrived and Markos went back to get Falco and Crusta, the priest switched places with Bleys who shuddered as he shook out the cramping pain in his limbs   There were long painful moments before everyone had finally clambered up to the platform and gone past the door into the tunnel. 2  Laarus and Timotheus let go of the metal door with a grunt of relief, and then leapt away, as the thick stone door began to slide down to doubly block the way they had come in. The boom of it sliding into place echoed down the tunnel. 

“That settles it then,” Telémahkos was startled by how loud his own whisper seemed in the corridor, he squinted into the shadowy illumination at the edge of the _radiant spark_.  “Forward and onward, I guess…” He sounded anything but sure.

“Well, Master Bleys, I hope we find what we’re looking for,” Victoria of Anhur said with some consternation in her voice.

“And I hope we are let out as easily as we were let in.” Telémahkos added.

“Easy? Eleven pieces of gold is a good deal of money,” Bleys said with total seriousness.

Timotheus led the way, Bleys’ _radiant spark_ still following over his shoulder. He was followed by Telémahkos, then came Laarus, Bleys, Tymon, Dunlevey, Victoria, Falco, and Markos and Crusta took up the rear.  “Hey! What’s this?” Tim asked, noting that the natural stone walls gave was to a narrow strips of grooves in the rock that reached from floor to ceiling.  Telémahkos yanked his cousin back with alarm and looked up.  The ceiling here was not round as the rest of the passage, but flat at about the same width as the groove.

“We are going to have to hurry past this four foot strip,” said to the others. “I think this is another door that will slide down when we have passed this step.  They did as he instructed, and as he suspected another wall of stone slid down blocking their egress.  They had to go forward.  Telémahkos hurried back to the front of the group again, and on they went.

And down and down they went.  The passage turned and dropped, and after every eighty feet or so another stone wall would slide down behind them, pressing them forward and making their confines all the more oppressive.  The uneasiness of morning had given way to a feeling of doom, though none wanted to put a name to it.  When they counted six walls sliding in behind them, they made one last turn to find the glow of green light filling the passage from a room beyond.  As Timotheus and Telémahkos came around that corner, they both noted another set of grooves in the wall and hurried everyone through.  There was only a narrow piece of passage, about twenty feet of it that they squeezed into, hesitating before entering the actual green-lit chamber.  Even back away from the entrance they could all sense a palpable evil that emanated from within.

Peering in they could see why the chamber glowed as it did.  It was sixty-five feet to a side and just off center, emerging from the stone floor was a shard of green rock over eight feet tall.  The green stone glowed dully in quick pulse, giving the room its light. The chamber’s ceiling was vaulted and the supporting arched held up by eight thick columns, a pair diagonally set in each corner.  Between the columns on each wall were great plaques of the green stone mottled with black carved with ornate images of bones.  The plaques were set into the wall a few feet from the floor and each one was about eight feet high and between three and four feet wide.  But the most fascinating part of the room was the skeletons.  There were eight of them in total, one in front of each column and wore a gold mask carved with a rune like those found on the trees. 3 Each skeleton was perfectly balanced in a different pose.  

From right to left around the room: One was dancing arms stretched, and a scimitar in one hand, one sat, resting its head in it hands and its hand on its bony knees.  It had a heavy steel shield resting on its shins, a longsword across its lap.  The rune on its mask was not visible. The next was laying back, arms folded behind its skull, a scimitar lazily cast aside.  The next stood perfectly straight, but its head was not on its neck. Instead it held its mask-bearing skull within a hole in its ribs.  The next skeleton also wielded a scimitar, and was in a pose of fierce combat, while its neighbor bore a longsword and shield, cowering out from behind them.  The last two were on the left.  One held a great sword pointed up, clutched to its chest, while the last had a longspear and held it out with both hands, as if in offering.

“Can we smash those things up or are they some other kind of puzzle?” Timotheus asked.

“No one touch anything yet,” Bleys warned.

Laarus Raymer stepped up to the edge of the chamber entrance and did his best read the runes without entering.  The first one was ‘happiness.’ He guessed the hidden one was ‘sadness.’ “Ya think?” Tim chided. There was ‘tranquility’ (or was it peace?), anger (or was it courage?) fear, avarice, and finally ‘generosity’ (or giving).  He could not interpret the rune on the one that held its skull in its chest.

They noted that more runes were carved and painted onto the floor of the chamber in front of the strange glowing stone.  Laarus translated these as well: _What guise would you wager to gain my master’s favor?  It leads to man’s grief at the end of my master’s leash._

“As there is no visible way out of the room, my guess would be that one of the masks must the key to getting past this,” Bleys speculated.  Telémahkos began to creep into the room with the others close behind, the watch-mage reminding everyone once again to touch nothing, but it would not matter.  Telémahkos had not gone more than six or eight steps into the chamber when green stone pulsed once with a sudden cold brightness. The skeletons sprang to some parody of life, stepping towards them with apparent hostile intention.

“Everyone form a line!” Timotheus commanded in a veteran’s voice that could not be disobeyed by those experienced in the rigors of melee.  Laarus raised his shield and fended off a heavy blow from a scimitar that made his legs shake.

“I’m anchoring this end,” Dunlevey said, moving to the left side of the entrance, and was surprised by how quickly the skeleton with the long spear brought it to bear, and staggered when it slapped his side hard.

“There must be a way to deactivate this stone!” Markos hurried towards the stone and left himself open to the skeletons still marching over from the other side of the room.  He cried out as a scimitar traced a line of red on his forearm.  As another came around him, a third rushed forward, swinging a greatsword with silent fury.  There was a jet of blood and Markos crumpled at the foot of the great green stone, dying.  Crusta began to shriek.

“Hide girl!” Victoria called to Crusta as she dropped her longspear and drew her morningstar.  She took her place in the line and smashed at one of the skeletons.

Suddenly the great stone began to hum and once again it sent out a shockwave of green light.  This time, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland felt as if some blot of evil grew within their very essence, devouring the light of life, and it pained them. 4

“May Ra send these abominations to cower in the darkness from when they were spawned!” Laarus cried out, clutching the ankh around his neck.  He felt the wave of divine energy wash out of him, but even as it did he could sense it diminish, the darkness of the tomb and the evil of the stone working against him and the will of Ra.

In the tightening cluster of skeletons and adventurers, two of the undead began to flee. Telémahkos was standing near Markos, and clicked his rapier at it as it hurried past him, but it did not seem to do much damage.  “Crusta! When there’s an opening come help me help your boyfriend!”  Bleys moved over to Telie’s side to help him fend off the skeletons.  Laarus moved over as well, pinning one of the skeletons between them.  The thing spun around, not sure which for to go for and the priest of Ra sent its head flying across the chamber, the skull cracking as it slammed the wall.  The skeleton fell to its knees, but immediate tried to get back up, it had no need of a head.  

“Nephthys! Bless my smashing!” Timotheus cried out and struck it hard with his heavy flail, so it did not get back up.  He used the momentum he built up to swing back up at another skeleton closing in, but it blocked the flail on the flat of its scimitar.  Another skeleton lost the grip on its long sword as it stabbed at Tymon and it clattered on the floor.  “I disarmed it, Master!” Tymon called proudly to Telémahkos.

 Victoria of Anhur hurried past the unarmed skeleton, leaving herself open to an attack from its claw-like bony hands.  She grunted in pain, but got past drawing the attention of the skeleton with the greatsword.  It turned to face her, its skull covered in the gold mask marked with the rune for avarice.  Crusta took off around the room trying to find a way to reach Markos safely, as he was still bleeding out.

And now there was a knot of furious melee.  Telémahkos and Bleys moved back and forth to keep the skeletons occupied while others smashed at them. Timotheus’ instincts made him notice an opening as Falco moved in, his scimitar sending sparks when it clashed with that of his undead opponent.  The tall and muscular son of Briareus crushed it handily, his usual grin growing wider as he spun to face the one who had sent Victoria to the ground.  The militant crawled through the chaos, a prayer to Anhur her lips, but before she could get the spell off, the skeleton with the great sword chopped down on her back.  She groaned and fell on her stomach, feeling the blood bruise swell up beneath her armor.  She looked up wincing with anticipation for another blow, but it did not come.  She leapt to her feet, noticing Timotheus running through a shower of bone fragments on his way to face the skeleton with the longspear.  He called Dunlevey off, sending him to help the others.

Laarus let out a satisfied grunt as he smashed another skeleton, is gold mask clattering on the floor. 

“Anhur, let this boy live to see another day,” Victoria finally had a chance to see to Markos unthreatened by the skeletal undead, but as she cast the spell she also noticed that Markos had stabilized.  Crusta was sitting with the sun-tanned mage’s head in her lap, stroking his hair and making murmuring noises.  “Isis, take care of my boyfriend,” she said, and he finally sputtered awake.

By this time Timotheus was charging the two remaining skeletons who were cowering away from Laarus in one corner, while Dunlevey and Tymon finished one last one.  As the chamber grew silent, the young nobles and their hirelings and followers took a collective breath, but the air down here was foul and they were filled with a sense that they should find the way out as quickly as possible.  The masks were collected and examined.

“Which of these emotions leads to man’s grief at the end of a leash?” Bleys asked.  “My guess is that the answer lies in that question.”

“But what of the clues on the spire?” Victoria said.  “Shall we not consider those?”

“It could be greed…” Bleys mused, not answering the militant. “Or perhaps serenity? As in the serenity of death?  Dalvan _was_ a necromancer…”

All this time the great green stone hummed softly, but suddenly it gave off a pulse of green light again, and again they felt the deep cold of evil in their soul.

“We have to do something to get out of here,” Telémahkos said, clutching his chest dramatically.

“If no one is sure then someone just take our best guess,” Timotheus said.  “If someone needs to put the mask on, I will do it…”

“Don’t be a fool,” Victoria admonished him. “It seems to me that whichever way we choose will lead to grief, so even the ‘right’ choice may be dangerous to us.”

“Well then, I am the best one to take it,” Timotheus said, smiling.  He began to gather the skeletons’ weapons, as Bleys arranged the masks on the floor and made ready to cast _detect magic_.  There was another pulse, and this time Falco, Crusta and Markos let out groans of agony, unable to hold back.

“Well, all the masks are magical,” Bleys said a moment later.  “I only had a chance to look at a few before the spell’s duration ended, but they seem to hold necromantic and enchantment dweomers.”

Timotheus picked up the mask with the rune Laarus had translated as representing happiness.  “I am going to put this one on, okay?” he asked.  “You think it is this one?”

“The never-ending search for happiness does sometimes lead to the end of a leash,” Bleys reasoned.

“Don’t put anything on, blockhead!” Telémahkos slapped his cousin’s shoulder.

“You know, maybe the last adventurers who got into this place put on those masks and they became the skeletons we just destroyed,” Markos offered.  As the speculation continued in earnest, Telémahkos began to search the area around each of the columns looking for some kind of secret passage out of the room.

There was another pulse and a sense of panic wafted in the room to mingle with the dread already found there.

Markos grabbed Crusta by the wrist and led her out to the narrow bit of hall that led into the chamber that was not blocked off, hoping it might keep them out of the range of the pulse of vile energy.  Falco followed, as did Tymon, once Telémahkos told him he might as well try.  Meanwhile, the blond Briareus was still searching, and it was over by the pillar where the skeleton wearing the mask marked with rune for anger or courage that he noted an unusual amount of moisture beading through a seam in the stone wall behind the great plaque of green stone there.  He dug at the wall with a finger and the stone flaked and gravely mud crumbled out from behind the seam.  He showed the others what he found.

“It looks like there is some kind of damage to the structural integrity of this chamber,” Telémahkos said.  “We might be able to pull this wall down, or at least a big enough chunk to get out of here without having to risk a mask…”

“Or we might flood the chamber and end up killing all of us,” Laarus replied. “Even if the water is not enough to drown us, the chamber may collapse…”

Bleys shrugged, “At least if we cause a flood and wash the masks away no other can enter this tomb and share in our folly.”

“We got Bes, that’s all we need,” Telémahkos said.

“We could try to break a wall where there is no water,” Bleys speculated aloud.

“It is only loose because of the running water,” Telémahkos replied.

Timotheus walked over and examined the wall flail in hand. 

“Don’t you go smashing anything, Moose!” Telémahkos slapped his cousin’s shoulder. “Grab on to the stone plaque there and pull instead.”

“Better a moose than a weasel,” Timotheus replied with a smile, and he began to pull on the green stone plaque.  Victoria walked over and aided him.  The whole thing shifted less than an inch, and a sputter of mud and grit poured out from behind it.  Telémahkos stopped them and examined the wall and then listened.  He gave them the okay to continue, and a moment later the entire plaque cracked into three pieces and fell onto the floor.  They leapt back as a torrent of mud made a pile on the floor.  A few more moments of digging and a natural passage of hollowed out mud was revealed beyond.  They could hear the steady beat of gouts of water from beyond.  The passage climbed sharply to the left, disappearing into darkness.

A rope was fastened about Telie’s waist and Timotheus held the other end while his cousin explored the sudden egress holding a lit lantern.  The muddy sides of the tunnel dripped and crumbled as he climbed, and about thirty feet in he emerged from the wound in the earthen wall of a natural cavern.  Here walls were tall and slick with mud, water was splashing down in a staccato waterfall along from a shaft in the one corner of the ceiling and disappeared down into a dark hole beyond.   Telémahkos carefully walked out into the middle of the cavern and noticed there was another way out, a narrow passage of mud that curved and disappeared down to the right.  He walked over and raised his lantern, but could see no further than about forty of fifty feet.  He hurried back, arriving in time to feel another of the evil pulses.

“I found a chamber you all can wait in while I explore a possible way out,” Telémahkos said, wincing.  “I think it will be far enough away from this stone to not have to worry about it hurting us anymore.”

“Well, it is either that or try the masks,” Laarus said.

“We risk Telémahkos’ way,” Bleys said steadily. Telémahkos climbed back up to steady the rope from that end as the others made their way up one by one to keep from collapsing the way out.  As Victoria, Laarus, Bleys and Timotheus waited their turns, being the last to go, the stone pulses once again, and once again they felt its soul-wracking cold pain.  Finally, they all made it up into the cavern, wary of its muddy walls and torrents of water.  They waited until enough time had passed that they thought the stone would have pulsed again, but nothing happened.  Out of sight of the stone, and feeling no foul pain, they had to assume they were safe for the time being.

*End of Session #17*

-------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	To see the map, click here.

(2)	Those holding the door had to make Fortitude saves or take increasing damage every five rounds. Thus, they took 1 point the first time, 2 points the second time, etc…

(3)	See Session #16.

(4)	They did not know it yet, but they were suffering _vile_ damage.  I don’t care what anyone says, I think _The Book of Vile Darkness_ was a great book.


----------



## handforged

This tomb is awesome!  I love the complex situation that the party finds themselves in.  I can't wait to see how they get out of this one.

~hf


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## el-remmen

So I return to grad school the day after next.  

That means that the already slow updates will probably slow down again (though who knows, sometimes story hour writing is more fun than academic writing and ends up being a great form of procrastination )

I have all of Session #18 written up and will be posting an installment from it soon.  I also have most of Session #19 written.  The interesting thing is that I plan to stick an InterSession within a normal span of a session (#18; in order to put it in chronological order in which it happened, even if it was not played in that order), and there are two other InterSessions between #18 and #19.  I also took a bunch of stuff from an InterSession and incorporated into the first part of Session #19 in order to integrate it without going over the mind-numbing details of a party debate/discussion that took part partly in-character and partly OOC on our messageboards.

Anyway, so that is the state of things story hour-wise.  In terms of current game sessions we just played Session #23 after a long break and we'll be playing #24 on Super Bowl Sunday.

Any questions?


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## el-remmen

*Session #18 – “The Broken Circle”* (part 1 of 3) 1 

Down and down the corkscrewing tunnel Telémahkos slid, crawled and climbed.  The rest of the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland waited in the cavern above, Timotheus holding the end of a rope that Telémahkos was no longer tied to.  One hundred feet was not enough, so Telie had untied himself and continued.

“You alright down there?” Timotheus called down.

Telémahkos called back that he was just fine.  The tunnel itself was through muddy earth that crumbled and slid, occasionally releasing brief torrents of silty water, illuminated by his lantern.  Eventually, the tunnel opened into a much larger cavern hundreds of feet below the one the rest of the Signers awaited.  The tunnel came in about five feet off the larger cavern floor.  Another larger tunnel went off to the left, while the cavern stretched into darkness in front of him.  He could hear the water crashing from the chamber high above into a black lake.

Judging this a safe enough place from which to launch further exploration, he began the difficult climb back up.

“How long do we wait until we begin to worry?” Timotheus asked Bleys, looking at the gash in the earth his cousin had disappeared down.

“Are you worried now?” Bleys asked.

“A little.”

“It has not be long enough to worry,” the watch-mage replied flatly.

Telémahkos emerged from the tunnel a mud-man, his blues eyes shining out from a thick layer of brown that was slicked up and down his body.  He described the place he had found, but Laarus and Victoria looked at the filthy Briarius dubiously.

“What about up that way?” Victoria of Anhur pointed up the slick jagged shaft from which the halting waterfall came.  “It goes up.  It might be a way out.”

“I can’t climb it,” Telémahkos replied.

“You seem an adept climber,” Victoria said, her eyes narrowed.

“I mean, I might be able to climb it, but it’d dangerous,” Telémahkos explained.  “Too dangerous for me… How do _you_ expect to get up there if there happens to be a way out?”

“We have a rope,” Victoria said.

“I’m not doing it,” Telémahkos refused.

The rest of the Signers took up the debate.  Markos thought checking out the shaft might be worth a try, while Timotheus sided with his cousin.

“It seems too treacherous,” Laarus said, and Bleys nodded.

“Then let’s just pick a route,” Markos said, shifting his weight to his other foot and slipping his bag off his shoulder onto the damp floor. “Ugh, my bag’s heavy…”

“I’ll carry it for you,” Timotheus offered, stepping over to scoop it up with his muscled arms, but Markos pulled it away and slung back onto his back.

“No!” Markos snapped and then caught himself and changed his demeanor. “I mean, thanks, but I got it …”

“Have it your way,” Timotheus replied, and he turned to the others.  “If we’re going to go down then I’m going first.” With that he marched over to the tunnel and confidently strode in, raising his hands to brace himself against the crumbly muddy walls.  He was no more than five or six steps in when he lost his footing and began a long painful slide down the tunnel in the dark.  Timotheus was barely able to stop himself, sensing the colder air of the great cavern at the end. But he misjudged as he stretched his arms forward to get a sense of how much room he had, and tumbled onto the muddy bank of the lake beyond.

Timotheus had long moments in the dark and his ears grew accustomed to the drips and drops of the nearby water. Suddenly, he thought he heard voices, and then he was certain.

Bleys the Aubergine came next followed by his _radiant spark_, he flew into the mud with no elegance.

“Here, let me help you up…” Timotheus offered a hand, grinning even wider than usual. “But keep it down, I thought I heard voices…”

Bleys’ light revealed that they were on the bank of a dark lake of swirling water.  It stretched way back into the darkness, and water ran down the black walls.  There was another passage running off to the left through a limestone wall in a gradual curve, disappearing into darkness beyond.

“Where?” Bleys asked in a whisper that still felt overloud in the cavernous open.

“Out there…” Timotheus gestured to the left side of the lake, where ceiling curved down low, making the overhead clearance just under nine feet.  To the right the ceiling ranged up forty feet or more.

Markos and Crusta came down next, sliding down with him locked between her legs and her flabby hair-covered arms wrapped about his shoulders and head.  As Bleys’ spell ended, he was forced to light his lantern and hold it up.

Victoria of Anhur ended a particularly bumpy ride with a bone-shaking landing on her backside.  Dunlevey climbed out with no troubles, but Tymon, who was after him, went shooting out to the lake edge, sliding painfully across the rock-littered muck.  Laarus of Ra suffered a similar indignant journey, though Bleys and Victoria were able to keep him from flying too far out of the muddy hole.  Falco was second to last, and finally Telémahkos made the trip down again.

Telémahkos and Dunlevey heard the echoed murmur of voices as well.  The voices floated over the subterranean lake.  Rather than deal with the lake, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland marched down the side passage, but found that soon after it curved it grew very steep and led to a caved in area.  There would be no going out that way.  They made their way back to the lake and Bleys the Aubergine suggested they make camp here.

“We should check out those voices,” Timotheus said. 

“Well, how deep is the water?” Victoria. “Perhaps we can look into where the voices are coming from.”  She walked over to the edge of the water and then stepped in to about knee height.  She used her longspear to check the depth.  It was not much deeper within reach of her weapon.  Now she heard the voices again.  It was two voices talking to each other intermittently.  The language was unintelligible, but clearly the sound came from a muddy nook on an inside wall where the shape of the cave bent and turned in many directions, water and silt lapping in its many niches.

“I’ll lead the way,” Timotheus said, wading past her. Thirty yards from the bank, Tim came to a ragged niche where the mud embankment met the earth and stone roots of the hill above them. By the _light_ now shining from Victoria’s spear, the bold Briareus noted a hole in the mud about three feet in diameter.  The voices came once again, but still seemed muffled. They were further away than whatever lay beyond this hole.  Timotheus began to climb up into it, and slipping disappeared down in the hole, bringing a sluice of water and mud with him.  He slammed on a flat stone floor, with a bit of light from Victoria’s spear reaching him down the narrow tunnel he had just fallen through. It was about seven or eight feet long and high up on the wall of this chamber, whatever it was.

He scrambled up to his feet, feeling a coin (or something similar) slip out from under his boot. He heard the voices again.  They were loud and foreign.  The language was mellifluous for the most part, but broken by had guttural suffixes and interjections.  It was vaguely familiar.

“Tim!” Telémahkos hissed his cousin’s name from the mouth of the hole.  Seeing Tim disappear, he had hurried ahead and leapt up to the hole, but his balance was much better.  Timotheus climbed back into the hole, and Telémahkos reached a hand to help him up.  The larger warrior could feel the hole getting larger as he kicked big chunks of mud into the room behind.  They decided to stop in the tunnel, and Victoria handed up the lantern passed up by Bleys.  Tim’s jaw dropped when he raised the lantern to look into the room he had fallen into.

There were piles of treasure!  Hundreds, if not thousands of copper and silver coins, jewelry amid musty sacks, a large statue of an angel made from Sardonyx, and some common brass mugs and cutlery.

“It’s a dragon’s hoard!” Timotheus said, his grin stretching across his face even wider than normal. He whispered through the hole what he saw, and then he heard the voices again.  Raising the lantern, Tim saw that the left wall of the chamber was actually the back of some kind of false wall.  The voices came from the other side. They _did_ speak in a foreign language.  He could not identify it.

One after one they climbed into the secret chamber, the rent in the wall getting bigger with each person through, until there was a constant stream of muck spilling in as well.  Telémahkos crept over near the false wall and listened.  

“It’s Rubar,” he hissed, and gestured to Tymon join him.  The portly man stumbled over as Victoria fell ungracefully from the hole, and the voices were suddenly quiet.  Timotheus stepped over and grabbed the militant before she splashed into the growing pool of muck.

“Did the earth just move or was it just me?” He smiled as he looked in her face, brought close to his by the awkwardness of the fall and his rush to catch her.

“It was just you,” she frowned and firmly pushed his arms away.  His smile never dying, Tim started looking through the loot, as Telémahkos found a spy hole in the false wall and was able to see out some. There was a chamber beyond that was reached from two sides, though a thick curtain covered one passage.  There was a figure in silhouette, dressed in armor of some kind and armed with a scimitar.  The figure wore a scarf or turban about his head.  A second, similarly dressed figure entered the room and they began to talk, both looking to the wall nervously.

Tymon did his best to translate what could be heard.

“Is he coming?” the first one asked.

“Yes.”

“Was he with the old woman again? Or Eton?” the first one asked.  “I do not think they are to be trusted.”

“The Marked One trusts them,” the second one replied, sternly. “That is enough…”

“Did you overhear if they plan to bring the slaves here?” the first one was asking, when a third figure arrived, taller than the others.

“Oh no!” Tymon turned to the chamber and stepped away from the false wall when he heard the third man speak. 

“They are checking the wall!  They are coming!” Telémahkos hissed, drawing _the Steel Whip_.

“They didn’t know this room was here,” Tymon added, even as the door opened.  It was actually not quite much of a door, rather one of the men on the other side grabbed a section of wall and moved it over by brute strength, Telémahkos did not hesitate.  As the other turban-wearing warrior stepped through, the dexterous young noble flicked his rapier out and found a space between scales in the man’s armor.  The man grunted as the blade slid in and the armor protested, giving way to a bloom of blood from his abdomen. 2

“Ready! Ready! Ready!” The voices of the Signers of Charter of  Schiereiland rang out one after another, having become used to the tactic of Markos’ _pyrotechnics_ spell, and shutting their eyes.

“Tymon! Tell them to surrender!” Bleys added, and the manservant cried out in the alternately mellifluous and guttural language of the Rubes.

“_Pyroclastus lux!_” Markos cast and his torch gave off a flash of light.  The dervish behind the false wall/door was protected, as was the larger man, clearly the leader (and drawing a mean-looking great sword from his back).  The man Telémahkos stabbed was not as lucky.  Blinded, Telémahkos struck him again, and then withdrew.

And they were clearly dervishes.  The two men kept their armor tied tight to their bodies with sashes of red and gold, and wore bright red scarves expertly tied upon their heads. The relentless sun of the Disputed Territories browned their skin.  The tall man wore no turban, letting his long black hair hang near his broad shoulders, despite having the front part of his head shaved to the scalp. He was disfigured by a burn scar on the right side of his face that appeared to be made by some hot metal rod having been pressed there. It reached from under his eye to his chin, nearly obscuring the countless other smaller scars and scratches all over his face and body, including a scar on his neck that looked as if it was less than an inch from killing him. He was also missing his left ear. He wore a bronze breastplate. 

“Tymon! Tell them!” Bleys commanded again, letting an arrow loose through the doorway.  The scarred man winced as the missile bounced painfully off the bracers on his forearms.

“I tried!” Tymon whined in reply.

“Ethan! Ethan! Intruders!” The scarred man called in a booming voice.  He spoke common with only a slight accent, but then fell back to the Rubar tongue when speaking to the dervishes before him. “_Basit! Baqir! Atravese!_”

As Victoria of Anhur hurried forward to hold the doorway, the dervish holding the section of wall, rushed through.  He propped the door in front of Timotheus as he went by, momentarily blocking off the sabre-wielding bastard of noble blood.  He ignored the wound Victoria scored on his hip as he twisted around to try to avoid the worse of it as he let go of the false wall.  Tymon hacked fearfully with this long sword and the dervish’s legs buckled, but he continued, a spear suddenly in his hand and thrusting into Laarus side, drawing dark blood from the priest of Ra.

Timotheus pushed down the door, swinging his flail with anger, as Laarus used a quick hit to buy him a moment to step away from the dervish.

“I do not know where you came from,” the marked one out in the chamber said as he stepped in, causing Timotheus to spin around hurriedly. “But you made a big mistake!”  There was a wrenching sound as Tim’s breastplate crunched under the weight of the man’s great sword.  His arm sagged from the pain and his return swing was half-hearted. He could feel blood seeping down under his armor.  “Some help over here!”

“We should focus on the man Tim is fighting,” Markos said, raising his hands to cast. “He seems the most dangerous! _Sagitta aquom!_” Two missiles of watery blue light slammed into the man he pointed out.  Telémahkos danced over to aid Tymon, keeping the spear-wielding dervish from turning to easily flank Timotheus.  Dunlevey moved in to aid.

“No one needs die here today!” Bleys the Aubergine called to their foes. “Surrender!”

But surrounded as he was, the spear-wielding dervish was unwilling to surrender.  Instead, he let loose bellow that rose into a lilting screech as he huffed and puffed, his stature seeming to increase as he worked himself into a rage that made the scales of his armor sing with his shaking.

“It is you who have intruded on our lair,” the marked one said, not pausing from his punishing blows that Tim was barely knocking aside with his own weapon. “It is you who should stand down…”

“That’s not up to me, but you’re outnumbered,” Timotheus replied, getting a hit in that led the man to grunt and fight to keep his footing. “I suggest _you_ stand down…”

“Yes! We are not bad guys!” Tymon tried, and then switched to Rubar. “Just  give up!”  He withdrew from the melee, dropping his sword to draw his crossbow and begin loading it.

Laarus Raymer of Ra croaked as the dervish spear thrust deeply into his groin, the spear point wedging apart his cod-piece from his grieves. The priest tumbled to the floor bleeding out.

“Laarus!” Victoria snarled as she called for Anhur to fill her with his _righteous fury_ until she too shook with an all encompassing rage.  Unfortunately, for her however, in her fury she stepped too quickly, stumbling and fell flat out. 3

Telémahkos leapt back from the melee, leaving it to Dunlevey to cover alone as Victoria seethed and crawled to her feet.

“Eton! Eton!” called the blind dervish still out in the other room.

“Call off the dervish and let me tend to our man and I will drop my weapon,” Bleys offered, even as he dropped his bow to draw his sabre. He looked right at the marked man as he spoke, trying to get his eye.  Beyond that fight, he could see the curtain draped across the left side egress open.

“Alright, what’s all this then?” said the man dressed in off-white burnoose with a yellow sash and sandals. A gray scarf that stretched out as part of his dull yellow turban covered his face, and he wore a short sword at his side. Bleys was puzzled by the hint of an accent in the voice. It was not Rubar. It was not Thrician, and not quite Herman-lander, either…  The man deftly drew a fat piece of pork rind from a leather satchel at his side, chanting arcane words as he tossed it at Tim’s feet.  Less then a moment later, the big man found himself landing painfully on his tailbone, the floor around him covered in a thick layer of greasy animal fat. The man looked up and his eyes met those of Bleys.  They were blue.

_. . .to be continued. . ._

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Session #18 was played on Sunday, October 14th, 2007.

(2) Telémahkos scored a critical hit doing double die damage.

(3) Victoria fumbled her attack roll and failed a Reflex save to keep her feet.


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## handforged

Wow!  That is quite some cave system!  I wish I knew who had blue eyes.

~hf


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## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> I wish I knew who had blue eyes.
> ~hf





Well, it wasn't that anyone in _particular_ has blue eyes, but rather that blue eyes are exceedingly rare among Rubes.


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## el-remmen

*Happy Groundhog!*

*Session #18 – “The Broken Circle”* (part 2 of 3)

The blinded dervish in the hall made his way awkwardly to the curtain and began to call through it in his tongue.

Victoria let out an exultation to Anhur as she felt her spear puncture something inside the dervish’s body. No man should have been able to continue to fight after such a blow, but fight on he did, the rage within him seeming endless in the long moments of the melee.

“Drop your weapons or your friend dies!” The marked one called out. Timotheus’ eyes widened, flat on his back, as he felt the point of the great sword touch him on the neck just under the chin. One false move and he was dead. 1

“_Maxima material!_ Markos muttered at the end of his long incantation and Dunlevey grew so tall the top of his head nearly touched the ceiling, and the swings of his sword became awkward.

“Call off the dervish and we will talk,” Markos negotiated with a smirk.  Crusta stood beside him, long sword in her hands.

“I think the only ones fighting are the ones frothing like maniacs,” Telémahkos said with a weak smile.  He threw down his sword and looked to the marked man and then to his helpless cousin.  Bleys followed suit, tossing down his sabre as he stepped over to the doorway.  “I am now unarmed,” he said. “Call off the dervish or the militant will keep fighting until one kills the other…”

“Bleys…?” The blue-eyed new arrival drew the scarf from around his face, revealing deeply laid freckles on a normally pale face, now sun-drenched.  “Uri!” He looked to the man holding Timotheus at his mercy. “Call him off!”

But in that same moment, the spear-wielding dervish leapt out of the way of one of Victoria’s thrusts and slammed Dunlevey so hard across the face with the haft of the weapon, the sellsword fell to the ground, coughing up blood as he passed out.

“_Baqir! Havase!_ Uri the Marked called to his man as he raised his sword from Timotheus’ neck in a sign of good faith.  Tim scrambled up to his feet, his back to the nearby corner.

The dervish pulled back his spear and shuddering, collapsed to the cold hard ground, bleeding.  Victoria of Anhur panted with her spear held over him, but taking a deep breath let it out slowly.

“Fiss’iss! We need healing in here, now!” The scarf-wearing man called out.

Victoria knelt beside Laarus and called to Anhur to close the priest’s wounds before he died.

“Is someone going to help Dunlevey?” Timotheus never hid his concern and responsibility for the hirelings.  Bleys was already hurrying over to do what he could, saying to Ethan. “You know I am honorable. I need to tend to my man…” Crusta crawled over to help.

“Put your finger there…” Bleys commanded the half-orc witch and she obeyed. “Not so hard!” 2

Telémahkos looked over at Falco, noting that the guide had not raised a weapon during the entire fight.

“Who is that? Another watch-mage?” Markos asked Bleys.  Bleys just nodded, busily working to save Dunlevey’s life.  “Can you ask him if we can trade warriors?”  As the lean young sailor-turned-mage chuckled, he looked up to see a lizardfolk step into the chamber and hurry over to squat by the dying dervish.  The creature was mottled green and brown and had crests on the top of its head. It had a scimitar hanging from each side of a webbed belt, and wore a necklace of scored and twisted chain links holds an ankh.

“I am Ethan the Pearl,” the formerly scarfed man said with a smile.  “That is Fiss’iss of Nephthys, and this…” He gestured to the scarred man. “…is Uri the Marked.” 3 

The disguised watch-mage looked at the scattered piles of treasure and wondered aloud where it might have come from.

“Well, we may not know where it came from, but we certainly have ideas on how we’re going to spend it,” Markos replied with a frown.

“That will have to be discussed with Fallon,” Ethan the Pearl looked to Markos with seriousness,

“Fallon? The goddess…?” Timotheus’ voice was filled with a mix of awe and skepticism.

-------------------------------------------

When the wounded were brought to another chamber off that from which the Signers had first heard the voices of the dervishes, Basit and Baqir, in order to rest on thick straw pallets, some explanations were given.

These caves were on the far northwestern side of the great black hill rising out of the moors. The same hill that the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville was located in, but if not for the inadvertent direct route carved out by running water, many miles around from where the adventuring nobles had first entered, it would have been a difficult place to find.  Ethan the Pearl was a part of a group calling itself ‘The Broken Circle’ and they had recently wrested control of this lair from a group of Rubar bandits who were using it as a base of operations in their abducting of slaves for sale to the nefarious slaver group known simple as ‘The Nine.’

The caves gave way to a rocky shore on a thicket-covered lake recessed into a nook in the hill.  There were three large huts built on the beach, but there was no obvious way through the immense thicket to escape the area. 

“We finally were able to trace them to their lair, and had to wait until one of them led inadvertently by the secret path through the thicket to get here,” Ethan the Pearl explained.  “This was nearly a fortnight ago, but some of the bandits escaped and we were forced to go after them, and only recently returned.  We had not finished searching the whole place, thus our failure to discover the secret treasure room you found your way to…”

Bleys the Aubergine explained of their quest for the amulet of Fallon and the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville, and how they had luckily been able to take advantage of the passage of time and the running of water to escape the chamber of the masks. 4  “Did you know of the tomb’s existence?” Bleys asked.

Ethan nodded. “The bandits used the reputation of the tomb as a means to keep locals away, but it proved their undoing when a source I had access to was able to tell me where the tomb was,” he explained. “We needed only wait for sign of the bandits and pinpoint their lair.”

“But the tomb itself…?

“Not as immediate a concern to us in our reason for banding together, the destruction of the Nine and the slave trade that they control,” Ethan replied.

Uri the Marked was an escapee from the dervish camps, who had come to hate the missionaries of the Red God of the West and had recently returned from Herman Land where he had adventured from some time.  Basit and Baqir were in a similar situation, having recently been led away from such a life by Uri’s efforts.  Uri was seeking his younger brother said to been sold to such a camp. Friars of Nephthys were natural allies to their cause. In addition to Fiss’iss, another friar was counted among their number, but he was out patrolling the area. The leader of the Broken Circle was a woman they called ‘Fallon,’ though Ethan offered no insight as to the origin of her divine name or who or what she might be. 

“I must go speak to her of your arrival and get her advice on where to proceed from here,” Ethan said, excusing himself.  Uri the Marked followed him out, but the lizardfolk priest remained behind. Baqir stood just outside the door.

“Will we get to meet her?” Markos asked.

“You have already found this place… I cannot see the harm, but that will be for her to decide,” Ethan replied as he left, giving a short bow.

Markos turned to Fiss’iss. “I greatly honor the work you are doing here,” he told her in the tongue of lizardfolk.

“Thank you,” she replied.

“What did she say?” Timotheus asked, fascinated by a lizardfolk priest of the goddess he revered.

“She said, ‘Tim should mind his own damn business,’” Markos smirked.

“Why must you always be an ass?” Timotheus snapped back angrily.  The lizardfolk looked back and forth between them, her alien face unable to contort to reveal what subtleties of emotion she may have been feeling.

“Bleys, tell me… do you trust this Ethan the Pearl?” Victoria asked her watch-mage companion in quiet tones. Telémahkos stood nearby straining to hear without trying to be obvious. “You went to school with him?”

“Yes… Well, he was a few years ahead of me… We were both there for one… Maybe two years…?” Bleys absently scratched at the dark beard growing in patches on his angular face.  It was said he went missing soon after his graduation.  Many feared him dead… It seems to me that he may have good reason to prefer having people think of him as such… But he as far as I know he is an alumnus in good standing, and have no reason to not trust him…”

“That is enough for me,” Victoria replied in her stolid way.

Markos took the masks to one corner, along with one of the party’s pearls and cast _identify_.  He was puzzled when he found no dweomers to identify at all!  A quick _detect magic_ spell revealed the magical auras were gone.  The pearl was wasted.

As they waited for Ethan to return the other friar of Nephthys came in and called to his goddess to heal Laarus and Dunlevey’s wounds. Moments later they were awakening.

“I am called Harber of Nephthys,” the young priest said. He had the dark brown hair common to many Thricians, and he wore it in the long shaggy style in back, clipped short in front.  He was clearly very athletic, and his physique accentuated the good looks hiding behind the layers of dirt on his face. Only his crooked yellow teeth marred his beauty.

“You are a Winter?” He turned to Bleys after he introduced himself. The watch-mage nodded.  “But not of the Winters of Tribunisport, eh? I know some of them well, and have spent many months at a time in that town…”

“No, I am of the Devenpeck Winters,” Bleys said, his steady eye never moving from the friar’s gaze. “Though I would be made happy to know my honorable cousins as you do…”

It was nearly an hour later when Ethan the Pearl finally returned.  In the meantime, Telémahkos made sure to let the others know he was against returning to the tomb.  Timotheus agreed with his cousin, finding the traps and puzzles of the place not to his liking.  Markos was ambivalent, but Victoria did not relish a return as well.

“Anhur would have me prove my skill versus worthy combatants, not mechanics and magic,” she said.  Informed of what had happened during his unconsciousness, Laarus withheld judgment until it could be discussed at length.

“Fallon will see you in the morning,” Ethan said to them.  “She and I talked for a long time and agreed to try to recruit you to our cause.  We are at your mercy having discovered our hiding place, and require your silence on our presence here, but hope that we can bind our fates together by committing ourselves to aiding each other in the good…”

“If you are asking us to help you, for my part I am more than willing to pledge what coin and knowledge I have to your cause,” Markos said with an uncommon earnestness. 

“Hey! I want to help, too,” Timotheus added. “Is there slaver ass-kicking involved?”  He was smiling eagerly.

Ethan laughed. “Well… We were hoping for something requiring a little more delicacy, but there may be plenty of opportunity for ass-kicking in the long run…”

“You mean that you would have us aid you in your work against the Nine?” Bleys asked.

Ethan nodded. Basit carried in a large pot full of steaming porridge and Harber opened a sack containing half a dozen large hard rolls.  The porridge was divvied out in bowls and the rolls ripped into enough pieces that everyone had the same amount; that is, except for Fiss’iss.  She did not eat.

“You have to understand that we may be slitting our own throats in sharing this information with you,” Ethan continued.  “But as it is, we have no choice.  We cannot hold you and we certainly cannot kill you.” He smiled weakly. “So all we can do is trust you…”

“And you _can_ trust us,” Timotheus replied.

“We may already have information on the Nine to offer you,” Telémahkos said. “That blue demon that Hezrah was breeding the orcs for… Could it not be working for the Nine?”

“That would connect the Nine to the efforts of the hobgoblins,” Laarus said.

“Blue demon? Hobgblins?” Ethan was puzzled.

“This…” Markos showed the watch-mage the ivory plaque they had found among Hezrah’s things. 5

“Stygian Demonborn!” Ethan hissed. He pointed to the rune above the image on the plaque. "That is the rune of the Nine.  You see how there is a smaller rune within the loop of the nine-shape? That is his personal rune, showing him as one of the nine ruling slave-lords of the organization.  We know of him as a powerful illusionist or warlock, not as some kind of demon ogre… This may just be a form he uses to intimidate the rabble.”

“Or else, this is his true form and whatever human form you know for him is the illusion,” Markos offered.

“Where did you find this?” Ethan asked. “Is it magical?”

They explained about Hezrah and her breeding pit for ogrillions, and how they thought that this ‘Master’ she served might be working with the Hobgoblins of the Blue Claw to raise troops of ogrillion slave-warriors.

“It bears no dweomer that we can detect,” Bleys added.

“Be careful with it,” Ethan warned. “It may still serve some nefarious purpose, even if it is simply as the focus for scrying.” 

“You were explaining what you hoped we’d help you with…” Laarus brought the conversation back to the matter at hand.

”It is very important that you keep whatever we share with you to yourselves,” Ethan continued, reminded that he had had a point. “You should not even mention ‘the Nine’ when you return to civilization, for we have good reason to believe that there is a high-ranking member of Thricia’s nobility in the Nine right now, and whomever it may be has spies in one or more of the House courts.”

“If that is so, such corruption needs to be rooted out!” Laarus said, sternly.  Bleys and Victoria nodded.

“We agree, but as I said, delicacy is important,” Ethan explained. “The Nine are powerful and ruthless.  If they learn your names and your involvement then you will not be safe, nor will your loved ones, or servants.  Fallon will be able to explain more the situation and what we need of you on the morrow, until then you should rest.” He turned to leave, but then stopped. “Oh, and about the treasure, Fallon is happy to split it sixty-forty…

“Will you be satisfied with forty percent?” Bleys asked.

“No, you will get forty, we get sixty, though the statue is yours to take if you like, it is too inconvenient to get out of here and resell,” Ethan responded.

“_You_ get sixty?” Markos sputtered. “_We_ found it!”

A debate upon the splitting of the bandit treasure ensued, that led to everyone getting up and going back to that chamber to look more closely at what was there.  Bleys the Aubergine, however, made an offer that seemed fair to Ethan, and the Broken Circle were willing to take their share of the coins from among the money of the Kingdom of the Red God of the West, as it was what was commonly used in the Western Conurbation.

“That is the second time you mentioned that place,” Markos said. “What and where is it?”

“It is a league of villages west of here amid the Levar Ach Piedi Hills,” Ethan explained.  “It falls under no jurisdiction of Thricia or the Kingdom of the Red God of the West, and can be a wild place. There are Thrician ex-patriots, less traditional Rubes, bandits, slavers, Setites, homeless barbarians, all kinds of people.  It is a place that the Nine can use to their ends.”

“I thought no one was allowed to settle in the Disputed Territories,” Laarus said.

“The law and reality are two different things,” Ethan replied.  “Those people have been there for over a century, and nothing short of an army is going to get them out… Who is going to send an army to remove common people to enforce a treaty no one likes?”

Ethan the Pearl also said that the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland could take the holy books that were found among the treasure.  They should be very valuable back in civilization, but would be suspicious among the pious people of the Conurbation because of the tradition regarding the handling of such holy texts. 6

By the time the treasure discussion was over, exhaustion was really settling into their bones and muscles and they began to stretch out their bedrolls in the large cave with the straw mats.  They could all still feel the cold of the emanations they had suffered through in the chamber of masks. Timotheus went out to the gravelly beach to spend some time with Harber of Nephthys in prayer and discussion before going to sleep.  The bastard Briareus explained about what had happened with the orc women in Hezrah’s breeding pit, and his uncertainty on how to handle such a situation.

“You were right to let them go, I think…” Harber replied.  “Nephthys teaches us that everyone deserves the trust to make the right choices…”

“What about hobgoblins?” Tim asked.  “Are they not inherently evil?”

“Some say the same about lizardfolk or half-orcs, but look at Fiss’iss or your own companion…”

“Crusta?  I’m not too sure about her. She’s just saving her own skin…” Timotheus replied.

“What does it matter why she does it for now?  If it can teach her something about true freedom and doing good, then it is worth it… The ideology of freedom is not about words or intentions, but about actions…” Harber said.

Meanwhile, Markos fought off tiredness long enough to follow Fiss’iss part of the way through the thicket to have their own discussion in her tongue, far from the ears of others.  Ethan the Pearl led Bleys the Aubergine to one of the huts out on the beach, and they had their own private discussion as well. 7

_…to be continued…_
-------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) You can see the rules used for “covering” someone on the Aquerra Wiki, here.

(2) This group uses the “aid other” option for skills a great deal, especially for healing checks to stabilize someone.

(3) Both Ethan the Pearl and Uri the Marked are former PCs.  I played Ethan the Pearl in a short-lived campaign set in Thricia that Sean (aka Rastfar on these boards) ran back in ’97 or ’98.  Uri the Marked was a player character from The Oath Campaign that lasted less than a full session, having been arrested and left to his fate before he could bond with the existing party of player characters.

(4) See Session #17

(5) Click here to see a replica of the plaque.

(6) The two holy texts were _The Sacred Journey of Man_, and the much more rare and poetic, _Prophetic Visions of the One_.

(7) This conversation was handled after the game session using the group’s forum on some private message boards. See InterSession #18.1, which will be posted soon.


----------



## handforged

Well, now I know who has blue eyes.  It's a good thing everything got straightened out there before someone died.  That certainly would have made everything a lot more complex.  Not that adding another whole plot line won't complicate things.

I also like the idea of characters from other campaigns making appearances.  It gives strength to the idea that PCs are special.  There aren't that many people like them out there in the world.  They have even heard of some of them before.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #18.1 – “Watch-Mage’s Business”*1

As the rest of the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland stretched out their rolls in the large cavern, readying to bed down for the night, Ethan the Pearl led Bleys to one of the small huts out on the gravelly beach in the shadow of the black stone hill and beneath the cover of the immense briar. The inside of the hut had a small fire pit and a variety of random clothing and objects hang from the hut frame, including a hammock covered with a mosquito net. 

Ethan gestured for Bleys to sit on the pelt of what must have been an immense weasel. He fetched a skin from a peg on a beam.  “You must have graduated, when? 564?”

Bleys sat. The purple of his robes obscured by drying mud.  “565 H.E. Yes.”

“Oh! Let me help you with that!” Ethan the Pearl said, noting Bleys’ state compared to his own clean gray and white clothing. With an arcane word, he used prestidigitation to clean Bleys' robes.  He folded his legs and sat across from him and handed over the skin. 

“Thank you.” Bleys offered monotonously as he watched flakes fall from his deep purple robes.

“It is a local mead-like drink from the Western Conurbation,” Ethan was talking about the drink.  “Reminds me of some of the stuff back home… It is really good to have some contact with someone from the Academy… _Direct_ contact anyway. . . What route did you take down here?”

Bleys raised the skin and sniffed at it, before taking the smallest swig of the swill. After swallowing he gave a slight and respectful nod as if agreeing with Ethan estimation of its flavor. He handed the skin back to his host.  “We came through Jacoba's territory, the Border Shires.” 

Ethan's eyes widened perceptibly when Jacoba was mentioned, but he quickly regained his composure. “Did you get to consult with Jacoba?”

“We did not have opportunity to meet with Jacoba, unfortunately. Why?”

“Well, between you and me. . .” Ethan leaned in conspiratorially. “We are betrothed. …I do not get to see her very often and only get to pass messages along with slightly more frequency, and usually that has mostly to do with information being trading between what is going on out here and what is going on in Thricia proper…”

“Last I heard, none at the Academy had seen nor heard from you. Some suspected you rogue...” Bleys let the information dangle, eyeing the measure of the watch-mage before him. “The Master of Wards2 will be glad of my tidings.”

Ethan’s face grew grim. “Speaking for my absence and all that, well…” He blew a stray strand of his out of his face dismissively and his face relaxed. “Let's just say some erroneous rumors and reputations can still prove useful. Those who need to know the truth of my location and efforts already know it.”

“I see,” Bleys dismissed the subject of Ethan's status. 

”It is for that reason that our betrothal must remain secret, and is the reason why I do not get to see Jacoba as much as I’d like…” Ethan continued. He looked sad.

“Is there some message that you would have me bring her?” Bleys offered as awkward consolation.

“If you will be going back that way, I would relish the opportunity,” Ethan smiled with the friendliness Bleys remembered from his first years at the Academy. Known as something of a practical joker back then, Ethan was never mean-spirited, or talked down to the underclassmen. 3 “So you said you found the Tomb of Dalvan d'Amberville using the obelisk? I've seen that place, we used it as a guide to find this black hill, but avoided the tomb.”

Bleys leaned in a bit, more attentive to a subject he wa much more comfortable with. “Interesting. So you must have seen the strange runic masks, maybe even encountered some of the odd mummy cultists? This is an intriguing area, rich with history dating back before the time of the Six Kingdoms. Were you also seeking the tomb, or did you know that the hill also sheltered this lair? Did the bandits seek to make their hideout near Dalvan's tomb intentionally, do you know?”

“I was told that the obelisk would point out the hill holding the tomb, and the bandits, who called themselves ‘the Dead Men’ had bragged that their hideout was well-hidden and protected by the ancient magic of Dalvan. I put two and two together. My source about the tomb did not know about the bandits, and I did not care so much about the tomb. If it were sealed up and not doing anyone harm, it did not seem worth it to look into… at least it was not a high priority…”

“And was it…?” Bleys lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. “…protected by Dalvan's magics?”

“No… No…” Ethan smiled, and then took a swig from the skin. “It was just a rumor they spread when they traveled west; a way of bragging. I knew their hideout had to be in this area because of scout reports and information gotten from a prisoner… Like I said, I put two and two together… The bandits were too scared to ever try to handle the tomb themselves, or at least those that did, never returned.”

“These 'Dead Men', who were they?” Bleys asked.

“Brigands, cut-throats… dervish deserters and Thrician exiles, but most were just poor boys of the Conurbation who turned to what they could to make a living in a hard world. . . It pains me that we had to slay most of them in the process of stopping their operation… But what would we have done with them?” Ethan sighed with genuine remorse.

“And these dervishes who share your company, how does your arcane craft reconcile with them?” Bleys made no attempt to hide his study of the clothing that took the place of his fellow alumni’s signatory robe.

“They remain a bit distrustful, I am sure… But they trust Uri, and he has spent time abroad and is more used to the wider world than they are. They have not been with us long, but as time goes on they have come to see the value of skills such as ours… “  Ethan replied.  “Listen, Bleys, I wanted to ask… Well, unless if it is a secret, or you have made some promise not to reveal it, but I would really like to know how you knew to find the Tomb… If someone else knows how to find this place, we need to know. . “

Bleys looked quizzically at Ethan. “Well, you have visited the obelisk. The directions are there, plain for anyone to decipher should they be so inclined. We only sought out the location, knowing it would lead us to the tomb of Dalvan d'Amberville.”

“But not everyone knows where the obelisk is, or even that it exists. In fact, I would guess that _most_ don't, even if they have heard of the tomb… And since the obelisk is the key to getting into this area, if there is someone else that has this information, I would like to know so I can evaluate the danger… Is who told you a secret? Have you given your word that you would not tell anyone? I thought that might be case, and I would not want to ask you to violate that promise…”

“No. It was no secret. Perhaps an oversight on his part, but I like to think of it that he trusted my discretion… We came to seek out what I believe is an artifact holy to the Trinity. The hatred Dalvan bore towards Fallon, in life, is well known for those learned in the subject of the time. Legend has it that he took with him to his death an amulet; an amulet that she herself blessed before her ascendance. It is that, specifically, that we sought to unearth inside.”  Bleys eyed Ethan carefully, in anticipation of a possible reaction with the words he knew would issue from his mouth. “Malcolm the Bronze set me to the task.”

“I knew it! That clever bastard!” Ethan jumped halfway out of his sitting position and shook his fist. The sun-burned watch-mage took a deep breath and then settled back down. “Well, at least I don't have to worry on that account, seeing as he was where I got my information on the place. Not that it was easy, it took a lot of convincing that he needed to trust me as to why I could not tell him the ultimate goal of finding the place, and he did not like me refusing his help… He did not mention an amulet to me… But perhaps that is because he inferred that I had some ulterior purpose to finding the place aside from the tomb itself. . I would bet money that the reason he told you about the place was as a way to find out what I was up to…” A tense edge in Ethan's voice betrayed his anger at the elder watch-mage.

“So you do not trust his gregarious nature?” Bleys asked flatly, not reacting to Ethan's disparaging assessment of the eldritch knight. 

“Heh… I am not saying Sir Malcolm is untrustworthy necessarily, only that he is condescending and values his own judgment over that of anyone else, especially that of younger alumni. According to Jacoba, he is always passing on news and rumors and maps and things to young watch-mages as he sees himself as a kind of mentor, but also probably because it fits into some plan he has of his own…” Ethan took another swig from the skin and passed it back to Bleys. 

“Well, should the rumors of the amulet hold true, the boon for Thricians may be great. So now I must ask, do you know anything more that may aid us?” Bleys took the skin and made the obligatory tilt before returning it to its rightful owner.  “Mmmmm.” He swallowed “Or better yet, would you care to accompany us? Lending your strength to ours would almost certainly ensure our success. Much good could come of it…” He did not let Ethan reply. “And certainly clearing the black hill you plan to occupy is in your best interest. If for no other reason than collapsing the tomb once we have completed our task means no harm will befall anyone else, and will be a deterrence to future glory seekers… What say you?”

Ethan shook his head. “I have no doubt the amulet, if it is there, would prove a great boon to the church, but we have our agenda and our plans, and clearing the tomb is not on that list as of yet. I doubt Fallon… _Our_ Fallon… would agree that it would be an acceptable risk for us at this point…But there may be other ways I can aid you without accompanying you.”

 “We would welcome any aid,” Bleys said. He drew one of the masks with archaic runes etched in its forehead and handed it to Ethan. “Do you recognize this at all?”

The other watch-mage turned it over in his hands.  “Is it magical? What kinds of magic did it emanate?”

“It emanated an overwhelming aura of necromancy, but was also accompanied by an aura of enchantment as well.”  Bleys explained the posed skeletal bearers of the masks and what he had learned of the runes. 

Ethan handed back the mask. “And _identification_ did not work?”  He took up the skin again and took another long swig.  He stood and moved to hang it back up, but then stopped and gestured to Bleys if he would like more.

Bleys waved it off. “No. Apparently, the masks no longer hold their dweomer after being removed from the tomb. My hope is that they will still be viable upon re-entry. But perhaps I was being overly hopeful that you might have knowledge of the tomb’s contents, seeing as the tomb itself was never your goal. Had you some other specific form of aid in mind?” 

“I was thinking I might have some spells you might find useful…” Ethan sat back down. “Perhaps vice versa, as well? I am not sure how long you and your companions plan to stay here, but I would recommend resting for a day or two… To recover your strength and talk over your plans… Plus, I do not know what Fallon will tell you on the morrow. . “

“Yes, yes…Of course, decorum dictates I offer an exchange of spells, I just wished not to seem presumptuous or over-eager.” Bleys pulled his own traveling spellbook from his satchel.  “Though I am yet fresh-faced and may have little to nothing to your gain.” He offered the book forth humbly.

Ethan waved away the spellbook. “Just tell me, do you have _comprehend languages_? I would prefer _tongues_, but I think it might be too much to hope that you'd happen to know or carry spells of the Third House#. . . What do you need? _Shield_? _Protection from Evil_? _Protection from Arrows_?"

“Uh… Yes.” Bleys attempted a smile. “Of course there are others I am interested in as well.  Though _protection from arrows_ particularly, though it is beyond my abilities to prepare, as of yet…”

"_Detect scrying_, I need it. . .” Ethan the Pearl replied, almost as if reminding himself. “I know you don't have access to it yet. That and like I said, _tongues_… Let's make a deal. I will pen you a scroll with _protection from arrows_ on it for you to scribe it into your own book at a later date, if you will ask around for a scroll or book with one of those two spells on it." He looked to Bleys eagerly, and then filled in the usual silence of Bleys' thoughts before speaking with more speedy words. "And if it ends up costing you actual coin, then we'll negotiate whatever's fair with the scroll I am going to make you tomorrow defrayed from the cost. Though of course, hopefully we can just keep trading and the money won't matter…Isis willing. . ."  Ethan nodded and winked, and then continued again, as if nervous. "Oh! And don't think you'll have to get it all the way down here again, though depending on what happens with Fallon tomorrow, who knows… we might see you back here again… But anyway, yes. . You can always have it delivered to Jacoba, and she will get it to me…"

The two alumni handled the logistics of trading spells books and making time for the studying and copying required.  They fell easily into talking shop, easily understanding the jargon and slang of students at the Academy. Further discussion led to them agreeing to trade a couple of more spells.  Ethan thought that _low-light vision_ would be a handy spell to use around magic-fearing Rubes, and Bleys became enamored of the idea of _halt missiles_. The conversation took several twists and turns, including a brief reminiscence of Master of Wards Methusahlal. 

Eventually Bleys reiterated what he knew of Dalvan d'Amberville and the tomb's reputation. “Is there any piece of information that you would add? Something you may have learned from your own investigations into the area?”

“I don't really know anything about him specifically. I do know that the d'Ambervilles were a cursed family, prone to madness and delusion and some given to evil. They've all died out, though it is said there are still among the nobles of Thricia those who bear the taint of their accursed blood. . . “ Ethan paused.  “Oh! And, while it is more of the bandit bragging, it was said that Dalvan still _lived_ tomb, which doesn't seem likely, but the legends are vague about how he died, so perhaps he did not die at all? Or perhaps, he did not choose to be entombed, but it was his followers that did it? I don't know…” He shook his head.

“Hmmmm…Well it would seem that my companions and I will need to discuss more before we decide what our next step shall be. I know that I am eager to return to the necromancer's tomb, but the others, it would seem, may need more coercion. I am uncertain as to what our immediate future holds.”  Bleys began to collect his belongings, methodically re-organizing them back into his satchel. 

“So your group would come all the way down here just to go to the tomb and find the amulet and then give up so quickly?” Ethan seemed dubious. “I understand it is supposed to be a dangerous place, but if what you described is the case, then the way you came out was not really meant to be a way out, but a luck break due to the years of natural wear on the place - otherwise, you would still be trapped down there, or figured out the riddle of the masks by now… It could be that that structural flaw is a sign that it might be easier to determine its secrets now than it has ever been before…”

“I am tenacious in my resolve, certainly, but there are some amongst our number who have become… _distracted_…and look for reasons to return home. We also visited the King Stones investigating a rumor of a box of wands held amongst goblin shamans there, but discovered it taken by hobgoblins; supposedly from the north, possibly of the Blue Claw, but we have no way to corroborate that. Those wishing to flee feel it best to warn Schiereiland of these developments…immediately.” 

“Also… I believe them scared.” Bleys continued flatly. “With the exception of our priests who are driven by faith, the tomb is a cold place, the very kind that tests a man's mettle. And for those not familiar in the tests of the arcane, just such a feat can seem overwhelming. I do not know how you think the structural integrity of the tomb will make Dalvan's riddles and wards any more navigable… I would be wary for just the opposite… But it is hope nonetheless, just the kind these others may need. Though I suspect them to believe our escape serendipitous indeed.”

“Well, I have been scared and cold in a tomb before, so I know what it's like, and there is something to be said for avoiding the situation if possible, but still… to travel all this way. . .”  Ethan let his words hang for a minute before continuing. “Fallon will be interested in this news about the Hobgoblins of the Blue Claw, if reliable news it is. . .”

Bleys remained flat, “As I said, I agree it would be a waste, but I am one voice in six, and there are always the lives of our hirelings that must be considered. But… If you would allow me to digress, as I recall, you were not far from Oroleniel…? They granted him the color ‘salmon’ upon graduation… Did you know him well at all?”

“He was a half-elf, right?” Ethan nodded. “He was a couple of years behind me. Weird… You know, in that way that elves can be… I don't know much about him except he's in… uh…New Harbinger? Yeah, New Harbinger, and I always though it was interesting that he was only _half_ elf, but grew up in Tempestas. I was just curious what life would be like for a half-blood there… I mean, it can't be like being a pi…. uh, half-orc here. But why do you ask?”

“Have you heard of a group referred to as _the Pillars_? Some group other than the Pillars of Ra that is…I am attempting to divine a connection between him and them…”

“The Pillars?” Ethan shook his head for seemingly the hundredth time. “It doesn't ring a bell… Is it a religious or historical reference?”

“I must assume that it is contemporary,” Bleys replied. “But do not trouble yourself, I knew that the reference would be obscure at best, I merely thought that I would ask nonetheless.”

After a long awkward silence, Ethan continued, “You wouldn't happen to have any news of Wallbrook, or of the war, would you?”

“Only that o'Leinster has sailed from Outretowne with his fleet in anticipation of bolstering his numbers in Wallbrook, before attempting to land on Black Island soil.”

“Again? I heard about that failed Wallbrookian push a couple of years ago… I guess when Herman Land needs bodies to fill its army's ranks, Wallbrook answers the call. . .” He spoke with a strange mix of disappointment and pride. “So there looks like there is no end to it any time soon? What about signs that it might spread? Will other nations get involved?”

“Of course there are those who call for Wallbrook to make peace with the Baron, but those seem to be unheeded,” Bleys offered.  “There is polite talk in Thrician court debating the merits of aiding our good neighbors, the Herman-landers, but if aid does come at all I suspect it will be nominal and late.” 

Bleys continues in a flat, factual tone. “I expect a resolution soon. I believe Herman Land is losing an increasingly unpopular war and has not enough soldiers to continually sustain losses.”

Bleys the Aubergine stood and lifted his satchel to his shoulder. “The hour grows late. I have enjoyed our talk, but I do not wish to keep you.”  He looked down at the now meticulously clean deep purple robes. “It comforts me to me know that even here, there are those to be found that hold true to our common purpose. Thank you.” 

 “We're doing important work down here. We're in the thick of it, so to speak, and I hope we get the honor of your help and that of your noble companions,” Ethan replied, taking Bleys' hand for a firm shake.

Bleys let himself out. “Thank you again. It sounds as if tomorrow is shaping up to be a fairly busy day. I am eager to get started. Good night.”

*End of InterSession #18.1*

-----------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This InterSession was played out on our messageboard forum _after_ Session #18, but is presented here in chronological order of the campaign’s events.

(2) The hierarchy of the Academy of Wizardry includes a ‘Master’ for each of the schools of magic (save for necromancy).

(3) This is actually stuff from the character background written for Ethan.


----------



## handforged

I'm not sure if it is Bleys, or just the way Watchmages talk to each other, as I don't know that I can take Martin and Richard as a good example, but these conversations seem less than cordial.  I get that Academy alumni are supposed to support each other despite personal feelings, but they seem so cold.

Can't wait to see what happens next.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> I'm not sure if it is Bleys, or just the way Watchmages talk to each other, as I don't know that I can take Martin and Richard as a good example, but these conversations seem less than cordial.  I get that Academy alumni are supposed to support each other despite personal feelings, but they seem so cold.
> 
> ~hf




Wait, are you saying that Martin/Richard conversations were cold too?  I wasn't clear on that.

As for "less than cordial,"  I think they _are_ cordial - but sometimes that is all they are.

In this case, though, I think it's Bleys not the general relationship between watch-mages.

I'd be curious what other readers, and the players themselves think on this issue. . .


----------



## Ciaran

handforged said:
			
		

> I'm not sure if it is Bleys, or just the way Watchmages talk to each other, as I don't know that I can take Martin and Richard as a good example, but these conversations seem less than cordial.  I get that Academy alumni are supposed to support each other despite personal feelings, but they seem so cold.



You really can't take Martin and Richard as a good example.  Richard made a poor first impression, what with the mind control and the drow witches and the demon wolverines and the getting Jeremy killed and all.  Later impressions only served to reinforce the original impression of a Machiavellian prick.  And if you're talking about dealings between watch-mages, does a rogue watch-mage like Richard count at all?

As to Bleys, he's cold to *everyone*.  You can't expect him to be friendly to other watch-mages when he's not friendly to anyone at all, ever.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #18 – “The Broken Circle” (part 3 of 3)*

Ralem, the 8th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The next day found the noble adventurers groaning from the aches of their battles and travails.  Worst of all, not only had none of them recovered from the effects of the evil green stone in the chamber of masks, but Bleys was even worse off.  He quickly found the piece of stone he had taken from the chamber of the masks from his pack (which he used as a pillow), and brought it to Ethan.

“This is a piece of that cursed stone we told you about,” Bleys explained. “It seems its effects linger, and in its presence may become even worse.” 

The other watch-mage took it carefully and said he would bring it to Fallon to examine.  She might be able to tell them something about it when they met with her after breakfast.

“It may be that we will need to go back to the tomb to rid ourselves of this affliction,” Markos said at breakfast.  There was a dour mood hovering over the group, for Laarus and Victoria’s calling to their gods for healing had had no effect on the _vile_ damage they were suffering from.

After breakfast, they were led to one of the large huts on the beach, and within its dim interior, amid many rugs and drying herbs and a small black stove, was the huddled form of Fallon.  Dressed in gray, she was propped on a stool, and long white hair fell out of her deep hood that cast shadows on the crags of her face.

“Greetings…” She croaked, raising a withered hand.

“Greetings!” Timotheus replied happily.  He introduced the party, except for Crusta, Dunlevey and Falco who were back in the other chamber.  Telémahkos brought Tymon along in case his linguistic or geographical skills were needed.

“I choose to believe that the hands of fate have brought you here to us,” Fallon said.  “As I am sure Ethan has warned you, the corruption of the Nine has infiltrated the nobility of Thricia.  We cannot know who to trust, and for all we know one or more of you here might already so tainted… But we choose not to believe that, and that you have the good of your people, and of people in general in mind…”

“I have heard such a rumor in the past,” Timotheus offered. “Were there not other nobles who were once allied with the Nine?”

“Yes,” Fallon replied.  “But they are dead, or their influence gone. There was Gelton Tenbrook who was banished from his House by pain of death, and is said to have met his end in Neergaard…”

“That’s the guy! That’s the guy I was talking about!” Timotheus was pleased with himself.

“There was also Delorius Nathanalus of House Brill. Our information tells us that she has fallen out of favor with the Nine, her own personal drive for revenge against a band known as the Oath having blinded her to that organizations nefarious goals,” Fallon continued. 1

“Is not the Oath the band that discovered the Nine’s use of the Sunra city of Highport some years ago?” Bleys asked.

Fallon nodded.  “I have worked with them a few times before, but they have gone missing.  There is among another band of adventurers who works with us a young marshal of the god Thor who seeks out his master, a dwarven priest of the thunder god who was the leader of the Oath… Well, some people say the militant of Anhur among their number was the leader, but I knew them well, and knew the truth… This other band calls themselves ‘the Promise’ in honor of the Oath, but we have not heard from them for a time either.  Last we knew they were investigating a dervish camp to the east…” 2

“So we would not be the only ones aiding you in this?” Victoria of Anhur asked.

“When one is fighting a group as well-connected and resourceful as the Nine there are many different places where many different talents are needed…” She brought her hand to her withered mouth and coughed, sending spasms through her frail swollen body.  She took a deep rasping breath before continuing. “Excuse me… When you get to be my age… It is a time of turmoil in the Kingdom of the Red God of the West. The politics of the place are a lot less uniform than most outsiders would think… The interpretation of their dogma varies and each of these groups asserts its power and influence at different times in different ways, leading to the varied relations with that nation that Thricia has had over the years.  The fundamentalists believe that true believers should continue the journey westward, looking for paradise here on Aquerra, interpreting their texts very literally.  They do not care for war or dealing with Thricia, except to escape them and reach their promised reward.  The moderates, who are in power now, interpret their scripture as meaning that paradise awaits after death.  They seek to eliminate the influence of outsiders, increase the buffer between the two nations and eliminate all non-humans in their lands.  If war is what is needed to accomplish this, then they will do it, but from what we can gather, it is not their first choice.  And lastly, there are the so-called ‘progressives.’  They gain influence, and are sometimes allied with the moderates.  They interpret their texts to mean that paradise in the west is for them to create for the benefit of true believers.  They accept that there are no more islands to the west 3 and instead seek to conquer all of the Spice & Thread Islands, including Thricia, as a bulwark against the outside world… They are the most dangerous… They are the ones most willing to interpret scripture in any way necessary to justify their goals…  They are the one most likely to work with the Nine in order to increase their number of slaves to run their theocratic plantations, to allow for more of their true believers to become soldiers and dervishes in preparation for invasion…”

“If the Nine are providing slaves to the Rubes in preparation for an invasion, then their possible connection to the Hobgoblins of the Blue Claw makes sense…” Telémahkos mused. “It will weaken Thricia’s ability to respond…”

Again, Fallon nodded. “We are very interested in knowing more of this possible hobgoblin connection, and that too may fall under your ability to look into for us… eventually… But more pressing is figuring out who among the Thrician nobility is working against us… And to that end we have a possible source of information.  Someone who used to be a member of the Nine and had connections to House Vandermok.  However, from what the rumors say, there is no love lost there any longer…”

Bleys’ brow furrowed with the mention of the Vandermoks.

“We do not know who it is, but one of our agents does, and when you return to civilization, we can arrange for you to be contacted with this information so you may seek this person out and see if we might garner their help…” Fallon continued.

“So you do not know the names of the other members of the Nine?” Laarus asked.

“We know _some_… There is Ignus of Set, who took over for Ajakstu who was killed by the Oath in Highport.  There is Nimnott Grick, an evil trickster gnome, exile of his people… You already know of Stygian Demonborn… And finally, most distressing… We have learned that the pirate-queen Misery Tlalok is now a member, and she has brought her fleet of ships and her recently gained power over the Red Lantern Gang to their cause.”

“Is it possible that the Coopers are involved in the machinations of the Nine?” Telémahkos asked.

Fallon shrugged. “It is possible, however unlikely… The Coopers are no friends of Misery or the Red Lantern Gang…”

“So House Vandermok is no longer involved with the Nine?” Bleys asked.

“No… We have reason to believe that they still do, that of the nobles involved, the Vandermoks are the most likely, but we think there may be others…” Fallon explained.  “Our own spies have brought back information about something they called ‘the Vandermok Investment.’ It seems noble coins are making their way into slaver coffers in hopes of some return further down the line…  The only name we have though is ‘Torn’.”

For once there was no need for discussion, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland readily agreed to aid the Broken Circle however they could.

“One thing…” Victoria said. “While I have no desire to expose your noble work, if I am asked by a superior about your group or about the Nine I will not be able to hide what I know in good conscience…”

“Of course… We would not ask you to betray past promises for this more recent one,” Fallon said, solemnly. “But with a bit of help from Bes, no one will have reason to ask you such a thing if you do not offer it…”

Victoria nodded.

“Now… You must have questions for me…” Fallon said.

And they did.  Bleys wanted to know more about Fallon herself. How an old and infirmed woman named for a goddess made it out to the wilderness so close to an relic blessed her namesake.  Fallon had no answer for this that she was willing to give aside from divine providence.

“We are ill and are not sure what to do about it…” Markos said. “There was this green stone…”

“Ah, yes… Vile…”

“Yes, it certainly is…” Markos replied.

“No, it is _called _‘Vile Stone,” Fallon said.  She explained that the evil stuff occurs naturally in some places where stone from the elemental plane of earth is extruded through the negative material plane and into their world to create it.  Its effects could only be countered on consecrated ground. 

Fallon’s shoulders sagged.  The long discussion had tired her out, and the young nobles politely withdrew back to the cave to discuss their options.

*End of Session #18*

-----------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) These are events from The Oath Campaign played from 1996 to 2000. Delorius was one of that game’s recurring villains.  You can read about the Oath’s infiltration on the city of Highport, and their conflict with the Nine, here.

(2) Clearly, this is the band the party heard word of while in New Harbinger, back in Session #4.

(3) Ships that travel west of the Spice & Thread Islands either never return, or come back after weeks of travel with no sight of land.


----------



## handforged

I meant that relations between Richard and Martin were always tense, but for good reason, and therefore couldn't be counted as normal.  I understand that Bleys is pretty cold all the time, but is that typical for Watchmages?  Are they trained to be that way, or is it just him?

The talk with Fallon is interesting.  I wonder if it is merely coincidence that she is so near to the artifact of her namesake.

~hf


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## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> I understand that Bleys is pretty cold all the time, but is that typical for Watchmages?  Are they trained to be that way, or is it just him?
> 
> ~hf




It's just him. Or at least, it varies. . .  I think it was clear that Ethan was happy to see Bleys, and if you remember Oroleniel the Salmon was taken off-guard by the insistence of Laarus' questioning - considering it oddly hostile.


----------



## el-remmen

FYI - for those who might be interested I posted some combat statistics from the "Second Son of a Second Son" campaign in the general forum, here.


----------



## Rastfar

For those of you who don't already read Bleys' Journal , I am currently posting pictures of the miniatures that I am painting for our campaign use.  For a peek at Laarus  check this out.


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## Rastfar

handforged,
  Thanx for the compliments, your take on Bleys reaffirms for me that I am playing his personality as I originally envisioned (which I was anticipating would be much more problematic than it has been).  What's more (and harder) the notes are being taken well, (thanx Ciaran) and the greatest challenge of all, el-remmen captures it all in the retelling - a true wordsmith that one.  Yes, Bleys is rather cold.  This of course reminds me that I believe his first point of reputation should be 'Steely +1'.  But he is hardly dispassionate, or cold-blooded.  I like to think of him as 'all-business'.  As to the Watch-mage portion of the discussion, well, I believe that Bleys is not the norm.  Ethan the Pearl, Oroleniel the Salmon, Malcolm the Bronze, these are great examples of what Watch-mages are generally like.  That is to say, they are much more approachable, warm, connected, emotional and gregarious, but that does not exclude them from also being hard-nosed when they have to be.  I am glad that you are liking the Story Hour as much as we are creating it. 


I would be curious to hear who readers' favorite characters are becoming?


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #18.2– “A Family Squabble” * 1

As the party left their meeting with Fallon, Laarus stood aside the entrance to the hut waiting for Markos. When his cousin emerged, the young priest of Ra gently touched him on the arm to slow him from following the others back to the caves. "Cousin, do you have a moment? I would like to speak with you."

Markos turned his weathered face to Laarus with bored wariness, "Yes, good cousin, how can I help you to endanger me needlessly today?" 2

Laarus ignored the slight and led the way to the edge of the scummy pond and a nook created by the tall tangled briar that obscured the area from the bog beyond. "It appears we shall be returning to Thricia quite soon. Sooner than expected…" Noticing for the first time that Crusta was following at a short distance the priest gestured towards her. "What do you intend to do about that?"

Thinking it was a sign for her to come over, Crusta hurried over and grabbed Markos by the arm and leaned her head low on his shoulder, closing her eyes in an expression of pure joy, a bit of drool pouring out of her gray crusty lips.

Markos frowned, "'That'? Perhaps you mean '_her_?’” The mage sighed, and gently pulled Crusta off of him.  "Crusta, I have some things to discuss with my cousin, would you give us some time alone?"

"Okay, Ko-Kos…" She waddled towards the caves, but stopped and looked back. "But we walk talk later, too…"

Markos winced at the endearment, but nodded and then turned back to Laarus, slapping at fat gnats bouncing against his face annoyingly. “While at first I encouraged Crusta to join us for purely intellectual reasons I have found her, unlike some others, to be genuine. I hope that she will learn some refinement, if lessons are offered, and I would like to learn more of how she manipulates arcane forces. That is what I hope for her, but as for what her eventually fate will be…? Well, I think, should be left to her. I think she has proven herself these last few days to not be a mindless brute compelled to do evil." 

"I meant _that_," Laarus clarified by waving a hand around Markos’ shoulder. "Not just her, but the situation that surrounds you both. What could you hope to come of this?" 

Markos' cocked an eyebrow with an expression of dubiousness. "I have already said what I hope. To be more specific, I hope to find someone to teach us both to be more polished and refined. On the subject of her witchcraft, I hope we can return to where her foci are hidden on the way back to the Ray-Ree." He paused and exhaled slowly, adding: "Why?"

“I had hoped you would have opened up to me more. But, if we must drag this out, so be it…” Laarus sighed. Do you intend to bring her back to Thricia with us?"

Markos looked nonplussed, "Perhaps you think I will find someone amongst the Ray-Ree to offer us instruction on etiquette?"

"Possibly…” Laarus replied, ignoring the sarcasm. “Both Admentus and Cineas have spent time in Thricia. They would have had experience with such… Or even here with the Broken Circle. The watch-mage and the friars should have the knowledge with which to train her."  Laarus paused briefly, "But you did not answer the question. Is it your intention to bring her back to Thricia?"

Markos shook his head at his cousin’s literal-mindedness. "I intend to offer her the option of returning with us. I hope she will, or failing that, she will choose to make a life amongst the Ray-Ree."

"Do you comprehend what the consequences of bringing her back to Thricia will be?" Laarus asked.

Markos smirked, "I think I do, cousin. Do you? What do you think will happen?"

Laarus frowned at his cousin's tone. "What do _you_ believe would be the consequences? I'd like to know how much you understand before I speak on it. It is not something to smirk about."

Markos' smirk became a sneer, "Cousin, stop playing games and speak your mind. What is your concern?"

Laarus came back with: "I intend to speak my mind. Why can you not speak yours?" 

Markos stiffen, "I'm fΩcking losing patience with you here, Laarus, which is akin to a beggar losing coin. State your concern or move off while I attend to more important matters."

"If you don't see this as important, then you don't comprehend the consequences,” Laarus chided, standing up straighter. “Bringing her back with you would do much to sully our family's name and reputation. It would endanger our house socially, politically, and financially. Do you understand?"

Markos turned, his face growing flush. He took a deep breath and a few steps away from Laarus before turning again.  "It is you who lacks comprehension, cousin. I suggest you let me do the thinking while you stick to being told what is right and wrong. I’m sure you mean well, but your manner is insulting. Now _please_ leave me the fΩck alone so I can attend to something more important than soothing your fear of gray entering your black and white world." 

He gave an exaggerated bow and began to move off.

"You are no longer on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Your actions, your associations affect others besides yourself. Even the smallest ripple can gain the power of a great wave," Laarus placed a calloused hand on his cousin’s shoulder and tried to get him to turn around. "Knowing this will harm our House - are you still willing to bring her to Thricia? Is that something you are willing to do to our family? To your mother?"

Markos continued to walk off, "Cousin, you assume I have a limited perspective on the matter: I do not. I believe I can manage the situation and that you are grossly oversimplifying it. Either trust in my judgment or not, but I am doing as I please, fully aware of the consequences of my actions, and I suggest you do the same."

Laarus quickly stepped around Markos and stopped directly in front of him, blocking his departure. "Believing this would be a situation one could handle alone shows that you are _not_ fully aware. You are smart, cousin, but you are unwise to always think you know more than others… Since your return, you have been welcomed and are once again a part of our House. As such, you have a responsibility to it, and to our family… You cannot just do what you please."

"No cousin, I _can_ do as I please,” Markos barked back. “What I can't do is think there are no consequences for doing so. I am aware of what the issues are and I will act accordingly. If you doubt I will act with the family’s best interests in mind, you fΩcking prick, then you should address that directly rather than speak to me like I'm a Gods-be-damned idiot who does not understand the world around him."

"You have just said you will do as you please knowing that doing so would _not_ be acting in the best interest of our family. You have only been back two years, cousin. Most of that time spent at the University. There is more to understand than you realize."  Laarus let his head hang and closed his eyes. "But, if you bear no responsibility for our House or concern for our family, then maybe there's another love I can appeal to." The priest of Ra looked up at Markos and his eyes stared into the mage with unnerving intensity, He continued, "Fallon has just warned us about the danger of Stygian Demonborn and the Nine. She urged us to keep quiet about them and any action we may take against them, lest harm befall us and others. With the information sent to Pyla and you walking around with one involved in Stygian's breeding project, how long do you think it will take for him to find out what we've done? And do you think he'll do nothing about it?"

"Gods you are dense!" Markos spat. "You have no idea what my thoughts on this are or what my plans are and you are making assumptions about how openly Crusta will present herself as well as how recognizable she will be to those who do happen to see her. As I said earlier, stick to the black and white… Or even better, go monochrome and leave the complexities of life to me. At the very least wait until I have some feedback from Crusta on this and leave me the fΩck alone! Again, I recognize that you mean well but you are overbearing and insulting to my intelligence. Please! Leave me be until I am calmer and you are ready to approach me to coordinate our efforts rather than to test me!" Once again, Markos began to move past Laarus.

Without turning around, Laarus responded. "You are right, cousin, I do not know your thoughts. But, it is not for my lack of asking. If you ever wish to share . . ." Markos left. Laarus remained standing in that spot, looking up toward the patch of sky visible through the tall arching bramble, and basking in the little of the sun's warmth reaching him.

*End of InterSession #18.2*

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Like most of our recent InterSessions this was played out on our private messageboards in the two weeks between sessions.

(2)	This is a reference to events of Session #15.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #18.3– “Timotheus’ Complaint” *

Later that same day, after a few desultory practice swings with his newly acquired battle-axe1, Timotheus stomped away from the others to pace around the rest of the Broken Circle's lair. His insistence that the party drill and practice for at least an hour each day was always met with agreement in theory, but when it came down to doing it, there was little enthusiasm.  Victoria was willing, and Telémahkos was genuine interested in improving his swordplay 2, but the others became easily distracted, or did not consider it a priority.  And Markos recent comments in particular were driving Timotheus mad.3 The tall bastard Briareus wound up in a small cavern adjoined to where they were staying. There, Bleys pored over his books and maps. 

"Damn that Markos!" Timotheus burst out, as much to himself as to Bleys. "Ra's nails, he's making me crazy. I'm trying real hard not to kick his teeth in, but it's a struggle, it really is."

Bleys looked up from the newly acquired tomes, one eyebrow raised, seemingly unphased by the sudden outburst and intrusion upon the solitude. "Is it?"

Tim blinked at Bleys, vaguely surprised that the laconic watch-mage had deigned to reply. "Damn right it is," he said. "I'm a damn good fighter. I sliced up a whole mess of bullywugs, I damn near kill a dragon, I break some weird sticky mummy monster's neck with my bare hands and smash a half dozen walking dead by myself. 4 But when I smack some guy full in the chest with a flail and he doesn't go down, does Markos say, 'Wow, that guy took a hit like that from Tim and he's still standing? What a beast!' No, Markos says, "Tim didn't take that guy down with one hit, that's so weak, we need to get us a real fighter!' That son of a whoring bitch!" Tim spat. "I'd like to see him fight up to snuff after three days with the bog flu. Or at all, for that matter. Spiteful little midget."

Bleys waited for the riptide of slander to quiet before answering. "Well, you have two options: You could easily arm him and challenge him to a duel. That would certainly learn him as to what skill it takes to truly combat a man."

"That's not gonna teach him anything. He knows he can't fight. He's already got beat down by Victoria and Telie. By my cousin, for gods' sake!" Tim shook his head. "But I'll do it if I have to. I don't want to, I'll look like a bully -- I'll _be_ a bully -- but if I don't, I'll look like a wimp in front of the hirelings. And there's no way I'm gonna earn a commission if word gets round that I can't keep one bratty kid like him under control."

"Well," Bleys continued monotonously, "then the second option: Ignore him."  Bleys quickly found his place on the page and he resumed reading.  Before the burly warrior could interject, without looking up, Bleys added, "But he _is_ right you know."

Tim sputtered. "Huh? What in the Nine Hells are you talking about?"

Bleys the Aubergine, methodically closed the copy of _Prophetic Visions of the One_ 5 he was perusing, and secured it in his satchel carefully. He stood up to meet the well-muscled soldier eye-to-eye. 

"He thinks we need a real fighter, and so do I. He may believe there is better one out there. I do not. You have gotten sloppy, that is all. For some reason you have gotten caught up trying to prove something to someone. I do not know whom, and I do not care. I only care that no one dies while we wait for you to regain your prowess."  Bleys continued to hold the much broader man's gaze. "The bastard sword was not about heritage, Timotheus, it was about dedication. 6 One that I know you must have, or surely you would not have lived to be the veteran soldier you are today. 7 The only question that remains is: what are we going to do about it? If you need to beat someone up, here I am. If you want to work, we can do that too."  Bleys tensed, ever so slightly, attempting to ignore the pulsating blood vessel in the fighter's temple.

Timotheus grit his teeth and balled his fists. But instead of lashing out at Bleys, he contented himself with kicking over a nearby cot.  "Damn it, Bleys. I _do_ have something to prove! I fight. That's what I do. Taking down hobbos, protecting caravans, that's what I've done so far, but if I'm gonna make the kind of name for myself then I need to really do something in this world… I need to show what I can do! And if people are gonna undercut me and try to make me look bad, then I'll have to try that much harder." 

He sighed and ran a hand through his now-shaggy hair. "Fine. I know, I got responsibilities here and now. I gotta pull it together. And I will. But I'm gonna need some other people to meet me halfway."

Bleys rubbed at the stubble now growing full on his chin. "Ignore Markos. He lashes out because he is scared. And he is smart enough to know that should you fall, easily the most seasoned of us, what is he to do versus the foe you've left standing? But you are not mad at Markos, not truly, you are mad at yourself. If you meet your expectations, others will do so as well."

"I think you're awful optimistic about their attitudes, but what the hell. I'm getting tired of getting chewed up and stabbed anyway." Tim sat down by the wall, his broad back against the stone. "I'm not sure if I'll be as good at drawing attacks away from you guys if I'm fighting canny. But I guess there's just the one way to find out, yeah?"

"That is correct." Bleys nods. "And I can think of plenty of cause for our opponents to attack you."

"What, is it the muscles? The seventeen different weapons?” He sat up and made a show of posing, flexing his thick arms and smiling his broad smile. “Or can they tell just from looking at me that I'm that awesome?" Tim’s grin melted as he saw no response the watch-mage. "No, don't answer that. I keep forgetting that you and jokes don't mix well."

Bleys only stared at Tim flatly.  "Are we done here?"  The watch-mage resettled himself and produced another book.

Timotheus jumped to his feet, stretched, and yawned widely. "Oh yeah, I also forgot that you hate people and don't want to have any friends. Fine, whatever… I'll leave you to your book of weird Rube religious drek. Thanks for the advice, I appreciate it."  Receiving no response, the warrior ambled out of the chamber, leaving only the soft rustle as Bleys turned a page.

Markos nodded to Tim with a smirk as he passed him on his way in to speak with Bleys and upon finding Bleys engrossed in study he cleared his throat.

Bleys looked up from his work, "I am listening…" 8

*End of Intersession 18.3*

--------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This axe was among the weapons wielded by the skeletons in the chamber of masks. (See Session #17)

(2) Telémahkos is working towards take a level of fighter for 4th level.

(3) Over the last few sessions, Markos had been making comments about the skill of the party’s warriors. Some of the comments were general, and some specific, but either way Timotheus took them personally.  Some of these comments have made it into the story hour, some have not.

(4) Here Timotheus is referring to the events of Sessions #6, 7 & 8, Session #9, and #16 respectively.

(5) This is one of the books found in the ‘Deadmen’s’ secret treasure chamber. (See Session #18)

(6) This is a reference to Bleys’ inadvertent insulting of Timotheus’ heritage back in InterSession #8.2

(7) Tim’s reputation is ‘Veteran,’ for his time working as a guard on the caravans between Chalkour and http://aquerra.wikispaces.com/Azure]Azure[/url], and other settlements in the area of western Schiereiland.

(8) Markos went on to discuss more speculation and possible experimentation with the masks once the party was back in the tomb.  The discussion was too detailed and ponderous to recreate here, and anyway, the point I wanted to make by including the Markos portion at all, was to show that the other members of the party seem to come to Bleys for advice or to vent.


----------



## handforged

These last few conversations have been very interesting.  Markos is really coming across as quite a brat.  I hope that he can back up his words.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #19– “Return to the Moor-Tomb” (part 1 of 2) * 1

After the meeting with Fallon, the Signers fell to discussing the wisdom of returning to the tomb. Bleys went over the clues they had collected and they were picked apart in detail. 2  The discussion was long and at times heated, though both Victoria and Timotheus remained out of most of it.  The militant simply felt it was foolish to don obviously magical and probably cursed masks without having a reason to think that the masks were nothing more than temptations to greedy tomb raiders.  Timotheus was just not one for puzzles and riddles. He shrugged his shoulders and simply offered to don any mask the others thought the riddle pointed to.

Markos, Laarus and Bleys discussed the matter of _consecration_ at length, and Telémahkos grew weary of it, especially since he was against going back.  He retreated to clean his armor and oil his weapons, but after listening to them go over the clues from the obelisk and the writing in the chamber of masks over and over again with increasing worry over possible ways to interpret things, he could not hold back anymore and gave his own opinion of what they might mean.

“_’What guise would you wager, to gain my master's favor?’_” Telémahkos began.3 “Obviously that refers to the solution Bleys spoke of. A mask, that is, _a guise_ will have to be donned to gain ‘the master’s favor’ and get beyond that chamber. We have to accept this theory or forget this whole game.”

He looked at Victoria and then continued.

“_‘It leads to man's grief at the end of my master's leash_’,” he glanced at Bleys’ open notes. “It says ‘man's grief’, not _your_ grief so picking it doesn't necessarily do anything bad to us and all we need to do is figure out what this being that left this message or his master would think leads to grief at the end of a leash… But let’s leave that for now, and eliminate those clues that no longer apply because we have already passed them.”

The others were allowing him to continue, so he did. “’_The immortal clock will never chime, for he who fears a simple climb._’ Victoria climbed the obelisk and found the tomb through the looking glass. This is straightforward and also reinforces that those seeking it will find eternal life. As Bleys mentioned, ‘the immortal clock will never chime’ could be said of undying skeletal guardians.”

Telémahkos took another look at the parchment and read aloud. “’_Respect this tomb so firmly sealed, most giving gain admittance. A noble gift will gain fair yield, a shocking due for pittance_.’  We gave enough to gain admittance, but were shocked. One possible way to reconcile what seems to be a contradiction is that the shock we experienced can be fainter or stronger based on one's generosity. Whatever the case, we were admitted by giving coin…”

He walked back over to his chain shirt and sat on the floor to look it over again. “’Those crossing deeps to gain the ground, may fall as biting fear is found[/I]’ I think that refers to the water we crossed, so that’s another one we can eliminate and finally, ‘Desire for gold may secrets show, but giving is still the killing blow.'  This well may be the key we want.  Desire for gold is a form of greed, of course. And greed could easily lead to man's grief at the end of a tyrant's leash.  So is this saying that greed will reveal secrets or is greed revealing the secret of eternal servitude? Perhaps donning generosity is what needs to be done…  Can generosity lead to man's grief at the hand's of a tyrant?” He stopped for a long moment, and then after letting out a long deep breath said. “I say it has to be greed or generosity.”

“I still think the masks are a trap for the greedy, but if you are going to do this, Anhur will do all in His power to free your soul should I be right. And if that isn't possible, I promise you a swift end,” Victoria said, standing. 

Bleys stood and looked Victoria sternly in the eye. "I could want for no more." The tall man paused, as if seeing his companion again for the first time, "...and at the hand of none better." Uncharacteristically, he clapped a hand on Victoria's shoulder.

Everyone but Markos stood as well. Victoria looked to the watch-mage. “I still say it is not wise to experiment with donning magical masks. What say you?”

"Wise?" Bleys cocked an eyebrow. "Of course it is not wise. _Wisdom_ has us grow old, surrounded by progeny, telling boring tales repetitively that no one listens to.” The watch-mage's baritone voice carried clear. "My aim is to study the masks more. My hope is we learn more. We will all be called upon to overcome this challenge..." Bleys looked to his brother-in-law, Telémahkos, nodding, "…to use our wits, and cunning..." And then to Markos "…our intellect…" to Timotheus "...our courage..." to Laarus "...our resolve, and insight..." He looked back to Victoria, "...and our noblest sense of duty and sacrifice. I _know_ we can do it. We are smarter than _old Dalvan_." He paused, looking them all over again, before once again resting his gaze on Victoria. “As I said, I think the masks may indeed be a trap. I only volunteer to try them should it come to that. I am in no hurry to die."

Markos had been making no effort to appear as if he were paying attention, flipping through his spellbook and reading sections with obvious concentration, but as Bleys the Aubergine began to speak, he stopped and looked up, his face not contoured by his typical scorn.

“I agree that this is not a challenge beyond us, and I also agree with Telémahkos’ assessment, though I would say it was ‘generosity’ if I had to pick,” the young mage said.

Telémahkos looked to Markos with a smile that was rare when he typically addressed his companion. "Actually Markos, I think generosity just might be the one that makes the most sense."

"As to the tomb, we need to learn more. I feel we may still be missing something. Discussion may aid in finding it. Study will help us more. But, we must not give any speculation undue weight," Laarus said, looking to his companions. Markos rolled his eyes, but was nodding when the priest of Ra looked his way, continuing to speak. "I do not feel we should rush to any decision. Should the consecration work to stop the radiation of the vile stone, we will have six hours time. We should use that fully and wisely. We should learn as much about as many of the masks as we can by means of the magic available to us. And we should examine that room more carefully, gaining whatever other knowledge it may have to grant us. I believe what we may learn will give us our means to victory. Bleys, do you still have the piece of the vile stone you took from the tomb?" 4

The watch-mage shook his head, and after asking after Ethan, was informed that the piece of vile stone had been given to Viss’iss to drop into the deepest bog they knew of.

“That’s too bad,” Markos said when he heard the news. “We might have tested the effects of the _consecration_ on it when cousin Laarus casts it in order for us to fully heal before returning to the tomb…”

“I am not going to cast the _consecration_ until we are back in the tomb, so it is a moot point,” Laarus commented.  This led to an outcry in the group.

“I never said I would cast _consecrate_ before we entered the tomb,” Laarus said in response.

Markos was flustered, his face flashing shades of red that went from pure confusion to utter disgust at his cousin’s position.

“Well, let me put it to you simply,” Telémahkos said, his own anger evident in his halting words. “I am not going back in there until I am fully healed, and since I cannot be fully healed until you cast _consecrate…_  Tell that to Ra!”  He dropped his chain shirt roughly as he stood again and walked out of the chamber.

“I agree with Telémahkos,” Markos muttered.

“I think I see Laarus’ problem with casting it ahead of time,” Bleys said. “He only has the materials for two castings, casting one out here means having only one to use inside…  What if there is more vile stone? Or some other challenge that requires consecration? He is being cautious…”

The priest of Ra nodded.

“Can we not get more of what we need to cast it?” Markos asked.

“One hundred and twenty-five pieces worth of powdered silver? I don’t think so,” Laarus replied. 5

“Well, we have silver coins don’t we?  If I had an alchemist’s kit I could make some powder…” Markos speculated.  An inquiry was put into the members of the Broken Circle, but no one had an alchemist’s kit.

“What if we go back the way we came out?  That way we can retreat to the mud passages if need be?” Markos offered.

“We can’t go back the way we came,” Timotheus said.  “The whole way was unstable, including the hole from the lake to the secret room… We can’t count on the fact that we will be able to escape the same way we did this last time at all…”

“So you are familiar with stonework and architecture?” Laarus asked Tim in a flat tone that was hard to detect for sarcasm.

“No, I am familiar with goopy walls of wet earth and clay that fall apart as you push your way through them,” Tim shot back.

“Yes, any plan has to assume that we cannot go back that way,” Bleys suggested.  “In fact, we cannot even assume that once we go past the chamber of masks, that is, if there is even a somewhere else to go, that we will be able to go back the way we came at all.  Most likely as we progress we will be closed off from areas behind us, as happened when we made out way down to the room with the vile stone…”

“Well, there was that one vertical shaft in the first cavern we came to, perhaps if we could get to the top of the hill we might be able to find a way down that way…” Timotheus thought aloud.

“Is any even a skilled enough climber to get up there to check?” Bleys asked. “I think we need to accept that we will need to pay the toll to enter once again…”

It was decided to let the matter rest for the day in order to allow them all to rest more and consider their options personally before bringing the matter back to the group again.


Osilem, the 10th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The day after next they found themselves being led by Fiss’iss through the briar and bog back around the long way to the southern side of the hill and the entrance to the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville.

On the intervening day the subject of the _consecrate_ spell went round and round, but Laarus’ obstinacy never faltered. Bleys would only speak to the wisdom of both perspectives, and thus would not assert his own opinion, despite Markos and Telémahkos’ consternation.  As usual, Victoria stood with Laarus and Timotheus was just eager to get back to fighting, feeling strong enough to deal with whatever may come.

Asked if they were sure they wanted to come, Falco gave up his share of whatever additional treasure was found in the tomb in order to wait behind with the Broken Circle, but much like Timotheus, Dunlevey was eager to return. “This is the kind of stuff I came here for!” He had said.

There was no question about Tymon following Telémahkos wherever he might go, and the same held true for Crusta in terms of Markos.  There was, however, a long drawn out conversation about whether she understood what she was getting into, but when asked to make her own decision she would only do what Markos asked of her.  When he asked her to make up her own mind, she said, “I do what you do…” And that was that.

Timotheus had confronted Markos about the latter’s recent comments disparaging the former’s skill as a warrior, and they managed to patch things up, if frostily. 6

Not too long after they stopped for some food that Ethan that packed them, salted meat and old hard cheese and a few skins of wine, Fiss’iss pointed out the way the party had to continue to get to the side of the hill with the small lake and the pedestal.

“May Ra bless our endeavors,” Laarus said solemnly as he began to drop more gold coins, one by one, into the great stained bowl before the pedestal of a long broken and lost statue.  The Signers did much as they did the last time they found themselves there, and the moment the buzzing of the metal door and the sound of shifting stone ended, Bleys and Timotheus opened the door and held it, withstanding the increasing shocks.

As Markos retrieved Crusta and Laarus in his conjured boat, Telémahkos, Victoria and Tymon moved into the corridor beyond the metal door. Dunlevey took Bleys’ place, and the watch-mage joined the others.  He asked that Victoria take Timotheus’ spot so that he would not be too hurt by the shocks, and she obeyed without hesitating. When the boat returned, Dunlevey and Victoria let go of the metal door and leapt in towards the others.  The thick stone door slid into place behind the metal door, and once again they were trapped in the tomb of Dalvan Meir.

Another descent and once again the last stone door slid down trapping them in the green aura draped chamber, with its wide pillars in pairs in each corner holding up a vaulted ceiling.  The great jagged stone protruding from the floor still glowed.  The bones of the vanquished skeletons were scattered silently in the sinister place.  Before the stone could begin to pulse again, Laarus Raymer of Ra began to trace a circle of powdered silver around it while chanting to his deity.  Victoria of Anhur stood by silently, watching over her fellow priest as he performed his invocation to Ra.  Bleys, Markos and Crusta watched the ceremony intently, as Telémahkos and Timotheus walked over to inspect the hole in the wall they had uncovered their last time here.  It has sunk down to half its height, and while it seemed to still reach up to the chamber beyond, its sides and ceiling looked less stable than ever.

“We can only go this way if there is no other hope,” Telémahkos said, and his cousin nodded.

“And may Ra’s holy light and divine power dispel and disperse the evil within this tomb!” Laarus of Ra finished his spell, and the weight of oppressive evil lightened in the room.  The stone’s glow became even duller than normal.

“Thank you, Ra,” Markos said quietly.

“Glory Ra,” Bleys echoed.

“Praise Ra,” Timotheus joined his voice to the others.

“Okay, let’s get to work,” Telémahkos clapped his hands and began to search the room counter-clockwise, starting with the pillars.

Markos cast _detect magic_ and let out a gasp.  Nothing detected as magical, save for the aura of Laarus’ _consecration_ itself, including the masks, which Bleys has laid out on the floor.

“Our theory about the consecration counter acting the vile stone was correct,” Bleys surmised. “But it seems the masks need to be bathed in the aura of the stone to possess their magic.” 

There was nothing more to do, but wait for the spell to end and make use of the time until then.  Laarus began to search the pillars opposite from where Telémahkos began and Timotheus and Dunlevey joined him.  Markos joined Telémahkos in his search, who already had Tymon helping him.   Bleys began to hang the masks on the small stone protrusions that acted as pegs on each pillar.  He took out his notes on the Moor Tomb map and placed the masks back in the order that the skeletons that had worn them were originally found in.  Meanwhile Victoria called on Anhur to heal the group’s wounds from the vile stone’s radiation.

“This is the least profitable dungeon ever!” Timotheus complained when a couple of hours had passed.  They combed every inch of the place, and an excited call from Telémahkos when he discovered a seam in the stone around one of the vile stone plaques was deflated by the realization that such a seam existed around each of them.  Timotheus even climbed the vile stone itself to see if there was some new perspective to be gained from that vantage, but there was nothing he could note.

The slowly collapsing tunnel they had used last time seemed to become more likely a means of egress the more time passed.  Timotheus and Markos cooked up a scheme to wedge the way open by conjuring a boat into it, so the sea-mage took some time to trade out previously prepared spells for some new choices.7  Telémahkos was very skeptical of the effectiveness of the idea, and Bleys continued to work at the clues given by the obelisk. 

Soon, at Laarus’ word they braced themselves for the passing of the _consecration_ spell.  The great jagged stone’s glow grew more intense once again, and Laarus nodded with an edge of sadness to his stern face.  Bleys cast _detect magic_ and once again saw the auras of the masks. He immediately walked over to begin examining one more closely, gesturing to Markos to do the same.  The smaller wizard cast the same spell and also went to work.  They did their best to keep from looking at the vile stone, which emanated a nearly blinding plume of strong necromancy.

As they examined, Bleys making quick notes on the back of his map, the vile stone sent out a pulse of its vile energy and they all felt the deep chill of evil sap them of some of their life force.  Most of the masks had some variety of necromantic and enchantment dweomers on them, but the mask with the rune Laarus translated as ‘greed’ emanated divination and some other strong aura neither could identify. 

“Probably necromancy,” Bleys said.  “My guess would be greed, as it is different from most of the other masks. However, the mask of ‘generosity’ also has a different dweomer than the pattern… Abjuration…”

“Abjuration could be it…” Markos reasoned. “That is protection magic and we are looking for something to protect us from this place…”

“This is all gibberish to me,” Timotheus complained.

Telémahkos nodded. “Are we going to try the ‘greed’ mask or try to get out of here by way of the tunnel?” he said, eying the still narrowing hall.

“I will put on the mask if such a guess is to everyone’s agreement,” Bleys said. “It is what I would choose.”

“No, I can try the mask,” Laarus said.

“It should be me,” said Victoria, stolid as usual.

“No offense to you, noble militant,” Bleys said, carefully. “For I only mean to compliment your prowess…  But if you should try the mask and it took over your will, I would rather it not be you we were forced to fight…”

“I said, I would wear whichever one you brains thought was the right choice,” Timotheus said.

“We have the same problem with you that Bleys mentioned about Victoria… If Bleys is willing, then he should try…” Telémahkos said. “But I still think this is crazy…”

“You know…” Markos began, his expression going to that placid place of peace that it only found when he was applying his massive intelligence to a problem. “I _was_ leaning towards ‘generosity,’ but now that I think about it. If ‘greed’ is divination, perhaps it is what ‘secrets show,’ and once we see what we are meant to see with that mask, it is the ‘generosity’ one that will protect us…”

“I have reached the same conclusion…” Bleys replied. “We may be wrong, but no answer will ever feel completely right save that we trust our own abilities to divine the truth…”

“That reasoning works for me,” Telémahkos said, eager nervousness in his voice.  His eyes kept darting back to the vile stone in anticipation of its next pulse.

Bleys the Aubergine removed his sword belt and handed it, saber and all to Telémahkos. He then cast _protection from evil_ and _resistance_ on himself.

“I’ll do it!” Markos suddenly said, and stepped towards the ‘greed’ mask up on the pillar peg, but Bleys was just able to grab it first.

“Do not be foolish,” he said to his fellow wizard.  The watch-mage turned and looked at the others solemnly.  “Tell my sister I love her…” And with that he held the mask to his face.

_…to be continued…_

--------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This session was played on Sunday, October 28th, 2007.

(2) The first portion of this installment is a reconstruction based on discussions both at the table and made via our messageboards between sessions.  The amount of detailed examination of the clues and the back and forth and disagreement made making it its own InterSession prohibitive, but at the same time the discussion itself was important to moving the plot forward, thus the inclusion of some of it here.

(3) Telémahkos is referring to the message inscribed on the floor of the chamber of masks. (See Session #17)

(4) Bleys took the piece from the vile stone plaque in Session #17, and gave it to Ethan the Pearl to dispose of in Session #18.

(5) _Consecration_ is one of the many spells house-ruled for use in Aquerra. See Changes to Core Spells page on the Aquerra Wiki.

(6) See InterSession #18.3: Timotheus’ Complaint.  The notes on the reconciliation (which took place at the session) were vague except for it being “frosty,” and my own note that, “Tim and Markos have ‘an Oprah moment’.”

(7) In Aquerra, wizards can change spells they have already prepared by taking fifteen minutes per spell level.  If the re-preparation is interrupted, then it becomes an empty slot until the full time of re-preparation can be accomplished.


----------



## handforged

I am on the edge of my seat!  It was quite wonderful hearing how the group was able to reason out the puzzle of the masks.  Also, I love Bleys's little pull-the-group-together speech.  Good jobs all.

Please don't make us wait too long for the next installment.

~hf


----------



## Rastfar

For a look at the miniature used for everyone's favorite rake, check Telemakhos  out here.....


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## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> Please don't make us wait too long for the next installment.
> 
> ~hf




I plan to put up the conclusion of Session #19 sometime this weekend, but there may be another delay after that as writing up #21 has been slowed by schoolwork and life, and I never start posting a session until the session _after it_ has been written up.

We just played Session #26 last Sunday and are schedule to play again the Sunday after this (March 16).


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #19– “Return to the Moor-Tomb” (part 2 of 2)*

Bleys stiffened as he felt the mask adhere to his face, holding in a sharp breath… But then he let it go. Save for the mask being stuck, he could feel nothing else wrong.  The others looked at him expectantly, Telémahkos gripping his magical rapier so tightly, he was readjusting his fingers every few seconds.  Bleys looked around and there, behind one of the vile stone panels, he could sense something.  He looked and concentrated, and suddenly the panel became translucent to his vision, and behind it was a rune. It was the same rune as on the mask of generosity.  He could also see the faint outline of a door there…

“Generosity!” He said, and another pulse of the vile stone made them all wince.  Markos hurried over and grabbed the ‘generosity’ mask, but before he could put it on, Laarus stopped him, casting the same spells on his cousin that Bleys had cast on himself.  Markos Ackers put on the mask and it adhered as well.  Nothing looked any different, but he walked over to the panel Bleys indicated and touched it.  It sprung back, revealing a narrow hall going off to the left.

The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland could not help it, a cheer burst forth from them, and Telémahkos moved forward, dragging Markos out of the way in order to check for possible traps.  “Can anyone provide me a light?” he asked, and a moment later Bleys had a _radiant spark_ hovered over the blond Briareus.

He could note nothing out of the ordinary, but he was hurrying, as the vile stone was sure to pulse again soon.

“If you think its clear, go!” Markos said.

“What if you’re supposed to go first with that mask on?” Telémahkos asked.

“Or what if I am supposed to see something with this one,” Bleys said, his voice slightly muffled, pointing to the mask still stuck to his face.  After a brief discussion that seemed too long given the circumstances, Markos and Bleys went in first, followed by Crusta and Telémahkos.  Then came Timotheus, then Dunlevey and Tymon, and finally Laarus and Victoria.  The stone pulsed once last time as they went through, seeing that the narrow hall soon ended in a set of very steep stone steps leading down.  Soon after they were all in the hall, the door to the chamber of masks closed of its own accord, sealing them away from their only known egress.  The masks fell off Bleys and Markos’ faces.  

 Telémahkos squeezed his way to the front and soon he led the way down the narrow steps checking the walls and steps for any irregularities that might betray some trap or other danger. The sound of stone sliding against stone joined that of their breathing and of their boots upon the steps, as walls slid down to seal the way back.  One slid down at the top of the steps, another when they were fifty feet down and another when the long steps had led them seventy-five feet down,

“These walls could be seen as a metaphor for life and death,” Markos’ whisper seemed overloud.

“They need not be a metaphor… They are life and death for us at the moment…” Bleys replied, seeking to end the discussion, but Markos continued with his analogy.

“Markos? Please! How can we hear if anything is coming or if any mechanisms go off?” Telémahkos’ voice had a pleading quality of exasperation.

“Anyone else smell that?” Timotheus said before Markos could reply. “Smells like bad wine…”  And there was a vinegary smell that was reaching them.  Telémahkos noted that the steps abruptly ended in a narrow shaft straight down.  He could not see the bottom with the _radiant spark_, so it was more than twenty feet deep.

Telémahkos got down on his hands and knees, pulling the skirt of his toga up, and began to examine the shaft.  “There seem to be some kind of handholds carved into the shaft…” He said. “Looks like it should make the climbing easy for anyone that isn’t totally clumsy…” He stood and looked at Laarus when he spoke the last few words.

“A simple climb…” Bleys said. “It was written twice and this is the second simple climb… It is even in the right order of the clues…”

“Why would this Dalvan want to even give clues?” Victoria wondered aloud. “What does he have to gain from people finding his final resting place?”

“It is some nefarious plot, no doubt…” Bleys offered. “But we shall find out and foil it soon enough…”

Telémahkos began to climb down, a rope tied about his waist.  Timotheus held the other end.  At the bottom he found that the narrow hall continued another twenty feet before leading into a larger room from which the acrid smell was coming.  It took some time, but all the others finally made it down. They squeezed into the remainder of the hall as another stone wall slide down to obstruct the way back.

The room beyond was rectangular and greater than forty feet long, making the far end draped in shadow beyond the light of the _radiant spark_, but at a word from Bleys the spark shot across the room. They could now see that a narrow stone walkway led around a shallow depression that made up most of the room.  In the far corner held a column with a strange statue carved into it.  It was of a muscular bare-breasted woman with the head of mantis.  It was nine feet tall.  

Markos took an arrow from Bleys’ quiver and laid down beside the edge of the depression, holding the arrow out.  The bottom was about four feet down and covered in a few inches of brownish liquid that gave off the strong smell. The mage’s nostrils stung as he got close to it, and then he grimaced as the steel head of the arrow bubbled when immersed.  “Acid,” he said, rolling away from the edge and back to his feet.  There were deep cracks in the seams of the stones that made up the depressed floor.  “I would bet coin that once this whole thing was filled with it, but over time it has seeped down between the stones…”

Telémahkos moved carefully to the left side of the room where the stone pathway hugged the wall on its way around to where the statue was on the opposite diagonal corner. He looked it over carefully before stepping out.  Nothing happened immediately, but a little more than five feet in there was a groan of moving stone. The twenty-foot piece of stone path Telémahkos walked on tipped to the right, threatening to spill him off into the acid.  Lucky for him, the sliding stone mechanism was not working as it was supposed to, and it got stuck at about a forty-degree angle.  Deft of foot, he leaned his weight back and kept from tumbling off.   

“Uh-oh!” Tymon said, as they all heard the sound of scraping stone and looked up to see the caryatid column 1 come to life, the stone insect-headed woman with pincers for hands stepping off the platform to splash into the shallow acid and stir up a cloud of the caustic stuff.  Telémahkos leapt back onto the non-slanted section of stone.

“Oh no!” Crusta moaned.

Bleys willed the _radiant spark_ to hover near the living statue, while he cast his _shield_ spell.  Dunlevey drew his great sword and stepped up to the edge of the depression.

“Does anyone want to be enlarged?” Markos asked, eagerly.

“Sure!” Timotheus cried, coming forward.  Markos began to cast.

“Anhur, I call upon your holy chosen weapon to fight for me where I cannot reach!” Victoria called to her god and a silver and blue translucent spear appeared hovering next to the construct.  It stabbed at it to no visible effect.

“Bleys! Should I try to get to the other side and see if this thing can be turned off?” Telémahkos looked to the leader of the party for instruction, even as Tymon looked to him with worry as to what to do himself.

“Only if you can come back,” Bleys replied, so Telémahkos began to balance across the slanted stone path as quickly as he dared.

“Oh no! Oh no!” Crusta moaned again, showing true fear of this magical guardian.  She ran back towards the narrow hall pushing Tymon as she went past.  The portly man lost his balanced and fell face first into the acid.  He screamed as it burned his face and hands and he scrambled to his feet desperately.  He looked up to find Laarus of Ra leaning over the edge with a hand outstretched.  Tymon grabbed the priest’s hand and was yanked up.

Meanwhile, Dunlevey was reeling from a blow from the thing’s clawed hand.  “Aw, fџck this!” he cursed and leapt down into the acid to reach the tall monster with arms longer than even a great sword.  The sell-sword’s boots sizzled as he splashed in it, tiny holes burning in his leggings.  Victoria gave chase, but leapt right into the thing’s grasp.  Only the weight of her fall kept her from being clasped by the neck, and she swung wildly, twisting away as she felt her breath momentarily closed off.  The weapon crunched as it struck the heavy magic-laden stone of the living statue. A crack went down the wood and a few more blows like that and it would become useless. 2

“Okay, let’s surround this thing and finish it off!” Timotheus ordered with the tone of a veteran, his voice deepening as he grew in size.  He stepped down into the acid as well, moving to flank the caryatid column with Victoria.  The militant dropped her morningstar. “This pit will be your grave not ours!” She cried and drew a spear from her back.  The thing shattered as she drove it up under the creature’s head.  There was barely a scratch to show for the ruined weapon, but at least there was a scratch.

“_Digitus magicus!_” Markos cast _prestidigitation_ to clean the acid off of Tymon’s face and then he took off past the statue, kicking up more acid in his hurry.

“Ko-kos!” Crusta shrieked taking off after him.  She had to duck to avoid the statue’s swing at her as she went by.

Tim’s flail rang off the stone creature again and again, though the painful reverberations shook his bones, the blows only made the smallest of cracks, if any at all.  Dunlevey’s great sword was showing obvious signs of dulling and bending, and Victoria drew another spear from her back, and this one shattered against the statue as well.  One of Dunlevey’s heavy blows knocked it off its feet, and they hammered at it as it got up, but to little effect.  Timotheus’ armor crunched as the thing drove its pincer hands into his gut.  Tim let out a cough and tasted blood in his mouth.

Everyone’s eyes burned from the acid mist in the air from the disturbance of the narrow layer of it at the bottom of the pit.  They could taste it at the back of their throats, burning their lips and singing their nostrils.

Laarus called to Ra to cure some of Victoria’s wounds as he hurried by, having leapt into the pit as well to make his way across to where Markos was climbing onto the stone path with Crusta’s help.  Telémahkos was searching the black stone door that was now visible in the corner where the caryatid column had been.  As the priest ran he grew light-headed, and felt himself gag, nearly overcome by the acid flying all over the place. 3   Bleys had a similar idea about getting to the other side of the room, but he tried navigating the sloping path as Telémahkos had.  He did not prove as deft, and landed with a splash at Timotheus’ feet.  The tall warrior danced away to avoid tripping over the watch-mage, leaving him momentarily open to the statue’s attacks, but Victoria shattered another spear, and the stone protested as a chunk of its side came chipping off.

“Don’t let up!” Timotheus encouraged, as Bleys hurried through the acid to climb back up to the stone lip with the others.

Tymon let loose a crossbow bolt, but it shattered as it struck the thing’s chest.

Victoria grunted as the thing shoved her back with a heavy blow as she knelt to pick up her morningstar.  Acid dripped off of it and scored the sides of the weapon, flicking in a wide stream as she swung at the creature, hitting it in the leg to no visible effect.  The metal of Tim’s heavy _enlarged_flail swung with the warrior’s great strength seemed the only attacks that was doing any serious damage to the thing, and finally one heavy blow sent the statue flying onto its back.  As it awkwardly got back up Timotheus swung the flail up from the left and brought it down on the statue’s head with all his weight and might.  The head exploded into a thousand shards of stone.  The caryatid column stopped moving.

The acid was beginning to show its effects on all of them, especially Bleys and Victoria, who felt their lungs burn as they struggled to climb up onto the ledge.  Tymon mewled as he hurried across the acid, cringing with every step.  Telémahkos was still searching the door, Markos used _prestidigitation_ to clean himself and his companions off as best he could.

“Shall we not try the masks again?” Victoria said.

Bleys placed the ‘greed’ mask back onto his face and once again it adhered there.  And once again, he saw the rune for ‘generosity’ within the outline of the door.  Markos did the same with the ‘generosity’ mask and made his way to the front. The door opened for him easily, and beyond was a hall with walls of hardened clay set with many different formations of lacquered bones.  They hurried in to get away from the sickening mist, and the door sealed behind them.   Unlike last time, the masks Bleys and Markos wore did not drop off.

Once again they were in a narrow hall, crammed into its thirty-foot length.  There was another door of black stone on the right side of the hall at the far end.  Bleys the Aubergine moved to the front and could see the now familiar rune upon the door.  He instructed Markos to open it, but Telémahkos protested, insisting on examining the door closely before it was opened.  Once he gave the all clear, Markos walked over and touched the door and it clicked open, letting the fetid stench of death waft in from the other side.

With a word from Markos Ackers, a brazier ignited dimly lit the dark room beyond.  The chamber was about half the size of the room with acid, and there was another brazier against the opposite wall from the closer one.  The ceiling was vaulted but barely ten feet high, and the walls were decorated with the tattered remains of musty tapestries.  At the far end of the room was a large stained marble dais with a large sarcophagus atop it.  Bleys immediately spotted a tarnished and twisted decorative silver sword on the floor by the dais.

Timotheus squeezed his way forward and walked in first, thus he was the one that spotted the figure rising from the sarcophagus.  “We’ve got a problem!” Tim announced.

As the figure stepped out of the stone coffin, Bleys sent his _radiant spark_ into the room. It wore tattered clothing that revealed gray nacreous flesh.  It had long wild hair, and a face distorted by large teeth in its human-jaw, and rheumy bulbous eyes emerging from a sallow face.  Behind it on the dais was a thick red curtain that clearly obscured a passage beyond.

“Finally!” The thing croaked.  “Some has arrived to set me free! I am Dalvan d’Amberville.  No! We are Dalvan! No, not Dalvan. We shall be free! We shall finally be free!” 

Dalvan, if the thing was who it claimed to be, spoke with an odd manner.  His head jerked back and forth, and his voice changed tenor, as if he were answering himself.

“I think he’s crazy!” Timotheus hissed to his companions who were slowly coming into the room. “Good afternoon!” Timotheus smiled and addressed the thing.  “So, are you Dalvan or not?”

“I am Dalvan!” the thing croaked with anger, but then its head sunk and it brought it hand up to its forehead, it thick black claws glinted in the spell’s light.  “No, I am not!  Yes, we are!  Either way, we must eat!”  And with that he leapt off the dais with a deftness belying his hideous state.

“Anhur! Please let me see another battle!” Victoria cried out to her god and then choked down one of the potions of _aid_ that the young nobles had found among Herzah Blacktooth’s things.  It was like sour milk and vinegar, but she felt its strength fill her.

“Master, what should I do?” Tymon looked to Telémahkos for help, but Telie was making a show of going into the room, while actually delaying his own entry, the stench of death worrying him.  “Follow Dunlevey in,” he said to his manservant.

“May Ra’s holy light guide your strikes!” Laarus of Ra cast a spell, reaching out to touch Timotheus’ sabre as he stood shoulder to shoulder with his companion. 4  Dunlevey joined the line as the thing that claimed to be Dalvan slowed its approach, almost creeping as it appraised the preparing warriors.

“You wanna fight or you wanna talk?” Timotheus asked the thing with bravado.  “Because if you want to fight, get to it, because we are going to take you down!”  He sliced his saber back and forth with great flourish. But in that moment it became clear why the thing tarried, for the smell of death that filled the room had its source in him, and now not more than fifteen feet from the thing, it roiled off in visible waves of wispy green.  Dunlevey, Laarus and Timotheus felt their stomachs turn, and Laarus who was already sickened from all the acid he had inhaled, gagged.

“Anhur! Grant us a boon in this battle against evil necromancy!” Victoria called to her god once again, _blessing_ the battle as she moved to the left flank of the line of warriors.  Laarus called to his god as well, clutching his holy symbol to channel positive energy in a burst around him and call the _glory of Ra_, but the darkness of this place was too deep, and Laarus faith not strong enough in the moment for it to work.

Dunlevey came forward, sidestepping to draw it towards Victoria, but it was not without some prowess in combat.  Suddenly in its right hand there flashed a knife with a blade made from sharpened green stone that glowed dully, as the great shard had in the chamber of masks.  Dunlevey gasped as the knife sliced a hole in his chain mail, and he felt a deep, now all too familiar chill deep inside of him 5

“I will eat your brains, and…” It began, but Timotheus’ roar drowned it out. He charged forward, but the ghoulish Dalvan easily ducked and rolled away from the blade.  This would have left an opening for Laarus, but the priest of Ra could no longer resist and began to vomit, his body wracking with painful spasms. 6  Laarus Raymer crawled over to the corner by the door, helpless.  

“Anhur! Let this thing not be the end of us!” Now Victoria was having a conversation with her god, bellowing out pleas to him as she moved around the creature trying to draw it away from the others.  It swatted away the spear, effectively ignoring and angering her further.

“_Deprehensio veneficus!_ Bleys cast _detect magic_ as he entered the room and the mask fell off.  He could immediately see that the knife the Dalvan-thing was wielding was magical, but so was a ring it wore on the other hand.  Markos had already moved into the room, putting away the ‘generosity’ mask, as he made his way into the left hand corner. “_Lorca magica_,” he chanted, casting _mage armor_ on himself.

Unable to delay any further, Telémahkos tumbled into the room and stabbed at the thing with _the Steel Whip_, snapping off a chunk of flesh from its forearm, even as the first whiff of the thing weakened him.

“You will die first!” Dalvan said, looking directly at Telie.  He stepped towards him, grabbed and stabbing at him. It even reached forward to bite him, but Telémahkos danced aside, letting out little frantic shrieks of fear, momentarily forgetting the duelist’s stance he had been trying so hard to perfect recently.  “Get it off of me!” he cried, pushing and thrusting wildly with the magical rapier.

Undead Dalvan took advantage of the distraction and thrust the blade at Timotheus, who barely swatted it away with his own weapon.  Dunlevey tried to avoid being grabbed by the creature’s other hand, and in doing so moved too close to it and felt a sharp bite on his neck.  Instinctively, he drew back, but found that there was a deepening ache in his limbs as his reactions slowed down. Less than a moment later he was standing perfectly still, his muscles rigid, his eyes burning.

Bleys hurried across the room, avoiding the melee, followed by Tymon, but he passed too close to the ghastly remains of the thing saying it was Dalvan.  Already feeling woozy from the inhaled acid, he too began to vomit, holding the edge of the dais for support.

The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland closed in around the undead thing.  Markos’ right hand crackled with electricity as he moved in and grabbed at the thing.  All he got for his efforts was a deep cut to his chest from the vile stone blade. He felt the coldness of the wound run deep, and faltered, allowing the ghastly Dalvan to sidestep away.

“Ko-Kos!” Crusta cried, moving in behind her boyfriend.

“Pile it on! Don’t give it a chance,” Timotheus ordered, closing in and  swinging of his saber, and barely avoiding it when it clawed at him. Tymon came rushing in to his master’s aid, longsword in hand, but accidentally cut across Victoria’s vantage, and she pulled back her spear hurriedly. “Argh! Tymon! Stay out of the way!”  

Startled, the portly man lost his footing as he thrust his sword and wobbled there trying to keep from falling. 7  Dalvan ignored him and focused all its attention at Timotheus with sudden ferocity.  Tim felt the knife puncture his armor on the right side at the waist, and he teetered, allowing the monster to reach up and bite him on the cheek.  Timotheus’ muscles grew rigid and he fell over, unmoving.

As if the sight of Timotheus’ sudden paralysis and fall was what did it, Victoria suddenly felt a wave of nausea come over her and weaken her some. She had been resisting the stench for some time, but her lungs still burning from the acid begged for deeper breaths, and she could resist no longer.  Her stomach spasmed and soon she was bent over retching and snorting.

“This is bad…” Markos said, half-heartedly grabbing at the creature, his hand still crackling. He stepped away from the melee.  Tymon cried out as he felt the bite of the vile stone blade as well, but Telémahkos continued to bat away the thing’s claws with his rapier.

“Ra! Hear my cries and send this foul creature from our sights!” It was Laarus of Ra, standing and wiping his chin with his sleeve as he called to his god, yellow and green spittle flecking on his upper lip.  Ra did not respond.  Markos took that moment to step back into the fight and he grimaced with pleasure as he felt his hand wrap around the thing’s shoulder momentarily.  There was a great blast of blue light and the rancid smell grew momentarily worse as hair and fleshed burned.

“I am Dalvan! I cannot be defeated! You… I… We… will live forever!” the thing cried, raving.  Markos satisfaction did not last long. Once again, he felt the cut of the evil knife, and as he fell, the creature pulled him up to it mouth and bit down deeply. It dropped him, turning to look at Laarus with House Raymer blood smeared around its black cracked lips.  Crusta crawled over to drag Markos away.  He was not only dying, but also paralyzed.

“Ra! We need your judgment!” Laarus tried again, but again the evil of the tomb resisted the divine presence.

The mad undead necromancer laughed.  “I don’t want to die,” Tymon whimpered, still working with Telémahkos to keep the thing occupied.

“Ra! Please!” Again Laarus tried, but all he could do was swallow his disappointment.  Bleys had recovered enough to join the fray, swinging Victoria’s morningstar.  The thing spun around and ducked in towards the mage, easily absorbing the weight of the man’s dropping arms without taking any damage from the weapon.  It pulled away again, grabbing at Bleys as it did and biting him.  The watch-mage suffered the added indignity of feeling his stomach roil again even as his limbs stiffened.  Bile bubbled out of his open mouth, as he stood there unable to do anything about it or about the battle happening around him.

“Ra! Burn his weapon! Sear it from his grasp!” Laarus called to his god again, this time to heat the metal of the knife’s handle.  It did no good.

Dalvan’s laughter was cut short by a deep stab from Telémahkos’ blade.  It went for him and Tymon dared to take the opportunity for a heavy downward blow.  The creature sidestepped and the manservant felt its claws rip his sides open.  He fell over bleeding to death, clutching where the vile stone blade had pierced his side.

“How dare you?!” Victoria roared. “How dare you?!”  She charged back into battle and her spear caught the thing as it spun around.  Pierced through the stomach it fell backwards as if plopping down to rest.  “I… I am Dalvan d’Amberville… I… I cannot die…  I will eat your brain… I will live again…”  The militant tore the spear from the creature’s gut and thrust it through the thing’s skull with disgusting ‘pop.’

The living corpse lived no longer. The thing’s flesh congealed and crumbled into a fetid jelly that stained the stone beneath it.

*End of Session #19*

--------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Yep, yet another converted _1E Fiend Folio_ monster!  Anyone keeping count? 

(2) Every time the caryatid column is struck by a weapon it take an equal amount of damage +1d4 back.

(3) The acid in the room had the following effect: Those in the mild acid take 1d2 hit points of damage every 5 rounds (ignoring hardness).  Armor loses 1 damage point every 10 rounds.  Once the acid begins to be disturbed, those in the room must make a Fort save (DC 13) every five rounds or become _sickened_ (-2 penalty on all attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks).  Once sickened, characters must make a Fort save (DC 13) or lose 1 point of Constitution, and if so one minute later must save again or lose 1d3 points of CON.

(4) This was the _magic weapon_ spell.

(5) This knife does Vile damage (see _Book of Vile Darkness_)

(6) The sickening power of the ghastly stench stacked with the sickness from the acid room, leading to the _nauseated_ condition if a save was failed.

(7) Tymon suffered a fumble effect:  _Off Balance._ Make Balance check vs. DC 20 or be flat-footed for one round.


----------



## el-remmen

Hey Loyal Readers!

This is just a note to say I had to break up the last installment into two posts (something I had to do once before) because of bug on the boards that sometimes decides it does not want to accept posts past a certain length. . . But only sometimes, and this is one of those times.

I just didn't want folks to click on the latest link to see the latest post and see the conclusion of the session, so I have added this note so you can scrolls back up to the beginning, if you do so.

Peace.


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## Martin Olarin

Just caught up and want to say thanks for your efforts first.  

Second - Bleys' speech was one of the only times I've actually been inspired by an inspirational speech - Great job.  

Third - Some of Crusta's comments had me rolling.

Fourth - Was Markos' conversation with Fiss’iss written up and I missed it under a spoiler?

Fifth - "oprah moment" had me rolling as well.

Sixth - Reading it all now I'm even more sorry I missed the session leading up to the group perched on the mud flat outside the vile stone room.

Looking forward to future sessions and installments here at the story hour.


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## el-remmen

Martin Olarin said:
			
		

> Fourth - Was Markos' conversation with Fiss’iss written up and I missed it under a spoiler?




Nope.


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## handforged

WOW!  That was a tough fight.  I was quite surprised that the group didn't take a short rest after the statue battle and the acid.  It looks like it would have done them quite well.

~hf


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## Martin Olarin

I'm not sure any of us felt like we would have been able to rest enough to actually get any hit points and/or healing spells back and I don't think we had started using the second wind rules yet.  That being said, yes, resting up would have helped.


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## el-remmen

Martin Olarin said:
			
		

> I don't think we had started using the second wind rules yet.




We did not start using our version of the Second Wind rules until Session #20.



			
				Martin Olarin said:
			
		

> Third - Some of Crusta's comments had me rolling.




Wait until Session #20, there is some damn awkward and funny shiz to come between Markos and Crusta.


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Great updates there el-remmen. That certainly did seem like one tough fight, waht with the paralysations and the nausea. Great job, and I'm looking forward to more!


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## el-remmen

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Great updates there el-remmen. That certainly did seem like one tough fight, waht with the paralysations and the nausea. Great job, and I'm looking forward to more!





Hey thanks for reading!

I don't remember, did you read "Out of the Frying Pan"? Because damn, there were some tough fights in that game.  At the risk of jinxing it (), I will say that this the longest a campaign I have run has lasted without at least one PC death (and usually 2 or 3 by now).

The funny thing is that when I designed that encounter I was worried it was going to be too easy and anti-climactic. . . Glad I didn't make it 2 ghasts, or a ghast and two ghouls like I considered.


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## Martin Olarin

el-remmen said:
			
		

> At the risk of jinxing it (), I will say that this the longest a campaign I have run has lasted without at least one PC death (and usually 2 or 3 by now).





Aw Crap!  We're done for now - time to start taking expeditious retreat as a default spell again


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #20– “Moor-Tomb Denouement” (part 1 of 3)* 1

As the jellied flesh of the ghastly thing that claimed to be Dalvan rapidly putrefied, the stench dissipated enough to abate the retching, and a few moments later those who had been paralyzed had feeling come back into their limbs.  They sagged and nearly fell, and Telémahkos braced himself to catch Timotheus when he came out of it, as the bigger Briareus was the last to come around.

Markos awoke cradled in Crusta’s lap.

“I call on Isis to save you,” she cooed.

“Thank you, Crusta, and thank Isis,” the mage said, sitting up with some pain.  The wounds he had suffered from the vile stone knife ached with cold evil.

“Isis is bad!” Crusta snarled.  Markos just sighed.  “You need to reconsider that position.  You may find in time that Isis is _not_ bad…”

Crusta nodded vigorously. “Me ‘sider…”

Timotheus Smith walked over to the last fragments of the undead thing’s skull, as Markos used _prestidigitation_ to clean off all the blood and vomit on everyone’s clothes, and crushed it under his boot.

Telémahkos crept over to the dais and looked it over before climbing up on to it, carefully avoiding pools of Bleys’ vomit from when the watch-mage had stumbled away from the melee in his illness, He was vigilant for more dangers lurking behind the thick velvet curtain covered with splotches of gray and black mold.  Telémahkos examined how the curtain was hung and then pressed his face to the wall, to see the space behind it.  There was no light from within, but he did notice that there was the slightest bit of breeze shaking the curtain almost imperceptibly. 

“I have already looked behind the curtain,” Bleys said, walking over to the dais.  “There is a short passageway to another room smaller than this one.”

Telémahkos pulled the curtain aside as Timotheus poked around in the open sarcophagus with his saber.  There were shards of bone and lots of dust amid tattered clothing.  There were also innumerable bits of paper scattered all over the area, and Tim called Bleys over to look at it.  The scraps seemed to have been ripped from the pages of books, as some still had dried remnants of glue and thread from the binding.  It was all illegible, crusted with dead flesh, stained with blood, mold and gore.

“I should go first,” Timotheus said to his cousin, who was looking down the hall. It was perhaps twenty-five feet long, six feet wide and ten feet high with an arched ceiling.  Telémahkos turned around and protested. “I should go first and check. There may be traps…”

“And there may be monsters, in which case I should go first,” Timotheus patted his left bicep and smiled.

After a brief dispute, Telémahkos agreed to give way to his cousin.  He also told Tymon to collect all the scraps of paper, in hopes that some of them might have some writing on them that was still legible and might provide some clue.

Beyond the passage was a smaller round room, which held a great pile of coins and other things. On the opposite side from the passageway there was a slot high up on the smooth walls of the chamber, and it was slightly angled up.  It looked as if the great pile had collected over time from there.

There was stone door on the same wall as the slot. It was not unlike the ones the young nobles had been using the magic masks to traverse through the tomb.

Telémahkos held up a gold coin.  “This is one of ours!  The money we put in the bowl ended up here!” He allowed himself a smile despite the constant oppression of this place.  He began to examine the treasure more closely, and Timotheus could not help but squat beside him and look it over with greedy eyes.   Bleys the Aubergine arrested his movement to the stone door when he noticed something odd from the corner of his eye.  Markos stopped abruptly, being right behind the adventuring watch-mage, and Crusta bumped into him.

Tiny pieces of paper had been pasted with blood and gore as glue - making a message or story or warning. Most of the scraps were so small as to only contain one word, but a few contained two or even three.  Whoever had done this had done it meticulously, ripping the words from the pages of books, the shredded binding of which, Telémahkos spotted in the pile of loot.  There were also bloody prints on some of the words that suggested a compulsive pointing of them over and over again.  Others were circled or pointed to with arrows etched out in blood, perhaps by a piece of bone sharpened into a stylus. 2

“This may be some clue to getting out of here,” Markos suggested.

“That is doubtful,” Bleys said. “I imagine that it will be simply a matter of using the masks again…”

Telémahkos had Tymon copy down the words, while he and Victoria inventoried the treasure the best they could.  Markos continued to muse over them. Dunlevey the Swordsman stood guard as they did this, but Bleys and Timotheus went back into the first room and flipped over the heavy pieces of the sarcophagus lid to reveal some carved thereon.  They also retrieved the magical ring that the undead thing claiming to be Dalvan had worn, but left the vile stone knife where it lay.  Bleys also scooped up the battered ornamental silver sword. It was clear from the marks on the side of the sarcophagus that someone had used the sword to lever it open.

Laarus walked over and translated the runes.  They told of Dalvan’s sleep and entombment and how he would rise again.

“So was that thing Dalvan?” Victoria asked, as they all gathered in the treasure room once again.

“I don’t know,” Markos replied. “But somehow I don’t think so… Does anybody know what ‘magen’ is? Or ‘Eibon’?”  He was quoting from the pasted words.

No one knew.

“Not surprising,” Markos muttered in reply to his companions’ silence.

“We should finish looking through this treasure and pack it away before we try the door, as it may close behind us and hinder our ability to return, as the other doors did,” Bleys said, pointing to the door on the far wall.

Telémahkos and Timotheus could not help but grin as they separated the treasure and saw how much it really was.  Victoria grabbed a sack that Telémahkos handed her to carry.   Bleys stepped over to see some of it for himself.  Among the treasure were several large octagonal coins, some of gold and some of silver, he picked one up. “These are coins from Agon’s Realm,” he said, with a bit of awe in his voice. “Truly ancient treasure…” There were over six dozen of the gold octagons, and nearly a thousand of the silver ones.  Also among the treasure there was jewelry, such as a gold ring set with six tiny tiger eye agates, a gold fang pendent with inset diamond chip, and a silver necklace bearing a heart-shaped ruby medallion.  There were precious gems, like four golden yellow topazes the size of child’s fist, and chips of shining malachite.  Among the copper, silver and gold coins (some of which were dwarven obleks) were many smooth river stones etched with indecipherable runes, and nearly worthless iron pennies from the Kingdom of the Red God of the West.  There was also a single Tempestas silverleaf.  One of the shredded book bindings was found to still have a several remaining pages, which turned out to hold arcane spells for study, and there was a bone scroll tube.

There were also the stains and shards of many broken glass and clay potions vials, however, a handful were intact.  Two potions in steel vials marked with a red band, and three in clay vials marked with silver dots. There was one potion in a glass vial still intact fill with w
hat looked like vinegar floating atop thick cream

When all these things were gathered up, and Tymon had done the best he could to copy down the strange cobbled message with all the relevant markings, they prepared to open what they hoped would be the final door.

“This has to be the way out,” Telémahkos said. “I’ve been thinking… If Dalvan put all those clues out there and had defeatable challenges on the way to finding his body, he probably wanted to be found, and that was part of his plan for rising again… I think the ghoul, or whatever it was, ate Dalvan’s brain before anyone could make it that far, and it became convinced it was Dalvan…”

“Interesting theory,” Markos replied.  “But not one we can ever prove…”

“But where did the ghoul come from?  Did it just happen to stumble into the tomb looking for something to eat?” Victoria sounded unconvinced.

“But just in case it can possess someone, we should burn what’s left of it…” Telémahkos suggested.

“We should wait until we are prepared to leave,” Bleys said. He explained that when he had cast _detect magic_ to examine the pile of treasure, he had noted a magical glyph inscribed on the door.  He did not recognize it, but he drew it on the small slate he carried in his satchel with a piece of chalk for Laarus and Markos to examine.

“Lightning… Or something…” Markos said. “Nothing good…”

“We should sleep and regather what strength and spells we can before risking the door,” Bleys suggested, and everyone agreed, though no one relished spending the night in the oppressive tomb.

When it was his turn to watch, Markos spent some time trying to explain to Crusta what life might be like once they all returned to civilization.

“We will not be able to be together all the time,” he said. “Or hardly at all… Not at first…  But I want to take you to the temple of Isis, so you can learn more witchcraft from a reputable source… It will be good for you…”

“And they take me?” Crusta pouted, but her swollen lips quivered with an underlying anger.

“Probably… I hope so… But you’ll have to worship Isis…”

“I worship any god that I need to to get what I want… Many different gods for many different reasons,” she said, as if quoting.

Later, as Timotheus and Telémahkos watched, the cousins discussed what the party should do next.

“I say we go straight back to Pyla and look into this whole hobgoblin thing,” Timotheus said.

“I think we should look into this matter with the Nine,” Telémahkos said.  “In the long run it may serve the purpose of foiling the hobgoblins’ broader plans… And before we can do that, we need to find out who among the nobility is working for the them…”

“Eh… Politics! I hate politics,” Tim complained.

“If you want to be a real noble you need to get used to dealing with politics,” Telémahkos replied with a sigh.

Bleys the Aubergine spent his time looking over the salvageable spells from the remains of one of Dalvan’s spellbooks. 3


Tholem, the 11th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

While there was no way of knowing what Ra’s Glory was doing in the sky and past the tons of earth and stone that hovered over them with palpable weight, the Signers were fairly certain that night had passed, and regardless, they were eager to escape the accursed tomb.  The wounds from the vile stone knife still lingered, despite the generous healing spells dispensed by Victoria and Laarus by the grace of their respective gods.  Happily, however, the burning in the lungs of those that aspirated the acidic mist the room with the living caryatid column had dissipated. 4

“Once the door is open I will set what remains of the corpse on fire,” Telémahkos said.

“And how do we plan to open the door if we cannot dispel the glyph?” Laarus of Ra asked.

“Timotheus looks like a robust sort…” Markos offered with a smirk.

“Are you saying you want me to set it off and just hope that I can withstand whatever nefarious magic it spouts?” Timotheus asked.

“Basically… Yes…” Markos was expectant.

“Alright!” Timotheus smiled and began to walk towards the door.  Telémahkos was ready in the next room holding a torch above the tattered tapestries and scraps of paper he had piled on the oil-soaked remains of the ghastly thing that called itself Dalvan.  Bleys held the ‘greed’ mask, and Markos the ‘generosity’ one.  Timotheus handed his gear to Dunlevey and Tymon to hold, while Victoria and Laarus readied themselves to give Tim aid, or to fight if something were to come through the door once it was opened.

At the last moment, Bleys and Markos stepped back, as if by instinct, for when Timotheus touched the stone door there was a resounding crack as if the air itself were being torn asunder. The two mages felt their hair stand on end as Timotheus came stumbling backward looking pale and feeling a deep aching in his limbs.  He waved the others away as he leaned his hands on his knees and stood there for a moment taking deep breaths.  “I’ll be fine,” he said through clenched teeth.

A moment later Bleys noted the hidden rune of generosity on the door by donning the mask of greed, and Markos touched it wearing the one of ‘generosity’.  The stone door slid up and open and then there was a lock ‘clack’ as if it locked into place.  Telémahkos went over and examined it, but he had already dropped torch on to the pile he had gathered.   Smoke was slowly filling the adjoining room.

Beyond was a narrow passage only ten feet long, it led to a vertical shaft that went much further than the light of their lantern could reveal.

“Didn’t the original clues say something about ‘a simple climb,’ twice?” Markos asked.

“That is not a simple climb,” Laarus replied after they had all examined it.  The shaft was about four feet to a side and carved of the smoothest stone they had ever encountered. It was a slick black rock that gave almost no traction.   Telémahkos gave it a try to get a sense of how hard it would really be, but after sliding in place for a while and then only making a little headway, he decided that a fall from a greater height was likely even if he could go further.

Bleys gave it a try as well, benefiting from a _bull’s strength_ spell granted by Anhur’s grace, but he had no better luck.

“There must be more to it than this,” Markos said. “All these clues and traps and puzzles and then there is just a shaft?  There must be some magic that opens the way or reveals a ladder or creates a lift…”

“Or perhaps some mechanical means…” Bleys offered.

“Telémahkos, aid me in searching this entire room,” Markos said. “Every nook and cranny cannot go unexamined…”

Telémahkos sighed, but began to mentally divide the room into areas to search.

“Can I borrow your pick?” Timotheus asked the watch-mage, and Bleys handed it over.  The tall Briareus bastard walked back into the shaft, and slowly began to pick handhold and footholds into the shaft wall.

Hours passed in this way. Telémahkos searched with aid from Tymon, Victoria and Laarus.  Dunlevey helped Timotheus by clearing out the chips of stone and dust, and providing him a boost and support when he began on chipping holds that were above his reach. Markos grew tired of it rather quickly and announced his talents better served the party by _identifying_ some of the items they found in case one might suggest a way out.

“Such as a potion of _levitation_,” he offered.  He used the pearl carried by Victoria to cast the spell.

He looked over the ring worn by the Dalvan-creature, and two of the potions.  He told them what he learned of the ring, and said the glass vial was a potion of _cure serious wounds_.  The stuff in at least one of the the clay vials was a potion of _longevity_. 

Bleys the Aubergine helped with the searching, but kept coming back to the plastered words and looking for some clue. “Note how ‘lid’ is circled in the word, ‘lidded.’ I thought this might be a reference to the lid of the sarcophagus, but the runes on there offer us no information on how to escape this place…”

When Markos was finished identifying those three items, Bleys gave him another pearl and the heart-shaped ruby amulet, certain it was the amulet of Fallon they were seeking.  Sure enough, it was.    However, because of the limit of how much Markos could learn about an item can do with each cast, he was only able to learn of three of its qualities.  The rest remained a mystery, for now. 5

It was decided that Laarus of Ra would hold the amulet until it was returned to the church of Isis.

“’To… Who… those who would be free…’” Bleys read from the words on the wall. “There must be some hint here… Some instructions…”

“Or could it not merely be the work of a creature trapped down here and driven mad by its hunger for flesh?” Laarus asked. “Whether it decided it was Dalvan because it ate his brain, or because it was simply mad, it _was_ mad and not sure of its own identity even as it attacked us, compelled by its hunger… The word hunger is even etched there on one of the panels… I am not sure this is anything at all…”

“A mind wracked by madness may still have some purpose in trying to leave a message, even if we cannot readily understand it, not being mad ourselves…” Bleys said, standing. “I still think this is here for a reason… Perhaps not for some immediate reason… But it was too meticulously done to be total chance…”  With that he took the ornamental sword, which was among his things for now, and slid it up into the slot from which the treasure slid out into the chamber, hoping to trigger some unseen mechanism, but nothing happened.

Frustration began to get as thick in the room as the smoke in the main crypt chamber that was now trailing in a thickening plume into the treasure room, and wafting lazily up into the shaft.  It began to sting their eyes, and while Laarus started the coughing, soon everyone followed suit.  Timotheus had to give up his work for a time to give his burning lungs a rest.  He had made it up about sixty feet, using his own footholds, and being able to rest his back against the opposite side of the shaft to brace himself as he worked.  By this point he had been picking away for hours, stripped down to his britches and boots, his muscular arms and chest shining black with a mix of dirt, soot and sweat.  He winced as he picked at the first of what would be many blisters on his hands.

“That’s a good idea… Direct, I like it,” Telémahkos complimented his cousin.

“Someone has to get us out of here,” Timotheus replied, his smile gleaming from within the blackness of his face.  “Damned if I’m going out by starving to death trapped in some tomb…”

“I still say there has to be a magic way out,” Markos said, waving the smoke up the shaft with a blanket.

“Or a mechanical one,” Bleys added. Giving up the search for now, he opened up the bone scroll tube and read the spell within.  “_Agon’s Hammer!_” Bleys swore with genuine astonishment. 6

Timotheus put in another two hours of work before pure fatigue stopped him.  The party rested once again.

_…to be continued…_

----------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Session #20 was played on Sunday, November 11th, 2007.

(2) You can see a scan of the prop version of this message I hand out on the Aquerra wiki, here.

(3) The spells recovered were: _Read Magic, Material Provider, Summon Monster I, Greater Disrupt Undead,_ and _Command Undead_

(4) See Session #19

(5) In Aquerra, the _Identify_ spell is house-ruled so that one ability of a magical item per caster level can be determined per casting.

(6) Agon’s Hammer is both an expletive and a rare and powerful spell from the Third Age.


----------



## handforged

And of course, even when they are done, they aren't done.  Interesting read, and nice to see them inherit a sizable treasure.  Hopefully they will be able to get it somewhere useful.

I think there may be a type in footnote #4.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> I think there may be a type in footnote #4.
> 
> ~hf




There is irony in your post there, buddy! 

And uh, yeah, I meant for the footnote to refer back to the very session it is found in. . .  _Okay_. . . I fixed it.  Thanks!


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

el-remmen said:
			
		

> Hey thanks for reading!
> 
> I don't remember, did you read "Out of the Frying Pan"? Because damn, there were some tough fights in that game.




No. I did give it a try (more than once I think), but somehow it never really gripped me - whereas this story got me from quite early on. Not entirely sure why the different response, mind you. Although I did really like the way you started this story with the action sequence followed by the "how we got here" flashback.




> At the risk of jinxing it (), I will say that this the longest a campaign I have run has lasted without at least one PC death (and usually 2 or 3 by now).
> 
> The funny thing is that when I designed that encounter I was worried it was going to be too easy and anti-climactic. . . Glad I didn't make it 2 ghasts, or a ghast and two ghouls like I considered.




You're obviously going soft in your old age!   

Anway, looking forward to seeing how (if?) the party find their way out of the tomb.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

It took me quit a while to get into the out of the frying pan story hour (i think it was the Gnome village) but once i did i couldn't stop reading it.


----------



## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> It took me quit a while to get into the out of the frying pan story hour (i think it was the Gnome village) but once i did i couldn't stop reading it.




Wow, that was 13 or 14 sessions into that campaign and the second thread!  You stuck with it! 



_Side note to everyone: I went back and made a slight edit to the last installment to make a correction about the potions found among the treasure and what was identified._


----------



## darkhall-nestor

i think your gnome vilage in/on this post was when they found Crusta


----------



## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:
			
		

> i think your gnome vilage in/on this post was when they found Crusta





You mean, that was the point you finally got into it?


----------



## darkhall-nestor

yep


I new i would eventualy

based on your last opus


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #20– “Moor-Tomb Denouement” (part 2 of 3)*

Balem, the 12th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Outside in bright Aquerra, Ra’s Glory rose in the distant east shining down on the waters at the edge of the world, even as its light raced to reach the other edge – But the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland could get no pleasure from its light and warmth, trapped beneath a hill of dark rock in the crypt of Dalvan d’Amberville with only the echo of Tim’s chiseling to pass the time.  They had been awake and making half-hearted searches of both rooms for a couple of hours when Tim came back down to announce he had found the way out.

“It is just going to take a couple more hours of picking,” he said.  The shaft ended in a narrow passage about fifteen feet long and only seven feet high.  This led to another shaft, but it was relatively shorter.  Bleys climbed back up with Tim to help out and to send a _radiant spark_ up the second shaft to see how far up it really went.  It turned out to be just another thirty feet. There a metal wheel served as the means to open a circular concave metal hatch, which Victoria reminded the others to check for dweomers before it was touched, as she feared that in the young nobles’ eagerness to get out they might accidentally set off another trap.  Markos, Dunlevey and Tymon were particularly wounded from the ghastly vile stone knife, and so the healing from the two priests and the day’s rest had not done them much good, so it was wise to not take unneeded risks.  

But there was no trap, magical or mundane (as Telémahkos was allowed to check as well) and soon the hatch was opened and the cool late afternoon air of the moors came wafting in.  As soon as the hatch was opened, they heard the door down below slide closed, but it no longer mattered.  They had collected everything they wanted and preferred that the place be sealed off.  The outer side of the hatch was camouflaged as black stone covered in withered ivy atop the great black hill that hid both the tomb of Dalvan Meir and the hideout of the Broken Circle.   The hatch was closed and as Bleys, Tim and Telie and Tymon looked around for a path down the craggy hill, Laarus of Ra faced the setting sun and gave a silent prayer of thanks for their escape.

The journey back to the huts and caves of the Broken Circle took much longer than they thought it should have, but the way down the hill was delayed by frequent back-tracking to avoid sheer drops, jagged rocks and choking thistles.  The early part of the journey back Timotheus bubbled with excitement, his joy at a well-accomplished mission and packs full of loot evident in his smile and in his voice.

As one point, as he walked near the rear of the line with Victoria, he asked her, “You know… I’ve been wondering… Do you think that old woman, Fallon, that we met was really… you know… Fallon?  The goddess?”

Victoria of Anhur laughed. “Why don’t you ask her when we see her next?”

“Maybe I’ll do just that,” Tim replied, his good feelings slowly being worn away by the journey and Victoria’s apparent dismissal of his theory.

Eventually, they were found by Fiss’iss who was patrolling the area and heard them bumbling in the growing gloom at the edge of the thicket that protected the hideout and she led them back.

Ethan the Pearl was happy to see them, but pleasantries were cut short as the Signers were exhausted and soon dropped off one by one in the cavern they were given to share.  Bleys the Aubergine was the last to lie down, spending some time filling Ethan in on the details of what had occurred in the tomb.


Teflem, the 13th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The young nobles spent the next day resting as much as possible and discussing their options.  Laarus of Ra cast _consecrate_ with the last of the powdered silver he had, and healing was doled out, though Timotheus had to remind the priests that Falco needed to be healed as well.  The raven-haired ranger of few words shook Dunlevey’s hand when they returned, but just nodded politely to the others.  No one seemed to really care or notice.  Fiss’iss was asked if she could supplement the healing with the graces of Nephthys so that both Falco and Crusta could be totally cured of the vile damage caused by the green stone.

“I assume that once we leave here and return to the Ray-Ree camp we will be returning to civilization?” Bleys asked when everyone was gathered.  “That is, if there is nothing else we want to do here, like hunt more goblins…”

“Did you just wink?” Timotheus asked the watch-mage, suspecting Bleys of trying to be humorous, but having no evidence.

“Yes, we should go back so that we can help the Broken Circle and find out all we can of the plots of the Nine,” Markos said.

“I am glad you mentioned that,” Bleys replied. “We need to get in the habit of not talking about the Nine, for once we return we will not know who might overhear us…”

“Easy enough for me!” Timotheus scoffed. “I don’t wanna talk about them at all…”

“Speaking of that, it occurred to me last night that Harliss… What was her name?” Markos scratched his chin.

“Harliss Javell?” Bleys said.

“Mmmmm, that Harliss…” Timotheous’ eyes clouded over with daydreamed possibility.

“She’d as soon stick you as let you stick it to her,” Bleys told the tall Briareus warrior.

Timotheus smiled widely. “That is part of her appeal!”

Markos cleared his throat loudly. “As I was saying, it occurred to me that Harliss might have been working for Misery the Pirate-Queen… In other words, for the Ni… For the group we aren’t going to mention by name anymore…”

Telémahkos’ eyes widened. “That could explain what she was doing with the pearl, delivering it to her boss to be used to sow chaos… Just like their connection to the hobgoblins…” 1

“I also wanted to bring up one other thing,” Markos continued, the tone of his voice making it clear that he was preparing for the inevitable quarrel on the issue.  “We should bring Crusta to retrieve her tokens…” He was wrong about a quarrel.  Instead his suggestion was met with icy silence.

Finally, Timotheus spoke. “I would rather we return to civilization right away rather than tarry down here any longer…”

“We have to wait for Kermit to return anyway,” Markos reminded the others. “By his own guess he will not be back for another week, at the least…”

It was agreed to allow the topic to drop until the Signers got back to the Ray-Ree camp and saw whether Kermit had returned by then or not. It would take several days to get back, especially as slowed down as they would be dragging the improvised sledge that Telémahkos and Victoria had strapped together with help from Falco and Fiss’iss.  The large sardoynx statue of the angel was tied to it. 

The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland and their hirelings and followers got started for the Ray-Ree camp late in the day.  Ethan, Harber, Fiss’iss and Uri gathered to wished them good-bye and Ethan handed Bleys a scroll, and a sealed later to be brought to Jacoba the Brown in the Border Shires.

Timotheus handed Ethan a sack full of hundreds of iron pieces.  “I figured you all could use these more than I could…”

“Farewell, and good luck,” Ethan the Pearl told them.  “And remember what we told you about the importance of secrecy…”

They were guided by Fiss’iss for the first few miles as she knew a time-saving route that would lead them away from the danger of Moor-Wall.  A little while after she left them and headed back Timotheus swore aloud. “Damn! I forgot to ask if Fallon was the goddess or not…!”

Victoria and Telémahkos chuckled, and Markos shook his head with a condescending smirk.


Osilem, the 17th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Four days later the young nobles walked into the Ray-Ree camp, greeted by Marysus and Trititia, and the placid faces of the old and young of the tribe.  As usual the barbarians were solemn in their offer of gifting the party a hut to stay in, and Victoria and Bleys were led to where their horses had been kept in order to check on them.

An hour or so later they were all summoned to meet with First Elder Admentus again, and on the way there, Bleys warned Timotheus, “No more fermented goat’s milk…” 2

“Sure, I didn’t like it that much anyway,” Timotheus replied.

“None,” Bleys said again. “Not a drop…”

“Okay! Fine! What’s the big deal anyway? We’re going to be here a few days…”

Bleys did most of the talking when the young nobles informed Admentus about the events in the tomb, leaving out anything about the Broken Circle.  The watch-mage presented the First Elder with the smooth river stones marked with runes and Admentus was awed by them.  He explained the tradition of those stones had already died out when he was a child, but that long ago couples betrothed to each other would risk the journey out to the tomb to offer those rune stones to the spirit within, as a way to appease it and keep away bad luck for the coming marriage.

“And now they are returned to your people, as a gift from us…” Bleys said. “So that you may re-inter them as your customs dictate…”

After sharing dinner with the tribe and listening to one of Trititia’s chanted tales of the tribe’s history, which resonated with the beauty of her voice, even if the young nobles could not understand what she sang, they retired to their hut to continue their discussions on the fate of Crusta.

“Markos, do you understand the consequences of bringing Crusta back with us?” Telémahkos asked.

Markos snarled. “As I have explained to my dear cousin, I understand full well the hypocrisies of our society, and frankly I am offended by the condescending attitude everyone in this group seems to take with me on such matters.  Don’t you think I have considered that what is best for her and for us may not be the same?  I plan to bring her to the temple of Isis… If they will take her in they may be able to influence her towards a better use for her arcane skills…”

“So the idea is to make her into a white witch?” Timotheus asked.  Markos nodded.

“Who said that she would be coming with us at all?” Victoria asked.  “It could take time to make such an arrangement, and in the meantime we are saddled with having a degenerate half-breed witch among us… I don’t think we’ve agreed that she should be with us any length of time…”

“She won’t be…” Bleys said.

“You know…” Timotheus said.  “She’s sitting right here…” He pointed to where Crusta listened on from one corner of the hut, sniffling and snarling behind Markos.

“So…?” Bleys replied.  Markos frowned and crouching next to the gray skinned hairy woman gently asked her to excuse them so they could continue talking.

Crusta stood and wiped her face and mouth, looking at each of the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland as she walked out of the hut.  At the entrance she turned around, “Me just want to say, me won’t go anywhere without me tokens…” She stalked off.

“Well that settles it…” Telémahkos said.

“I think we should retrieve her tokens and bring her with us,” Markos replied.  “Not only will it be a good social experiment, but she represents the hope that if she can change her ways any of you scum might change…”

“_Oh!_ If you put it _that_ way…” Telémahkos’ voice dripped with sarcasm. “You know Markos, as usual you have the best way of putting things to garner sympathy… You are a master at it…”

“Oh does my not being as good a liar as you are offend you?” Markos’ face twisted in the red hot anger he had not let loose for some weeks.  “I’m sorry if I am not a flagrant enough hypocrite for your moral sensibilities!”

“You… I… Erg…” Telémahkos’ hands balled into fists and he leaned forward as if to step into a punch, but instead he turned around sharply and left the hut.

Timotheus followed his cousin, as Victoria of Anhur explained how Crusta’s very blood made her untrustworthy.

“The worst part is that I agree with him and yet I still want to choke the life out him,” Telémahkos said in a low voice, fists still clenched, when Tim caught up to him.

“Agree with him?” Timotheus was confused by this.

“Yes… I mean, she helped us, we should help her… It is that simple,” Telémahkos explained.  “We would be hypocrites not to try to help her. It’s just that Markos cannot be trusted to handle her coming with us with the finesse it requires…”

“Those are both very good points,” Timotheus replied. “Let’s go back and put it to a vote…”

And so the nobles voted on whether or not to retrieve Crusta’s tokens, as her accompanying them depended on her having them. It was a tie. Bleys, Laarus and Victoria voted against retrieving them, while Telémahkos, Timotheus and Markos voted for getting them.

“So how do we break a tie around here, anyway,” Timotheus asked.

“Honorable combat,” Victoria of Anhur replied.

“…So… Wanna fight?”  Timotheus gave a half smile and jabbed an elbow playfully at the militant.

“I was speaking in jest, though such terms could be reached if we so desired,” the militant said. “It is not as if we have not solved arguments by those means in the past…” 3

Instead, a compromise was reached.  The Signers of the Charter of Schireiland would split into their two groups.  Telémahkos, Timotheus and Markos would go with Crusta to retrieve the tokens while Laarus, Victoria and Bleys would go and visit Brother Cineas, as Laarus wanted to share what they learned of the Moor-Tomb to the young monk.  A further stipulation was added that the priests would examine the tokens for evil influence, and any deemed as evil in source would be destroyed.

Markos accepted the compromise, but Crusta did not return that night while he was still awake for him to explain it to her. When he awoke in the cold morning she was cuddled up with him.

_. . .to be continued. . ._

----------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Telémahkos is talking about the party’s theory of the Nine’s connection with the Hobgoblins of the Blue Claw based on the information they gathered from Hezrah’s lair regarding ‘the Master’ Stygian Demonborn. (See Session #16)  You can read more about the party’s theories and collected information in a series of pages on the Aquerra.wiki called, “SSoaSS Plot Lines.”  Warning: This information is up to date for the campaign, so it may contain spoilers for the story hour as the game is currently seven (going on eight) sessions ahead of the re-telling here.

(2) The fermented goat’s milk was considered at least partially responsible for Timotheus’ recent illness (See Sessions #10 and #12)

(3) Victoria and Markos had a fight in Session #4.  Telémahkos and Markos had a fight in Session #5.  Timotheus has considered fighting and threatened to fight Markos several times.


----------



## Martin Olarin

Great post - this was one of the more memorable Tim moments for me.  Markos racking his brain trying to figure out the way out while Tim just rolls up his sleeves and gets to work 

I recall a _slightly_ slower build to anger over the Crusta situation but I certainly understand wanting to cut to the chase here.  Removed from the situation now and seeing it written impresses upon me how consistent the players are regarding how they have played their PCs and how they handled the question of what to do with Crusta.  Good job everyone.


----------



## handforged

I'm glad to see everyone out and safe again.  Good job Tim for getting to work.  Go team for tying all the story arcs together.  Is all the help staying in camp, or going with the split up groups?

Can't wait for "civilization."  I wonder what has happened while the kids have been away.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> Is all the help staying in camp, or going with the split up groups?




Let's just say the matter does not turned out to be quite as settled as the PCs thought it would be at that point.  Stay tuned for the next installment to see what I mean.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #20– “Moor-Tomb Denouement” (part 3 of 3)*

Tholem, the 18th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

“Crusta?” Markos gently nudged her, noticing that everyone else was either still slept or had left the hut. “It has been decided that we’re going to take you to retrieve your tokens…”

“Oh! Thank you, Ko-kos!” She nuzzled her face into his neck and Markos stiffened and sat up, gently brushing her arms off of him.

“But there is more,” Markos continued.  “When they are retrieved we have to let the priests examine them… Because… Well, because if any of them are deemed evil they will have to be destroyed if you are to accompany us back to civilization…”

“What?! No! Why?” Crusta sat up and Timotheus grumbled and rolled over.  Markos stood, taking Crusta’s hand and leading her out of the hut.  “Only bad if used bad… Me use them good for you Ko-kos!”

“I would like to agree with you, but this is a compromise you are going to have to make if you want to come with us,” Markos replied.

“Why you doing this, boyfriend?” Crusta’s shoulders sagged and her scabrous black lips pouted.  She was dressed in a dirty gray and brown smock that one of the elder women of the Ray-Ree had given her, her natty locks were tied back with a piece of twine.  “They might lie when they check! They hate me!”

“I trust them,” Markos said, softly.

“Why? Why stay with them?  You hate them. I hate them. Mister Tim would have been a good boyfriend, but I like you better!”  Crusta’s voice had a pleading element to it.  “Why not leave them? Come with me?”

“Because I have to…” Markos replied. “I have a duty to them now… And I want to see you change. I want you to learn to understand what that means.  It can be hard, I know… I know if can be hard…”

“If you have something _hard_, Crusta can help you with it,” the half-orc woman changed her tactics and sidled up to Markos, letting her hand creep down to his pants.

“I cannot describe how uncomfortable it makes me when you do that,” Markos said, pushing her arm and stepping away.  “I have no interest in you in that way.  I want to be more like a brother to you…”

“Brothers is how Crusta learned…” She moved to press her body against him again, but again Markos stepped away. “Wow… That makes me even _more_ uncomfortable… Anyway, do you agree…?”

Crusta was quiet for a long moment, and as each second passed her face grew darker with a flush of anger. “No!” She barked. “Tokens mine! Me fought and sneaked and fΩcked for them! Not giving them up!”  She lifted one fist wildly, but spun around and brought it down heavily against her thigh twice and then let out the beginning of a sob that she sucked back in instead.

“Crusta… I’m sorry…” Markos put a hand on her shoulder, and she spun around to grab him in an embrace.  Again, he pulled away… “No Crusta… Look… Admentus said that you can stay here and practice witchcraft as long as Rudwilla is willing to take you in… I’m sure she will… She seemed like a reasonable woman and she owes us…  Do you think you’ll do that?” 1

“I will have to, since you abandoning me!” Crusta stalked off and did not respond to Markos’ one half-hearted call for her to come back.

At breakfast he explained to the others that Crusta would not be coming and so they didn’t need to go after her tokens or split up.  By late afternoon it was clear that the half-orc witch had already left without saying goodbye to anyone.  Eventually Laarus, Victoria and Bleys did make a trip to visit Brother Cineas, and he congratulated them on their success with a lack of enthusiasm only a monk of Anubis could have. 2


Isilem, the 23rd of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Three days later Kermit Buckleburr and his riding dog, Duckhunter, returned, but the halfling insisted on two days of rest before leading the party back to the Border Shires. He assured the young nobles that he had sent off the messages just as they directed3, and the only news of Thricia he had to share was some vague word of some kind of riot in Sluetelot.  This made the Signers uneasy, but there was nothing they could do about it.  And so, the night before they were finally to go back to Thricia, the Ray-Ree gifted them with a roasted aurochs and some kind of white pudding made from nuts. There was also plenty of the fermented goat’s milk, and Bleys eyed Timotheus warily whenever the tall Briareus took a sip or three of it in order to not be rude to their hosts.

In addition, Admentus announced that they would be getting four days of food each for their journey to add to whatever was left of their own store of trail rations, along with some feed for the horses.  And finally, each of them was given a simple hemp necklace with a jackal head charm carved from aurochs bone. Bleys the Aubergine gave them the worn pick Timotheus had used to carved a way out of Dalvan’s tomb, as any forged tool was a great boon to the barbarian tribe, and Timotheus added the battle-axe he had taken from one of the skeletons in the tomb.  The gifts were appreciated.

After dinner there was one more gift to be given to the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland.  Trititia came to them in their hut.  She opened her palm there she held nine small black mushroom caps.

“These are spirit mushrooms,” Trititia explained. “They will give you insight into…”

Timotheus Smith did not wait.  He picked one up off her hand and threw it in his mouth and began to chew.  He grimaced at the bitter earthy taste.

“…insight into your role in this mortal world, or a view of the world to come…” Trititia continued, smiling.  Telémahkos took one and looked at it cautiously, and Tymon, as usual mimicked his master.  Markos took one and after a sniff, began to chew it down as well. Not wanting to be rude, Laarus of Ra and Victoria of Anhur followed suit.  With a shrug, Telémahkos began to chew on his, fighting back gagging to swallow it down and following it with some water.  Dunlevey and Falco ate a mushroom each as well, but Kermit shook his head and took off with Duckhunter, saying he’d be back in the morning for the trip.  Bleys the Aubergine took a mushroom, but put it away instead of consuming it, figuring it might be a good idea for one of them to remain sober, and not being one for altered states as it was.

It was less than a half hour later that Victoria Ostrander founder herself standing in one corner of the  hut looking very intently at each of her companion’s faces. She had never noticed before how much each of them looked like a different animal. Markos especially suddenly reminded her of the small tan monkeys she had sometimes seen for sale at the market, or trained to run around with a cup and beg for copper pennies.  He had a withered little old man face that seemed to suggest both age and youth, and she had to suppress a smile when she imagined him clapping two cymbals together.  She shook her head. Everything suddenly seemed kind of strange and connected.  Telémahkos’s plumage ruffled as he whispered to Tymon who was covering his face like a turtle pulling its head into its shell.

“Is Victoria looking at me? I think she’s looking at me…” Markos asked Laarus nervously. The militant of Anhur walked towards the hut exit and encountered Bleys, who watched the slow change in his companions’ behavior with a chiseled smirk.  Victoria noticed his nostrils flare and how he stood proud and tall, haughty.  His face was long, almost equine… Yes! Like a horse. 

“My horse!” She suddenly said aloud and began to jog towards the corral at the edge of the barbarian camp.

“Victoria! Wait! Perhaps riding right now is not a good idea! The watch-mage went after her, and Telémahkos looked up suddenly from where he sat with Tymon, causing his portly servant to scramble into a corner whimpering.  

“That’s a good idea,” Telémahkos said, standing. He looked over at Timotheus who was holding his saber to the lantern light and counting motes that danced up and down its blade with Dunlevey. They both had wide indomitable smiles.  “Tim! Tim! It’s too suffocating in here!”

“Then go outside,” Timotheus replied, not looking at him.

“Good idea,” Telémahkos said again. He looked over at where Tymon alternately shaking and nodding his head to some invisible figure he was cringing from, and shrugging his shoulders went out to the see the last light of the day fade in west.  “Gods! The sky! It’s so big! It’ll swallow me up!” He grabbed onto the edge of the hut and stood in the doorway, bouncing slightly.  He noticed Bleys walking back towards the hut and he called out to him.  “Bleys! Be careful! The sky so huge you’ll fall in!”  Telémahkos ran out to the watch-mage and started trying to hurry him back to the hut with real fear.  However, as soon as Bleys refused to be hurried, the foppish aristocrat grew calm in the watch-mage’s presence and began to try to convince him to eat the remaining mushroom.

“Leave me alone,” Laarus said to Markos. “I want to observe the room from up here on the ceiling.”  He was lying on his stomach on the hut floor, with his arms and leg spread.

The scrawny mage’s head darted around filled with nervous energy.  Suddenly he heard a voice blathering about some arcane mathematical precepts, and he turned around quickly to see who it was.  The voice stopped.  He looked over at Timotheus.  Dunlevey was lying with his head in the big warrior’s lap, telling him the story of the first time he had to kill a human. Suddenly, the voice returned, and Markos spun around again… And then he realized that the voice was himself, and that he was just mumbling arcane factoids under his breath whenever he became distracted.  Suddenly fascinated with his own sense of hearing, he wandered outside to find out what else there was to hear in the wider world of the barbarian camp.  On wind he heard the strain of drums, and followed the sound popping up and down to the beat out of instinct, and as soon as the practiced drumming of the young barbarians 4 was loud enough for him to hear clearly, he stopped and began to dance.  His body shook to the music and he grunted and shouted as the spirit of the rhythm moved him.  Soon some of the Ray-Ree were standing at distance to watch him. Markos knew he was dancing perfectly. They picked up the tempo.

Having successfully convinced Bleys she was fine, Victoria patted Ironsides’ neck.  She admired the animal’s fine coat and the solid muscle beneath it.

“I realized that I left my saddle and gear back at the hut,” Victoria said aloud.

“That’s okay, mistress Victoria,” Ironside turned his huge equine head and looked right at the dumbstruck militant. The horse had a deep and reassuring voice.  It reminded her of her father. “You can ride bareback.  There is no way you can fall tonight…”

“Ironsides… I didn’t know you could talk!” Victoria replied, still astonished.

“You just never had the ability to listen,” the horse replied. She climbed up on to him and with the slightest urging, they took off, leaping over the corral fence and off into the night.

Back in the hut, as Tymon continued to whimper cringing away from Dunlevey and Timotheus who were laughing as they drunkenly wrestled, Telémahkos continued to chatter at Bleys, now eager to draw the watch-mage to somewhere private to discuss ‘the deeper interconnectedness of everything everywhere all the time!’   Bleys clucked his tongue and let his disdain grow thick on his face.  He walked away.

Laarus Raymer of Ra stepped out of the hut. He looked up at the night sky and noticed that the constellation known as ‘the Dolphin’ was stuck in the twirling tentacles of ‘the Squid.’  The whole vault of the blue-black sky warped, and the stars stretched out into disorienting smears as the world dropped out from beneath him.  There was a seemingly interminable silence, but suddenly bolts of lightning broke it and thunder reverberated from all directions.  A flat-topped pyramid filled his vision.  Atop it was a golden pearl that pulsated.  He suddenly felt as if he were hovering near to it, but was now flying further and further away from the pyramid as it melted and twisted and changed into a fiery mountain shooting molten rock into the sky turning everything orange.   Laarus burned.  He writhed in an agony that made everything black. He lost any sense of having a body.  Laarus became a dancing mote of golden light bouncing around in front of an immense golden lion.  It swatted at the mote and suddenly the young priest’s perspective has changed again.  He was seeing the mote buzz around the roaring lion.  It stood before a silver gate. Behind the gate: darkness.


Teflem, the 27th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Three and a half days later, Telémahkos could close his eyes and remember clearly the visions of his mother, his true mother, holding him in her arms.  He could not recall when the hallucinations of the spirit mushroom had melted into the ordinary dreams of sleep, but what he could recall remained vivid.  He smiled even though his ass ached from three long days on the saddle.  He looked over at Victoria of Anhur who rode parallel to him and smiled again.  Between them their horses dragged the makeshift sledge that carried the heavy sardonyx statue of the angel. They brought up the end of the long staggered line of horses.

The day after the visions, Kermit Buckleburr began to lead them north, often taking off on Duckhunter to return hours later with some small game, or news that a new path would have to be taken because of some sign of predators.  He trusted Falco to lead them the general way, and no one was moving fast anyway.  The days were as hot as they had ever been, and their progress was slowed by the need to water the horses often.   

It was mid-morning and Kermit had just returned from looking for a shady spot to wait out the mid-day and rest the horses.  He led them north by northwest over open dry ground that was easily kicked up into a dust cloud visible for miles by the sheer number of horses.  The plant life here was stubborn flowering vines that strangled large broken rocks, or spread out along dried streambeds seeking out whatever moisture it could.  Some vines sported long narrow spines that sometimes glistened with dew, which Duckhunter would carefully lick off.

Kermit referred to it as the Land-Sea of Sharnth, and explained that they were skirting along the western edge of it as to best avoid… “LAND SHARK!”

There it was, a stream of dust and earth shooting high into the sky as something came towards them from the southeast, burrowing at an unsettling rate.

“As fast as you can! To the stone!” Kermit pointed to the shadow of large rounded black rocks coming out of the earth a few hundred yards ahead.  Everyone spurred their mounts, but the heavy statue they were dragging weighed down Victoria and Telémahkos.

Timotheus slowed his mount and turned it to get a better view of the approaching plume.  “Pick up the pace!” He called to them as he turned back around to continue on.

“On three!” Telémahkos said to Victoria as she pulled a dagger from her belt to mimic the blond Briareus’ action.  They cut the leather straps of the sledge and it fell into the dust with a echoing thud.  The horses nickered nervously.  The earth was shaking, and they could hear the approach of the creature as tiny stones were driven into the air with great speed.  Their horses were more than eager to obey the flick of the reins and the spur of the heels, and they were soon catching up with Timotheus and Markos were falling to the back of the thundering line of the eight horses before them.

Victoria stole a look back.  The statue disappeared as the plume reached it, and then with a crack it was flying into the air and disappearing into the tumult of dust and rocks.  And still the monster came on…

*End of Session #20*

-------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) The party met Rudwilla after they rescued her from Crusta’s mother Hezrah.  See Session #11

(2) This was handled in a rather unproductive InterSession where no one seemed to remember what it was they wanted to accomplish by going to visit the young monk again.  The party first visited Brother Cineas in Session #12.

(3) See Session #16

(4) Ray-Ree warriors play drums with large mallets they use in battle and part of the coming of age process for the tribe’s young men is practicing their drumming.


----------



## handforged

Well, I bet that statue looks like the Venus de Milo now!  Glad everyone had fun on the shrooms.  Good ol' Bleys a stick-in-the-mud as always.  I wonder in this riot in Slutelot will be related to the actions of the party?

~hf


----------



## Martin Olarin

el-remmen said:
			
		

> “Brothers is how Crusta learned…”




(Sniff) .... I miss Crusta


----------



## el-remmen

So, I am working on writing up Session #22, which was a breeze for the first 10 pages and then became agonizingly slow for the next 10 (well 8, but I figure it will be 20 pages all told by the time I finish), and as you know I don't start posting a session until the session _after_ it is written up.

But I expect to be done with #22 sometime today and then will post the first installment of #21 either this evening or tomorrow.

A lot of interesting and exciting things have been happening in the campaign lately and I can't wait til the story hour gets to it.  A week from tomorrow we'll be playing Session #29, so yeah, I am falling slowly more and more behind, but that's what happens when you are in graduate school and you have a bad back that is making it difficult to sit at the computer for an extended period of time. 

I'm an old man.  

And speaking of old men, be sure to wish Eric G. (aka Telémahkos, aka Ratchis) a happy 40th birthday.  It is not until tomorrow, but he is probably too hungover today to check this at least til then, so it won't be premature to do the well wishing. . . 

Peace.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #21– “The Journey Home”* (part 1 of 3)1

Dunlevey’s horse screamed as the beast exploded from the dusty earth.  The landshark was a wedge of hardened flesh covered in a thick tan hide dusted gray.  Its powerful limbs were short compared to the sixteen feet of its length.  It had hooded eyes that gleamed yellow in the sunlight, as it roared, dirt pouring out in torrents amid row upon row of alternately jagged and blunted teeth.

Markos, Falco and Kermit were already at the rounded sun-blasted black rock. The halfling guide did not need to urge Duck-hunter, for the dog ran with evident fear, ducking between the legs of Markos’ horse as the mage stopped a few feet onto the rock, in order to get even further away. Falco pulled out his bow, bringing his horse only slightly further onto the large smooth rocks than where Markos was.  Bleys did much the same as Falco did, drawing his bow and getting even further away from the loose earth the landshark burrowed through as if swimming.   It was the same loose earth that obscured their sight of exactly what was going on with their companions.

Telémahkos and Tymon upon their horses were dark figures that emerged from the cloud even as it began to dissipate.  Laarus arrived behind them. They could see Victoria moving Ironsides towards the rock looking to either side of her with expectant caution, while Timotheus turned his horse around as Dunlevey galloped past him towards the rocks.  There was a bloody gash in the horse’s flank, but it had escaped.

“It went back under!” Victoria called to the others.

There was another explosion.  This time, right beneath Timotheus’ horse. The horse leapt frantically and Tim managed to barely to hold on. The horse’s hoof kicked at the earth and found the landshark’s teeth instead nearly collapsing, but barely managing to get away, thick with the lather of its own fear.

“Back! To the rock! There’s no line to hold!” Timotheus warned the others as he spurred his horse on, but the others were all already there. “_Sagitta caustus!_ Markos chanted, and a blue arrow of acid went flying towards the creature as it breached the pit it emerged from and dove back down in another explosion of earth.  It was not clear until moments later when it re-emerged whether or not he hit it. It roared as it cracked the edge of the black rock, ripping at Ironside with broad swipes that tried to shove the whole horse in its mouth. 

_Sagitta Aquom!_ Markos cast again, sending his _magic missles_ into the spot where could see the acid of his previous spell still burning. Arrows came flying in from Bleys and Falco, bouncing off the thing’s hide and Timotheus dismounted.  “Get back!” He shouted, but Markos was doing just that as he cast, and Laarus had already dismounted some ways behind where the bastard Briareus now was.  

Victoria of Anhur spurred Ironside and the horse whinnied in dismay as it galloped higher up on the rock and wheeled.  The creature disappeared beneath the earth again.  She dismounted and slapped the horse on the rear sending it towards Bleys who was keeping his own mount and the packhorse at a safe distance.

“Is it gone?” Telémahkos asked, still up on his mount, finally turning it as he drew his lance from its sheath on the horse’s side.

“It may come back,” Timotheus said, slipping his helmet on as he drew his saber. 

“You might not want to be so close to the edge,” Kermit warned from sixty feet away. “Those things can jump pretty far…”

“How far can they jump?”” Timotheus called back.

“Far.” The halfling replied.

“Okay, Victoria, you take the right… Laarus to my left… Everyone else stay back and get ready a volley of arrows or spells, whatever you got!”  But in that moment the earth before them exploded and echoed with thunderous claps of cracking rock. The landshark roared and bit at Victoria.  Laarus’ voice rose above the din and he called to Ra for the light of his holy glory, but the beam of holy sunlight missed, scorching the rock beside it as it sidestepped, rending into Victoria’s scalemail, and nearly knocking her over.  Bolts and arrows from Falco and Tymon bounced off the thing’s hide ineffectually.

Laarus moved behind it and noticed for the first time that an angled fin of hard chitinous skin rose up just below the center of its back.  The skin beneath was pink stained with brown.  It looked vulnerable. 2

“Its fin is its weak spot!” The priest of Ra pointed it out to the others. “There is a soft spot to strike underneath.”

Telémahkos came riding up, but the melee was too frantic and he reigned in his horse’s charge, waiting for the dust to clear so he could get a clear line towards the beast. “Get out of my way! I’ll run it down!” he called.

The landshark bellowed, and they could see that its shell-like hide was desiccated with age.  Victoria’s spear thrusts traced ridges of ripped up hide that swelled with pus and blood.  Timotheus hurried forward and spun around it, trying to leap to avoid one of its four claws, all of which it used with equal proficiency.  It caught him on the leg and he stumbled and grunt, but somehow he managed to keep his footing despite the pain, and thrust the blade of his saber under the fin, nearly extending himself horizontally on the thing’s back to do so.

The thing shook and began to claw at the rock below it as if to escape, but Dunlevey came rushing in with Markos close behind, still on his horse. The sell-sword’s great blade cracked the thing’s hide open and it bellowed again, this time more in agony than anger.  “_Digitum electrus!_” Markos cast, taking a deep breath to focus his concentration before doing so, and leaning over brushed his hand across the landshark’s back as it attempted to flee.  There was a crackle of electrical energy and the monster shook with convulsions before finally vomiting up pink bile and dying.

“Dinner!” Kermit cried happily. “Landshark steaks are delicious!”

“Do these things hunt alone?” Victoria asked the halfling.

“Thankfully, yes, or else no one would ever be able to travel out here,” Kermit replied, as he walked over, Duck-hunter trailing behind him.

“Dusty! Come here!”  Timotheus called and whistled, and his horse came trotting back.

“I’d like to try to preserve its organs,” Markos said looking down at the carcass.

“I’d like a trophy myself,” Timotheus said. 

“We should try to save as much of it as we can,” Telémahkos suggested. “Including its head…”

Bleys the Aubergine watched carefully as Kermit and Falco began to butcher the thing, cutting off huge rolls of its thick hid.  Markos with nervous eagerness pointed out where he thought which organs would be where, annoying Kermit.

Telémahkos asked Victoria to accompany him to find what was left of the abandoned statue.3  Victoria had called on Anhur to heal her mount, and Timotheus borrowed Tymon’s horse to accompany them.  One corner of the statue’s base emerged from the bottom of a deep sandy depression. They hauled it out with one of the horses, and were surprised that it was mostly in one piece. It had lost its remaining wing, and the body was worn, blasted by its trip through the earth.

At Telie’s instance they began to look for the broken wing.  It took some time, but they found it and began to drag the statue back between two horses as afternoon waned.

Victoria and Timotheus struck up a conversation about tactics when fighting large monsters, which turned into a tactical review of several of the party’s combats against larger creatures, such as the ogre and the savage lizard thing in Kraken’s Cove. 4

Back at the rising black rocks, it was agreed that the party should spend the rest of the day here as butchering the landshark took time and there was an injured horse.  Bleys and Markos prepared to use _preserve food_ spells to keep the organs they’d extracted from going bad any time soon.

“I would think you’d want to preserve the landshark steaks,” Kermit complained, seeing it as a waste.

“We can preserve them in here,” Timotheus patted his stomach. 

It was then that they noticed Laarus Raymer of Ra returning from having wandered up the shallow grade of the black rock.  Near its apex there was a channel carved into the stone, disappearing deep into it and flanked on either side by tall jagged stones.

The young priest of Ra called Bleys the Aubergine over, and Markos followed closely, curious as always.

“I feel a strange…pulling, I guess I’d call it, from down there,” Laarus of Ra pointed down into the black corridor of stone.  “Like some compulsion to go down there…”

“I feel nothing,” Bleys said.

Markos shook his head. “What does it feel like exactly?”

“Pulling,” Laarus repeated.

“Physical pulling?”

“No, like I said, a compulsion…” Laarus turned and looked down the ragged channel, the tall flanking stones draped the place in deep shadow.  “I feel it… inside… It is hard to describe…”

“Like when you commune with your god to prepare spells?” Markos asked.

“No… Not like that,” Laarus replied. “And also, I don’t know… Like we are being watched…”

“We should not camp here if we are being watched,” Bleys said. He instinctively scanned the trench for movement.

Leaving Falco, Kermit and Tymon behind to finish making camp and getting started on cooking the landshark steaks, the Signers made their way down the trench to investigate the source of whatever it was Laarus was feeling.

“I think this is a bad idea,” Telémahkos said from near the back of the line.  The trench was fifteen even twenty feet wide in some places, but mostly it was no more than eight feet wide and as they walked it grew deeper and deeper.  Laarus called to Ra and suddenly light as bright as day shone around him. He walked behind Timotheus who led the way.  As they walked, Victoria called on Anhur to close some wounds Tim still suffered from the battle with the landshark.

“The feeling grows stronger,” Laarus said.

“So is this like when you get your visions,” Timotheus asked, a chuckle in his voice. “Are you going to puke?  

“Dunlevey!” Bleys called to the sell-sword who was taking up the rear, great sword resting on his shoulder. “Make sure the avenue of egress does not leave your sight!”

Coerced by the growing dread, Victoria called on Anhur to give her _bull’s strength_.

They had gone perhaps eighty yards when the narrow canyon split in two directions, one branch breaking sharply to their right.

“We should just come back and check this tomorrow,” Bleys said.  Victoria agreed. 

“Well, at least let me take a look and see what is beyond,” Telémahkos said, squeezing his way forward.

“I thought you were against us coming here?” Victoria asked.

“I was… I am… But while we’re here I might as well sate my own curiosity,” Telémahkos winked, and the crept to the fork to see what lay beyond.  Straight ahead the way became narrow and then sank down into a very steep shaft, while to the right the trench only went another forty feet before disappearing into a cave entrance with a nearly perfectly symmetrical shape that suggested a doorway.  Above it were three runes carved into the stone.  He crept back and told the others and Laarus went forward to examine the runes.

“If Laarus’ power to resist this calling proves insufficient, it may be necessary to restrain him,” Bleys said quietly to Timotheus.  Tim nodded

“Earth. Mind. Fire,” Laarus read.  “These are runes of the Ancients…  The feeling is much stronger, as if… As if something were pushing at my senses trying to make itself felt more fully…”  The priest of Ra took a step towards the cave entrance, and Timotheus and Victoria stepped forwarded and gently took a hold of his arms.

“I think we should enter and investigate,” Laarus said.

“This is dangerous…” Bleys said.

“How can you trust something that compels you so?” Victoria asked. “That is, if it is not some holy calling?”

“It is not a holy calling… It is something… different,” Laarus spoke as if distracted, deep in thought. “Yes?”

“Yes what?” Timotheus asked.

“I hear… I sense… There is a voice… In my mind, a voice not my own…” The priest of Ra explained.

Bleys did not hesitate, but cast _resistance_ on Laarus to give the priest whatever aid he might need against a potentially malevolent will.

“We should go and come back in the morning when the light of Ra sheds light on this whole trench,” Victoria said.

“I am not leaving…” Laarus said. “There is something here… Something important… I must find out what…”

“Very well, converse if you must, but do it quickly because we should be going soon,” Bleys said.  “We should not camp here…”

“It says…” Laarus hesitated. “It says… ‘I swear by the Bones of the Earth there is no violence here that you do not bring with you…’ It is swearing by Geb.”

“Oh! Okay then… Let’s march right in!” Telémahkos mocked.

“They… It… He… wants to talk to me… To us… now…” Laarus continued to relay what the telepathic voice said. “Need it be now? ‘The definition of need is ever changing…’  It is now or never.”

“You trust this voice?” Timotheus asked.

Laarus nodded. “It swore by Geb… I am willing to put faith in this for now…”

“If you all think it’s safe, I am willing to go and see what is going on here…” Timotheus said, looking to the others.  Bleys had pulled Telémahkos and Victoria aside to discuss the matter out of earshot of Laarus.

“Well, I’m ambivalent,” Markos said. “I’ll do whatever the rest of the group decides…”

“It wants to grant us knowledge,” Laarus added, continuing to hear the voice. “And when I asked if it was for weal or woe, it said it depends on what knowledge we seek…”

“Maybe it’s an oracle like in the old stories!” Timotheus said, suddenly excited. He dropped Laarus’ arm.

“Alright, I will go,” Markos decided.

_…to be continued…_

-----------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This session was played in Maplewood, New Jersey on Sunday, November 25th, 2007.

(2) In trying to recreate the old 1E varying AC for a bulette to account for the vulnerability under its fin. I decide any time the thing was flanked there was a 50% chance of getting to aim for that soft spot under the fin which only had a +1 natural armor bonus as opposed to the +9 it had everywhere else.  As it was an old bulette, so I ruled that its hide was not quite as strong and thick as a younger healthier one.

(3) They dropped the statue in order to outrun the bulette. See Session #20

(4) These are references to battles in Sessions #14 and #7, respectively.


----------



## handforged

What will it be?...


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #21– “The Journey Home” (part 2 of 3)*

Bleys, Telémahkos and Victoria were still against going in to the mysterious cave, but Victoria deferred to the priest of Ra, and Telémahkos said he would stay behind with Dunlevey and guard the entrance.  

“Send Dunlevey back to camp to tell the others we might be a while and to help guard them from what other dangers may be around here,” Victoria said. “I will stay with you and guard the way in. I should not enter for I fear the prohibition against violence may exclude me.”

“You aren’t violent!” Timotheus complained.

“The ethos of my god is all about violence…” Victoria reasoned. 1

“You don’t have to come Bleys,” Markos said.

But the watch-mage shook his head. “I am obligated to do so…”

“Okay, remember everyone… Don’t attack anyone unless attacked first,” Timotheus warned as they began to march in, Laarus leading the way. “And we won’t be attacked if that voice was telling the truth, so we shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

“Victoria may be right about the violence,” Laarus said, and he walked back to hand his weapons to Telémahkos.  Markos followed suit, but Bleys and Timotheus refused to walk in unarmed.

The passage deep into the black rock narrowed, and the four young nobles could soon feel waves of heat coming up from the direction they headed, curving ever downward as the passage’s shape became that of a perfect isosceles triangle.

They had walked nearly twenty minutes when the increasingly unbearable heat was joined by the red glow at the end of the passage.  Beyond they could see it opened into a much larger chamber.  As they approached, Laarus saw runes above the portal. “Here Lies the Mind of Oberah,” he read.

“Who is that?” asked Markos.

“I do not know,” Laarus replied.  Bleys just shook his head.

Beyond the portal was a great round room, perhaps one hundred and fifty feet across.  It was lined with narrow vents in its stone floor from which blasted steam and sulfur.  The rounded ceiling was at least thirty feet at its apex. At the far end of the chamber was raised crescent of stone where there were more vents. It was about four feet off the floor of the rest of the cavern, like a stage.  Upon it sat a lone figure, but they could not make out much about it from where they were.  In the center of the chamber was a round stone set into the floor that glowed dim orange giving off waves of heat. It was perhaps two feet in diameter and rose less than a foot off the ground.

“What the hell are you grinning at?” Markos asked Timotheus as the two of them followed Laarus into the chamber. Bleys waited at the portal, wary.

“This place is great!” Tim’s grin widened.

“You look like the village idiot,” Markos replied with a look of disdain.

As they approached the stone in the middle of the chamber, Markos cast _detect magic_, but aside from what they brought with them nothing here radiating a dweomer.

“Odd…” Markos said aloud.

“You are the one that calls me? Compels me to come here?” Laarus called to the figure on the raised stone.  It was a wiry man with pruned dark skin wearing nothing but a loincloth, his legs crossed, and his eyes closed as if deep in concentration.  The man opened his eyes and calmly shook his head no.

“It was not you?” Laarus asked again.  The man shook his head again and pointed to the round stone in the middle of the chamber, and then closed his eyes once more, ignoring them.

“The stone…” Markos pointed as well.  “Try talking to the stone… Address it as Oberah…”

The priest of Ra looked to the stone and took a deep breath.  The hot air, swirling with tiny bits of ash stung his lungs, and fat beads of sweat poured down his shaven head.  He kneeled down and began to unlace his boots.

“What are you doing?” Markos asked.

“Taking off my boots…”

“Did it tell you to do that?  Should we all?” Timotheus asked, his good humor had dampened some in the extreme heat.

“It did not say,” Laarus replied.

Timotheus and Markos shrugged and began to undo their boots as well to be safe.  In the meantime, Laarus made to step on the glowing hot stone.

“Whoa! Wait! What are you doing?” Timotheus hopped toward Laarus awkwardly on one foot, a boot in his right hand.  Laarus paid him no mind and stepped on the stone, putting his feet together.  He felt the searing pain for a moment as his feet immediately began to sizzle and crack and blacken. He threw his head back as if in agony, his whole body swinging backward, but his knees locked and his feet welded to the hot stone.

“Laarus!” Markos stepped forward and Timotheus did the same.  Bleys the Aubergine came running into the chamber. Laarus looked up, but his eyes glowed with the orange of the stone, his head tilted in manner that was so unlike the young priest that chills ran down their spines despite the heat.

“Sons of Thricia…” A deep voice intoned from within Laarus body.  His mouth moved, but the voice was not his, as alien as the twitching of his mannerisms.  “Ever cautious are you…  When the wave crashes on Thrician soil it shall be those who act with alacrity that will find victory.”

“Are we supposed to say something back?” Timotheus asked Markos, looking back and forth from the possessed figure of Laarus and the scrawny mage.  Markos raised a hand and shook his head. 

The voice from within Laarus continued. “My people ignored the fertile savagery of the bloody earth and it led to their end.  The tide rises again…”

There was a long silence.  “How about now?” Tim asked.

“What do you want to say?” Markos hissed, annoyed.

“I don’t know…”

“My voice comes to you from afar… Across space and time,” The voice that was not Laarus said. “Through space and time and the planes… The connection grows tenuous.  You may ask me three questions.  Ask them now.”

Bleys and Markos fell to arguing over what should be asked of the oracle.

“We should ask where the next ‘pearl of power’ is,” Markos suggested.

“For the last time, they are not ‘pearls of power,’” Bleys said. 2  “Since we do not know the actual name of these pearls we cannot ask and be assured of an accurate answer. Also, what do you mean by ‘next’?  ‘Next’ in terms of what?”

“Well then, the closest…” Markos said.

“Without the name the question is pointless,” Bleys irritated.

“You know… It really seemed to suggest that we had a limited time to ask it questions,” Timotheus warned.  “You had better hurry…”

“The three questions we are very important, we cannot simply rush into this,” Bleys said.

“You have two questions…” The voice from within Laarus said.

Bleys’ head snapped towards the possessed priest and he furrowed his brow.

“I told you so,” Timotheus said.

“We’d better hurry with the remaining questions before we lose them as well,” Markos said.

“This is absurd,” Bleys replied. “Without proper time to craft pertinent questions whatever information we do get in answer may be more harmful than no answers at all…”

“Why don’t we ask, who is our primary enemy in this?” Markos suggested.

“In what?” Bleys asked in reply.

“In this ‘savage tide,’ whatever that is…” Markos clarified.  Bleys shrugged his shoulders.

“I will take that as a ‘yes,’” Markos said, and he turned to his cousin, teetering awkwardly on the burning stone, the painful looking charred stains on his feet slowly crawling to his ankles.  “Who is our primary enemy in this matter?”

There was a long silence and finally the voice came. “Too many to name, but you may begin with the Cults of the Beasts.”

“A useless answer,” Bleys said.  Markos sneered at him.

“Where should…” Timotheus began to ask a question, but Markos stopped him and looked to Bleys for approval.  The watch-mage shrugged again, “I have no objections.”

“Where should we go first to investigate this?” Timotheus asked.

“The tower of Stanislaw Torn,” the voice replied, and with that Laarus collapsed, falling off the stone and onto his knees.  Bleys immediately had his healer’s kit open and saw to the priest’s feet.

“What…? What happened?” Laarus croaked. His head was ringing, his stomach turned as if he had had one of his visions, though he coughed up no bile.

“You were the vessel for some oracle from beyond,” Timotheus said, helping him to sit up.

“It was some form of extraplanar entity,” Markos hypothesized.

“Oberah?” Laarus asked.

“We didn’t ask its name.  We only got three questions… Well, two questions, and that wasn’t one of them,” Timotheus quipped.

“Does this hurt?” Bleys poked at Laarus foot with a pin.  Laarus sat up and winced grabbing at his foot. Both feet were blackened and tender, but were not really burned.  He could not bear to put his boots back on yet, but he sensed that they would toughen up, though he was less sure about whether or not they’d stay blackened.

“Wise one, may I approach?” Markos was walking over to the meditating man while the other two helped Laarus to his feet.  The man said nothing.  “I will take you silence as consent.”

The man looked up and pointed to his temple and then to his mouth.

“A vow of silence?” Markos asked.  The man closed his eyes and bowed his head again.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’ Markos said.  Deciding there was nothing more to be gained here, Tim and Bleys helped Laarus back up to the entrance to the cave where Telémahkos and Victoria waited.  They were told of the events in the cavern below as they made their way back to the camp, smelling the delicious landshark steaks sizzling on the fire.

“It was an old one, so it’s a little tougher than usual, but still… Damn good!” Kermit said between bites of a strip of the monster meat.

Over dinner, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland discussed what they knew of the Beast Gods, supplemented by Bleys and Laarus’ knowledge of the Ancients and Agon’s Realm.

“Didn’t those clues we found in Dalvan’s tomb mention the ram-headed god?” Markos asked. 3

“I believe so,” Bleys confirmed. “And it is said Agon had the head of a ram, at least according to some of the stories…”

“And there was the mention of the frog god of the bullywugs, right?” Markos’ mind was working now.  It was during these times that he was too excited to be working at a puzzle to think about insulting anyone.

“And didn’t we see the sign of Hathor in the minotaur maze?” Timotheus asked.

“The Baphoment Stone Maze,” Bleys said.  “Yes.” 4

_. . .to be continued. . ._

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Anhur’s portfolio includes war, death in combat, glory and victory.

(2) A proper name for the pearls like the one that allegedly turned at least half the populace of Kraken’s Cove into savage frogmen has been an on-going point of contention in the campaign (both in and out of game).

(3) This is a reference to scraps of paper pasted onto the wall of the treasure chamber of Dalvan’s tomb.  You can view them here.

(4) The party entered and then quickly left the Baphomet Stone Maze in Session #14.


----------



## handforged

Yay, crazy oracle that actually makes the party think quickly.  Didn't Bleys hear the guy tell them at the beginning that they take too long to do things?

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> Didn't Bleys hear the guy tell them at the beginning that they [shouldn't] take too long to do things?
> 
> ~hf




I assumed you meant "shouldn't" take too long. . . 

Yes, he heard it, but in his defense are two factors:

1) He did not know _exactly_ how long.
2) He figured that a too hastily asked question could prove more misleading or dangerous than asking no question at all.


----------



## BlackCat

*Beast Gods*

As long as we're clear that Bast had NOTHING to do with this. Nothing whatsoever. Move along. Nothing to see here. One of Her priests did NOT have a companion that freed the Ram Headed God. Nope. Nuh uh. I'll deny it if you ask me.


----------



## handforged

No, I meant it without the shouldn't.  But the meaning is basically the same.  The oracle told them that, "they take too long to do things."  He also warned them that, "they [shouldn't] take too long to do things."  Overall the gist is the same.  I understand Bleys's reluctance to ask questions quickly, I just thought that he might have been one to follow instructions more carefully.

~hf


----------



## Rastfar

> Didn't Bleys hear the guy tell them at the beginning that they take too long to do things?






> I understand Bleys's reluctance to ask questions quickly, I just thought that he might have been one to follow instructions more carefully.




Well, I see it like this:

Bleys does not trust that all _Oracles_ (if that's what we wanna call it...) are omnisicent.
Bleys does not trust that all _Oracles_ are benevolent (or at least not malevolent).
Bleys does not trust what is clearly NOT divine or arcane.
Bleys does not trust that Laarus is wholly sane (or at least not being manipulated).

The priest of Ra - King of the Gods - admits that he receives visions from a source that is not derivative of Ra.  That disturbs Bleys.

Bleys does not trust a random encounter in the middle of NOWHERE in the Disputed Territories that happens to '_call_' Laarus to a random cave to give the rest of them information.  (If it sounds to good to be true, it is...)

Bleys does not trust a 'voice' that has been waiting for time innumerable just for this exact moment, and NOW all of a sudden has a tentative grasp on its line of communication that it can not converse or be patient just a while longer...

Bleys does not trust a random naked man who won't talk but lives in the random cave with no food, water, or clothing.....

Being a Diviner, Bleys is wary of the power of information, or its opposite, and considers all these things when engaging in any decision-making process.  He is methodical (perhaps to a fault -   ) in both his approach to his Fighter class and Wizard class.

Bleys DOES like to follow directions, but must respect those issuing the orders....


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #21– “The Journey Home” (part 3 of 3)*

Anulem, the 7th of Ese - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

A week later, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland were in Wesmearshire.  The intervening time had been spent moving steadily northward, sometimes east and sometimes west, seemingly at Kermit’s whim.  They spent their meal breaks and time around camp endlessly discussing a party name, but could not even agree on the necessity of a name.  Laarus and Victoria were against any sort of name at all. 

“If we are to have a name, then let us be named as is the tradition when children are named here in Thricia, rather than be so arrogant as to name ourselves,” Laarus said.

“It does seem like a foolish exercise,” Victoria insisted.

But the others did not want to get stuck with a name someone else came up with, and so several possibilities were bandied about.  Finally, ‘the Sons of Thricia’ became the name least objectionable to the group, though no actual vote was held. 1

Three days after the battle with the landshark, they caught sight of two of large wagons full of coal, pulled by immense oxen, and led by a group of dwarves, halflings, gnomes and two humans.  They were fording the River Takken, heading east, while the Signers and their hirelings were skirting the western shore of it. The coal wagons were headed towards a route that would be easy for their wagons to get past the Border Rift, but were worried about assaults by bandits.   They were called ‘The Coal Black Riders’.

“We have to get through Throat Leech Pass in order to get to New Harbinger from here,” the dwarf named Werkal told Markos and Tim, who were chosen to ride ahead and parley with the merchants.  Werkal had a brown beard stained black by coal dust and bright blue eyes behind his blackened face.  He wore studded leather and carried a battle-axe over his shoulder. “We know there is an old ambush point that overlooks the pass, so if your group wanted… You could keep whatever loot you found there if you accompany us and then go ahead and take out the bandits before we arrive at the pass, taking them by surprise.  We cannot afford to do so ourselves and leave the wagons unprotected.” 

Markos and Timotheus brought this offer back to the others, but only Telémahkos and Timotheus were immediately eager to do it. 

“I have a letter to deliver to Jacoba from Ethan,” Bleys explained. 2 The route these dwarves intended to take would avoid the Border Shires completely.  Kermit refused to go with them if they decided to go, saying he did not sign on to go there, but to guide them to and from the Border Shires.

After a brief discussion it was agreed that if not for the message they would have accompanied the Coal Black Riders, but as it was they could not.  Timotheus rode back to give them the news.

“Eh, that okay… We weren’t really expecting you to help anyway, but figured we’d ask…” the dwarf grew gruff. 

“Well, next time you are in Sluetelot make sure you all swing by Death & Taxes,” Timotheus said, smiling apologetically. “We’ll make sure to leave you a standing round of drinks there.”

“Yeah, sure… So what do you call yourselves?” Werkal asked.  “You know, so we can say…”

“Timotheus Smith and his Mystery Men,” Tim replied with a big smile.

Three days later as they spotted the western end of the Border Rift on the gray horizon the young nobles were clobbered with a torrential rain.  It was the first time it had rained since they left for the Disputed Territories, and whatever relief it brought to them was soon forgotten in the relentless of the downpour over the next few days.

The crude sledge the statue was being dragged on had to be refastened with ropes every few miles, as it increasingly fell apart. It also held the weight of the landshark’s head, preserved for later display as a trophy, but currently under a spare dirty woolen blanket.

Crossing the River Takken on the ferry, they collapsed in Kermit’s cottage in Tunbury, some sleeping out in the small hay-covered barn that served as Duck-hunter’s den.  The next day Kermit was paid an estimate of what his share would be with an agreement that if it turned out that the actual amount once everything was appraised and sold would mean he had underpaid by more than twenty-five silver pieces 3 then he wanted the rest sent to him, but that if it turned out he was overpaid at all, or underpaid by less than that amount, he would be satisfied.  Bleys trusted his rough arithmetic and agreed to this on behalf of the group.

By afternoon they were being led into Thistlewoodshire by a stout halfling riding a donkey.  Pigeons had been sent back and forth and Jacoba the Brown was alerted of their coming. Tambur was to guide them to Ficklebrook Well.

Jacoba the Brown was zaftig.  She had a pleasing round face and apple cheeks and hair cut short at her chin She showed deep dimples when she smiled. She looked almost pink in her pallor. She was not much taller than the tallfellow halflings of the local shire.   She had a low cottage built amid a cluster of burrows along a thin lazy river. Halflings of all ages began to gather to see the landshark head as it was pulled up to her house, and there were coos of admiration for the prowess in defeating such a monster.

Jacoba greeted them effusively, and recognized Markos and Laarus from functions associated with House Curen, as she was a noble from House Brill who also pledged fealty to that great house.  Once they were inside and could admit that Ethan the Pearl sent them her demeanor changed a bit.

“I am happy that Ethan has worthy priests and warriors to aid in his noble cause, but I must warn you as I am sure he did…” The teapot in the kitchen began to squeal and she stood to attend to it, but stopped and looked at each of them. “You can risk no indiscretion on this matter… Your own safety, that of your loved ones and the hope of victory over such evil forces counts on it.” 

“What can you tell us about Delorius Nathanlus?” Bleys asked when Jacoba returned with the tray of tea and biscuits.

“Last I heard she was in Neergaard, raising coin from disaffected nobles there… Or at least trying… in order to fund her schemes,” Jacoba replied. “She is no longer associated with… her former associates, and if she were to return to Thricia she would likely be arrested.”

“Do you know the name Stanislaw Torn?” Bleys asked.

“Hmm… Yes, it does sound familiar…” Jacoba said. “Does he not have some association with the Vandermoks?  I think I heard that he fathered some Vandermok child… a daughter.  That family always has some kind of dispute and controversy going on…”

“It is Maeve?  Is Maeve his daughter?” Timotheus asked, happy that he was putting clues together.

“Maeve the Mauve? No…” Jacoba shook her head with a smile.  “Everyone knows who her parents are… The rumor is regarding someone unknown… Or less known child of that house… It is hard for me to stay on top of the noble gossip being out here in the Border Shires…” She sighed.  “Sometimes I miss the comforts of home and the noble life, but then I remember…”

She stopped and looked around.  “Well… I have no pleasant way to put it…”

“Then put it unpleasantly, we don’t mind,” Timotheus replied.

“Oh, I just am not enamored of the superficial obligations of the noble life,” Jacoba said with a weak smile.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Markos said.  “Is there other news you can share with us?”

“Yes, what news on the Dwarf Wall?” Bleys asked.

Jacoba the Brown explained that recent news coming out of the east was that the Kingdom of Herman Land was now enforcing tougher laws and restrictions upon indentured servants.  “It is a kind of de facto slavery, according to the outcry of followers of Nephthys,” she said.

“And this is due to the war effort?” Victoria of Anhur asked.

“Yes… Ostensibly…” Jacoba said.

“Then the Black Islands have already won,” the militant replied.

“Anything more local?” Bleys asked.

There was word of some kind of riot in the harbor district of Sluetelot, a huge brawl involving or amid the dockworkers there, but Jacoba had no details.

As it was Remembrance Day, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland spent the rest of the afternoon in mournful remembrance of friends and family who have fallen in battle, led in prayer by Victoria.  In the evening they broke open a bottle of wine and Jacoba arranged for a small cask of ale to be brought to them, as the shared more joyful memories of those brothers-in-arms.

During a quiet moment, Bleys the Aubergine passed on Ethan the Pearl’s letter to Jacoba the Brown and she was very grateful for his effort in delivering it.

The next day Brennis the Outrider arrived on his warpony to take them eastward through what remained of the Border Shires and towards the main road north to Sluetelot. 4

“Look!” Telémahkos uncovered the landshark head to gloat to the halfling guardian.

“What a fearsome beast!’ Brennis declared. “You killed this?”

“_We_ did,” Timotheus answered stepping over, putting is fists to his hips.

“Amazing…You must truly be fearless to have slain it,” Brennis said with a smile. 5

Along the way he told them news of House Roose recruiting a band of halfling archers with the blessing of House Kilcullen.  They would be joining the fight being taken to the hobgoblins gathering in the Schrabs.  Afterwards, Timotheus could not stop jabbering about how they should ride up there and join the fight themselves.


Balem, the 12th of Ese - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Four days later the young noble Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland arrived at South Wall, the great barricade that protected the Sluetelot Canal and the town beyond.  The days were overcast and the weather was growing cooler, as autumn was arriving.  They had ridden past Bog End without stopping, and their travel up the Beach Road was without incident, causing them to jokingly doubt the rumors they had heard of the dangers common to it. 6

As usual, they were allowed to ride past the line of farmers and tradesman waiting to cross Old Town Bridge.

“Names? Business?” The guard at the bridge gate asked, barely paying attention because he noted their noble mean. 

“Call us ‘the Sons of Thricia’,” Telémahkos replied. “Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland, and defeaters of a monstrous landshark!” He whipped the blanket off the monster’s head with a dramatic flourish.

“Wow!”  Others gathered to have a look and a murmur went through crowd and guards alike.

As they rode over the metal bridge and down into Sluetelot they noticed something strange about the town.  There were three stylized pillars painted in a light blue color on various buildings and structures.  Some were tall and easily seen, such as those on the brick wall of the bridge support, and others were small and scrawled in various places.

“Excuse me, sir…” Bleys stopped a farmer drawing an ox that they were drawing up with,  

“I ain’t no knight,” the old man winked.

“What are these pillars drawn throughout the town?”  the watch-mage asked ignoring or not noticing the man’s levity.

“Well, young master… Ain’t ya heard? ‘The Day of the Pillars’ they’re calling it,” the old man said, his watery eyes growing wide. “Everyone woke up early last month and these things were all over town… On the harbor fortress, the bridges, the homes of nobles and from what I hear even some temples… And… If people are to be believed… This happened all over Thricia… At the same time on the same day… But ain’t no one’s been caught… No one knows what it means or who did it or why… At least no one is saying…”

“No rumors? Stories?” Telémahkos asked.

“Well, some folk thing it had something to do with the dockworker’s strike and the brawl that erupted soon after, but I don’t think so…” the man said.

Bleys the Aubergine looked to Laarus of Ra gravely.  They made their way to Death & Taxes near the center of Old Town, and noticed more of the stylized pillars drawn here and there, some washed away, but leaving a faint ghost of an outline behind.

Victoria, Timotheus and Tymon agreed to bring the horses out to the stables in New Sluetelot while the others carried the gear up to the suites.  Bleys noted a set of pillars painted on the side of Barakis’ house as they did this. 7 

Barton Digits greeted them effusively, and in no time he and Telémahkos were making arrangements for the landshark head to be mounted in the common room. It would be a gift to the inn if Barton agreed to put a plaque explaining their bravery below it.

Exhausted, the young nobles collapsed in their beds to catch some rest, over dinner they would meet with Euleria to begin the process of liquidating their loot and determine their next course of action.

*End of Session #21* 

-------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) The issue of a name for the group has been an on-going debate both in and out of game, and just before this session there had been a series of emails discussing the issue and later a thread on our messageboards that spilled back and forth between in and out of character reasoning.  While no one protested against the adoption of the name ‘the Sons of Thricia’ (not even Victoria), it was more because the topic had grown tiresome and most wanted to drop it, at least temporarily.  This would not be last time the issue arose.

(2) Bleys the Aubergine offered to carry the letter in InterSession #18.1 and received it in Session #20.

(3) Remember, Aquerra has a silver standard so twenty-five silver pieces is a significant amount.

(4) Brennis the Outrider led the party through the Border Shires to meet Kermit back in Session #9.

(5) During these naming discussions, it became common for ‘the Fearless Manticore Killers’ to be brought up as an example of a name the players hated that they were stuck with for a time (those who read ‘Out of the Frying Pan’ story hour know the story behind the name and how the party later changed it to a name they came up with themselves, ‘The Keepers of the Gate’).  The table burst out laughing when I had Brennis say this, knowing however much of a Rat Bastard  DM™ I might be I would not saddle them with the name ‘the Fearless Landshark Slayers’.

(6) The party heard of the dangers of the Beach Road back in Session #2.

(7) Remember, Barakis the Brown’s house is right across the wide street from Death & Taxes.


----------



## Ciaran

el-remmen said:
			
		

> (5) During these naming discussions, it became common for ‘the Fearless Manticore Killers’ to be brought up as an example of a name the players hated that they were stuck with for a time (those who read ‘Out of the Frying Pan’ story hour know the story behind the name and how the party later changed it to a name they came up with themselves, ‘The Keepers of the Gate’).  The table burst out laughing when I had Brennis say this, knowing however much of a Rat Bastard  DM™ I might be I would not saddle them with the name ‘the Fearless Landshark Slayers’.



Tim would kill to be part of a group with an awesome name like "the Fearless Manticore Killers".


----------



## handforged

Timotheus Smith and his Mystery Men, I love it!  Now if only you were a RBDM enough to make that come back to bite them in the butt.

..rubbing hands in anticipation..

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

Dearest Readers:

I have an InterSession to post before going on to Session #22, so expect another update by the end of the weekend, however, grad school crunch-time has arrived which means after this next update there will likely not be another one until the end of May or perhaps not even until the beginning of June.  My apologies as I have 20 page paper on the political implications of Aelred of Reivaulx's _Spiritual Friendship_ and  a 8 to 10 page paper on rap music as contemporary example of 'discursive lyric' to write, and also take my comps on the 3rd.  I am even canceling our regularly scheduled session for the week of 9th of May, so tomorrow's session will be the last for a month.

In the meantime, as always, feel free to talk among yourselves.   

-- El-Remmenem


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #21.1 – “Prelude to Intrigue & Alarm”* 1

The buzz of mead and some shots of fine dwarven spirits made Telémahkos’ head waver pleasantly as he leaned against the outhouse wall, relieving himself. Even from within the dark secluded shack behind the inn he could hear the revels of the common room. As usual, the party at Death & Taxes was roaring, with musicians, dancing, furtive groping and card games. Word has gotten around about the slaying of the great landshark, and more than one person had called for him to tell the story as drinks were purchased for him.   Despite the ache in his bones from the long journey north, and his sleeping companions up in the suites, Telémahkos could not resist the call to fame.

One particularly lovely lady had asked him to tell her the story more privately, and she awaited him back in the common room. Telémahkos lowered and smoothed his toga, cinching his sash, and was startled as he opened the outhouse door to see a figure standing there. 

"You get the best apricots this time of year," Floris Tenbrook said. He was oblivious to the light rain, looking at the piece of fruit in his hand. His other hand rested on the hilt of his rapier. He stood with a casual demeanor, his tall sinewy frame a bit slouched, his cream colored billowing blouse wrinkled and stained in more than one place with a mix of apricot juice and wine. He looked to Telémahkos with a smile, his brown hair slicked back and dotted with beads of rainwater reflecting in the light of the lanterns hanging under the eaves of the inn. "Find any apricots down in the Disputed Territories?"

Telémahkos immediately reached for his rapier, his senses coming to him quickly as a rush of adrenaline burned off his light drunkenness, but relaxed when he saw it was Floris. He smirked and settled for resting his own hand near the hilt of his rapier. Telie's fingers absently traced the intricate filigree of the Steel Whip's basket-hilt. 

"Too hot and dry for such things down south. If you wish to walk in this refreshing air, I would be happy to do so but otherwise I am heading inside and away from the lovely scents of the outhouse," Telémahkos answered beginning to move as if making to walk around the inn and away from the area.

"No, no, back here is just fine. No one is going to disturb us," Floris gestured with his head and Telémahkos could see the silhouette of two figures (maybe more) crowding the doorway back into the inn. "No need to worry that we'll be overheard."  He turned his back to Telémahkos and took four or five steps along the patch of grass that was adjacent to the brick path leading to the building, and then turned back around, clearly giving Telémahkos the room he needed to get away from the immediate vicinity of the outhouse.  He took a big bite of the fruit with a flourish.

"So. . ." Floris said with his mouth full. "I would have thought you would have stayed away longer, what with your failure at the Cove. . ." 2

Telémahkos looked about a bit dramatically as if still worried they might be overheard. He replied in a whisper, "You are thrice bold, friend. First, for admitting your knowledge of the plot, second for telling me I have failed, and third, for the presumed threat of the statement… Be that as it may, I am no assassin not to mention I share the company of a priest of Ra. You have no doubt heard of them before? They are the ones presiding at court and other legal proceedings…"  Telémahkos smiled without rancor and continued. “Let’s ignore my disinterest in the arts of villainy and the moral compass of my companions and stick with the facts. When we arrived at the cove it had already been torn apart… By the time we encountered what we sought, we were in sorry shape and our militant of Anhur quickly offered an assurance of truce under the awful circumstances we shared. We then raced off to save the Vanderborn manse as good heroes should…”   


Telémahkos straightened himself to look young Tenbrook in the eyes. “So now, good sir, how do we proceed? I want nothing to do with being a lackey and killer. But we still share a common enemy. Shall we consider this a boon that we may benefit from in the future or do we need to waste worry, time and maybe even blood with the fact that you misjudged me?”

"Villainy? Plot?" Floris laughed overloud and now, away from the outhouse, the smell of liquor on the young noble was nearly overwhelming. "My dear, Telémahkos. . ." He draped an arm around Telémahkos's shoulders and slouched with easy affection. "What did you think your were getting involved in? I thought you were interested in playing . . . I thought you wanted to aid yourself, your House and Thricia? I thought you said you were loyal to the Trumpies and interested in getting rid of the Barrel-makers 3 and other foreign influence on our trade and internal business? How do you think it's done?" 

He gave another laugh, which bordered on a cough as he slid off Telémahkos and took a few stumbly steps and spun around. "Anyway, it much too late to pull out now, no matter what your excuses are. . . People know you and your friends were there and most assume you did all that killing. . . the question only remains. . . for whom did you do that killing? I am sure each side thinks its for the other. . ."

Telémahkos’ expression grew sardonic. “So each side is trying to figure it out? It would be a shame if in our wake, the trail led to you. What exactly is your point? While I enjoy life and limb, I have little else to lose, and I am pretty certain that with a concerted effort I could make a decent start at making your life pretty miserable before sailing off for one of the quaint kingdoms far, far away…” Telémahkos covered his mouth with a fist and cleared his throat. “Have you forgotten that I am a ne’er-do-well with a father that is excitedly grooming more suitable heirs? Are you perhaps wondering which of the forty or fifty girls and women I have fΩcked you might hold over my head? I either have weak seed or am exceedingly careful so there are no bastards for me to worry about.  Or perhaps you think will win easily. You are so well-connected that you will bring me down without hardly trying, as though you are swatting a gnat, but regardless I will not do your bidding. Any other thoughts?”

Floris Tenbrook laughed so hard he hawked up a big glob of phlegm that ended up hanging off a few blades of grass.  "Master Briareus, you have me all wrong! I don't want to do anything to you. I just want to secure your aid, or failing that, I want to warn you that other people and groups _will_ want to see you come to harm." He stood up straight and got more serious.  "It wounds me that you would turn against _me_ so quickly when it was _you_ that let _us_ down. . . And, besides, there is little you can say about me or accuse me of that many other people do not already believe to be true of me. . . I would be surprised if it would make much difference. If I had some personal issue with you then I would challenge you to a duel leave you sufficiently humiliated, and take Kilgante's sword, which I see you have taken to wearing rather brazenly…" 

Floris took a seat on a nearby stone bench. "The task you were given was given as a means of seeing if you could be trusted, as much as it was about accomplishing it. . . You have to understand, that now your trustworthiness is questioned, and if you go around threatening people with 'talking' it is only going to be cast further into doubt… I want to be your friend, Telémahkos. . . Not your enemy. . ."

“Well, considering what we found at the cove and what we were able to accomplish … if you were with us, you would understand why it is an offense to say we failed. I was not aware of what I was sent to do. While that is a result of my own ignorance, you were aware of this when you sent me, thus, the idea that you and your ‘friend’ sent me off to kill someone obviously the better of me and my companions can look an awful lot like a set up.  And as for talking, I would do no such thing unless it became clear that you and your friends were doing the same with our various friends and enemies among the barrels and lanterns and heralds.” 

Telémahkos ran a hand through his hair, attempting to look amiable.  “Look, I simply refuse to be a pawn. However, if you are the enemy of the one you sent me against, we are certainly on the same side … sort of. But, try to get me to be a killer again, and I doubt things will go well whether with the mission or our working relationship. If that is your only use for me we are at an impasse. However, if there are other ways to work against them I am interested. But forgive me if I believe we are at a point in our relationship where mutual caution seems like the most pragmatic approach.” 

He paused, looking at Floris, who held his head as he looked down at the grass listening.  “And I am always up for learning a thing or two about fencing if you have any interest in sharing your secrets,” Telémahkos added, not sure how to interpret Floris’ demeanor and trying to add levity.

"You should not assume that I knew what you would be doing when I sent you to our mutual friend," Floris replied, looking up. "I only knew after the fact, and no matter what the reason for your failure to accomplish it, _not_ doing it or convincing your companions to do it leaves you in an unenviable predicament. Our friends will not help you because they feel you let them down and did not see to make an explanation or apology afterwards. The barrel-makers will assume you purposefully disrupted what was happening in the cove, and you wearing the _known_ magical sword of their agent will not help, and finally the lanterns, well. . . the one you let get away is going to tell whatever story about you and your companions that she needs to in order to save her own skin. . ."  He sighed and stood again. "I was not trying to set you up. I thought we could count on you the way we used to count on Demosthenes. 4 He _never_ asked questions or shirked his duty. But now you stand alone, and until you make the proper overture to someone . . . be it barrel-maker or trumpie, or even that old pirate-bitch and her lickspittles, you are going to remain that way and you and your companions will remain in peril." 

Floris began to step towards the inn. "I hope you make the choice that will allow us to remain friends and become even like brothers . . . but if not, rest assured, that whatever _has_ to happen, will be business. . . "  He stopped by the door and turned. "For the sake of appearances, I expect you to buy me at least one drink and play a hand or two cards at my table, though you should wait a few minutes before following me in…"

Telémahkos watched him go and then sat on the bench. He looked up at the night sky and watched the rainfall.  A few moments later, he planted a fake smile on his face and headed back into the inn and played the part of the fool for the rest of the night, careful to keep his wits but appearing to recklessly indulge in singing, dancing, gambling and carousing.  Affecting an air of noble superiority, he eschewed any romantic encounters in such a away that his arrogance might seem attractive if he should choose to seek out the interested woman once again.

Near dawn he lay down to sleep, but tossed and turned in misery never catching a wink.

*End of InterSession #21.1*

-------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This InterSession was played out on our messageboards between Sessions #21 and #22.  The events therein take place on the night the Signers arrived in Sluetelot.

(2) The party visited Kraken’s Cove and were witness to the immediate aftermath of the massacre there. Telémahkos had been recruited to go there and kill Harliss Javell. See Sessions #6 through #8.

(3) Floris is referring to the Coopers and the Herald’s Guild thieving organizations.

(4) Demosthenes Briareus was one of Telémahkos’ older brothers, presumed killed in the loss of the ship known as The Siren.


----------



## handforged

It looks like Telie may be in a little deeper than he thought he was...

Nemm, good luck with all you finals.  I am just finishing grad school and know the kind of stress involved.

~hf


----------



## handforged

Is anybody out there?  What do you guys think will happen with Telie and the underworld?  Where will the group be off to next?

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

Just a quick note to say I have started working on the updates again amid preparing for my finals (tomorrow and Tuesday), and writing up Session #23 is taking a long time.  It is up to 17 pages and I am about 4/5 of the way through.  So I hope to be able to post an installment before our next session (Saturday, May 24th), but might even be able to put up two by then.



			
				handforged said:
			
		

> Is anybody out there?




While this thread was languishing on the 2nd and 3rd pages of this forum, I noticed that the number of page views was going steadily up (nearly 1000 in the last month), which makes me think there are a bunch of lurkers not making themselves known. . .   Stand up and be counted!



			
				handforged said:
			
		

> What do you guys think will happen with Telie and the underworld?  Where will the group be off to next?
> 
> ~hf




The next installment will give a little hint as to what will happen with Telie and the underworld. . . but as for where the party is going next. . . No where for a while. . . and you shall see the reason for that as well. . .


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #22– “Intrigue & Alarm” (part 1 of 4)* 1

Teflem, the 13th of Ese - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The next day the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland gathered for brunch in one of the suites, gorging themselves on buttered rolls, eggs and spicy sausage, fritters and beans, and washing it down with fresh apple juice and watered wine.  Food tasted so good after their long weeks in the wilderness and eating the strange and bland food of the Ray-Ree.

Earlier in the morning, as the market stalls of the plaza filled up, Bleys the Aubergine went out and used his _announce_ spell. “I am Bleys the Aubergine!  Watch-mage. If you have need of my services meet me at Death & Taxes!”  The gathering crowds looked at him strangely, though some folks applauded, and line of children followed him at a distance giggling when he did this three more times around the town.

As they ended the meal, still picking here or there, Victoria glowering at Telémahkos who was drinking too much at breakfast, even for him… Euleria arrived in her neat earth tone clothes over her narrow boyish frame, carrying her ledger.  She was accompanied by Brand, the party’s porter and Euleria’s assistant.  He was a boy of about fourteen summers and one good growth spurt away threatening to become a tall and broad man.  He was quiet and clearly unsure of himself, but polite.

There was a ton of logistics to go over.  Items had to be reappraised, buyers had to be found, messages needed to be sent out, taxes to be assessed and the share for the noble houses to be determined. Euleria presented them with a detailed list of expenses she had handled in their absence and said she would make an inventory of all the loot they had brought back. She was given access to the vaults the party’s valuables were put in – a service the inn provided at a small fee for its richer guests; a cost covered by the gift of the rented suites from House Tenbrook.

“Have you considered presenting one or more of the things you have recovered as a gift to the University of Thricia or some other institution?” Euleria asked.

“Why would we do that?” Timotheus asked.

“Oh…” Euleria Finch was rarely flustered, but this time she stammered in trying find a polite way to continue. “Well, sometimes nobles who go adventuring… There is a tradition of giving gifts of certain artifacts recovered, whether they be historical in nature or of some exotic or intrinsic beauty that does the recipient honor.  It increases the prestige of the institution and also of the giver.  I thought the University might be a good place to begin…”

“How about after you do the inventory you make a suggestion of what might make for a good gift and we’ll decide then,” Telémahkos suggested.  The others agreed.

“What about the statue?” Markos said.2

“We’ll wait and see,” Victoria replied.

“There was also a message from Lord Falkoner Wetherwax asking you to come visit him regarding an important naval matter?” Euleria informed them.  The young nobles all looked at each other.

“A summons?” asked Bleys.

“No, it was not formal,” Euleria replied. “Shall I send word as to when to expect you?”

“Yes, but let us wait until we know how long we be remaining here in Sluetelot,” Bleys replied.

Euleria passed a message on to Timotheus from his father regarding the one that they had sent via Kermit while in the Disputed Territories. 3  It read: _Thank you for the warning, son. I am proud of your vigilance and loyalty, but all is under control.  Our alliance with House Roose in this matter is leading to a quick end to this hobbo resurgence.  Make your name abroad with my blessing, and know that when you do return a place of well-deserved command awaits you._ Timotheus whooped and pumped his fist with glee.

“Do we tip you, Euleria?” Tim asked with an unself-conscious smile. “I forget…”

“Um… No sir… That won’t be necessary, I already tipped the messenger,” she replied.

The party discussed their plans to commission various masterwork weapons and armor, 4 and Euleria recommended the dwarven quarter of Old Town.  The Achbor Brothers Smithy had an excellent reputation.  “Though you may be able to purchase things in the Havesting Smithy, being of noble blood.” Afterwards, Timotheus headed right to the smithy, accompanied by Telémahkos, while Victoria and Laarus headed over to the temple of Anhur. Markos decided to wander the harbor and see what he could find out about the dockworker’s strike and the alleged riot.  “If nothing else, I want to smell sea air,” he said, but before leaving he pulled Euleria aside, as Bleys walked over to borrow Brand.

“I am not quite sure how to ask this, uh… Mistress Finch? Uh…”

“Euleria is fine, sir,” the party’s steward replied. “Or Miss Finch, if you must…”

“Oh I mustn’t… I mean, that’s my whole point, I uh…” Markos fumbled. “And you can call me Markos, I mean, if that is alright… If not all right in some situations, I understand… I uh… I am just not very good at this manners and etiquette stuff… As you can see, and I was hoping you might be able to help me learn which fork to use and how to address people… Normally someone of noble blood would get this training from when they were young, but in my case…  and so I am often inappropriate since I hate most noble people, anyway…” 5

“Well, I am already giving Brand lessons in etiquette, and I must say he is learning very quickly,” Euleria answered. “But I am sure you would not want to have lessons as the same time as him.  It would not be appropriate…”

“No… no! That’s fine! I don’t mind and do not want to monopolize your time,” Markos said, grateful for the opportunity.

Bleys the Aubergine led the young porter into the market where they purchased a bucket of whitewash and a couple of brushes, bringing the purchases back to the home of Barakis the Bold.  As they walked through the garden gate, Bleys noticed a silhouette move behind the curtain.  There was someone inside.  He gestured for Brand to wait by the gate, and he stepped quickly and quietly towards the door, keeping his eyes on the window.  There were voices and more than one person within.  The door opened and there stood Sir Abberd the Argent.

Bleys’ former master was nearly as tall as his student, with long dark hair and smoky eyes and a well-trimmed beard. His watch-mage’s robes were a silvery-gray lined with white and black.  He wore a short sword piece-knotted at his side, but held a gnarled staff in his hand.

“Ah, good! You’re here! We were about to call for you,” Abberd said, smiling and clamping a hand on Bleys’ shoulder drawing him into the house.

“We?” Bleys asked, but as he stepped in he could see who.  There stood Leisel of Isis, Darbold the Gay, Garkhan the Green 6, and another bearded man in muted red watch-mage’s robes and cloak of red and white feathers. Bleys thought he looked familiar, but did not quite recognize him.

Garkhan the Green was a slouched old man with a long scruffy iron-colored beard and shaggy hair.  He wore sloppy green robes decorated with black embroidered moons and stars. There was a faint odor about him.

“You know Garkhan of course,” Abberd said. “And Leisel and Darbold…”  They both smiled, though Leisel’s smile seemed more genuine than the big-grin of the corpulent bard. “And this is Cwell the Carmine… More commonly called ‘the Hawk’.” 7 The tall man nodded in recognition, his looks hidden by his auburn beard, his feathered long hair and a narrow scar that bisected his left eyebrow.  He wore a scimitar, and it was clearly his composite bow and quiver resting on the kitchen counter.

“My apologies,” Bleys told the collected spellcasters, with deference. “I thought there were intruders in the house, that is why I came to the door.  “If I am unwelcome, I shall leave… I only wanted to whitewash the building as to get rid of the pillars drawn upon it.”

“No! You are wanted,” Abberd’s smile was narrow line of glistening white teeth. “Didn’t I just say we were about to summon you?”

Bleys excused himself for a moment and went back out to Brand, putting him to work while he went back in to confer with the watch-mages and the two members of the Sluetelot council.

“Since you and your companions will be using this place as a headquarters and you are back from whatever adventures you were just on, it has been decided that you are to take Barakis the Brown’s position temporarily… Very temporarily actually, as we have received word that the Academy masters are currently seeking an applicant for the permanent position, but it would count as some of your required service and be a good experience for you.” 8

“I am honored to even be considered,” Bleys replied.

“It would only be for a few weeks at the most,” Leisel added.  “The local folks just need a stabilizing force, what with the recent events of the dockworkers strike and the ensuing riot – knowing there is a watch-mage around will do wonders to keep people calm and feel like they are being looked after.”

“Who shall be the permanent replacement?” Bleys asked.

“There are multiple candidates,” Abberd said.

“I accept,” Bleys replied, and Darbold mumbled something about wishing there were someone around with the time to do it who had more experience.  Bleys ignored the bard.

“I am sure Leisel and Darbold will give you all the help you need to handle the task before you,” Abberd the Argent said. “And Floris Tenbrook as well… He couldn’t make it, but the temporary appointment has his blessing as well.  In addition, Cwell here has offered to remain here for several days to help you through the ropes of what is expect of a stationed watch-mage.”

Cwell the Hawk nodded, and added, “And if you require any arcane training I can help you with that as well.”

“Again, I am honored…” Bleys the Aubergine gave a shallow bow.

“And now I am called to Cyangroenel,” Sir Abberd said. “I am sorry my visit was so brief, but I will stop in on my way back if at all possible.” The master and apprentice shook hands.  “Give your niece my best wishes,” Bleys said. 9 Leisel also excused herself, being expected back at the temple of Isis, and Darbold took that opportunity to leave as well. He asked Bleys to walk him to the door.

“I just want to let you know that I was against your appointment,” the bard said.  “But, that being said, what concerns me most is the safety of Sluetelot, so if you need any help or have any questions, do not hesitate, I will help you with no bitterness…”

Bleys nodded and shook the bard’s hand firmly.  He turned from the door to see Cwell the Hawk rummaging around the shelves of Barakis’ sitting room, as Garkhan made to leave as well.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” Garkhan’s body moved with odd energy.  He scratched at his beard and re-adjusted his robes. “Best you downplay your being from Weirspierogen around here.  People don’t like it.” 10

“It has not come up yet while I have been here, but I will keep that in mind, Master Garkhan,” Bleys replied.  He bid the watch-mage of Weirspierogen adieu, and went to look to see what Cwell was doing.

“There have to be cigars around here somewhere,” the red-robed watch-mage said as he continued to look around.  Finally, he stopped and sighed.  “Maybe he was out of them when he died… Or Floris came and took them…”

“I paid a visit to you when my companions and I were in Tribunisport, but you were not to be found,” Bleys said. 11

“I believe in being pro-active about my position, I am not around a lot,” Cwell said. “Now… Tell me where you are at in your studies…” And so began a long detailed arcane conversation that would prepare Cwell to train Bleys.

Meanwhile, Telémahkos was laying down for a nap in one of the suites when a knock on the door dragged him up out of encroaching slumber.  Earlier he had parted ways with Timotheus after they spent some time in the narrow streets of the dwarven quarter.  He had looked into purchasing a new chain shirt, reinforced with dwarvencraft and able to absorb blows better, but did not have the coin currently to pay the down payment.  He was able to find someone in the market to paint new heraldry on a shield for him. 12  He left Timotheus having a conversation with an enthusiastic dwarf about making a heavy shield from the resilient hide of the landshark.13

“Maid service.” Telémahkos pulled on his toga, let her in and started walking back to the connecting room.  She went over to the table, collecting plates and cups into a basin.  Telémahkos spun around when he heard one of the plates shatter against the floor.  He hurried over as he saw the maid, a short plump lass, kneeling over the shards of a plate and holding her hand.  

“Are you okay?” Telémahkos asked as he knelt in front of her.  There was blood streaming from her hand, but she was also holding a smooth oval stone.  It was stained with her blood.  The young Briareus frowned, as the something seemed odd about the way the maid was crouched.  Her housecoat fell open and he saw that she wore leather armor beneath, but he did not also noticed the glint of the dagger in her other hand until it was too late.  “What the…?” Telémahkos’ mouth formed the words but no sound emerged.  In fact, both he and the maid were enveloped in some form of supernatural _silence_… If maid she was, for even as the blade came up and he batted it away instinctively, feeling it bite his hands and draw blood, he noticed her flesh begin to twist and change.  The excess fat began to melt away and the maid that Telémahkos vaguely recognized became a lithe woman of nearly equal height.  Her face was placid as she pulled a short sword from the basin.  Telémahkos panicked as the door to the suite swung open. He had not bolted it closed once he let the maid in.  There was a taller figure, a man wearing a long coat over a suit of leather armor, short sword in one hand, and the other reaching for a dagger from his bandoleer.

_…to be continued…_


----------



## el-remmen

--------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This session was played on Sunday, December 9th.

(2) This refers to the sardonyx statue they found in the secret treasure room in the lair of the Broken Circle (see Session #19), and that was severely damaged by travel and landshark (see Sessions #20, 21).

(3) See Session #16

(4) For Aquerra’s rules on masterwork weapons and armor, click here.

(5) Markos’ player is setting up spending skill points on ranks of Knowledge (etiquette).

(6) Garkhan the Green is the watch-mage of Weirspierogen. Bleys stayed with him for one night in the time between Sessions #8 and #9. (See InterSession #8.7)

(7) Cwell the Carmine is the watch-mage of Tribunisport.  Some watch-mages use their ‘color name’ less and less after they graduate from the Academy, taking on other appellations.

(8) Graduates of the Academy of Wizardry are required to do service for the Academy upon graduation to repay the institution.

(9) Sir Abberd the Argent is the uncle of the Margrave Katherine Schemerhorn.

(10) The towns around Drie-Hoek Bay have a long history of feuding that predates Thricia itself.

(11) See Session #5

(12) The heraldry: A copper dragon curled around a mountain on the lower left and a copper portcullis on the upper right - both are copper on black, which is the original heraldry of House Briareus. Telémahkos added, a black cat sitting up, facing left on silver on the upper left and black pips and background around silver dice on the lower right.

(13) This will be a masterwork shield.


----------



## handforged

Yikes!  This doesn't seem to be going well.  At least Darbold is being honest about his disapproval.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

Well. . . We had our first PC death this past Saturday.  It was the longest we've ever gone in an Aquerra game I've run without a PC death, and this one seems particularly sudden and unexpected.

I won't spoil it here by identifying the dead person, but industrious readers will eventually be able find out for themselves if they choose to.  All I ask is that no one else spoil the identity of the dead member of the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland by posting about it until after the story hour catches up with those events.

And now, another installment. . .


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #22– “Alarm & Intrigue” (part 2 of 4)*

Telémahkos screamed for help, but there was no sound. He leapt back, twisting to avoid the woman’s blade, crawling and rolling into the adjoining room.  As he grabbed _the Steel Whip_ from the table beside his bed, he looked up to see the female assassin leaping on the bed and swinging her blade.  The shock of the blow vibrated up his arm as he barely got the rapier in place to block the weapon.

The other assassin came running into the room and Telémahkos winced as his faked thrust was met with blow to the top of the head from the woman. As the other came to close him into the corner, Telémahkos dove through the corner window smashing the shutters as he went tumbling out.  He landed with a grunt in a bush in the garden one story below. A group of people walking by towards the market cried out with astonishment, but Telémahkos did not even notice them.  He rummaged in his sash and drew out a small clay vial and chugged down its contents.  A moment later he was _invisible_.  The man looked out the window for less than a moment, and then he was gone.  

Telémahkos hurried around the corner to the entrance of the inn and spied Victoria of Anhur and Laarus of Ra returning from their time at the temple and a quick look around the market.  He crept behind them as they entered the inn and went upstairs.

“Odd… Someone forgot to close the door to the suites properly,” Victoria commented when she noticed how easily it pushed open.  “Hello?” she called out.  She noticed the shattered plate, the basin and the blood.  “What happened here?”

“Psst!” Telémahkos hissed as he quietly stepped into the room behind the two priests.

“Yes, Laarus?” Victoria spun around, but the priest of Ra had done the same, a puzzled look on his face.

“That wasn’t me…” Laarus said, turning back around halfway and reaching for his flail.

“It’s me!” Telémahkos hissed.

“Telémahkos?” Laarus’ countenance grew even more puzzled.

“Yes!”

“Are you…?” Victoria began, but Laarus cut her off. “Why did you use the potion?”

“I was attacked!” Telémahkos said. He explained what happened; the maid that seemed to change, the magical silence.

“So it was our maid?” Laarus asked, as Victoria walked over to the window and looked out.

“Or someone disguised as her,” Telémahkos answered the priest.  “Regardless, they had swords…”

“You there!” Victoria called to someone in a small group pointing to the window.  “Did you see anyone running from the inn?”

“I saw someone in a white toga come flying out of the window and then disappear!” the townsperson called back.

“The other one was waiting in the hall?  Perhaps they are still hiding nearby!” Laarus of Ra marched into the hall. Telémahkos hung back in the doorway, still flush with the adrenalin of the attempt on his life.  He looked around from there, nervously.

Laarus pulled open a linen closet and there was the short round maid, gagged and bound.  He checked her hand for a wound, but there was none. “Telémahkos! Unbind her!” The priest commanded and walked over to the door to a set of suites further down the hall.

“Open up in the name of Ra!” Laarus commanded those inside, knocking firmly on the door with his forearm.  “Victoria! Check the other suite! That’s an order!” He told the militant as she came into the hall.  She nodded and opened the door to the other suite being used by the Signers and began to check it.  By this time Telémahkos was crouched over the unconscious waitress, cutting her bonds.

“What is it?” came a voice from the other side of the door Laarus was pounding on.

“Open up!”

“Who is it?” The voice asked with growing concern.

“You can see for yourself when you open the door,” Laarus replied.  “I am Laarus of Ra!”

“What’s going on?” The man said as he opened the door.  He was a middle-aged man in the clothes of a prosperous merchant, looking a bit bedraggled. 

“Anyone else in there?” Laarus asked. 

“No… What is happening?” the man asked, confused.  

Laarus Raymer did not answer.  Instead he stepped across the hall and began to bang on that door, and when no one answered, he broke it open with his shoulder.

“You know… I could unlock those for you if you needed me to…” Telémahkos said, but in that same moment Barton Digits came running up the back stairs. “What in the Nine Hells is going on up here?!”

“One of ours was attacked, up here in the suites,” Victoria replied as she came out of the other suite. It was empty.

“Oh on! That’s horrible! I shall call the watch!” The innkeeper turned to go back down the stairs.

“No, you should wait…” Victoria said. “If the perpetrators are still around the watch might scare them off.  I would rather they think they have another chance to attempt their assassination…”

“No, Barton, you are right… Call the watch…” Telémahkos said, still invisible.

“Who? What?” Barton Digits turned towards the disembodied voice, cringing and stepping away.

“It’s Telémahkos Briareus,” Telémahkos said. “I was the one attacked and am keeping out of sight…”

“Oh… OH! My door!” Barton noticed that Laarus had broken down the door to one of the suites as the priest of Ra came out from searching that area.

“Yes, call the watch…” Laarus said. “Do not concern yourself about the door, I will pay to replace it…”  Barton hurried down the steps and Victoria followed to check the backdoor and the rear garden for signs of the assassins. There were none.  She walked into the common room and saw it mostly empty, except for a few of the afternoon regulars.

Timotheus Smith and Markos Ackers returned in that moment, having met up with each other at The Sign of the Black Sword, a tavern in the ‘bad part of town’ they frequented whenever in Sluetelot.

“Telémahkos was attacked in the suites, the watch are on their way,” Victoria said, ascending the front steps to go back to Laarus and Telémahkos.

“What do you think this was all about?” Markos asked Timotheus, with a smirk.

“Probably a jealous husband…” Tim smiled.

In the suite Telémahkos told his tale once again, and as he did, stopping for frequent questions the potion of _invisibility_ wore off and he was once again visible.

“I think that if someone is trying to kill Telémahkos the best way to catch them is to stage some situation where he appears to be vulnerable,” Victoria said.

“No, that is not what we are going to do,” Telémahkos frowned.

“So what do we do about this?” Victoria asked.

“What are we going do?  I’m going to have a new bodyguard, and his name is Tim,” Telémahkos slapped his cousin on the shoulder, and walked around him keeping his arms about his shoulders. “And he’ll be protecting me all the times, and not going off to get laid.”  Telémahkos squeezed his cousin’s shoulder in a pinch and Tim slapped at his hand.

“Ow! I have to follow you around now and not get to do anything I want to do?” Timotheus whined.

“Yes…” Telémahkos smirked.

“Bast’s Teats! Fine! But half the time _you’re_ gonna have to follow _me_ around and go where _I_ wanna go!” Tim replied.

“That’s how it works already anyway,” Telémahkos batted Tim in the back of the head playfully.

It was then that the Captain of the Sluetelot Town-Watch arrived.

Captain Angeleen Firth was a plain woman with a freckled nose and fiery orange hair.  She wore studded leather armor and the teal cloak that marked her as part of the Sluetelot Town watch.  She was accompanied by other watch-men who took up positions at the doors, and left to canvas the common room and market once Telémahkos gave the best description he could of the assassins, and then retold the tale once again to the captain.

“So, Master Briareus, tell me, what have you done to earn the ire of Red Lantern Gang?” Captain Firth asked.

“Is that who attacked him?” Laarus asked.

“The stone he described gives it away,” the captain replied. “Blood magic, and in particular the Blood Stones are a signature of Red Lantern assassins.”  She looked at Telémahkos again, obviously suspicious.

“This must stem from the recent trip my companions and I took to Kraken’s Cove,” Telémahkos said. “Some people seem to think we are responsible for the massacre there…” 

“If it was the whole group then why did they attack you?” The captain asked.

Telémahkos shrugged. “I was alone? I was the first on the list for some reason?  I don’t know…”

Captain Firth was quiet for a long moment.  “It was probably the magic of the stone that changed her and created the silence… Someone is going to a lot of effort to have you killed… That would not be an inexpensive hire…”

“We stopped an attack of theirs on Lavinia Vanderboren at the Vandeboren Manse in Quillton, a few months ago,” Laarus added. 1

“My men and I will be looking for word of strangers in town or people asking after you,” the Captain said. “Please stay in town a few days at least in case we need to ask you more questions, and if you have questions, my office is in Havesting.”

“I have question,” Timotheus said, smiling widely, enjoying the movement of her athletic form. “Can I bring you a drink?”

“I am on duty,” she replied coldly. “If there is nothing else…” She began to walk out when Bleys arrived.

“Master Bleys, a pleasure to meet you,” she said walking over and offering her hand. Bleys shook it. “I am Captain Angeleen Firth.  It seems there was an attack by the Red Lantern Gang upon one of your number.” She pointed at Telémahkos casually.  “I must investigate the matter, so I leave it to your companions to explain, but if there is anything I can do for you while you are here with us do not hesitate to ask.”

When she left, Timotheus said, “She sure was a lot friendlier to you than she was to us…”

“I have been appointed provisional watch-mage of Sluetelot until Barakis The Brown’s replacement arrives,” Bleys said.

“Hey, congratulations!” Timotheus smiled and gave Bleys an approving slap on the shoulder. The young watch-mage was filled in on what had happened, and as usual his response was a quiet one.  He asked a few simple questions and then sat down to ponder the situation.  One of the serving maids arrived with a tray full of meat pies and pitchers of ale.

“I have some ideas about this, but I am not sure we should talk about them here,” Telémahkos said.

“Why not?” Markos asked.

“They have to do with things we agreed we should not talk about,” Telémahkos replied.

“I do not relish the idea of being overheard when we discuss these things,” Bleys said. “I suggest we walk out to the stables and go for ride in the country.  We can talk more freely…”

“My ass still hurts from all those days riding back from the Disputed Territories,” Markos complained, but no one dignified his saddle sores with a response.

It would not be the last time that the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland would ride out for a few hours to discuss the Nine, the Coopers and the Red Lanterns.

On the way, Markos gave Telémahkos the potion of _invisibility_ he had been carrying around. “In case you need one again,” he said.

_…to be continued…_

----------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) See Session #8


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #22– “Alarm & Intrigue” (part 3 of 4)*

Osilem, the 17th of Ese - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The next several days were full of meetings and errands. Euleria Finch was able to dole out shares of the money once she arranged to have some of it converted to the local currency and sold items in the local market.  She also advised the party about potential buyers for some of their more rare items, and suggested taking them up on it rather than trying to deal with the expense and worry of transporting examples of goods to other cities and then using messages for bids in hopes of getting better prices. Timotheus stuck close to Telémahkos and the two of them made several trips, occasionally accompanied by Victoria, to the Achor Brothers Smithy in the dwarven quarter to deal with the crafting of their masterwork items. The biggest point of contention was the sardonyx statue, which a local mason was interested in buying for its weight of the precious stone to be used in other projects.  If sold as an art object it might earn more coin, but its very size and weight made it inconvenient to sell in a timely way.  In the end it was decided to let the mason have it for 1000 pieces of silver.  The gold and silver octagon coins from the time of Agon’s Realm were probably the most valuable thing, and they were to be sold to a collector in Lilly City, though the party agreed to keep a couple of examples of both for each of them.  These ancient coins would garner them close to 3000 silver pieces to split among them.

The topic of gifting something to the University of Thricia came up again and Markos suggested the two gold masks they had retrieved from the tomb of Dalvan Meir. 1

“Do you think that if we donate the masks we might get special consideration?” He asked Euleria. “I mean, easier access to their libraries and archives?  Some kind of membership where we will not have to pay the fees or such?

“Not from one donation,” Euleria replied with mild surprise. “Perhaps if you donated enough for a new building…”

“What about _two_ donations? Markos asked.

“That won’t get you very far towards a building,” Telémahkos snickered.

“Maybe if you build an outhouse…” Bleys said in his even tone.

“You…” Timotheus’ eyes widened and he pointed at the watch-mage. “You just made a joke!”

“An outhouse is a very small building,” was all Bleys said in reply - still no smile or change of tone.

“By the gods! You just told a joke!” Timotheus was flabbergasted.

A couple days after they arrived they were visited by Eubren Winter of Ra who met with Laarus and Bleys to tell them about the concern that Lord Falkoner Wetherwax expressed when given the news about the potential attack on his fleet. 2  Eubren was squarely-built man, a little shorter than average and with big eyebrows that seemed all the bushier in comparison to his glabrous scalp. He also warned Bleys that House Wetherwax were strong supporters of elevating the Winter Family to the status of nobles, and that he would try to reach out to those portions of the family that were distant or estranged.  Finally he offered to help Laarus with his meditations on the new powers his faith in Ra was opening up to him, as long as the young priest would pay for the needed sacred materials and make a small donation to the church in his name.  3

Laarus agreed, but asked. “If I may ask, why are you taking the time to help me?”

“I value the establishment of friendships within the order, and I also value what your charter represents and want to help it along in what ways I can,” the dark-eyed priest replied.

During this time Bleys’ own training with Cwell the Hawk began as well.  Cwell was staying in one of the smaller rooms downstairs in Death & Taxes, but the daily lessons took place locked away in one of the suite rooms, and sometimes in Barakis’ garden. 4

The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland also went to the temple of Isis to meet with Leisel and tell her of their success in retrieving the _Amulet of Fallon_, and got to meet High Priestess Amarantha Roorback in the process.

“We need to return the relic,” Bleys said, gesturing for Laarus to pass it over.

The priestess took it in her hands and turned it over with obvious reverence, but then passed it back. “Return it to a temple of Fallon,” she said. “The Fallonites should determine what is best to do with it, but I am honored to even hold it in my hands.”

The closest temple of Fallon was in Lilly City, not too far away. The young nobles decided they would take it over there when Bleys’ duty as temporary watch-mage of Sluetelot was over, though Markos speculated aloud what they might try to get something out of the church in return for presenting it.

“We should honored to just have the opportunity to give it to them,” Laarus said. “To ask for something in return would be impolite and perhaps even sacrilegious…”

“But if they offer us something…” Markos replied.

“That is a different matter,” the priest of Ra said, ending the conversation.

It was also in this time that Tymon had taken off for Azure with Telémahkos’ blessing in order to visit with his family for a while. 5

But one fine Osilem afternoon, when the sun was shining brighter than it had the day before, the autumn growing oddly warmer and warmer, as Markos and Bleys took a trip to meet with Harbormaster Joezef Winter, an appointment Euleria had arranged for them, Telémahkos and Timotheus were visited by Joezyn Barhyte.  They met him at a quiet table in the common room and shared drinks and slabs of toasted hard bread with slices of bloody roast beef and wedges of a pungent cheese.

The older man’s hair was bleached, and the rouge on his cheeks and his manner of dress and speech made him seem almost foolish.

“So how were the King Stones? Profitable, I hope?” he asked, smiling.

“A lovely place,” Telémahkos replied, his mood had been subdued since the attempt on his life, and he had recently noticed people avoiding him in the spots he liked to go gamble, though he was not sure if that might have been due to Timotheus being with him all the time.

“Great! Full of goblins! You’d love it!” Timotheus replied, sincere in his enthusiasm.  He took the opportunity to tell of some of their battles against the Flor’choo, the wargs and the ogre, leaving out all mention of Hezrah.

“Very good! Very good!” Joezyn smiled.  He drank less and ate more than the two younger nobles, but he nodded at everything they said with exaggerated interest.  “So, did you get a good sense of resources down there that can aid our fine nation?”

They explained about the friendliness of Ray-Ree.  “But in terms of really fertile land, it was really dry or swampy with little in-between,” Telémahkos explained.  “Though obviously there were hundreds of miles of lands we did not see, and someone more experienced than any of us in matters of horticulture and irrigation would likely find all the space down there appealing and potentially productive.”

“Good… Good…” Joezyn raised his mug to call for more ale and a serving wench brought over a pitcher. “Thricia will need all the internal resources it can get as the events in the east become more dire and trade becomes even more constricted.  The Wizard’s Sea needs to be kept safe from the machinations of organizations that want power within our borders.  It is important that we keep our barrels full in order to help not only resist this influence, but take the fight to them and eliminate the danger.”

“Barrels, huh?” Telémahkos’ eyes narrowed, and he search the elder noble’s face for more information. 6

“Yes, barrels… Strong, sturdy, capable barrels that have been performing the task of hold on to our resources and helping to keep Thricia secure for a long time,” Joezyn said. “I mean, we can all start using horns to carry our goods, but that’s inconvenient when you have a lot to carry…”

“Why are you talking about barrels?” Timotheus asked, and Telémahkos gave him a quick elbow to the ribs.

“Oh, we’re just discussing mercantile logistics,” Joezyn replied, still smiling.  “Like how when you have a leaky barrel you plug it right away. Leaks are dangerous… Take for example, Stanislaw Torn…” 7

“Sta… Hey!” Timotheus pushed his chair back as Telémahkos’ drink spilled all over his lap before he could complete his thought.

“Who?” Telémahkos asked, risking a look of warning to his cousin.

Joezyn Barhyte leaned in and spoke more softly. “You were told someone would be contacting you and giving you a name and information. I am here to give you that.”

“Who told us what?” Timotheus was confused, but not too confused to fill his mug again.  Telémahkos shot him another death look.

”I do not know, and I do not want to know,” Joezeyn replied. “But Stanislaw Torn is the name you wanted.  He is the lord of the Black Mantle, a pirate ship of ‘the Hammer’, and can be found in that area from late spring through the summer. But by this time, and if not by this time, then soon, he retires to his tower in the south for the winter.”

“And you were told to tell us this by…?” Telémahkos asked.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” Joezyn replied. “It is sufficient to know that the future safety and prosperity of Thricia is best stored in a barrel, and if times get tight we just need to find new avenues for resources so we may continue to prosper and to be of aid to those who have ever been our friends. Long have the Briarei been involved in these efforts, and now it is going to fall on a younger generation to keep up with it.  That number… The number that we should not speak… must be defeated.”

“Uh, who are we talking about again?” Timotheus asked.

Telémahkos gave him another elbow and gestured under the edge of the table where he held out nine fingers for his cousin to see.

“Ohhhhh!” Tim smiled and nodded.

“I had considered inviting Victoria Ostrander to meet with us as her house are also bannermen of House Barhyte, but something told me a young militant of Anhur would not have the finesse needed for dealing with the means by which you are gaining this information,” Joezyn said.

“You made the right decision,” Telémahkos replied.

“If you are to seek him out in the north you need to visit _Puntos Negros_,” Joezyn explained. “You might be able to catch the Black Mantle there. Otherwise, his tower is in the Kingdom of the Red God of the West, about a day’s ride from the town of Krysia, but the locals would need to help you find it exactly.” 

“You’re kidding… _In_ then Kingdom…Not just the Disputed Territories?” Timotheus was skeptical.

“Yep… The Kingdom of the Red God of the West.”

“Is that even legal?  I mean, according to their laws?  They won’t string us up or anything?” Timotheus asked.

“As long as none of you go around flagrantly using magic, and all of you are human, so you should be safe from angry mobs,” Joezyn replied, his smile returned. “It is a place that has a lot of contact with Thrician Rum Runners. It is used to outsiders.  It is not like deeper in the kingdom…  In fact, if you are going to go there, I recommend trying to get passage on a ship large enough to accommodate horses, as you probably won’t be able to directly come to shore near the town… What with everything going on in the Devil’s Grasp right now.”

“I thought the Rubes didn’t use horses, won’t that makes us stick out?” Telémahkos asked. 

“Like I said, they are used to outsiders there, you should be fine…”

“And this Torn, who exactly is he loyal to?” Telémahkos asked.

“No one but himself,” Joezyn answered. “He once spent time in Vijand, but he’s not welcome there anymore, and he is no friend of that number either, having left them…”

“And he will help us? Tell us more about them… Ways we can foil their plans?” Telémahkos continued with his questions.

“Yes, though he will have to convinced or bribed.  It should not be too difficult, no love is lost there. And I recommend that if you want you want to find out more about _him_ you try The Sign of the Black Sword in town.”

“Hey! I know that place!” Timotheus was happy to finally have something to contribute to the conversation.

“Good…Good…” Joezyn Barhyte adopted his acquiescent tone once again. There was a long silence as the three of them ate and drank some more.

“You all sure did make a mess of Kraken’s Cover,” Joezyn finally said. “ Rumors are that you killed everyone there, but I know better than that.  You wouldn’t cross the Coopers that way… I know you are loyal sons of Briareus…”

“Here, a souvenir of our journey to the Disputed Territories,” Timotheus said, holding out one of the silver octagon coins the party had recovered from Dalvan’s tomb. “If you had not provided us with the map of the King Stones we never would have gone down there…”

“Thank you,” the older man replied with genuine interest. He held the coin to the light.  “Most of these got melted down centuries ago…”

Later as the cousins returned to the suites, Timotheus asked. “What was all this about our family’s involvement in the guilds?”

“Oh, Tim! Let me give you the list of our family’s shady dealings, and don’t think your own father is not involved, because you’d be wrong…” Telémahkos began to untangle the complicated knot for his cousin.  Afterwards, they sought out Victoria and went out to the stables to retrieve their horses. They took a long ride out in the countryside and Telémahkos explained to Victoria about the information Joezyn Barhyte had brought, leaving out most of the references to the thieves’ guilds and emphasizing that an elder from their liege house seemed to want them to fight against the Nine.

Meanwhile at the Harbormaster’s office in Havesting, Markos and Bleys found Joezef Winter willing to explain to them all about the dockworker’s strike.  The office was at the south end of the harbor near the great gates that closed off access to the Sluetelot Canal from Drie-Hoek Bay beyond.  It was as loud and busy as a bazaar and there were a few dozen ships and boats of all sizes, coming and going. 

Some rumor had started that all or some of dockworkers were to be replaced by lizardfolk laborers from the City of the Spices; their affinity for water and willingness to take lower wages being listed as the reason for this. After over a week of sudden accidents and work slowdowns, the workers staged a walk out, during which some altercation started with some Weirspierogener mercenaries who had a lizardfolk among their number.  At some point sailors joined in the brawl and several watchmen were hurt in quelling the fights.  Currently the local gaol was full of dockworkers including their guild representative and foreman, Jeroen Zale.

“And the mercenaries?” Bleys asked.

“Gone,” Joezef replied.  “They were on their way up to Rosecote to join up with the forces heading to deal with the hobgoblins in the Shcrabs.” He asked them about their role in the Kraken’s Cove Massacre, and they denied involvement, explaining they had arrived after the vast majority of everyone was dead or transformed into savage frog-men.

“Where did the rumor come from? The one about the lizardfolk?” Markos asked the harbormaster.

Joezef shrugged. “No idea. I do know that there is more trade coming out of the Dry Estates since Agon’s Cold Revenge to make up for the lack coming in from the east and there was general talk of getting more workers on… The only company of lizardfolk dockworkers I know of are in the City of the Spices, and from what I understand, they’re busy…”

“Could it have something to do with these pillars drawn everywhere?” Bleys asked. 8

“I don’t think so… Then again, no one knows what that’s all about, could be just an elaborate prank,” Joezef replied.

“Or something meant to unsettle a populace,” Bleys answered.  They talked a bit about Winter family politics and the push to grant them the title of nobility and establish a House Winter.  Joezef said he did not care much either way. “I am so low down in pecking order that I probably wouldn’t qualify even if they did decide to draw line all over the family tree and decide who’s noble and who’s not…”

Soon after Joezef Winter ended the meeting, pointing the stack of papers, logs and maps on his desk and the chart of the immense and complicated harbor on the wall.  One of his assistants came in and dropped a stack of logs and picked up another.

“That reminds me, while we were in Kraken’s Cove we saw evidence of several ships that might be reported missing, and that we can now confirm have been plundered and destroyed,” Bleys said, pausing as the harbormaster grabbed a ledger and a quill. “We saw the name plates of the Wavereaper, Asmod’s Hope, the Sea Ghost, Dozen’s Cousin, Lavly’s Future, Tiamat’s Wake, and the RMN Sea-Tamer.” 9

He also relayed the news of the sacking of Majenta by the gathered barbarian hordes and of their building boats to continue their rampage south and west.

“Wow! This is news for the dwarf wall!” Joezyn said.

“Yes, but as I will not be in Verdun anytime soon, perhaps you can pass it on to someone who will be,” Bleys replied, and he went on to describe the black angel that killed with a glare and the desecration of a High Temple of the Red God of the West. 10

“Oh, and I was hoping you might know of someone who is selling a sailboat,” Markos asked out of nowhere. Bleys turned and looked at his companion as if surprised, though as usual his face showed no sign of the emotion that his head and shoulders suggested.  “Or someone that has a boat I can borrow?  I was hoping just to use some of my free time sailing around… Relaxing… And maybe you might have some charts I can look at, navigational charts I can copy?”

Joezef Winter stiffened. “Uh… Most people around here require their boats for their livelihoods. It is unlikely they would be willing to lend it out…”

“I can pay well for the use of it,” Markos added.

“Very well, if I come across a possibility I will send word to you,” the Harbormaster said, now he was herding them towards the door of his office, just by walking in that direction. Bleys the Aubergine thanked his distant cousin and stepped out into the hall.

“And the charts…?” Markos asked, while right in the doorway.

“Have a good afternoon!” Joezef Winter as he closed the door.

Later, back at the inn the young nobles made plans for all of them to take a ride outside of town and discuss what news they had gathered what their next move would be.

_…to be continued…_

------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) See Session #17

(2) Eubren of  Ra agreed to carry this news to Lord Falkoner Wetherwax. See Session #9 

(3) He would train Laarus to gain/use his _smite evil_ class ability. (See Priest of Ra Characters)

(4) Barakis’ garden and patio is right across from that of Death & Taxes.

(5) This also a way to get rid of having to deal with an NPC for a while and give the DM a break.

(6) Telémahkos and Joezyn Barhyte were talking a bit in the cant and slang of Thrician thieves.

(7) The party first heard the name ‘Stanislaw Torn’ from the Mind of Oberah in Session #21

(8) The party first heard about the Day of the Pillars and saw evidence of it when they returned to Sluetelot in Session #21

(9) Bleys wrote down the names of these ships while he and the other explored Kraken’s Cove in Session #7.

(10) The party heard this news relayed from the returned Ray-Ree women in Session #16.


----------



## handforged

I like that in your world, treasure doesn't just come in the form of piles of coins.  Participating in the market economy is a sure way to get the PCs more involved in the world, whether they want to be or not.

Can't wait for more.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #22 – “Intrigue & Alarm” (part 4 of 4)*

Ralem, the 22th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Four days after they received their last share of the treasure converted and sold-off by Euleria, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland gathered in the common room of Death & Taxes to celebrate their success.  Dunlevey and Falco had been paid, and the latter took off soon after without saying good-bye.  Timotheus tried to convince Dunlevey the Swordsman to stick around, but the sell-sword shook his head.

“Hey, I think you’re a stalwart companion and a good boss, but… Well, no offense, but all your companions as real pricks…” Dunlevey told him.  “I have nothing against you… You ever go your own way and plan to put something together, come find me…”

“Where will you go next?” Timotheus asked.

“Not sure…”

“Well, you should try Schiereiland,” Tim told him. “I can write you a quick letter of recommendation, and if you go to Chalkour you are sure to get work if you go and see my father’s man at High Talon.”

Dunlevey seemed to like the idea, and so Timotheus did just that. In the meantime, the sell-sword went around to bid the rest of the group good-bye, and getting blessings and well-wishes from Victoria and Telémahkos.

On this night, the common room of Death & Taxes was louder and more packed than ever.  The party had started earlier than usual, and after having their dinner up in their suites, Markos, Telémahkos, Timotheus, Bleys, Victoria and Laarus went downstairs to join the festivities.  Laarus and Bleys’ training was done, and Markos had spent a lot of time trying to find out more about the situation at the docks when he was not buying needed components, or locked away in one of the suites copying spells into his spellbooks, and studying his arcane tomes and notes.  Telémahkos and Timotheus slept late, practiced their swordsmanship and went out to taverns nightly, tasting from the taps all over Sluetelot.

“Ladies and gentleman! Your attention please!” Floris Tenbrook stood from his card game with a flourish when he noticed the young nobles coming down the stairs into the common room.  “We are graced with the presence of the young Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland, recently returned from their explorations of the Disputed Territories and slayers of the viscous and voracious landshark whose head now graces the wall of our favorite inn!” He gestured to the mounted head, its mouth open in a fierce gesture, a small bronze plaque beneath it with the party’s names engraved.

The revelers cheered and the drinks flowed and music was struck up as they took a table.  Telémahkos had to be restrained from going to dance before the party had shared a drink.

“To returning home from the Disputed Territories and to the success of our future journeys!” Victoria Ostrander of Anhur raised her mug and the other five Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland did the same.  “Hear, hear! Hear, hear!”

They spent an hour down there, Telémahkos interrupting Timotheus’ retelling of the battles against goblins, ogres and landsharks as he returned from frequent dances with different women. Tim kept pushing drinks towards Bleys, who aside from the one half-filled mug he toasted with, touched no alcohol.  The patrons nodded politely at Laarus and Victoria, not hiding their nervous embarrassment around the priests, and Markos drank more than he usually did.  Laughing when he noticed everyone else laughing and forcing a smile when a townsperson greeted him.

Eventually, Victoria, Bleys and Laarus retired for the night, and Markos sat by himself in a corner drinking for another hour before he followed, spending time with his book by candle light before finally going to sleep.  Timotheus and Telémahkos had no intentions of sleeping any time soon.  The revelry went on all night, Telémahkos taking part in several hands of cards, letting people win big off of him to spread good cheer and then winning a big pot to get close to breaking even.  Timotheus tried some clumsy drunken dancing, but ended up whispering with two giggling women on one of the couches at the rear wall of the common room.

As dawn approached, Timotheus finally went upstairs, carrying two bottles of wine and his arms linked with the two lusty wenches, who kept cooing over his muscled arms and broad chest.  He brought them into the suite common room and after a few more drinks he let them have their way with him. Telémahkos was not done. He drowned his annoyance at not being able to duplicate his cousin’s luck in more ale and wine, and greeted Ra’s Glory with a heart-rending song he was certain would win him some attention from a woman, but most seemed unwilling to give him the kind of attention he wanted, and others frequent insistence he buy them drinks made him suspicious.  But the revelry did not abate, an even as the sun was creeping into the sky and cocks were crowing and some of the eager tradesmen were setting up their stalls in the nearby market, another group of musicians arrived and started up an energetic tune.  Revelers followed them from a local private party, spilling in happily.

Finally, Telémahkos felt exhaustion creeping into his bones, so he climbed the steps to the suites.  As he opened the door to the suites he had been staying at he heard the tell-tale moan from within the common room of the suite that told him his cousin would probably not want to be interrupted.  Sighing with annoyance, he let himself into the other suite and taking off his trousers and loosening his blouse, he laid out on the couch to try to sleep.  Sleep did not come.  After Victoria and Laarus awoke and headed out to find some breakfast, he crept into the bedroom and grabbed one of their beds, but sleep still did not come.

The two priests felt a mixture of disbelief and disapproval as they walked through the common room out to the market.  The partying was still going on and they recognized several of the people from the night before still going at it. If anything, it was even louder, a little wilder.  There were broken plate and bowls, spilled drinks and raucous laughter.  Two men were arm-wrestling as a crowd cheered.  Floris Tenbrook was still playing cards, a growing pile of silver in front of him. Barton had greeted them frantically trying to clean up after his patrons and keep up with their demands.  He had run out of dinner and had not had a chance to have breakfast prepared.  Apologizing, he had sent them to feed themselves.

Victoria and Laarus had to wait until the vendor’s coals got warm enough to heat the slabs of lamb meat he was frying with eggs and thin slices of sour dour bread.

“That’s quite a party going on at Death & Taxes…” the vendor said making conversation as they waited.

“Is it not usually that way?” Victoria asked.

“Not quite like that, Ma’am…” the man said.  “They’ve been partying since before I closed up yesterday to go home and sleep… Not that I slept last night… Or the night before…”

“Children?” Victoria asked.

“Nope. Just couldn’t sleep.” The man shrugged his shoulders, dark circles under his eyes.  They walked back through the common room carrying their breakfast with them. There were even more people.

Upstairs Telémahkos was going a little crazy.  No matter what he did he could not fall asleep.  When Victoria opened the door he sat up and groaned, wrapped a blanket around him and walked back across the hall.

“Look at this!” He cursed and the militant walked over.  Timotheus lay there on a couch naked and covered in lipstick stains. His clothes were scattered, his money pouch gone. 1

“He’s supposed to be my bodyguard! He’s useless to me if I’m attacked!” Telémahkos eyes were bloodshot and he grabbed his hair and pulled at it a bit in frustration.

Victoria made a little noise in her throat as she looked away and tossed a nearby blanket over the nude brawny warrior. He glistened with the sweat of drunken copulation.  She followed Telémahkos into the back room which Markos and Bleys were emerging from, having just woken up.

“There sure do sound like there are a lot of people downstairs for breakfast…” Markos noted. “Is that music I hear?”

“It is the same people from last night,” Laarus said, sitting down to have his breakfast in a chair by where Tim still slept.

“And the vendor we got breakfast from said he had not slept in the last two nights as well,” The young priest added.

“Gaaaaah!” Telémahkos came running out of the rear room.  He slipped his chain shirt on. “It’s no use!” He ran from the suites.

“Where are you going?” Victoria called after him.

“I don’t know!” He cried back as he bounded down the stairs and out the front door.  The militant shrugged and told the others she was on her way to the smithy to pay the down payment on her armor and from there go to the temple of Anhur.  She gobbled down her breakfast, while Laarus ate slowly. Markos and Bleys went out to get their own food and investigate this strange sleeplessness for themselves.

As Markos stepped out onto the patio to take a deep breath of the salt air of Sluetelot, Bleys broke up the party in the inn.

“The party is over! Everyone go home!” He announced and while a few people immediately began to file out and the musicians stopped played, looking puzzled, the rest groused and were slow to move.  “When I return I expect all good citizens to have vacated the premises and allowed Mister Digits to clean his tavern and prepare for another day!”

As the young watch-mage walked out, he lost sight of Markos in the crowd now streaming out of the inn, and he walked to the stall where Laarus and Victoria had purchased breakfast.  Listening in on people’s conversations as they came out, Markos was distracted, hearing more than one of them complain about not having slept in two or three days.  He walked back in thinking Bleys was still in there.

“You! Mutton!” Bleys called to the vendor.

“Yeah?” The man looked at him bleary-eyed.  “Would you like something to eat?”

“How long have you been awake?” Bleys the Aubergine got right to the point.

“Uh, what day is it?” Mutton asked.

“Ralem,” Bleys replied.

“Then… Uh… Since Teflem?” the man replied.  Bleys the Aubergine followed this up with questions about where the man lived and whether his wife and family had slept.

“Well, my wife slept fine the night before, but she didn’t sleep lat night,” the man replied. “Said it was my fault.”

The watch-mage moved on to see out any local herbalists in the market, hoping he might find some natural remedy that would help people sleep.  As he walked, he saw Telémahkos run past with a floppy hat decorated with a feather.  He was still acting frantically, looking left and right wildly, and then dashing for Death & Taxes.

“People sure are acting strangely this morning,” said the herbalist Bleys purchased some clay vials of something that supposedly helped people to sleep.  She did not have much, so the watch-mage wandered about looking for more.  The herbalist closed early for the day, as she had gouged the watch-mage on the price.  Noticing the well, and deciding to eliminate the possibility early, he checked it for poison with a cantrip.  There was none.

Giving up on sleep, Telémahkos walked up to the bar at Death & Taxes to order a drink, but looking up to catch sight of Barton Digits, he noticed the barman pointing him out to one of the town-watch.

“You there!” The watchman said, but Telémahkos did not wait to hear what it was about, his eyes going wild with sudden fear. He dashed out the back door.  At that moment Markos came back downstairs from looking for Bleys back in the suites, a little confused.

“He’s another one…” Barton said to the watchman, so Markos was approached and given a message to be relayed to Bleys.

“Bleys!” It was Markos coming jogging out of the crowd still milling about the inn as he finally spotted his companion  “There was a message for you!”  But before he could relay it, they were both momentarily distracted by a screaming fight between two women in the market.  They could also hear the barking, growling and whining of dogs fighting a few streets away. “One of the town-watch came by looking for you, Captain Firth sent for you… Something is going on at the gaol and you are needed.”

“I am sure this is related to this sleeplessness… I have purchased some draughts of a sleeping remedy that may help, though they are made by different hands and have different strengths…  Let us go…” Bleys said.

They headed to the gaol, which was in the northern part of Old Town, as not too far away Telémahkos was ducking into the enclosed cellar steps of an abandoned house, hoping to catch some sleep there.  As he sat down with his back to the corner of the doorway, and pulled his newly purchased floppy hat over his eyes, he heard a growl from the top of the stone steps.  Looking up, he saw a large filthy dog looking down at him with malevolence.

“Nice dog…” Telémahkos said gently, but he drew his magical rapier and pointed it at the creature.

The gaol was square windowless building of large bricks and two stories.  The outer door was thick and made of iron, but it stood slightly ajar, and as Bleys pulled it open he started.  The corpse of one of the town-watch lay just within the doorway, his throat torn out.

Back at Death & Taxes, Laarus Raymer of Ra finally finished his breakfast as he heard Timotheus stop snoring.  He looked up as he sensed the brawny Briareus bastard sitting up, but something was not right… Timotheus’ eyes shone a bright red, and his lips were swollen and his mouth disfigured by sharp teeth dripping with yellow saliva.  Timotheus snarled and smiled an evil smile as he started to get up and move towards the priest of Ra with no good intent.  The naked fighter’s flesh seemed to twist and change, and he began to look like someone else.

*End of Session #22* 

-------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) I asked Timotheus’ player to simply subtract an amount from his sheet that seemed like a reasonable amount that he would be carrying with him for a night of revelry and carousing.


----------



## handforged

Well,  I was expecting for something to happen soon, but not quite that quickly.  What an interesting start to an adventure!

Nemm, can we assume at this point that you have finished school for the year?  How did it go?

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> Nemm, can we assume at this point that you have finished school for the year?  How did it go?
> 
> ~hf




It went well! Another 4.0 semester! 


In other news, Sean (aka Rastfar aka Bleys) and his wife, Terri welcomed a new gamer into the world on Sunday, June 8th.  The delivery went smoothly and little Griffin T. is healthy beautiful boy.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #23 – “Sleepless” (part 1 of 4)*1

Victoria Ostrander of Anhur was walking from the Dwarven Quarter towards the temple of Anhur when she noted Bleys the Aubergine and Markos Ackers pausing before the door of the gaol.

“What is happening?” she asked as she walked over.

“I have no idea,” Markos said.  

“Why are you going into the jail?” she asked, frowning.

“Apparently there is some kind of disturbance,” Bleys said, pointing down at the dead guard. “Captain Firth!” he called in with all the authority he could muster.   There was no answer.  “Ready your weapons,” he told his companions, putting his hand on his saber hilt as he walked in.

Just beyond there was an office.   There was a large desk, and a long rack along one wall bearing clubs, spears, a man-catcher, two heavy wooden shields, and five sets of manacles. A quick search of the rack and the desk revealed no keys, much to Markos’ disappointment.  There was a wooden door around one narrow corner that seemed to go down to a lower level, but it was the large steel doors lined with bolts and reinforced at each corner that led into the main holding area.  The door was open slightly, and they heard a frightened whimper from within.

Taking a lantern off the desk and lighting it, Markos held it up as Bleys pulled open the door and Victoria stood ready with her spear.  Beyond was a hall, fifteen feet in length and twenty feet wide, at the end of which was another door similar to the open one, but it was sealed shut.  Cowering in one corner was a man dressed in studded leather armor and clutching a spear, wearing the cream-colored tabard with the embroidered blue ship sigil common to the town watch.  There were bruises on his face and neck that came into view as he raised his head to look at the three noble adventurers, but then he scurried back, trying to increase the distance between them and himself.

“What has happened here?” Markos demanded.

“Where’s Captain Firth?” asked Bleys coming forward.

“She’s… She’s still in there…” The man was clearly sincerely scared; his hand shook as he pointed to the large metal door.

“Who attacked you?” Victoria asked, the man turned and looked at her, his brown eyes growing large behind his long brown hair made slick with the sweat of his fear.

“It… It was my mother!” He let go of the spear and buried his hands in his face and wept, shivering as he did.  He looked up at them suddenly. “Wait!  Maybe you’re not really here… Maybe they got out!  They come and go…” He began to shimmy back away from them again.

Markos walked over to the door and put his hand on the large handle and looked to Bleys. “Are you ready?”

“No…” the watch-mage replied.

“Well, tell me when you are because there may be people dying in there,” Markos frowned.

“They may also be dying out here if we let loose twenty or thirty bloodthirsty prisoners,” Bleys replied.

“The striking dockworkers are in there,” Markos protested. 2 “Not exactly hardened criminals…”

“They broke the law, and while I have no desire to see them hurt, we must consider the welfare of the law-abiding citizens of Sluetelot first,” Bleys explained. “Something strange is happening here and I plan to learn more before hurrying into danger or risking releasing some danger on the town…”

“How many prisoners are there currently?” Victoria asked the man, not hiding her disdain for the man’s broken and emotional state.

“Uh… A few dozen…” the guard replied.

“Start from the beginning… Tell us what happened here,” Bleys the Aubergine said to the man with authority resonating in his deep voice.

“Well… The prisoners hadn’t slept in a couple of days,” the guard explained. “They are mostly the striking dockworkers… You’re right, they were just being held until the work situation was cleared up to keep anymore brawls from starting up in the meantime… But yeah… They couldn’t sleep or wouldn’t sleep and it was starting to get to them… They were growing irritable… Seeing things… Some of them fought among themselves and had to be moved to other cells… It was getting bad…”

The guard paused and let out a shuddering breath before continuing. “So the warden had the idea of having one of our watch-wizards…” 

“Watch-mage?” Markos asked.

“Watch-wizard…” the man said. “Members of the watch who are wizards…”

“Let him finish,” Bleys said to Markos without looking at him.

“…of having one of them cast a _sleep_ spell on one of the prisoners and see if that might help them… So Captain Firth was asked to bring one of the watch-wizards over here, and when it was tried the prisoner slumped over as if asleep and then suddenly leapt at the watch-wizard!  His eyes were glowing red and his skin creased with scales, his limbs wiry and his mouth full of sharp teeth and hit bit he warden and he fell asleep, and that was when chaos broke loose!” He covered his face and shivered again.

“Go on…” Bleys insisted.

“Uh… I don’t know… Captain Firth was fighting it; the watch-wizard changed as well, and jumped on the warden, who I was trying to lead away.  I felt something grab me around the neck and when I turned it was my mother!” He was weeping openly now. “I… I smashed her in the side of the face with my club and she slapped me hard, sent me flying… The prisoners were screaming and… and… I just ran and closed the door behind me…”

“What other way out from the cells are there?  Can the lower level be reached from in there?” Victoria asked, always cognizant of the tactics of s given situation. The guard shook his head.

“Where are the keys to cells?” Markos asked.

“The warden had them…”

Markos’ head sunk.  He looked to Bleys but the watch-mage was deep in thought.  Victoria stood nearly at attention, waiting for Bleys’ command.  The one-time sailor grew impatient.  He got up on his toes as he slid open the narrow panel that served as a peephole to the area beyond. He held the lantern up, but still the view was not good.  There was some dim light coming in, but the ceiling in the next area was much higher at its center, but some kind of walkway cast a shadow darkened by some kind of structure in the middle of the great room.

“Markos, be cautious…” Bleys warned.

“Hello? Is there someone there?” A voice came echoing from within.  It was strained and frightened.

“Quiet!” Another voice hissed. “It’s gonna hears us!”

“Captain Firth? Are you in there?” Markos called in.

“She’s dead! It killed her!” came the first voice again, cracking.

“Shut up!” The second voice said.  Markos strained to tell which direction it came from as the voices were bouncing around in there.  The scream that followed confirmed that it was from the right.  There was an uproar of voices from within, moving along what must have been cells on each side, but then a sudden silence again.

“Are we ready to go in?” Markos asked turning to his companions.

“We need a plan…” Bleys replied.

“How can we make a plan when we don’t know exactly what is going on?” Markos asked. “It seems to me we just need to avoid being bitten…”

“Is that not always just a matter of course?” Victoria asked.

“Sure, but more than usual…” Markos pointed to the frightened guard. “He made it seem like the bite changed people, just as the _sleep_ spell did.”

“Then we’ll keep them at bay at spear point,” Victoria said.  “And if turns out they are mad and try to attack us anyway… Well, we have no means to stop their madness save the point of a spear…”

“No. We should not kill them, even if they are mad…” Bleys replied, he walked back out into the office and grabbed a spear and one of the wooden shields. “Markos, you should take one of those shields to help protect yourself…”

“Uh… I feel more comfortable with both my arms free,” Markos replied. “But I was thinking… If you plan to keep them at bay as we search for Captain Firth or a clue as to what is going on here… Perhaps you’d like more reach?”

“No,” replied Bleys.

“I mean, do you want to be larger?” Markos asked again.

“No,” replied Bleys.

Victoria called to Anhur for the strength to subdue those beyond the door, and cast _bull’s strength_ on Bleys and _shield of faith_ on Markos.  She then went on and cast _light_, having it emanate from her helmet. Markos looked at the guard and said, “We’re going in there, so we need you to pull yourself together and guard this door and not open it unless one of us gives you the password.” 

The guard agreed, nodding and then shaking his head clear it as he got to his feet.  Marko pulled open the door staying behind it.  Bleys stepped into the doorway.  “I am Bleys the Aubergine, watch-mage of Sluetelot!  I have come for Captain Firth and the warden.”

“Honored watch-mage, you bless us with your presence…” Bleys looked up to his right.  Up on the walkway platform that reached the upper cells stood a figure holding up a lantern.  It was a man with a tall bush of black curly hair and salt and pepper beard.  He was rather frumpy in build and wore a wrinkled woolen suit.  “I am Warden Pumdrove Sail…”

“Get down here, now!” Bleys the Aubergine commanded.

“Of course!” the warden stepped forward slowly and casually, his expression of amusement becoming clearer as he walked along the catwalk to the staircase down to the lower level on Bleys’ right.  “Now, what seems to be the trouble?”

“Don’t believe him! Don’t!” One of the prisoners hissed from the darkness of one of the lower cells.

“Something is not right, don’t let him get too close,” Markos said to his companion, peeking his head out from behind the door.

“Stop on the stairs,” Bleys said to the approaching warden as the man got to the top of the stairs, and the he did stop, but at the very top, making it difficult to see him without stepping forward because of the angle.

As Victoria stepped into the large holding area to stand shoulder to shoulder with Bleys she was startled by a sound coming from the other side of the large cross-shaped structure in the middle of the chamber.  The inner building seemed to have a door leading into its central enclosure from the end of each ‘tie’ of the cross, and was only slightly taller than the lower level. She thought she heard the feint laugh of a very young child, ending in a gurgle.

“What? Is there a child in here?” she asked aloud.  Bleys looked at her with a confused frown and then turned back to the warden.

“We are here to ask _you_ about the trouble,” Bleys said to the warden.  “What has happened here? Where is Captain Firth, and why do the prisoners all seem frightened and too quiet?”

“Why… yes… Something strange has been going on… That’s certainly true… the lack of sleep was getting to people and some prisoners had to be moved around to keep the peace… but Captain Firth is not here…”

“How long has it been since you have slept?” Bleys asked.

“Me? Oh, I’ve slept fine… Like a baby…” Victoria stepped out into the room a few steps, gripping her spear tightly.  She had thought she had heard the child’s voice again.  The warden continued, coming down a few steps. “But some of the guards and prisoners have gone three straight nights without sleep.”

“That is longer than we observed at the inn,” Markos said, still listening in from behind the door. “Perhaps we are closer to the origin of this phenomenon…”

“Captain Firth is here,” Bleys told the warden with certainty. 

“You are free to come up and check…” the warden half turned and gestured with an upturned thumb back up the stairs.

“Throw down the keys!” Markos commanded, still out of view.

“Whose voice is that?” The warden’s voice grew stern as he turned back around. “Is someone forgetting who the warden is here?”

“It is my companion, Markos Ackers,” Bleys replied.

“Wait a moment…” The warden stepped back up the steps a bit. “Are you here to break someone out?”

“No, sir… I am the acting watch-mage, as I am sure you know, and I was summoned here by Captain Angeleena Firth to secure the gaol, and you are acting in a manner that I would characterize as suspicious… Not the least reason being that you lie about the captain not being here, when I know she summoned me from here…”

“Oh! She was here… Sure! But she left! She’s not here now…” the warden replied. He was walking back a step at a time.

“Warden, stop!” Bleys commanded and the man obeyed.

“Ask him some questions to make sure it is really him,” Markos whispered to Bleys.  He looked to the guard who was hiding in the corner on the other side of the door, shaking. “You! Tell me the names of a couple of the prisoners or guards… What’s your name?”

“Uh, I’m Alex… Alexander? Um… Elbert was in there, too…” the guard replied.

Meanwhile Victoria of Anhur stepped over to the cells along the western side of the big room.  

“Psst! Victoria!” The sing-song voice of a very young child called to the militant from the other side of the cross-shaped structure.  She whirled around, but a voice from one of the cells caused her to whip around again.

“No! Don’t listen to it!” The prisoner warned. It was a young man with a few days of patchy growth on his otherwise fresh face.  Another man in the cell was balled up behind a cot. He was older. “Something evil is in here… It started with the sleeplessness and then Jeroen kind of went mad…” The young dockworker explained. “You have to let us out of here before it gets us all… When the warden tried to do something about Jeroen, it got him too!”

“What do you mean by ‘got him’?” Victoria asked.

“Made him change… Go mad too, start whispering and changing… Don’t talk to them, that is how they lull you before they pounce!” The prisoner warned.

“I hear a child…” Victoria said.

“I heard it, too… Stay away from it!” And then as if suddenly realizing he had spoken too much, he stepped away from the bars of the cell.

The child’s laugh came again, and once again Victoria began to slowly and steadily walk in that direction.

“Whatever it is we have to get away from it!” the prisoner insisted, talking to her back more loudly. “It can change shape! It can read minds!”

“What are these games you are playing?” The warden finally asked with insult in his voice, when the questioning regarding the names of guards and prisoners, trying to trip him up were failing to work.  “I have no idea why you are acting so suspicious of me…”

“Warden! You were standing here in the dark!” Bleys replied, growing tired of the tricks and banter.

“I have a lantern,” Pumdrove said.

“It was unlit when we arrived,” Bleys said.

“No… You just didn’t see it,” the warden insisted.

“As I have said, I was summoned here by the Captain of the watch to secure the jail and you should submit to her will,” Bleys said, holding up manacles handed to him by Markos around the door. “Agree to put these on peacefully…”

“Sure, that seems perfectly reasonable,” the warden sneered. He stepped back to the top of the steps and turned his lantern all the way down. He disappeared into the dark shadows.

“Turn the lamp up!” Bleys commanded.  There was no response.  Bleys asked Markos to hand him a torch and he threw it up to the top of the steps.  The torch illuminated the area at the top of the stairs, but the warden was nowhere to be seen. It did reveal the closest cell in that upper corner.

“Warden! I do not seek conflict with you!” Bleys warned into the darkness, and suddenly a figure appeared behind the bars in that corner cell.  It was Captain Angeleena Firth.  She had bruises on her face and neck.

“Master Bleys! You have to let me out of here!  The warden has gone mad!” she called.

“Don’t believe her!” came a chorus of prisoner’s voices.

Meanwhile, Victoria was still slowly making her way around the perimeter of the cellblock, holding her spear ahead of her.  She noticed a metal ladder attached to the wall of the cross-shaped structure, near where she has heard the laughter and decided to climb up to get a better view of the whole area and the upper level.  The top was clearly designed to allow guards to stand watch from up here and get a good view of all the cells.  She was not up there long when suddenly a yellow robed figure came leaping out of the shadows of the upper level catwalk.

“Take this…” Bleys said, hefting his spear as tried to hand the shield to Markos, but the mage held his hands up, not wanting it. He finally came into the large room, pulling the door closed behind him.

The man’s yellow robes were covered in embroidered black and red snakes, and about his neck a silver holy symbol in the shape of a serpent. The Setite’s scimitar bounced off the militant of Anhur’s helmet.

“Setites!” Victoria called out as Bleys let loose his spear and the evil priest crumpled as it impaled him from the side.  Her eyes widened as the foe was suddenly transformed into a man with the look and calloused hands of a common laborer.

“My thanks, Master Bleys,” Victoria said, admiring her companion’s martial skill and quick action. “But it looks like it was not a Setite after all… There is some kind of subterfuge here.” She kneeled beside the dying man and called to her god to stabilize him before he bled out.  The sound of a child-like laugh drew her attention, and she looked to her left to notice the form of a toddler, not more than three years old climbing over the edge of roof of the cross-structure.  The child looked at Victoria as she looked up from tending the dying commoner, and an expression of confusion and dismay formed on her face.

“Brother…?” She murmured. 3  The child smiled revealing a distorted mouth of unnaturally sharp teeth.  Laughing it leapt at her, biting at her neck.  She barely had time throw her forearm up to keep the thing at bay.

“Alex, I am of sound mind,” Markos said to the frightened guard.  “Lock this door behind me and don’t open it unless I say…”

“Yes! Sure! Will do!” Alex the guard hopped up and started to hurriedly push the door closed.

“…Outhouse… Remember, like we agreed…” Markos added.

“Yep! Yep! Sure!” The door was about to click shut, but Markos pushed back against it. “On second thought, keep it open and just close it if someone other than me, the watch-mage or the militant of Anhur tries to get out.”

“Are you sure?” Alex asked, but Markos did not get to reply, noticing movement on the steps out of the corner of his eye.

“Bleys! Look out!” The watch-mage turned at Markos’ warning as a ghoulish-looking version of Captain Firth came leaping down the steps and grabbing at him.

“_Sagitta Aquom!_” Markos chanted and two arrows of undulating watery light slammed into her.

“Surrenderrrrrr!” She grunted as Bleys withdrew, drawing his saber.

_…to be continued…_

----------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Session #23 was played on Sunday, January 20th, 2008 in Brooklyn, NY.

(2) The party first heard about the striking dockworkers in Session #21 and Bleys and Markos questioned the Sluetelot Harbormaster about it in Session #22.

(3) Victoria Ostrander’s brother died when he was child, killed by Setites during the infamous Barhyte Killings.


----------



## handforged

I like the horror direction of things at the moment very much.  I am a bit confused about the gaol layout though.  Do you have any diagrams, or could you redescribe it?

~hf


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## el-remmen

handforged said:
			
		

> I am a bit confused about the gaol layout though.  Do you have any diagrams, or could you redescribe it?
> 
> ~hf




I have attached a scan of the quick and dirty map of the gaol I made as a reference for when I drew it out on the battlemat (actually, we use Tact-tiles, but same difference.

But basically, imagine a large two story structure, except instead of a ceiling/floor separating them, three-quarters of it is a wide catwalk that allows access to the upper cells, two rows of which (on both floors) flank the building.

In the center of the huge room is an inner-building that is cross-shaped and its roof is only a few feet higher than the floor of the catwalk.

Hopefully between that and the scan it is clearer now.


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## handforged

Much clearer now, thanks.  Certainly an interesting place for a fight, especially with all the innocents around.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #23 – “Sleepless” (part 2 of 4) *

Meanwhile, at Death & Taxes Laarus called on Ra to aid or smite his friend, “Almighty Ra! If Timotheus has fallen and become an abomination against life and Anubis then send him from your willful order for this realm!”  The young priest channeled divine energy through his sun-shaped holy symbol, but the demonic vision of Timotheus only smiled, his features melting and changing.  Laarus had no time to react as Timotheus now looking like Laarus’ brother Shuward1, wrapped his muscled arms around the priest’s waist, pinning and arm and lifting him up momentarily to bring them both slamming to the floor.  The burly warrior’s full weight landed painfully on the priest upon Laarus.

“You always were a disappointment, Laarus,” Shuward hissed in his brother’s ear. “A weird little egg of a kid no one liked…”

Laarus turned and strained to get bend a leg and get a foot down beneath him and push them both up, but Timotheus’s weight and strength was too much for him.  They fell back together with another groan, which was quickly followed by a cry of pain from Laarus.  Tim-Shuward bit a chunk out of Laarus’ neck, blood pouring down his chin.  Laarus felt a wave of drowsiness wash over him but he was able to shake his head clear.

“Get off!” Laarus cried as he tried for a sudden burst to break free after pretending to relax for a moment, but it did not work.

“Disappointment…” Shuward-Tim whispered in his ear with mocking intimacy before biting him again.

“May Ra show me the truth behind this false visage, for a long time my brother has not been whole!” Laarus grunted as he finally managed to slip a hand under Tim’s grip and pry it free and stagger to his feet.  Timotheus, still looking like pale-faced Laarus’ dead older brother lunged from his knees, but the priest skipped back out of the way, wary.  He made a break for the door and the changed Timotheus stood and lunged again, slamming the priest against the door as he took another bite.  “Running? You always were a coward! Heh.” Timotheus spoke in Shuward’s voice as Laarus felt his consciousness ebb.

----------------------------------------------

The bruised and possessed captain of the Sluetelot Watch recoiled as Bleys slammed the heavy shield in her face as she grabbed at him again. Markos winced instinctively and it was all the opportunity she needed.  She bounced off the shield and turned wildly pulling the thin-framed mage into her grip, her muscles bulging unnaturally.  She spun to use Markos as a shield as Bleys stepped in to slap her on the side of the head with the flat of his saber.

“Fncking Bleys!” Markos barked as he struggled, looking up to see the watch-mage step back, drop the heavy shield and began to cast a spell. 2 “What in the Hells is wrong with you?”  He wedged his dagger between them and pried.  Captain Firth looked down at him, hissing and snarling.

“You are under arrest, Markos,” she drooled.

“Come and play with me, sister,” The toddler whispered as Victoria leapt away, off the cross-shaped inner building, landing with a grunt, the wind knocked out of her momentarily.  She looked up as she stood in time to see the form of her long dead brother…a bowl of dark hair on a round face twisted with a grimace, eyes in circles of bruised black, with deep purple around his little neck… come leaping down upon her with a snarl, grabbing at her neck with his little hands and bringing his sharp teeth to bite her.  She winced and felt a wave of drowsiness come over her, but she shook it off.  She grabbed the baby and slammed it against the wall of the cross-building and it squealed in pain.

“Sister! No!” He cried, as it pulled her grip open with preternatural strength and slid from her grip down to the floor.  She reached down to grab him, but he ducked deftly, and then tumbled aside awkwardly to avoid her powerful kick.  “You are NOT my brother!” She roared.  “How DARE you?!”

“Get the fnck off me!” Markos continued to struggle, his thin arms straining in her apish grip.  She spun him around again and this time Bleys’ sword clipped the other mage’s thigh, drawing blood. 3

“BLEYS!” Markos cried.

“Let go of her, Markos,” Bleys replied, still monotone.  He was hypnotized for half a moment by Markos’ blood on his blade.  He began to look for another opening, as the possessed captain grabbed a big hunk of Markos’ neck in her teeth.

“Bleys… You’re an assh0le,” Markos gasped, yanking his head free before she could sink her teeth in.  She raised her head to go in again. Bleys dropped his sword and stepped in, placing the heel of his hand under her chin and using Markos as a lever to pull her away.  “Let him go!” The smaller wizard stumbled away awkwardly, as Bleys took his place locking arms with the captain as if dancing.

“Victoria, stop playing with that thing and come help us,” Markos called to the militant as he stepped over to the stairs and began to cast a spell.

Victoria of Anhur could not get a grip on the little creature appearing as her brother Ephram. It ran between her legs and sunk its sharp teeth into her calf.  Again she felt the swoon of sleep wash over her, but she stamped her foot, and took a jarring half-step to the side to keep herself awake. The little monster leaped up at her and she batted it away, drawing her morningstar. 

“Victoria! What are you doing?” Bleys was alarmed, concerned that that might really be a possessed child, an innocent pawn in whatever was going on.  He turned his body trying to get the possessed captain into a headlock.

“This desecration ends now!” she replied, swinging it heavily.  The boy sidestepped and snickered. “Why are you trying to hurt me sister?  Have I not suffered enough already?”  He scurried away and tried to take advantage of Bleys’ preoccupancy with the grappling captain, but the watch-mage lifted his leg and kicked in time to avoid being bitten.

“Bleys! Be careful, that’s my brother!” Victoria warned, her attitude suddenly changing when she saw someone else threatening the child-like form.  She stepped over and punched down at it with morningstar still in her hands. 4

Markos stepped out of the shadow; his hand crackling with blue white sparks of lightning and touched it to Captain Firth. Her body jerked in spasms of agony, and Bleys was thrown free of her grip.  She stumbled and nearly fell, but then looked up, a look of fear and confusion on her face.

“Huh? What happened to me?” she asked, looking around. While still bruised, the monstrous aspects of her face and her unnatural musculature were gone. “The last thing I remember the warden was chasing me!”  She hurried over to the door out and turned around.  Markos grabbed the manacles off his belt and reached out with them towards her.

“You need to get in these for your own good,” Markos said, but she backed away, raising her hands in fists, as she had no weapon.

“Captain Firth, trust me! You were not yourself! You must submit to the manacles!” Bleys said, turning to flank Ephram between him and Victoria.  “You say this is your brother?  Who is this child?”

“He is in the guise of my brother…He… he passed when we were children…,” She replied, punching at the thing with her morningstar, but now being overcautious.  Ephram giggled and jumped out of the way, but then shrieked when he realized he leapt right into Bleys Winter’s strong arms. The watch-mage stooped down and scooped him up around the head and shoulders, and Victoria quickly grabbed the child’s kicking legs. They tightened their grip and the child stopped squirming, its form melting and changing, until suddenly they held a stout halfling in their arms.  “Hey! What’s going on?” the halfling cried with alarm.  “Brutality!” He desperately began to try to break free again, but with much less strength.

Captain Firth seeing the transformation was convinced and put out her wrists for Markos, who snapped the manacles around them.  “What in the gods’ names!” The captain suddenly swore, looking up “What is that?”

Markos looked up to where Angeleena Firth looked and there crawling down the wall head first was the figure of the warden, his hair sticking up wildly, his eyes glowing deep red, and his clothing tearing from the undulation of his muscles.

“Aw fnck!” Markos swore as the possessed warden leapt off the wall at him.  The skinny mage managed to push Captain Firth back, as he jumped back himself, and the warden landed between them, hissing and cackling.

“Close that door!” Markos commanded Alexander, and the frightened guard did not hesitate to obey.  “_Sagitta caustus!_  An arrow made of acid came flying out of Marko’s hand and slammed into the warden. The man howled as his skin and clothing smoked.

“Victoria, put him in a cell,” Bleys said to the militant, shoving the halfling roughly into her arms and turning to help Markos.  The little man now hung upside-down from where Victoria held his ankles.  He swore in his high voice.   Bleys the Aubergine stepped over and slammed a heavy fist with all his might into the side of the warden’s head, and the man went down.

“Captain Firth… Where is the watch-wizard?” Bleys asked, wary of more possessed people that might attack.

“When we were fighting off Jeroen he was injured and bleeding, but we managed to bind him before he died,” the captain explained. “He should be on the upper level…”

“What’s going on?! Let us out of here!” There was a sudden roar of prisoners’ voices filling the gaol, now that the sound of the fight had stopped.

“Quiet!” Bleys commanded.  He turned back to the captain. “And what of Jeroen, the dock master?”

“I don’t know…” 

Victoria put down the halfling and he immediately scurried away, putting his back to the wall of the cross-shaped building.

“You!” Bleys turned to him, holding out another set of manacles. The halfling had a dark hair cut short to his scalp, and a round face disfigured with dimples of fat.  “Either you are going to put these on your feet, or you are going into a cell…” 5

“I’m not doing either!” The halfling protested.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” The halfling snarled.  “It is the injustice of us being locked in here so long that led to us being in danger in the first place!”

“Regardless of what has happened here, you and your fellow dockworkers have broken the law and deserve to be here… We have defeated the enemies here and until you are safely confined, we cannot make sure that all of them have been taken care of…”

“I am not doing it…” The halfling replied. “I’ll help you look…”

“No… You will comply, or I will simply have to sit on you while we search,” Bleys threatened.

“You can’t do both at once!” The halfling snapped back.

“Just grab him and throw him in,” Markos growled. “He’s just a halfling!”

Victoria took a step towards the prisoner who moments before had looked like her late brother, and the halfling looked up at her nervously. 

“Okay! Okay! I’ll go in myself,” He said, and began to walk towards the stairs, which was where Bleys gestured.  There was an open cell at the top there.  “But I won’t be locked in…” He added.

“It is safer in the cell than out anyway,” Victoria said.

“And it is even safer out of the prison altogether,” the halfling reasoned. “Why not just let me go?  I can just go and be out of your hair…”

“No, no you can’t…” Victoria replied.

“We are all locked in…” Bleys said, pointing to the large metal door Alexander had shut.

“You’re all crazy! You locked yourselves in here?”  The halfling began to climb the steps with Bleys in front of him and Victoria behind.

Once he was in the cell, they found the bound form of the watch-wizard in another open cell, and it did not take them long to realize after looking everywhere they could, that the unconscious form of the prisoner who had appeared as a “Setite” and attacked Victoria was actually Jeroen.  They carried him over to the cell with the halfling and put him in there as well, much to the little person’s chagrin.

“What are you putting him in here for?  What if he wakes up and bites me again?” the halfling complained.

“He is not waking up…” Bleys replied.  “Not for some time anyway…”

“Barakis the Bold would never have handled it this way…” The halfling said.

“Barakis is passed.  I am the watch-mage of Sluetelot for now…”

“Let us out! Let us out!” Once again the prisoners were yelling and banging their metal cups against the bars of their cells.

“We have the keys now!” Bleys addressed the prisoners, holding up the ring of them. “As long as you remain in the back of your cells away from the bars, you should be safe from any other possessed beings seeking to bite you…”

“I bet this whole thing is a Weirspierogen plot!” One of the prisoners yelled in the ensuing silence, and then they erupted again, cursing and threatening the people of Weirspierogen and the nobles of House Devenpeck. 

It took some time to convince Alexander to unlock the prison door, even with the safeword that Markos has arranged, but once they did, Captain Firth was unmanacled so that she could gather up the town-watch to help deal with the crisis.  

“Send word to Havesting, we need to declare martial law in town,” Bleys said to her.

She nodded, headed out, and was heard to blow her whistle.

“We need to figure out the source of this sleeplessness and possession,” Bleys said to his companions. “I think that the sleeplessness makes people go mad and thus open to whatever malevolent force is taking them over…”

“We need to seek out someone who would know about these things,” Markos said.

“Yes… It is for that reason that I am going to call a meeting of the watch-mage’s council,” Bleys replied.  Markos was left behind at the gaol to await Captain Firth’s return, while Victoria jogged over to the temple of Anhur to see what help she could gather there. Bleys the Aubergine headed back to Death & Taxes.

_…to be continued…_

---------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) In central Aquerra, where the gods of Ra’s Pantheon are worshipped, it is not uncommon for twins to be given names that are variations of the names of the twins gods, Shu and Tefnut.

(2)	Bleys cast _mage armor_ on Markos.

(3)	Markos provided cover to the captain, and Bleys struck an AC high enough to normally strike her, but failed to because of the bonus provided by Markos, thus Markos took the damage.

(4)	This was where I turned to Victoria’s player and asked “How _does_ one fight to subdue with a morningstar?” I do not recall the answer, but I did accept it, though in retrospect I am once again dubious of the notion.

(5)	The halfling’s wrists were too thin for the manacles to be effective on him.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #23 – “Sleepless” (part 3 of 4)*

Timotheus Smith shook his head back and forth to try and clear it.  He was leaning over awkwardly on the suite couch, and he winced as he felt the bruises of his battle with Laarus, though he remembered nothing of it save as the shadowy recollections of a quickly fading nightmare.  He noticed Laarus lying on the floor unconscious and hurried to kneel beside him, only taking a moment to slip on a pair of trousers.

“Are you all right?” Tim asked, and Laarus’ eyes snapped open.  The priest of Ra’s face began to bubble and change, his mouth opening to reveal rows of sharp jagged teeth.  “Sweet Nephthys! What’s wrong with you?”  

Timotheus jumped back as Laarus got to his feet, but before the priest could do much more, he grabbed him in a headlock, noticing immediately how much stronger than normal Laarus seemed.  He looked down in Laarus’ face, but it was no longer Laarus’ face, it was the sad and scared face of his sister, Ivy.

“Tim? What are you doing to me?” She asked pathetically.

“This is isn’t right…” Tim said, trying to adjust his grip into something equally as restraining but less painful.  She broke free in the process.

The transformed form of Laarus sprinted to the door, throwing it open and heading out into hall. “Hey! Get back here!” Timotheus called, giving chase.  He grabbed at the back of his sister’s dress, but she yanked free and turned left down the hall.  Timotheus came around the corner in time to see her leap over the banister of the steps that led down to the common room, and without hesitating he leapt as well.  He heard a gasp and outcry from those sleepless partiers still left in the inn as his legs collapsed beneath him, and looking up he saw that Laarus no longer looked like Ivy, but like some kind of fisherman.

Laarus now wore a long dirty yellow canvas coat.  He had floppy fisherman’s hat that covered his ears, and his face was that of a worn older man with a curly red beard.  The barmaid he landed beside turned towards him and screamed when she saw him, dropping her tray of drinks.

“Weirspierogen will burn Sluetelot to the ground!” Laarus-turned-fisherman declared. The crowd in the common room roared in anger, and then shrieked when he charged at a man sitting nearby with cards fanned in his hands and a small pile of silver and copper coins on the table before him.  The possessed priest grabbed the man around the head and bit deep into his neck, tearing a big piece of flesh as blood billowed out and the man slid to the floor, dying.

“He bit Clive!” Someone yelled.  Chairs fell back and tables shook as the crowd drew away from what now appeared to be a demonic Weirspierogener fisherman with a mouth full of sharp teeth and blood pouring over his chin.

“I shall slay him!” It was Floris Tenbrook, rapier suddenly in his hand as he leapt over a table in Laarus’ direction. His left hand deftly pulled a dagger from his other side.

“No! Don’t hurt him!” Timotheus yelled, getting to his feet.  “He’s enchanted! He’s under a spell!”  He tried to get at Laarus, but too many people were in the way as they scrambled to get away from the site of the melee.

Laarus the fisherman grabbed the barmaid and yanked her in front of him, blocking Floris momentarily as he tore into her as well.  She screamed and fell to the ground.  Floris jammed his rapier into the fisherman’s side.

“No! No weapons!” Tim cried pushing his way forward.  He slammed a fist into the back of Laarus’ head with restrained might.  Floris Tenbrook looked at him as if he were mad.  “What exactly is going on here?”

Laarus crumpled over, but took the opportunity to scramble away towards the door of the inn.  Floris and Timotheus moved to follow, but this time instead of scattering, the crowd fell upon the fisherman with fists, cups and even a chair.   Timotheus forced his way through the crowd as they gasped as one.  Instead of a fisherman, there lay Laarus’ unconscious form.  Timotheus ran over to the barmaid.  She was bleeding out.

“Quick! Help me bind her!” He called to Floris, but the young noble shrugged.  “What do I know about healing people?”  Barton Digits came rushing into the came out of the kitchen followed by the other barmaid and the cook.  “Oh my Gods!”

“Well… At least try!” But it was too late, the barmaid was dead, and the other barmaid, her sister, howled with grief.  

“Clive is dead, too…” said one of the other patrons.  The crowd murmured their displeasure, and there was a general sense, despite Laarus’ appearance, that the people of Weirspierogen were somehow behind this. 1

“So, does this have something to do with the sleeplessness?” Floris Tenbrook asked Tim.

“I don’t know…”

“Where is Bleys and the others?” Floris asked.

“I don’t know…” 

Floris ordered two men to carry Laarus up to the suites, and as Timotheus moved to help there was a commotion from outside.  Screams echoed in from the marketplace.  A man rushed into the inn.

“Someone call the watch! There are a group of old wives ripping each other apart out there!”

Timotheus turned to go outside, but Floris Tenbrook stopped him. “See to your friend, I will take care of this…”

“If people are in trouble I am going to help!” Timotheus insisted and moved to continue, but again Floris stepped in front of him, putting a hand up to the bigger man’s chest. 

“I told you…” Floris’ usual gay tone gave way to a stern voice filled with authority. “See to your friend.  See to yourself… I shall handle this…”

Timotheus fumed, standing there shaking with anger and shirtless, covered in the blood of barmaid.  “You are a fool!” He turned to follow the men carrying Laarus upstairs.

“I will not forget you said that,” Floris replied with menace in his voice. He left.

---------------------------------------------------

Bleys the Aubergine spotted the temple of Isis on his way back towards the center of town and ran up to the ornate door covered with silver runic moons and ankhs.  They were shut, so he knocked on them.

“Fair maidens of Isis!  It is I, Bleys the Aubergine! Sluetelot is in need of your aid!” he called.

At first there was no response, but he knocked again and soon the door began to open.

“Master Bleys!” It was a dark-haired woman approaching middle age.  She wore a white gown decorated with a burning heart emblazoned with a golden ankh.  She wore a read headband.  “I am Aphia of Fallon.  The sisters are all sequestered.  They have been called by the high priestess to discuss a vision.”

“When?” The watch-mage asked the Medicus.

“Last night as moonrise,” she replied.  “The Silent Sisters and I have been asked to watch over the temple until they emerge…”

“Very well… When you can, please tell Leisel of Isis that I am convening a meeting of the watch-mage’s council in two hours at Death & Taxes.”

Aphia said she would.  Bleys made his way across the marketplace well plaza and spotted a group of the town watch manacling a group of middle-aged and old women by a shattered stall.  Floris Tenbrook was among them, and he looked up and noticing Bleys, made his way to intercept him.

“Ah! There you are!” Floris said.

“Here I am,” Bleys said in his flat tone.

“These women were causing a disturbance,” Floris explained. “They were fighting like animals over some fish… Most of them haven’t slept in days.  Something is going on…”

“I agree.  It is for that reason that I am calling a meeting of the watch-mage’s council,” Bleys replied. “I have sent word to Liesel, and was coming to find you, and now I need only to find Darbold the Gay.”

“I can show you the way to his house, but then I need to come back here to keep things calm…” Floris said.  He ordered the guards to bring the women to the gaol, and then began to do just that. “When we get a chance later, I need to talk to you about your companion, Timotheus…”

Bleys did not respond.

“Oh! And your other companion, Laarus Raymer, attacked two people at the inn and killed them,” Floris added.  Bleys raised an eyebrow.

Back at the gaol, Markos was using his _sleep_ spell, which he had prepared in place of a spell he already had ready, and found that putting people to sleep seemed to be what initiated the possession.

“The end of all order comes…” A prisoner isolated to his own cell hissed at him.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Markos chuckled. 2  “So who are you? What are you doing in this man? Where did you come from?”

The possessed man murmured something Markos could not hear.  “What?” the mage asked and the man murmured again. 

“Come closer… It’s a secret…” The man said softly, and Markos leaned in and then jumped back, as the possessed man grabbed at him, his mouth transforming into one filled with sharp teeth, his eyes glowing and smoking.

Markos walked over to Alexander. “When Captain Firth returns tell her that sleep triggers the transformation.  I need to go warn Bleys and my other companions of this fact…” And with that he left to try and catch up with Bleys.    He had not gone far when he saw Captain Firth returning, along with several guards, the arrested old women from the market and Floris Tenbrook.  The captain and the young noble were disagreeing about putting the women in the gaol.

“It is being put to sleep that triggers the possession,” Markos told them. “If we keep them segregated in their own cells, we should not have a problem…  I only worry that the longer someone has not slept, the more likely they are to spontaneously fall into a slumber and thus become taken over…”

“I have not slept in almost three days,” Floris Tenbrook replied. 

“Then you are a danger…”

“Some of us have stronger minds than others,” Floris smirked.

“Regardless, I need to go talk to Bleys…” Markos said.  Floris agreed to accompany the wizard back to the inn.

“You know, your cousin Laarus killed two people,” Floris told Markos.

“What a shame…” Markos replied with no real sympathy.

Floris looked down at Markos and smirked again. “Where is Telémahkos?” 3

Markos shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know… All my weak-willed companions are acting oddly… And speaking of acting oddly, I believe that if you have not slept in three days, we should put you in a cell before you collapse and are overcome… I am sure all the alcohol you imbibe is no aid in resisting whatever is going on…”

“Excuse me?” Floris Tenbrook stopped.

“Drunks are not exactly consistently reliable,” Markos replied.

“You had better reconsider your words and attitude, young Markos…” Floris replied with tension in his voice. “You are speaking to one of your betters and a member of the watch-mage’s council… Not trading salty insults with seadogs…”

“My betters?” Markos laughed. “If only being noble really made someone better, except perhaps better in the favors of those who hold power…”

“It seems the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland have trouble with their tongues…” Floris said. “I must speak to Master Bleys about this…” He started to walk again, his hand tightly gripping the hilt of his rapier.

Markos stood there for a moment and then hurried to catch up.  “I may owe you an apology…”

Floris was silent.

“I mean… I apologize… It has been a stress filled morning…”

“Apology accepted,” Floris said. “See? You are learning… Perhaps you need to emulate your companion, Bleys.  He is the most respectful of your band…”

“Most respectful? He is the least respectful!”

“I am sure whoever has been the target of his indignation has brought such treatment onto themselves…” Floris replied.

“Then anyone talking to him for five minutes about anything must be enough to bring it on themselves…” Markos quipped.

----------------------------------------------------

At Darbold the Gay’s house, the bard’s wife was at her wit’s end, as all three of their young children were wailing endlessly.  Rose was significantly younger than her husband, and her hips, widened by multiple childbirths in a short time, gave her a pear shape.  Her face still had all its prettiness, despite the deep creases and dark circles of sleeplessness.

“Darbold was called to Havesting this morning and he has still not returned,” Rose said.  “I wish he would come back.  Little Barakis and the girls have not slept and I am worried about them… They just won’t stop crying…”

“Lack of sleep is causing a sort of madness,” Bleys told her. He reached into his satchel for the herbal sleep aids he had purchased in the market earlier, and gave her two of them.  “See if you can feed them these.  Sleep will cure them…” 4

“Thank you, Master Bleys,” Rose gave a short stiff bow.

“Please have your husband come to Death & Taxes when he returns,” Bleys told her. “I am convening an emergency meeting of the Watch-mage’s council…”

Bleys headed back to the inn, and found Timotheus running down the steps into the common room to greet him, having noticing him coming from the upstairs window.  The tall Briareus had gotten dressed and strapped on his armor.

“We have a problem… What are you looking at me that way for?” Timotheus felt stung by Bleys’ dark penetrating eyes.

“Do you have more to say?” Bleys asked.

“Laarus turned… Well, he turned into my sister and then into some mad Weirspierogen fisherman and killed two people…”

“So I have heard…” Bleys responded.

“Something bad is happening because of this sleeplessness,” Timotheus said. “Where is my cousin? Where’s Victoria?”

“Victoria is recruiting help from the temple of Anhur,” Bleys said. “She saw a halfling that turned into her dead brother… So you are not alone in seeing people transform into family members…”

“Is she alright?” Timotheus asked with genuine concern.

“She is a militant… It would take more than that to shake her…” Bleys replied. “Tell me in detail what happened…”

“I woke up on the floor, half leaning on the couch… I don’t know how I got there…”

“Last I saw you, you were laying there with two bawdy wenches…” Bleys said.

“They aren’t bawdy wenches, they’re just a couple of nice town girls,” Timotheus protested with a grin.

“And Laarus was awake?” Bleys asked.

“Uh… He was laying on the floor when I first saw him, and he was covered in bruises and bite marks… Don’t know where they came from… Oh no!” Timotheus put meaty fist up to his mouth and bit it nervously. “It must have been me!  I must have been possessed while I slept!”

“Perhaps passing the infection cures you of it…” Bleys speculated.

”I don’t know… Laarus bit two people and they just bled to death…” Tim replied. “And he only stopped when Floris and the crowd beat him down…”

“You can tell all that occurred at the council meeting,” Bleys said.

“A council meeting?  I hate fncking meetings!” Timotheus swore.

_…to be continued…_

---------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Sluetelot and Weirspierogen have long had rivalry that goes all the way back to the days before the establishment of the Magocracy of Thricia.

(2)	Markos is Chaotic good. In case you couldn’t guess from his behavior…

(3)	Telémahkos’ player could not make it to this session and would also end up missing the next session.  Luckily, the confusion of the events in the town and the splitting of the party made it easy to explain his absence.

(4)	Bleys purchased these in Session #24.


----------



## handforged

What a trouble all of this is turning out to be.  I bet that even if things are figured out, the political suspicions that will arise from such confusion will not go away so quickly.

~hf


----------



## Fimmtiu

I'm a new reader (haven't read OOTFP either). Thoughts:

Pro: You're an excellent writer and a very clever DM -- two rare qualities that are even rarer to find together. Well done! The links, in particular, are a very nice touch for communicating the setting.

Con: I found that I had to stop reading about halfway into the second page. I just couldn't take the neverending inter-character arguing, caviling, backbiting, sniping, and general irritability. With all of the arguing back and forth about every single little decision, it started to feel more like the minutes of a debating club; I was half-expecting them to start slugging each other over what flavour of jam to eat for breakfast. Does it keep up like this? I mean, I respect that the players are sticking to their characterizations so well, but it makes for poor drama.


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## el-remmen

Fimmtiu said:


> I'm a new reader (haven't read OOTFP either).




Thanks for giving us a try! 




Fimmtiu said:


> Thoughts:
> 
> Pro: You're an excellent writer and a very clever DM -- two rare qualities that are even rarer to find together. Well done! The links, in particular, are a very nice touch for communicating the setting.




Thanks!  I appreciate the compliment.



Fimmtiu said:


> Con: I found that I had to stop reading about halfway into the second page. I just couldn't take the neverending inter-character arguing, caviling, backbiting, sniping, and general irritability. With all of the arguing back and forth about every single little decision, it started to feel more like the minutes of a debating club; I was half-expecting them to start slugging each other over what flavour of jam to eat for breakfast. Does it keep up like this? I mean, I respect that the players are sticking to their characterizations so well, but it makes for poor drama.




Well, I am just relaying the events, and yes, early on the bickering was paralyzing.  Frustrating on one level, but also an opportunity to develop character personalities. . . I cannot say that it ever goes completely away (at least at this point), but it certainly does not continue at the rate found on the second page - However, I am not sure exactly how far you got in terms of the actual events of the game - so I cannot give a precise description of how it changes from where you are.

There is one last huge group argument/debate in Session #5 - but after that the action becomes too thick to argue very much for a while until downtime comes again - and by then the forge of battle have made them bond a bit more.

Anyway, hope you'll give us another chance


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## Fimmtiu

You're quite right -- it was partway through session #5 that I threw up my hands at the bickering. After slogging through that, the rest of it is much better. Keep posting, please; I'm looking forward to more!


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #23 – “Sleepless” (part 4 of 4)*

The meeting was held in the common room of Death & Taxes.   Captain Firth arrived with news that Havesting was locked up and was not allowing anyone in or out.  This included Darbold the Gay.

“Who commands Havesting?” Bleys asked her.

“Holy Admiral Korwait Tenbrook,” Angeleena said.

“I see you’re better,” Laarus said to Timotheus when he came downstairs after a healing spell from Victoria awoke him.  She had come with the only militant present at the temple when she arrived, Custus Frod.  All the other priests of Anhur were at some ceremony at the High Temple of Ra in Lilly City.

“I see _you’re_ better,” Timotheus replied.

“You killed two people in a fit of rage,” Bleys said, flatly.

“It wasn’t quite rage,” Tim disagreed.  Laarus Raymer of Ra was filled in on all that had happened, and Markos gave the news of his theory that sleep was not the answer, but the problem.

“Putting people to sleep triggers the possession…” He said for about the fifth time.  No one was quite taking his suggestion very seriously.

“We need to go to Havesting and see what is happening there, for I was relying on their help in locking down the city,” Bleys said. “On the way we will stop at the house of Darbold the Gay and test your theory…”

“How?” Markos asked.

“I gave his wife herbal sleep draughts to use on their children,” Bleys replied calmly.

----------------------------------------------

“What did you give my children!” Darbold’s wife was frantic.  She held the wailing infant, ‘little Barakis’ in her arms.

“Rose, what happened?” Bleys asked.  She let them into the house and they could see for themselves.  In the sitting room a crib was turned over and upon it were a large cast iron pot and two large decorative bricks.  Held captives by the crib’s rails was a vicious little creature, a howling feral child that tore at the wooden slats with claws and unnatural strength.  When it saw the party it shrieked and transformed into the form of a little girl of barely two years in light blue jumper.  “Momma! Out, out! Momma!”

Another child of about three years was lying on a sofa with a bruise upon her head.

“They were just sleeping draughts…” Bleys said. 

“I fed them to them, and they eventually drifted off, but then they woke up and… and… looked like the walking dead!” Rose’s voice had a tinge of hysteria to it.  “I was able to trap Anemone under the crib, but I was forced to hit Daisy with the broom!  She bit me!” Rose lifted her skirt and turned her leg to reveal the wound on her calf. “I felt woozy for a moment when she bit me, but luckily Isis was with me and I was able to shake it off.”

Laarus walked over and examined the injured child.  “Cousin, heal its wounds,” Markos said to him, but the priest shook his head.  Markos looked at Laarus with disbelief. Tim, who stood nearby, echoed the mage’s skepticism regarding Laarus’ lack of sympathy for the child.

“We don’t know what she will be alike if she awakens,” Laarus said.  Instead, he had Rose set up a blanket and pillow on the floor, and another crib was laid over the tiny unconscious form.

“What of the possessed one?” Markos asked.  “Maybe we should try to put her to sleep somehow, so she cannot hurt herself?”

“Know a good lullaby?” Timotheus joked.

There was nothing more to be done for them. Bleys told Rose that her husband was trapped in Havesting and that was where they were going next.

Bleys, Laarus, Markos, Timotheus, Victoria, Custus, Angeleena, Floris and three of the town watch marched east towards the imposing walls of Havesting.  They drew a crowd of sleepless complaining people that Bleys admonished to return to their homes and remain inside.  While everyone made a show of leaving, some just hung back following from a far and drawing more attention as they walked.

Bleys called up and announced himself, asking to be allowed within the great thick wooden doors, reinforced with bolted slats of thick iron, allowing entrance into Havesting from the Old Town side, but the guards atop the wall tower refused him.

“We are to let no one in or out by order of Holy Admiral Kortwait Tenbrook,” the guard called down.

“Then summon him, and tell him that Bleys the Aubergine, acting watch-mage of Sluetelot and member of the Charter of Schiereiland wishes to speak to him regarding the plague that afflicts this town,” Bleys called up. “Tell him I am here with Captain Firth of the town-watch and his kindred, Floris Tenbrook. Also, if possible please have Darbold the Gay of the watch-mage’s council accompany him.”

It took some time, but the Holy Admiral did eventually arrive at the wall.  During that time much of the crowd dispersed, growing bored.   It was hard to make out his features from forty feet below, but they could note his graying hair and his iron-colored beard. Darbold was not with him.

“Hail, honored watch-mage!” He called down. “I would allow you access, but I fear what might happen if the plague of insomnia were to spread too far among the ranks that defend the port.  I have already ordered that no ships or ferries be allowed to depart, nor for any to be allow to dock here.  The canal is closed…”

“Do you know what caused this plague of insomnia?” Bleys asked.

“No…” The Holy Admiral called down. “We had a guard return from leave complaining that he had not slept in three days and acting irritable and irrational.  Darbold was summoned to put him to sleep with bardic song, and when the soldier fell asleep, he was possessed by some fiendish spirit…”

“We saw evidence of this at the gaol…” Bleys replied.

“Darbold was attacked and he too fell asleep and was possessed, but luckily he was quickly subdued,” Korwait Tenbrook continued.

“We have discovered that a shock to the system, like a great pain can break people out of the possession,” Markos called up.

Korwait supported Bleys’ desire for declaring martial law, but he did not want to open the fortress to lend him the troops to accomplish this.

“We shall investigate the source of this and report back to you our findings,” Bleys said.

“What could be the reason behind this?” Timotheus asked. “I mean, is someone behind this? What does it accomplish?”

“We’ve seen once already how people can be changed en mass,” Laarus said.

“The pearl…” Tim replied. 1 The priest nodded.

“This is different,” Bleys said.

“I don’t know, those who are changed seem pretty savage,” Markos said.

“Maybe it is something in the water…” Tim guessed.

Bleys shook his head. “I checked the wells first thing this morning…”

“Where is Telémahkos?” Victoria asked, suddenly noticing his absence.

“I’ve already asked twice and no one has been able to tell me,” Timotheus said.

“I already told you, last I saw him he was running around the market in a funny hat,” Markos said with feigned weariness. 2

“Well… If we have no other leads, I am going to go find him,” Timotheus said, worrying creeping into his voice.  “Crazy things are going on and Red Lantern assassins are after him…”

“We are bereft of purpose, so we might as well seek out Telémahkos,” Victoria of Anhur agreed.  “Do you have a lead as to where we might find him?”

“We can start by looking in the kinds of places that Telémahkos likes,” Tim replied.

“Floris, Captain Firth, do you have any suggestions on how best to declare and enforce martial law without the help of the troops from Havesting,” Bleys asked, as the group began to march back towards Death & Taxes.

“I guess no one else cares about Telémahkos… I’ll just go on my own,” Timotheus said, huffily, turning towards the seedy quarter of Old Town.  “What’s that smoke?”

Everyone turned.  There was a cloud of black smoke hovering over that area of Sluetelot, and a streak of it rippling along the wind that came in off the bay from the northeast.

“Fire!” Several voices called out at once and suddenly everyone was hurrying to the well-plaza in that section of town.3  The cramped and close-packed wooden buildings ranging from one story squats to teetering four-story structures with warped beams were going up with alarming speed.  People were streaming out of the narrow streets, screaming and weeping.  Dogs were barking and babies were crying, and more and more people crammed into the plaza making the situation dangerous.  

“The lack of sleep must have led to someone’s carelessness…” Captain Firth surmised.  She sent members of the watch to sound the alert.

“Is there anyone still in there?” Timotheus asked a soot-faced man stumbling out of burning area.

“There’s still a whole lot of people trapped in there,” the man coughed.  Timotheus did not hesitate, he ran right up the widest of the smoke filled streets past two columns of fire.  Victoria followed him.

“Come back here you crazy fools!” Markos yelled, but either they could not hear or did not care to listen.

“I will go find more aid!” Floris Tenbrook took off. 

Bleys the Aubergine kicked over a nearby cabbage cart and climbed atop it.4  He cast _announce_. “People of Sluetelot!”  You must band together and save your city.  The fire will spread if we do not act quickly, and then all shall be lost!”

With the help of Laarus and Markos, the watch-mage organized several lines of bucket brigades to get to work on the fire, while runners were sent to gather more help from the other parts of the town.  A guard was sent to give word to Havesting of the new danger.   As the able-bodied men and women worked, along with a great number of older children, the elderly were given command over the very young, and people were led towards the larger Market Well Plaza where it would be safer.  There was still some chaos and people emerged from smoke-filled streets frightened and confused, but Bleys’ calming authoritarian tone kept the people of Sluetelot working and focused for the most part.

Markos Ackers wandered to the other side of the plaza and sat down to try to prepare a spell that would be helpful, but found the constant jeers from the commoners working to fight the fire too distracting to continue.

Meanwhile, Timotheus and Victoria ran amid burning buildings, covering their mouths with their arms as they burst through clouds of black smoke and felt waves of heat on the wind.  They directed a few groups of people towards the best way out of the area and towards the well plaza where the others were organizing, and soon came to a four story building that was choking out streams of black smoke as fire licked up its eastern side, driven across the length of its floors by the wind.  Two men were looking up near the top of the building and pointing.  There was a scream.  Tim and Victoria looked and saw an older woman with a child in her arms.  “Help me!” She cried.  “We’re trapped! My granddaughter!”

“I’m coming!” Timotheus hollered, he rushed into the building, leaping through a thin curtain of flame into the vestibule, and then down the smoky hall to the stairs.

“I’ll get more help!” Victoria ran as fast as she could back to the plaza.

“Laarus!” She called seeing the young priest as soon as she came out into the plaza, covered in soot and her tabard singed. “Timotheus has run into a building! We need to help him and the people he is trying to save!” She turned to Captain Firth. “Captain! Have you any men to spare?”

She noted an _enlarged_ Bleys pouring water from an over-sized bucket into the buckets of others while still booming orders to the working townspeople.

Captain Firth ordered two men to follow the militant of Anhur into the burning streets and Laarus took up the rear, working to keep Victoria in sight despite thickening plumes of smoke. 

Timotheus winced as a tongue of flame lapped against him, jetting out from an open door way.  Smoke choked and blinded him.  He bound up the steps letting the cry of the child above draw him past the pain.  His lungs burned, and as he came around a corner on the third floor he stumbled right into a curtain of flame and yelled as he fell to his knees and rolled, patting at his side and casting off his burning cloak.  He climbed back to his feet, fighting a wracking cough and forced himself to continue.  Looked back and saw that the steps behind him were awash in flame. There was no going back that way.  Way below he heard wood begin to collapse.  The building shook.

“Call out! Call out so I can find you!” He croaked as loudly as he could.

“Over here!” The woman poked her head behind another lower curtain of flame, in the doorway of a set of apartments.  She held a wailing child of about fourteen months of age. 

“Get back!” Timotheus waved his hands at them as he leapt in their direction, feeling the fire lick his legs as he kicked through it.  The pain was excruciating.  He ran to the window and looked out.  On the street, nearly forty feet below, he saw Victoria and Laarus spreading a blanket with the aid of two of the watch and two townsfolk.  The militant had found it in a scattered pile of abandoned laundry beside an overturned basket.

“Go without me! Save the child!” The woman said, trying to hand him the baby.  He put his hands up and shook his head.

“Climb on my back,” he told the hysterical woman she clawed at him with one hand, as the baby squirmed out of the grip of her other withered arm.  He grabbed the child, who wailed again, but buried her head in his chest.  He got down on one knee and the woman climbed onto his back, grabbing around his neck.  “Not so tight!”  He passed the child around to her. “I need my hands free…” Tim broke through what remained of the window frame and climbed out onto the ledge.  He began to try to climb down the side of the building, hanging by pure strength of his arms and his indomitable will, as the woman choked him, and the baby squeezed between them.

“Jump!” Victoria called, but Tim had no choice.  He lost his grip as he swung his body trying to aim for a place he could get a foothold climb down to the third floor.  Down they fell, the child wailing, the woman screaming, and below Victoria, Laarus and the others called to each other directing the blanket this way and that.  Timotheus twisted his body so that he would cushion the woman and child when they landed. 

Timotheus felt the blanket tear past him and then everything was black for a moment, the sound of fire and voices coming to him from far away.  The child was still crying.  He smiled to know it was alive.  The woman was dying from the impact, but the child was amazingly unharmed.  A call to Ra from Laarus and the woman regained consciousness. Timotheus got to his feet with the help of one of the town-watch.  Victoria held the baby.

“Oh my goodness! Thank Isis! Thank Ra!” The old woman wailed.  The building groaned as the fourth floor collapsed.

“We need to get out of here,” said one of the guards, as he and the townsfolk began to run. Timotheus scooped up the old woman again. Victoria carried the child, and the two of them and Laarus hustled back to the plaza.

Bleys and his cooperating townsfolk had managed to hold the fire back at the line of the plaza, keeping it from spreading south.  “We are going to need to extend this brigade east to trap the fire against the town wall,” he called to Markos.

Timotheus brought the old woman over to where some younger women were organizing groups to lead the old and infirmed towards safety. Victoria handed the baby to her. 

”Thank you! Isis bless you! Isis bless you!” She kissed their hands.

“Wild horse!” a voice called out as the crowd murmured like a wave.  A horse came galloping into the plaza, driven mad by its burning mane.

*End of Session #23*

---------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) The party first learned of the pearl in Session #7.

(2) See the end of Session #22.

(3) Sluetelot is divided into two basic areas “Old Town” and “New Sluetelot.” Old Town is divided into quarters, each with a central plaza holding a well and small local market.  The seedy part of town is the northeastern quarter, sometimes called ‘The Salty Quarter’.  The events of this portion of the campaign are based on “A Hot Day in L’Trel” by Ted James Thomas Zuvich from Dungeon #44 (Nov/Dec 1993).

(4) MY CABBAGES!!


----------



## handforged

FIRE!  Go Tim.  I love the image of giant Bleys handing out water.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

I was playing around with the new social group functionality on the boards and created the "Aquerra Story Hour Readers" group for those who are following this story hour and/or read the "Out of the Frying Pan" story hour.

I sent out a bunch of invites to those folks I could recall as readers, but if you were left out of those feel free to join up.  

Honestly, not sure what the groups are good for, but what the hell, right?

"Aquerra Story Hour Readers" group


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Good stuff, as ever, el-remmen. You certainly seem to enjoy throwing multiple challenges at the group - here's hoping that they continue to cope.


----------



## el-remmen

The writing has been going slow.  Session #24 is already written up and I am finally closing in on the end of Session #25, but I started writing it on June 2nd, which means it has taken me a month and a half to write the 17 pages of it I have so far.  As soon as I am done writing up #25 I will begin posting #24 (which will be in two parts), but #25 (which will likely be in 3 or 4 parts) will not go up until I finish writing Session #26, and Thoth knows how long that'll be. 




HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:


> Good stuff, as ever, el-remmen. You certainly seem to enjoy throwing multiple challenges at the group - here's hoping that they continue to cope.




Thanks! I like doing what I call "nested challenges,"  the ideas for which are usually born of thinking of some the consequences of whatever challenge I begin with.


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## BlackCat

I assume a Hero Point was given to Timotheus?


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## el-remmen

BlackCat said:


> I assume a Hero Point was given to Timotheus?




Hero points are only awarded with XP. So the next time I awarded XP, yes, he did get one.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #24 – “Dreams of Fire, Dreams of Ice” (part 1 of 2)* 1

The burning horse cut through the plaza, turning back down another narrow street to the west, to avoid the screaming and surging crowd.  Timotheus ran in its direction, noticing the young man being dragged behind it, a foot caught in a stirrup.2  The horse’s confusion and pain caused it to hesitate and turn when faced with the crowd and closely packed buildings, giving Timotheus a chance to catch up to it.  He leapt onto the rearing horse’s back, and it whinnied and reared.  Barely able to hold on he, threw his arms around its neck, smothering the fire with his cloak.  It reared again, but again he managed to hold on and draw a knife, cutting the dragged man free.

The third time the horse reared, Timotheus leapt off and let the horse go.  It ran out towards the center of town with another group of young men chasing after it.  The man on the ground was severely wounded, bleeding from the back of his head.  Tim gently scooped him up in his big muscular arms and carried him over to Victoria, who used a _cure minor wounds_ spell to keep the man from bleeding out.

Bleys the Aubergine’s deep voice boomed out over the crowd giving orders to the townsfolk fighting the fire.  _Enlarged_ by Markos’ spell, he stood above the crowd intermittently obscured by billowing smoke, his dark purple robes flapping in the breeze.  “You people!” Bleys pointed to a group milling around at the back of the plaza, not sure what to do with themselves in the limited space. “Grab some buckets and follow him!”  The watch-mage turned to indicate Markos, who was at the western side of the plaza, waving for them to follow. “We must close the fire in a ring and keep it from spreading!” Bleys said.

The people obeyed, joined by a group of older men that Laarus of Ra gathered up and sent along with them.

“I’ll be able to make a large portion of fire disappear with a spell,” Markos explained as the led the way west. “You follow it up with buckets and make sure it is all out.”  The diminutive mage ran as hard as his skinny legs could take him, his permanently sun-burned face covered in soot.  As the sounds of the crowds fighting the fire died behind him, there was a new sound coming from ahead as he turned them up a narrow street to the north.  Banging, chopping and grunting echoed off the stone walls of the buildings in this area, and as he came out into a wide street where there were more wooden buildings with access to the burning part of town, he was amazed to see a great number of dwarves chopping and knocking down wooden houses with great speed and efficiency.

“What are you doing?!” Markos called to the dwarves with alarm.  He gestured for the people behind him to form a line from the small well about a block away to the west.

“Creating a fire break!” One of the dwarves called back. “Fire can’t spread if there is nothing to burn!  We were told by Floris Tenbrook to come and do this…” He went back to chopping.

“Good idea!” Markos called back.  He moved to check on the fire’s progress and saw that while the dwarven effort was a good one, there was a lick of fire curling in on the right flank.  “Get the buckets ready over here!” he called to the townsfolk.

“_Incendia fumo!_ Markos intoned and a twenty-foot cubic area of fire snuffed out, sending a plume of black smoke to spread out along the ground and get whipped by the breeze.  “Now! Get the buckets in there now!” The townsfolk did their best to douse the area around it, though getting more water was slow going because of the distance of the well they were using.  The dwarves cheered as another house collapsed. Half of them moved to clear the debris, while the other half got to work on the next wooden building.

Meanwhile, as Timotheus gathered a group of young teenagers to send them out to the furthest part of the town to recruit more firefighters, Victoria was leading a group of five or six dozen townsfolk past the ring of stone buildings that created the plaza they worked from to a row of wooden buildings not reached by fire yet, and had them douse them with water to make it more difficult for them to catch.  She happened to look out towards the center of the conflagration as the wind blew the flames and smoke down and caught sight of something unusual.  It was a black tower at the western end of the burning quarter, just north of center, about six long blocks away.  It was taller than all the buildings immediately around it and seemed to be free of fire.  Instead, the top of it was encrusted with ice, however, before she could get a very good look at it, the wind died again and the smoke and flame rose up, obscuring it, but she could have swordn there was some kind of strange black glow emanating from beneath the ice.

“Did anyone else see that?” she asked the townsfolk helping her.

“Yeah, I saw it,” said a middle-aged man, leaning against a low stone wall to catch his breath. “I think that was old Jakos’ tower…”

“Who?”

“Some wizard that lives in this part of town, mostly keeps to himself, I think,” the man answered.

Victoria Ostrander ran back to the plaza to tell the others.  Bleys did his best to catch sight of it with height advantage from being _enlarged_ and his perch on the cart, but could not.

Making sure each group of firefighters had a trustworthy and capable leader, and giving them encouraging words to keep them on their tasks in his absence, Bleys the Aubergine hurried over to where Victoria emerged from, but even from there he could not spot the tower.

“We might be able to make it through that way,” Victoria pointed to a narrow alley between two burning buildings.

“I am too large to fit through that way,” Bleys said with a sigh. “I need to dismiss this spell.”

“Anhur! Shield my companion from the lapping flames that threaten to engulf him,” Victoria called to her god, and water crashed over him, dousing his robes.

“Thank you… But, chances are there will be other narrow ways beyond, we need to try to go around…” Bleys said, he led the way back to the plaza and rounded up Laarus and Timotheus to tell them about the tower Victoria had spotted.  “We need to see if we can reach it,” he said to them. “My instinct tells me that tower is the key to getting to the bottom of this.”

“Where’s Markos?” Victoria asked.

“I haven’t seen him,” Timotheus replied.

“He led a contingent to the western well to fight the fire from there,” Laarus said. 

“We should be able to get to the tower from that side if Victoria’s description of it location holds true,” Bleys said. “Let’s go!” He ran and the others followed.

“I wish I knew where Telémahkos was…” Timotheus complained.

“Unfortunately, we have to leave Telémahkos can take care of himself,” Bleys said. “He is either hiding, or doing his part to fight the fire and is lost amid this chaos… Either way, the best we can do is get to the bottom of this and look for him later…”

“I saw it, too,” Markos said when the tower was described to him. He dismissed the _enlarge person_ spell on Bleys. “I think we can reach it easiest from this area. The flames have not gotten as thick over here…”

Victoria and Timotheus led the way, finding a narrow smoke-filled alley that the militant was sure would lead in the direction of the tower.  Unfortunately, the thick smoke constricted their lungs, causing them to hurry past as fast as possible, not noticing the thin wall of flame at the end of alley until it was too late.  They barreled through knocking over the debris of a wooden framed house in hopes of making passage easier for their coming companions.

The two noble adventurers winced and patted at their singed clothing, in a narrow spot where two alleys crossed, and the smoke swirled up in a channel keeping the air relatively fresh where they were, waiting for the others.

Markos tried to use _prestidigitation_ to keep his clothes damped, but as he leapt through the flames the agony made him realize that it was too little to do much good.3  Laarus of Ra grunted as he stumbled through, his armor glowing red in spots and looked up to see Bleys throwing his still wet cloak over Markos, who had caught fire, to put him out.  The priest of Ra pulled himself to his feet and coughed, feeling his skin crack painfully in the places he was burned.

“Which way now?” Timotheus asked.

“I think this should lead us to the tower,” Victoria said, leading the way to the left up a slightly broader alley and to a wide street that was flanked by several burning buildings.  They dashed under partially collapsed stone wall, burning pieces of its thick wooden supports hanging through holes in the brick. Laarus was staggering, and soon he was being left behind. 4

“C’mon! Hurry! It is not safe to stay back here,” Markos said to his cousin, slowing to let the priest catch up. “You either need to keep up or go back!”

“I am coming as fast as I can…” Laarus croaked.

“Bleys! Hold! Laarus is hurt! I have no potions of healing left. Do you?” Markos called.  The watch-mage hurried back.  He shook his head.

“I left mine with my pack back at the inn,” Laarus said.

“Can you not call on your god?” Markos asked.

“I could… But I fear the next set of flames will end me in regardless…” Laarus answered.

There sound of collapsing wood and roaring flaming echoed from the narrow alley behind them.  Laarus used one of the last healing miracles available to him that day, and was only marginally better. 5

Bleys took his still damp robes and draped them over Laarus.  “You cannot stay here and you cannot go back, so you are coming if it means dragging you…” He lent an arm to support the priest on one side and Markos moved in to the other and the three of them jogged along awkwardly to catch up with Tim and Victoria.  “Do not mistake my efforts for actually liking you, Laarus,” Markos said to his cousin as they ran.  Burning debris fell on them, and both Markos and Bleys were injured, but while Laarus managed to avoid the worst of it, as they stumbled into the arms of Victoria and Timotheus, he was once again staggering at the threshold of death’s door.

“Take strength in Anhur, Brother Laarus,” Victoria called on her god to heal her fellow priest and some of his burns slowly faded away.  Meanwhile, Timotheus was leaping away from a wall he had considered climbing to get a view of above. It was so hot; the flames on the other side must have been an inferno.  “We have to keep moving,” he said.

They jogged two more blocks, avoid two collapsing buildings and dashing under a thick stone black wall made it around a corner and for a moment above them, they saw the glint of ice.  “The tower!” Victoria ran that way and everyone followed.

There was one last smoke-filled street to pass through before they could reach the tower.  “We must steel ourselves to pass through,” Victoria said, turning to heal Markos of some of his wounds, but the mage was still looking in poor condition.  They ran through Markos leading the way this time, followed by Bleys, Timotheus, Victoria and finally Laarus.  The thick smoke squeezed their lungs as they held their mouths and nosed closed with a free hand, and bracing themselves for more fire they could not see.  It was a long way to run, crouched with lungs burning and fighting to keep their eyes open.

They burst out of the smoke gasping and tearing, collapsing in the fine layer of snow on the semi-circular paving stones that marked this round plaza.

“Isis wept!” Timotheus swore.

They all lay there for a moment, enjoying the soft cold, before looking up to see that the round plaza was more of a cul-de-sac, not being accessible by any other streets as the curved rear walls of some stone buildings enclosed it.  The other buildings were smoldering, but their rear walls stood fast against the fire, as did the tower.  The tower was round and made of great carved stone blocks and was over four stories high, but the topmost section was crusted over with a great cap of translucent ice that sweat off billows of snow that floated softy down to the plaza, or drifted off into the black and gray smoke of the burning town.

“Wow… _That’s_ magical,” Markos said.

“The locals called it ‘Jakos’ Tower,’” Victoria replied.

“So what do we do now that we’re here?” Timotheus asked.

“Knock on the door,” Bleys the Aubergine replied, striding over to the great door on the eastern side of the tower, facing them.  He knocked heavily with the side of his fist and his entire forearm.  “Jakos!”

“Who goes there?” It was a man’s voice calling through a narrow stone window about six feet off the ground, to the left of the door.

“Sluetelot is burning!” Bleys said by way of answer.

“Yes… Yes, we have noticed the conflagration,” the man replied with some evident regret in his tone.

“You might want to get out of here then,” Victoria said. “Your whole tower is surrounded by fire…”

“My master’s orders were that we should continue to guard the tower no matter what…” The man said. “The fire has been kept at bay so far…”

“Well, if you have such powerful magic at your disposal, how about lending us some to put out the fire?” Markos asked with disdain.

“No… that would not be possible,” the voice on the other side was even-toned.

“So where’s your master?” Markos asked.

“Cloistered.”

“If they are not causing the fire and cannot help us fight it, there is no point in us staying here,” Timotheus said with obvious frustration. He left to walk around the tower and have a look around the plaza, while the others quietly discussed the situation.  Realizing that the grooved bricks of the tower wall made them accessible to a skilled and strong climber, he scaled its side for a better look around.

“Do you think your master would want to see his hometown burn to the ground?” Laarus asked.

“This is not his hometown.”

Markos threw his cousin a glare. “Cloistered?” He asked. “In what capacity?”

“I do not know the specifics, only that he is deep in research and contemplation of an arcane problem of some kind and I gather of some importance,” the guardian on the other side of the window answered.

“So you master believes this problem to be of greater importance than all of Sluetelot burning down?” Victoria asked.

“Apparently so.”

“What type of arcane problem?” Markos asked.  He gestured to Bleys.  “My companion here is a watch-mage and I have some small talent in the arcane as well having graduated from the University at Moon City, perhaps we can aid your master in this matter…”

“Yes, what matter of problem is it?” Bleys asked. “As acting watch-mage of Sluetelot, such things fall under my jurisdiction if it should prove dangerous to the people of this town.”

“I am not apprised of the specifics,” the guardian said. “Some form of arcane mishap…”

“Mishap?  Perhaps having to do with magical sleep? Or its lack, perhaps?” Timotheus asked.  He had just gotten back from his climb and look around.

“The plague of insomnia was the temporary solution,” the man replied.

“What is your name, acolyte?” Victoria asked.

“I am not an acolyte.  I am Tellum, sojourner of Ptah,” the guardian replied.

“Well, Tellum, if your master’s research has affected the town in this way then I must see him,” Bleys said. “Retrieve him now…”

“I cannot do that.”

“Alright, you know what?” Markos was suddenly raving with anger. “Fnck this!”  He raised his gnomish repeating crossbow and fired a bolt into the door. “There! I am attacking the tower.  Now go fetch your master!”

Tellum did not respond.

“_Materia maxima!_” Markos chanted for a few moments, and suddenly he was a looming ten feet tall or more.  He leaned in over the window.  “Come here! I want to talk to you!”

“Master Watch-mage, please have your rude companion back away,” Tellum said, still ignoring the mage.

“He just seeking to parley,” Bleys replied.  “In his own way…”

“If by parley you mean insult and threaten,” Tellum replied.

“He _is_ generally insulting. I will agree with you about that,” Bleys said, and Markos shot him a glare of anger and disapproval.  “How long will your master be unavailable?” Bleys asked.

“For as long as it takes.”

“How long has he been seeking a permanent solution to the problem?” Bleys asked.

“Four days straight.”

“If there is nothing to be done here then we should return to aid in the effort against the fire,” Laarus said.

“HE JUST ADMITED TO BEING BEHIND THE PLAGUE OF INSOMNIA,” Markos was shrill, enunciating each word with an exaggerated show of holding back his utter disdain for every word that ever came out of his cousin’s mouth.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Timotheus said, much more relaxed after his climb. “I saw two things out there when I climbed. One was that the fires have pretty much closed us in here until they die out or someone comes and puts them out, and secondly, I saw great plumes of steam at the edges of the quarter It looks like someone broke out the big magic against the fire.  It seems to be under control for now, at least…”

“Good,” Bleys said. “This makes our choice easier.  We must enter this tower and get to the bottom of this sleeplessness and the possessions that led to disasters like this fire in the first place.”

“Bleys, do you have the power to investigate homes?” Markos asked. “I mean, in your role as acting watch-mage of Sluetelot?”

“Yes.”

“So you can circumvent the law and propriety and break in there if you are not allowed in then,” Markos smiled and looked at his cousin.

“I see no reason to break in,” Laarus said, and Markos began to take big breathes in exaggerated disbelief.
As Bleys began to explain to Laarus the legal necessity of breaking into the tower, Timotheus yawned, covering his mouth with the back of a meaty hand. He kicked at the snow and looked around absently.

“Hey Victoria! Wanna spar?” He reached for his sabre.  The militant shook her head. “This is not the appropriate place or time.”

“I’m bored!” Tim complained.

“Timotheus, would you like to break down this door?” Bleys asked the brawny warrior.  Tim shrugged.  “I don’t _not_ want to… You just give the word, boss…”

“I wish you wouldn’t call him boss,” Markos said, sullenly.  He scooped up a handful of snow and packing it into a ball hurled it at the tower.

“There is no legal jurisdiction this monk has that supersedes yours, Bleys,” Victoria said.  “You are well within your rights as I know them to use force to get in there if what is within represents a danger to your charge.”

“We do not know that it does,” Laarus said.

“Tellum!” Bleys called through the window. “If we were to try to force our way in, would you try and stop us?”

“I would be forced to try,” the monk replied.  “I have given my word.”

_…to be continued…_

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Session #24 was played on February 3rd, 2008 in Brooklyn, NY.

(2) This was going to be Telémahkos if his player had made to the session. He did not.

(3) I allowed dampness to grant a small circumstance bonus to the Reflex saves made to avoid fire as they ran through the burning town. Running through smoky areas required Fortitudes saves.

(4) Laarus was staggered, meaning he could only perform either a standard or a move action each round, and if he did a standard one he’d lose a point and drop to negative hit points.

(5) _Cure minor wounds_


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #24 – “Dreams of Fire, Dreams of Ice” (part 2 of 2)*

Bleys turned to the others.  “Generally speaking, it is not a good idea to break into a wizard’s tower…”

“I know that!” Markos was loud again. “Who do you think you’re talking to?  But we have to do what we have to do!  This bloody assh-le monk won’t let us in!”

“I shall contemplate the situation as I take some moments to prepare a different spell in place of one I prepared this morning,” Bleys said, and he walked off to one side, and squatted in the snow, with his spellbook across his knees.

“Are you done yet?” Markos asked the watch-mage when he thought fifteen minutes had passed.  Bleys just shook his head.  A few minutes later the former sailor asked again and Bleys looked up with an uncharacteristic expression of anger. “Stop your incessant pacing and badgering! It is annoying!”   Markos snarled, but walked away to argue some more with his cousin, while Timotheus had finally managed to get Victoria to at least go through some spear forms with him while they waited.

“You know,” Markos said as soon as he saw Bleys close his book and put it away. “I was looking up at that black light whatever it is up under the ice, and I got to thinking… Tellum said that the plague of insomnia was a temporary solution to the problem… What if Jakos accidentally summoned something that drew its power from people’s dreams somehow?  Depriving the thing of sleeping people might keep it weak enough to be trapped up there…”

“So, do you have theory for dealing with it?” Bleys asked.

“By no means I have at my disposal,” Markos replied. “But if I could get at Jakos’ notes…”

“Your arcane curiosity is no reason to break into this home,” Laarus said, walking over.

“I was not talking to you, _cousin_,” Markos sneered.

“What I don’t understand about this theory is why he didn’t warn the town?” Victoria said, joining them.

“Perhaps he did not have time,” Bleys replied.

“And maybe he wanted to solve it before anyone knew he was responsible,” Victoria added, thinking on it more.

“If we were to accept Markos’ theory, and it does seem sound based on what we know…” Bleys began.

“I also have a theory about the refractory nature of the black light beneath the ice…” Markos interrupted.

“The refractory what?” Victoria asked. “You’ve lost me…”

“That one can wait,” Bleys replied. He took a deep breath and continued. “As I was saying, if we were to take Markos’ theory as accurate, or at least close, and keeping in mind that the monk said that Jakos has been working on this for four days, I think we can surmise, and it is my contention that, without further help he will make no headway.  And since, Tellum will not let us in, we must break in and use force if necessary…”

“But what if interfering with Jakos makes things worse rather than better?” Laarus asked.

“I would sooner apologize for making a bad decision than be damned for making no decision at all,” Bleys replied.

“Tellum!” Laarus walked towards the window. “Is there anyway you will let us speak to your master.”

“I asked him that already…” Markos said.

“If he leaves sequestration,” Tellum replied.

“And there is no way to reach him in order to get him out of it?” Laarus asked.

“No.”

“Enough!” Bleys barked, taking on a practiced authoritarian tone. “Tellum, I, Bleys the Aubergine, as acting watch-mage of Sluetelot am now asking you as an official representative of legitimate law to open the door and allow me and my companions passage.”

“I have told you. I cannot,” The monk’s voice grew sorrowful. “I have no desire to hurt anyone…”

Bleys turned around and drew his companions away.  “We are going in.  Fight to subdue.  They are only following orders.  We shall only resort to lethal means if there is no other way, or if they resort to them themselves.”

“Maybe we can get around him,” Tim said, pointed to the large shuttered window on the second floor of the tower, over the door.  Bleys and Victoria boosted the large man, straining under his weight, and Timotheus wavered back and forth, tearing the shutters off by brute strength.

“I do not find this action fully justifiable,” Laarus said.  “But I can do nothing to stop you…”

There was a curtain behind the shutters. Timotheus leaned forward awkwardly, drawing protests of pain from Bleys and Victoria below and grabbed the curtain, yanking it free.  A blast of frost came exploding through the window, knocking him back to the ground, cursing as he felt the biting burn of cold on his skin, shivering.

“That’s it!” Timotheus stood and ran to the door, putting his shoulder into it.  It shuddered and gave a little bit, so he slammed it again and yet again.  Bleys the Aubergine stepped over and examined the door as Tim got his wind back.  It was askew and a crack showed along the frame.  He gave it hard kick and they heard the pins of the hinges snap.  Now only the bar was hold in the door up, and there was a good four-inch gap along the left side.

Timotheus stuck his hand into the gap to heft the bar and felt someone grab his fingers in a tight two-handed lock.1   He grit his teeth against the pain that flared up his arm as he tried to break free, but Bleys came to his rescue, kicking the door again as he drew his sabre and knocking the bar on the other side free, even as the monk was forced to drop his hold of Tim, or else be struck by the heavy door as it tipped open.  Bleys pushed through the door and slapped his blade at the figure he sensed in the dim entryway, but looking up he could see the Sojourner of Ptah blocking the blade, scissoring it between two fingers, stilling it reverberations.  Their eyes locked for a moment and then Bleys’ world went topsy-turvy as he felt Tellum sweep his legs out from under him, sending him to the ground.  

Tellum was a man in his middle-thirties, but with pre-maturely gray hair that was shaved all the way around, but for a long braided mess on top tied with brown ribbons. He had a wiry, but athletic physique.  He had leather sandals tied to his feet, and loose-fitting clothing of gray and brown silk.  He had bright hazel eyes.

The watch-mage looked up in time to see the monk tumble through an inner doorway as a door shut behind him.  But Timotheus did not hesitate, he rushed in leaping over Bleys and kicking open the inner door to see a wider room lit by smoky lamps beyond. There were two egresses on the far wall covered by thick tapestries of burgundy trimmed with gray, and the one on the left wavered slightly.   Tim stepped into the room, but paused.  There were double doors directly across, between the two curtained passageways, and flanked by two statues. One was of a bearded elder man, but with the broad body of a warrior, dressed in plate mail and wielding a flaming great sword. The other was of a bald man in royal clothing and holding a mace-like scepter.  Markos was soon right behind Tim, as Victoria helped Bleys to his feet, and drew her morningstar.  She followed Markos into the room and Bleys followed her, and moved in front of the others. “Remember.  We are looking for answers, not a fight,” he warned.

“I saw that curtain move!” Timotheus pointed to the left.  He moved over and pushed it aside. He spotted a set of stone steps going up to the left behind them.  He hurried up the steps, looking around and ignoring the door across from where the tiny curtain hallway let into this area.  Bleys walked in and took a few steps up.  Victoria moved in right behind him, followed by Markos who pointed to the door and stepped to one side.  The militant stepped over and kicked open the door to reveal some kind of small sitting room.  Tellum was in there, but before she could react he stepped over and put a few punches and forearm blows into her face, driving her back.  Her cheek bruised. 2

Markos leapt into the gap that Victoria left, punching out with his dagger in his hand to give his blow some weight, and got a punch right on the chin harder than he had ever felt in his life.

“To Set with it!” Timotheus swore.  He charged down the steps shoving both Victoria and Markos out of the way, and somehow managing to duck to avoid a punch from Tellum.  “Laarus! Where are you? We need you!” he called.

The young priest listened to the battle from out in front of the tower, still refusing to enter. 

“_Precipio!_” Bleys cast _anticipate_ as he came back down the steps to support Timotheus, the world around the monk slowing down to his heightened senses, just barely perceptible.

“Drop!” Victoria _commanded_ the monk, but he scoffed as he raised a finger as if to indicate he were teaching an important point. “That only works on the weak-minded,” he said to her.

”_Ebdus Ostos!_” They looked up to see a man dressed in black, with long black hair and pale skin.  He tossed a chunk of ice at the bottom of the stairs, and suddenly there was a slick of ice across the bottom and in front of the door. 3

But Markos had retreated to draw his gnomish repeating crossbow and Timotheus was too quick on his feet, barreling over the monk, and knocking him to the ground.4  He ran clear of the monk, avoiding getting grabbed, and spun around.  Telleum sprang to his feet and leaped forward pummeling Timotheus in the face and chest with heavy blows.

Victoria staggered in the doorway, falling to her knees on the ice, getting up and falling again, as Bleys crawled clear on the other side.  “This is no time for genuflecting, Bleys,” Markos looked down at the prone watch-mage and winked.  Bleys scrambled to his feet and hustled back out of the curtain and across the central room to the other curtain, hoping there would be a staircase up on that side as well, and he might come around the spellcaster above.  While his instinct for architecture proved right about stairs, unfortunately the set he found went down, not up.  He ran back to the others.

“Sorry about this!” Timotheus said to the monk and whipped the flat of his sabre across the man’s head painfully.  He drew blood.  Victoria got to her feet and swung at the monk, as he had been backed up to the doorway.  She lost her balance and fell again.

“Stay down militant and you will be allow to simply leave,” the man at the top of the steps said, but before Victoria could even look up to address him, she grunted as Tellum was pushed over her, tumbling back onto his side and onto the slick of ice in the hall.  Timotheus now stood in the doorway. 5

“We are here to help!” Bleys said. He dropped his sabre and grabbed at the fallen monk, who turned on to his back and reach up, locking his fingers around the watch-mage’s keeping him at bay with a twist of that sent shivers down his wrist.  Tellum arched his back and flipped into the air, letting go of Bleys and leaping free of the scrum, and barely managing to avoid another dagger-hilt punch from Markos.  Victoria rolled off the slick of ice and swung her morningstar from her back at Tellum, but the monk easily avoided it. He slammed a fist into Markos’ face and then turned to grab at the withdrawing watch-mage, but Bleys could still _anticipate_ the monk’s actions, and easily dodged the monk’s grasp’ from his point of view it seemed slow-moving.  The distraction allowed Tim to slam a meaty fist in Tellum’s lower back as he slipped and fell on the ice as he came back out into the hall.  Victoria sucked in a sharp breath as she felt the burn of a _ray of frost_ from the warlock on the stairs.

“Oh forget this! I am useless here!” Markos swore, and he hurried past Bleys back out into the central room.

Timotheus growled as he barely sidestepped as he stood to avoid another _ray of frost_ from above.  The ice on the ground vanished.

Bleys the Aubergine stepped back into the melee, now with his military pick in hand, and trying to use the blunt end to strike Tellum on the head. The monk turned around. “I am sorry Master Watch-Mage,” he said, as he caught the pick between his open palms and then sent two kicks towards the purple-robed wizard’s legs.  Once again, Bleys was able to leap ahead of time and avoid the potentially crippling blows.  He was learning a new appreciation of this spell. 6

At the top of the stairs, the warlock began the long drawn out chant of a summoning spell. Bleys broke off from Tellum, ducking instinctually (again, with the aid of his spell) to avoid an errant blow from the monk, and bullrushed the summoner, knocking him away from the top of the stairs.  Unfortunately, the warlock was an expert at keeping his concentration, and was still able to complete his spell.  There was snap and a pop, accompanied by the smell of sulfur.  A red and black wolf, with glowing red eyes appeared at the top of the steps and snapped at Bleys.  Tellum ducked and rolled past Victoria and Timotheus, avoiding their blows, seeking to flank Bleys, but it was as if the wizard had eyes in the back of his head when it came to the monk.  Timotheus gave chase and slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of the monk’s neck.  Tellum nearly crumpled.

“Just stay down!” Timotheus commanded as Victoria hurried up the steps as well.  She swung her morningstar awkwardly, and Tellum reached out with an open hand between its deadly tines and sent it flying back out of her hands and down the steps. 7

Bleys whipped his pick back and forth, keeping Tellum at bay while slamming the summoned fiendish wolf in the side of the head.  Timotheus took a kick to the gut, and he gasped, but despite being staggered, he managed to slam the monk again.  The warlock ran off to his right, out of view on the second floor, as Markos returned from his brief exploration of the lower level, to reassess the fight. 8  He hustled up the stairs to help pen in the monk, even if he felt his combat skills were not up to actually making much of a difference.  Victoria and Timotheus knocked the monk between them with heavy blows, and dark bruises were now visible on face and around his eyes.

Bleys cried out as the wolf grabbed him around the calf and dragged him to the floor.  This allowed Tellum to make a leaping flip past Victoria and over the watch-mage and land at the top landing and withdraw.

“fncking dog!” Markos stabbed at the wolf and missed, but Timotheus was more successful, drawing its steaming coppery blood with his sabre.  The wolf snapped at Bleys, but the watch-mage shoved the handle of his pick in its mouth as he pulled himself to his feet.

“Hey Victoria! Got any of that healing mojo left?” Timotheus asked the militant. “I am seeing stars and lights…” He shook his head, as he swung at the wolf again.  It withdrew a bit, allowing Bleys to hurry past it after the monk.  

“Not now Tim!” Victoria answered.  She brought her morningstar down on the wolf’s skull and there was a resounding crack. Less than half a moment later, it was gone in puff of acrid smoke.

The watch-mage came around the corner to see a similar central room to the one below.  At the far end, Tellum was raising a potion vial to his mouth.  Bleys did not hesitate.  He charged and slammed them blunt end of the pick under the monk’s chin, and Tellum collapsed. The potion resting gently on his chest, with only a couple of drops spilling.  Bleys scooped it up and put the cork back in it.

“Here,” Bleys said to Tim as he, Markos and Victoria came around the corner at the top of the stairs. “The monk was about to drink this…” He gave the brawny warrior the potion.  It was mustard-colored and viscous.  The vial was frosted glass.

“Ugh! Smells nasty!” Timotheus made a face after uncorking and taking a whiff.  Bleys took it back and took a whiff, and then passed it to Markos who did the same.  No one could tell what it was.  

“Drink it anyway,” Markos told the warrior, but Tim looked to Bleys.  “Save it for later…” the watch-mage said.  Tim nodded. Meanwhile, Victoria hustled back down the stairs and retrieved Bleys’ sabre for him.

The chamber up here had two statues flanking double doors further into the tower, though here one was a young woman dressed in garlands with birds nesting in her hair, and two wolves at her heels, and the other was of crone dressed in skulls and a jacket of sewn human hides. 9  There was a curtain off to the right similar to those downstairs, and a door to a room that they assumed led to where Timotheus had torn the shutters from the window.

Bleys opened the door.  Within was a pentagram drawn on the floor with white and red candles set at the points where it touched a circle.  At the far end, the black-garbed warlock, a rapier in his other hand, was scattering gray chunks of salts across it as the whole thing frosted over and mist began to rise from the circle.

“You left me no choice,” the man said.  Bleys slammed the door shut, and looked at the others. “Get ready!”  But there was no time to get ready, as the summoned creature burst through the door.

It was a squat creature about four feet tall, but crouched and packed with muscle.  It was covered in dirty white fur and had small black hands that ended in sharp black talons that matched those on its feet. It snorted through the long flayed nostrils of is bald hide-covered gray face. It opened its mouth, revealing an underbite of sharp rows of teeth. It shivered with uncontrollable energy, leaping at Bleys, driving him back.  

“Laarus! They’re summoning demons on us!! Get your ass in here!” Markos screamed. Below, the priest heard the cries, but the meaning of the words was lost in the echoes and the creature’s snarls and barks.  He took a deep breath and kept his emotions in check.  Markos fired his crossbow at the monster, but in his fear he only managed to shoot a bolt into the floor.

Timotheus hung back by the staircase and guzzled down the potion, grimacing against its vinegary taste.  He felt the painful warmth of his wounds closing, his burns disappearing, his bruises fading, and his energy returning. 10  He rushed in gaining the slashing beast’s attention, but batting away its blows and slapping his sword against its thick skull. It moved with unbelievable speed, despite its lopping movement.  It snarled, and barked, drooled.  Bleys was able to move away to cast _anticipate_ again, this time with the creature as his target.

“_Frigidus armes!_” The warlock chanted and pointed at Timotheus.  He felt a chill down his spine for a moment, but then nothing.   “Come on, Bleys! Let’s give it the double team!” Timotheus moved to pen the creature between them.  But the creature moved too quickly.  Bleys chopped down with his saber, clipped the ground.  It shook in his hand and he had to grab it by the hilt with the other to steady it and keep from dropping it. 11

“Anhur! I know not what demon madness this is, but help me smite it in your name!” Victoria implored her god, and a silver and black shining spear appeared in the air on the opposite side of the creature from her.  The thing dodged to one side and snarled, still trying to get at Tim.  He drove at it with his blade drawing blood. He shivered. He noticed his armor was getting colder.

”Victoria! Move the spiritual spear to the warlock!” Markos said, shooting at the feral slashing creature from a corner of the room.  He had been waiting for an opening, but despite doing so, he still missed.  But the militant did not obey the wizard, nor did the creature let itself be hit by either the magical spear or her actual spear, which she now thrust at it.  It slapped the shaft away and croaked with renewed madness, driving its fangs into the warrior’s calf.

“Ow!”  Timotheus chopped wildly about its head, until it was bloody mess, but it was oblivious to pain.  The warlock moved into the melee, drawing his rapier, and revealing a light-footed stance. His other hand in the air, fingers fanned.  Bleys, tuned in to the creature’s chaotic movements, nearly didn’t get his sabre in place to block the man’s rapier thrust.  Another bolt from Markos landed in the floor between them. The spellcasting swordsman twirled around stabbing at Bleys again, but the watch-mage was moving in time with the rhythms of the fight. He turned and once again parried. Victoria took the opportunity to thrust her spear in the warlock’s direction, but he whipped his rapier across to knock the weapon off alignment.  The spiritual weapon continued to stab at the hairy white creature, but it kept avoiding it again and again, locked in combat with Timotheus and getting the worst of it. Flick.  The rapier blocked Bleys’ follow-up cut.

“Anhur! Let me not fail my fellows!” Victoria bellowed, and the divine fury of her god filled her.  She fell back half a step and thrust again, and this time the shaft of the spear scraped across the rapier and stabbed into the warlock’s side.  He grunted, his studded leather jerkin beneath his black clothing was sliced open and oozing blood.  He wavered, and then raised his thin blade again, flicking at her wrists and drawing blood.  The militant just grunted and thrust again and again.  “Down, summoner!” She commanded as her spear caught him in the thigh, and he stumbled sideways, dazed – somehow still managing to avoid yet another bolt from Markos.

Timotheus was driven from the cluster of fighting by the beast’s ferocity.   He felt burning wounds on his legs, and swung defensively, getting some lucky shots in the thing’s face, flicking his wrist with all his strength whenever he felt the sabre bite.  A blur of speed and strength, he blocked its teeth and fangs from pure instinct, and then saw the opening, driving the sabre into its mouths and yanking back hard as he pushed down.  Its lower jaw fell off.  Timotheus grit his teeth, for the cold he was suffering was like nothing else he had ever felt, surpassing winter on Westen-Scherp Muur.  

“Duh-Die already!” He chattered.  The monster looked like it should be dead, or at least dying, but it shook its bloody fur like big wet dog and leapt at him again, ignoring Bleys behind it.  It grabbed at the bottom part of his plate mail as if it wanted to tear the flesh from underneath.  The warlock twirled back towards Bleys, trying to get away from the raging priest, and the watch-mage had to quickly turn to avoid being stabbed.   “Stay away from Bleys!” Victoria ordered, stepping forward and thrusting her spear. The warlock fell to the ground bleeding.  She turned to the monster.  It and Tim were exchanging blows in flurry of blood and fur and flesh.  “Die! Die! Down! Die!”  Timotheus chopped at it again and again, and suddenly it stopped and fell, transforming into a puddle of icy water as it did.

Timotheus began to strip off his freezing armor as quickly as he could.

*End of Session #24*

--------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*


(1) The monk used the Locking Block special martial arts feat to accomplish this.

(2) The monk was fighting to subdue.

(3) _Slick_ is another form of the spell _grease_.

(4) Timotheus performed an Overrun.

(5) Timotheus performed a Bullrush.

(6) Bleys learned this spell from Cwell the Hawk during his training for spells of the Second House (see session #22).

(7) Victoria fumbled and suffered the following effect: _Hard Parry_, Make opposed Strength check with opponent or weapon knocked away. Roll d8 for direction. Roll for 1d4 for distance in 5 foot increments.

(8) During this time Markos explored the lower level, finding the same steps as Bleys did and making a quick survey of a large kitchen behind the double doors and took the time to cast _detect magic_ and take a quick sweep of the area.

(9) These statues were of the northern gods Mielikki and Tuonetar.

(10) This was a potion of _cure moderate wounds_.

(11) Bleys suffered a fumble result: _Lose Grip on Weapon_. Make Dexterity check (DC 15) or drop weapon. – He made his dexterity check.


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## darkhall-nestor

Nice battle.
Nice cliffhanger

is flick the name of the rapier


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## handforged

Great battle!  Was Laarus's player at this session, or did he really decide not to go in with the rest of the party?  Who were the statues in the lower central room?

~hf


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## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:


> Nice battle.
> Nice cliffhanger
> 
> is flick the name of the rapier




I don't know if that was really much of a cliffhanger, but I did like the battle a lot (see below).

As for the name of the rapier, I guess you mean the warlock's blade?  Well, it doesn't have a name "flick" was just a description of its action in that moment - however, it is a good name for a rapier, or perhaps "flicker" - though there is already an NPC (that will at least be mentioned in an upcoming installment) named "Flicker" after the character from Sagiro's Story hour.



handforged said:


> Great battle!  Was Laarus's player at this session, or did he really decide not to go in with the rest of the party?  Who were the statues in the lower central room?
> 
> ~hf




I will answer these backwards:

3) Oops! I meant to add a footnote for these as well.  The statues were Ukko and Hiisi.

2) Laarus really sat out that entire battle, delaying every round.  You would have to ask him why he did this, as I still am not 100% I get why he did.  But at least Jesse is not the kind of player to make a choice like that and then complain that he has nothing to do, though that would have been of little solace if someone in the group had died while he remained out there.

1) I guess "Great battle!" is not really a question, but I did want to address this since Darkhall-Nestor brought it up as well. I thought this was a very fun battle and to me an example that playstyle has a lot more to do with the perceived problems of 3E combat (and the fixes put forth in 4E) to make it "dynamic".  

Here we had a battle through a broken down door and curtained alcoves.  There was positioning for advantage on the stairs, environmental hazards in the way of the "slick/grease" spell.  There were bullrushes and overruns, foes fleeing and regrouping and of course the whole attempt to not actually kill the guardians of the tower which made it more difficult.

For those who are curious, the first part of the battle took 14 rounds and the second part took 8.

Thanks for reading!


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## el-remmen

*Session #25 – “Smoke & Ruin” (part 1 of 3)* 1

Meanwhile Telémahkos had been having some adventures of his own.   After quickly dispatching the wild dog in that had cornered him in the alleyway, he had the unfortunate experience of being chased by a whole pack of them, possessed of great strength and intelligence, their eyes glowing red, their fur and color shifting in the lights and shadows.  Eventually, he hid, only emerging when he began to smell smoke.

The burning of the seedy quarter of Sluetelot sent him running to Death & Taxes to find the others, but only found Barton cleaning blood off the floor of the abandoned common room.

“What happened here?” he asked.

“The priest of Ra… He killed Anouk and one of the patrons…”2 Barton said, looking up with teary eyes. “He went with the others to Havesting…”

But before the blond Briareus got the fortress gate, he heard word of them leading the efforts to fight the fire, but no one at the plaza was quite sure where they had gone.  Instead, he ended up rounding up a group of the town’s kids and bringing them to the Temple of Isis.  Upon his arrival, the priestesses ended their sequestration and opened the doors to the temple to the children and refugees, administering to the injured, and _creating food and water_ for all of them.  

He befriended an urchin girl named Mirth, and used her help to round up more people that needed aid, and got some of the older kids to help against the fire. It was when he was making his third trip leading people to the temple that he ran into Floris Tenbrook.  Telémahkos threw his floppy feathered hat atop Mirth’s head and sent her along. 3

“According to some dwarves I had fighting the fire, they headed right into the middle of it,” Floris said, when asked if he has seen Bleys and the others.  “They must have had a pretty good reason to do so…”

Telémahkos was distracted, for he caught sight of a huge wave with vague bulging arms and a swelling chest rising from the gates of Havesting and smashing into the edge of the fire.  The waveservants of Tefnut had conjured elementals to fight the fire, and now the tide was finally turning.

“Maybe I’ll be able to find a way in that way…” Telémahkos mused aloud.

“Your funeral…” Floris shrugged. “But listen, your cousin… You’d better tell him he had better watch his mouth.  He challenged my authority in public, and if he doesn’t apologize, I am going to have to challenge _him_ to a duel.”

“I’ll talk to him…” Telémahkos sighed, he took off where a great wall of steam now rose, the huge elemental and several smaller ones plunging into the walls of flame. 

In Jakos’ tower Bleys bound the wounds of the warlock swordsman.

“I wish we still had the Amulet of Fallon,” Timotheus said with an edge of complaint in his voice. 4

“Laarus has it,” Bleys replied.

“What? He not only refuses to aid us, but he has the Amulet and hasn’t been using it?” Timotheus voice grew deep with rancor. “Does Ra want us to continue to suffer our burns and bruises or something?”

“You and I agree,” Bleys said. “I believe we should use it in case of an emergency, and this is one…”

“I hate my fncking cousin,” Markos said.

“Well, we are in no shape to continue as we are,” Timotheus added.

“Again, I agree,” Bleys replied.

“Is everyone alive in there?” It was Laarus of Ra calling into the tower from the doorway below. The sounds of the fighting had died and he grew worried about his companions.

“Barely, no thanks to you,” Markos called, coming to the window with the broken shutters. He called down. “You bald fnck!”

Victoria made her way back outside to inform Laarus as what had happened in the tower.  The others followed.  

“Laarus, will you heal us, or would that be aiding and abetting?” Markos asked.

“There is also one of the guardians above who I have bound, but is close to death,” Bleys said.  The watch-mage kneeled down and scooped some of the snow, rubbing it against a bruise on his face.  “The monk has been vanquished, and should not awaken for some time.” 5

“He should be fine as long as he is not moved,” the priest said coldly.

“I still don’t understand why you will not come in and help us,” Timotheus said.  “It is like saving people from a burning building, you don’t wait to ask permission if you can come in…

“Yes, Do you feel Timotheus was trespassing when he saved that old woman and the child…” Victoria argued.

“That is different,” Laarus replied.

“That is beside the point,” Bleys interrupted. “We require the Amulet of Fallon.”

“That is not for us to use,” Laarus said.

The watch-mage’s eyes narrowed. “Laarus, I do not know why you will not use the amulet, whether it is pride or piety, but I am asking now that you either use it or to give it to someone who will…”

“If I truly believed it would help the people of Sluetelot then I would do so, but I do not.” Laarus was resolute.

”What do you think we are trying to do here?” Timotheus anger brimmed over. He turned to Markos.  “Why is he even part of this group if he is not willing to help us?”

“He’s a cock, a fncking cock,” Markos replied. “There is no other answer…”

”The amulet is the property of the church of Fallon and not ours to use,” Laarus added.

“You will not give it to me?” Bleys the Aubergine asked.

“No, I will not,” Laarus said.

“This is our own fault,” Markos growled. “We thought he would be the best judge of its use, and we were clearly wrong…”

“We may have to wrest the amulet from him by force,” Bleys said to Timotheus when he took the brawny warrior aside while Victoria tried to reason with Laarus about both the amulet and the entering the tower.

“Fine,” Timotheus said with finality. “I’m disgusted with him.  I mean, Medicus will heal goblins for Fallon’s sake!  Are we less than goblins?  Just give me the word…”

“What? What’s going on?” Markos came jogging over, attracted by their sharing quiet words as they walked back into the tower.

“I want Laarus out of the group,” Timotheus complained.  “He’s breaking the oath we all made when we signed the charter that we would help and support each other.”

“I may hate him, but I think you are wrong,” Markos replied.  Timotheus’ jaw dropped.  He had never heard Markos defend his cousin.

”He is zealous, but he is nothing if not sincere in his belief,” Markos continued. “He is not being selfish.”

Timotheus sniffed his disapproval. “It’s in Bleys’ hands anyway…”

They came back outside, but Bleys told the others he was going to think it over as he looked around the tower some.

“Aren’t you the one always telling us not to go off alone?” Timotheus replied.  

“I am not as reckless as some,” Bleys said not looking back.

“From what I know of the Church of Fallon the welfare of the people comes first. Not using the amulet helps no one,” Victoria was saying to Laarus as the watch-mage passed them. “I do not think the Fallonites would mind our using it to heal ourselves that we might get to the bottom of this threat to Sluetelot.”

“That is for them to decide,” Laarus said. “Not us…”

Bleys did not go far.  He noted the kitchen Markos had discovered before and found some servant’s quarters and dry storage.  Upstairs were some spartan guestrooms and more storage for things like bedding and housewares.  There were stairs leading up to the tower’s upper level, but he did not go further.  When he came back outside Victoria and Laarus were still talking, while Timotheus did what he always did when bored, he practiced his sword forms.  Markos was observing the dancing black light behind the great encasement of ice atop the tower. 

Great walls of steam were rising from the far edge of this quarter of Sluetelot near where they figured the edge of the fire would be.

“Laarus, I will ask you one last time, because you are a priest of Ra and I respect you and your office, but it is imperative that you allow us to use the amulet even if you are unwilling to use it yourself,” the watch-mage said.

Laarus shook his head. “I will not.”

“If you think that doing nothing will serve Isis, Ra or Fallon, then by all means continue to do so, but if you will not use the amulet hand it over before anyone else dies!” Bleys the Aubergine’s normal calm demeanor had vanished. He was barking his words with deep anger, his hand open waiting for the priest to comply.

“Who has died?” Laarus asked, his voice growing terse as well.  His face revealed his dislike of being yelled at.

“The two people you killed in Death & Taxes! Among others!  Do you think we managed to rescue every single person from that fire?  Think on that while you wait outside.  Now, will you hand over the amulet or must I take it from you?” Bleys continued to yell.

“And is that what you will do?” Laarus asked, growing calm again.  The others looked on with growing tension.  Markos’ hands were balled into little calloused fists at his sides, and his face grew red.

“Yes! I have made that very clear, I think,” Bleys spat back.

“Cousin, can you just not be an obstinate fool for a moment?” Markos asked through clenched teeth.

“You are overstepping the law,” Laarus replied quietly.

“I _AM_ THE LAW!” Bleys yelled.

Around this time, Telémahkos was atop the roof of a smoking building, looking for a better vantage point from which to plot a route through the burning streets. He’d spotted the tower with it great cap of ice at the center of the fire and knew that that had to be where the others had gone.  He leapt into a cart full of damp hay and the shrieked as he did not notice how it was smoldering below.  He leapt out and hustled down a narrow alley and leapt through a curtain of flame and past the collapsing frame of a house.  On the other side was a thick wall of smoke.  He covered his mouth and sprinted blindly, brushing against a hot brick wall.

Telémahkos tumbled to one side making a dash across a street and leaping over a low crumbling wall.  He took a risk of squeezing between two close buildings and cried out when a jet of flame licked out of a small window.  He leapt and rolled patted at his clothes, but finally he spotted a street leading to the tower plaza and made a break for it.  He arrived at the edge of the round plaza and noticed his fellow Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland yelling at each other in front of the tower door.

“You know what? Fnck the law!” Markos said, and he stepped in and swung a fist at Laarus’ face.  The priest of Ra easily sidestepped it, allowing himself a smirk.  Victoria immediately stepped between them grabbing at Markos, but the skinny mage shimmied away.  “Markos, stop! This never ends well for you,” she said. 6

“Get off me!” Markos whined and shoved his palm right in Victoria’s face and pushed her away, swinging around her to slam a fist into his cousin’s face.  Laarus took a step to regain his balance.  “You gangrenous cock!” Markos swore.  He looked around wildly. “This is between him and me and has been a long time coming.  Everyone stay back!”  He moved in again, fists raised.

“Quarreling and fighting among ourselves serves no purpose,” Laarus said.  He began to chant, calling on Ra to _enthrall_ the hearts and minds of his companions with divine truth.  However, despite his prayer, he had enough presence of mind to leap back and avoid a punch from Bleys. Unfortunately for him he did not realize that Timotheus had moved in behind him, and he stepped right back into arms of the brawny man.  The priest’s arms were pinned.  “You can take that amulet from him any time you want now,” Timotheus said to Bleys.

“Good move, Tim!” Markos said.  He reached for the priest’s belt, having to push Victoria away once again, as she grabbed at him.  Her efforts seemed a bit half-hearted.  Laarus was still squirming in Timotheus’ pin, so Bleys slammed another satisfying fist into the priest’s face.  Markos pulled the amulet free and stepped back, and Laarus managed to burst from Tim’s grip.  As Bleys moved in again, his anger getting the best of him for once, Tim stepped around Laarus and put his hands up. “Stop! I think that’s enough. It’s over!  They have the amulet now, Laarus doesn’t, that’s all there is to it.”

Laarus did not look like he was going to continue the fight, but Markos kept his wary eye on his cousin.

“You are all beating on Laarus without me?” Telémahkos asked with a wide smile and a wink. “I feel so left out!” 

“Where have you been?” Timotheus scolded.  Telémahkos gave a quick recounting of his adventures with the wild and seemingly possessed dogs, his gathering of the children and leading them to the temple of Isis, and about the elemental creatures the waveservants of Tefnut were summoning to fight the fire.

“So, why are you fighting Laarus?” Telémahkos asked unable to hide his smile, shining bright from his soot covered his face.

Laarus walked off as the others told Telémahkos what had happened, the events leading them to the tower, those within and Laarus’ refusal to use the Amulet of Fallon.  Telémahkos just shook his head.

“Here…” Markos handed Telémahkos the amulet, as he walked to intercept Laarus.  Telie and the others went back into the tower covering some more details of what had been happening.

“Is it true Laarus killed two people?” Telémahkos asked. 

“Yes, at the inn,” Bleys replied.

“He didn’t mean to, he was possessed,” Timotheus clarified.

“Right… So maybe his reticence to act here is because he feels guilty and worries he might do something else that would endanger innocents,” Telémahkos suggested

“That is irrational,” Bleys said.

“Okay, let’s see if we can get this thing to work,” Telémahkos put the amulet around his neck and held it to his heart, calling to Fallon.  He felt his burns and bruises lessen ever so slightly, recognizing the comforting warmth of divine healing magic.  

“Thank you, Fallon…” He said, and then handed it to Timotheus.  “It works… Kind of… Just hold it and pray to Fallon…” Timotheus did just that, but nothing happened.  He shook it and looked at it and then clasped it in his big hands, held to his chest.  Nothing happened.  He let out a frustrated sigh and passed the amulet to Markos as the mage walked in.  Markos Ackers had been trying to convince his cousin to accompany them while they finished searching the tower for Jakos and the source of the sleeplessness.  Laarus Raymer of Ra continued to refuse.

Markos put the amulet chain over his head and held it to his heart. “Oh Fallon, please ask the gods to grant some wisdom to my cousin Laarus.  I want this not for myself, but to aid others…” Nothing happened.  Shrugging he took it off and passed it to Bleys but as their hands brushed, Bleys felt himself begin to slowly and steadily begin to heal.  Soon it was as if he had not been leaping through fire and fighting monks and warlocks all day.

“I humbly thank you Fallon,” Bleys said aloud, and then he put the amulet around his neck and was able to heal some small wounds on Markos and Timotheus with a touch. Tim was obvious annoyed that his own attempts had not worked. The watch-mage gave it back to Timotheus.  

“I must not be doing it right,” Tim said after he tried again, disappointment in his voice.  He handed it to Victoria.  She slipped the amulet around her neck and soon was able to dispense small amounts of healing, and then nothing…

“Fallon has spoken,” the militant said, and began to put the amulet away. 

“Wait!” Timotheus protested. “I want to try again.  I never put it on.  No one told me you had to put it on for it to work!”

“Well you saw everyone else it worked for put it on,” Telémahkos replied.

“You were the one that told me I just needed to hold it!” Timotheus complained.  He slipped it over his neck and soon he was able to cure some minor wounds as well. It was passed to Markos who finally managed to use some as well.  It was given back into Victoria’s care and she carefully wrapped it and put it away.

“Maybe we should have used it on those fellows we hurt,” Timotheus suggested.  Instead, Victoria called on Anhur to make sure the warlock swordsman’s wounds did not re-open and then they carried the two guardians down to the lower level to leave them with Laarus. 

“If we end up releasing some great evil in here and have to flee we want them out of harm’s way,” Markos reasoned.

_…to be continued…_

-------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This session was played Sunday, February 17th 2008 in Brooklyn, NY.

(2) See Session #23 for the tragic events.

(3) These events were determined over email/IM discussion with Telie’s player.  We came up with actions that made sense to cover for the character’s absence during the player’s absence. I told him we would start with him at the point where he ran into Floris Tenbrook and asked after the other Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland.

(4) The Amulet of Fallon was retrieved from the Tomb of Dalvan Meir in Session #20.

(5) Tellum was beaten into unconsciousness. See Session #24.

(6) Victoria is of course referring to Markos’ two other fistfights with party members in Sessions #4 and #5, both of which Markos lost.


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Ouch!

I shall be very interested to see how/whether the party can achieve genuine unity after that!


----------



## handforged

Wow!  That was not what I was expecting at all.  I agree with HalfOrcHB, it will be tough for the party to resolve this.

I love that line from Bleys, "I AM THE LAW!"

I can't wait to see how all of this turns out.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #25 – “Smoke & Ruin” (part 2 of 3)*

Bleys, Timotheus, Victoria, Markos and Telémahkos made their way up to the third floor of Jakos’ tower.  The stairs opened onto a dimly lit broad hallway decorated with dark wood paneling and cutting across the tower from east to west.  To the right, the hall went twenty feet to large oaken double doors carved with the relief of a city upon a mountain surrounded by storm clouds.1  To the left the there was an alcove that led to another smaller oaken door.  Across the hall was a linen closet, which Telémahkos checked out first.

“I would bet money that we are going to have to go through those double doors,” Markos said, as he and the other came into the hall.  Bleys moved to the door in the alcove and Telémahkos cut him off.  “Let me check it first!” he hissed.  Markos came over and watched as Telémahkos inspected the seam, the floor in front of it, and then began to examine the lock, pulling a bundle of narrow tools from his sash.

“What does that one do?” Markos leaned in close and badgered Telémahkos with a plethora of questions regarding picking the lock.    Victoria was standing facing the double doors while Timotheus kept watch at the top of the stairs.

“Markos… Move away,” Telémahkos said.  After a minute’s work, he felt the lock click and he stood and backed away from the door.  “It is unlocked,” he told the others.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Markos asked.

“No… I checked it… I think it is free of traps, but… you never know…” Telémahkos answered.  Bleys brushed past him and turned the knob.  There was a sound like rushing wind and a blast of frost blasted out of the doorway, sending the watch-mage reeling.  He huddled against the wall blue and shivering.

“Quick! Everyone huddle around him! Warm him up!” Timotheus ran over and wrapped his arms around Bleys holding his cloak around him and rubbing up and down. 

“I am fine…” Bleys croaked, he pushed free of Tim’s bear hug and took a couple of staggered steps away.  He shook his head clear and then stood up straight.

“Books!” Markos was looking into the room beyond, his eyes widening. “Spell… Books!”  He lifted a foot to take a step in.

“Stop!” Bleys and Telémahkos said simultaneously.  “There are bound to be more traps,” Bleys continued. “We may find answers in those tomes, but we must find Jakos before we risk looking into those.”  Markos continued to look into the room longingly.

“It just struck me that Jakos may be possessed by whatever was possessing others like Laarus and Captain Firth,” Bleys said.  “I need to change a spell I prepared… _protection from evil_ will be more helpful. Stay alert.”   And with that he sat at the top step, pulled his spellbook from his satchel and got to preparing a spell in place of another. 2

Telémahkos took this time to creep up to the double doors and press his ear to it.  It took a moment to grow accustomed to the position and make out the faint chanting that was coming from the other side.  The voice grew louder and there was a sound like rushing wind and a snarl.  Telémahkos turned away from the door and alerted the others as he ran in their direction. “There is someone summoning a demon in there!” He cried, but it was too late. In that same moment the double doors burst open and through them leapt two of the dirty feral slashing creatures.

One of the little hulking monsters chased Telémahkos with its ape-like gait and tore into his backside with its black claws. Telémahkos yelped, and spun around, rapier in hand.  “I can hold them back while we retreat!” he told his friends and he thrust the thin blade into the side of the creature’s head.  It scrambled back, clawing at the blade, spitting and snarling.   Telémahkos was startled when the second creature leapt past its companion to land on the fop’s left. He thrust awkwardly with his blade.  The thing landed atop it, wrenching his arm with the weight of it, as he frantically yanked back to get into a defensive posture.

“Markos! Stay behind me!” Victoria moved around the skinny mage, spear thrust before her.  “Anhur! Grant me strength!” She cried, calling on Anhur’s righteous fury.  She shoved the other feral slasher away from Telémahkos with the tip of her spear, drawing blood as it was driven to the ground. 3

“Master Jakos!” Markos cupped his hands by his mouth as he yelled towards the open doors and moved to get down the steps. “We would parley!  We have stolen nothing! We are here to help!”

Timotheus moved into the melee, ducking under Victoria’s spear to slash at the thing and drive it back before it could get at Telémahkos again.  “Get out of Victoria’s way!” Telémahkos admonished his cousin, whipping _the Steel Whip_ as he stepped towards the creatures and then deftly leapt and twisted to land behind them, flicking the blade on the back of the other’s head as it turned around.

 The one on the ground scrambled to its feet, ignoring its opponents to its detriment. 4 Tim, Telémahkos and Victoria all drove their weapons into its muscular body.  It screamed and snarled and sunk its huge teeth into the flesh of Timotheus’ calf.

“Stay down beast!”  Victoria grunted stabbing it in the side again.  Blood spurted everywhere and its organs pulsed with savage life.  It would not die.

Bleys, still gravely injured from the ward upon the door, hung back reaching for one of the spears on Victoria’s back, but she moved with too much speed and violence and could not get at it. 5

“Master of the Tower!” Marko continued to call over the sound of crunching sinew, tearing flesh, the knock of weapons and the snarls and barks of the slashers. He also loaded his crossbow. “Hear me!  We come to aid you! Call off your guardians!”

“Ah-ha!” Timotheus grinned as he cracked the skull of one the creatures and it finally fell dead.

“Stand down and tell me what happened to Tellum and Crispin and I shall send my creatures away!” Bleys looked up. He had finally grabbed a spear.  Standing in the doorway was a tall old man with long white hair and beard. He wore long red robes, and his skin was weathered and cragged. He had twinkling blue eyes.  He had foreign accent, like a lilting sing-song to his pronunciation of Thrician common.

Telémahkos was busy keeping the remaining slasher at bay.  He turned to put it between him and Tim, and it clawed him. “I will be more than happy to stand down as soon as these things stop trying to kill me!”

“We will stand down, but are force to defend ourselves against your minions,” Markos called back as Victoria shouldered her way between Timotheus and Telémahkos to drive her spear into the arm of the remaining creature, momentarily pinned the arm to its body.  Timotheus took advantage of its pained distraction to thrust his sabre through its throat, killing it.  It, like the others, melted into an icy puddle.

“You are Jakos?” Bleys the Aubergine asked the old man.

“I am Jakos Ilmari,” he answered.  Victoria of Anhur shuddered and braced herself against the wall as she came out of her holy rage.

“Tellum said you unleashed the plague of insomnia,” Bleys said.

“Where is Tellum? I hope he is not hurt…” Jakos replied.

“We had to subdue him,” Markos answered. “It was the other that suffered more grievous wounds, but our priests tended to him and he is stabilized and being looked after by my cousin, Laarus of Ra.”

“Speaking of Laarus, does he have your leave to enter the tower?” Telémahkos asked as politely as he could.  “He did not want to enter the premises without permission…”

“I assume you represent some authority?” Jakos asked.

“I am the current watch-mage assigned to Sluetelot,” Bleys replied. 

Jakos reached under his beard and scratched.  His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark puffy circles beneath them. “I don’t see what different it makes now,” he said. “You all broke in already and apparently have the authority to do so…  Have him come in…”

Telémahkos went downstairs and informed the young priest of Jakos’ permission.  He helped Laarus carry the injured guardians back into the tower, before leading him back up to the others.

“Master Jakos, you have still not addressed my statement,” Bleys said sternly.  “Is it true what Tellum said?  Did you unleash the plague?”

“Yes… I did it.  I had to…” He seemed to grow more haggard in the moment of admission. 

“And why was that?”

“My experiments led to accidentally allowing a nightmare demon into our world,” Jakos explained.  “It controls people and feeds off them when they sleep… The plague of insomnia was a way to keep it from running rampant and endangering people while I sought away to send it back… But so far, nothing viable…” 

“How can we help?” Markos asked.

“There is no helping,” Jakos replied. “I have gone through my tomes for days, the only hope is an impossibility.”

“Tell us of this impossibility,” Markos said.

“No! Start from the beginning,” Bleys insisted.

Jakos Ilmari led them into his study.  It was paneled in stained oak, with countless nooks and shelves along jutting stone supports for the tower’s outer wall, and tall narrow windows with panes of blue-tinted glass.  There were streaks of ice from that which encased the tower above.  The shelves were packed with books, jars, bottles, skulls of animals, knick-knacks, statuettes and a myriad of other strange little things shoved sloppily here and there. Jakos made his way around a large desk piled with dozens of tomes, opened to various pages and pinning down scrolls and long rolls of parchment.   At one corner was an opaque crystal sphere about six inches across.  Markos’ eyes grew wide.  He cracked his knuckles and walked nonchalantly over to the desk to get a look at the bizarre writing on the pages.  

The old wizard gestured to some stools, but no one sat down but him.  He searched frantically for a moment and then pulled a pipe out from under a pile, snapped his fingers and took three long puffs, the herbs inside crackling.  A minty smell filled the room.

“I was seeking a way to reach Untamo,” Jakos finally began to relay his tale to the impatient adventurers.  “He is the lost god of sleep and dreams of the great north.  My research led me to believe he was somewhere in the Abyss, and when I discovered an incantation for piercing the veil to where he might be, that I might contact his power of prophecy for the first time in centuries, I tried it… Unfortunately, it seems that if he is where I hypothesize he is, he is guarded by these nightmare demons, or perhaps one demon that can send multiple aspects of itself though the rift I created and that threatened Sluetelot…”

He cleared his throat and continued, “As soon as I realized what had happened I used an item I had in storage to confine it to the roof which I had enclosed in the magical ice you must have seen atop the tower…”

“We thought the ice was in order to keep the fires at bay,” Timotheus said.

Jakos shook his head.  “The secondary powers of the item I used proved useful in that regard, but that was just serendipity…  However, the demon’s influence could still be extended beyond the rift, and the plague of insomnia was the quickest and most effect solution to the problem that I could think of…”

“How did you effect the plague?” Bleys asked.

“I had a ritual that summons it in one of the books on magic of the north I have been studying,” Jakos explained.  Markos began to bite his bottom lip, eager to sate his curiosity regarding arcane magics.  The old wizard continued, “I figured it would give me time to research a way to give it some kind of corporeal form so it can be banished or fought, but… but the only power I have been able to find that could accomplish this is impossible to find…”

“What is this power you need?” Markos asked.

“No!” Bleys froze his fellow mage with glare, and then he turned to Jakos. He was taking charge of the interrogation. “Why did you not send word to Havesting for help?”

“Or to the watch-mage’s council?” Laarus added.

“He thought he could…” Victoria began.

“Let him answer!” Telémahkos whined.

“There was no time to discuss the solution. I had to act quickly, and once the plague of insomnia was in place, there didn’t seem much point in involving the authorities… I mean, I was certain I could find a solution… And even if Barakis were not dead, he and I never got along… So, I wouldn’t go to him…”

“And because of that the blood of innocents is now on your hands,” Laarus replied.

“Let’s castigate him later…” Markos rolled his eyes.

“Did you not know that I was appointed interim watch-mage?” Bleys asked.

Jakos shook his head. “I am a recluse. My guardians and servants are my only real contact with the world beyond.”

“Can we ask about what he needs to banish this demon now?” There was an urge of pleading in Markos’ voice as he turned to Bleys.  The watch-mage nodded, and the old wizard spoke. “I need ‘the blood and light’ of a member splinter group of Ra-worshipers who have not existed since the Time of the Six Kingdoms,” Jakos explained. “The Order of Epiphany’s Dawning…”

“I know the name, but not much else,” Bleys said. “Were they not a heretical cult?”

“They were named as such and eventually expelled from the Sunra Kingdom, but it was not always like that,” Jakos said. “They were an order that are said to have had the blood of the Mystics and saw their powers as a reflection of that holy light within all good mortal beings as placed in the mind and heart by Ra himself…”

“The Blood of the Mystics…?” Markos asked.

“The Mystics were known for the powers of the their mind; their use of the third eye which is neither arcane, nor divine…” Jakos said.

“What? There are only two powers, the arcane and the divine,” Markos scoffed.

“It is sometimes called ‘psionics’, and I assure you that while rare, it is real and neither arcane, nor divine,” Jakos said.  “But it is academic, the Order of Epiphany’s Dawning has not existed in fourteen centuries!”

“You need to let me read your notes and look over your research,” Markos said.  “Uh… I mean, let _us_ read them…”

“Can you read Seriph?” Jakos asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Seriph?” 

“The language of the Northern Reaches and the people of the Kalevala,” Jakos answered.   Markos stood and turned one of the books on the desk around towards him. It was written in long boxes of a curling baroque script he did not recognize.

“Surely not all of your books are in this tongue?” Markos asked.

“All of the relevant ones…”

“What about Laarus? Maybe he has the blood…” Timotheus offered.  

“I am not a member of this lost order,” Laarus protested.

“You can summon the light of Ra right? You…” Timotheus began.

“That will not be enough,” Jakos interrupted. “We need the blood, too…”

“I can only suggest that since there is no one here smarter than me… though some more knowledgeable,” Markos began, smiling at his companions, before looking back at Jakos “…that you share your knowledge with me and we can work towards a solution together…”

“If you remove the insomnia effect can we perhaps sleep and enter the dream world they dwell in?” Victoria suggested.

Jakos shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way…” 6

“If it will get rid of this demons I will offer up my blood for this purpose,” Laarus suddenly said.

“You are descended of the Mystics?” Jakos asked.  

“I have some connection to them,” Laarus explained. “I receive visions…”

“Are you sure you are not suffering from dementia from lack of sleep?” Jakos asked.

“He’s always suffering from dementia,” Telémahkos winked. “But the visions are real… If not specific…”

Markos grumbled his unwillingness to accept the veracity of his cousin’s visions of the future.

“And he talked to an ancient Mystic oracle on the way back from the Disputed Territories,” Timotheus added. “Or rather, it talked through him…” 7

“I guess it is worth a try…” Jakos replied.  “If his blood works and he summons the light of Ra we should be able to make it take a physical form and kill it…”

“Can demons be killed?” Telémahkos asked with trepidation in his voice.

“Oh sure!” Timotheus answered for the wizard. “You can kill those things! Heroes do it all the time in the stories!”

“This is just a piece of a larger and much more horrible creature that dwells in the Abyss,” Jakos explained. “Detached from the rest of its body, it should be defeatable… Essentially we will be forcing this sentient dark energy to return to its source, as it will be unable to withstand the amount of effort it needs to remain here and fight us at the same time.”

“Do we have time to recuperate before we try this?” Markos asked.

“The sooner we solve this problem, the sooner the people of Sluetelot will be out of danger from this demon and from themselves,” Bleys said.

“I have some potions…” Jakos said, standing.  He walked out into the hall an to the door the party had opened earlier.  “Oh! You set off my _glyph of warding_!”

“I’m good at that,” Bleys said flatly.8 He had followed the older wizard out into the hall.

Jakos returned with several glass vials and described their healing properties to the young nobles.  They distributed them among themselves according to whom was most injured, and the final potion of _cure light wounds_ was given to Markos. “If one of us goes down, use this,” Timotheus said as he handed it over.

Bleys the Aubergine expressed a desire to hold off the ritual that would coalesce the demon that he might change some of the spells he had prepared that day for others.  There was some disagreement about taking the time for this, and Jakos seemed irritated with the watch-mage, but in the end the party insisted.  

Markos retrieved some extra crossbows from the tower’s armory on the lower level with Jakos’ permission in preparation for the fight.

_…to be continued…_

----------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This is a depiction of the Holy City of the Kalevala, home of the gods of the Northern Reaches, but not to be confused with the City-State of the Kalevala, which is a mortal city in north.

(2) In Aquerra, wizards may trade out an uncast prepared spell for another, but this takes 15 minutes per spell level.

(3) The feral slasher failed its save versus knockdown.

(4) Getting up from a prone position draws an attack of opportunity if one does not use a full-round action to get up.

(5) Bleys needed to makes a touch attack against AC 10.

(6) As a side note, I originally considered writing the adventure to have the final battle occur in some kind of ‘dreamscape,’ but then rejected the idea as too “high magic” and out there for my players to enjoy and out of scope for the flavor of adventures at this level in the Aquerra setting.  Surprisingly, more than one player said afterwards, that they would have been fine with that.  Just goes to show how bad I am sometimes at predicting my players’ tastes and ideas.

(7) This is a reference to the Mind of Oberah.  See Session #21

(8) Bleys us making a bitter and facetious reference to the _sepia snake sigil_ he set off in Session #8.


----------



## handforged

Wow!  So Laarus has latent psionic powers...

I can't wait to see how this goes.  And what exactly will Jakos think about the "help."

~hf


----------



## Rastfar

> (6) As a side note, I originally considered writing the adventure to have the final battle occur in some kind of ‘dreamscape,’ but then rejected the idea as too “high magic” and out there for my players to enjoy and out of scope for the flavor of adventures at this level in the Aquerra setting. Surprisingly, more than one player said afterwards, that they would have been fine with that. Just goes to show how bad I am sometimes at predicting my players’ tastes and ideas.




As a rule, I am generally against all sorts of high fantasy and extraplanar wonkiness as it never really jived with what I wish to get out of my D&D experience.  That said, I guess all rules are meant to be broken.  In this instance I could see how that final battle would have been a lot of fun and would also have liked to have seen that come to fruition.  Given the context of Untamo and the general overtones of the adventure I feel like it would have been very appropriate and satisfying.  I am sad to see that you did not follow your hunch.

Aside, I still wish 'summoned monsters' weren't all 'celestial' or 'fiendish', not every motivation is good or bad or necessarily, intended as such.  This was of course one of the newer changes that I never liked. 

GREAT POSTS!  Keep up the good work!


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## el-remmen

Rastfar said:


> I am sad to see that you did not follow your hunch.




No, I _did _follow my hunch.  My hunch was that you guys _wouldn't_ like it!  Thus proving that much hunches suck sometimes. 



Rastfar said:


> Aside, I still wish 'summoned monsters' weren't all 'celestial' or 'fiendish', not every motivation is good or bad or necessarily, intended as such.  This was of course one of the newer changes that I never liked.




Are they all celestial or fiendish?  Aren't there elemental types on the list?  If not, we can easily add some.

To me, the planes stuff has always been a part of D&D and thus seems very natural to use as a resource for these kinds of spells (i.e. from both a designer and flavor point of view). It is the _traveling _to planes that I am more leery of, but even that is okay to me at higher levels.



Rastfar said:


> GREAT POSTS!  Keep up the good work!




Thanks!


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## Telémakhos

handforged said:


> I love that line from Bleys, "I AM THE LAW!"
> 
> ~hf




That was actually awesome. The player uses a deep, brook-no-argument voice that is pretty loud to start with and this came out like a real bellow that silenced the rest of the table. 

Alas, it had no impact on Laarus. Fist-to-face negotiations had to take care of that.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #25 – “Smoke & Ruin” (part 3 of 3)*

Jakos Ilmari led the Signers into his laboratory.  It was a large room, noted for the far wall being made of thick panes of frosted glass on a metal frame set in the stone supports of the tower outer wall.  There was also a large window adjacent to it that led out to a small balcony, but this and the larger structure were covered over with ice from above.  To the right of the door was a metal spiral staircase that led up to the parapet above; the area that was enclosed by the ice.  There were several stone tables, a hearth, two small iron stoves, and the left wall was covered in shelves and cabinets filled like those in the study, minus the books.

As Jakos explained how the ritual would work, Markos climbed to the top of the spiral staircase with two crossbows.  He left them loaded at his feet and prepared his repeating crossbow.  He would be the one to open the trapdoor to the top of the tower allowing the nightmare demon back into the lab to be sucked towards the protective circle that would be made with Laarus’ blood.  Bleys set up on the left side of the room by one of the tables, with a spare crossbow at his side as well, while Victoria, Telémahkos, Telémahkos and Laarus stood around where Jakos would draw the circle, one at each compass point. 

“Victoria, put the amulet on as long as you are going to carry it, you might as well benefit from it,” Bleys said to the militant, but when she took it out she passed it to Timotheus, who smiled and slipped it around his neck and tucked it under his shirt.

Laarus Raymer of Ra held out his hand, and Jakos began to chant and grabbed hold of it with his right hand and quickly dragged  a curved knife across the priest’s palm.  Laarus winced.  Jakos held the hand open and shook it, letting the blood pool. 1  He then dipped his fingers in the blood and got down on his hands and knees and began to draw the circle lined with Seriph runes. He renewed the bloody ink from Laarus’ hands a few times as he worked, still chanting the whole time.  As he stood, still in it, the circle began to glow.

Victoria called on Anhur to _bless_ their efforts against the demon, while Timotheus grimaced and gulped down a vial of _the blood of Ashronk_.

Laarus of Ra took a step back away from the circle as Jakos’ chanting became more frantic, and he readied himself to call on the glory of Ra at the proper moment as Jakos had instructed before the ritual started.  The old wizard’s voice became a high-pitched indecipherable wheeze and then he threw both arms in the air and pointed to Markos at the top of the spiral stairs.  “NOW!”

Markos unlatched the trapdoor and it opened with bang, as he ducked reflexively from the sudden sound and violence of its dropping.

The thing came down, an inky black tear in the very fabric of reality that was vaguely shaped like a man, but with undulating limbs that grew and shrunk and merged and separated again. It’s very presence hurt the eyes and fogged the brain of the onlookers as it crackled with purple and black lightning flashing disturbing scenes of twirling pulsing tentacles covered in puss-oozing suckers beyond its being/non-being.

“RA!” Laarus called out to his god. “Use me as a vessel for your holy light to help drive this creature from our world and back to the foul realms from which it emerged!”  There was a pulse of light as he clutched his holy symbol and the strange creature let out an echoing sound like metal scraping against metal that warped into a monstrous bellow.

The creature went hurtling down towards the circle of blood, leaving a sizzling smell of sulfur as the air around it curdled.  Jakos moved to step out of the circle as the creature flew down, its flashing and changing fading to pure black as it fell, and just as the wizard was stepping over the threshold, the thing fell inside of him, disappearing into his very flesh.  Jakos’ flesh rippled inky black, and his eyes turned bright burning red.  He snarled and looked at all the young nobles around him. The nightmare demon now had a physical form; Jakos’ form.

Telémahkos was the first to act. He tumbled towards the possessed wizard and thrust at him with his rapier, but the creature bent its elbows back and leapt towards Laarus.

“Wait! Was this _supposed_ to happen? Do we have to kill him now?” Timotheus was unsure of himself, but Laarus did not hesitate he swung his morningstar the Jakos-thing heavily, and it yanked its arm back as the tines on the club scraped its swirling forearm.  It fell into a tumble, avoiding a follow-up swing from the priest as it spun around Timotheus and revealed gleaming fangs in the middle of its featureless face as it bit his shoulder.  Tim turned around and out of the way, withdrawing to put himself between the thing and Bleys. The thing’s red eyes glowed more brightly and Tim felt a tickle in his mind, but shook it off. 2 At the same time, Victoria felt some foreign will press itself against her own as she ran through the circle towards the changed wizard.  She shook it off.  

“Stay away from the circle,” she warned the others, but it was too late. Her companions could see a trail of shining black and purple motes hovering about her head.  Markos and Bleys sent crossbow bolts into the combat, Bleys’ nicking the thing as it dropped to the ground from the weight of Laarus’ morningstar falling on its shoulders.  Telémahkos danced around and thrust at it with his rapier again, but was being too cautious.  “Victoria! You have something floating near your head!” He warned the militant without looking at her.

“Seriously! Do we have to kill him?” Timotheus asked his companions as he slammed his flail into the creature as it stood, and it bent backwards as if broken, its legs morphing into the top of its body as its arms, head and shoulder became legs.

“Anhur!” Victoria cried out, letting the divine fury of her god fill her. “Give me the might to strike this thing from beyond!!!”  In her rage she over-extended the thrust of her spear at the thing, and Timotheus barely stepped aside to avoid the blow. 3  The motes about her head trailed over to Timotheus and suddenly his eyes glassed over.  His muscles bulged and he immediately crouched and drooled and howled.

“What in the Hells happened to Tim?” Telémahkos’ eyes widened.  He circled about the far end of the possessed wizard Jakos trying to pen him in, while waving to Timotheus with his free hand. “Over here!”

Bleys chanted as he cast _protection from evil_, but Timotheus jumped away before he could be touched by the spell that would break the possession.  He snickered and then guffawed as he charged towards Telémahkos, obeying his cousin’s summons.  He wore a lascivious look, licking his lips repeatedly.  Timotheus grabbed at Telémahkos, “Come ‘ere!”

“Eek!” Telémahkos shrieked and barely leapt away in time, feeling the tug on his toga.  Tim ran after him, shrinking and growing fat as his form rippled and turned, avoiding Bleys’ attempts to imbue him with the _protection from evil_ spell. “C’mere ya little turd! I’m gonna slap your ass raw!”  Timotheus now looked like his uncle, Telémahkos’ father, Agamemnon.   Again, Telémahkos was able to avoid Timotheus’ grasp, and he danced around flicking his rapier in front of him to keep his cousin, now looking like his father, away.  “Somebody do something!”

Meanwhile, the possessed form of Jakos was reeling from a heavy blow from Laarus and started moving towards the spiral steps. Startled by the thing’s sudden approach, Markos dropped his crossbow and hurriedly slammed the trapdoor shut.  He pulled a dagger.

“An injury may give him another chance to shake off the effect,” Laarus suggested as he took off up the metal steps after the demon-possessed-Jakos.  He slammed him in the back with his morningstar once again and the form collapsed on the stairs, sliding painfully down the stairs a bit and becoming tangled in the priest’s legs and the metal railing.   A black living figure of swirling shadow emerged from Jakos’ twisted form and began to fly back towards the circle.  Markos shoved his dagger through the latch of the trapdoor, to wedge it shut even more tightly and then, picked up one of the loaded crossbows and fired.  The quarrel few through the living shadow to no effect.  Victoria roared as she thrust her spear up at it as it flew past her, but like the crossbow bolt, the weapon seem to have no effect despite the violence of her blow.

“Huh? What happened?” Timotheus shook his head a moment after Bleys touched him and he changed back into himself. The watch-mage had finally gotten the _protection from evil_ spell to at least temporarily ward him from the possessing influence.

“You’re lucky,” Telémahkos quipped to his cousin with a wink. “I was about to run you through!”  He skipped over towards the shadow and whipped his magic blade through its essence feeling the slightest resistance as he cut shadow stuff from its insubstantial form.  Telémahkos felt something enter his mind, but he shook it off, encouraged by Laarus’ words to Ra, as he channeled divine energy through his holy symbol, filling the room with a pulse of it.  The shadow turned and reached for him but he backed away, as Timotheus rejoined the fight, and Victoria and Laarus came clanging down the metal steps to surround it.  Finally, one of Victoria’s spear thrusts seemed to have effect, while Tim’s mighty blows seemed to do nothing.

Bleys made his way around the melee, scooping up one of the spare crossbows on his way, and spotted Markos doing what he was on his way to do, checking on Jakos.  The smaller mage poured a potion of _cure light wounds_ down the older wizard’s throat, and in a few moments he was sputtering to consciousness.

“What should we do? The creature seems mostly unaffected by our weapons!” Markos asked, shaking the man by the collar of his robes.

“_Tutila ex malum!_” Bleys spun around and cast _protection from evil_ once again.  This time he touched Telémahkos as soon as he noted the slender Briareus had been overtaking by whatever malevolent force was flittering around the room in the form of the shining motes.  He picked up his dropped sword, and it was only Bleys’ spell that kept the thing from possessing him once again, as he left himself open to its attack.  

The shadow creature swept down at Laarus and the priest of Ra crumpled to the ground asleep. 

Markos looked up from where Jakos was giving him advice on how to handle the situation in a raspy whisper and ran over to his cousin, and began to shake him.  “Wake up!  Jakos says you need to use the power of Ra to drive that thing back into the circle!”  Laarus started awake again, and Markos left him to go back to Jakos, who handed him a wand he pulled from his belt.  “Just point this at the thing and say ‘_telectus_!’” he croaked.

As Bleys dropped the crossbow and drew his saber, Victoria and Timotheus had the creature between them.  The militant priestess was still having more luck than the brawny warrior, but still her spear thrusts were not as effective as if she had been stabbing at a corporeal body.  The motes floated over to Bleys and he felt a malevolent tickle in his mind that he was barely able to shake off. 4 Telémahkos danced around, paranoid of the motes, but trying to drive the thing towards the circle, keeping it between Victoria and Tim.

“_Telectus!_” Markos flicked the wand and three _magic missiles_ flew from the wand and burst as they passed through the shadow. It shuddered and shrunk visibly, spinning around as if in agony.

Now on his feet, Laarus of Ra grasped his holy symbol one more time and called out, “Ra! Send this creature back to my circle of blood!”  He felt the energy of his god pass through him and the thing moaned as it flew towards the great arching window, and bounced against the glass twice like confused fly, and then swooped back towards the circle.

“Now! Now!” Jakos called.  Timotheus dropped his weapon and drew a dagger throwing it at the shadow as it bounced around in the circle, trapped by some unseen force. The dagger seemed to slow as it passed through and the thing fell to the ground transforming into a blonde young woman. It was Timotheus’ sister Ivy… “Please Tim! Please don’t kill me,” she begged through tears.

“_Telectus!_ Three more arrows of light flew from the wand Markos was using and Ivy shuddered.  “No, Markos is trying to kill me! Stop him!” She cried.

“Let this travesty end now,” Victoria said.  She stepped back and hefted a short spear and threw it right through Ivy’s chest.  She fell back and melted back into a liquidy shadow form, and began to dissipate, leaving behind a pile of black ashes.

“Good try, but my family doesn’t beg,” Timotheus said, stepping over to spit in the ashes.

“We should go and see how the rest of the town fares,” Victoria said.

Jakos Ilmari was able to get to his feet with help from Markos, and took back his wand, shoving it into his belt.  He began to walk out towards his study, but Bleys the Aubergine stepped in front of him.

“Before we go anywhere, I need to remand you into custody,” the watch-mage told the old wizard.

Jakos nodded. “I understand, but I would like to break the plague of insomnia first…”

Bleys nodded and let the man by, but followed closely, as did the others.

“All that needs to be done is to break this,” he lifted the crystal sphere from his desk.

“Then break it!” Markos said.  Jakos let it shatter against the floor, and amid the tinkling of glass was the sound of a chime.  Suddenly, Laarus, Victoria and Telémahkos collapsed to the ground asleep, as the others felt a wave of fatigue wash over them.  Jakos stumbled back against the desk, his eyes heavy.

“I need to sleep,” the old man said.

“Why don’t you sleep now?  We are done here,” Markos suggested.

”I thought I was being remanded,” he replied.

“Can’t that wait?” Markos asked, turning to Bleys.

“No, it cannot,” Bleys said in his usual flat tone.

“Come on, give the man a break,” Timotheus said. “Think of how much more difficult this would have been if he had not cooperated.”

“Very well,” Bleys acquiesced. “You have earned a temporary reprieve. Timotheus, you shall stay here and watch over him, while I run to retrieve Captain Firth, and inform the authorities at Havesting what has occurred.”

“I’ll stay too and look through some of his books,” Markos added.

“No sir, you will not…” Jakos replied.  As Bleys left, he heard Markos go into a long-winded argument meant to persuade Jakos to give him access to his tower’s secrets and lore.

Soon after, Tellum woke up, and came rushing to his master’s defense, but Jakos calmed him down. 5

Out in Sluetelot the danger of the fire had been averted. All that was left were several smaller fires surrounded by townsfolk with pails, and priests of Tefnut from the temple in Havesting _creating water_ to fill the buckets.  There were people scattered in various places having fallen sleep where they stood, and some were being carried off by friends or family. Bleys found Captain Firth and informed her of what had happened, and how the magical plague had been banished. He told her of Jakos and his henchmen, and how they being held back at the tower.  She dispatched some guards to the tower immediately, and filled Bleys in on the efforts to fight the fire as they walked. She told him how Holy Admiral Korwait Tenbrook had opened Havesting and sent out Waveservants of Tefnut to help.  Now soldiers were being mobilized to prevent looting.

The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland made their way back to Death & Taxes, where Victoria, Laarus and Telémahkos were put to bed and put under the watchful eye of Timotheus.  As they walked Markos was curious as to what would happen to Jakos and his tower.

“Jakos will be imprisoned in gaol and his tower will be locked up pending his trial and the ruling of the Lord of House Tenbrook or his agent,” Bleys replied.

“As acting watch-mage of Sluetelot could you not request that the tower be placed under your command for now?” Markos asked.

“No,” Bleys said flatly.

”There could be other dangerous magics in there that could endanger the town,” Markos tried a new tack.

“All the more reason to not go poking around in them,” Bleys said. 

“We’d be careful!” Markos grinned and then bit his bottom lip imaging what secrets he might find there,

“You just want all his stuff!” Timotheus admonished.

“No! Uh… No!” Markos protested.  “We did not even gather any of the ashes that remained of that nightmare demon creature, for example…”

“Oh come on!” Timotheus smirked. “Are you even _trying_ to be convincing?”

Bleys ignored them, and at the inn Markos changed his strategy roping Tim into a conversation regarding sneaking in by means of being boosted through the broken shutters.

“Tim!” Telémahkos called from his bed, still half-asleep. Timotheus went to his cousin’s side. “I forgot to tell you…” Telie rolled over and pulled a blanket close under his chin. “Floris is going to challenge you to a duel if you don’t apologize to him for whatever it is you did to him…”

“Oh for gods’ sake,” Timotheus muttered.

“And don’t leave me alone with assassins around,” Telémahkos’ voice grew sharp as he climbed back towards full consciousness to emphasize the point.

Timotheus sighed his grudging agreement.

From Death & Taxes Bleys went to Havesting where he spoke to Delilah Fairbanks, seneschal of the fortress.  They made arrangements for camps to be set up for the refugees from the fire and for food to be moved from Havesting’s stores to the camps.  Some of the displaced townsfolk would be allowed to use empty barracks in the fortress until they could reconnect with family living in other parts of the town or in nearby places.  The rest would be brought to field in New Sluetelot and given tents and other means of making temporary shelter.

Over the next couple of days the extent of the fire’s devastation became clearer.  The dockworkers were freed to help with the clean up effort, and while grumblings of a Weirspierogen plot were to be heard here and there in drunken anger, most people came to accept the fire as a consequence of Jakos’ actions.  The young nobles found themselves at the center of attention for their efforts against the fire and the stories of them running off towards the center of the fire and certain death in order to find the source of the curse of insomnia.  However, not all of the attention was good, as many people gave Laarus wide berth once news of the people he killed got around.

During this time Markos tried to visit Jakos in the gaol, but the warden insisted on permission coming from Bleys, and the salty mage decided against pestering his companion on the issue of the Jakos and the tower any longer.  Laarus Raymer of Ra did visit Jakos 6, and as a priest of Ra no one denied him the opportunity.  He also had Euleria find out as much as she could about the two people he had killed while possessed so he could make some form of remuneration to their next of kin.

Bleys wrote up a detailed report of the events of the plague of insomnia, Jakos Ilmari and the fire and encouraged his companions to do the same.  

“We may be on the road by the time they get around to giving him a trial, our signed and witnessed affidavits will be useful to his prosecution,” he said.  Laarus agreed.

But mostly they rested… 7

*End of Sessions #25*

-------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Laarus took 4 points of damage from the cut.

(2) Timotheus had to make a Will save to resist the effect.

(3) Victoria fumbled getting the following result:_Reflex save (DC 20) or hit friend, normal damage._ – She made her Reflex save.

(4) Bleys’ player chose to use an action die for this save, and as it turned out it made the difference.

(5) Tellum had been defeated with non-lethal damage and tied up. He successfully escaped his bonds when he woke up.

(6) See InterSession #25.1

(7) I advanced the calendar a couple of days to reinforce the party’s fatigue and aching lungs from all the smoke they inhaled, etc…


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## handforged

Whoa.  I am sure that was a tense fight for the group.  Perhaps Laarus's willingness to sacrifice himself for the circle will help to make up for the stubbornness earlier.

Where to next?

~hf


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## Rastfar

As a player I am unaccustomed to 'power' and/or any measure of 'authority'.  As a result I initially struggled with certain aspects of being 'provisional Watch-Mage'.  Also, I found the nature of the predicament to be dichotomous as in Aquerra this is usually not the case and often it seems (at least in my experience) it is this very same 'power' that we are at odds with.

That said, once I got into the rhythm (and over my paranoia) I thoroughly enjoyed Bleys' position and felt that he was given an opportunity to shine as a PC - which is harder to do with a non-combat focused character.  Of course, the internal conflict with Laarus - " I _AM_ THE LAW! " aided in this.  

Again, kudos to a great arc and a trusting DM who had the foresight to trust in the role-play of some players; that no matter how tempting Jakos' tower and the corruption of power can be, it would not become a temptation that he would rue.


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## el-remmen

*InterSession #25.1 – “Laarus Visits Prison”* 1

Osilem, the 24th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

A couple of days later, Laarus Raymer of Ra arranged for an audience with Jakos Ilmari. He was led into "the Cross;" the interrogation and visiting cell at the Sluetelot Gaol.  Jakos looked haggard and tired, pulling at his beard frequently and not very happy about being pulled from his cell. 

‘The Cross’ was the inner building in the gaol where Victoria, Markos and Bleys had fought the possessed Warden and prisoners.2 The center of it was enclosed with bars, allowing access to a prisoner from all sides and no privacy. A guard stood behind Laarus as he approached the bars to address the droopy-eyed old wizard. 

After looking over Jakos, Laarus turned to the guard. "I would prefer to speak with him in private."

"I am sorry, Sir. . . But that is against regulations. . ."

"What I have to say is for his ears only. You have my word that I will not see him come to any harm. Inspect me for weapons and contraband, if you wish. I do not require for you to leave the premises. If you could take your post on the other side of that door, it should prove sufficient."

"I'm sorry, sir, but…" The guard was clearly uncomfortable refusing the priest. "It is not just for his safety, but for yours… Also, legally he has a right to someone present in case he decides he does not want to talk to you anymore… I mean… He has that right, but…You give me the word and I will leave… I just always thought priests of Ra were 'by the book'."

Laarus nodded. "You are versed in the law. And you seek to uphold it. But you would still defer to one of higher station. Those are virtuous traits. You see the worth of law, truth, and honor." Slowly turning around, he continued, "And you are correct. I cannot deny this man the rights granted to him by the law. But you, Jakos…" He motioned to the prisoner. "…can waive that right. Would you accept to speak in private? I give you my word it shall end should you wish to continue no longer. Though, I suspect you'd have some interest in what I have to say."

"Yes… Fine…It matters not…" Jakos replied, clearly dejected.  The guard nodded and stepped out.

Laarus turned to face Jakos full on.  There was no where to sit, though the prisoner had a low stool on his side. "You had mentioned briefly that this chaos you caused was due to your desire to contact a god. To awaken him and powers you believed to have been forgotten. Powers you believed may be connected to those of the ancients known as the Mystics…" 

Laarus paused for a moment, examining Jakos' countenance. "I've come to tell you that these powers which you sought are not lost. Are not forgotten. Even today, there are those among us who wield these powers. Though, not to the extent as during the days of the Mystics."

"You misunderstood me," Jakos replied. "I was not trying to access these powers, which are known to some as 'psionics' and are clearly still used to some small degree throughout Aquerra. Rather, I was seeking make contact with Untamo to see if I might probe the power that keeps him cloistered - whether it be by that god's will or by some other. . ." He swallowed loudly and sighed. "Anyway, even if I did not know of the existence of these powers, I would have taken your obvious bloodline as evidence of them…I take it you use these powers?"

"The power I possess manifests itself without my control. I do not use it. I only experience its effects." Laarus cleared his throat. "But, then, what interest did you have in contacting Untamo? What did you hope to find? What did you hope to gain?"

"To sate my curiosity… To explore the mysteries that might keep a god in check…" Jakos shrugged.

Laarus nodded, disheartened. "And has your curiosity been sated?"

"No…Though obviously whatever power it is, is demonic. . .or at least employs fiendish servants to do its will. . . If I ever get out of prison and can establish myself somewhere more isolated than here… Well, then I may try again by other means. . . though I am not sure what those means would be. . . I would have seek out someone with your powers, and with control over them… Do you plan to follow in the footsteps of the forgotten Order of Epiphany's Dawning?"

"What path would that be? I no nothing of this order other than what you've mentioned." 3

"I don't know specifically…I only meant if you planned to improve and expand your psionic powers as a way to engender your devotion to Ra, as that order once did. Yes, they were declared heretics and exiled, but before that they were an accepted order in the social and political structure of the Sunra Kingdom… I assume their excommunication had more to do with politics than faith…"  Jakos looked at his feet, or absently at places on the floor as he spoke.

"This power does not spring from Ra. So, I do not see how its development would further my devotion. With it, I only see death and destruction. Perhaps the powers of this lost order came forth through the glory of Ra. Or they were mistaken about its origins," Laarus replied.

"Death and destruction?" Jakos looked up at Laarus with his deep-set sad ice-blue eyes. "You have the power of prophecy? Mmmm, yes…A burden by all accounts, but that is just one among many powers available to such practitioners… Of course, your view of your faith is your own, but the Order believed that in perfecting themselves and this internal power they were reflecting the glory of Ra who infused them with the fire of a spirit. . . But little is known of them in actuality…Legend… Rumor. . ."

"I am aware there are variety of these powers. Though, I've not known any others than the Mystics to possess more than one. I wonder if this Order became too devoted to these powers and began disregarding other duties and responsibilities," Laarus speculated as he paced a bit, but then stopped and shook his head.  "I do intend to use what I see to aid me in enforcing Ra's will. But I cannot fathom that the glory of Ra has infused me with such ... darkness."

"Heh. Call it darkness if you like, but it is only as dark as the man it emerges from," Jakos replied. "I cannot tell you the true reasons for their exile… Perhaps they can be found among the ancient archives in the tombs of the High Temple of Ra in what was once Heliopolis…Who knows? Perhaps such knowledge is inscribed in the High Temple of Thoth in Moon City? Again…I do not know…I do know however that when they left it is said they followed the course that Ambrose and his people took centuries before… and according to legend returned from exile to fight in the Battle of the Fire Gods… But who knows the truth of such things?  There are those with many of these powers… It is up to you to decide to seek them out. Now, was there something else…?"

"No. You have provided me with the information I wished to know. But, what I came here for can not be done." Laarus turned to leave, but stopped and asked, "Unless there is something else you wish to talk about?"

"What did you come here for?" Jakos’ eyes narrowed.

"I had hoped to be able to stay your further experimentation in this area. Experimentation that conjured great chaos; that harmed many innocents and endangered many more and even sent some towards Anubis' Realm. That blood is on your hands… Yes, but your actions have stained others' with it as well." The priest's glance fell down to his palms, held out before him.  "But, I was misinformed of your intentions. What information I would have to share would do nothing to sate your curiosity and halt your endeavors." 

Raising his head, he returned his focus to Jakos' eyes and concluded, "And you have expressed your desire and intention to continue along this path, in spite of what your actions have wrought. That was the information I wished to know." 

After standing there for a moment, looking over Jakos in silence, Laarus made his way to the door behind him and rapped on it with his fist. "We are done here."

*End of InterSession #25.1*

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This scene was played out using our messageboards.

(2) See Session #23

(3) Jakos told the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland of the Order of Epiphany’s Dawning in Session #25.


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## el-remmen

*Session #26 – “Challenges, Trials & Tests”(part 1 of 4)* 1, 2

Tholem, the 25th of Ese - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The young nobles of the Charter of Schiereiland spent the couple of days after the fire was finally put out doing what they could to help organize and undertake the cleaning effort, and keeping whatever smoldering piles of debris that were still around from re-igniting.  Old Town was quieter than usual, with nearly a quarter of its population temporarily re-located and with the strong presence of soldiers from Havesting in the streets.

Markos Ackers took to hanging out at a tiny tavern called Bilgewater’s near the harbor, and not far from the line of where the fire reached.  His normal haunt for information and an opportunity to be around fellow sailors and low-lifes, The Sign of the Black Sword, had been destroyed in the fire.  Victoria Ostrander of Anhur was not around very much either, as her mother Miranda came with a delegation of noble ladies from Schiereiland to see the devastation for themselves and lend what aid they could to the town.  The militant of Anhur accompanied her mother and these other women to the various places they visited. 3 Laarus Raymer of Ra was able to pay some form of reparation to the family of the waitress he had killed while possessed, but Euleria was unable to find any next of kin for the gambler who had also been killed, despite several reports that he had a wife and children in Moon City.  The young priest of Ra asked the group’s steward to continue with inquiries. 4

Telémahkos and Timotheus were spending all their time together at the former’s insistence.  They were sharing a meal and some drinks in the common room of Death & Taxes when the silhouette of Floris Tenbrook darkened the wide doorway and he walked with purpose over to their table.  The place was mostly empty, as it has been during the fire, and this was the first time they had seen Floris since that awful day.  He wore a bright yellow shirt lined with frills, and deep purple leggings under a tartan kilt.  His rapier and main-gauche slapped against his hips, his hair was trimmed, and his face clean-shaven.

As soon as he noticed the arrival, Telémahkos stood and greeted him effusively, calling him over. “A round of drinks for the house on me in name of my friend Floris!” Telémahkos announced.

“Only one round?  Are you saying I am not worth more?” Floris flashed his smile.

“Uh… Two rounds!” Telémahkos coughed out, and Floris laughed, but as he gaze fell to Timotheus, who was still sitting as if deep in thought, his face grew stern.

“You sir, impugned my honor when you questioned my authority…” Floris said, eyes narrowing.

“Do you plan to challenge me to duel?” Timotheus asked, only now raising his head and standing to meet the swordsman’s steady gaze.

“If it comes to that…”

”Well, first, I would like to apologize,” Timotheus replied. “I was overwrought with concern for Laarus and the danger to the town and did not realize that running out into the street covered in blood and half-naked might not have helped to calm the situation…” 5

Floris nodded.

”But secondly,” Timotheus continued. “I accept your challenge!”

“What!” Telémahkos was shocked.  “Have you gone mad?”

“No…” Timotheus smiled. “I have no grudge against Floris, but I figured a friendly duel would be fun…”

Floris’ smile grew wider. “I accept, though I am sure I need not remind you, but duels, friendly or not, can still be dangerous… What shall be our terms? To first blood? Until someone yields…?”

“Yielding is fine…” Timotheus agreed.

“In that case, I choose Telémahkos as my second,” Floris said, slapping a hand on Telie’s shoulder.  Telémahkos smiled weakly.

At that moment Bleys the Aubergine and Markos came into the common room and were called over. They were informed of the duel and its terms.  

“You should have chosen first blood,” Markos admonished. “You are so hard-headed you might end up dead before you are willing to yield…” Timotheus frowned and gave Markos a friendly push that masked aggression.  “Bleys, will you be my second?” Timotheus asked the watch-mage.

“Surely you can find someone better…” Bleys demurred.

“No worries! It is just a formality, you won’t have to do anything…” Timotheus explained. 6  The duel was arranged for the day after next in a field not far from where the fire’s refugees were camped out.

Later that same day, the young nobles gathered for dinner and to discuss their next moves.

“What do we plan to do when House Tenbrook’s hospitality runs out?” Markos asked his companions.  “These suites are paid for through about mid-winter and then…?”

“We should find out how much it will be for us to continue to pay for them,” Telémahkos suggested.

“Are we sure we want to stay here?” Markos asked. “I mean, perhaps we can find a more permanent headquarters in Moon City, not far from the University and its resources…”

“I have no problem with that…” Bleys replied.

“And seeing as how recently one of our number emphasized half the name of this place under its very roof, it may be time to move on…” Markos added, looking at Laarus.

“Furthermore, if we pay our own way we do not have to feel beholden to any particular noble house,” Bleys added.  “I would like to avoid any Tenbrook entanglements.”

“What about Azure or somewhere else in Schiereiland?” Timotheus asked. “I would like to be closer to home if possible.”

“Moon City is just across the way from Azure,” Laarus said. “And it the home city of our liege house, perhaps they can aid us in finding a place…” 7

“I would rather that Euleria do it for us,” the watch-mage said.

It was agreed to let their steward look into possibilities for them, and after a quick discussion regarding bringing horses with them to the Kingdom of Red God of the West to seek out Stanislaw Torn8, Telémahkos expressed his feeling that everyone should have a horse trained for war, as steady and reliable mounts might mean the difference of life and death in that foreign land.


Balem, the 26th of Ese - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The next day after purchasing horses, including a deal wherein Timotheus traded in his ailing horse in order to get Markos a good deal on his warhorse, and took the diminutive wizard’s riding horse for himself, renaming it ‘Sandy’.  There was a shortage of good warhorses, and Timotheus decided against getting one.  They were referred to the Dry Estates of Lilly City as the next closest source of such horses.

In the afternoon, while Victoria was off with her mother, the rest of the Signers headed out to Havesting and Sluetelot Harbor. Word had come to them via Euleria that Holy Captain Esperson Wetherwax of RMN Spiritwind wanted to speak to them.  He had been among the Waveservants of Tefnut who had lent their aid to Sluetelot during the fire.  Esperson was the cousin of Lord Falkoner Wetherwax, Lord of the House that bore his name and ruler of Tribunisport and its surrounding lands. He was also responsible for a large portion of Thricia’s standing navy.

The Sluetelot Harbor was as impressive as they remembered it from their arrival nearly five months before.9  Coming out a gate on it southern end, they walked along the wharf in the shadow of the masts of merchant cogs and caravels.  The place was alive with sounds, voices calling as crates were hauled and nets lowered, boxes carried and decks swabbed.  They made their way to the center where an immense sea wall reached into the harbor from the ramparts of Havesting.  There was a great beacon light atop it, and a pool of water surrounded by statues acted as the shrine atop a temple of Tefnut built into the wall. It was also the center of the harbor’s defense.  The wall split the harbor and when they climbed the narrow winding steps up to the top of it, they could see the far side of it was a more spacious set of docks where naval ships, caravels and carrocks, were moored.

As the young nobles came to the marble pool, seeing that the statues surrounding it were of Tefnut in her various guises, a whale, a spout of water, a kelpie, an armored merwoman wielding a trident, they found the place mostly empty save for two priests, a man and a woman, praying silently, facing away from the pool and out towards the harbor.  The man stood and looked at the party, smiling.  He tapped the woman on the shoulder, and she stood, saluted him and headed out towards the stone building that held the beacon.

The man was about six feet tall, with long black hair and hawk-like features and dark eyes that gave him a passing resemblance to Bleys, but clean-shaven. He was dressed in a toga of a soft sea blue, tied with a dark green sash, and wore sandals tied up to his knee.  Around his neck was silver charm of an ankh in a stylized wave upon a silver chain.

“Welcome! You must be the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland!” the man greeted.  “I am Esperson Wetherwax of Tefnut, and you must be Bleys Winter, called ‘the Aubergine’.”  The priest stepped forward and took the young watch-mage’s hand, shaking with enthusiasm, as his smile grew wider.

“Yes, I am Bleys the Aubergine, acting watch-mage of Sluetelot and one of the signers of said charter,” Bleys replied in his even baritone. “We are honored at your summons…”

Timotheus stepped up and gave Bleys a friendly elbow.  “This is Timotheus Smith of House Briareus,” Bleys introduced the occasionally oafish companion at his elbow, and then the rest of the group; each in turn shaking the priest’s hand.  “Victoria Ostrander of Anhur was called away on family business and could not join us,” Telémahkos said. “She sends her regards and regrets…”

“I am happy that any of you came,” Esperson replied.  “My house and kin are grateful for the warning you sent us regarding an attack on our fleet, but my cousin, Lord Falkoner could wait no longer for your many journeys to bring you to Tribunisport, so he asked that I might intercede on behalf of House Wetherwax and get more information from you about it.” 10

Bleys turned and looked to Laarus.  “We never asked Brother Eubren to not mention whom the warning came from… We were told to expect it…” The priest said to the watch-mage. 10

“We do not know much,” Telémahkos offered.

“But we need to know all you _do_ know, or else how can we begin to protect ourselves against this attack?” Esperson grew serious in his tone. “For example, how did you come to learn of this threat to the Wetherwax fleet?”

“Are you familiar with the Vanderborens?” Telémahkos asked.  He went on to explain about Lavinia request that they seek out his brother and keep him getting involved in criminal enterprise, but it was too late, as Telémahkos said to Esperson, “He is bad seed.”  Any mention of the pearl was omitted from the retelling.

“Unfortunately, in trying to find and stop him at his sister’s request, we followed him to Kraken’s Cove, and got unintentionally embroiled in the war between the thieves’ guilds,” Telémahkos went on to explain, but Esperson asked for more detail about the guild war, and Telie’s opinion about how things stood with it.

“Lord Falkoner sent ships to patrol the area around Kraken’s Cove and keep others from taking it over as their own base,” Holy Captain Esperson said to them.

“Good,” Bleys replied. “They may relocate to Haffar’s Port or Herman Land…”

“And then it’ll be someone else’s problem,” Timotheus added with a smile. Bleys actually laughed, dismissing the brawny warrior’s suggestion.

“What do you know of the Pillars? The ones drawn all over Thricia,” Bleys went on to ask the naval priest.  “Could they have something to do with the guild war?”

Holy Captain Esperson Wetherwax of Tefnut looked surprised.  “I am shocked you even mention it,” Esperson said. “Do you have reason to think it is related? It matches no organization I know of, and I figured it was some kind of prank…”

The young nobles denied any knowledge of the Pillars. “There are just too many things going on for it to be a coincidence,” Markos said.

“Let me ask you this,” Bleys changed the subject back to the threat to the Wetherwax fleet. “Could the fleet be wrested from the control of House Wetherwax?”

“How do you mean? Politically or physically?” The captain asked.  A wind came in off the harbor, blowing his hair in his face, and he raised a hand to brush it away.

“Politically…”

“Well, who else has a naval background?” Timotheus jumped in to the speculation. “Clossen?”

“Tenbrook…” Bleys said.

“Swann, Devenpeck…” Esperson added.

“Oh, okay… So I guess that doesn’t really narrow anything down…” Timotheus said.

“Do you have reason to believe it is from one of the other houses?” Esperson seemed to address most of his questions to Bleys, and this one was no exception.  “Perhaps we were wrong in assuming it was a physical threat, and Lord Falkoner would want to know of the possibility that the enemies to House Wetherwax are internal.”

“Honestly, we don’t have much lead one way or another,” Telémahkos interjected. “As I said before, all we have to go on is the overheard assertion that ‘when the Wetherwax fleet is crippled, then our work will really begin. . .’”

The captain was quiet for a long moment, looking out at the sea as he thought. “Very well… The warning is appreciated.  I only wish there was more to go on…”

“As do we…” Laarus said.

“… Lord Falkoner will still want to speak with you about this in person, but he has no intention to summon you officially,” Esperson said.  “But if and when you get even the slightest chance, it would probably be best to visit him… The Lord would be happy to entertain the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland regardless, but with this possible danger looming, he is all the more eager…” 

“We understand,” Bleys said.  Esperson Weatherwax turned away as a woman appeared at the door to the beacon and the inner shrine, and began to walk in their direction.  Timotheus’ eyes widened and lit up as he took notice of her.  She was a couple of inches short of six feet tall. She wore tall boots and woolen leggings of a reddish brown color, and a slightly shinier bronze-colored short robe-like dress tied with a black belt that held up a sabre in its scabbard. The belt accentuated the delicious curve of her hips, and pinched her waist, giving her toned arms and shoulders an even wider look.  She wore a brown fur cloak, open on her shoulders and held together by a bronze chain dangling a silver version of the sigil of House Wetherwax.  Her brown hair was chopped right at the shoulders, but part of the back was longer, reaching halfway down her back when not flicking in the harbor wind.  She had large bright green eyes, tanned skin, and a rounded earthy beauty that arrested their conversation.

“Gentlemen,” Esperson gestured to the woman as she approached. “May I please introduce, Charlotte the Bronze…”

She looked them all over with a smirk.  There was thick cigar in one corner of her otherwise perfect mouth, and she wrapped her fingers about it and took a few long lascivious sucks on it, before pulling it out and blowing a long stream of smoke to disintegrate in the swirling winds up there.  Timotheus noticed her take extra long in looking him up and down, and his smile grew wider, and shot her the ole waggily eyebrow.

“You must be the famous Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland,” Charlotte purred.  “I am honored.”

“It is we who should be honored to meet a member of the Firebrands,” Timotheus had heard some of the tales of her adventuring band’s heroics in the North Sea, around the Hammer and in the U.K.S.F.

“And a senior alumnus,” Bleys nodded his head respectfully.

“Not _too_ senior,” she chided playfully.

The two watch-mages talked with the familiarity and respect common to those of their order.

“I have come here as a favor to a friend of mine, and well… He was trying to do you a favor, and now it seems I must do a favor for him for it to be fulfilled,” Charlotte said to them all.

The Signers of The Charter of Schiereiland were puzzled, unsure of what she spoke of.

“Sir Gregos Harrold of House Wetherwax, a cousin… Commander of the Quillton Harbor Fortress… It seems he was keeping your boat, _Sea Wyvern_, in impound,” Charlotte explained. The young nobles nodded with realization.11“He took it upon himself to send it here to Sluetelot for you with a crew he trusted looking for passage here… Unfortunately, the ship was impounded by a patrol ship of House Devenpeck at the north end of Drie-Hoek Bay. Since it did not have an official register, and they refused to accept the letter from Sir Gregos with his seal, they took it in…”

“How long ago?” Bleys asked.

“A little more than a week ago,” Charlotte replied. “You will have to go and explain and pay a fine and impoundment fee to get your boat back, and actually register it…”

“So it is in Weirspierogen?” Bleys asked.  Charlotte nodded.

“I’d be happy to go and get it the day after tomorrow,” Timotheus said. “I am sure my cousin would be happy to accompany me, and I guess you should come as well, Markos…”

But Markos wasn’t paying attention.  He had gotten a whiff of Charlotte’s cigar and asked her for a puff.  She looked startled at the request, but handed it over with a sly smirk.  Markos puffed on it eagerly, savoring the taste for a moment before coughing and becoming lightheaded.  Timotheus gestured to the cigar held in Markos’ fingers as he leaned over, hands on his knees.  Charlotte nodded and the brawny warrior plucked it from its place and took a few puffs himself.

“Sure, I’ll go…” Markos croaked out.

“That is not all the news I have,” Charlotte continued, turning to Bleys. “It has come to my attention that the lord of House Swann has sent word of an official summons for you to appear at his court…”

“Regarding what?” Bleys asked.

“Some foolishness, I am sure… That boy-lord is all about exercising his power,” Charlotte rolled her eyes.   “My advice is that you head out of Sluetelot and take care whatever business or adventures you have planned before that summons gets to you, so you won’t get embroiled in whatever local politics Lord Swann considers so important.”

When it became clear that Charlotte the Bronze was not going to give any more details about the summons even if she knew them, Markos and Telémahkos began to ask some about her adventures with the Firebrands.  Realizing that she might have more information useful to the party, Bleys asked some questions about Puntos Negros. 12

“You know, we should get together and swap stories some day,” Timotheus edged over to Charlotte with a wide smile, but her own smile developed a cruel edge.

“When I’ve heard of one your stories from some other source first I’ll consider it,” She sidestepped, widening the gap between them.

“I am eager to hear more of the Hammer and perhaps to discuss magic some time…” Markos tried quite earnestly, but Charlotte had to bite her lip to hold back a laugh.  Timotheus gave Markos a jealous glare.  Telémahkos laughed at both of them, but Bleys and Laarus were as placid as usual.  “I spent time up there and have some stories of my own…”

“I wonder if you’ve shared these stories with your companions,” Charlotte replied cryptically. “They might see you differently if they knew some of them…”

Markos frowned, and opened his mouth to speak again.

The wind picked up some more and Charlotte the Bronze bid the group farewell. Shaking each of their hands in turn, but stopped at Bleys.  “Could you show me out? I have watch-mage business to discuss with you that we should talk about in private.”

“Of course…” Bleys turned and began to walk out with Charlotte.  She took his arm, but when she noticed Markos following them out, she stopped and gave him a withering look.  The diminutive mage, stopped and turned back.

Once they were at the threshold of entering the fortress, she said, “Actually, is about your little kidnapped Raymer friend that I want to talk to you about…”

_…to be continued…_

-------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) This session was played on Sunday, March 2, 2008 in Brooklyn, NY.

(2) Experience points were awarded between Session #25 and this one, but no one advanced a level.  Everyone is still a 4th level character at this point.

(3) Victoria’s player could not make it to the session that day, so this was a convenient way to keep Victoria occupied without having to run her as an NPC.

(4) See Session #23 for a description of the events.

(5) Again, see Session #23 for these events.

(6) The “second” in a duel fights in place of the duelist, if he or she falls ill or is injured in some way that does not lead to defeat but does not allow them to accomplish the conditions of the fight, etc…

(7) House Curen.

(8) The party found the name “Stanislaw Torn” from both the Mind of Oberah (Session #21) and Joezyn Barhyte (Session #22)

(9) See Session #1.

(10) Upon first arriving back in Sluetelot from the Disputed Territories the Signers were told that a message had been sent from Lord Falkoner asking that they come and see him when possible. They had sent warning of the attack to Tribunisport with Eubren Winter of Ra.

(11) Between Sessions #8 and #9, Lavinia Vanderboren awarded the party with the Sea Wyvern as a reward for their efforts to save her and to find her brother.  However, since the boat had been impounded as part of the investigations of what happened at the Vanderboren Manse in Quillton, Sir Gregor Harrold continued to hold on the boat as a favor, in order to save them the expense of keeping it docked somewhere. (See InterSession #8.2)

(12) Stanislaw Torn is said to spend half the year in Puntos Negros.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #26 – “Challenges, Trials & Tests”(part 2 of 4) *

The remaining Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland discussed more details of what they had found in Kraken’s Cover with Esperson of Tefnut as they waited for Bleys to return.  However, the watch-mage was gone for some time, so they said goodbye to the waveservant, and walked down the sea wall towards the fortress. As they walked, Timotheus leaned over to Markos, “You set your sights too high…”

“Huh?”

“Charlotte.”

“You are assuming Markos had prurient intent,” Telémahkos said, overhearing.  

“Yeah, I meant what I said, I was just interested… you know, magically,” Markos sputtered.

“Even Markos know when some is out of his league, unlike you, cousin,” Telémahkos laughed.

“Uh-huh,” Timotheus gave him a nod and a wink.

“You make me sick!” Markos said, getting close to Timotheus as he bristled with anger. “You are just as bad an elitist as any other noble despite your background… How dare you say I am not in her league?”

“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Timotheus replied grinning. “You are way too on the fragile and sensitive side for her…”

“We should have told Esperson about Harliss,” Laarus said, changing the subject.  When Bleys caught back up with them, they had stopped at near one side of the seawall ramparts and were arguing about what information could be safely given to whom.

Timotheus stepped away to catch the watch-mage up.

“Laarus wants to tell Esperson about Harliss and her role in what happened at Kraken’s Cove and at the Vanderboren Manse,” Timotheus said. “Amazingly, Markos agrees with him, but Telémahkos is against it.”

“And where do you stand?” Bleys asked him.

“I’d rather not rat her out,” Timotheus said.  “Better the devil we know and all that… She may not be the most honorable person, but at least it was possible to negotiate with her, that may prove useful in the future if we ever run into her again… Anyway, she has a soft spot for me…”

“Really?”

“Sure! You could see it in her eyes,” Timotheus stood up straight, puffed out his muscled chest and grinned. “You could totally tell she wanted a big ole piece of Timotheus…”

Bleys the Aubergine walked past his companion and began to listen in on the others. Markos was once again going over why he felt they should let Esperson know about Harliss and the involvement of the Red Lanterns, Laarus nodding.

“If we rat her out she will never trust us if we are ever in a position where we need to cut a deal with her again,” Timotheus said.

“What kind of a deal would we possibly want to make with her? I was reluctant the first time, I cannot imagine agreeing to it a second,” Bleys protested.

“And yet, it _did_ happen once,” Telémahkos smirked.

“We should tell Esperson not only of Harliss, but what we know of the pearls that caused the change, and Vanthus’ search for more…” Laarus of Ra asserted.  “He has come offering help and is a loyal follower of a noble goddess…”

The discussion began again in earnest, this time with Bleys’ input.  Suddenly, with a spontaneity and lack of reasoning that only one who venerated the cat goddess, Bast, Telémahkos walked away from his companions, hustling out on the sea wall to look for Esperson and talk to him on his own.

“Um, Captain?” Telémahkos said when he found Esperson still out on the wall looking out at the sea. “We were talking over what we knew and decided it was important to give you more information, that at first we thought might not be relevant… but perhaps it is…”

Telémahkos went on to explain about the pearl that had affected the transformation on the people of Kraken’s Cove, and of the bullywug shaman’s warning regarding ‘the savage tide.’ 1 “But we aren’t sure what that means…” Telémahkos added.  “Have you heard that term before?”

“No…” Esperson answered as if trying to figure out what it might be. He shook his head and looked to Telémahkos again. “I am glad you have shared this with me…”

“There is more…” Telémahkos went on to explain that the party speculated that Vanthus Vanderboren was looking for more similar pearls, and mentioned the map with the notes and pinholes.2

“I want to see that map…” Holy Captain Esperson replied. “And if possible to have one of the navigator on my crew make a copy of it…”

“I would have to ask my companions, but they should agree…” Telémahkos sounded unsure.

“It would be a great favor to House Wetherwax, as I think these pearls and this danger to the fleet are related… I know that I would be personally grateful and would do what I could to return the favor… Perhaps arrange passage for you when you take some long journey that requires a sturdy ship?”

Telémahkos hustled back to his companions and explained Esperson’s request, but expressed his own reservations. “We cannot necessarily trust House Wetherwax…”

“We should let him copy the map in return for letting us copy some of his,” Markos said.

“He offered passage on his or another ship which is something we know we need as opposed to maps that may or may not be helpful…” Telémahkos replied.

“Maps are always helpful!” Markos protested.

“It doesn’t matter… I am still not sure… What if the map falls into the hands of someone else, someone in House Wetherwax that is seeking the pearls?” Telémahkos speculated.  He and Markos fell to arguing, drowning out the suggestions of the others.

“I wish you’d keep you gods-damned voice down!” Telémahkos snapped.

“_I_ wish the two of them would fnck and get it over with already,” Timotheus complained, leaning over to Bleys with a smirk. The watch-mage made no sign of acknowledging the warrior’s bawdy words.

“Look!” Timotheus finally spoke up. “If Wetherwax are traitors we are screwed already, so if we have to trust someone this seems like the people to trust…”

“I agree…” Bleys intoned.

“If you say so…” Telémahkos turned to hurry off and bring the message of agreement to Esperson, but Bleys and Markos insisted on accompanying him.  After a brief pause, Laarus and Timotheus followed as well.

“To not hand over this map would be negligent,” Esperson said, when everyone was gathered out on the wall again. A light rain began to fall, but the Waveservant of Tefnut did not seem to mind.  “It is a critical piece of information in our defense…”

“Why critical?” Bleys asked.

“The pearls must be the means of attack against the fleet,” Esperson said. “Imagine several of these pearls set off at once on different ships or ports… Imagine the carnage as you described in Kraken’s Cove spread out throughout Thricia…”

“Yes… It makes sense…” Bleys brought one of his large calloused hands to his chin and smoothed the beard he was growing in.

An agreement was made.  Markos would meet Holy Captain Esperson Wetherwax’s navigator at the RMN Spiritwind in a couple of days, and would sit with him while he made the map.  On the way back to Death & Taxes all the slight mage could talk about was his hope to get a look at the navigator’s maps while he was there, and perhaps copy some. If his companions listened to his hurried monologue, they gave no indication.

--------------------------------------------

Hours later back at the inn, a tipsy Telémahkos arrived with a buxom woman on his arm, while a drunken Timotheus made his way up the stairs to sleep it off.  Telie and the perfumed and thickly made-up woman joined Bleys where he was nursing a bowl of soup and a large mug of warmed milk.  The affable-ne’er-do-well and the watch-mage fell to talking about the latter’s sister.

Telémahkos grew uncomfortable as he feared he heard points on the ends of Bleys’ words and the woman, whose name he could suddenly not even remember clutched at his arm and pawed his chest, giggling at everything he said whether it was meant to be a joke or not.  He stood up to fetch more drinks and as he came back he felt the back of his seat get slammed by someone sitting at the table behind theirs and he was awkwardly pinned there for a moment.  He squeezed out and stood, turning around.

“Excuse you!” said the young man at the next table.  He spoke roughly, standing as he did so.  If he were taller than Telémahkos it was not by much, but he had dark brown curls to Telie’s golden blond, and he was paler.  He wore a wide brimmed velvet jacket over a frilled off-white shirt and brown breeches tied into tall boots. He wore a rapier at his side.  It was tied in a peace knot as local ordinance demanded. 3

“I think you mean ‘excuse _me_,” Telémahkos corrected him.

“No, it is _you_ that needs the excuse,” the young man’s grew flush.  “For you are a sorry excuse for a swordsman from what I hear!”  His hand dropped down to the hilt of this blade and Telémahkos took half a step and made ready to pull his own.  The man let out a nervous laugh of derision. 

“Listen here, boy… Perhaps you should run along before you get entangled with a noble from House…” Telémahkos began to bluster with bravado.

“Tenbrook?” The man suggested.

“No, Briareus… You?”

The young man relaxed and smiled when he heard the answer. “I am of House Kilgante!” He announced proudly.

“House Kilgante? Should I know this name? I know no such house…”

“The man who ran Kraven’s Cove,” Bleys said, calmly.  He had pushed his chair back to keep the angry young man in his vision, but continued eating his soup.  The common room was growing crowded and people were looking over at the commotion.  “The man whose sword you carry…”

“And by what right do you carry that sword?” The young swordsman’s voice grew louder, and a bit shrill.

“Because I found it,” Telémahkos was dismissive.

“I am Danser Von Huet Blued! I was Kilgante’s last and only student, and as such heir to that blade,” Young Danser explained.  “Will you hand it over to me?”

“I have won it by right of salvage and by virtue of surviving the horrors of the massacre at the cove,” Telémahkos explained.

“Give it up or duel for it,” Danser replied, his voice finally coming to an even tone.

“Go back to Lilly City!” The voice was a heckler from the crowded common room.  Everyone was paying attention now and discussing the situation.  “Take your duels elsewhere or you’ll get the bum’s rush!”

“I ask you again, are you prepared to hand over _the Steel Whip_, or shall we duel for it?” Danser asked again.

“Let us go, now… Outside the city…” Telémahkos suggested.

“No! We will duel in Lilly City,” Danser said. “I know you and your friends have pull here and I am not going to be tricked into entanglements with the local law.  It will be Lilly City.”

“I don’t have time for these games,” again Telémahkos had a dismissive tone.

“Then give me the sword.”

“You know I will not do that,” Telémahkos said. “And I will not go to Lilly City…”

“Then everyone shall know of your cowardice,” Danser replied.

“I am a signed member of a chartered group,” Telémahkos explained. “I cannot simply get up and go where I please…”

“That is of no concern of mine.”

“Bleys?” Telémahkos turned to the watch-mage. “Do you think we could take a quick trip over to Lilly City, for… business…?”

“I do not see why not,” Bleys replied.

“Fine.  Lilly City it is,” Telémahkos said to Danser.  The young man smiled, showing a gold tooth.

“Seek me out there within a fortnight at the Silver Harbor, and it shall be arranged,” the swordsman replied. He picked up his drink and finished it, and then took up his floppy hat from the table and put it on.

“It shall be no great feat to take the sword from a weakling such as you,” Danser gave on final jab.

“Leave, for if you continue to insult me we shall have to fight here and now,” Telémahkos barked.  Danser flashed his tooth and skipped out of Death & Taxes.

“Lilly City’s local laws being as they are…” Bleys said to Telémahkos as the swordsman left. “If you end up killing him the consequences will be somewhat mitigated there…” 4

_…to be continued…_

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) See Sessions #6 through #8.

(2) Lavinia Vanderboren found this map among her brother’s things in the Vanderboren Quillton Manse.  Click here to view it.

(3) In Sluetelot all weapons are to be worn with peace-knots at all times. However, as nobles, this law is never enforced on the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland.

(4) The laws of Lilly City are such that duels are allowed as a legitimate means to settle disputes, and have even been used as means to enforce laws or enact punishment by more traditional legitimate authorities, like judges, priests of Ra and watch-mages.


----------



## handforged

And yet another duel...

Perhaps Telie was jealous that Tim got to go first.  Hopefully these things can be resolved without too much drama, but I doubt it with you as a DM.

~hf


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## Telémakhos

handforged said:


> And yet another duel...
> 
> Perhaps Telie was jealous that Tim got to go first. Hopefully these things can be resolved without too much drama, but I doubt it with you as a DM.
> 
> ~hf




Neither I nor TK wanted to duel, but once TK believed his name would be mud if he didn't accept, he felt he had no choice, if for no other reason than to avoid the scorn of his father.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

Was it a scenario like this?



And Scene…………..


DM:  The demon attacks

PLAYER: I Will Attack with my magic rapier

DM: OK and you hit………mumble mumble

PLAYER: I Will Attack again with my magic rapier

DM: OK and you hit…again……mumble mumble

PLAYER: I Will Attack again with my magic rapier

DM: OK and you hit…again……mumble mumble

Later on

DM: (To himself) how can I prize that magic weapon away from my player? …..Hmmm…….. A Ha!!!

Much Later on

DM: so you are in this Inn and this guy says that your rapier rightfully belongs to him and he would like to challenge you to duel for the rapier

Player:  shucks that’s our only magic weapon

nudge nudge say no more

not that I realy think el-remmen  would be so petty


----------



## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:


> not that I realy think el-remmen  would be so petty




He don't know me very well do he? 

But seriously,

1) The association of the sword with its former owner was emphasized right from the beginning, and there were warnings along the way (for example, see InterSession #21.1)

2) In my campaigns a magical item is just another tool for the plot and not something you are entitled to as part of your character's abilities/power level as the 3E default suggests.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #26 – “Challenges, Trials & Tests” (part 3 of 4)*

Anulem, the 28th of Ese - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The days grew cooler, and Ra’s Glory was obscured by clouds at noontime as the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland made their way to the appointed place where Timotheus Smith would duel with Floris Tenbrook.  There was a crowd of townsfolk trailing them, and as they passed the tents where refugees were still crowded after the fire’s destruction, it swelled to twice its size to merge with some people already waiting there with Floris Tenbrook.

Word of the duel had spread quickly around town, aided both by Floris’ general reputation and Tim’s nightly carousing, playing up his origins as ‘a simple soldier’, and being free and easy with his coin, buying drinks and wooing ladies of questionable repute.

Victoria Ostrander of Anhur had joined her companions to watch over the proceedings and bless them in the name of her god, as her mother had headed back to Schiereiland earlier that same morning. 1

The agreement had been made ahead of time that the two combatants would fight until one of them yielded and would try their best to avoid blows to the head or other vital areas, and Victoria reminded them of this as she called them over and had everyone bow their heads while she gave a prayer to Anhur.

The opponents shook hands.  “We shall be fighting with rapiers,” Floris said with a smile.

“Huh?” Timotheus was confused.

“I challenged you. You set the terms of defeat as whomever yielded first, and now I get to choose the weapons.  I choose, rapier,” Floris explained.

Timotheus nodded.

“And remember,” Victoria said to Timotheus immediately after, as Floris looking a bit hungover, did some exaggerated stretches, as the crowd looked..  “How you acquit yourself will reflect on our entire band…”

“And remember there is no dishonor in yielding,” Telémahkos chided his cousin. “Don’t get yourself killed… Remember, you’re supposed to be protecting me!”

“Gee, thanks…” Timotheus looked sour.

“And you know I’d miss you, you lug!” Telémahkos gave Tim a playful slap on the chin. “I want you to be my second in my duel…”

“I always wanted to go to Lilly City!” Timotheus cheered up.  He stripped off his shirt, preferring to fight without any hindrances, and wanting to show off his well-muscled chest and arms. Telémahkos handed him his spare rapier after reminding him that honor in dueling generally refrained from either opponent using a magical weapon.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…”

“Does not custom also dictate that you stand with Floris, since you are his second?” Bleys asked. As Timotheus’ second, the watch-mage was standing beside him.

“Oh yeah!” Telémahkos jogged over to Floris.

There was a murmur in the crowd. They were growing restless; someone was making a killing selling ladlefuls of sour beer from a cracked cask rescued from the fire.

“Shall we begin?” Floris asked.  He was wearing his usual yellow billowy shirt, but his long hair was pulled back tight and tied in a close knot to his scalp.  He had a large skin of wine and took a long slow sip, and then threw it over to Timotheus who did the same.  Floris took one more short sip before passing it to Telémahkos to hold.

Timotheus raised his rapier in salute to Floris, and the swordsman returned the greeting with flair, his own blade humming in the air. 

The two warriors came at each other.  Timotheus bounding with heavy purpose, as Floris skipped in, moving rhythmically from side to side.  He must have underestimated the brawny veteran of House Briareus, because no sooner did their swords meet when Timotheus muscled forward, driving Floris off balance as the former’s blade punctured the latter’s neck and flicked off to the right, drawing a gout of blood.  Only Floris’ quick leap back and hurried awkward parry kept Tim’s blade from puncturing his larynx and ending the duel with the first blow! 2  Floris  danced back and his hand went reflexively to his neck, risking a peek at his now bloody off hand.  Timotheus moved back as well, a look of concern on his face as he wiped a fleck of his opponent’s blood on his sweaty chest.

“Uh… I’m sorry…” Timotheus said, nearly dropping his guard.  He raised his rapier in time to block a blow, but Floris was a practiced swordsman, and he used the momentum of his blade bouncing off Tim’s to riposte.  Timotheus felt the flick of the blade across his fingers, drawing a painful welt.   Again, acting with pure instinct, Timotheus drove his blade forward with great strength, and again, Floris could not keep the blow at bay.  He jerked away as the blade sunk painfully into his shoulder.  The yellow shirt grew a dirty brown as it absorbed blood. 3

“Ready to give up yet, Briareus?” Floris mocked, and then winced from the pain.  His blows were being easily blocked by Timotheus, but his own movement was pained.  The crowd was hooting with animalistic excitement.  Someone in the back of the crowd yelled, “Kill ‘im!”  And it was echoed by a few other voices.  A brawl began somewhere in the mix, and some of the town-watch began to drag away the drunken brawlers.

Timotheus stepped in again hoping that one more hard blow would end the fight, but this time, Floris danced and spun to his left and Timotheus felt the blade smack him across the belly and then back side, painfully.  He turned around himself, having to step back to make room to defend himself against Floris’ quickening blade.  “You’re as good as they say,” Timotheus complimented him.

“I know…” Floris replied with a wink, and then his sudden flurry of cuts and scratches forced Timotheus further back as he scrambled to defend himself.  The crowd ebbed to give them room, as Bleys and Telémahkos made sure to keep close.  Victoria and Laarus helped to hold the other side of the crowd back as they moved in, and Markos echoed every solid blow with a tittering laugh.

“Give up!” Floris demanded. There was an edge of nervousness in his voice that bloomed in a cough of blood he spat out.  The momentum of the duel had turned his way, and Timotheus had countless little cuts and bruises, but those two hard blows Floris had received were making him flag as much as the heavy-footed Tim.  

“Umm… Well, how about just a little more?” Timotheus gave a weary smile.

“Finish it, Tim!  We’ll heal you!” Telémahkos cried out, letting the excitement of the fight carry him away.

“Hey!” Floris complained. “You’re supposed to be my second!”

“We’ll heal you, too!” Telémahkos replied sheepishly.

Encouraged by the crowd and his cousin, Timotheus came in aggressively again.  Floris’ rapier danced around Tim’s, knocking it this way and that, until it moved wide enough for Floris to leap in and drag the thin sword back under Tim’s arm.  He raised the basket-hilt of the rapier to block Tim’s heavy retaliatory blow, and then deftly flicked the point up under his opponent’s chin. Timotheus winced with pain and stumbled backward.   He tried to raise his sword again, but fell to one knee, and then collapsed. 

Floris raised his sword in the air and let out a yell of victory, and then almost fell over himself, but Telémahkos and someone from the crowd held him up.

“Someone had better help him,” Floris grumbled, gesturing to Timotheus with his chin.

Victoria of Anhur kneeled beside her bleeding companion and laid a hand on his forehead, calling to her god to heal him enough to keep him from dying.  “Let him sleep off the rest of his wounds and bruises that he might contemplate the consequences of battle…”

“He acquitted himself very well,” Floris Tenbrook called to the crowd, gesturing to Tim. “So let me not hear even one voice say that Timotheus Briareus is not a good swordsman.  He is at least half as good a swordsman as me!” There was polite applause from the crowd, but mostly it was already dispersing.

Telémahkos and Victoria carried Timotheus back to the inn, steadying him on a borrowed mule, but Floris protested. “You are my second!  You must come with me immediately to celebrate my victory!  You!” He pointed at a random townsperson walking by.  “Help this fine militant bring her companion back to Death & Taxes, and be quick about it!”  A moment later, Floris and Telémahkos were walking off through the crowd, with Bleys following.  Laarus helped Victoria bring Timotheus home.  “Did I win yet?” he murmured, rolling in and out of consciousness.

“Joining us, Bleys?” Floris Tenbrook asked the watch-mage.  He leaned heavily on Telémahkos, who tried his best to look like he didn’t mind.  “I did not think you were the revelry type… We’re going to a private party in honor of my victory that a friend arranged, knowing that I of course, would win…”

“I actually wanted to take the opportunity to ask you as I walked with you about the circumstances of Barakis’ death,” Bleys replied.  “There are conflicting stories about what happened, but most versions I’ve heard put you at the scene with him…” 4

Floris Tenbrook took a long time to reply.  He stopped and drained what was left of the wine in the skin Telémahkos carried for him. “Aye, I was there… At his side… It was a hard fight…”

“Where did it happen?” Bleys asked.

“On the Beach Road…”

“And whom or what were you fighting? Who else was there?” Bleys continued with his questions.

Floris face took on a pained look. “This is not a pleasant memory and now is a time for celebration, not mourning,” he said. “I am still sorely wounded from the fight with Timotheus… I would rather not talk about this now…”

“Very well…” Bleys replied.

“Speaking of Timotheus,” Floris said, turning to Telémahkos. “I have to admit, I underestimated his strength and prowess… That is quite a warrior you have among your ranks…”

“Well, he also underestimated you,” Telémahkos replied.

Bleys the Aubergine left them to their revels and made his way back to Death & Taxes, where Markos awaited him in the common of one of the suites to give the matter of access to Jakos’ tower one more try.  The day before he had finally gotten a visit with Jakos, but the old wizard had been uncooperative, and a subsequent visit to the tower itself found it under guard by soldiers from Havesting.

“Not now…” Bleys was dismissive.

“I just worry that some of the stuff in there may fall into the wrong hands,” Markos brought up a point he had made several times.

“House Tenbrook shall determine what best to do with property and its contents in order to help fund reconstruction of the burnt part of the town,” Bleys explained.

“Yeah… right…” Markos smirked.

There was a knock on the door.  It was a messenger from New Harbinger with a letter for Bleys from young Lord Septimias Giaus Swann.

It read:





The messenger said he was returning to New Harbinger at noon the next day and was a guest at Havesting, if the watch-mage wanted to send a message back with him.  The watch-mage thanked him and tipped him.

“What is it?” Markos asked.

“Something has gone wrong with the negotiations with the lizardfolk,” Bleys said. 5   “Oroleniel has been arrested, but I cannot leave here until I have been replaced by the Academy.”

“We can go without you,” Markos suggested, but Bleys shook his head.


Isilem, the 9th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Late morning found Bleys and Timotheus walking back from some sword practice at the temple of Anhur.  Victoria had joined them, but remained behind with her fellow militants, while her companions returned to Death & Taxes.  As they approached the inn they noticed a wagon parked in front of Barakis’ house.  It was full of bags and crates. The house door was open.  A woman in bright purple watch-mage’s robes appeared at the door.  She was petite, with short brown hair cut in a style very different from most Thricians, though her fair complexion did give away her Thrician origins.  Bleys the Aubergine recognized her as Laurie the Purple from reputation alone

“You must be Bleys the Aubergine,” She hurried forward and leaned forward for a kiss. “We have never had the _pleasure_ of meeting but I already feel like I know so much about you!” 

“Well met…” Bleys replied.

“And who is this?” She looked over at Timotheus, and Bleys introduced him.

“Oh! One of the infamous Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland!” She tapped his forearm with a finger.

“Infamous?” Timotheus asked.

“Everyone knows you were involved in whatever happened in Kraken’s Cove,” she replied.  “Now be a dear, and use those muscles for good and carry something into the house for me while I talk to Bleys here for a moment about some watch-mage business. And maybe later we can find another use of them…” She gave Timotheus a wink and he went and hefted a crate out of the wagon and lugged it into the house.  Laurie took Bleys by the arm. She led him in a quick walk around the house, and explained that she had been sent to be the permanent replacement for Barakis the Bold. She was to be the new watch-mage of Sluetelot.  She had him brief him about the state of the town and tell her what he knew of the fire, the recent plague of insomnia and Jakos’ experiments. 6

By the time they came back around the front of the house, Tim had finished moving all her stuff inside. Laurie stepped over to him and gave him a peck on the cheek and led him by the arm to the garden gate as she continued to talk to Bleys.

“I shall tell the members of the council of your arrival should I see them,” Bleys said.  “Darbold, Leisel, Floris…”

“Floris?” Laurie’s voice grew tight. “He is still in the watch-mage’s council here? I would have thought he would have taken his leave after Barakis died… Well, it matters not.  I plan to dismiss him.”

“Can you do that?” Timotheus.

“Honey,” She winked. “I’m the watch-mage of Sluetelot.  I can do whatever I want!”  She slapped Timotheus on the rear end as they bid her goodbye and returned to the inn to clean up.

That evening, the young nobles had dinner together in one of the suites and discussed their plans and information.  Tymon had returned from visiting his family in Azure, and he informed them that his brothers were working on a detailed map of the area of the King Stones and the route through the Disputed Territories to the lands of the Ray-Ree based on his sketches and notes.  Timotheus showed off his recently completed heavy shield made from the hide of the landshark.  It was designed to resemble the wedge-shaped head of the beast, with engraved eyes painted black, and encrusted with shards of the thing’s teeth. Telémahkos expressed his eagerness for his masterwork chain shirt to be completed in a few days. 7 Bleys informed the others that he was now free of his responsibility as interim watch-mage of Sluetelot, which now allowed them to travel as a group to Lilly City in order for Telémahkos to fight his duel against Danser Von Huet Blued.

“Which brings us to an important point,” Telémahkos said.  “When we get to Lilly City and register at some inn we should not register as the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland.  We need a name that is better than that…”

“We should sign in as Timotheus Smith and his Mystery Men!” Timotheus laughed, but no one else did.  The group fell into another long discussion regarding a name, with both Laarus and Victoria still being against the party naming themselves at all. 8

_…to be continued…_

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	While Victoria’s player was still not at this session, it just did not make sense that she would miss the duel.

(2)	Timotheus scored a critical hit on his first blow, getting this result: Struck in Neck. Apply Crit Multiplier +1 to Damage Roll (and armor DP damage )– Fort Save (DC 10 + ½ damage) – Fort Save vs. Attack Roll (+15 to save if full helm) or Larynx Punctured, 1d4 bleeder, Die in CON rounds if not repaired.  Luckily for Floris, he made his saving throw.  Tim’s player also threw in an action die towards the resulting damage.

(3)	Timotheus scored a second critical hit on his second contact, getting this result: Apply Crit Multiplier +1 to Total Damage. Once again, Timotheus’ player threw in an action die to the damage.

(4)	Bleys has asked several people about Barakis the Bold’s death, but most recently he had gotten this bit of information from Cwell the Hawk.

(5)	Oroleniel the Salmon agreed to accompany Sir Septimias Benedict Swann to the Crossroads Bog to negotiate with the Goldstraw Lizardfolk. (See Session #5)

(6)	See Sessions #23 to #25

(7)	The masterwork heavy shield made of the landshark hide grants an additional +2 enhancement bonus to armor class.  The chain shirt would be forged to grant a +1 to armor class, and reduce the armor check penalty by 1. (See Masterwork Weapons & Armor)

(8)	The group has had many discussions about naming themselves with a great deal of disagreement (what a shocker!), both in and out of character.


----------



## handforged

What a great job Tim did.  It sounds like picking the rapier didn't help Floris after all with all of the crits.  Too bad Tim couldn't get one more solid hit in.  Now that Bleys is no longer the "LAW!" I wonder if he will continue to pursue the passing of Barakis.  I guess all will be revealed in due time.  

One duel down, one to go.

~hf


----------



## darkhall-nestor

*honor and chivalry*

Since when does the challenger in a duel get to decide what the duel will be fought with?

What happened to honor and chivalry and all that?

I look forward to your next post

EDIT

never mind i got my duels mixed up and also i am begining to sound like a heckler

my bad


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #26.1 – “Timotheus & Floris in Sluetelot”* 1

Later in the evening, the day before the Signers planned to travel to Lilly City, Timotheus Smith sat in the common room of _Death & Taxes_ with a mug of ale in his hand. Sharing his table were a pair of iron merchants, with whom he was amiably swapping travel tales. 

Timotheus was raising his mug for another hearty swig when he saw Floris Tenbrook enter from the main square. "Hey, Floris!" he called. "Over here!"

"Greeting Timotheus! How is the mighty Bastard of Briareus, greatest warrior of the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland?" He waved to Barton Digits, who quickly filled a mug and two shots of dwarf spirits for him. Floris raised two fingers and pointed to the table, and the innkeeper set up another. 

"Those are some mighty ugly ladies you are chatting up," the noble duelist said with a wink, gesturing to the iron merchants. "Go away now…" He said to them. "This is swordsman talk, not about pinching coppers or mining iron…" 

The merchants left grumbling as Barton brought over the drinks. Timotheus was momentarily nonplussed, but then waved a friendly farewell to the merchants. "See you around, Gavin, Miles! Give my regards to my Da next time you're up Chalkour way!" 

Knocking back his first mug, Timotheus set it aside to make room for the new drinks that Barton brought. "You're looking good," he said to Floris, picking up one of the shot glasses; it looked tiny in his grip. Floris handed his long woolen brocaded coat to Barton, and he straddled a seat, he wore black leggings beneath his kilt. "Throat's healing up good, yeah?” Tim asked. “Soon you'll be ready for another go! Though maybe a friendlier one this time." He grinned and took the shot

"It's fine…" Though his hand went reflexively to his throat. "I don't have time for these _friendly_ duels… I did it to humor you, my friend…to give you and your group a little boost. . There is not much reason to keep dueling someone if there is no issue to be resolved…" There was an underlying menace to his words, though his smile never died. He took a shot and followed it up with a long slow sip of ale. "Where's your cousin?"

"Not really sure where he is," Timotheus replied, the joviality of his voice making his obliviousness to Floris’ tone obvious. He threw down the second shot and followed it with a mouthful of ale and smacked his lips. "But you know him, he's probably off with a girl somewhere. Maybe with this new watch-mage Laurie… She's certainly pretty enough for his tastes. Speaking of which…" Tim lowered his voice. "Do you know her? Because she sure seems to know you, and I think she has some pretty strong opinions."

"What?" Floris put down his mug of ale heavily and a bit came splashing out onto the table His tone grew even more grave. "Laurie? Laurie the fncking Purple? Is taking over for Bleys?" He looked Timotheus right in the eye with such intensity as if to pierce through it and read his mind.

Tim grinned nervously. "Uh, yeah. That's the one… I guess you know her, huh. Old girlfriend or something?" Floris upset the table as he stood, the drinks spilling and the glassed scattering on the warped wooden floor as the table teetered back to stillness. He turned and began to storm out, but stopped and walking back and leaned on the table, putting his face right in Tim’s and whispering, his demeanor completely changed. 

"Tell your fncking cousin that he had better not have forgotten what we talked about when he first got back into town.2 I can only protect him for so long…" Floris hissed, at the edge of restraint. He turned, and this time, did stalk out.

Timothes stood and followed Floris out onto the street. "What the hell are you getting angry at me for?" he demanded. He put a hand on Floris' shoulder, and said more quietly, "And I'm not done, I heard something I thought you should know. So can we go somewhere and, you know, _talk_ for a minute?"

Floris turned, fuming. "I don't have time for this bullshlt right now…" he looked around and seeing the street mostly deserted walked across it and to the corner of the alley that led behind Barakis' house, but then noticing light coming through the curtained windows, walked back across and signaled Tim to follow. 

"What is it? Hurry with it…" He asked quietly.

"She said she's gonna kick you off the council. Dunno if you can do anything about it, but I thought you'd want a bit of warning, you know?" Tim was uncomfortable. "But you didn't hear it from me, okay? I really don't need that kind of trouble."

Floris sighed with exasperation as if Tim just said the most obvious thing in the world.  "Don't forget to tell your cousin," is all he said in reply and walked off, trying to end the conversation once again.

"Uh, okay, sure." Timotheus raises his voice to add, "Catch you later!"

Later that night Timotheus went about town to do some more carousing and ended up being kicked out Laurie the Purple’s bed just before dawn. 3

*End of InterSession #26.1*

-----------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	This InterSession was played out on messageboards _after_ Session #26, but before #27.  Since it goes chronologically in this part of the story hour, I chose to put it here.

(2)	See InterSession #21.1

(3)	This event was actually mentioned during the session, but it made more sense here than with the way I broke up the actual session installments, so I stuck it here.


----------



## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:


> i am begining to sound like a heckler
> 
> my bad




Heckle away!


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #26 – “Challenges, Trials & Tests” (part 4 of 4)*

Osilem, the 10th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The next afternoon they headed out to Lilly City.  They took a galley that took passengers from Sluetelot to the ‘City of Flowers’.  Timotheus sat near the stern strumming his lyre poorly, and the rest of the group kept their distance from his painful strains, talking quietly and observing the high battlement-topped walls that lined the canal in many places on the south side, and the rolling green landscape to the north.  Ahead of them to the west they could see the blue-green sheen of the Captured Sea growing larger and brighter as they approached. The green landscape grew dotted with white buildings and scattered forms of herds of sheep and other domesticated animals.

The galley rowed out into the Captured Sea where surging fresh water roiled with the dirtier water of the canal, and then turned through large gates into Lilly City itself.  Sometimes called ‘the Drowned City,’ the city was made of islands with platforms of wood and stone built upon them.  It had broad avenues of water that wound its way through the city, flowing in and out a moat-like trench that surrounded the immense area.  The ferry let them off at the top of large protrusion of earth and rock that served as the city’s harbor.  The galleymaster referred to it as ‘Island Port.’  Two squat towers defended the passage beyond here into the city itself.  The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland waited in the shadow of one of the towers, at waterside, looking out over the city in rare silence.  They could see the central tower of House Roorback’s citadel, http://aquerra.wikispaces.com/Terrapin]Terrapin[/url], at the center of the city, dwarfing everything but the spire of the High Temple of Ra not far from it.

“You folks looking for a gondola?” A voice called up from the docks below, and they saw a long narrow shell with a partially enclosed cupola, and a long pole for propulsion and steering.  At its helm was a young man dressed in a vest and a dark blue kilt.  He hopped off his boat and walked up to the young nobles, and then stopped in a sudden and exaggerated manner when he saw Bleys the Aubergine.

“Ah! Noble watch-mage! Allow me to bring you and your companions to your destination this dimming evening,” the gondolier said.  He bowed deeply.

The man’s name was Peter and the party asked him to bring them to an inn.  “The Gold Arch Bridge and Inn,” he told them as they climbed on. “Not far at all!”

“How much will it be?” Bleys asked.

“It such a short trip!” Peter protested with humor. “You are obviously fine and gentle noblemen and women visiting our fine city.  Pay in advance for my being your gondolier on the morrow and the rest of tonight is free.  There is no need quibble over coppers for each trip.”

Bleys agreed.

As Peter poled them to the inn, they could see that the islands of Lilly City were connected in clusters by bridges, but a gondola was required to traverse the entire city, and with the most convenient mode of travel in most areas.  The buildings and islands were covered in fragrant flowering creeping vines, and anyone who smelled the polluted canal water understood why the plants were ubiquitous

The Gold Arch Bridge & Inn was indeed a bridge, or at least it was built as part of an immense bridge that crossed the Grand Canal that led into the center of the city and under which most boat traffic had to pass to enter or leave its boundaries..  

“How convenient! You can puke right out the windows into the canal!” Timotheus joked, and his cousin glared at him.

 The gondola was moored at a small island that held a support for the great bridge.  The architecture was impressive. The inn was a long sprawling building with one whole level beneath the span of the bridge, and partially enclosed staircases led up to the inn within the frame of the supports.  Peter was told to wait around as they would be visiting somewhere else after checking in, and he gladly agreed to wait.  They noticed nearly a dozen gondolas moored on the other side of the canal at the other support, and a small cottage that looked like was a place to hire passage around the city.

Porters appeared to take their packs and gear and carry it upstairs for them, though the young nobles were allowed to ascend first.

The Golden Arch Bridge & Inn was startling in its quality.  They stepped into a sitting room decorated with a plush carpet, bright paintings of the Captured Sea and scenes from the Lilly City canals and bridges in gilded frames.  The chairs were plush and wrought with decorative black iron, and the tall desk of the clerk was a deep beautiful mahogany. A low fire crackled in a hearth in the cozy room.  Peter Van Durant, the fancy inn’s host greeted them with quiet respect, addressing most of his comments to Bleys.  The inn was owned by different branch of the Winter family.

They were shown to two suites on the lower level that hung beneath the bridge. They each had common room with a large window looking out onto the city, and two separate smaller bedrooms. Bleys and Markos shared one suite and Timotheus and Telémahkos the other.  A cot was carried into the suite common room for Tymon.  Markos tipped the porters generously when they carried his things into the rooms. Laarus and Victoria, however, were put in a suite up on the bridge level, as that was the final vacancy.

After dropping their gear, they hurried back down and had Peter pole them over to the Silver Harbor, the place Danser Von Huet Blued had said he could be found in order to arrange for the time and conditions of the duel itself. The tavern was well-named if it were a tarnished silver harbor it were named for.  It had swollen and warped moors, and the building itself listed, with a half-collapsed sealed-off porch that was slightly more than half under water.

The inside was dark and dingy, and there was Danser bouncing coins on a table top in some elaborate drinking game he and a group of dirty looking men in frilly shirts and tight pants played for money, as some well-endowed wenches looked on.

“Ah-ha!” Danser Von Huet Blued stood suddenly as soon as he noticed Telémahkos and the others.  “So you decided to actually show up! Excellent! It is always more honorable to face your defeat with courage and magnanimity.”

“We shall see who will defeat whom,” Telémahkos replied. “And yes, I have arrived for our duel… Now we only need decide when and where and by what terms.”

“Go and sign us up for a time to use the arena in the Duelist Market Square.  It can be arranged for at the temple of Fallon,” Danser replied.

“The Temple of Fallon? Really?” Victoria was confused.

“The Fallonites take small donations in return for the service of keeping track of the duels and administering over them so that fewer are killed or gravely injured than would otherwise be,” Danser explained.  “As for the conditions, we already know that when I win I shall take back my rightful possession, the sword of my former master, and if you… ahem… win, then you shall have proven yourself a worthy enough swordsman to wield it – though, there are few I think, perhaps, including yourself? Heh… Few who think you have any chance of defeating the student of Kilgante Valeros!”

“Yeah… Yeah…” Telémahkos was dismissive.   “I get to chose the conditions of victory, and the first of us to yield or fall unconscious shall be declared the loser.”

“Those terms are acceptable, and we shall fight with rapiers,” Danser replied.

Telémahkos told his challenger that he would return with the time of their duel (aiming for the next morning), and he and others got back on Peter’s gondola and headed out to the Duelist Market Square, not far off the center of the city, and often in the shadow of the spire of the High Temple of Ra when the sun was shining.  As it was, Peter lit a small lantern he hung from the prow of the gondola, and poled carefully in the darkening waterways of Lilly City.  The square island had several buildings on it, but the vast majority of it was given to dozens of stall for merchants and peddlers to hawk their wares.  The vast majority of them were already closed and the rest were closing.  There was a recessed area where the duels took place and perhaps a hundred people or more could squeeze into the three-tiered stone levels overlooking it.   As the young nobles made their way across the wide plaza, they noticed a large weapon smithy, another place where gondola service was rented, a message post noted for its pen of pigeons and its faultless on wooden perches, and finally the white stone of the long temple of Fallon.  It was built low to the ground, and the front doors were down a short and wide set of yellowing marble steps.

The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland were greeted by Felix of Fallon, who gladly chalked in the name of Danser and Telémahkos for an hour after noon the next day in return for a silver coin for the temple. 

“While we are here, we also have need to speak with the ranking Medicus here,” Bleys the Aubergine said to Felix.  “It is regarding a matter that we believe is of some importance to your order…”

“Certainly,” Felix gave a shallow bow and had them wait in a sitting room outside of the of the inner temple chamber where the altar was.   The portion of the temple dedicated to the recording and arranging of duels was in a narrow wing just off the entranceway, far from the sacred chambers and hospital itself.

Phaedra was the high priestess at this healing house. She was approaching middle-age, but her hair was already graying, she had a hard face, but kind eyes, and listened patiently as Bleys told the story of the recovery of the Amulet of Fallon from the Tomb of Dalvan Meir. 1

“Do you know Leisel of Isis?  It was she who told us we’d be best served bringing it here,” Laarus of Ra said. 2

“Oh, Leisel! What a lovely woman she is!” Phaedra’s face lit up when the priestess of Isis was mentioned.  “You do our temple and Fallon great honor to return to us this ancient item from the days before our order even existed!”

“We did not know if it would be right to keep it, but agreed that your wisdom on this matter would be the best followed, if you said we could keep it we would…” Bleys said.  Markos leaned in, eager to hear the answer to this.  He had spent a good deal of time back in Sluetelot and on the journey to Lilly City trying to convince his allies that they should make an offer to the temple in regards of some kind of favor or reward for it return.

“This shall come into the hands of the Church of Fallon and be sent on a pilgrimage around the world to heal the sick and wounded,” Phaedra replied.  “Such relics are best not kept unused in one place, or used by the same people for too long… Fallon’s favor is meant to be shared.   It shall travel from temple to temple and we shall be sure to let everyone who hears its history know that it was the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland who retrieved it from a tomb of darkness and evil…”

“Also know as the Sons of Thricia…” Telémahkos added. “If you could also let it be known that our charter would be open to having one of your order accompany us on our adventures as we seek to aid the people of Thricia and right more wrongs, we would really appreciate it…”

Phaedra of Fallon agreed to do so.

On the way back to the Silver Harbor, Peter decided to bring them the long way around, past the impressive walls of the High Temple of Ra and the towers of Terrapin, in order to get a view of the Theatre of the Fire Gods.  It was huge impressive building of three crenulated spires and long wide steps that led up to a broad open patio from which the inner theatre was reached.  It was constructed of red and brown stone, and decorated with long narrow tapestries of yellow, red and gold, that ruffled in the wind and were lit up by the flickering lights of reflecting lamps.

“This impressive theatre is really the jewel of Lilly City’s architecture,” Peter told them.  “It is the home to the renowned Rainbow Garland Players, and once a month Ataro the Olman Princess sings a special performance… I have never been able to go, but I hear it has people falling into the aisles, weeping from the sadness or joy that her divine voice evokes…”

After a quick stop at the Silver Harbor to let Danser know about the arranged duel, the young nobles returned to the Golden Arch Bridge & Inn to eat and rest before the next day’s activities; that is, except for Markos, who was making plans to go back out again…

*End of Session #26*

----------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) See Sessions #17, 19 and 20.

(2) Actually, it was Amarantha Roorback of Isis that told them to bring it to a temple of Fallon, though Leisel was present. See Session #22


----------



## handforged

I am a bit more concerned about this upcoming duel than I was about the last one.  Hopefully it won't end too poorly.  I like the pseudo-Venice.  I think every campaign world should have one, there is just so much that can be done with a city that doesn't work the same way every other one does.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

Wow! There have been nearly 1000 views of this thread since the last time I posted an installment! Who are all these people looking at this and not posting? 

Anyway, life (and death) have conspired to keep me from updating recently and also led to the cancelation of our last session.  We are supposed to play Session #39 this coming Saturday afternoon, and I also hope to post an installment by the end of the weekend.

Peace.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #27 – “Loose Ends, New Threads” (part 1 of 3) * 1

Markos awkwardly waited in the dining room of the Golden Arch Bridge & Inn.  This part of the inn was on the bridge level and had a big open patio with windowed doors that led out to the main thoroughfare.  It was decorated with dark stained wood and cushioned benches.  The tables had ornate centerpieces of fresh flowers, and a skinny girl in a pink dress played with quiet beauty as about a dozen people in groups of various sizes ate a quiet dinner. He had ordered some food “to go,” which had really confused the matron.  She offered him room service, but he demurred, merely wanting something in a covered bowl he could transport, and a spare set of utensils.  Though obviously trying not to appear put-out, the woman never-the-less sighed as she combined the various carefully prepared foods in a large bowl, covered it with a plate and cut a hunk of bread and put it on top, and handed it over.

“How much do I owe you?” Markos asked.

“It will be billed to your room,” she replied.

“Thank you…” Markos carried the bowl down to the moors where Peter waited.  “I got you something to eat,” he said.

“Thank you! Thank you, sir!” Peter was surprised, and taking the bowl lay in the bottom of the boat.  “Where shall you be going this evening, sir?”

“No, no… Eat!  I am in no rush…” Markos said.

“Uh… I… uh, was planning on saving that for later,” Peter replied. “I already ate dinner, and honestly the night is not a time to spend much time about in Lilly City, what with the trolls…  If you are plan on going somewhere tonight you should go sooner rather than later…”

“Trolls?” Markos was intrigued.

“Robbers that drag their victims under bridges and slit their throats and taking anything of value, sometimes even their clothing,” Peter explained.

Markos had Peter bring him to the Theatre of the Fire Gods.  They passed the occasional gondola, but the canals were already much more empty than they had been earlier in the evening.  The area in front of the brightly lit theatre was an exception, as it was crammed with fancy watercraft and impatient servants chatting among each other, some of them playing cards in one of the boats.  Several members of the Lilly City watch guarded the area immediately around the theatre.

It took Peter a while to get the gondola into a position to moor it.  The other gondoliers stared at them with disdain.  All the boats present were privately owned craft, save for Peter’s gondola, which suddenly seemed shabby in the present company.  Markos paused at the bottom of the wide steps that led up to the arched entrances, and spied a couple leaving early.  He looked from them in the fancy clothes to his own travel-stained cloak, and his plain woolen pants and tan shirt.  He ran a calloused had through his wavy blond hair and took a deep breath and began to make his way up the stairs.

At the entrance a young woman intercepted him. She wore a long black coat over a simple white dress. There was a red band on her arm that identified her as part of the theatre staff.

“Deliveries are in the back,” she said at first.

“Uh… No… I am here to… Yes! Uh…” Markos struggled to remember the few lessons in etiquette he had managed to get in with Euleria in the last few weeks, 2 but his delivery was stilted and his cadence haphazard as he stopped to think of the most flowery and polite words possible.  “A pleasure to meet you. I am Markos Ackers of House Raymer and was hoping that I might speak to the director of tonight’s production…”

The young woman was shocked and embarrassed, but obviously still not sure what to make of Markos.

“Do… Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked.

“Uh, no… But it shouldn’t take too long…”

“He is watching the performance…”

“Perhaps if I wait for him?  Could you bring him a message?” Markos asked.

“You may wait in hopes of catching him, sir… But I…uh… he is a very busy man with a notorious obsession with protocol and his efficient use of time… Perhaps you can return in the day time when there is not a show going on and make a date with his secretary…” The woman was trying very hard not to insult Markos, but was clearly worried about the director’s reaction if she were responsible for letting Markos get to him. 

“May I purchase a ticket to see the rest of the show and see if I may be lucky enough to run into him after?” Markos asked.

“There are no more seats available, but House Raymer does have a reserved box…” She began.

“No!” Markos snapped. “Uh… I mean, no, thank you. I would prefer to not run into any members of my family… I could I just stand in the back and watch?”

The woman agreed to show him in, but once again Markos became self-conscious about the way he was dressed.

“Am I going to look like a fool in there?” He asked the usher.  Her eyes grew wide with anxiety. “Why, sir…” She said nervously.  “You could never look like a fool… Anyway, you will be standing in the back… No one will see you…” 

Back at the Golden Arch Bridge & Inn, the rest of the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland took their time eating a rich meal of three courses, and lots of wine and mead. Timotheus enjoyed the food, but complained about the staid atmosphere of the place.

“There are other places in Lilly City that may be more to your liking,” Bleys said. “However, this city is not Slutetelot…”

“How do you know so much about Lilly City? I thought you were from outside of Weirspierogen,” Timotheus asked.

Bleys nodded, “But I spent my apprenticeship at the Golden Tower of the West, home of House Schemerhorn, less than a mile up the shore of the Captured Sea.”

“Telémahkos,” Victoria got her companion’s attention. “Tell me, do you have any plans for the duel?”

“Plans?” Telémahkos asked.

“Well, do you have an assessment of this man you are dueling?” She asked in return.

“I know nothing about him except that he claims to be a student of the man who once owned _the Steel Whip_,” Telémahkos replied.

“If you do not mind a little advice, I guess that he will be over-confident and seek to end it quickly,” Victoria said. “Take it slowly. Try to be the one to set the pace… Be patient and wait for your opportunity… Worst comes to worst…”

Telémahkos interrupted. “Worst comes to worst I’ll have his steel in me.”

“No, we will protect you, and even if you are to fall we will see you healed. I meant, that if worst comes to worst he will reclaim the Steel Whip, but we shall keep you alive…”

There was still over three hours of the opera left to be performed when Markos began to watch, and while at first he was entertained scanning over the crowd of well-dressed nobles, merchants and wizards, soon enough the action and music on stage was too much to resist, and he was drawn into its beauty.  The opera told the story of a young tortured king of the Sunra Kingdom who traded his soul to a fiend in order to save the life of the woman he loved, but that he could never have.  When the houselights came up it was like awakening from a dream and once again Markos felt out of place and under-dressed and he quickly ducked out of the theatre and found Peter still waiting before anyone could spot him.

“There you are, sir! Fall asleep at the opera?” Peter asked.

“No, it was quite beautiful actually,” Markos replied.

“Oh course it was, sir…” Peter said. “I have never seen the opera, I don’t know why I spoke out of turn that way…  Forgive me…”

“No, no… it’s fine to state your opinion,” Markos replied. “And actually, I would prefer if you spoke to me like anyone else.  I’m a boatman, too… A sailor…”

On their way back to the inn, Markos and Peter talked about ships and winds and water, about where Peter grew up (Lilly City), and about his wife and young child. Peter thanked Markos again for the food he had brought, as he had grown hungry while waiting for Markos at the theatre.

“See you bright and early, sir!” Peter called as he pushed off from the mooring as Markos ducked into the stairway that led up to the inn.  The young mage stopped back in the common room before rejoining his companions to get a bite himself, and found it being closed down and cleaned up.  The servants were put out by his request of food, feeling they had to especially prepare him something worthy of nobility, and all they had left was some stew they had made for themselves. Markos allayed their fears and said some of the stew would be fine, and they grudgingly gave him a large bowl of it to carry back to his suite.  He knocked softly on the door and found Bleys in the common room studying his spellbook.  They fell to talking about trading spells, a topic that Markos often brought up during downtime, and that Bleys rarely replied to.

Meanwhile, Timotheus went walking out on the bridges in this part of the city and sought out the Temp’s Rise Inn, a six-story building covered in ivy. There he drank, flirting with whores and played some cards, losing a handful of silver before heading back to the party’s fancy lodgings to sleep.


Tholem, the 11th of Syet - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Early the next morning Laarus Raymer of Ra went over to Flicker’s Gondolas and hired a second boat for the group from the well-known halfling purveyor of transportation in the city that the business was named for.  This allowed for him and Victoria of Anhur to go to the dawn services at the High Temple of Ra, while the rest of the group could be brought around town by Peter.

Even the normally taciturn Victoria could not keep from gasping at the beauty and marvel of the High Temple of Ra.  The fort-like outer walls of the temple were topped with a golden glass pyramid surrounded by seven tall hieroglyphic-covered pillars. The ceremony was held up there, the morning sunlight glittering amid all the gold on all the stone and people. After the long morning service, she and Laarus met up with Dracius who invited them to break their fast with him.

In the great eating hall beneath the outer temple, the two young noble priests were called up to the table of High Priest Coranatus Barhyte.  He was an incredibly tall man with sharp handsome features, and whitening eyebrows, for as all priests of Ra of rank, he followed a vow of glabrousness.

“We are honored…” Victoria said as she knelt to kiss the powerful man’s large gold ring of office, as Laarus had done a moment before.  The high priest was curious about their adventures in the Disputed Territories and their retrieval of the Amulet of Fallon.  Victoria and Laarus told him much of what they had done, but left out all mention of the Broken Circle or the Nine.

Timotheus and Telémahkos left the inn nearly a full two hours after the two priests, leaving Markos, Tymon and Bleys behind at the inn while they took a look at the dueling grounds by light of day, and hoped to get a view of one of the early matches to see how they were handled.

The crowd was kind of thin for the duel going on when they arrived, most of the people around were peddlers lazily setting up their stalls for the coming day.  A Medicus of Fallon was watching the proceedings and young woman with a melodious voice narrated some of the action with the help of an _announce_ spell.  A local swordsman dressed in green and called Cambray the Viper fought against a masked duelist named Mezklan Sanchez, each other them with short swords and long jagged knives.

“Go Viper! Kick that foreign fncker’s ass!” Timotheus raucous voice easily carried over the small crowd and everyone turned to look at him.  Telémahkos gave his cousin a jab in the ribs. “Ow! What’d you do that for?”

“If he hears you talking shإt and wins he may challenge you next!” Telémahkos hissed.  Leaving Timotheus to watch the duel, Telémahkos made his way to the temple of Fallon and found Felix of Fallon going over the schedule of duels.

“Master Briareus! What a surprise! Your duel is not until this afternoon,” Felix said.

“I was hoping you might help me find a fencing master in the city that I might talk to before I fight…” Telémahkos replied.

“Nervous?” Felix smiled. “Local swordsmen tend to be secretive about their tricks and forms, so I would recommend someone from outside of the city.  There is a famed swordsman from the Kingdom of Herman Land staying at the Temp’s Rise Inn… Perhaps he might be willing to help you…”

Telémahkos thanked the priest and left a small donation in the urn as he left, using his usual trick of bouncing the coins just right to sound like several were falling in.  Leaving Timotheus to watch the duels and wander the market, Telémahkos had the gondolier bring him to the Temp’s Rise Inn, and then sent him back to the Golden Arch Bridge & Inn to pick up Markos and Bleys and bring them to the Duelist’s Market Square.

There was no comparison between the place the Signers were staying and the Temp’s Rise Inn. It was shabbier than even Death & Taxes back in Sluetelot after its wildest night.   There were older men there, nursing drinks and resting their heads on their arms as if they had been there all night and had no intention of leaving any time soon.  There were discarded cards scattered on the carpet, and two partially nude women were asleep on a couch in one corner.  The bartender was wiping glasses, and a host in a stained dinner jacket greeted Telémahkos effusively.

“I am Telémahkos Briareus,” Telémahkos introduced himself.

“Oh yes! I know your name and of your exploits!” The host replied. Telémahkos’ eyes narrowed. “Your noble cousin was here last night and he sang your praises and your growing skill with the blade… I understand you have a duel today…?”

“Yes, and it is because of it that I am here,” Telémahkos said. “I am looking for a fellow swordsman… A Herman-lander… I was sent here by Felix of Fallon…”

“Oh! You must mean Mercado…” The man frowned. “Yes, he is staying here… He is probably still sleeping, though…”

“I will pay good coin to have a message brought up to him, and if it matters, I am willing to pay him for his time…” Telémahkos explained.

The host leaned in and lowered his voice. “Between you and me, sir, I am sure he would be willing to take whatever coin you are willing to part with, and maybe more than that… If you get my meaning…”

Telémahkos nodded. “I can handle myself…” He plopped a couple of silver coins into the host’s hands, and then took a seat at the bar to wait.  He ordered a jigger of dwarven spirits and sipped it.  The wait seemed interminable. 

Suddenly there was a ruckus upstairs, and a partially dressed woman came running down, clutching a sheet to her chest. She dashed towards the kitchen.  A moment later a man in half-buckled pants, loose boots, and a torn hastily-donned sailcloth shirt came tumbling deftly down the stairs. He rolled and leapt to his feet, and spun.  Suddenly, he had a rapier in his left hand and it hummed as it cut the air up and down.

“Who has summoned Mercado the Magnificient?!” The man had black wavy hair and brown eyes and the olive complexion of one from the Ermainian Isles. He looked around wildly, but then his gaze fell on Telémahkos and he winked.  “Is this about a challenge?”

“In a way…” Telémahkos replied. “I am fighting a duel this afternoon and came seeking your advice and aid…”

“Then you have come to the right person, for I, Mercado the Magnificent, have defeated more men in my lifetime than you have even seen in yours!”  He made dramatic flourish with his blade and then put it away, walking up to the bar. Telémahkos could smell alcohol coming through Mercado’s pores along with greasy sweat, and fought to show no reaction to the swordsman’s sourness. He bought Mercado a drink and soon they were discussing swordsmanship and dueling.  Mercado had Telémahkos show him his dueling stance and immediately gave him a laundry list of critiques. 

“Trust me! You are getting advice from the greatest swordsman east of the Wizard’s Sea, and once I am done here in Thricia, west of it as well!” Mercado winked, and ordered another drink, pushing a couple of coins from the pile Telémahkos had left of the bar towards the barkeeper.

“Is that what brought you to Lilly City?” Telémahkos asked.

“Mercado the Magnificent plans to remain in Lilly City as long as there is war in the east!” Mercado gave Telémahkos another wink. 3

Mercado’s jaundiced complexion brightened with each drink, and Telémahkos left him with a handful of extra silver for his troubles.  “Return whenever you want to become a true swordsman,” Mercado said as Telémahkos left. “And remember, be aggressive!”

_…to be continued…_

-----------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	Session #27 was played on Sunday, March 16th, 2008 in Brooklyn, NY.

(2)	Markos was working towards putting a  point in Knowledge (etiquette).

(3)	Currently, there is mandatory conscription of all men between the ages of 15 and 55 in the Kingdom of Herman Land for use in the effort to quell the rebellion of the Black Islands Barony.


----------



## handforged

It seems that I am not the only one concerned with the upcoming duel.  And Markos seems like he is really try to learn to be more courteous.  Good for him.

I hope that everything is going ok for you, Nemm.  Thanks for the update.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #27 – “Loose Ends, New Threads” (part 2 of 3)*

“Make sure you give Peter a silver when we arrive,” Markos said to Bleys as they walked to the gondola after receiving the message that Peter was there to bring them to the duel.  “Who is paying for this stuff anyway? Is it coming from our group fund?”

“Euleria has the group fund in the vault in Sluetelot,” Bleys replied. “We must pay for all this from our own pockets… at least for now.  If you want to tip the man, do it yourself.”

“Ugh! This is little trip is going to get expensive,” the mage looked at a handful of coppers in his hand. “Do you think it would be insulting to Telémahkos if I do not attend his duel?”

“No,” Bleys replied. “But if Telémahkos were to die, would you not be sorry you missed it?”

“Yeah, I guess I would,” Markos smirked.  In the end he paid Peter an extra five pieces of copper when they arrived at the Duelist Market Square.  At this time of day, the area was clogged with boats, and it took some time for Peter to get close enough to allow them to disembark.  Once they had, he left to pick up Telémahkos at the Temp’s Rising Inn.  Closing in on midday, the place was bustling with people.  Also, while most cities and towns in Thricia were mostly populated by humans, as Lilly City was, there were also a number of lizardfolk plying wares and smoked fish.

Bleys and Markos arrived in time to catch the end of introduction of two duelists in the small arena.  It was two local boys in their late teens, Rodger and Froederick fighting with long swords and shields.  Their swordplay appeared to need some improvements.

“Keep your guard up, Froederick!” They heard Timotheus cheering a combatant at random.

Markos walked over to Tim, but Bleys mingled in the crowd asking about wagers.  Soon, he was directed towards Jiminy Grick, the universally accepted odds-maker for duels in Lilly City.  He was a little stocky man that might have been mistaken for a dwarf if not for a few inches and a lack of a beard.  A large man with a gut as wide as his ample shoulders, stood to one side and slightly behind the diminutive bookie.

“Hello there sir! Care to place a wager would you?” Jiminy asked.

“Not on this duel, but on the next Telémahkos Briareus versus Danser Von Huet Blued,” Bleys replied.  The odds were four to one against Telémahkos winning.  Bleys bet a single silver.

“Name?” Jiminy asked, as he took long piece of chalk from behind his ear and made a note on a piece of slate he kept tied to his belt with a sling.

“Bleys Winter.”

Jiminy looked up with surprise. “You’re Bleys the Aubergine! You and your friends killed all those people in Kraken’s Cove, and defeated Kilgante and took his sword!”

“They were already dead when we arrived, and the sword was plucked from the sand,” Bleys explained.

“So this Briareus never fought Kilgante?” Jiminy asked.

“No.”

“Hmmm… that might change the odds…” Jiminy rubbed his chin. “Hey! But you’re his companion! You’re not trying to hustle me are you?”

“Hustle?” Bleys cocked an eyebrow.

“The fix had better not be in,” Jiminy replied suspiciously.  Bleys went wandering back through the crowd, trying to make smaller side bets with observers noting his intimacy with Telémahkos’ prowess and intimating its insufficiency to beat Danser.

Victoria and Laarus arrived a few minutes after Telémahkos did.  Azavia Heartsong, a freckle-faced young bard with long curly brown hair and a kind face that did all the announcing approached Telémahkos, asking him who his second would be and reminding him that neither he nor his opponent could use magical weapons during the duel, nor could they benefit from spells or other items during it either.  She would be using a _detect magic_ spell to check them both immediately before the duel.  Finally, she asked to hold _the Steel Whip_ in order to hold it up to the crowd when the announcement was made.  Telémahkos told Timotheus (who was holding it for his cousin) to hand it over when the time came.

Just when it looked like Danser Von Huet Blued would be late, his voice was heard calling to the crowd.  He was leaping from gondola to gondola to reach the Duelist Market Square, as no more boats could reach the mooring.  The crowd cheered with each great jump and then parted for him as he came tumbling into the arena with a cocky smile.

A moment later oohs and ahs flittered across the crowd and people began to look up and point, and a round of applause spontaneously broke out.  A man was coming down out of the sky.  He wore a toga trimmed in light blue, with a sash of the same color and a blue-feathered cap.  He had silver ankh around his neck, with a single white feather tied to it, and on his feet were sandals tied up to his knees that had tiny magical wings that were flapping like mad as he descended; his long brown hair fluttered in the wind.

“Greetings people of Lilly City and the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland!” His name was Hobbes the Wing-footed, and he was a renowned Windservant of Shu who served in the local watch-mage’s council.  “I have come to see one of these young nobles of growing fame fight an honorable duel!” For a few moments the flamboyant man stole the spotlight.

Soon, it was time for the duelists to be introduced.  “Ladies and Gentlemen of Lilly City and esteemed visitors from other parts of Thricia and beyond.  We are here to witness the trial by combat of Telémahkos of House Briareus and Danser Von Huet Blued, student of the famed swordsman, Kilgante Valeros in order to determine rightful ownership of the sword of Valeros, _the Steel Whip_!”   Her voice was projected by means of the _announce_ spell, and she introduced Timotheus Smith as Telémahkos’ second, and Danser’s second was a hulking man with a great sword referred to as ‘Mulenbeck the Crusher’.

“It is not too late to yield to justice and just give up the sword,” Danser offered.

“I was about to ask you the same thing, to give up your claim,” Telémahkos replied.  Danser just turned his back and went to one corner of the dueling square and took off his vest.  As was the custom in Thrician sword duels, neither participant wore armor of any kind.

The two swordsmen met at the middle of the square facing each other and gave each other a short bow and touched blades, before each taking a few steps back.

“En garde!” Danser cried and the fight was on.

“Take him down, Killer! Take him down!” Timotheus yelled as the blades met and the crowd soon echoed with cheers and boos of its own.  Telémahkos was aggressive from the beginning, allowing himself a smile when his first good thrust skated off of Danser’s blade and nicked the outside of the man’s wrist.  But his smile did not last long, Danser met aggression with aggression, and Telémahkos reeled a bit when the pommel of his opponent’s blade struck him square on the chest.

“That was the last hit you shall score,” Danser said, flicking the pain from his wrist along with a few drops of blood.

They came towards each other again, this time more cautiously, their rapiers ringing against each other as neither could get the advantage on the other.  Telémahkos fought on the defensive, waiting for his opening, but his arm was growing tired. Pushed back, he was barely able to parry a blow aimed for his heart, and time seemed to slow as he saw the point of the blade checked less than half an inch from his chest.  He flicked back hard, and the swordsmen separated again.

The next time their blades met, Telémahkos took an aggressive tact again, and in return, Danser tried a wild riposte that left him momentarily open.

“Run him through!” Timotheus bellowed, barely audible over the roar of the crowd as Telémahkos felt his blade bite his opponent’s ribs.  Blood blossomed on Danser’s shirt.  He tried another weak riposte, but could barely get his arm up. Telémahkos sensed victory.  He stepped in to apply the finishing blow, and his eyes widened as he felt something slip beneath his boot.  Instinctively, he looked down.  It was blood and as suddenly it was all he could do keep on his feet, struggling to keep his balance, and lowering his guard. 1

Telémahkos did not feel the pain of the blow. He just saw the world blur and spin and he turned and collapsed, blood flowing out around him.

“As his second it is up to you to say if he yields…” Felix of Fallon said to Timotheus from his place observing the duel nearby. 

“Uh… He yields…” Tim replied.  “He totally yields…”  Felix walked over and applied a _cure minor wounds_ on Telémahkos to make sure he did not bleed out.

Azavia Heartsong walked over and handed _the Steel Whip_ to Danser Von Huet Blued.  He held it up in triumph.

“Finally!” Danser said, waving the sword around and smiling wider with each whipping hum of its enchanted blade. “The sword is in its rightful place and in hands that honor my teacher!”

“Do you mean to imply that my companion somehow dishonored that blade?” Markos asked, walking over. His voice carried as the crowd was already thinning, but those who were there heard it clearly.

“By his own admission he did not defeat Kilgante and thus did the sword no honor,” Danser replied, his lip curling with disgust.

“You had best watch how you speak of my companion,” Markos growled.

“By all means, sir… Pick up a blade and we shall pursue a conversation with steel and not with a wagging tongue that cannot accept that his friend was in error, and his defeat proves as much…”

“Feh.” Markos spun around and took a few steps away. “You would do well to learn how to speak…”

“Enough! Sir, you shall meet me here tomorrow at dawn and your impugning me in the moment of my triumph shall be seen to!” Danser challenged.

“No. I will not,” Markos replied calmly, turning back around.  The crowd was getting rowdy.  A few onlookers cried “coward!” in the anonymity of the crowd.

“Yes… Then you are a coward and by extension all you travel with are cowards if they will not stand to fight in your stead if you are too pathetic to fight for yourself,” Danser said, his voice rising in volume to assure that the crowd heard him.

The rest of the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland glowered at Markos, Telémahkos’ head lolling as he was carried in Tim’s beefy arms.  The brawny Briareus turned to carry his cousin to the healing house of Fallon.

Danser Von Huet Blued left the Duelist Market Square, calling out to remind Markos of their appointment the next day, as the murmurs in the crowded market turned to speculation as to whether Markos would even show up.  “He has to show up,” they heard one passerby say. “He’s one of them nobles… It will reflect poorly on his House if he doesn’t.”

“Laarus?” Victoria asked the young priest as they walked behind Timotheus towards the temple. “Are you going to allow this?”

“My cousin’s mouth got him into this. I will help him, if he learns the humility to ask for help,” Laarus replied. “But I shall allow no one to disparage House Raymer.”

Telémahkos groaned in a bed in the temple awakening from his stupor thanks to a spell from Phaedra of Fallon.

“You did very well… He was hard-pressed.  You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Bleys said.  Timotheus nodded.

“Yes, you should take consolation in that you did not embarrass yourself,” Victoria was the queen of cold comfort.

“Leave me alone!” Telémahkos complained.

Soon after Peter brought the young nobles back to the Golden Arch Bridge & Inn, save for Laarus who went back to the High Temple of Ra.  On the way, Victoria continued to push the subject of Markos’ duel.

“I get to choose the weapon, right?” Markos shrugged. “I’ll just choose magic and win…”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Victoria replied.   Meanwhile, Timotheus repeatedly asked that Victoria use the power of Anhur to heal Telémahkos some more so that he would suffer from no wounds or fatigue.

“All he needs is some rest,” Victoria finally replied as they climbed the steps up into the inn proper.

“Assassins may still be after him,” Timotheus replied. Telémahkos limped into the suite he shared with Tim and Tymon. He was sullen, and now feeling the majority of his bad feelings towards the militant.

“We are far from where he was attacked, and we are all here…” Victoria left to go to the common room and find some food.

After a nap, Telémahkos awoke to find Timotheus sitting out in the common room cleaning and oiling his weapons and armor.

“Oh, you’re awake!  I thought we could go celebrate some at the Temp’s Rise Inn,” He said. “Some of the others are coming…”

“Victoria?” Telémahkos asked.  Timotheus nodded. “Disinvite her,” Telie replied with rancor.

Timotheus, Telémahkos and Markos made their way to the Temp’s Rise Inn. Markos was hoping to talk over the prospects of his duel with Telémahkos. They took a set of chairs near the hearth for the day had become damp and the wind off the Captured Sea was biting, and proceeded to call over a lyrist and ordered big pitchers of ale and drank down the best whiskey in the house.  Soon, they attracted buxom women with an eye for silver.  One playfully ruffled Markos’ hair and nibbled at his ear.  He sputtered when she slapped her ample bosom in his face.  When she and her friends went over to the bar to fetch more ale, Markos looked to Telémahkos and Timotheus with wide eyes.

“I think she likes me!”

“She’s a whore,” Telémahkos rolled his eyes.

“Really?” Markos face grew almost childlike in its visible disappointment.

“Yeah, but go ahead! Have fun!” Timotheus replied.

“I wouldn’t know how to bring up the issue of payment,” Markos’ tanned face grew red.

“She’s a businesswoman. Just be straightforward,” Timotheus said.

“Oh… I don’t know…”

“Do you want to know about duels or not?” Telémahkos snapped.

“Well…” Markos began.

“Forget it, while we have a moment, listen…” Telémahkos leaned over to Markos. “I’ll be your second.  You feign sickness and I’ll get my second chance against that blowhard… Or…” He noticed Mercado the Magnificent enter the room, actually everyone did, for he never seemed to enter a room without leaping, vaulting, spinning and announcing his own name in an exaggerated trill. “Or, you can ask Mercado to be your second, if you really want to beat Danser’s ass!”

“He’ll charge too much,” Timotheus reasoned.

“Yes, and I prefer your special brand of viciousness,” Markos nodded in agreement.

After some more drinking, flirting, and groping, the three nobles went their separate ways.  Markos headed back to Golden Arch Bridge & Inn.  Telémahkos and Timotheus found Peter and had the gondolier dropped the former off at the Duelist Market Square, before taking Tim to the Wayhouse of Ptah.2  Telémahkos went back to the temple of Fallon and sought out Felix in order to get some more healing, after registering Markos’ duel with Danser the next day, with himself as second.  He then went over to the weaponsmithy, run by a dark-haired tall and persnickety man named Dextrobe.  There he left a deposit of three hundred pieces of silver in order to secure the use of a masterwork rapier for the next day’s duel, and a promise that he would be purchasing a quality weapon in the future.

Back at the inn, Markos ran into Laarus in the dining room and they discussed access to the tomes in the Library of Thoth located within the High Temple of Ra. 3 Laarus had run into Telémahkos’ brother Nikephorus at the temple, and had discussed having some acolytes do some cursory research for them on one or two topics as Markos had asked his cousin to look into the day before.

“It will cost fifty pieces of silver,” Laarus said.

“Fifty!” Markos complained.  “Why so much? I just want to look through some books.  They don’t need to have other people do it for me… Can’t I get access…?”

“They are sacred books, scribed by Librarians of Thoth over many generations. Not just anyone is allowed access, and regardless, direct access would require a donation six or seven times what they are asking,” Laarus explained.

Markos grudgingly agreed. He wanted information regarding the southwestern shore of the Captured Sea with special attention paid to anything regarding House Amber or references to ‘gold’.

“Now, regarding your duel…” Laarus said.

“I don’t want to discuss it,” Markos replied.

“I know the man’s attitude might have been wanting, but it was breach of etiquette to goad him in his moment of just victory,” Laarus said.

“Thank you for helping  me get this information, good cousin,” Markos said as he stood and then bowed with a flourish and a forced smile and left the dining room.

Evening crept in from the east, and several hours later, Telémahkos was in the suite common room talking with Tymon, while Timotheus was in one of the bedrooms, washing his face and changing his clothes for bed.  There was a knock on the door.

There was a message at the front desk for Telémahkos. It was from Floris Tenbrook.  Telémahkos told Tymon to tell Timotheus where he was going and closed the door behind him.  The page sent to fetch him had already turned the corner past the narrow set of steps that led to their suite.  When Telémahkos turned the corner at the hall that ran perpendicular to the wide stairway, he looked up startled.  The door out to the steps that led to the front lobby was closing, but right in front of him was a tall man in a long woven coat. He had long dark hair hanging loose and moist around his acne-scarred face.  There was something familiar about him, and Telémahkos knew what it was when the man pulled a long wicked dagger from his sleeve, even as he pulled back his coat to reveal short sword being slid out of its sheath.

Telémahkos cried out, but no sound emerged.  He spun around.  There was a lithe brown-haired woman with a pale and placid face standing some fifteen feet back down the hall closing in on him.  He spun back around as he sensed the assassin’s blade thrusting at him.  Telémahkos slammed his back to the wall and felt the wounds he had suffered earlier in the day ache him.  He moved to flee, but the woman let loose with a dagger and it struck him pommel first in the face blackening his eye.  He felt something crack in his mouth.  The blade was so sharp that he felt it nick him on the leg as it slid down his body to the floor.  He staggered. Overwhelmed by the sudden assault, the silence and the fatigue of his day. 4

_…to be continued…_

---------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Telémahkos suffered a fumble result that opened him up to an attack of opportunity.

(2) See InterSession #27.1 to read about Tim's experiences at the wayhouse, as they were played out online after the session was over.

(3)	There is a shrine of Thoth and full library dedicated to the apis-headed god within the grounds of the High Temple of Ra.  Access to their lore is expensive.

(4) He was also not at maximum hit points.


----------



## handforged

Yikes!

Clumsy Telie. Stupid Markos. Poor Telie.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #27 – “Loose Ends, New Threads” (part 3 of 3)*

In his suite nearby, Markos was reconsidering the information he had asked his cousin to get for him, and decided to go over it with him again, as much as he hated talking to Laarus for any length of time.  The small mage reached for the door, but as he turned to tell Bleys where he was going, no sound emerged from his mouth.  He tried again, and again nothing.  He hustled a few steps away from the door.

“Bleys!” He could hear himself again.  “Bleys! Get your weapons!” He moved back to the door, but the magical _silence_ was no longer in this area.  He threw open the door.

Out in the hall, the zone of silence that existed between him and Markos’ door muffled Telémahkos’ voice.  However, the blond Briareus could be heard crying out from around the other side of the branching hall that led to his suite as he ran back up the stairs away from the assassins.  “Tymon! To arms!” he cried, as he felt the bite of a dagger in his back, thrown by the tall man.  As he collapsed he could see the shadow of the woman in the lamplight coming around from the other side of the partition. There was a pain of a blade in his side as all went black.

“_Sagitta caustus!_” Markos did not hesitate.  He saw the blade fly from the assassin’s hands, even if he could not see Telémahkos, and he let loose an arrow made of acid, but he misjudged and it hissed as burned a hole in the hallway carpet just short of the wiry man’s feet.  Bleys the Aubergine dropped the book he was reading on the ground and grabbed his saber, moving towards the door of their rooms.

Timotheus yelled for Tymon to hurry up as he drew a dagger and threw open the door to their suite, but the area of silence moved with the woman and already suppressed all sound in that rear hall.  He could hear none of his own words, and neither could Tymon.  But he cursed anyway, as he saw his cousin’s crumpled bleeding form with an armed woman hovering over him.  He did not get a chance to react.  The other assassin, pointed to Telémahkos and then dragged a finger across his throat, rushing at Tim to keep him in the doorway.  Timotheus sidestepped, and managed to hurriedly raise his dagger to keep from being stabbed right through the heart.  He was wearing no armor. 1  Ignoring the danger to his own life, he dropped a shoulder bowled past the assassin with such speed and fury that the man could not take the opportunity to stab him.  Instead, the assassin lost his balance and was forced to drop to one knee to keep from falling over completely. 2  Timotheus dove, pulling a vial from his belt and pouring it down Telémahkos’ throat, barely avoiding a stab from the woman who changed her target at the last minute from Telie to Tim. 

Markos ran up the hall away from the fight and towards the door leading to the inn’s dining area.  As he threw open the door, screaming “Assassins!” a maid was about to open it and she shrieked in terror, running back in the opposite direction.    Bleys went around that way as well, but cut around the hall the as the female assassin had, to cut off that route.  He arrived in time to see Telémahkos crawling away from the fight and dragging himself up a wall in order to stand.  The male assassin stood as well, and Telémahkos was barely able to roll along the wall to avoid his blow, yanking his rapier from its sheath.  The assassin hopped to the left as Tymon appeared in the doorway, longsword in hand. Bleys left the woman to Tim and moved to try to pen the man in. The woman now had weapon in each hand, and Timotheus struggled to block the fast thrusts from both her sword and her dagger. The zone of _silence_ devoured the sound of the clanking blades.

Timotheus risked leaving himself open to attack and grabbed at the woman to put her in a bear hug, and while she was able to turn away and out of his meaty paws, she had to react too fast to take advantage of the opening.  Instead, she fell into a roll, and deftly dodging Tim’s dagger, tumbling over to Telémahkos.  His cry of alarm was unheard, but he barely hopped back as her blade bit into the wall.  The male assassin now had two weapons pulled as well, and was easily avoiding Tymon’s slow and weighty blows while parrying both Bleys and Telémahkos’ swords.  The watch-mage winced as one of his swipes was met with a dagger to the forearm.

Meanwhile Markos was stepping back and forth at the top of the stairs back on the other side where Telémahkos was first ambushed, trying to gauge the edge of the area of _silence_.  Finally, he chanted, “_Sagitta Aquom!_ and sent two blue liquid _magic missiles_ careening into the woman.  Timotheus tried to take advantage of the momentary distraction and grabbed at her again.  This time he got a cut to his free hand for his troubles. Telémahkos, however, was able to step over and flank the female assassin between him and his cousin, while Bleys and Tymon had the other assassin flanked and pressed him.

“The watch has been called!” The maid cried from the doorway when she crept back to it, but only Markos could hear her.  The male assassin skipped away from Bleys and Tymon and again tried to finish the weakened Telémahkos.  Telie was able to parry one blow, but the pommel of the short sword punched into his gut and he gasped.  The other assassin stepped over as well, and Telémahkos was forced to scramble to keep from getting run through.  The killer woman w as so eager in her attempt, she left herself open to a blow to the neck, but able to recover at the last moment, pulling back as Telémahkos chopped at her. 3  Tymon stepped out into the hall, taking the space left by the male assassin and penned him in between him and his master.  The man grimaced as he was forced to spin around to keep Tymon’s sword from cutting his kidneys loose from his body.  Timotheus stepped over to try to keep the man penned in, and felt the satisfying punch of his dagger through the assassin’s studded leather armor, as blood blossomed from the serious blow.  

Markos’ hand crackled with blue lightning as he approached the melee, getting on the other side of the woman.

Meanwhile, on the upper level, there was a knock on Victoria and Laarus’ suite door.  “Sir? Madam? There is some kind of altercation downstairs… Something is happening to your friends…”

The two Red Lantern Gang assassins continued to focus their efforts at finishing Telémahkos, but he parried like mad, his eyes wide as he _silently_ panting, rarely getting an opening, and too defensive to take advantage of it when he did.  Tymon chewed on his lips with absent obsession as he stepped over to flank the male assassin with Telémahkos.  The man shuddered and fell as a heavy blow from the manservant’s sword struck him from behind.  The woman swerved to avoid Markos’ glowing hand, but left herself open to Timothues, and again he felt the satisfying punch of his dagger through armor.  She let out a _silent_ little cry, but did not fall.  However, this allowed Bleys to move around the fight by stepping over the dying man, and slash at the woman with a deep blow across her arm and chest.  She was quickly bleeding on the plush carpet of the hall.  The _silence_ dispersed.

Laarus of Ra and Victoria of Anhur arrived, weapons in hand.  Markos frowned at his crackling hand and dismissed the _shocking grasp_ spell.  He then cast _detect magic_ and scanned the two killers.

Bleys the Aubergine got down and began to bind the woman’s wounds, but quickly realized she was beyond his help.  Telémahkos began to try to drag the other assassin down the steps, but Timotheus stopped him.  “He’s still alive,” Timotheus said.

“So?” asked Telémahkos.

Victoria stepped over and knelt beside the man and asked Anhur to close his wounds that they might take him captive, but the spell was either more effective than she expected, or he was less hurt than he seemed.  The man coughed awake and then suddenly spun up to his hands and knees.  Telémahkos thrust his sword at the man’s back, but he fell over again avoiding the blow.  Bleys stepped over and punched at the man with the basket-hilt of his sabre, but the blow landed awkwardly and to no effect.   The man climbed carefully to his feet, avoiding the blows and weapons on the young nobles. 4  Victoria grabbed at him and missed.

Meanwhile, Markos noticed a stone in the belt of the dead assassin that glowed with dweomer, and he hurried over to collect it.

Grunting with pain, the assassin tumbled past the cluster of young nobles. Telémahkos thrust wildly, but missed, and in that moment, a pair of the town guard arrived, men in chain shirts with swords and clubs, but he somersaulted past the one that came to the top of the steps.  Tymon ran to the other stairway and blocked the door to the common room, forcing the man to go the other way.  Victoria threw herself at the fleeing man, and grabbed at the back of his neck, but the man leaned forward and avoided being grappled.  However, he was unable to avoid two of Markos’ _magic missiles_, and he collapsed again.

“Just stop his bleeding, please!” Telémahkos said to the priests, exasperated.  “We’ll let him wake up on his own…” Victoria cast _cure minor wounds_ and did just that.

Timotheus and Markos finished searching the dead woman and found a folded up sketch of Telémahkos in folds of her clothing.  It was a good likeness.  The sketch was shown to the guards as explanations were given regarding the attack.

Victoria walked over to Telémahkos and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Anhur, heal my companion’s wounds that were suffered for the offenses he has given…”

Telémahkos brushed her hand away and refused the healing spell. “If that is the nature of your invocation, I’ll do without…  I’m tired of the two of you!” He gestured to both priests.

“If that is the way you feel about it, you may go to the temple of Fallon,” Laarus frowned.

“By the Gods!” Markos swore, overhearing the exchange.

“Yeah, this kind of thing is the reason why I pray to Isis and Nephthys,” Timotheus said, shaking his head.

The captive was taken into custody and the body was carried off.  The guards informed the party that the local watch-mage Berenger the Taupe would want to talk to them about the events in the morning. Peter Van Durant, the host and manager of the inn was appalled by what happened.  “What can I do to make up for this horrible breach of security?” He asked.  It turned out the two assassins had taken a vacant suite on the upper level earlier that same day, but they had come asking about one the night before.

“A refund…” Bleys replied. Peter Van Durant sputtered.

“Well, this event will likely lead to us staying in Lilly City longer than we planned…” Victoria said.

“Say nothing more,” Peter Van Durant replied. “I will make sure you get a complimentary stay for the rest of your time here…”

“Who of the Winter Family owns this establishment?” Bleys asked.

“Raphael Winter, sir…” The host replied.

“I expected as much,” Bleys said. 5

The host informed them that he had sent for a medicus of Fallon to come and see to Telémahkos’ wounds. After everyone retired back to their rooms, Markos sought out Victoria and Laarus in theirs.  “You need to stop insulting Telémahkos and be mature about this,” he told the priests.

Victoria tried to stifle a dry chuckle and failed.  “You are right,” she said. “_Someone_ needs to be mature about this…”

“You insulted him by denigrating him in your call to your god,” Markos replied.

“I did no such thing,” Laarus said.

“You’re right. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time…” Markos said.  “It was just Victoria.” He turned to her.

“If he chose to be offended by words then it is his prerogative to eschew the healing of Anhur,” Victoria replied.

“You really can be a pig-headed bit…,” Markos stopped himself and spat, leaving.

Back in Telémahkos and Timotheus’ suite, the latter was pacing back and forth and talking hastily, while Telémahkos lounged on a couch, crestfallen and wounded.  Tymon Lowe was cleaning and oiling their weapons.

“No, that’s it! From now on we’re going everywhere together!” Timotheus said.

“We were already supposed to be doing that, but you kept whining,” Telémahkos muttered.

“That’s because we never got to do what _I_ want to do!” Timotheus spun on his cousin, and his voice grew sharp,

“Maybe I should just stay in Lilly City and get myself a real sword master and learn to defend myself better,” Telémahkos said.  “Victoria and Laarus can shove the charter up their asses!”

There was a knock at the door, and Tim quickly snatched his dagger from the dropcloth where Tymon was working.  “Who is it?” he asked.

It was Elias of Fallon, sent from the temple to see to Telémahkos’ wounds.


Balem, the 12th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Ra’s Glory had still not risen when the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland rose to begin their day.  Markos went to see Victoria again, first thing. “I wanted to apologize for how I acted last night,” he said. “I had no right to yell at you or call you a name.”

“Apology accepted,” Victoria replied.

“But, can’t you see why Telémahkos would want for you to not characterize him in an insulting way when you petition your god?” Markos tried again.

“What he wants is immaterial,” Victoria said.  “He has rejected the offering of my god. The offense is not to me, but to Anhur…”

“Then educate him… Explain to him,” Markos asked.  “Reach out to him and see why he is offended…”

“I know why he’s offended,” Victoria replied.

“Then show him why he should not be offended,” Markos was willing to try anything.

“I don’t think it will make much difference,” Victoria said.

“How do you know if you won’t try?’ Markos’ voice rose a bit, and Laarus came out into the common room having been awakened.

“The only lesson I hope to impart to him is one of honor and courage,” Victoria said.  “If he does not comport himself with those facets then he will continue to need to be healed as a consequence…”

“But what about unit cohesion? And morale? Are those not important to the god of war and battle?” Markos asked.  “Think about your words in light of that…”

“Fine. I will talk to him.”

Markos thanked the militant of Anhur profusely. 

After dressing she went directly to catch Telémahkos on the way to the quick breakfast they’d have before heading to the duel at dawn.

“Markos said you wanted to talk to me?” Victoria said.

“No, and I actually don’t have anything to say to you,” Telémahkos replied, curtly and made to walk past, but stopped and turned.  “You insult me at my every turn…”

“I know you think so…”

“And you don’t care about my well being either!  Like when you wanted to use me as bait to draw out the assassins,”6 Telémahkos continued.  “Are you acting out of the rivalry of our Houses?” 7

“You speak foolishness,” Victoria responded.

“Then what is it? Explain to me why you feel I should be left injured after my duel when my life is in danger,” Telémahkos asked, with obvious hurt feelings emerging from his angry façade. “What offense have I given Anhur that you should refer to it in your prayer to him?”

“Anhur would have you behave with bravery and honor at all times,” Victoria replied. “And the offense I mentioned was not against Anhur, necessarily, but rather I meant the intrigues that led to your own role as a possible assassin and the price that has been put on your head as a result of that…”8

Telémahkos and Victoria spoke a little more and came to an understanding, patching up their disagreement.

-----------------------------------------------

The first lights were peeking from the east when the Signers arrived at the Duelist Market Square.  There were few people around, but those that were had come especially to see if Markos showed up.  There was a murmur as he and the others arrived, but he was already looking green, having forced down some filthy canal water before going to sleep and drinking another cupful on the way over.  He stumbled over Azavia Heartsong to inform her of his illness, with Timotheus and Telémahkos at his side.

Bleys the Aubergine was wandering around the outer arena area, taking in the scene and seeing the merchants begin to set up their stalls when a big yellow hound came bounding at him from across the square. Cautious, the watch-mage threw out a foot to keep the dog at bay, and it stopped and growled.

“Down Ewan!” A figure was walking steadily after the dog.   A tall handsome young man in dark brownish gray watch-mage robes tinged in yellow came up to Bleys. He had cropped light brown hair and light eyes, and wore a long sword at his side.  Bleys recognized him as Berenger the Taupe, having graduated from the Academy in Bleys’ first or second year there.

“Well met!” The watch-mage greeted his peer with respect and subdued pleasantries, which Bleys appreciated, and they fell to talking about the assassination attempt on Telémahkos the night before. Seeing them, Laarus Raymer of Ra walked over, and made sure to let the watch-mage know that the assassins were the same as the ones who had attacked in Sluetelot.  As the time for the duel approached, Berenger said he would meet them at the Golden Arch Bridge & Inn afterwards to finish the discussion and for him to have a chance to question Telémahkos.

When Markos was called up, he stumbled and vomited (using _prestidigitation_ to tickle his own gag reflex and let loose the rancid water he had imbibed). “I want to fight, but I am too sick…” He croaked.

“I will fight him sick or well, it matters not!” Danser Von Huet Blued responded, coming off as even more angry at Markos than he had at Telémahkos. “Let us determine a suitable handicap and I will endure it and still triumph!”

“No… I cannot fight… Telémahkos will have to fight for me as my second…” Markos insisted.

“I will gladly put the duel off until tomorrow so that I might fight the man who insulted me in my triumph,” Danser offered.

“I can understand why you’d want to put off your embarrassment, but my group has been delayed enough because of this dueling foolishness… It must happen today, or else you will be the coward for not going along with it,” Markos was panting by the time he finished, and then hurried over to the edge of where the gondolas were moored and puked again.

“Coward? I would love nothing better than to cut your tongue out!”

“Ugh, the way it tastes right now, I would cut it out myself, if I could…” Markos replied.  Meanwhile, Telémahkos allowed Laarus to heal the last of his lingering wounds with a _cure moderate wounds_ spell.  Timotheus rubbed his cousin’s shoulders in an effort to get him to relax and loosen up for the duel.  “Listen…” He said quietly to Telémahkos. “What kind of trouble were you in in Sluetelot?  Floris said you were in some kind of political trouble?”

“What are you talking about?” Telémahkos flinched and spun around, growing tense.

“Well, I was thinking about it and remembered that Floris said something about not being able to protect you the night before we left… He wasn’t very specific…” Tim lamely explained.9Telémahkos glowered at his cousin and pushed him away.

Azavia Heartsong announced the combatants as she had the day before, and once again the duel began. Once again they fought with rapiers (Telémahkos using the one he had rented from Dextrobe’s), and once again they fought until one yielded. This time Telémahkos tried to slow down pace, while Danser rushed in with heavy blows as if tired of the whole thing already.  It had hardly begun when Telémahkos was already forced back, panting, wheezing, sweating, and barely able to keep Danser’s sword from scoring a winning (and possibly fatal) blow.

Telémahkos’ return thrusts and swipes were turned away with little effort.  This duel was a parody of the one fought the day before. 10  “Are you even trying?” Danser asked, not mocking, but with true disbelief and more than a little bit of disgust.  Unfortunately for him, his disdain distracted him and as he stepped forward for a finishing thrust he did not see the patch of slick mud he was stepping on.  Danser’s backside slammed into the ground painfully and those around the arena burst out laughing.  Vulnerable, he looked up at Telémahkos, but Telie merely stepped back and gestured for Danser to stand.

The opponent got to his feet and brushed himself off.  He tipped his cap to Telémahkos and raised his sword.  Telémahkos rushed in, but his blade was knocked aside and he felt the basket-hit of Danser’s sword slam under his chin, and the bite of its blade to his left shoulder as he fell back.  He sat in the dust panting, and then slumped over, blood spilling from his open mouth.

“And now you…” Danser turned to Markos and pointed at him with his bloody sword. “You will know when to keep your mouth shut!”  Markos bit his lip and looked down as Victoria walked calmly over to Telémahkos and called to Anhur to close his wounds before he died. Danser Von Huet Blued stormed off to a little applause from the crowd.

Telémahkos came around and was helped to his feet by Tymon and Timotheus.  “Heh. I could have done that,” Markos said, coming over.

“It would have lasted longer,” Telémahkos replied, depreciatingly.  Victoria called on Anhur once again to bring him from the brink of reopening his wounds. 11

Timotheus tried to help his cousin walk, but Telémahkos pushed him off and leaned on Tymon instead.

“If you can’t lean on family, who can you lean on?” Timotheus asked with hurt in his voice.

“Tymon, apparently…” Markos quipped and got a punch in the arm for it.

Back at the inn, Telémahkos’ attempt to cloister himself away from the others due to his surly mood was quashed by Bleys, who reminded him that Berenger the Taupe would be arriving soon to talk to them, and he would want to talk to Telémahkos specifically as well.

Grumbling, Telémahkos retreated to his suite to wash up, and asked Tymon to fetch him some wine.  Though Telémahkos was greeting his cousin with icy silence, Timotheus stood by ‘on guard’ the whole time.  The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland gathered in the dining room and met up with Berenger the Taupe, his dog, Ewan, wandering the bridge outside.

As they ate a second and heartier breakfast (Telémahkos drinking glass after glass of wine), they talked over the attempts on Telémahkos’ life, and told Berenger that Captain Angeleena Firth had identified assassins as members of the Red Lantern Gang.  Markos showed the watch-mage the stone he had found the night before. “Captain Firth called it a ‘Blood Stone’,” he said.  Berenger the Taupe took the stone and examined it and took a moment to cast _detect magic_ and stared it for a few moments and then handed it back.

“The one thing you have not told me is why the Red Lantern Gang would be sending assassins after you in the first place,” the watch-mage looked to Telémahkos.  He spoke in an almost Bleys-like voice that brooked no nonsense.

“We ran afoul of them during our adventures, and for some reason they have fixated on me…” Telémahkos began.

Berenger looked from Telémahkos to Bleys who nodded.

“I see… it is a private matter that happens to be localized wherever you are…” Berenger said, cutting off Telémahkos.  “I understand.”

“And the assassin that lived?” Victoria asked.

“He is locked away in the dungeons of Terrapin,” Berenger replied.

“Can we speak to him?” Bleys asked.

“It can be arranged, but I doubt it would do much good,” Berenger said. “Even if he did speak, most of what he’ll say are lies…”

“I may be able to do something about that,” Laarus said.

“You have a means of making him speak?” Bleys asked.

“No, but if he does speak we can be assured that he speaks the truth,” Laarus replied.

Berenger said he would arrange for them to get an audience with the prisoner the next morning.

*End of Session #27*

------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Remember, Timotheus was preparing for bed when this happened.

(2) The assassin was knocked down by the overrun attempt.  In Aquerra campaigns, the rules for knockdown apply not only to weapons, but for bullrushing and overrun attempts as well.

(3) The assassin fumbled, allowing Timotheus an immediate attack of opportunity against her.  He missed.

(4) Using a full-round action to stand mitigates the attack of opportunity usually allowed adjacent opponents when getting up from a prone position.

(5) Raphael Winter is the patriarch of a wealthy and independent branch of the Winter Family, who show little interest in being part of a noble house. 

(6) Victoria made this suggestion in Session #22

(7) While House Briareus and House Ostrander have the same patron house (or perhaps, _because_ of this) they have long been rivals.

(8) Victoria is referring to Telémahkos’ recruitment by the Herald's Guild to kill Harliss Javell. See InterSession #4.1 and Sessions #6 - #8.

(9) See InterSession #26.1

(10) Telémahkos’ player was rolling as awfully for this second duel as he rolled well at the beginning of his first duel.

(11) The first spell only brought Telémahkos back to 0 hit points.


----------



## el-remmen

NOTE: I made a small correction to the most recent installment, adding a (EDIT: TWO) missing footnote(s).


----------



## handforged

Well, at least the assassins didn't keep Markos's second from making it to the fight.  It's a shame Telie couldn't kick Danser's butt and take the sword back.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

handforged said:


> Well, at least the assassins didn't keep Markos's second from making it to the fight.  It's a shame Telie couldn't kick Danser's butt and take the sword back.
> 
> ~hf




The second duel wasn't about the sword. He wouldn't have been able to take it back honorably without fighting another duel specifically for that purpose.


----------



## el-remmen

The InterSession I am about to post takes place chronologically earlier the same night as the second assassination attempt on Telie.  However, it was played out after the session on our messageboards.

While it does not necessarily move the plot along at all, I am including it because I think it gives a little sense of piece of the setting, and like most obsessive world-building DMs, one of my favorite parts of the game is just having characters interact with the setting and learned (both in and out of characters) about some its customs and eccentricities.  As you will see for example, if you choose to read it, not all temples in Aquerra are large buildings with columns and elaborate golden altars and large statues and pews, etc. . .

Also, while I said that this intersession does not really move the plot along, there are elements of the plot that are mentioned, and references to things that will become important soon enough. . .

Enjoy.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #27.1 – “This Way and That…”* 1

Tholem, the 11th of Syet - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The sky was growing dark when Timotheus came into view of the Wayhouse of Ptah. After swallowing a last mouthful of a meat pie and licking his fingers clean, he started whistling "_Lacan Pepper Had A Scepter_" horribly off-key, ogling the scenery all the while. The Wayhouse was a small ramshackle building set amid three tiers of houses of various sizes decorated with various patio gardens and flower boxes. In that way, this place did not look very different from any of the other residential islands in Lilly City (though the surrounding area held a number of dark warehouses). However, the red paper lanterns hanging from the eaves told a different story. 

As the gondola pulled in, Timotheus noticed that the "street" climbed to the left and right to the closest houses of ill-repute, but a wooden walkway/staircase led up past patches of yellowing grass to the Wayhouse of Ptah itself.  The sound of laughter and music trickled down to him. Tim wiped his hands on his trousers. "I'll be here a couple of hours maybe," he said to Peter the gondolier. "If it gets too late, come on in and get me. And I shouldn't be out for at least half an hour at the earliest, if you want to go grab a bite or something while you wait."   Peter nodded.

Timotheus pushed open the thin wooden door and was greeted by the warmth of a hearth and a strange mix of smells, boiling beef, tobacco, and liquor, all covered over with thick incense.  The building had one large shabby room with twelve cots lined against the walls around the central hearth, which had a brick ledge around the outside where some dirty cups and dishes were scattered. The boiling beef smell emerged from a pot hanging over the fire in the hearth. There was a silver eye with an ankh in the center and stars in the iris nailed to the hearth chimney.  Scattered about were various raggedy stuffed chairs, and some warped wooden ones around low tables. A group of four musicians (three men and a woman) sat facing each other, playing a balalaika, a dulcimer, a recorder and a boron drum. A pair of women sat close by rocking to the music and pulling long slow puffs off a pipe they passed back and forth. 

There was also a long sofa that bisected the room, and sitting there was a balding middle-aged man with a thin upper body and a distended paunch, as if he had frequently lost and gained weight. He wore gray and brown robes, and two young were ladies draped over him with wooden goblets were laughing at the joke he had just finished telling… "Not a black eye! A Black Islander!" He laughed at his own joke and then leapt up as Tim walked in and hurried over. 

"Welcome weary traveler!" His eyes were bloodshot, his step staggered, his smile wide and warm.

Timotheus nodded and gave a friendly "Hey" to those who looked up in his direction. He clasped the older man’s hand with an uneasy smile. "Hi, are you the Wayfarer? I'm Tim Smith."

"Romulus Jonz, at your service!" The man smiled again. "Welcome to this humble wayhouse! Been on the road long? At sea? It doesn't matter. Sit relax, have some stew, listen to the music, we can draw you a drink, you can lead a prayer, whatever you like… Or I guess I can lead one for you if you aren't that good with words… Wondrous are the sights and sounds and experiences of the world that we journey through beyond these walls, but wondrous too are the comforts of a place to rest and be safe… for all these things we thank Ptah!" 

“Thanks, Ptah!” came the voices of the others in echo.

"Nice to meet you, Romulus. Or is it Father Jonz?" Tim warmed his hands by the fire.

"Romulus is fine. . ."  The priest turned back to one of the two women on the couch, who were now whispering into each other’s ears as they stole glances at Tim.  "Fezalia! Fetch Master Smith here a drink, and draw him up a chair, I am sure his feet ache!"

"Oh yeah, that's nice. It's getting pretty damp and chilly out there. And did you say something about stew?" When the woman pulled a chair over, he sprawled into it. "It's Fezalia, right? Thanks, that's comfy."

Romulus fetched Timotheus a bowl of stew himself. "So, weary traveler Tim…Tell us of your travels… Where are you coming from? Where are going next?"  He waves at the musicians and they stopped.

"Thanks..." Tim bolted down a mouthful of stew, and then said, "I've been around a good bit, mostly Schiereiland and Westen-scherp Muur, but lately I've been traveling further south with my adventuring companions. We've been staying in Sluetelot, but we've also been to New Harbinger, Quillton, and the Disputed Territories. The King-Stones, if you've heard of 'em, and before that, Kraken's Cove." 

Timotheus gulped down some more stew, and then took a swig of the drink Fezalia provided. "Hey, this stuff is pretty good. What's it called?"

"Oh that? That's the Vale Burgundy, from down round Gullmoor. . . What's it called? Moraes Heng. . ." Romulus replied. 

"Everyone just calls it ‘the Vale’," said the other woman that had been on the couch. She brought over the rounded bottle of green glass and refilled Tim's cup and winked at him. She was very skinny, perhaps five foot four inches, with long brown hair and bloodshot hazel eyes. 

"Yeah, the Vineyard Vales… that's what I said, that's where it's from," Romulus replied. 

"You said, Morro Henky or something…" The woman turned and snapped at him with playful spite. 

"Bah, Tamala. . . You're stupid! Moraes Heng! It's the same place! You know how it is… every place has got ten names…Look at Lilly City, it was once Heliopolis and then it was The Sunken City and then it was Bridges…" He went on and on, and the musicians started up again. In the meantime, Tim's drink was refilled twice more. There was a warm and relaxing feeling here, some more people came in and he noticed them throw a few coppers in an urn by the hearth beneath the holy symbol. They carried a cask of beer, which they set on a low table, and the musicians stopped to try some… 

Remembering his temple manners, Timotheus got up and poured a large fistful of copper coins into the urn as well. 

"Come get some of this," Romulus said, breaking off his own long-winded dissertation on various names and aliases of Lilly City and the surrounding region to move to the front of the line and ‘bless’ the cask in the name of Ptah. "It's Quillton Brew!" He pointed to the burned 'Q' sigil on the side of the cask.

"You really know how to treat a guest," Tim said when he reached the head of the line and filled his mug with Quillton Brew. "Hey, this stuff reminds me: do you know anything about bullywugs?"

"A little bit…You have to fear their hop attack," Romulus replied. He took a deep sip of Quillton Brew and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. The musicians started up an up-tempo tune and a couple of people began to dance. "If you had come last month I would have had some 'Schiereiland Wheat'… It's like drinking cool sunlight… I usually summer up in the breadbasket, wandering about and getting to know that land…  you mentioned the King Stones before… I went down there as a lad, before I got my calling… But yeah, 'wugs… What do you want to know?"

"Let's talk about Schiereiland in a bit... you do actually look kind of familiar, maybe I've seen you before, since I grew up there and all…”

Jonz took another sip. "If you spent any time in Heartspire, we might have crossed paths. . .”

"Yeah, I've been to Heartspire a few times, though I wouldn't say I spent a lot of time there. Kind of a quiet town, nice if you like that sort of thing. Awful flat, though. I'm more of a hill-country boy. I grew up in Chalkour, and of course I've been to Azure; now there's a place to be!” Timotheus smiled and drank some more. “But about 'wugs, well, my party and I fought off a bunch of 'em up near Quillton a few weeks ago,  2 rescued a pretty girl from one of their raiding parties, and as their leader hopped off he swore revenge! So I figure, anything you know about 'em will help. Where are they from? What do they do? What kind of crazy magic do they have going on? You know, whatever."

"Bullywugs in Quillton! That's madness! I've never heard of such a thing. How did they get there? The Crossroads Bog? Yeah. The Disputed Territories? Sure! Red Spice Island? Sometimes. . . But Quillton? They're dumb and aggressive and rarely travel beyond their territories… I don't know that they use magic much. They worship the Frog God, though… so shaman sometimes. . ." 

Tim drained the last of the beer. His face a bit flushed, he began to sweat from the heat of the hearth. "Lenore of Ptah always stops by Chalkour," he said, deciding he would learn nothing important about bullywugs here. "I was actually kind of hoping she'd be here. Do you know her?"

"Lenore! Sure I know Lenore. . . We've met five or six times here or there. . . Last I heard she's up around Westen-scherp Muur or something. . ."

"Damn, then I probably won't see her anytime soon. I'm not sure if I'll even get up Schiereiland way again this year, though I hope so. It's kinda rough not getting to see home at least every few months." Tim refilled his mug. "Lenore always knows the best stories. Like the one about the three gnomes and the blue dragon, or how the Margrave, the old one, tricked the Herman Land ambassador into giving away that island in exchange for an egg."

"I don't know either of those!" Romulus says. "I do know the one about the Wallbrookian Princess and the pea, and the one they tell in the south about how all animals once talked, but were tricked into giving up their voices by humans. Dolphins escaped this because they were in the sea at the time, and burrowing animals were given different voices back by the gnomish gods."

"I haven't heard the one about the princess since I was a kid. And I've never heard of that other story. Hey...." Tim looks puzzled. "Are you saying that dolphins can talk?"

Sure! Though most of them can only speak their own language - but they are as smart as you and me. . . Smarter even . . .

"Huh. Go figure." Tim chortled. "Next thing you'll be telling me there really are elves under the sea, riding sea horses and hunting sea lions and all."

"Haw! Now your pulling my leg, sonny! Everybody knows that a sea elf Prince has his court in the Captured Sea. . . I've even been there!" Romulus' eyes grow wide and shone with excitement, but Tamala walked over and deflated him with her skepticism. 

"Sure, everyone knows it, but no one _believes_ it, and no one believes you!" She laughed and so did the other 'petitioners' She handed Romulus Jonz the pipe. "It's lit." 

Romulus rolled his eyes and took the pipe, the contents of the bowl crackled blue as he sucked in great amounts of the minty smoke. Holding the smoke in his lungs he passed the pipe over to Tim gesturing with his chin.

Tim sucked deeply on the pipe; he held it in for a moment, then smoke streamed from his mouth and nose as he coughed and laughed. "Wow, that tastes funny. What's in here? Tastes like sheep-mint and sorrel." 3

Passing the pipe to one of the other men, Tim mused, "Anyway, if there were sea elves down there, we'd know, right, 'cause they'd be sworn to the Margrave like the wood elves." He furrows his brow. "The wood elves are sworn to the Margrave, right?"

The smoke left behind a pleasant dull buzz and the world beyond the immediate conversation became a synesthesic blur. 

"I wouldn't bet on it," Romulus says, growing serious. "The racial covenant means those lands are theirs and their rules and laws, such as they are, take precedence. Wood elves are fine in theory, but they can be cold and cruel to our human sensibilities…"

Tim's mood shifted to match the wayfarer's. "So are these sea elves part of the racial covenant? Because if they are, there's your proof… Or maybe you could just go down and see…” Timotheus paused as if waiting for Romulus to answer, but then he suddenly rambled on. "Say, that makes for a lot of underwater types of people, doesn't it? Sea elves, bullywugs, lizardfolks, and now dolphins. Who else lives under the sea? Are there really mermaids out there like the sailors say?" He looked at his mug in puzzlement, having forgotten he was holding it, then took a sip. "I wonder if their hair is green all the way down..."

"They don't have hair down there! That's the fish half!” Romulus laughed “But yeah, there are merfolk. . . not just maids, but mer-_men_ and women. Lizardfolk and bullywugs aren't exactly sea people though. . ."  Romulus was quiet for a long moment. "Proof of what? Huh? Did you say something?"

"I did? I dunno..." Tim stared into the distance for a moment, lost in thought. But as Romulus was about to speak, Tim blurted out, "The Kingdom of the Red God of the West! ... You ever been there?"

"No. . . No. . . No requirement to travel into danger. . " Romulus winked. "Why you plan to go there?"

"Yeah. Uh, well... we're adventurers, we go everywhere. Especially into danger. And just between you and me," he leaned in. "The Rubes really are on the move. We ran into some of 'em just south of the Border Shires. And they had horses, which is funny, 'cause apparently Rubes never use horses. Except these guys." 

“You don’t say…” Romulus seemed to be hardly paying attention, his vision focused into the hearth’s fire. Tim belched loudly, drained his mug, and then held it out in hopes that it would get refilled somehow. "We also ran into a dragon down there," He added gravely. "A little one…"

"Yeah, I'm sure Stinging Wind was just flying around and you took pot shots at it," Tamala commented as she refilled his mug. 

"Don't mind her," Romulus says. "That's her way of trying to be endearing. . ." 

"Well, I'm not 400 pounds, so I am not sure how else to get your attention," She turned on the priest and stuck out her tongue. It is then that Tim noticed the shapeliness of her body.4

"The Rubes have always been a danger and skirmished on our border, doesn't seem like anything new. . ." Romulus said, suddenly commenting on what Timotheus had said a bit before. "Not sure about them using horses though… that does seem weird, but I am not exactly an expert on their culture."

"I'm sure you know more than I do," Tim replied to Romulus, though his eyes were on Tamala. "I only just learned they're not devil-worshippers, you know? It's a sure bet that anything you tell me is news to me. ... And it was a real dragon. Just, you know… a little one. 'Bout the size of a horse, not counting the wings. Not that it, you know, flew or anything."

"Uh-huh! A little dragon that doesn't fly," Tamala said coming back over to top off the mug right after Tim’s first sip. "Are you sure you're not describing what's in your pants?" She plopped down on Tim's lap even as Romulus stood. 

"I think it is time to visit my favorite sisters. . ." He waggled his eyes brows, and hooked a thumb back over his shoulder. "Was there anything else you needed from me or from Ptah? A blessing for your journey? You are welcome to stay here the night. . .I mean, unless you have a gondola waiting. . . Shouldn't wander the bridges at night around here. . . Trolls, ya know. . ."

"I'd love to stay," Tim said, clasping a muscular arm around Tamala's waist. "But I do have a gondola waiting, and everyone's expecting me back. But I'd appreciate a blessing, and… Well, do you know any stories about the Swords of the Moon? I've probably heard 'em all -- I've always been interested, family reasons -- but you always hear new details with new tellers, and if there's any stories out there I've missed, I really want to hear 'em." Clearly excited by the topic, he jounced Tamala playfully.

"Don't be fresh!" Tamala stood and turned, giving Tim a soft playful slap and a wink. She went to fill her own mug again. 

"The Swords of the Moon?" Romulus mused. "Well, they haven't been around in twenty years, but they are well known… I mean, I even heard a bard tell a story about them when I was abroad in Wallbrook. . . Something about defeating a ship of monsters coming from the south before it landed there. . . I was in the village of 'Blue'. . . They're not fond of strangers there, but they sure did like them Swords of the Moon. . ." 

Romulus Jonz began to straighten his robes and brush them off. "You know who you might ask about them? The watch-mage of Azure. . . That young kid, stopped in at his place last year, his grandfather was Derrida the Buff, who was with the group on an adventure or two. . . Kid said he knew the Wallbrook story, so Derrida must have been there for that one. . ."

"Watch-mage of Azure? Which one?"5 Tim stood, all eagerness. "Todor's not a kid... Telare? Leinert, or Lenairt or whatever his name is? I didn't know that any of them were related to Derrida..."

"Alton? Ethan? Archie? Something like that. . ."

"Athoen? Right, Athoen the Blanche! The watch-mage innkeeper!" Tim lauged. "I didn't know that Derrida was his grandpa. If I knew that before, I would have had a talk with him a while ago. That's just the sort of thing I needed to know. Thanks!"

"Yep, well okay! I'm off to see the Chubba sisters," Romulus said. I will be sure to give a good long prayer to Ptah for your upcoming travels, and if you drink or smoke too much you are welcome to stay." 

He moved to leave and Tim noticed the musicians waving as they shuffled off with some of the people that arrived in the second group. 

Tamala returned with another pipe and a flagon of some other drink, the shoulder of her dress slipping down onto her arm. She smiled.

"Have fun!"  Romulus added from the door.

Tim lingered a little while longer, enjoying the hospitality and getting to know Tamala a little better...  Eventually he had to force himself to get up and head back to the inn.  Peter the Gondolier was walking up the platform to fetch him as he exited.

*End of InterSession #27.1*

--------------------------------------------------------------

*Notes:*

(1)	This InterSession was played out on the messageboards _after_ Session #27, though it takes places during the events of that session. (See Session #27 (part 2 of 3)).

(2)	Timotheus is referring to the events of Session #8.

(3)	Little did Tim know he was smoking sparkleweed.

(4)	Wait, wasn’t she described as skinny earlier in this installment? Must have been the beer, wine and weed…

(5)	Unlike everywhere else, Azure has several watch-mages, as it is more of a collection of distinct villages that have grown together over time, than a city in its own right.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #27.2 – “Interrogation of the Would-Be Assassin”* 1

As Peter poled the Signers towards the great keep at the center of Lilly City, he explained that Terrapin was built atop the famed ziggurat of Heliopolis. It had squat outer walls, buttressed by angled pylons of green veined stone that led deep into the water. The rounded ramparts were crenulated with areas wide enough for the many mangonels and catapults on the surrounding walls.  There was a bark and they looked starboard to see Berenger the Taupe's gondola pulling up along side in the brackish water. Ewan, the watch-mage’s hound, barked again and wagged his tail. Guido, the gondolier, tipped his cap. The boats went right up to the gate, which stood open, and they noted an anchored barge about one hundred feet before the gate that caused boats to sail around it as the fortressed is approached. They saw lightly armored guards walking along the defensible war barge. 

Berenger led the way, _jumping_ from his gondola to land on the dock first. As Peter’s boat approached, the watch-mage could be seen speaking to an officer, flanked by four guards. They walked away as the Signers began to disembark.  The inner building was a shining white spire with a tall rounded wall on its north side, and flanking towers topped with bombards. Between the outer walls and spire was an inner moat, allowing small boats to move around the keep. They noticed that there are several small boats with ironclad sides that the city watch use. Berenger pointed out that the city-watch worked from here. 

"I have permission to lead you to the dungeons myself," Berenger said. Peter and Tymon remained behind, while Guido left to run some errands in the meantime. 

Berenger led them through the busy courtyard to a wooden covered entrance flanked by two guards he nodded to. One lifted the angled wooden door with a chain and beyond were steps leading down into the stone beneath. The tunnel below was dank, its walls large mortared brick dripping with fetid moisture, the air filled with the acrid smell of lime. Bleys followed directly behind, pulling his robes tightly around him to ward off the damp chill air. He paused at the bottom of the stairs only long enough to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light.  Markos shuddered, feeling the weight of the stone walls on his shoulders but his face hardened and he frowned.  The others followed silently, Telémahkos, Timotheus, Victoria and finally, Laarus. As the door above them closed, Berenger spoke an arcane word and light appeared at the end of his staff, which he used to knock on the great iron door they arrived at. 

A slot opened in the door and the watch-mage merely said, "Taupe." The sound of the door unlocking echoed down the tunnel and it opened. From within could be heard the laughing voices of men, and as Berenger led the way in, the figures inside stood from their game of cards on a low table, surrounded by ragged chairs that look as if they once belonged in a fancy noble parlor.  The guards carried clubs and were dressed in leather jerkins. In one corner was a desk covered in ledgers, some open, some closed, some crumpled and damp. An older man of average height and thinning long white hair and sharp bird-like features came forward.  "Welcome young masters,” He coughed. "I am Zelazny Tumbler, humble turnkey and warden. I assume you are here to speak with the our latest prisoner…" 

"You know why we are here." Berenger the Taupe was short with him. 

"Yes, yes. . . Well, young Dobson will lead the way," The warden gestured to one of the guards took a lantern from a wall of pegs holding several more. The wall also held more clubs at the end of leather thongs, a man-catcher, a net and several pairs of manacles.  He led them through the a door on the left, beyond which was another dank hall, though much shorter, that led to a precariously steep and narrow set of spiral steps that went down into clinging darkness.

Laarus of Ra moved up to the front of the line behind Bleys, quietly telling him that he had a spell prepared that might help the interrogation if it was needed. Telémahkos fell to the back of the group, clearly uncomfortable in the oppressive prison. The spiral staircase led to a small room, smoky from two torches high on one wall. The young nobles’ eyes stung and Berenger nodded to a guard standing by a thick iron door.  "Desmond…" 

"Sir Berenger. . ." The guard bowed stiffly and then took a large key from his belt and unlocked the door.  As he held the door open, Dobson took his place on guard. Desmond gave each of the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland an acknowledging nod as they walked by.  On the other side was a short staircase that led to a hall about eight feet wide with another iron door on the far side, but Berenger stopped at the first door on the left.  Desmond excused himself as he squeezed past them to unlock the thick wooden door reinforced with iron bands, taking a moment to peek through the iron grill in the door first.  He held the door open and Sir Berenger led the way in. 

The man within looked up and then tried to look away. His eyes (one nearly swollen shut) watered in the sudden light. He had dark reddish-brown hair and a long face with crooked nose. He was stripped down to a loincloth and in noting this the cold and damp of the cell seemed even worse to the young nobles. The man had bruising scars here and there, some recognizable from the battle at the inn; others are more fresh. Most strikingly, he was locked into wooden stocks, his wrists and neck enclosed by the wooden frame, a narrow wooden bench propped under his knees.  The cell was small, not more than twelve feet to a side.

Berenger walked over and pushed the bench out from under the prisoner with his foot, and the man groaned softly as the weight of his body made his confinement all the more painful.  "We have some people who want to talk to you, scum," Berenger said, lifting the man's head up by the chin so he was forced to look at his visitors.

Bleys the Aubergine walked over and bent slightly, looking the man full in the face.  "I am not going to play games with you, make false promises, or be coy. Frankly, I do not have the time and neither do you. I wish you to speak with us, and speak true. It can only go better for you should you choose to cooperate. If you are going to refuse, tell me now so that we can be done with this and away from this place."

The man remained silent, his eyes defiant.

Bleys met his stare, hard and cold.  "How long will it be before those you work for dispatch others to the task?"

The prisoner's head dropped again. He said nothing. Bleys reached down and clamped his hand around the man's jaw and chin, beneath the ears. Squeezing hard, he forced the man's mouth open, inspecting for a tongue. The man choked out an incomprehensible word, likely a curse.

"They have left you your tongue, you may elect to use it at any time." Bleys released the prisoner. 

"We had no luck getting him to speak yesterday… I even tried a spell I know, but he was able to resist it," Berenger said, his tone even and serious, as if he were a light-colored version of Bleys. "I could try it again… If there are no objections?"

Bleys withdrew from the assassin, acquiescent.

Telémahkos, Timotheus and Markos were stood squeezed into a corner by the cell door. Telémahkos whispered to them, thinking no one else could hear. "Magic won't work ... burn him or flay him… Either he talks or he doesn't. Either way we get our revenge."

The prisoner's gaze shot over to Telémahkos. He smiled, his lips puffy and black, his teeth cracked.

Markos frowned at Telémahkos’ words, but did not look at him. Instead, he called to Berenger, "Cast your spell and let us see." Berenger the Taupe reached into his satchel and drew out a needle with a tiny piece of red thread attached. 

"I will need for one of you to donate a drop of blood. . ." Markos' frown disappeared as he watched Berenger intently. Telémahkos stepped forward and offered a finger silently.

Berenger grabbed hold of Telie's hand from beneath and pricked the offered finger quickly, squeezing it and smearing the emerging drop of blood onto his own. And with that he began to intone, "_Amicus Fascinere Sanguinus Delphus!_" 

A moment later, the prisoner looked up with a look of fear and confusion. "Wha. . . Why are you holding me?" he asked. He looked right at Telémahkos and said with a bit of gruff pleading in his voice, "I made a mistake. I didn't know it was you, friend. If you tell them it was all a mistake and get them to let me go, I'll go away and never bother you again! Even better I'll tell them you were killed that way they'll leave you alone." He looked to Berenger and then to Bleys. "It's okay, I'm friends with these watch-mages. You can convince them to let me go. No hard feelings right? You know how this business is… You're one of us!" 

Berenger the Taupe looked to Telemahkos and frowned slightly. "As you can see, he should be a lot more cooperative now. He believes the four of us to good friends. If you question him keeping that in mind, it should prove more fruitful." 2

Telémahkos straightened up and in a calm voice said, "I indeed know how the business is but the fact still remains that we need a lot more information before we can let you go. You know as well as anyone, one hand washes the other, right?” He paused. “Can you tell me how you were set on my trail, who was your contact and who they are likely to send next? We _are_ all friends here, so all your secrets are safe with us."

The prisoner looked at Telémahkos again, but his eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted painfully towards Laarus.  "I know if it were up to you I'd be let go, but I don't trust that baldie. Get him to swear to Ra…" He hissed.

"Laarus, this is not for your ears. Will you wait upstairs for us?" Telémahkos looked to the young priest.

Laarus stepped closer to the prisoner, looking down at him. "Your release or continued imprisonment is not up to me. So, there is nothing for me to swear to. The most I can do is put in a good word. But, for me to do that for you, we need you to share some facts with us."

Meanwhile, Markos, his eyes wide with an idea, began to whisper to Telémahkos to join him out in the hall to talk.  Telémahkos ignored him,

"First of all, I would like to know your name," Laarus asked.

"I'm not telling him anything," the man replied, sneering,

"Then don't." With that Laarus turned his back on the prisoner and walked back to the cell door.

Markos sneered when ignored by Telémahkos. And his annoyance deepened when Laarus moved to the front of the cell and did not leave. He stepped over to interpose his himself between the prisoner and Laarus to block the latter’s view.

"He is of no matter,” Telémahkos said of Laarus. “These watch-mages will decide your fate. If you cannot trust us, who can you trust?" 

The man did not reply.

Telémahkos continued. "The fur sure is flying in Thricia with everyone trying to grab a piece of the pie. It is an uncertain time, and in times like these a man needs good friends. Tell me what you can friend, and we will do all we can for you in return."

"I don't know what I can tell you…” The prisoner swallowed hard and then gasped. “I have no idea who would be sent next, if anyone. . . well, _someone_ will be sent once the news gets back that Sancri and I failed… Can I get some water?"

"I will get you some." Markos stepped out of the cell to ask the jailer for some water.

"And how long will that be… before the Red Lanterns discover your failure?" Bleys asked.

"They might already know…It depends on who here is their informant…" 

"Well, who was your contact for this job? We need names, anyone that you know besides your partner is in or working for the Lanterns," Telémahkos tried a different tact.

The prisoner coughed and futility tried to moisten his mouth by smacking his lips a few times as he waited for the water.  "It was a halfling. . . People called him 'Gibbet', but I don't know his real name… I don't know much about him. . . But he is… or _was_ a Lantern. . . We met him in Quillton, but from what I heard he used to work at Kraken's Cove until you all killed everyone there…Good job, by the way, it was mostly Coopers and Rubes. . . works for me!"  He gave a smile and then began to cough again.

"And the bloodstone… Who gave it to you?" Bleys asked.3

"Sancri had it from her last mission. . . we didn't work on it together. . . But the mistress usually gives those out personally. . . or at least one of her lieutenants. . ." He coughs again. "Where's that water friend? It is getting hard to talk. . ."

"Is the water coming?" Telémahkos asked, turning toward the others.  Markos returned with a bucket of water and lifted a ladle to the man's lips. The prisoner drank the water greedily and then let out a relieved sigh after he gulping down the last bit of it. He glared at Markos, however. . .

Telémahkos waited for water for the man to drink a bit and then smiled.  "Why do you say ‘_was_’? What happened to this ‘Gibbet’? And is he the one paying for the bounty on my head or is he just as agent of the Lanterns?"

Markos returned the prisoner's glare. "Master watch-mage, please tell your friend to stop eye-balling me...” He said between clenched teeth. “Actually, don't bother… I will return to the inn. Telémahkos, a word before I go, please." He placed the bucket of water in front of the assassin and walked back into the hallway.

Telémahkos rolled his eyes and said to the prisoner, "At least he brought you water. Excuse me one moment."  He stepped outside to join Markos in the hall. Timotheus accompanied his cousin, looming over him in a typical bodyguard stance.

"That little shrimp yours? Impudent servants should be kept on a leash. . ." The prisoner said to Berenger and Bleys as Markos, Telémahkos and Timotheus step out in the hall. "You both are watch-mages so you already have people watching your back, but the rest of these fools? The more they learn the more dangerous it will be for them…"

Seeing that the water had sufficiently wet the assassin's whistle, Bleys continued despite Telémahkos' absence.  "Tell me more about this..._Gibbet_, and where you got the stone?"

"I don't know if I should tell you… Gibbet is Gibbet. There is nothing I can say that will help you and not hurt him, and while I don't like the little shet… There is a code… Though he clearly sent me into a situation a lot more difficult than he described. . . Little shet!"  He smacked his lips again and closes his eyes as in deep in thought.  "He worked in that Cove crew with Captain Javell… You know her?  He was the only one beside her to survive. . . And I don't know much about the stone, that was Sancri's to use."

"Well, tell me what you do know. You know it is imbued with a magic powerful enough to aid in your work… What else? There is certainly more..."

"It takes blood to work them and it can never be the same person's blood twice in a row…At least that's what Sancri said. . "

"Is there anything more? What about Sancri?" Bleys asked,

"What about her?"

Bleys' face showed no sign of frustration.  "Did you not work with her in the past? Was she a Red Lantern? Or more loosely affiliated like Gibbet? Did you meet her in Quillton? Did Gibbet pair you with her? Who was her contact?"

"_She_ brought me. . .Things are like that now. . . I was the muscle. She's the fncking brains. Stupid bitch was too eager. . . I thought we should wait and get a better shot, and then he'd be dead, like a snap! But no she has to do the message thing… " He stopped and looked up at Bleys and then Berenger nervously. "You won't tell Telémahkos I was saying that when he comes back, right? I mean, I _had_ to try to kill him, you know?"

"He seems to understand _the business_. What 'message thing'?" Bleys said.

"To have the porter at the inn bring the message that Tenbrook was there to see him…"

"What about Harliss? What is her relationship to Sancri, and Gibbet?"

The prisoner looked back and forth and was silent for a long time before answering.  Telémahkos walked back in, followed by Timotheus.  Markos could not leave without Berenger the Taupe, so he went back to the first room and spent time with the guards there.

"Gibbet worked for Captain Javell… He answered to her and to her pig-fncker first mate, Drevoraz. . . I heard Drevoraz escaped the cove, but you guys hunted him down and killed him, too… I assume the order to kill Briareus came from Javell. . . But I don't know. . . "  He gulped and continued. "Harliss and what was left of her crew were not exactly in high regard with our mistress after what happened in the Cove. . . She was supposed to be working towards undermining the Coopers and taking over . . . Instead everyone is dead, all the booty gone and the Thrician navy is guarding the place. .. Sure, the Coopers are suffering and everyone loves that. . . but . . . well, but nothing. . . It just didn't work out right. . ."

"Well then, if this halfling pond scum isn't even in the good graces of your mistress any longer _and_ obviously did not give one hair off his knotty little feet if you lived or died when sending you after me, seems more than fair for you tell me anything you can about him. What do you think?" Telémahkos said.

"I don't know what else to tell you about him," The prisoner coughed and then cleared his throat, hawking up a green and red nugget of phlegm. "Can I get some more water…?" 

When he noticed that no one was going to oblige him, the man continued. "I don't give a shet about the halfling. . . It is just the principle of the matter. . . Let's see. . . we met him in Quillton at some man's house. . . I don't know the man's name, he wasn't there. . . I assumed that he was borrowing the place, but it was a man-place. . . not a halfling or gnome house. . . He gave us the drawing, your name and the name of all your companions, and the location: Death & Taxes. I got the impression he was used to spending his time at sea, he had a peeling complexion like the little shet you got out in the hall."

"When was this?" Bleys asked.

"We came into Quillton early last month. . . It was the fourth or maybe the fifth. . . No later than the sixth because we got to Sluetelot late on the ninth," the prisoner explained.

"Whom… Or when... were you supposed to meet when your task was complete?" Bleys continued with his questioning.

"Sancri knew… Though I guess we'd go back to the Port… or the Bosom. . ."4

Victoria moved over to Laarus and whispered in his ear, "It looks as if we killed the wrong assassin. The woman would've known more, I think. If we can get little more out of this one, we should think about preparing ourselves better for the next attempt on Telémahkos’ life."

Bleys eyed Telémahkos up and down, taking in his full measure, assessing the smaller man.  "How much is he worth?" He turned to inquire of the would-be assassin.

"I would have gotten a cut of 600 silver…"

"Blood flows on the cheap these days," Telémahkos spat, and then after a moment he opened up a new line of questioning. "After your attempt on my life in Sluetelot, where did you go? Who was putting you up?" 

When the man hesitated, Telémahkos added, "I am not going after you and I am not going after your friends but we can only be even if you give me a chance to get to someone with the pull to call this whole thing off."

"If you want to get this called off then you need to speak to the lady in charge, or make them think you're dead. . ."  He swallowed hard. "Seriously, can I get some more water?" 

Still no one moved to help him, so he croaked out some more. "We left Sluetelot to let things cool down and then came here to Lilly City. We were going to return, but then the fire happened and we figured the town-watch would be more vigilant, so we waited and Bes blessed us. . . You came here!"

"The gods work in mysterious ways,” Telémahkos sighed. “If you had gotten away from us but the city too hot to leave, where would you have gone?"

"Back to our rooms at the Tempe's Rising Inn," He coughed out, looking at the bucket and ladle longingly. Berenger finally reached down and puts a ladleful to the man's mouth and he slurped it down eagerly. 

"More!" Berenger gave him another. 

"We had been around for a while posing as brother and sister merchants in cloth and scrimshaw. . .There would be no reason to question us. We even saw you at that place's common room with Mercardo the shet-eater. . . It's a miracle that guy's not dead. If so, it's just because he is too pathetic to put a price on…" 5

"Did you have a secret word or anything when communicating with this halfling? If I wanted to get in touch with him, what would be the surest way?" Telémahkos asked.

"My guess is he's doing work for the Braids in Quillton now. . .5 If you know any of them you might be able to find him…"

"Question is, do _you_ know any of them?" Telémahkos said.

“Nope.”

"Any signals, secret hand-shakes, anything that would help me figure out who is going to try to kill me next?"

"Uh. . . I don't know. . . You know how it works, the trick is to get the target when they think they are safe, though I imagine someone could go the sloppy route and go for the ole arrow from a rooftop while you are in market, won't matter how many bodyguards you got then… Or poison… poison works, but you might end up killing a bunch of extra people. . If you care about that sort of thing…"

"If you needed to communicate with the halfling now, how would you? Through the woman?"

"Huh? I _told_ you, Sancri was the contact. . . But if I had to I'd go to Quillton and look for him, maybe scope out the house and apply uh. . . _pressure_ to the man that lives there. . . Maybe bribe some big noses. . ."

"I'm done,” Telémahkos finally said, disgusted. “Bleys, do you have any more questions?"

The watch-mage shook his head.  “This has been useless…” 6

*End of InterSession #27.2*

------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	This InterSession took place on our messageboards between the meetings for Sessions #27 and #28.

(2)	Berenger the Taupe cast Aquerra’s version of the _friends_ spell.

(3)	The _bloodstone_ is what allowed for the _silence_ spell in both assassination attempts, and perhaps Sancri’s ability to appear as the cleaning maid in the first. See Session #22

(4)	These are references to Haffar’s Port and Misery’s Bosom.

(5)	Telémahkos met Mercado the Magnificent in Session #27, but the character has a reputation dating back to the Oath Campaign, which was played from 1996 to 2000.

(6) While this was not said in the InterSession thread itself, this opinion was expressed to me by Bleys' player afterwards, and since the scene was left incomplete and the information gathered in the interrogation never came up in game again, I figured it accurately captured the feeling about the usefulness of the questioning, and thus served as a good place to end it.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #28 – “Drie-Hoek Jaunt” (part 1 of 3)* 1

Isilem, the 16th of Syet - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The young nobles who had signed the so-called Charter of Schiereiland, and who at times had referred to themselves as the ‘Sons of Thricia’, at other times, ‘the Scions of Thricia’, and at least once as ‘Timotheus Smith and his Mystery Men’, made their way back to Sluetelot from Weirspierogen upon the Sea Wyvern. Morning was waning at the beginning of the third week of Syet, the second (and last) month of autumn, but it had been a sultry autumn with little rain.  It hardly felt that winter was coming, except perhaps to Markos, who could taste it in the changing wind off Drie-Hoek Bay. Timotheus, however, felt the constant chill of his cousin, who continued to barely speak to him since the second assassination attempt.2

They had gotten back to Sluetelot late in the afternoon two days before and had a large lunch as a group, discussing their next moves, and some logistical things with their steward, Euleria Finch.3  Coins were handed out to cover the incredible expenses of their stay at the Golden Arch Bridge & Inn in Lilly City,  4 and it was decided they would travel as a group to retrieve their boat. In the meantime, Euleria would investigate a place to keep the boat while the party continued with their journeys. 

The bay had been cold when had they crossed eastward on a ferry to Weirspierogen, and the sight of the low gray buildings and many small nest-like clustered brown houses was a letdown to those who had never passed through here before.  Sluetelot was a metropolis in comparison.  The only impressive features were upon the tiered side of the nearby great hill, the temple of Anhur and the walls of Sparlange, and at its top High Hill Tower. 

The Signers walked north along the wharf towards the harbormaster’s office at Bleys’ direction.  As they passed some townsfolk, Timotheus smiled and waved, greeting them happily, but they looked down or right past him, saying nothing. “Great! A town full of Bleyses,” Tim sighed.

Bleys did all the talking at the office, getting quickly past the clerk to talk to the Harbormaster himself, who complained at length of Sir Gregor Harrold’s defiance of naval regulations and his circumventing the law and the extra work it caused.  The Signers a gave a collective “Hear! Hear!” though some with a slight mock in their tone.  The harbormaster made a note of mentioning that Sir Adrian Devenpeck had come down to ask after the boat himself, and to see if any of the Signers had come to claim it. The fine was paid and they found the Sea Wyvern.  Markos immediately began to inspect it.  There were a few things they’d need to get her into shape for the trip back across the bay, but all of them would be easy enough to get.

“What is there to do around here?” Timotheus asked, squinting as he looked around.

“You’re looking at it,” Bleys replied dryly.

They were walking towards the market when they saw a tall man approaching. He wore ornate plate armor, and a soft blue cloak.  He had long brown locks that blew in the harbor wind, and his face had a kind of brutal handsomeness, and unsettling ice blue eyes.  He wore a longsword at his side, and a boy of about fourteen summers followed a bit behind him.

“Sir Adrian Devenpeck…” Bleys said quietly to the others. “He is not a man to be trifled with…”

“The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland…” The imposing knight greeting in a deep voice as he approached.  He reached out his hand and shook of their hands firmly, speaking to each of them as he did, revealing his awareness of each of them. 

“Young Bleys, favored of the Margrave and kin of our house… Telémahkos Briareus, ever-affable and becoming known for being something of a duelist? If not a very good one yet… And his cousin, Timotheus, the recognized bastard of Briareus… I heard you almost beat Floris Tenbrook…?” Timotheus’s hands were the only ones that could match the noble’s size and strength as they shook.  He nodded. “It is too bad that you were not able to teach that upstart a severe lesson… But it matters not… Someone will eventually…” He turned to Laarus. “Laarus Raymer of Ra… Ever an honor to meet a loyal follower of the King of the Gods, and Victoria Ostrander, I fear that the waterways and hills of Hoofdlan and Black Thread Island are likely not as satisfying for you as the open fields of Schiereiland… And finally, Markos Ackers, the poor victim of kidnappers… You do seem to have nearly finished learning the ways of civilization…”

There was a pause and then the Signers awkwardly greeted him back, and he continued. “I see you have come to retrieve your sloop. Very good… I pray the harbormaster informed you of the violation of law?”

“Yes, sir… He did…” Bleys replied.

Sir Adrian nodded. “Good… It chafes me how some nobles think they are above the law, and you would do well young master Bleys… You would all do well…” He surveyed the faces of the young nobles. “… To avoid such people, and avoid being drawn into their web of corruption…”

“Yes… yes…” They nodded.

“Take for example the recent events in Kraken’s Cove…” He looked at them again. “I hear you all were willing to do what House Wetherwax was not… Clear that foul smugglers cove of criminals, bringing them to the justice of the blade at the same time as making business profitable for legitimate Thrician merchants… It is to be commended…”

“Most of the people there were dead already when we arrived…” Telémahkos interjected.

“I am sure they were,” Adrian replied dismissively. “And now, forced to keep others from returning to that area and trying to handle the chaos in the illegal trade up from Devil’s Grasp, House Wetherwax is struggled to keep a watch over those waters that fall under their duty, and House Devenpeck has been called upon to fill the void and take over more patrols in Drie-Hoek Bay.  If House Wetherwax had not turned a blind eye to this smuggling and handled it aggressively to begin with this would not be happening… Hopefully your actions have forced the issue and we are on the verge of a more lawful and stable era on the bay…  At least, it shall be so across the Drie-Hoek now that Devenpeck ships are more ubiquitous on her waters…” 

 “I think this is excellent news!” Telémahkos burst out, wearing an over-wide smile.

“Yes, then things shall be as they should be…” Bleys agreed.

“I am glad to hear it,” Sir Adrian Devenpeck replied. The corner of his thin-lipped mouth moved slightly in an abortive smile. “And know that if on your time traveling on and around Drie-Hoek Bay, if you are in need of aid, rousting smugglers, pirates, inhuman creatures that threaten our security, or even some smaller aid, do not hesitate to seek out agents of House Devenpeck and give my name.  And if you plan to stay in Weirspierogen for any amount of time, allow me to offer you my father’s hospitality in Sparlange.”

“Thank you…” Bleys said.

“Yes, thank you… Your promise of aid means a great deal…” Laarus said.  The rest of the Signers echoed the thanks, though Markos’ was mumbled and forced.

“I am very pleased to have met you,” Telémahkos smiled more as they all shook the serious knight’s hand one more time before he left.

Markos looked around at his companions in the silence that followed the knight’s leaving and noted the unsettled feeling on most of their faces.  He could tell that each of them were disturbed in his own way by Sir Adrian Devenpeck’s words and demeanor, and he smiled. “You know… I am actually starting to like some of you some of the time…” He said.

“Well, that’s something,” Timotheus slapped Markos on the back hard, and the sailor-mage went back to his usual sneer.

Going back across the bay, Telémahkos spent his time shadowing Markos to learn more of the sailor’s craft.  When he wasn’t needed and the wind grew cold, he went back down below, where Timotheus, tired of the silent treatment confronted him.

“You know, if you didn’t ignore my own interests, I would be happier about bodyguarding you,” Tim said.

“I’m sorry that ditching the group for seedy bars and syphilitic whores and then waking up not knowing how many coppers you have left is more important than protecting the life of your cousin,” Telémahkos sneered.  “If you want to be a noble, you need to start acting and talking like one… You may have a reputation as a fighter, but not as a leader of men, and to be leader you need to take on responsibilities…”

“We used to go out all the time and have fun…” Timotheus complained.

“That was before assassins were after me, and before we had a responsibility to the rest of the group,” Telémahkos explained.  “We all have to grow up sometime…” 


Teflem, the 20th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Four days later the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland were riding south along the Beach Road from Sluetelot, headed to New Harbinger to answer the summons of Lord Swann.5  Before leaving there was some talk of going to Quillton to search out the halfling mentioned by the assassin interrogated in Lilly City, but it was generally agreed that he was likely long gone. As it was, Laarus of Ra insisted that a lord’s summons  was not something that could be delayed any longer.  Also in this time, Victoria picked up her finished masterwork armor, and a decision was made that Telémahkos would wear _the Warding Ring_ when the party was in civilization, but out on the road, it would be Bleys the Aubergine who would wear it.

Misty rain dogged their ride and slowed them down, as the Beach Road was muddier and narrower having given way to the sea in several places.  And on the second miserable day, they were nearly right upon a wrecked fishing boat when they spotted.  Two men were sitting on the edge of the beached craft, while another lay curled in a ball on the sand.  They looked bedraggled and downcast.

“Hail! And well met, what has happened here?” Bleys called, rearing his warhorse.

“Sea monsters?” Timotheus called, barely concealing his hope that his guess was true.

Victoria rolled her eyes.  “You have quite the imagination, Timotheus…”

“What? Don’t believe in sea monsters?” Tim frowned.

“It is not that… But sea monster don’t beat people up and leave them on the beach…”

“What has happened here?!” Bleys’ voice boomed when he called to the men.

The fishermen explained that local rogues set them upon when they pulled their craft in.  Their friend on the sand was beat into unconsciousness for fighting back, and a whole sack of their freshly caught fish was taken from them.

“Who were they?” Bleys asked.

“MacHaven’s Brood, people call them…” A fisherman explained.  “They have been brazenly pushing their weight around since all the soldiers have been busy fighting lizardmen in the bog… They are probably at Wringneck’s right now…”

“Okay! Let’s take care of this!” Timotheus announced.

“I agree,” Markos murmured. “These poor saps are suffering for our failure to settle this matter the last time we were here…” 

The Signers doubled their pace to get to Bog End before nightfall, leaving the appreciative fishermen behind with a couple of silver pieces each to cover their lost fish and promising to look into the banditry.

A light rain began to fall as the Beach Road turned west, and climbed up towards the High Road and the crossroads at Bog End.  The hamlet was already dark as they made their way on horseback past the ramshackle houses and dilapidated boathouses and stables.  They soon saw the lanterns hanging from the awnings of the Wringneck’s, the tavern upon the dock. It was the only building lit up in the growing gloom. 

“Hail!” Bleys addressed a man standing out front of the tavern, as if on guard.  He wore studded leather armor, and carried a longsword at his side.  “Is Wallaby about?”

“He’s inside,” The man gestured with his head, wearing sneer as he looked over each party member as they dismounted and tied their horses out front.

“Cousin… Stay and watch the horses,” Markos suggested.

“It is my duty to check for injustice here,” Laarus of Ra replied. He began to walk towards the tavern’s entrance.



“Let Tymon and me watch them…” Telémahkos said, eying the guard.

“You need me, Cuz?” Timotheus asked, looking back to Telémahkos, but Telie ignored him.  The brawny fighter walked in behind Victoria and Markos.

Inside were none of the usual local regulars.  Instead there were a handful of armed men in leather and studded leather armor, drinking and chew roasted fish.  One of them sat up on one of the large tables.  He had a broad back and wore mud-caked studded leather armor, but had bare arms covered in countless tattoos of streams of ants emerging from and going into small green anthills, and many bangled braclets on his forerarm and above the bicep.  He wore a hunter’s cap and had bright green eyes. There were three bedraggled wenches, laughing and screaming as they were groped, pinched and tickled. “Ten to one, one of these guys is McHaven,” Timotheus said under his breath as he walked up behind the watch-mage. Bleys the Aubergine walked past the men towards the bar, where he recognized Tickle sitting at one end.6  He noticed there were fewer benches and tables than there had been before, and those remaining were abused, stained, cracked or warped.  As the watch-mage reached the dark man, Wallaby Wringneck popped his head up from behind the bar. The portly halfling had a blackened left eye and a cut lip. His hair was tousled, and his shirt askew and stained with sweat, ale and fish guts.

“You don’t mind if I sharpen my weapon do you?” Telémahkos walked up to the man standing out front.  He appeared in his mid-twenties, with his pale freckled skin darkened by dirt.  The man was smoking a pipe, and cocked an eyebrow, but then shrugged his response. The blond Briareus drew his rapier and began to sharpen it on a stone with exaggerated effect, only a few feet in front of the man.

“That’s a nice blade ya got,” the man said. “Can I see it?”

“Sure,” Telémahkos cocked his chin and then flipped the sword with an expert flourish, passing it over pommel first.  The man took it and swung it with some obvious martial knowledge.  He held it up to the light of one of the hanging lanterns.  “Nice…” He said, and handed it back.

“Thanks…” Telémahkos replied as he took it, and then continued to sharpen it

“What happened to the watch-mage?”  Bleys was questioning Tickle about the recent occurrences, and the news of the skirmishes against the lizardfolk.

“Rumor is he fell in the bog fighting the lizardmen,” Tickle replied quietly.  Every once in a while his eyes would dart nervously towards the drinking men, one of whom was giving a detailed account of a drunken night another spent with a donkey.

“Do you believe this?” Bleys asked.

“Why don’t you cast a little spell and find out?” One of the armed men was at the bar. He sneered at Bleys, while the man’s companions quieted down finally noticing the new arrivals.

“Bleys, we are wasting time…” Victoria said, standing near the middle of the tavern, just a few feet away from the table of drinkers.  “Why don’t you tell them why we are here so we can get to the bottom of this?”  She struck the butt of her spear on the floor to emphasize her point.

“I’d sure like to give her a taste of _my_ spear!” One of the men said, softly, but with the obvious intention of being overheard.

“Shut your filthy fncking mouth!” Markos yelled, stepping right up to the man, who was leaning on one of the long tables.  “You had better apologize right now and learn to show the proper respect!”

“And who is going to make me little man? You?” The man smirked. He stood to tower over the diminutive mage

_…to be continued…_

---------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1)	This session was played Sunday March 30, 2008 in Brooklyn, NY.

(2)	See Session #27.

(3)	Some of this logistical stuff was handled over email and on the messageboards.

(4)	The total cost was just over 100 silver pieces.

(5)	Bleys received the summons in Session #26

(6)	The party met Tickle on their first trip through Bog End. (See Session #2)


----------



## handforged

YAY!  Back to some good old adventuring.  And I am happy to have caught up.  The intersessions were interesting, but I am glad to be back to some action.  The upcoming bar fight in particular.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #28 – “Drie-Hoek Jaunt” (part 2 of 3)* 

Markos pushed his hands against the man’s chest and the next thing he knew he felt a pain and force that drove his chin to one side. “Take that you little shet!” the man said, still smirking.  

Victoria dropped her spear and hurried over to grab at the man, but he easily pushed her away with a snarl.  Markos ducked behind the female militant and pointed two fingers at the man’s face,  “_Sagitta aquom!_ Two magic missiles flew from the fingers, but while one slammed into the mouthy brigand, the other flew across the room to hit the large man watching the tussle and laughing from his position sitting on the table.

“Are any of these men MacHaven?” Bleys asked Wallaby as the halfling ducked noticing the fight beginning. “Just bloody kill these bastards!” The halfling hissed.  Bleys cocked an eyebrow.

“You dare?” The big man face changed from one of amusement to one of deep anger.  He stood up from his seat on the table, and they now noticed that he had a great sword, as he lifted it up from resting across his thighs.  “You dare?” he growled again, his bloodshot eyes widening.

“Are any of these men MacHaven?” Bleys turned his question to Tickle as the man watched as the dispassionately fight erupt. 

“No, he wouldn’t come here… That’s Furious Garry…” He cocked a thumb surreptitiously towards the man with the greatsword.

“Don’t worry, Boss! I got this!” One of the other men hurried around a table and sent a fist up into Timotheus’ neck. Stung, Timotheus shot him a look of annoyance before bashing him with his heavy shield of bulette hide. The man stumbled back, and swollen with cockiness, Tim leapt up onto one of the tables to survey the entire room.  Unfortunately, the cheap furniture of the tavern could not hold his weight and it splintered beneath him, sending him to the floor with a jarring blow to his tailbone.

“If you cannot be taught respect with words, you must be taught respect with the might of Ra!” Laarus barked as he drew his heavy flail, and move to stand shoulder to shoulder with Victoria.  She grabbed at Furious Garry, barely avoiding a heavy blow from his great sword, and then drawing off.  She stumbled as she sidestepped to avoid another of the drunken men, closing in to punch at her with a cudgel.  She was unable to avoid the punch of the first man. It was an uppercut to the chin and she fell backward, collapsing to the floor, and then panting as she scrambled back to her feet. 

Taking advantage of the distraction, Furious Garry turned and brought a hard blow onto Timotheus’s shoulder as he was standing.  He was nearly driven back down as the plates of his armor groaned in protest, and he grunted with deep pain, and could feel blood trickled underneath.

“Everyone let me know when they’re _ready_!” Markos called out to his companions, eying a lantern right in the bandits’ field of vision.

“Ready and hurry it up!” Timotheus closed his eyes as he sidestepped and stood, hopping to avoid a follow-up attack.

“Victoria! The time has come to draw your weapon!” Laarus said, as he stepped around her to block the kicks of one of the brawlers, and punched him in the chest, flail in hand.

Outside, Telémahkos had put his rapier to the smoking man’s neck as soon as the sound of combat reached them.  “Move and I’ll fncking kill you,” he said, with a smirk.  “Tymon, aim your crossbow at his chest!”

The manservant nervously nodded and then did just that.1  “If his hands come down, peg him between the eyes,” Telémahkos said as he ducked into the pub.  He heard the twang of the crossbow when he had barely gone in ten feet, still too far to join the melee.  “Master, look out!”  Telémahkos spun around and noted a crossbow bolt on the floor as the man was suddenly upon him, sword in hand.  Telie barely got his rapier up to parry the blow.  “Let’s dance, scum…” He winked.

The cudgel-wielding man, tried to move around Laarus to get a blow in on Victoria as she was still getting up.  The big mouth moved away from the two priests, sensing weakness in Timotheus.  The blow made Tim open his eyes, but more from its weight and sound than from any actual damage it dealt him.

“You stupid fncking knuckle-draggers! Tell me when you’re ready!” Markos screeched.

Furious Garry began to huff and puff. His eyes grew wide and his licked his teeth with a brown tongue, drool pouring off his chin as his muscles began to swell with savage strength.  Timotheus cursed when he felt the weight of the raging bandit’s great sword, tear into his shield.

“I guess that’s not happening, Markos!” Timotheus called back. He cut at his foe’s arm with his sabre. Garry was oblivious to pain.  Laarus moved over to try to pen the furious man in, leaving Victoria to deal with the others.  She took a cudgel blow to the ribs.  She finally drew her morningstar, but groaned as the tip of Furious Garry’s sword thrust past Laarus and caught her in the ribs as she raised her arms.  She spun and raised her morningstar against the pain, and called to Anhur to infuse her with his _righteous fury_.  Splinters flew from the spiked club as it met the edge of the great sword to block it.

“STOP! WE CANNOT KILL THESE MEN!” Bleys’ voice booming thanks to his _announce_ spell.  He pointed to the various men. “YOU! SURRENDER NOW!”

No one seemed to listen. Least of all, Markos, whose hand was crackling with blue electricity as he stepped over to flank the man fighting Telémahkos.  “Looks like you could use some help, Tee-Kay,” Markos reached out and the man jerked for a moment, his clothing and armor smoking.  He fell unconscious to the damp tavern floor.

The man that started the altercation, drew his longsword and swung weakly at Tim as he moved in the direction of the exit.  “Maybe we _should_ get out here…” He called to his friends. “They said the watch-mage was gone…”

“Tymon! Sword! Shield! Back me up!” Telémahkos practiced the footwork Mercado had shown him as he moved to cut off the retreating big mouth. “Have at you, scum!” The bandit barely deflect the worst of the rapier thrust, his armor absorbing the pointed edge, but the not the weight of the blow.  Timotheus backed up to give himself some room to work, and took a swipe at the big mouth, who ducked.  However, before he could get any further, Tymon was there to pen him and flank him with Tim.

The wenches, who had been slowly retreating from the fray, finally sprinted out the back door. The man with the cudgel, ignored by Victoria, moved to flank Laarus, and the young priest of Ra felt the blunt weapon’s heavy blow on his back as he spun to block a follow-up.  The militant of Anhur swung her morningstar again and again at Furious Garry, to little effect.  “Down, dog!”

“SURRENDER NOW!” Bleys repeated. “NO ONE SHOULD DIE HERE!” He moved past the fight to check on the man Markos had fried.  

“Bleys! There are children in this town who have probably not eaten because of these men…” Markos complained.  “_Sagitta caustus!_ He sent an _acid arrow_ flying at Furious Garry, but had to send it between the narrow gap between Victoria and Laarus to do so, and the caustic liquid splattered against his cousin.2

Seeing enough, the loudmouth, tried to flee, but quick blows from Victoria and Telémahkos sent him bleeding to the floor.  Furious Garry roared and shrugging off a cut to the forehead as he passed Timotheus, and instinctively dodging to avoid Laarus’ flail, he charged right into Markos punching down with all his might, and slamming the hilt of the sword into the little mage’s neck.3 Markos took a step back, but miraculously did not fall.  His head, neck and shoulder ached.

“My sympathies are with the bandits’ victims,” Telémahkos shot towards Bleys as he moved to flank Furious Garry with the mewling Markos.

The raging bandit spun around, growling as he raised his greatsword, smiling as he saw an opening in Telémahkos’ defense, but he was reckless with his own.  Timotheus shoved his saber under the man’s armpit and twisted the blade.  Furious Garry’s eyes widened as blood exploded from him, and he collapsed.  

Shocked at his leader’s sudden defeat, the remaining bandit was not ready for Telémahkos’ opportunistic blow, which sent him down to the floor to bleed out as well.

“Ra, save this man so we can interrogate him and bring him to justice,” Laarus prayed and cast _cure minor wounds_ on Furious Garry in order to stabilize him.  He did the same to the man Telémahkos dropped, while Victoria dealt with the bleeding loudmouth who had started the whole thing. 

“Just kill ‘em! Just kill them all! They’re bastard bandits that have been making all our lives miserable since that knight and the watch-mage took all the soldiers into the bog!” Wallaby cried out, distraught.

“This one is dead…” Bleys said, ignoring the halfling. He gestured to the man Markos had electrocuted with a spell.  The purple-robed watch-mage turned to Markos.  “Was this really necessary? Murdering this man?”

“Murder? These are bandits who are terrorizing these people!” Markos spat.  “You’re just mad than no one obeyed you… Well, despite what Timotheus says, you are not the boss!”

“We had no evidence that these men are bandits, and until you used your _magic missile_ spell, it seemed possible that we might subdue them without resorting to lethal means,” Bleys argued, his voice getting a bit heated for once.

“Markos was rash, but we were in our rights,” Laarus defended their actions.

“The guy outside told me these guys were with MacHaven,” Telémahkos bluffed. “That was evidence enough for me…”

“They looked bad…” Markos said. “You could just tell…”

“So you judged them based on looks alone? How very _noble_ of you…” Bleys replied.

“Bah! I don’t care…” Markos spat again.

Laarus cast a curing spell on Timotheus and then another on himself, as Markos shifted the argument to be about no one following the routine for his casting _pyrotechnics_.  The priest of Ra winced as the acid-burns on his neck healed.

“Where can we find the rest of these bandits, and their leader MacHaven?” Victoria asked, but neither Wallaby or Tickle knew, or at least they wouldn’t say.

“If you hang around long enough more of them will come, especially once Garry and his men go missing…” Wallaby answered.  “Ever since all the soldiers out of Gullmoor have been busy with the lizardfolk and the watch-mage died, they have been coming and going more than ever!”

“Oroleniel the Salmon?” Bleys asked. Wallaby nodded.  “Word is the lizardfolk tricked him into stumbling into a bog…”

“I thought the Salmon was arrested in New Harbinger…” Telémahkos whispered in Bleys’ ear.  He had just finished searching the bandits, and took an ivory-pommel dagger for himself.

 The dead bandit was dragged outside, and the Signers discussed their next move, quickly deciding that they should ride to Gullmoor with Furious Garry and talk to the Viceroy and gather more information on the Brood, if possible.  

“If we leave now, he can send someone to pick up the remaining prisoners by morning…” Telémahkos reasoned.

“What!” Wallaby grew flush.  “You cannot leave these men here! What if more of MacHaven’s men come while you’re gone? They’ll hold me responsible!  I’ll be dead meat!”

“You do not seem appreciative of our help,” Markos sneered.

“Maybe this’ll teach you the value of the local patrols…” Telémahkos added.

“Oh yeah! Thanks for all the Gods-damned help,” Wallaby swore, running his stubby fingers through his matted black hair nervously.

“Wallaby is right… We should stay here overnight and then take all the prisoners in the morning,” Bleys said. He turned to the halfling “We shall eat and drink, and if more of MacHaven’s men come in, give a signal… Say something like, ‘Another round on me!’”

“That’s not believable,” Wallaby smiled, slyly.

“Say it anyway…” Bleys replied.

“Let him pick the phrase,” Timotheus said.

“How about, ‘Are you going to pay for that?’” Wallaby’s smile widened.  It was agreed. “But you know, the simplest thing would be to just dump these bastards in the bog…”

Over the next hour, some locals poked their heads in and then quickly went on their way again, but finally a lanky man in new clothes arrived. He wore tall wading boots, and a fine green and brown hunting cap hat atop his long shaggy hair and a smile from ear to ear.  It was Tavius.4

“Well if it isn’t my favorite noble band!” He smirked and strut, looking at each of the Signers. “Stirring up the hornet’s nest again?” 

“Do you know anything about MacHaven and his men?” Bleys asked.

“Nothing nobody else doesn’t know or hasn’t told ya!” Tavius walked over to the bar. “But I sure am thirsty…” He took off his hat as he walked past them.

Telémahkos sneered at the party’s former guide, while Markos sulked about no one following the routine in order for him to cast _pyrotechnics_, and Victoria of Anhur was taking the time to try to explain why it was tactically unsound to it in this case.

Tavius looked around and rolled his eyes. “I do have a story or two to tell, but if you all are too stingy to part with a few coppers to quench a workingman’s throat… Well, in that case… I may have to keep it to myself.”

“Talk or leave,” Bleys said flatly, and Tavius put his hat back on and began to make a show of leaving.

“Oh hold on! Come back! I’ll buy you a gods-damned drink,” Timotheus swore, glaring at Bleys the Aubergine. Tavius spun around and smiled, and Wallaby poured him an ale. Tavius downed it quickly and then gestured to the cup again, after he looked to Tim hopefully and the warrior nodded.  

“So out with it! What do you have for us?” Telémahkos snapped.

“Well, as you know I am the smartest person around here, and I have a knack for looking out for things that might be worth seeing and knowing…” He smiled wide again, but then saw Telémahkos fuming and rolled his eyes again.  “I was around when that knight and the elven watch-mage arrived with some men-at-arms and headed out into the bog. This the kind of thing you are looking for?”

Bleys nodded.  Tavius finished his ale and gestures for another.

“Next thing I hear…” He took a sip. “Next thing I hear they are back in town some days later man down… They threatened some locals to put them up and then they went back out… I saw them that morning…” He paused to gauge the interest of his listeners. Bleys and Laarus were placid as always, and Tim kind of hummed to himself as he drank large mugs of ale between small bowls of fish stew. Markos was deep in thought, and Victoria was stern.  Telémahkos sharpened a dagger.

He sighed and continued. “Couple of days later they come back, now with only two men-at-arms, and after staying one night they make their way to Gullmoor the next day… It was not long after that that the soldiers went in there, including your old friend Sir Quintus… In fact, I saw him around before the rest of the soldiers and that other knight, Lizard-bane, came back from Gullmoor with the watch-mage in tow… Oh, and when they passed through town, the knight and the watch-mage weren’t speaking…”

“How do you know?” Bleys asked.

“I notice things… The knight was definitely mad at the elf, and then the next thing you know, word is watch-mage fell in the bog and was never seen again… Make you think, right?” Tavius tapped his temple.

Telémahkos looked to Bleys as if to remind him that this was the second time they had heard this news of Oroleniel’s fate.

“How long ago was this?” Bleys asked.

“Couple of months? They first got out here first week of Keent or so…” Tavius replied.  He reached for a bowl of fish stew Wallaby had served for Timotheus.  Tim shot him a look, but gestured to the halfling for another bowl. “Now Thricius Gosprey is involved in the fight…”

“Thricius Gosprey?” Telémahkos asked.

“Son of the Viceroy… Not the eldest… Second son, I think. Militant of Anhur, like Miss Priestess over here.” He jerked a thumb towards Victoria.

Furious Garry began to stir and pull absently as his bonds, so Bleys walked over and slammed a fist into the man’s face, knocking him out again.

Later, after Wallaby had shuttered the Wringneck Pub closed, and the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland did their best to clear space on the filthy floor and lay out their bedrolls, they started to rethink their plans.

“I have a bad feeling about going to Gullmoor,” Telémahkos said.  “If the Viceroy’s son is working with Lizardbane, we might end up being detained and never get to help Oroleniel the Salmon…”

“Detain us for what? We have not done anything,” Laarus said.

“Like a lord has never used his power to stall or misdirect people when it was in his interest…” Telémahkos rolled his eyes at the priest.  “I think we should go on to New Harbinger and give the prisoners in there…”

“I, too, think we should go on to New Harbinger,” Bleys concurred. “We have heard conflicting reports as to Oroleniel’s fate and I would like to know for certain what has happened…”

“I would rather stay and deal with the bandits,” Markos said.

“Wouldn’t you rather clean up our mess?  We left Oroleniel to deal with the lizardfolk and look what has happened…” Victoria said.

“Whatever Oroleniel is embroiled in has nothing to do with us,” Laarus said.

“Speak for yourself,” Bleys did not even turn to look at Laarus when he spoke.

“However…” Laarus continued, ignoring the blast of cold emanating from the watch-mage. “You were summoned by Lord Swann, so we should go to New Harbinger…” 

“I can answer that at my leisure,” Bleys replied.

“That may be so, but it is still a sign of respect to not tarry when summoned by a Lord,” Laarus said.  “It has already been at least a fortnight since you received word…”

It was put to a vote, and in the end only Markos was against going to New Harbinger, but for once, instead of putting up a fight he went to sleep.

_…to be continued…_

------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) See Aquerra’s rules for covering an opponent, here.

(2) In Aquerra we play with the rules where there is a chance to hit cover when you miss your target.  If the roll hits an AC within the range of the target’s normal AC and that gained by the cover and is still high enough to strike the cover’s AC (in this case Laarus or Victoria, I rolled a die) then it gets hit instead.

(3) Furious Garry did 20 points of damage to Markos with that one hit.  At the time, I believe Markos had 24 hit points at max.

(4) Tavius first appeared in Session #2, and served as their guide on their first adventure.


----------



## Ciaran

Yeah, we'll always remember this as the session when we beat Furious George.


----------



## el-remmen

Ciaran said:


> Yeah, we'll always remember this as the session when we beat Furious George.




Actually, there is a footnote about that "nickname" in the next installment!


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #28 – “Drie-Hoek Jaunt” (part 3 of 3)*

Anulem, the 21st of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Early the next morning, the young nobles were on the road.  The prisoners were trussed up and thrown over the backs of horses, which they walked down to the walled city on the southern part of Drie-Hoek Bay.  On horseback the trip usually took four to six hours, but it was early-afternoon before they saw the towers of the city, and the smattered clusters of outer buildings where they left their horses at a livery.

At the gate into the city, Ferris Twelf and other townguards met them, and they remanded the prisoners into their custody before heading on towards the citadel.

“Do you know any of their names?” The lieutenant asked.  “For the record?”

“I think that one is called ‘Furious George’,” Bleys said, pointing to the tattooed man.  “Or maybe it’s Garry…” 1

“Wow! That’s a nice shield!” One of the guards commented to Timotheus.

“Bulette hide! Real Bulette teeth!” He pointed to where the triangular teeth were wedged into the wide to decorate the stylized mouth on the shield.

“Boo-lay?”

“It’s halfling for ‘landshark’,” Timotheus clarified.

At the New Harbinger Citadel they were met by the castle steward, Tabitha Mark, and she showed them to the same cells they had stayed in the last time they passed through town.2  Markos practiced his etiquette with gross exaggeration that might have appeared as mocking to some when he addressed the steward.3

As they cleaned up and prepared for their audience with Lord Swann, Timotheus walked over to Markos’ room with a vial of a viscous red-black liquid.

“You need this?” It was the blood of the strange adhering mummy-men they had fought at the obelisk that pointed that way to the tomb of Dalvan Meir.4

“Yes!” Markos snatched it.  “This is important magical stuff!”

“Really?” Timotheus asked.

“Well… Maybe…” Markos replied.  He put it among his things.

The Signers were brought before Lord Swann in his audience chamber soon after. 

Young Lord Swann was wrapped in a fur robe, and sitting up on the dais on an ornate chair decorated with gold and onyx swans.  He has long light brown hair and the beginnings of a trimmed narrow beard on his chin, though the rest of his face was clean-shaven.  He welcomed the young nobles sullenly, absently rubbing a small red book that lay in his lap.

“Our apologies for the late arrival, Lord Swann,” Victoria spoke first. “But we were delayed, first by Bleys’ duty in Sluetelot and then by bandits in the vicinity of Bog End.”

“Yes, I have been informed of the prisoners you brought with you and I thank you for dealing with those who would seek to take advantage of the crisis in the bog and the escalating hostilities of the lizardfolk there,” Lord Septimias Giaus Swann replied.  “Trust me when I say those men shall never see the light of Ra’s Glory so long as they live…”  The young lord cleared his throat and continued. “Now… What can you tell me about the Pillars?”5

“The Pillars, my lord? I thought we were summoned to discuss Oroleniel the Salmon…” Bleys said.

“I shall explain it all… Humor me…” 

“Very well…” Bleys went on to say what they knew, which wasn’t very much.   He explained that the party had still be traveling back from the Disputed Territories when the Day of Pillars had occurred, and the word on the street in Sluetelot was that at least there, children had supposedly been hired to do most of the drawings; though no one knew by who.6

“There is reason to believe that this movement of the Pillars is related to the rogue watch-mage, Oroleniel and perhaps the attacks by the lizardfolk is part of the plot somehow… It is clear that he betrayed his duty and aided the lizardfolk in their plot… It is unfortunate that your group was fooled by these beasts in this way, but thankfully you all were not led astray as Oroleniel has been…”

“I am sorry, my lord, but this does not make sense to me,” Victoria said.  “Why would Oroleniel betray his people to the lizardfolk?”

“He is of elven blood and grew up in Tempestas,” Lord Swann gave by way of explanation, a faint hint of distaste in his voice. “Though he was assigned here, we are not his people…”

“Would you be willing to start from the beginning?” Victoria asked as politely as possible.  “What is the evidence against him?”

In that moment, the lord’s vizier, Tiperol Dust walked into the chamber from the rear door.  He was a swarthy man in his early thirties with short tight curls shaped at sharp angles on his head, and a black goatee.  He wore gray and black robes cut in a style similar to those of a watch-mage. He carried a large scroll tube in his left hand.

“Master Dust, please read the charges against Oroleniel to our guests…” Lord Swann said.

“Oroleniel the Salmon has been charged with colluding with an enemy of the Thrician people, assaulting agents of the Lord of House Swann and New Harbinger, and conspiracy to overthrow the Magocracy…”

“Those are serious charges…” Bleys said.  “What is the evidence?”

“As sworn in an affidavit by Sir Septimias Benedict Swann, the 28th of Keent in the 637th year of the Margrave,” the Grand Vizier read from an opened scroll. “After several journeys into the Crossroads Bog in order to parley with the Goldstraw Lizardfolk, in which loyal men-at-arms of House Swann were drawn into bogs or killed by reptilian creatures under the command of lizardfolk between the 2nd and 16th of Keent, during which time Sir Septimias was forced to seek further aid from nearby Gullmoor, Oroleniel the Salmon did attempt to secretly meet with said lizardfolk after there was evidence of their capturing (and perhaps devouring) Sir Quintus Gosprey and his squire, Valerius Esmus Tarchon.  When the foul lizardmen were attacked, the watch-mage of New Harbinger attacked Sir Septimias and the soldiers from Gullmoor there to aid him, allowing the lizardfolk to escape.”

Dust paused and cleared his throat, looking at each of the Signers, before continuing, “And then, rather than submit to arrest, Oroleniel fled and was not seen again by Sir Septimias…”

There was a long pause.

“I authorized his home be searched for a clue as to where he might hide, or a reason for his betrayal and that was when _this_ was found…” Lord Septimias Giaus Swann held up the small book on his lap with a look of satisfaction.  It had a cover of the finest red leather and one its front were embossed three golden pillars.

Markos coughed and hastily excused himself.

“What is it?” Laarus asked. 

“A seditious volume that purports to overthrow the magocracy and steal the wealth of the nobility,” Lord Swann said, his face growing flush with anger with the thought of it.  “It can undo all that is good and lawful in Thricia, if not all of Aquerra, And the notes in Oroleniel’s own hand that are in the front of the book, which we had translated from elven attest to his adherence to it traitorous philosophy…” 

“What do the notes say?” Bleys asked.

Lord Swann looked to Tiperol Dust, who opened another scroll and read. “There were four lines written at different times they seem.  In order they read, ‘One. _There is something here similar to the spirit of the elven will, of the will of Aranris_. Two. _This will be the hasty  undoing of generations of work_. Three. _How will the Academy stand on this? Would they be able to make a smooth transition? And finally, this last line was crossed out: Note: Methal the Mauve, expert on Han-Jost._”

“Methul the Mauve?” Timotheus spoke up. “Didn’t he used to be watch-mage of Marrock?  Didn’t he die not that long ago?”

“You are correct,” Bleys the Aubergine confirmed.

Tiperol Dust continued to read, now from a third document, “Oroleniel the Salmon was taken into custody on the eighth of Ese when he attempted to sneak back into New Harbinger…”

“Did he put up a fight?” Telémahkos asked.

“No, he was taken by Captain Aurelius Oberto, he didn’t dare…” Lord Swann said.

“What has he said about the book and about what happened in the bog?” Bleys asked.

The young lord’s face grew dark with anger and the words in answer were filled of frustration and rancor. “He refuses to speak, to say anything on the matter… He said he would only speak to you…” Lord Swann pointed at Bleys.  “In fact, one of your elder alumnus, Malcolm the Bronze passed through town and we explained the situation to him and asked him to intervene… And what was his response?” Swann looked to his vizier.

“I believe he said, ‘If he wants to talk to Bleys, let him talk to Bleys…’”

“Sounds like Malcolm,” Bleys replied. “Who found the book?”

“Captain Oberto…” Tiperol Dust said.

“And his word would be honorable?”

“Of course.”

Bleys requested to search Oroleniel’s house himself, and the Lord agreed, saying that Captain Aurielius Oberto would be summoned as he had the key.  “In the meantime, take the book, examine it, see its danger for yourself,” he handed the book to Bleys.  “It shall be arranged for you to have an audience with the prisoner after dinner tonight.”

“And Markos Ackers…” He turned to look at the sun-baked mage. “I am sure my cousin 6 would be happy to get a visit from you while you are here… Though you will see her at the dinner tonight…”

“Oh, uh… thanks? I mean, yes, thank you my lord…” Markos was flustered.

“He often speaks of her fondly,” Bleys added, getting a glare from his companion.

The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland retired to their cells, as Bleys flipped through the book with furrowed brow.

“Is it really full of evil magic?” Timotheus asked as they were led, a bit of eager awe in his voice.

“No,” Bleys responded without looking up.

“Then how is it supposed to overthrow all good in Thricia?” Timotheus was confused.

“It is not magical. It is philosophical…”

“Huh?!”

As they gathered in the cold bare common room at the end of the hall where they were staying, Telémahkos leaned into the purple-robed watch-mage and said quietly, “We should copy portions of it so we can read it in depth and at our leisure in the future…”

“That could be risky, see what happened to Oroleniel?” Bleys replied.

“It will be fine as long as no one finds out,” Telémahkos said. “Anyway, they were looking to nail Oroleniel.  I am sure Oberto would have found _something_ incriminating if he had to put it there himself…  Remember, he is the one who sent me after Harliss Javell.”7

Some simple fare was brought to the young nobles, and they talked quietly among themselves as Bleys perused sections of the book with Markos looking over his shoulder.  The smaller mage would sigh and roll his eyes when he reached the end of a page before Bleys did, muttering “finally” when the watch-mage turned to another one.

”You know, those notes in the front sound more like musings than adoption of a philosophy,” Markos said.  “We should use _comprehend languages_ to check them out for ourselves and see how else they might be interpreted…”

“I agree…” Bleys said. “As it stands, from what I can see of this book… It is a proclamation of anarchy…”

“Yes, this does seem dangerous… There is no way to implement these ideas without violence…” Markos nodded.

“What does it say?” Telémahkos asked, clearly frustrated with not being able to read it.  

“Here, read this part…” Bleys hand the book over, pointed to particular section. Telémahkos read as quickly as he could, pausing only to glare at Markos when he sighed impatiently, and to flip some pages.

“So?” Timotheus looked to his cousin.

“It is a model for a new form of government… Democracy,” Telémahkos said.

“What’s that?”

“Imagine that everyone is a king…” Telémahkos began.

“That doesn’t make any sense! Everyone would be giving everyone else orders! It’d be chaos!” Timotheus was bewildered.

“Everyone would get to vote for their representatives and leaders…A million votes for a million people,” Bleys clarified.

“We can hardly vote with only six people! All of Thricia voting on things? That would never work!” Timotheus was adamant.  “How can something so stupid be dangerous?”

“You do a pretty good job with your saber…” Telémahkos winked and threw his cousin and elbow, and got a punch in the arm in reply.

“It is not exactly stupid, Tim,” Markos said. “There have been other nations that used a similar system, and there is a section in the book that makes reference to place that still uses it now… The idea is that the people’s will should determine their leaders, not the arbitrariness of birth rank.”

“Here! Listen to this…” Telémahkos read from another section of the book, which he had started flipping through randomly. “While Ra may be undisputed King of the Gods, the idea that it is He who chooses and anoints the rulers of Aquerra is a myth perpetrated to keep power in the hands of the few. Ra’s Kingly virtues are present in all of creation and absorbed by the masses in order to be enacted as the impulse to vote, and to serve faithfully the mandate of that impulse if elected…”8

“That sounds like blasphemy! All copies of this book should be destroyed!” Laarus intoned.  He had been silent most of the time, as if deep in thought.9

“Yes, Ra is the god of rulers, it is by his will that leaders are chosen and have power,” Victoria said.

“Ridiculous!” Telémahkos scoffed. “How can you believe that Ra really chooses all rulers?  Does he choose the priest-king of the Kingdom of the Red God of the West? What about the baron of the Black Islands?”

“He chooses all _legitimate_ leaders…” Victoria replied.

“My father is ostensibly a ruler, and a legitimate one, but he’s practically a beast in human clothing…” Telémahkos said, getting surly.  He continued to read off some sections, though not everyone was listening.

“And if there is a disagreement between followers of Ra about who is a legitimate ruler?” Markos asked his cousin.

“That is irrelevant… Such things are discussed at length when there is disagreement…” 

“So there _is_ disagreement,” Markos smiled.

“Eventually, one or both sides are enlightened by Ra,” Laarus explained.  “Disagreements are an opportunity to learn how the law can be made more binding and specific…”

“It sounds to me like some of you are agreeing with blasphemy,” Victoria frowned at Markos and Telémahkos.

“This is Thricia, and I can be a blasphemer without fear,” Telémahkos replied.10

“Yes, no one is going to run you through for saying so…” Victoria said.  “But they may for the actions you take in the name of that blasphemy…”

“So you think it is acceptable to undermine the very fabric of our society?” Laarus turned to Telémahkos.

“Look at all the bad nobles…” Telémahkos began.

“So you would burn down the tree for giving some rotten fruit?” Victoria asked.

“Why are we even arguing about this?” Timotheus suddenly asked. 

“Yes, this is a distraction from the real issue,” Victoria agreed, dropping the subject.

Soon after Bleys cast _comprehend languages_ to read the notes in elven for himself, Captain Aurelius Oberto arrived to show them to Oroleniel’s house.

“Where in the house did you find the book?” Bleys asked as they made their way through New Harbinger’s narrow winding streets accompanied by two of the townguard. Oberto flicked his long brown shiny hair, and the silver of his hoop ear-ring sparkled in the lantern light.  He wore a permanent grin, and Telémahkos felt that the man’s eyes kept darting towards him, though he could never quite catch him at it.

“It was just on a bookshelf, out in the open,” the captain of the guard replied. “Most people can’t read, so it was hidden in plain sight.  It took my training as an investigator to look for clues for his behavior among his reading.”

“And his spellbook?” Bleys asked.

“He had one on him when captured, but if he had others, we have not found them…”

When they reached the cottage, Captain Oberto unlocked the door and handed the key to one of the guards.  “Please leave things as you found them,” he said to the Signers. “When you are done the guards will lock up and bring you back to the citadel… Good night.”

He nodded to each of them, but Telémahkos noticed a tiny cock of the head when he was looked to, and he squinted back, but then looked away. As Telémahkos and the other began to look around the cottage, Bleys walked over to the small kitchen area and found some stake bread in a basket.  Crumbling it in his hand, he walked over and opened the shutters, scattering the crumbs on the sill as he made clucking noise, which made both the guard standing outside and nearby Victoria turn to look at him. 

A few moments later a gray and white gull hopped down onto the sill from outside and pecked at the bread and then looked up at Bleys.  The watch-mage stroked the bird’s head.

“Hey! Is that the watch-mage’s familiar?” The guard asked from outside. The window was at about his chest level.

“No idea,” Bleys the Aubergine shrugged.

“If it is I should tell the captain… Can’t familiars be used to spy and communicate?” the guard asked.

“Not that I have ever heard of…” Bleys replied with a straight face.  The gull hopped into his hand and then flew up into a rafter of the house.  The guard frowned, but then shrugged and turned back around.

Meanwhile, Markos found a letter folded into one of Oroleniel’s books. It was appeared to be a love letter of a sort, written in a crude hand from someone named ‘Jeffery’.

“I thought that only happened on ships!” Markos quipped.

“Don’t be stupid,” Timotheus gave the smaller man a hard slap on the shoulder.

Telémahkos searched behind the books and noted small lever in the grooves in the back of the shelf.  He signaled Bleys over and whispered his discovery.  Realizing something had been found, Markos walked over to Laarus and Victoria and got them to walk out and distract the guards.  Bleys passed the _warding ring_ to Telémahkos to wear as he searched the area of the lever for traps and then pulled it to one side at Bleys’ word.

There was a click and a seamless panel in the back of the shelf slid open and out fell a large book with a dark green leather cover.  

“Is it something we should open?” Telémahkos asked Bleys.

“No.”

“It is something we should put back?” He asked.

“No,” Bleys replied. “It is probably his spellbook and if the house is searched again, it might be found.”

“Then as a watch-mage, you want to take it into your custody?” Telémahkos asked, handing it over.

“Yes…” Bleys took the book.

*End of Session #28*

-----------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

(1) Much to my annoyance, the players took to calling ‘Furious Garry’, ‘Furious George’ instead (as in the monkey) and then mocking me for my failure to see that coming.

(2) See Session #4

(3) Markos has been practicing his etiquette since returning from the Disputed Territories after a lesson or three from Euleria Finch.

(4) Adherers. See Session #17

(5) The party learned about the Day of the Pillars (after seeing evidence of it) upon returned from the Disputed Territories.

(6) Telémahkos was able to gather this information from some of the urchins of Sluetelot with the help of Mirth while separated from the rest of the party during the plague of insomnia (Sessions #24 & 24).

(7) See InterSession #4.3

(8) You can read the entire handout that was given to the party to represent the “Pillars Book” here. It is officially titled, “The Pillars of Thricia”.

(9) Actually, Laarus’ player, Jesse, was not present for this session.

(10) Freedom of religion is the rule of law in Thricia.


----------



## el-remmen

*Attention Loyal Readers!*

<chirp, chirp>

This is just to say that this last installment is more than likely the last for this year.  I have finished typing out Session #29, but only just got a start on #30 before end of the semester master's thesis crunch time was upon me.  As you know I don't like to start posting installments from a session until the one after it is done (as an incentive to keep up the diligent pounding out of pages).

So expect part one of session #29 sometime in the second week of January 2009.

And soon after that? The first PC death! Who could it be. . .?

Happy Holidays!


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## el-remmen

Wow! _One thousand views_ since my last post!  Well, I guess that means _someone_ aside from two of my players, BlackCat and handforged are reading! 

Anyway, update coming up. . .


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## el-remmen

*Session #29 – “Bogged Down With Them Bog End Blues”* 1

The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland were led back to the New Harbinger Citadel, and given an opportunity to wash up and change clothes for dinner with Lord Swann and his family. Timotheus brought the letter from ‘Jeffry’ he had found in Oroleniel’s house over to Bleys to keep with the spellbook.

“Don’t read it,” Tim said when Bleys made to open it. “It is personal and has nothing to do with what is going on, but it should be kept safe with his things.”

As they gathered in the common area waiting to be summoned, Markos made a face at Telémahkos.  “You are wearing armor,” the mage said. Telémahkos reacted by pulling his cloak around his shoulders to cover where his chain shirt was visible under his shirt.

“So?”

“That’s bad manners,” Markos said. “I mean, even _I_ know that much…”

“Markos is correct,” Bleys said in his even tone. “Do you expect foul play?”

“Well, someone _is_ trying to kill me,” Telémahkos said. “It is not about not trusting Lord Swann…”

“And yet, that is how it will be perceived…” Bleys replied.  Telémahkos sighed angrily and stomped back to his cell to remove the chain shirt.  

“Don’t worry, cousin! I got your back!” Timotheus called after him. 

As Telémahkos came back down the hall, he noted some kind of creature floating down the hall towards the common room ahead of him.  It was a levitating fleshy disk with two eyestalks atop it and several tentacles hanging beneath it.  It was a dull gray color covered in spots of soft blue.  It expelled gas from beneath its body through a tightened bladder and it scuttled along weirdly.

“A flumph!” Timotheus said happily as the thing entered the room, the fine flowery smell of its motivating gas filling the room. Telémahkos entered behind it.

“Didn’t your family have one?” Victoria asked with some shock.

“Oh, yeah up in Pyla’s there’s one, but I don’t spend much time there,” Tim replied.

“We had one briefly when I was young, but my father kept asking about what it’d be like in a soup…” Telémahkos said.

“Oh my!” The flumph’s voice was odd.  It emerged from a broad bill-like mouth. It was deep and it cadence was odd.  “The Signers of the Charter of Scheireiland are to follow me to dinner… I am called Prestik!”

The young nobles followed the flumph out of the common room and down the hall to the narrow steps that led to the Lord’s dining room.

They found the dining room to be much as they remembered it from their last dinner with the court of House Swann - a large chamber decorated with marble, with a broad open window with intricately carved painted wooden shutters that overlooked the harbor and Drie-Hoek Bay, shining in the dying light of the evening sun And for the most part the guests were the same.  There was Novaluna Julia Swann, cousin of the lord, and sister to Sir Septimias Benedict Swann, who being involved in the fight against the Gold Straw Lizardfolk in the Crossroads Bog was not present.  Julia was pretty and plump, and had cut her hair nearly to the scalp, save for some clumps of long hair near the front she had slicked back.  It was an to unusual length for a Thrician of either gender.   Sitting across from her was Octavia Camilla Swann, pale and petite, who sat beside the middle-aged Decima Aurora Swann, who Timotheus waved to enthusiastically. She had a nervous demeanor and a swollen face. Sir Decimus Wilmus Swann was not present, having traveled to the Golden Tower of the West to winter on the Captured Sea with his wife’s family. Among the guests was also Tiperol Dust, the Grand Vizier of the court, with his dusky skin and pointed dark beard, and Corwin Locksley, a man with long straight blond hair and soft features.  And finally there was a man some inches shy of six feet with a bit of accustomed comfort about his belt, but who nonetheless was handsome. He had a gleam in his eye that was warm and appealing.  He stood as the Signers entered, and greeted them.  It was Novius Sebastian Swann, uncle to the Lord and youngest brother of the exiled Regent.2 

The servants closed the shutters and drew thick maroon curtains over them, as a chilling draft had been coming through it, and lamps and candles were lit.

The long table had three large bowls full of small bright red apples, chunks of smoked cheese and three large porcupine-apples. As soon as Timotheus sat and smiled at everyone he reached for one of the apples and took a big bite, which made everyone turn and look at him.  The Lord had not arrived or been announced. No one was supposed to touch the food yet.  Quickly, Julia Swann grabbed an apple as well and took an even larger and louder bite, and then smiled weakly at everyone at the table, but her eyes rested longest on Markos who was fighting to contain a laugh. Octavia Camilla Swann turned up her nose, and Decima Aurora tittered behind a kerchief.  Telémahkos, Victoria and Laarus all glared at Timotheus, and the brawny warrior shrugged with embarrassment.

A moment later Lord Swann was announced, breaking the tension.

“I see you have met my wise and well-traveled uncle, Novius,” Young Lord Swann said, gesturing to him. “He is often abroad taking care of our House’s mercantile interests…”

“Really? Where have you traveled?” Victoria asked Novius, and he shared a tale of Haffar’s Port and the simultaneous increase in wealth and crime in that infamous city.

“In your opinion, what would it take to crack down on the increased piracy in the Wizard’s Sea?” Victoria asked.

“If you ask me, what we need do is go to the Kingdom of Herman Land’s aid against its traitorous protectorate,” Lord Swann interjected.  “The sooner things normalize in the east, the sooner they will normalize here… But while more than half of Herman Land’s western fleet is in the east…?”

The table fell to a discussion of the merits and pitfalls of aiding Herman Land in their war, and the potential for unrest and chaos to spread across central Aquerra if Thricia were to do such a thing. Timotheus, who had little interest in world politics, fell to talking to Decima about her son Heydricus, who was being fostered at High Talon.  “He’s doing great! He’s settled down a lot… He hasn’t broken any bones that I know of for a good while now…”

The dinner seemed to fly by with course after course of local favorites - thick white karnemilke, served with squares of hard bread, large plates of stampot and rookworst sausage, for dessert they enjoyed the sweetness of vla, a kind of milk custard covered in a variety of spices, but by this time, they had moved from the table, and were gathered in small groups talking around the dining room’s large hearth.3

Julia Swann spoke to Markos and Bleys, expressing disappointment at her inability to go the Academy of Wizardry as she would have liked, but mentioned having a chance to attend the University of Thricia in the coming year. 

“The University has a broader spectrum of academic interest,” Markos said.

“Yes, they will instruct anyone,” Bleys deadpanned.  Julia could not help but smile and quickly look to see Markos’ reaction.

“…Only because they have better teachers…” Markos responded.

“The Academy focuses on quality not quantity,” Bleys said.

Before they could go on entertaining Julia with their banter, a servant came over to fetch Bleys.  There was a citadel guard at the door to the dining room, waiting to escort him to see Oroleniel the Salmon.  Markos and Telémahkos moved to follow, but the guard raised his hand. “The Lord has said only Master Bleys…”  

Markos grumbled, and Telémahkos looked to Bleys, but they watch-mage’s face revealed no fear or worry.

“I have been bringing your colleague his meals for these many weeks,” the guard said, conversationally as he brought Bleys to another part of the citadel, an area that Bleys had never visited. The guard was young, with a reddish-brown beard and no mustache in the typical House Swann style. He wore a yellow tabard with a black swan upon it. Bleys expected to be led down towards the dungeons, but instead he was lead along long hallways that ran towards the rear wing of the immense structure. “I lament that there has been no elven food to bring him, however…”

Bleys the Aubergine said nothing in return.

“Do you know any elven foods?” the guard stopped and looked at him smiling.

“No.”

“I thought you might suggest some… But you do not know any elven foods? Do you know any elven at all?” the guard asked.  He continued to lead the way.

“No,” Bleys replied. “What is your name?”

“Jeffry, sir…”

“Why do you ask these things?”

“I just thought Master Oroleniel might prefer to converse in his own tongue,” the guard suddenly seemed a bit nervous to Bleys. “It might make him more comfortable to speak in the language of his people… If only there was a way for you to understand him if he spoke in that tongue…”  

A moment later they arrived at thick wooden door reinforced by bands of black steel.  Jeffry took a key from his belt and slipped the key in the lock gently, but before turning it, knocked loudly.  “Master Oroleniel, you have a visitor!” He called through the door before shoving it open.  It was clearly heavy and fit snugly into its frame.

Beyond the door was something that was far from the cell one might imagine someone accused of treason would reside in.  It was decorated and furnished as a fancy sitting room with a cot holding a feather mattress in one corner.  There was a desk and small table with a tray of food.  The room had its own potbelly stove, and a night table with a large bronze basin. There was a narrow shaft in the opposite wall, about two feet high and one foot wide, through which cold air seeped out.  It must have lead to a window that overlooked the bay. Oroleniel the Salmon came around the table and folded his hands in front of him.

“At last…”

Jeffry left them, and Oroleniel gestured for Bleys to sit across him at the table.

“It is good that we can finally speak privately,” Bleys said.

“Yes, it is…” Oroeleniel opened his eyes and looked at Bleys from beneath his brow, while quickly touching two cupped fingers to his ear. He cocked his head back to the window shaft.  Bleys nodded his understanding.

-------------------------------------------------------

“It is good to have friends,” Novius Sebastian Swann said to the other Signers back in the dining room as he finished a harrowing tale of escape from pirates.  They drank brandy and munched on warmed pastries filled with a warm sweet milk paste.  Lord Septimias Giaus Swann had left with his Vizier soon after Bleys had, and Decima Aurora Swann excused herself soon after that.

“Yes, it is,” Victoria agreed.  Novius seemed to address her more than the others, and had stopped his story on at least two occasions to ask her opinion on some fine point of battle or honor.

“And it is in times of adversity that the fastest friendships are forged,” the smiling man continued.  Telémahkos. Timotheus and Markos all took sidelong glances at Laarus.  “And sometimes unusual ones…”

“Speaking of unusual, have you ever traveled to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West? What do you know of the state of trade between our nations?” Telémahkos asked.

“Well… I of course would not know too much of that… But I have been to that strange land, though not very populated parts… It was back in my adventuring days…” Novius began another tale.

------------------------------------------------------------

Back in the small room where Oroleniel the Salmon was being held, the half-elven watch-mage moved the tray over and placed down a lacquered wooden board covered in letters, numbers and other symbols.  The words ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in the top left and right corner respectively.  In his hands he held a wooden ring that held a lens.

Bleys walked over from the stove, from where he had placed a small log inside, rubbing soot between his fingers.  As he sat back down across from Oroleniel looking at the board, he pressed his finger on the edge of the plate, taking a few grains of salt.

“Since you are a diviner, I assume you know what this is?” Oroleniel asked. 

“Yes, though I have never used one,” Bleys replied. “I always thought it was more an implement of witchcraft… Though there are some divinatory spells I have heard of that could use such a board as a focus… Why do you have it?”

“A curiosity I thought you might appreciate,” Oroleniel said, but as he spoke, he moved the lens set in the wooden frame over the letters, spelling out, “Signal to me.”   He turned the board around.

“_Would you mind if I spoke some in elvish?_” Oroleniel asked in his mellifluous tongue.

Bleys nodded and then spoke some arcane words, casting _comprehend languages_.

“_I am sure you have many questions to ask me, so why don’t you ask them,_” Oroleniel said, continuing in elvish.

“Why don’t you just tell me what happened when you left here with Sir Septimias Benedict Swann?” Bleys asked.

Oroleniel nodded and began a long detailed account of the ride out to Bog End and then out into the Crossroads Bog.  He spoke in common, but included asides and opinions in elvish and used the lens to point to ‘no’ when he was stretching some truth. He told of how Sir Septimias Benedict Swann’s over-confidence and desire for glory led him to make poor choices, and it was his fault the men-at-arms died, drawn into deep bogs by crafty muckdwellers that had nothing to do with Chok’tem’s tribe.

“Parleying with the lizardfolk once we actually found them was nearly impossible,” Oroleniel explained. “Sir Septimias was infuriated, certain that the muckdwellers were obeying the Goldstraw tribe, and he interpreted any act on their part that was not immediate obedience and surrender as threatening.  While on watch one morning, I spotted lizardfolk approaching and went ahead to parley before Sir Septimias could wake up, but he found us and immediately accused me of being a traitor, but as my people say…”

And now Oroleniel the Salmon spoke in the elven tongue, but rather than any saying, he added to his tale. “Actually, he caught me the second time when we were trying to arrange for a way to pass the whereabouts of the evil lizardfolk back to me so I might lead the knights towards lizardfolk that actually are hostile…”

“Did you not try to explain yourself to Sir Septimias?” Bleys asked.

“Of course, but he was not about to listen to me or believe Chok’tem that a splinter group of his tribe had turned to worshiping the serpent god and were up to no good,” the half-elf explained, switching back to common tongue. “It was evident that he was unwilling to make any distinctions between lizardfolk.”

“What did you do then?” Bleys asked.

“Well, I was forced to use my magic to keep him and his men from killing Chok’tem and his rangers,” Oroleniel said. “And then of course, I had to flee myself when he threatened me with arrest…”

“And this was before or after Sir Septimias went to Gullmoor?” Bleys asked.

“After, I went with him to Gullmoor to recoup and gather more men,” Oroleniel answered.  “When Sir Quintus Gosprey heard the news he hurried out to the bog with his squire and were never heard from again… It is said they both perished in the bog.  Let me say a prayer for his soul in the tongue of my people…” But he did not say a prayer, instead he said, “Quintus and his squire were still alive last I saw them, and aiding Chok’tem in rooting out the evil lizardfolk who have abandoned their tribe… Furthermore, he believes that this is all a distraction to keep attention away from something going on in Moraes Heng, but he was never able to figure out exactly what, or explain why he thought this…”

Bleys nodded solemnly, but Oroleniel continued in elvish. “It is imperative that no one know of his survival so that he may continue to work unhindered and he not be forced to choose to fight against his comrades in arms.”

“And what would you have me do?” Bleys asked.

“It is imperative that you go to the Crossroads Bog and figure out what is going on for yourself and put an end to this needless violence,” Oroleniel said. “You and I both know that Chok’tem and his people may not want violence and want nothing more to contribute to cause of Thricia, but they will defend themselves if attacked and these honorable creatures will be driven off for having caused no ill.”

“I agree,” Bleys said.  “Tell me, what do you know of MacHaven?”

“The bandit leader? Not much…”

“Do you think he is involved?” 

“Before I decided to sneak back into New Harbinger to get my spellbook, I heard word in Bog End that the bandits were becoming more brazen…” Oroleniel replied. “It may be they are involved in whatever is going on, but I cannot say for sure…”

“Was Lorkas Twelf among those sent out of Gullmoor to aid Sir Septimias?” Bleys asked.

“Actually, he was… How did you know?” Oroleniel was looked puzzled.

“He is the only man aside from Sir Quintus that I know out of Gullmoor,” Bleys said.

“I believe he can be trusted to listen to reason…” Oroleniel said in Elvish again.  “Tell me, I have been cut off from news here… How goes the Lizardbane’s efforts to slay or drive off the Goldstraw?”

“The lord informed us that he was able to burn down one of their villages and smash a number of lizardfolk eggs with the aid of Thricius of Anhur…”

Oroleniel’s head drooped. “That will make reconciliation even more difficult, if not impossible… But still, it must be attempted…”

“Now, what of this book? The Pillars of Thricia?” Bleys asked.

“Of that I cannot tell you…” Oroleniel looked down. “But I can say that I have no seditious intent against Thricia.  The book was a gift and an intellectual curiosity…”

“Who gave it to you?” Bleys asked.

“I cannot say,” the half-elf watch-mage replied. He looked up.

“Lord Swann plans to bring this matter to the Margrave,” Bleys said.

Oroleniel laughed. “Let him! The Margrave has better things to do than to deal with this misunderstanding! The young lord will find himself adequately chastened for his overreaction and for imprisoning a watch-mage!”  The half-elf smiled more broadly than Bleys had ever witnessed, and he winked and touched two fingers to his ear again.

“Very well, if there is nothing else I shall inform my companions of what is going on and we shall return to that area and investigate…” Bleys said.

“Yes, my advice is to either go into the Crossroads Bog and seek out the splinter group, or to go to Moraes Heng and see if you can get to the bottom of whatever is going on there, as the involvement of the soldiers from Gullmoor in the bog skirmishes means there is no one looking out for the people and lands there…”

Bleys nodded.  Oroleniel the Salmon wished him well and that the gods watch over their efforts to bring justice to the land.  They both stood and Bleys the Aubergine shook his colleague’s hand.  He knocked on the door, and was led back to the dining room to meet up with the others.

_…to be continued…_

----------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

1 Session #29 was played on Sunday, April 13, 2008 in Brooklyn, New York.

2 The disagreement over Gaius taking power upon reaching 18 years of age rather than waiting until he was 21 as his father had willed and as his uncle, the regent, felt should be case, led to Octavian Benedict Swann being unofficially exiled from the court.

3 Special thanks to Markos’s player, John G. for doing research on some foods to use as local delicacies.


----------



## BlackCat

A couple of things:

Julia is Little Ben's (the family nickname for Sir Lizardbane) sister, not brother.

Sir Decimus Wilmus is married to Anwyn Schemerhorn. Novius Varius is his late older brother.

The former Regent is Octavion Benedict, not Septimias.

I'm sure you regret that naming convention as much as I do. I apolgize for that but all I can say in my own defense is that hindsight is 20/20.

More, please!


----------



## el-remmen

Those damn Swanns!  I'm tempted to have a meteor smash into New Harbinger and decimusating them all! 

Corrections made.


----------



## handforged

And the plot thickens...

Did you actually use a quija board in play?  It is an interesting way to pass messages silently.

I am curious to see where this all goes, it seems that the Signers could gain a significant enemy in House Swann.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

handforged said:


> Did you actually use a quija board in play?  It is an interesting way to pass messages silently.
> 
> ~hf




You know, originally I wanted to - but I was also looking for a way to balance the fact that that whole scene involved only one character, and while I am all for letting individual PCs get their spotlight, I knew if I actually used a quija board it would have been a lot longer and involved of a scene than it was and harder for me to move back and forth between Bleys's conversation with Oroleniel and the dinner conversation of the other PCs.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #29 – “Bogged Down With Them Bog End Blues” (part 2 of 3)*

The after dinner drinks and desserts were being finished up.  Novius Sebastian Swann was speaking quietly with Markos in one corner of the room, sharing one last drink, and Victoria and Laarus had had a long and detailed conversation about the citadel’s defenses, while Timotheus and Telémahkos got drunk out of boredom. As Novius left he took a moment to say good night to everyone, pausing a bit longer with Victoria, gently taking her hand, but shaking it with respectful firmness.

Tabitha Mark had informed Bleys that the Lord would be calling on him the next day to discuss what she referred to as ‘the interrogation,’ and the watch-mage asked for her to arrange for a message he would write to be sent to Terrance the Yellow in the Steads.  “Do me a favor?” Markos asked Victoria as the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland made their way back to their guest quarters.  “Could you make some time to pay a visit to Novius Swann while we are here?”

“To what end?” Victoria asked. Timotheus began to grin, and gave his cousin an elbow.

“Just to say ‘good day’ to be personable…” Markos replied lamely. “I mean… I think he is like us… older, but once a young noble adventurer… He would be a good ally to have… Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, you should have no trouble talking to him, Vee… You are so personable!” Timotheus was fighting back laughter.

“I don’t know how I could have gotten that reputation,” Victoria frowned.

“You are such a chatterbox!” Tim teased.

“She speaks when she has something important to say,” Laarus came to his companion’s defense. “Unlike most people…”

Timotheus rolled his eyes at the young priest.

“So will you do it?” Markos asked the militant.

“If I have time I will see if I can see him…” Victoria replied with a tone that did not fill Markos with confidence. He pouted. 

Down in the common room they fell to talking what Oroleniel had said to Bleys.  The purple-robed mage broke it down to a basic choice, “Go into the bog and seek out Chok’tem and Sir Quintus, or go to Moraes Heng and look into whatever is going on there, which Oroleniel could tell me little about…”

“The problem with the bog is that we will run afoul of Sir Septimias and the other knights,” Victoria said.

“Couldn’t we get a warrant for Quintus’ arrest? That way we can get by the knight unmolested,” Markos suggested.

“Everyone thinks he is dead and it should remain that way,” Bleys said looking around to get a sense of how easy it would be for them to be overheard.

“Is being overheard a real danger?” Timotheus asked. Bleys nodded.  The brawny warrior hurried to his cell and fetched his lyre, and dragging a chair over by the door he began to strum it with no talent as he had been doing on occasion lately. The poorly plucked notes echoed in the outer hall.

“Chok’tem and his people can hide indefinitely, including from us if they did not know we were coming,” Bley said.  “I think whatever is happening in the bog, the real issue is in the Vale.”1

“What is the source of this notion?” Victoria asked.

“I am drawing my own conclusions…” Bleys began.

“Oh! The Academy allows that?” Markos interrupted with a wide self-congratulatory grin.

Bleys simply continued. “Moraes Heng has wealth and prestige, what does the bog have? Peat moss and lizardfolk and muckdwellers… The former seems more likely the target of a plot if the soldiers of Gullmoor are drawn off to fight the Goldstraw.”

“I vote for doing what Bleys says,” Timotheus said, calling over from the doorway. He had been barely listening.

“If we have to do one of these two things, I think we should go into the bog,” Laarus said, speaking for the first time. His head had been bowed, taking in everyone’s speculation and questions.  “At least there we have a lead.  We have no idea where to begin at Moraes Heng…”

“What say you, Telémahkos?” Victoria asked. The blond Briareus looked up startled.  He had barely been following the discussion at all.  Instead, he was tracing out circles and lines and names on a blank page in a journal his cousin carried, but never used.

“Well, I’ve been working on something else, though I must admit I only half-remember my lessons on the connections between the various noble houses, but I have come to some conclusions,” Telémahkos pressed the pages of book flat and looked very satisfied with himself.  “If you think about the bond between Wetherwax and Tenbrook, but Tenbrook and Swann are rivals, right?  And then over here, you have Devenpeck and Vandermok, and keeping in mind that the Heralds are trying to break free of the control of the Coopers…”

“Telémahkos!” Bleys’ voice rose as it rarely did, stopping the dandyish Briareus short.  “What bearing does this have on the matter at hand and the decision we must make?”

“I just feel like we’ve been acting without enough information…” Telémahkos replied.

“Get to the point…” Bleys said, flatly, but after a few more minutes of long-winded introduction, all Telémahkos could come up with was that he felt that the Vandermoks might behind the plot against the Wetherwax fleet. “If they are involved in what is going on here, weakening House Swann, who are allies of Wetherwax, when the blow comes, Devenpeck, Vandermok’s bannermen, will be in a position to take up the slack…”

“You have not said anything I have not already considered,” Bleys said. “We have no evidence…”

“How can we find some?” Markos asked, suddenly interested in Telie’s diagrams.

“By following the leads we have whether they end up connected to the rivalry of the noble houses or not,” Victoria said. “It makes no sense to worry about this now.”

“I concur,” said Bleys. “None of this has any bearing…”

“No! Don’t forget the savage tide and the pearls of power!” Markos interrupted. “This can all be connected!”

“They are not _pearls of power_,” Bleys said, glaring at Markos.# “And sitting here dreaming up connections will not make them so. We have a decision to make here, bog or vale, which shall it be?”

“Vale,” Markos acquiesced.

“Yep, I say the same,” Timotheus called over.

“I disagree that there are only two options,” Laarus suddenly said.

“Yes, have we considered the possibility of freeing Oroleniel?” Telémahkos offered. 

“Have you gone mad?” Victoria asked.  Bleys and Laarus simply stared at Telémahkos, while Markos laughed.

“I just thought we could use his help…” He added weakly.

“This was not the third option I had in mind, “ Laarus said, letting the topic drop.  “I was referring to our need to seek out the former member of the organization we find ourselves at odds with… and our trip to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West.”2

“There is that…,” Telémahkos said.

“The bog or the vale? These avenues aid small groups, but when the Savage Tide comes all of Thricia shall be endangered,” Laarus stood, and grew flush as he was prone to do when speaking with passion, because of his pale complexion.

“Oh? What does going down there have to do with that?” Timotheus said, turning his in his seat to face the group, and laying off strumming his lute.

“The Mind of Oberah gave us Torn’s name… It spoke of the savage tide that helped wipe out the Ancients…” Laarus explained, his voice growing louder.  “It said we should act with alacrity!”3

“I think he may be right…” Telémahkos said with reluctance.  Timotheus went back to playing.

“We are only involved in this by our own choice,” Laarus said, calming down some. “The trip to see this man involves a higher duty…”

“You are wrong,” Bleys said flatly, standing as well. “I have a duty to Oroleniel the Salmon, not only because we are both watch-mages, but because he became involved with the Goldstraw at my behest… Furthermore, the people of Thricia will be aided now if we stamp out this threat of rogue lizardfolk, MacHaven’s Brood and whatever corruption may be afoot in Gullmoor… And while we have reasons to seek out this Torn, the word of a mysterious oracle that claims to be from ‘beyond time and space’ is not the foremost of those…”

“Not to mention the problematic nature of pre-destination, which is something I have been thinking about in regards to this oracle and how it knew we would be where we were and when…” Markos piped up.  In fact…” He was drowned out by Telémahkos’ angry voice as he and Laarus fell to arguing about what choice to make. The blond Briareus had changed his mind again, convinced by Bleys’ words and his general dislike of Laarus.

“It is a matter of time!” Laarus insisted.  Victoria wandered over to where Timotheus continued to play, growing bored of the fighting, and waiting for everyone else to decide before giving her own opinion, as was her habit in these cases.  “May I play with your lute?” She asked Tim.

“You can play with my lute anytime!” Timothus handed it over and waggled his eyebrows, smiling widely.  Victoria glared at him as she grabbed the instrument and turned away, plucking cautiously at the strings, as if it might spring a trap.

“The last point and most important reason that we cannot ignore this matter and go to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West, is that we still need to contact Holy Captain Esperson Wetherwax for his aid in securing us passage there, and that alone may take weeks, in the meantime we can look into this…”

It was finally agreed to drop the trip to the Kingdom of the Red God of the West as an immediate option and a vote was taken regarding which avenue to investigate. The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland chose to look into the Vale (aka Moraes Heng) unanimously.4


Ralem, the 22nd of Syet - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Early the next morning, Bleys the Aubergine was called before Lord Septimias Gaius Swann, and the watch-mage decided to bring Telémahkos Briareus with him.  He carried ‘the Pillars of Thricia’ with him.

“And what did you learn from your traitorous brethren?” Lord Swann asked.  He was sitting and eating breakfast in a small private dining room, noted for a wall of shelves holding steins of various kinds and origins. Bleys and Telémahkos were made to stand before the Lord’s table, while Tiperol Dust, the grand vizier, stood to his Lord’s left.

“Not much,” Bleys replied. “And I am not wholly convinced that he is traitorous, but rather that this is some form of misunderstanding exacerbated by zealousness…”

“Really?” Lord Swann looked up and looked right into Bleys’ eyes.  The watch-mage noted the youth in the Lord’s face.  In the morning light coming through a nearby open window, he seemed almost child-like.

“Yes, Lord,” Bleys said. “My companions and I plan to head out to the area of the Vineyard Vales to investigate a lead that Oroleniel supplied us with…”

“The Vale? What are you going there for?  The stories of the bugs?”

“Bugs, sir?” Telémahkos dared to ask.  

Lord Swann shot him a look, and then turned back to Bleys. “Locusts and other insects have destroyed much of this year’s vintage. It is unfortunate, but not unheard of…”

“The locusts could be the lizardfolk channeling dark powers…” Telémahkos suggested.  Lord Swann leaned over to his vizier, who shook his head.

“If there is a connection between the trouble in the Crossroads Bog and the locusts, then word should be sent to the Lizardbane so that he might release some of the Viceroy’s men to return and check on it.  To send the Signers would be to insult the viceroy by meddling in his domain…” The vizier said.

“Or…” Telémahkos pushed, continuing to address Septimias Gaius Swann. “You could send us to aid him under your writ as Lord, but to be used as he needs…”

“Hmm,” The vizier rubbed his chin and smiled, as if seeing Telémahkos for the first time. “That _would_ be a wise approach…”

Lord Swann waved his hand dismissively. “I had another, more important mission in mind for you and your companions, Master Bleys…” He paused and looked at them both.  “I was hoping you’d do me the favor of bringing this seditious book to the Margrave and inform her of our dilemma and the danger of these Pillars…” Lord Swann patted the book where it lay on the table.  “I can arrange for a ship to carry you all to the City of the Spices as soon as tomorrow…”

“Well, an audience is inevitable and it makes sense to get it over with as soon as possible for Oroleniel’s sake, however, I am duty bound to look into the circumstances of his alleged crimes firsthand, and that means going to the Vales,” Bleys replied. “We would be more than honored to take the book afterward…”

Young Lord Swann took a deep breath, and he dropped his fork into his bowl of oatmeal and fruit so that it clattered loudly. He slowly got to his feet, resting his hands on the table. He was barely taller than Telémahkos, and much shorter than both Bleys and his vizier. “Of course… If you feel you must do this, then you must, but while I’d prefer this matter taken care of sooner.  Why not take the book with you and continue your journey northward from there…? ”

“And we were to be stopped along the way, the book found on us? Would we then not be the seditious ones?” Bleys asked.  

“I shall write a letter marked with my seal making you official custodians of the book…”

“Since you are offering to write letters, might we trouble you for an introduction to the viceroy of Gullmoor?” Telémahkos reached, and the lord grit his teeth and nodded.

“It shall be yours…” He said.

“Oh! And since you can arrange for a ship, and the journey to the City of the Spices from Gullmoor is much greater than to just go to Moraes Heng and back, mighten we leave the book here, and then return when we are done and travel by ship then…?” Telémahkos flashed his widest smile.

There was a long pause, and the vizier leaned over and whispered in the lord’s ear. The young man nodded, “Of course…”

Bleys and Telémahkos were dismissed.


Isilem, the 23rd of Syet - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Some time after noon the next day, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland found themselves approaching the village of Bog End once again.  Bleys and Telémahkos had informed their companions of what Lord Swann had said and wanted of them, and how they had managed to change his mind, or at the very least get him to agree to a compromise.  Timotheus was angered, objecting to being considered a mere messenger boy by the lord, and Markos was disgusted when he found out the promise to passage to the City of Spices did not include passage back.  Laarus of Ra concluded that the Lord and/or the Grand Vizier was trying to be rid of them and hopefully put as much distance between them and whatever was going on in the bog or in the Vineyard Vales.

“It seems to suggest we made the correct choice in taking this route,” the young priest said, and while Markos opened his mouth to comment, for once he thought better of it, and just closed it right back again.

It was a windy day, and though they were kept warm by their pace and the sun, whenever they slowed it cut them deep.  It robbed them of much desire to talk.

“Let’s check in on Wallaby and see if taking out those bandits was a good idea,” Telémahkos yelled,5 spurring his horse to get ahead of the others.  But as the trail rounded the first house of Bog End, looking all the more shabby under the full light of day, he noticed that the yellow sign was gone.  The wide front door was covered with the wooden barrier the halfling used to close it down at night.

He pulled up in front of it and looked around.  The hamlet was quiet, but as the other nobles caught up it was broken by a familiar annoying voice.

“Hey ya! Lookie who it is!” It was Tavius. The lanky man squinted and grinned and then spat. He wore his tall waders and a leather cap that held fishing hooks and a lure.

“Ugh,” Telémahkos did not bother hiding his dislike of the party’s one-time guide.6

“What happened here? Where is Wallaby Wringneck?” Bleys asked Tavius as he rode up.

“What do you _think_ happened?” Tavius said, smirking.

“I am asking you what _did_ happen…” Bleys reiterated.

“Can’t you figure it out?” Tavius asked.

“Did someone harm him? Or kidnap him?” Bleys asked.

“And who might do that?” Tavius asked.

“MacHaven’s Brood?” Timotheus said, shaking head at Tavius’ obtuseness.

Tavius rolled his eyes and slouched in exasperation.

”What? He’s not a wizard like in the old stories. He won’t just appear because you said his name,” Timotheus said.

“You don’t have to be a wizard to hear a rumor about me talking about you,” Tavius replied.

“Where are the soldiers of Gullmoor? Are they not charged with keeping these lands safe?” Bleys asked.

“Off hunting greenbacks! What else?” Tavius replied.  “Will you be going back into the bog? Need a guide? I been raking it in hand over fist since this whole thing started.”

“We aren’t going there… We’re going up to Moraes Heng,” Timotheus said.

“The Vineyard Vales? Well, why didn’t you say? I know the Vales like the back of my hand,” Tavius stood up straight and saluted. “You’ll need my guiding skills!”

“He’s got a point,” Timotheus turned to the others. “We will need help finding leads…”

Laarus objected to re-hiring the man, but he was outvoted.  Even Victoria voted against the young priest of Ra.  Tavius fetched his pony, and soon they were off again.

It was another three hour climb, the bog peeling away from a step hill trail choked on both sides with bright chokeberry shrubs and fragrant wintersweet, but as it grew even more steep the black earth gave way to stone in sharp angles covered in black moss.

At one point, when Telémahkos was near the front, Tavius slowed his space to come up beside him. 

“Listen, let me know if you need me to slow ‘em down… Na’mean?” Tavius winked.7

Bleys, overhearing, spurred his horse to catch up to them.  “Why would Telémahkos wish to slow us down?”

“I have no idea what he’s taking about,” Telémahkos said. He turned to Tavius with anger in his eyes. “There is no reason to delay!”

Tavius snickered and rode to the front again.  Bleys continued to ride abreast of Telémahkos.

_…to be continued…_

-----------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

1 “The Vineyard Vales” is another name for the steads of Moraes Heng. It is also the name of an adventure from Dungeon Magazine, issue #23 (published May/June 1990), written by Randy Maxwell.

2 The Signers received information from Joezyn Barhyte regarding the location of Stanislaw Torn, the Kingdom of the Red God of the West, in Session #22

3 See Session #21

4 Don’t ask me how they came to a unanimous decision after all their bickering, I just know it was marked down in the notes that they did.

5 The Signers defeated Furious Garry and his men in Wallaby’s pub in Session #28.

6 Tavius acted as their guide back in Session #2.

7 Telémahkos paid Tavius of Bog End extra silver to delay the group’s journey into Crossroads Bog when the man first acted as their guide.  Again, see Session #2.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #29 – “Bogged Down With Them Bog End Blues” (part 3 of 3)*

Gullmoor was a small square fortress of gray stone adjacent to (but slightly above) a fortified village surrounded by a wall of thick tar-covered logs.   The fort and village overlooked the trail, which they could see made its way down to the great plateau of Moraes Heng.  The wind here was especially cold, and to their right they could see the green of Drie-Hoek Bay.  They could smell it on the air for some time, even though this was the first time since leaving Bog End it came into view.

“You know… Maybe we shouldn’t go to Gullmoor…” Telémahkos said.

“Why not?” asked Bleys.

”What if the Viceroy is involved in whatever is going on?” Telémahkos said.  “He could delay us, or refuse us passage in Moraes Heng…”

“If that were to happen we’d have to go back to the bog regardless,” Bleys replied. “If we were to go on to Moraes Heng without presenting ourselves to the viceroy we would be putting ourselves under suspicion and breaking etiquette.  We have a letter from Lord Swann that you wisely procured. It shall be all we need…”

When asked what he knew of the viceroy, all Tavius had to say was that he was “a mean old man.”

The smell of sea salt on the air actually increased as they made their way up to Gullmoor.  As they passed through the village towards the gate, they could see a depression in the earth near the middle of the village, and small blasts of sea water occasionally echoed from deep within sending small streams of foam to slip back down into the cave at the depression’s center.1  A couple of gulls were slowly circling the hole. There was downcast aura to the village.  The houses were shabby and dark, and those near the center of town crusted with sea salt.  The villagers looked up at them as they walked their horses to the gate, but said nothing.

“Who goes there?” the guard at the gate to Gullmoor called down. He was dressed in studded leather and wrapped in a dirty fur cloak, and held a spear.

“We are the Sons of Thricia, also known as the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland,” Timotheus called up.

“…And the Scions of Thricia,” Markos added.

“Damn it!” Timotheus hissed. “No one knows what a ‘scion’ is.  Soon they’ll be calling us ‘scullions’.”

“Yes! Tell the noble Viceroy that the _Scions_ of Thricia are here with a letter of introduction from Lord Swann in New Harbinger and seek an audience with him,” Telémahkos called up, as Timotheus scowled, obviously unhappy with the name.2

The young nobles were allowed into the dreary courtyard and met by the steward, Nikloge Nogent. The mousy middle-aged man gave them a subdued greeting, took the letter of introduction from Telémahkos and had them wait.  There were several buildings within Gullmoor’s walls. After being made to wait nearly forty minutes, they were led into the largest and most central of the structures. It was sprawling low-built building in the style of the old meadhalls.  Some young men led the party’s horses off to a stable.

Before entering the Viceroy’s audience chamber, the Signers were asked to leave large or extraneous weapons behind, and to peace-knot their swords. Telémahkos looked to Bleys and then Timotheus nervously.  The watch-mage ignored him, but his cousin smiled to dismiss the worry.

The audience chamber was dim, and flanked on two sides by two great hearths decorated with a variety of stuffed birds.  Braziers burned low as they entered, but servants were adding fuel to make them glow more brightly. Augustin Demius Gosprey III, the viceroy of Moraes Heng and lord of Gullmoor had creases on his face that aged him beyond his years. The hair left on his balding pate was startling white, as was his beard. He wore no mustache in an allusion to the Swann-style, but the length and fullness of his beard asserted his difference.  He had thin, but broad shoulders, and his long legs suggested an imposing height when standing. Wrapped in a thick dark blue woolen robe, he was seated upon a large chair propped up with pillows, and accompanied by a man in red robes, with a goatee and a shaved head, and the steward.

The young nobles bowed and were introduced by the steward.  The man in the red robes was identified as Kaj Kahn, the viceroy’s court wizard.  The man spoke with a slight accent that marked him as not Thrician born.

“So, you have been sent by Lord Swann?” the viceroy asked.

“No,” Laarus replied, much to everyone’s surprise.

“So my secretary lied?” Augustin raised his eyebrows.

“No, sir…” Telémahkos said, stepping forward. “What my companion meant to say is that when we informed the Lord of our intention to come here he was only happy to write us a letter of introduction to aid us on our way, but it was not his idea to send us…”

“Hmmm… Yes, well…” The viceroy thought this over for a long uncomfortable moment. “So what brings you here?”

Telémahkos went into truncated account of the party’s adventures in the Crossroads Bog and negotiations meeting with Chok’tem of the Goldstraw Tribe of lizardfolk.   He then explained how Oroleniel the Salmon had accompanied Sir Septimias Benedict Swann at the behest of Bleys.  “And so, as you can imagine… We feel somewhat responsible for this situation and feel like there has been some kind of misunderstanding…”

”Ah, yes… I heard that you had fallen for the lizardman lies,” the viceroy said.

“Not lies, my lord…” Victoria of Anhur interjected.  “These creatures seemed sincere in their desire to ally themselves with Thricia and House Swann…”[sup3[/sup]

“We have reason to believe that an internal conflict among the lizardfolk has led to this current situation, but it is only a small minority of the Goldstraw. The majority of the tribe are innocent of wrong-doing,” Telémahkos said. “We think perhaps this is all a distraction from what is happening in the Vineyard Vales…”

“You mean the locusts?” 

“Yes, the locusts…” Telémahkos nodded. “We think they may be being summoned specifically to destroy the harvest.” 

“How do you know this?”

“Information I gained from Oroleniel while we were in New Harbinger,” Bleys answered.

“But isn’t he a rogue watch-mage?” the Viceroy asked.4

“That remains to be seen,” Telémahkos said. “And by investigating the lead he gave us we may be able to settle that matter one way or another…”

The viceroy was quiet for another long moment, looking at Telémahkos intently.  He then cleared his throat and spoke again, “I know your father.  He is a good man, a man after my own heart… We have played King’s Men many times…”

”I hope to show some of his wisdom as I grow older…” Telémahkos smiled.

The old man coughed out what might have been a laugh.  “With my men chasing after lizardmen in the bog, I would be a poor steward of these lands if I did not take advantage of your presence to at least rule out treachery in the Heng… You have my leave to inquire there and determine if there is an unnatural source for these insects.”

“So perhaps we might get a writ with your seal, explaining that we travel and inquire with your blessing?” For the second time in two days Telémahkos found himself pushing a noble of higher station.

The viceroy was quiet again, but finally nodded. “You shall have your writ.”

“My lord, may I ask after your eldest son? The militant of Anhur?” Victoria asked.

“Thricius… He is not the eldest. My eldest has joined the knights and warriors gathered by House Roose to deal with the hobgoblins reported in the Schrabs,” Augustin replied.  “Thricius left for the bog three days ago, after having returned to recoup and gather more men…”

Soon after, the Viceroy excused himself and wished the Signers luck in their search, and offered them a place to stay if they wanted to head out in the morning.  However, the young nobles were eager to proceed and left right after the steward brought them the writ with the viceroy’s seal.

Moraes Heng was a large verdant plateau several miles long and wide that hung several hundred feet above the north edge of the Crossroads Bog.  The top of the plateau was carved in great green ridges that divided up the land into large steads.  The trail led down to the plateau and soon they were riding in the shadow of one of the ridges as the sun was disappearing ahead of them.  A wooden sign posted where the trail on out to the Vales branched pointed out the way to different steads. To the right was the Greylight Stead and the Gosprey Steads, and to the left was the Winter, Tarchon and Vanderboren Steads.

“Vanderboren?” Telémahkos asked aloud.

“Lavinia’s parents did own property throughout Thricia,” Bleys said. “Perhaps that is a place to seek information…”

“Or the _Winter_ Stead, _Bleys_…” Timotheus suggested, speaking with a patronizing tone.

“What is it we are looking for here?” Laarus asked, still clearly annoyed with having to come here at all.

“Bandits…” Timotheus replied.

The land about them was bound by low stone walls that curved up and down over the ridges.  Vines and drooping trees were thick along the borderlands, but everywhere they went they saw signs of destruction.  Leaves and fruit devoured and ruined.

They spotted a group of people coming up the trail in the opposite direction.  It was an extended family of about sixteen people along with two large wagons covered drawn by oxen and three dogs.

Greeted by the young nobles, the people stopped and the patriarch of the family did most of the talking. He was a careworn man whose many winters were visible in the creases on face, but he was still hearty and strong.  He told a sad tale of how the locusts had devoured the plot of land his family worked for a local landlord.  They were moving to New Harbinger.  

When asked about the locusts, the man described how at first larger and larger swarms were arriving, but then there were smaller swarms of larger locusts.

“How large?” Telémahkos asked.  The man held his hands about two and a half feet apart.

“Those are some locusts!” Timotheus swore.

“And so late in the season…” The man added.

“This has to be a coincidence…” Telémahkos murmured, still thinking about the Vanderborens.  Then he spoke up. “What can you tell us about the Vanderboren stead?”

The man could not say much, except that the owners had died and the place had skipped a growing season.  He added that only the largest estates that could afford to absorb the loss of the grapes and other crops were still functioning.

Thanking them for their help, Bleys gave the man three pieces of silver for his trouble, and Victoria added four of her own.  The man’s eyes lit up in response to their generosity.   “What do you call yourselves?” he asked.

“The Scions of Thricia,” Telémahkos quickly replied before anyone else could, but the man looked confused.

“It means ‘children of…’” Timotheus said with a snicker.

As the carts pulled away, the young nobles noticed a group of small children hanging out of the back of one. “Thank you Children on Thricia!” They cried, waving and smiling.

After another fifteen minutes of slow riding in the gathering gloom, they saw a sign pointing to a gap in the hedge ahead of them and to the left. “Winter Stead,” it read.  The wind died down and loud munching and buzzing sound came swelling out from behind he hedge.  The party slowed down.  Bleys the Aubergine put an arrow to his bow, and Victoria called to Anhur, casting _regenerate light wounds_ on Timotheus.  

Tavius slowed down his pony and moved to the far side and the rear of the line.  Telémahkos had his horse inch towards the gate now visible in the gap in the hedge with Bleys and Tim close behind.  It was then that several large locusts, a couple nearly five feet long, came bounding over the hedge at them.

Telémahkos spurred his horse and charged, lowering his lance to catch it on it back, spurting ichor as tried to hop away.  Victoria lowered her spear and charged in as well, but the thing hopped at the last minute and she missed.  Bleys put some room between him and the other bugs, firing an arrow that bit into earth ineffectively.

The battle did not last long. The locusts fought more out of instinct, not malice, going for whatever was aggressive and near them, but just as likely to hop away as they tried to make their way across the road to the stead grounds on the other side.  Telémahkos screamed, as one of the bigger locusts spat some kind of acidic goo at him, despite the fact that he raised his shield to block the worst of it.

Timotheus dismounted, swinging his flail and issuing commands. “Encircle and kill!  Go for the weakened ones!  Don’t let yourself get surrounded!”

Markos cast _acid arrow_ and fried the biggest one, and then urged his horse on to kick at another, crushing its head.  The insect’s legs spasmed futilely.  Unfortunately, another hopped by and spat at Markos, and though he avoided the worst of it, he felt his stomach turn, sickened by the acrid stench of the substance.5

Several more of the locusts were crushed as Victoria turned her horse to go to the aid of Laarus, who dismounted and had three near him.  Markos tried to get his horse to kick again, but it was obstinate.  Bleys had a similar problem with his mount.   He tried an arrow from point blank range, but the horse stepped away from the monstrous insect, throwing off his aim.

It soon became clear that they were in the midst of a leaping migration, as most of the bugs simply leapt past them after a quick bite or spit, landing on the opposite hedge and munching on it.

“Markos! Use that smoke spell of yours! Bugs hate smoke!” Timotheus called.6

Suddenly there was loud cacophonous buzzing from within the Winter Stead, and a great swarm of locusts not as monstrous in size as some of the others, but no less frightening and relentless came leaping over the hedge.  Victoria’s horse screamed as the thousands of biting insects descended on her and her mount, obscuring them.  The militant of Anhur was mostly protected by her armor, but the horse had no such protection.  Bugs splattered against her swinging morningstar, but there were too many for it do make much difference.

“Tymon! We need fire!” Telémahkos called to his manservant, who having dismounted, began to rummage through a pack for torches and flint as he moved over to join Markos.

“May the water gathered up from the world by the sun drown these insects!” Laarus prayed to Ra, _creating water_ above the swarm so that it crashed down upon them. Scores of locusts dropped to the ground, their wings damp, but there were many more swarming about Victoria.  Bracing herself against the pummeling bugs and many bites, she called to Anhur and cast _cure light wounds_ on her horse.

Timotheus moved to aid Victoria, grinning madly with the staccato crunch of locusts against his flail.  Bleys moved to her other side and did the best he could to lessen the swarm by smacking locusts out of it with the flat of his saber.   With an arcane word Markos lit a torch Tymon pulled out, and the swarm instinctively moved away, leaving Victoria to envelope Timotheus. Telémahkos rushed over, grabbing the torch from Tymon and waving the flame at the swarm.  Locusts smoked and burned and the swarm leapt again, landing on the opposite hedge and immediately beginning to devour it.

Now that the locusts had passed, the young nobles were able to catch their breath, and Telémahkos walked over to the gate to look into the Winter Stead.  The others gathered behind him and took in the devastation beyond. The locusts had eaten everything that had once grown within.  All that was left were withering vines on countless trellises.  The trail beyond led to a large manor house.  A man came out from around the side of the house carrying a large torch.  He was middle-aged, but still head of long curly red-brown hair beneath a knit cap.  He wore a cudgel at his side and was accompanied by two younger men, also with clubs and torches.

“Hail and well met!” He called.  Some barking dogs came up the path behind and were quickly hushed. “Run afoul of the swarms, have ya?”

His name was Kelsey Winter, and he was the steward of the this stead, working for his cousin Rafael Winter.  Bleys nodded his recognition of the name.7 

“I’m glad someone is finally looking into this,” he said when Telémahkos introduced them as the Scions of Thricia, Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland.  He went on to tell them that he thought something was afoot. “Sure, locusts have been a problem in the past, but never this late in the season, and did you see the size of some of them?”

They asked if they were still on the trail for the Vanderboren Stead and he confirmed that they were, though they would pass the sizeable Tarchon Steads first.

“Has there been anyone out of the ordinary around?” Telémahkos asked. “Strangers?”

“Strangers? Well, there are those men working up at the Vanderboren Stead,” He said. “But Miss Lavinia and a band of adventurers in her employ came through not long ago and confirmed that yes they were working for her…”

“What was strange about them?” Bleys asked.

“Kept to themselves… I went out greet them and offer them help and got a cold shoulder,” Kelsey went on. “Maybe they sensed I was checking them out and didn’t like it, but still I was trying to be neighborly… They seemed like hard men, more like hunters than men to work in a vineyard…”

“And you said Lavinia was here? How long ago?” Telémahkos asked.  

Two weeks was the answer.  It did not take much to also confirm that the band of adventurers were Maeve the Mauve and the Jade Ravens, now simply calling themselves ‘the Ravens’.

Thanking Kelsey, they rode on. Hoping to reach the Tarchon Steads before nightfall.

*End of Session #29*

--------------------
*Notes:*

1 ‘Salthole’ leads to sea caves that allows the tide to rise up into the depression.

2 At this point in the campaign there were still frequent disagreement about the group’s name both in and out of character.

3 The Signers and Chok’tem negotiated an agreement in Session #3.

4 Watch-mages that violate the rules and restrictions of their order are called “rogue”.

5 _Sickened_ characters suffer a -2 penalty on all attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.

6 Timotheus was referring to the smoke version of the _pyrotechnics_ spell.

7 Rafael Winter is a well-known member of the Winter Family who owns a great deal of land and mercantile businesses, but does not seem to have any desires to attain noble status.


----------



## BlackCat

I'm really enjoying the depth of the Swann territories that they're exploring. I appreciate the range of different terrains and sites that encompass their holdings.

Now if only they weren't such pricks...and by that I mean all the Swanns they'd met that far, though maybe Novius Sebastian may have been a refreshing change, had they spoken with him much.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #30 – “The Vineyard Vales”(part 1 of 3)* 1

“Do you think these locusts could represent some form of the savage tide?” Markos asked.  The Scions of Thricia were riding as fast as they dared westward on Moraes Heng’s lower road.  Soon the Tarchon Steads came into view.  Though the gloom of evening was only just gathering, they carried lit torches in case they ran across more of the insects.

“We do not know what this _savage tide_ is,” Bleys said.

“We know that it has something to do with the ‘pearl of power’ that the bullywugs venerated,” Markos explained.  “And we know the pearl transformed the smuggler’s of Kraken’s Cove into some kind of monstrous frog-men… Sounds like a savage tide to me…”#

“And do not forget what the Mind of Oberah told us,” Laarus said.#

The Tarchon Steads were much larger than any of the other estates they had passed.  A wide road led towards a great grid of fields and vineyards.

The steward was one Baxter Morningfire.  He was suspicious of the Signers at first, and as a result they were suspicious of him.  But his attitude changed when he saw the note from the viceroy and learned they were there to investigate the infestation of locusts.  Also, he knew of them by reputation.

“It is you who aided my master’s son when his master had gone missing…” Baxter said.

”Who is you master?” Bleys asked.

“Sir Valerius Euthymius Tarchon,” the steward replied.#  The knight was not present, as he had rode off to the bog with his men when the news of Sir Quintus Gosprey’s disappearance (and that of his son) had reached him.  “He should be returning tomorrow at some time, at least temporarily.  You are welcome to make camp on our lands and await his arrival. I am sure my master would be honored to meet you…”

“Thank you for your generosity,” Laarus replied. “Tell us, how has the plagues of locusts effected these lands?”

“We have been fortunate…” Baxter said. “While these steads have suffered some, the size of our lands has made it possible for us to harvest some of our late season crops… Other smaller steads have not been so lucky…”

Telémahkos and Timotheus were for staying the night, but the others wanted to move on immediately when Baxter Morningfire confirmed Kelsey Winter’s estimation of the men working at the Vanderboren Estate.2

“Lavinia has reason to be cautious,” Telémahkos said after they thanked the steward and hurried on their way. Night was falling more rapidly, Ra’s Glory racing towards its rest in the Realm of Anubis for the night. “Perhaps the standoffishness of her men is on her order…”

“Perhaps,” replied Bleys. “But that remains to be seen…”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hold! Hail! Well met!” One of the stead hands called out to them as they made their way up the road towards the long house near the entrance to the Vanderboren Stead.  In the dying light, they could see men milling around the long low building and its nearby smaller structures.   Along their left was a row of huge cylindrical hay bales, spaced about ten to fifteen apart and running about 150 yards out to the buildings.  The man remained a good eighty feet ahead of them.

“We are the Scions of Thricia,” Timotheus called out, taking a moment to sneer at his cousin as he said the name. “Also known as the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland!  We are investigating the troubles here in Moraes Heng!”

“No troubles here!” The man called back.

“Giant bugs?” Timotheus asked.

“No issues,” the man called back.  The young nobles all looked at each other with suspicion in their eyes.

“We are also looking to stay the night here,” Timotheus said. “Night is falling and we have traveled far…”

“Not possible…” the man said.  “We have strict orders from the owners of this land…” 

“I am Telémahkos of House Briareus, friend of Lavinia Vanderboren.  Bring your master to us…”

”Of course!” The man called back.  “Please wait where you are!” He turned and began to march quickly towards the longhouse. He gave a few sharp whistles and signaled with a finger.  Some of the workers milling around began to jog out to the other side of the great hay bails, and there was some other activity that was hard to make out in the growing gloom.  Bleys lit a torch and held it aloft, as Markos cast _prestidigitation_.  The watch-mage then cast _protection from arrows_ on Timotheus, wary of the men who have moved out of view.

“Bleys, if we are attacked do we fight or do we leave?” Timotheus asked quietly.

“When I am attacked, I make it a practice of fighting back,” Bleys answered.

“You’re the boss!” Tim replied.

“He is _not_ the boss!” Markos complained.

“We did once agree that he would be party leader…” Telémahkos responded, and the two of them fell to bickering on the matter.

“Shaddap!” Timotheus barked. “This is not the time!  We need to keep our eyes and ears open!” 

Two figures were approaching from the longhouse. One stopped about 100 feet away, but the second approached to about thirty feet, waving a greeting.  

Timotheus noticed yet another figure moving out behind the coils of hay.  “This does not feel right,” he murmured.

“Victoria…” Bleys turned and whispered to the militant. “Ride casually around the back of the hay… Send word back of what you see…”

Victoria of Anhur nodded, and slowly turned her horse, Ironsides, to go around the back of the line of hay.

“Telémahkos accompany her part of the way,” the watch-mage signaled, and the blond Briareus obeyed.

“Where are your friends riding off to?” the approaching man asked. He was perhaps 30 years old, with long brown hair and a long drooping mustache.  He had a hard look, carried himself with confidence.  He wore studded leather armor and carried a long sword at his side.

“We did not want to appear too intimidating in our discussions,” Bleys answered. “They are just looking around…”

“We would rather you did not,” the man said, and he called to them.  “Please halt!” Victoria stopped at the edge of the track, and Telémahkos turned his horse to ride back.

“Who are you?” Timotheus asked.

“I am called Gerloch. I am the foreman here…” He answered. “I am sorry if we seem unwelcoming, but the owners have left strict instructions that no uninvited guests be allowed on the property… There have been unsavory sorts around…”

“Unsavory sorts?” Bleys asked.

“People seeking to purchase this land from our masters…” Gerloch replied. 

“And the locusts? Have they not made this land less valuable?” Bleys asked.

“This land has lain fallow for a season, and thus the locusts had nothing to eat here,” Gerloch explained. “They quickly moved on and we are closing the land down until our masters decide to sell, or prepare for planting in the spring…”

“Well, I am Telémahkos Briareus, of House Briareus and a friend of your mistress, Lavinia Vanderboren,” Telémahkos said, as he rode back up, hearing the end of what the foreman said. “We have been traveling long on the viceroy’s business and need rest.  I invoke our rights as nobles to camp on this land, as I know Miss Vanderboren would grant us that if she were here…”

Gerloch shook his head. “Only the Swanns may invoke such a right, sir… My apologies…” He spoke with a flatness that belied any actual regret.

Telémahkos drew the viceroy’s letter from his toga and rode up some more and handed it to the man. “We have a letter with the Viceroy’s mark granting us leave in these lands to investigate these plagues,” he said to the foreman.  Gerloch barely looked and handed it back, sighing.

“Very well…” the man said. “Please wait here while I make arrangements for a place for you to make camp…” 

“May I compensate you for your troubles?” Telémahkos asked.

“Certainly!” The man perked up and held out a hand into which Telémahkos dropped a silver piece.

Gerloch looked at it, smirked and turned, walking with no hurry back to the long house.

As they waited, Tymon lit up a torch as well, and Tavius, who remained in the rear, hefted a hooded lantern, casting long bouncing shadows of the Signers and their horses.

The young nobles had been waiting a while when Bleys turned his horse and rode slowly back up the track parallel to the great coils of hay.  It was then the he saw a shadowy figure race between two of the coils behind the party’s position.  Casting _message_, he warned Telémahkos, Timotheus and Markos with three short whispers.   He rode closer to the stacks as he passed them trying to get a better look, and then whispered to his companions again, when he heard low sharp whistles on the other side of the hay.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Telémahkos said quietly. “Remember, Lavinia has reason to be cautious and hire mercenaries to aid her…” He turned his horse again, to move towards Bleys.

“She has done it before…” Timotheus nodded.3

“I can hear you skulking there…” Bleys said to the man between the large bales.  The watch-mage urged his horse forward and raised his torch to see the man trying to look casual leaning against the great coil.  He held a short bow upright on the left side of his body, failing to obscure it from sight.

”I’m not skulking,” the man replied. “Just…uh… checking on the hay bales”  He smiled weakly.

“We’re just looking for some flat ground to camp on,” Telémahkos bluffed coming over beside Bleys.

“I am sure the foreman will find you an adequate spot… Wouldn’t want you to get in our way, or have us disturb your rest with our work…”  The man turned and put his hand on the coil behind him. “Yep! This bale looks good…”  The man began to walk off.

“You know, Brother Laarus…” Tavius moved his pony over adjacent to the young priest. “I didn’t get that good a look at him, but I am pretty sure that foreman is one of MacHaven’s men…” He spoke quietly, looking around with caution.

Laarus nodded and moved next to Timotheus to pass the news.  Tim passed the news on to Bleys via the _message_ spell.

“Why would Lavinia have dealings with such men?” Laarus asked Timotheus.

“Because she doesn’t know… Or doesn’t ‘have dealings’… Or, Tavius is wrong,” Timotheus dismissed the suggestion.

“Do you think we’d be in our rights to demand to see whatever papers were signed for these workers’ contractual obligation?” Markos asked Bleys and Telémahkos, riding over to them.

“We are under the viceroy’s aegis,” Telémahkos replied. “We have the right to investigate as we see fit…”

Bleys did not respond, but urged his horse through the dark alley between the tall bales and followed the man who had been lurking there, now moving steadily back in the direction of the longhouse.

“You there! How long until your term of employment is done?” the watch-mage called after him.

“Huh?” The man turned, but continued to take a few steps back. “Until we’re done closing down for the winter, I guess… Maybe another week or two? Gerloch would know best…”

As Bleys continued to question the man, who claimed ignorance on all logistical details of his work, Telémahkos and Markos rode up slowly along the other side of the bails.  Markos noticed another of the ‘workers’ lurking in the shadows of the bales and called out to him. “You! Come on out!”

The man was startled and turning, he began to run out the other side of the bales and towards the longhouse.

“Bleys! Should I detain him?” Markos asked by way of the _message_ spell, but the watch-mage noticed the man emerging from the row of hay bales, and left the man he questioned to spur his horse and chase after the runner.

“Stop!” Bleys commanded and the man obeyed when he realized he could not outrun a horse. “Why do you run?”

“I…uh… got startled by your friend,” the man replied. “I thought he was going to jump me…”

“Why would you think that?” Bleys asked.  “We are friends of Lavinia Vanderboren and are only seeking a place to stay the night…”

“Sometimes people can pretend to be someone who’s not who they really are…” the man replied.

“What were you doing there in the dark?”

“Keeping an eye on you all to make sure you didn’t try anything sneaky while Gerloch makes arrangements,” the man answered.

After a few more questions, Bleys let the man leave and rode back to join the others, along with Telémahkos and Markos.  As he made his way back, Gerloch emerged from the longhouse and called out to them.

“Master Bleys! We have found a place for you to camp!” Gerloch said, approaching. He had another man with him. “Domas, here will lead you there…”

“Gerloch…” Telémahkos said. “We realized we’d be remiss if we did not check your papers for the viceroy…”

”Papers?” Gerloch asked.

“Your contract for work… Anything giving you authority here in the Vanderborens’ absence…” Telémahkos replied.

”Oh… That might take some time to find…” Gerloch said.

“Can you tell us about the circumstances of your hiring?” Bleys asked.

Gerloch explained that a broker who was hired by Lavinia Vanderboren had contacted him and his men. “Soon after we arrived, she and her brother came to check on us and sign the agreement…”

At the mention of Lavinia’s brother, the Signers all looked at each other.

“You mean her brother Lowell?” Bleys asked.

“If they have a brother named Lowell, I don’t know him,” Gerloch replied. “I could have sworn they were orphans…”

“Being orphans doesn’t mean they don’t have other siblings…” Telémahkos said.

“I mean… they are the only Vanderborens left…” Gerloch said. “Vanthus and Lavinia…”

“And they came here, together?” Bleys asked.  The foreman nodded. The young nobles all looked to each other again, skeptical. 

“Just go and get the papers,” Markos insisted.  Gerloch nodded and headed back, signaling for another of the armed field hands to join Domas in front of the party.

_…to be continued…_

------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

1 Session #30 was played Saturday, April 26, 2008 in Maplewood, New Jersey.

2 In Session #29, Kelsey Winter described them as “hard men” who were very stand-offish.

3 Timotheus was referring to Lavinia’s hiring of the Jade Ravens. See Session #8.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #30 – “The Vineyard Vales” (part 2 of 3)*

After another ten minutes of waiting, as the final darkness of evening fell on them, Bleys decided to have a ride around the compound buildings, and asked Timotheus to accompany him.

“I have to request that you here until the foreman returns,” Domas said as he stepped before Bleys’s horse, hands in the air.

“Request noted,” Bleys replied, and he yanked the reins to have his light warhorse turn sharply and trot quickly around the man.  Timotheus followed.

“Are you trying to tell a _watch-mage_ what to do?” Telémahkos sneered at the worker, having his horse take a few steps towards the man.

“Looks like it doesn’t matter either way,” the man replied. He turned and gave a sharp whistle towards the longhouse.

“I think we should move up,” Markos leaned over to his cousin.

“Bleys and Timotheus are already doing enough to provoke them,” Laarus replied.

Bleys and Tim reached the longhouse unmolested.  On the way, Bleys cast _radiant spark_ and he sent it out ahead of them. Long faces looked out at them from the windows along one side of it, and from some kind of small log barracks on its right.  They also noted a henhouse and a shelter for hogs.  The longhouse was very long, and the other end was nearly identical to the end they faced while waiting for the foreman.  Bleys sent the radiant spark far to the left and right as they went around, getting as good a lay of the land as he could. They saw a fine brick house off to the left of the long house. No lights burned inside, and just past it, back towards the front of the longhouse was some kind of kennel.

Meanwhile, Gerloch returned to the others, claiming that he could not find the papers in the mess of the office in the longhouse.

“Then we are going to have to investigate the longhouse,” Markos said.

“On what pretext?” Gerloch asked.

“What do you mean ‘pretext?’” Markos asked. “You don’t have your papers, that’s our _pretext_…”

“We will continue to look while you make your camp,” Gerloch responded. “You can see them in the morning…”

“We are here with the leave of the Viceroy, investigating all manner of problems,” Telémahkos said politely. “I must insist that we go look for them now…”

“Fine. Let’s get it over with…” Gerloch sighed, turning back to the longhouse as the others followed. Telémahkos tried to whisper what had happened to Bleys, but either the spell had expired, or the watch-mage was out of range. Bleys and Timotheus were coming around the other side when they reached the front of the longhouse, and Gerloch quickly explained the situation to them.  Timotheus and Bleys dismounted.  The watch-mage had his _radiant spark_ following at just above his shoulder, but this area was well lit with lanterns hanging from rafters, though crazy shadows danced everywhere. Workers came over to take the reins of their horses.

“Well… Let’s go in…” Gerloch began to lead the way, but Bleys put his hand up refusing to follow.

This end of the longhouse had a set of double doors like hinged panels that folded open to reveal that the entrance way was a small stable that could hold two or three horses.

“Wait,” said Bleys. “I want to know what you know of the unusual occurrences here in the Vales…”

“What unusual occurrences?” asked Gerloch.

“You don’t call a locust the size of a horse unusual?” Bleys asked, allowing himself a sneer.

“Have they gotten that big? I haven’t seen…” Gerloch replied casually. There was a tone of contempt in his voice. “But as I said before, these lands have not attracted the pests…”

There was a long tense moment.

“I don’t like these men’s attitudes,” Victoria grumbled to Timotheus, who had moved his horse across the path to the other side of the longhouse doors along side her and Ironsides.1

“Are we going in or what?” Telémahkos finally asked, beginning to dismount.

“I do not trust this man,” Bleys said to his companions. Gerloch frowned.  “And I have no wish to walk into an ambush.  There is no way I am going inside.” 

Suddenly, as Telémahkos was off the horse he felt pain in his neck and saw stars, and he leaned over in pain and stepped to the side.  The man who had been holding his horse suddenly had his cudgel in his hand and had struck him heavily.2  As if by instinct, Telémahkos drew his rapier and blocked the follow up blow as he spun to his fighting stance, calling Tymon to his side.

There was a cacophony of whistles as Gerloch’s men signaled each other, drawing their cudgels.  Laarus of Ra dismounted and drew his flail.  “Back away from Telémahkos!” he commanded.

“Gods, cousin! More swinging, less talking!” Markos complained.

Victoria put her long spear to Gerloch’s neck from eight feet away, as Timotheus drew his sabre.  He marched steadily past Gerloch towards the longhouse entrance.  

“Now!” Gerloch cried leaping back to avoid the militant’s spear thrust, and three archers popped up from behind the half wall that ran along the back of the stall in the long house entrance.  They all fired arrows at Timotheus, but he raised his bulette shield in time to deflect them all.  “Bleys! Telémahkos! Flank them by the side door…”

“_Morpheus sumnus_” Markos chanted from atop his horse spilling sand from his left hand, and two of the archers tumbled to sleep, disappearing behind the partition.  “Now everyone, tell me when you’re ready!”

Bleys readied his long bow, preparing for anyone emerging from the sidedoor just a few feet beyond the entranced stable on the longhouse’s left side.

“You had your chance,” Victoria thrust at Gerloch, but the foreman withdrew, hustling toward the left side of the longhouse.  He gave a long low whistle by putting his fingers to his mouth. He leapt to avoid an arrow from Bleys, but it bit into his boot painfully.  “Ready!” cried the militant, closing her eyes, and the watch-mage echoed her, closing his as well. “Ready!” cried Telémahkos, stepping away from the men attacking him, as he flicked his rapier wildly.  He closed his eyes.

“Ready!” cried Timotheus, moving into the doorway, penning in one of the men to a corner of the stable.  He did not close his eyes.

Behind the partition, the remaining archer slapped one of her companions awake.

“_Pyroclastus lux!_" Markos cast, and the torch he held burst into a bright blinding light and then died.  No one was blinded.  “Kick horse! Kick!” he commanded his warhorse, as it reared and kicked at one of the men trying to pen in Telémahkos, as Tymon moved to block them.  The man crouched out of the way, but as he stood back up he cried out as the horse’s teeth clomped painfully on his forehead.3 Markos laughed with delight when he saw it.


Telémahkos leapt deftly onto his horse and yanked the reins, flicking his rapier to block a cudgel. He drove his horse forward with his knees, spotting Gerloch running around the left side o f the longhouse, cutting the man across the back of his neck and shoulders as he rode past.

“We can’t let him get away!” Telémahkos cried.

“_Sagitta aquom!_” Two bolts of blue liquid force slammed into Gerloch’s back.  The skinny mage tried to leap into the saddle as deftly as Telémahkos had, but failed, clabbering on awkwardly, urging his horse to attack. It kicked out at a nearby foe, but missed.  “Who knew a dumb beast could bring so much joy?”  Markos was suddenly seeing the benefits of a warhorse.    Bleys fired another arrow at the foreman before wheeling his horse away from the melee to shoot with more ease.

“May Ra’s will hold this deceiver!” Larrus prayed to his god, and Gelock was _held_.  Sensing his opponent’s weakness, Telémahkos reared his horse and thrust his rapier deep down between the man’s neck and shoulder.  There was a stream of blood as veins and sinews tore. Still rigid, Gerloch wobbled for a moment and then fell over dead, his blood pooling in the dry crabgrass.4

Figures emerged from the kennel, bounding low out of the darkness. Telémahkos turned his horse to make a wide turn back around to the front of the longhouse.

At the longhouse entrance, Timotheus was making short work of the archers.  He ran past the man he had penned in and slammed a shoulder into one of the archers driving her back, making her trip over the other archer who was just standing up from having been awakened.  The standing archer pulled his short sword free, but this left an opening for Tim to drive the tip of his sabre into the man’s side. The man with the cudgel Timotheus had passed stepped in to try to surround and overwhelm him, but Tim just lowered his shoulder again and rushed his archer foes to make room between him and the one trying to pen him in behind the partition.  The broad-shouldered warrior pinned them to the wall and put his heavy boot on the neck of the archer that still slept.  “Drop your weapons already!” Tim’s growl had a note of pleading in it. These men and women were not that well trained.  He understood that he could wipe the floor with them in no time.

Outside, Laarus and Tymon beat a man into the grass where he began to bleed out.

The only sound the dogs made as they came from the kennel was their mastiff paws in the grass and panting. Even when their faces contracted in menacing barks, no sound emerged. When Markos noticed he instinctively groaned, imagining that the were surrounded in an aura of _silence_ the Red Lantern assassins had been,  but when two of the dogs leapt up to snap at his leg and at his horse’s flank and he could hear the snap of the jaws, he knew this to not be the case.5  Markos’s horse reared and screamed as the dog’s bit down hard on it.  Markos was able to pull his leg up at the last moment.  Two of the dogs went for Timotheus’s unattended riding horse, Sandy.

Victoria continued to fight two of the bandit field hands at the entrance to the longhouse, cursing when a slipped grip on her spear diminished her ability to attack.6

Bleys came galloping back into the melee on his horse, having his steed kick at one of the dogs on Sandy, while he fired an arrow at one of the mastiffs biting at Markos.  It gave a silent yelp as the arrow clipped it, and it then scurried under the horses legs, biting at it some more.  The horse wheeled and kicked, and the dog’s skull crunched.  Two more _magic missiles_ from Markos slammed into the back of the other dog still badgering his horse.

A twang of arrows forced Victoria to look over to her right, as three more archers came around that side of the longhouse and fired point blank. She was able to duck one, but one got painfully lodged between two scales on the right side of her upper back.  The last archer accidentally let his arrow go while raising it and it pierced his calf and foot painfully.  The man cried out a stream of profanity.6

“Archers on our right flank!” The militant warned.

“Tymon! Aid Victoria! And then check and see if my fool cousin has gotten himself killed!” Telémahkos commanded his manservant as he rode off again, this time way past the right side of the longhouse, behind the archers.  He sheathed his rapier and readied his lance, as he wheeled his horse around.  He could see Tymon running to obey, as Laarus hustled over to slam the remaining dog on Markos with his flail. The dog fell over and slid along the grass, shaking its head from the blow.

Timotheus winced as he took a cudgel blow to the head, but he could feel the power of Victoria’s _regenerate light wounds_ spells closing up his cuts and scrapes as he fought on.  “Don’t worry about me! I have these four under control!”  He spun and thrust his sabre, feeling a splatter of warm blood as the man that penned him in from behind, collapsed, close to death.  Tim spun back around and flicked his sabre and the male archer’s ear went flying off, just as the sabre bit deep into the man’s shoulder and he collapsed as well.7  “Scratch that! I mean, two!” He called again, playfully, taking a moment to wink at the female archer.  Her homely face grew pale with fear.  “You can still surrender,” he said toe her.

“Okay! I surrender!”   She dropped her bow and put her hands in the air.

The new archers spun around to fire at Telémahkos, as that meant not having to worry about shooting their allies, but the clumsy one continued to be… As he spun he lost his foot and slipped in the grass.  Telémahkos grit his teeth as an arrow bounced off his chain shirt as he charged at them with raised lance.  They scattered as he rode through them, escaping the staccato hooves of death.

Some arcane words and Markos’ right hand was crackling with blue lightning.  He urged his horse past the bandit fighting Victoria, but the man ducked out of the way of the wizard’s deadly touch.  “You’d better flee!” Markos menaced him, leaving him open to Tymon, who cut the man down from behind.

“I got him, master!” Tymon raised his long sword into the air happily.  Markos rode past and reached out for one of the scattering archers as he loosed an arrow that buried itself momentarily in the flank of Telémahkos’s horse.  There was a sickening sizzle as the _shocking grasp_ spell went off.  The archer convulsed and collapsed.  “Drop your bow now!” The wizard told the one archer that remained on his feet, the smell of cooked flesh wafting off his hand.

“Hey you guys!” Timotheus bellowed, casually pointing his sabre at the archer woman, his foot still on the neck of the sleeper.  “I got prisoners over here!  You need any help over there or not?”  He pulled the weapons away from his vanquished foes, and noticed the widening pool of blood around one of the downed archer.  “You might wanna help him.” He said to the woman, gesturing with his chin,

Back outside, Laarus grunted as one of the dogs grabbed him about the calf and pulled him off his feet.  “We have everything under control out here!” Victoria answered Timotheus, hustling over to come to Laarus’s aid, by skewering the dog menacing him.  

Meanwhile, Bleys had his sabre in hand and he and horse fought off the dogs that had been attacking Sandy.  The watch-mage looked up to see another archer creeping along the side of the longhouse from the direction on the kennel, and the man let an arrow fly when he saw he had been noticed. Bleys the Aubergine lifted a hand and the arrow stopped inches from his body, hovering there for a moment and allowing him to pluck it out of the air.8

“ENOUGH SURRENDER!” Bleys _announced_, slipping the arrow into his own quiver as he rode up to the archer and pointed his sabre in the man’s face.

“Fine! I surrender!” The man said, but rather than drop his weapon, he withdrew behind some small barren apple trees that dotted the land between the longhouse and the kennel.

“STOP! DO NOT FLEE!” Bleys urged his horse to go after him.

Tymon ran into the longhouse and took over watching the prisoners for Timotheus, who patted him on the shoulder. “Good job, Tymon.” And then he looked back to the archer, “Don’t move… He’ll kill you…”   Emerging he only saw the remaining dog to his left, and he went in that direction.  The female archer had made no effort to save her dying companion.

_…to be continued…_

---------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

1 ‘Ironsides’ is the name of Victoria’s warhorse.  It has gray splotches of gray on its coat and a hardy constitution.  It should also be noted that Victoria’s player was not present for this session, so if it seems like she did not say much so far, there is a reason for it.

2 The bandit in question had the quickdraw feat and sneak attacked for an extra 1d6 of damage.

3 This was the adventure when the players began to take advantage of their horses training at fighting after Bleys’ player read the rules for how it works and explained to everyone.  We will see more of this as the campaign continues.

4 Telémahkos performed a coup de grace.

5 Like pit bulls in crack houses, these dogs had had their vocal chords removed to allow them to run down intruders without their instinctive barking being heard.

6 Victoria suffered a fumble: _Lose Grip on Weapon._ Make Dexterity check vs. DC 15 or suffer –4 to attack until move-equivalent action is used to fix grip.

7 Timtheus used his recently gained Cleave feat and then scored a critical hit: Apply Crit Multiplier to Damage Roll – Reflex Save (DC 10 + ½ damage) or Ear Removed, Stunned for one round.

8 Bleys cast _Halt Missiles_


----------



## BlackCat

Mastiffs with their vocal cords cut?!? WTF? How the hell do you know about people in crack-houses doing that to their pit bulls?

OMG, what an awful thing to do to a poor puppy!


----------



## handforged

I knew those guys were up to no good.  Hopefully enough of them will still be alive to get some answers out of.  Not killing Gerloch, may have been a good idea, seeing as how he was held.

Can't wait.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #30 – “The Vineyard Vales” (part 3 of 3)*

Meanwhile, at the other side of the longhouse, Telémahkos had dismounted and was fighting the remaining archer, who having drawn a long sword, displayed more battle prowess than his companions.

“I’ll kill you, you noble snot!” the man said, his sword ringing against Telie’s.

“Calling him a snot is my job, cur!” Markos yelled, riding up to the swordsman and urging his horse to kick at him.  The man easily avoided the huge beast, and slid over to his left.  He turned to flee, and Telémahkos got in a good blow to the man’s backside.  He yelped and kept going, but Markos moved his horse to cut him off and threw a dagger that slammed pommel first into the side of the man’s head.

The man took off towards the longhouse, in the direction of one of its side doors.  Markos grabbed his crossbow off the side of his horse and fired, clipping the man in the calf.  He urged his horse in that direction.

“You’re not getting away scum!” Telémahkos cursed, coming around one of the shacks to approach the fleeing man from the other side of Markos.  He felt the satisfying puncture of his rapier through the man’s studded leather armor, and smiled.  The man opened the door, managing to use it to block the kick of Markos’ horse as he ducked the follow-up blow from Telémahkos.

Markos leapt off his horse and followed the man into a room full of tools, boots and leather aprons, shooting him in the back.  The bandit groaned and reached for the knob to another door leading further into the longhouse, but Telémahkos rushed in as well and drove the point of his blade into the man’s lower back as he tried to flee into a narrow hallway beyond.  Markos hesitated for a moment, but then got down on his knees and began to bind the man’s wounds before he died.

Suddenly Timotheus was there, having heard the yelling after Victoria had defeated the remaining dog, and before he could really join that fight. He ran as fast as he could to support his cousin.

On the other side of the longhouse, Bleys was still urging his horse after the fleeing archer amid the barren apple trees.  The bandit was able to deftly run around and past the trees to keep Bleys and his mount at bay.  He risked a shot with an arrow, but his own strategy was working against him.

“You should have surrendered,” Bleys said calmly, predicting which way the man would flee and succeeding at cutting him off. The watch-mage’s saber cut the foe deep in the shoulder, knocking him down with the pain.  

“I surrender!” the bowman said again, as he crawled away from the horse, pushing his bow away.  Bleys was barely able to keep his horse trying to trample the man, and managed to get it to land on the bow, crushing it.  The man put his head in the grass and his hands behind his head while he remained on his knees.1

“Tymon! Get over here! Fetch my horse!” Telémahkos ordered his manservant, as the young noble’s horse was wandering away.

“I can’t!” Tymon yelled back, still covering the living archer at the entrance.

In the resulting chaos of the scattered battle, the Signers soon realized that the clumsy archer crawled away in the confusion.  A trail of blood led around the area of the shacks and pens, and into the entrance on the far side of the longhouse, which was similar to the end where most of the fight had taken place.  They gathered their prisoners, and bound the wounds of those were unconscious but alive.  Laarus of Ra called to his god and doled out some curing spells to his companions.  Timotheus, however, was unhurt, as the _regenerate light wounds_ spell had closed whatever little damage he had taken, though with all the blood covering him, he did not look so great.

Timotheus, Telémahkos, Laarus and Victoria went around and entered the longhouse from the other end to seek out the escaped bandit.

They entered carefully, finding another smaller stable entrance on the other side and then a series of cramped rooms, bunkrooms, a dining hall with a huge hearth, dry storage and the like.  There was no sign of anyone, despite their turning over furniture and looking behind crates and curtains.  Finally, amid a series of small bedrooms and offices, they came across a locked door.  

After Laarus tried to knock it down with his shoulder, Telémahkos shooed him aside and got down on his knees to work on the lock, checking for traps in the process. However, despite getting the fairly cheap lock opened, the door was still barred from the inside.  It took several hard kicks from Timotheus’s muscular legs to finally smash it open.  Beyond was a small bedroom that was (compared to the rest of the longhouse) finally appointed.  There was a ledger noting what appeared to be actual work in the fields and vineyards and amounts of harvested grapes and other goods that were sold over the years.  There was also a crate holding a portion of a bushel of a frosty blue-green leafed herb.  Sparkleweed.  In another small wooden box were several ounces of the yellow powder they recognized as shannis.

Under a throw rug in the floor they found a trapdoor, and quickly pushed the desk over atop it, to keep whomever escaped through there from coming back out.

Meanwhile, Markos and Bleys interrogated the woman prisoner at the entrance stable at the end of the longhouse where the melee had taken place.  “Why are you here?”

“We’re watching this land for the bosses,” she replied. 

“Who are the bosses?”

”Well, MacHaven…”

“Where is MacHaven now?” Bleys asked.

“He escaped through the trapdoor to the catacombs soon after Gerloch brought the news that you had arrived and would not be convinced to leave,” she explained.

“Which trapdoor?” Markos asked.

“The one in the bedroom we broke open,” Telémahkos answered for her, as he and the others returned.

After some more questioning, the woman revealed that the catacombs below were used for cold storage and hiding booty, but that also led out to the deep mire of the Glitcheegummee Swamp.  Somewhere beyond it was a shrine to the Mantis God.  MacHaven was working with Beast God cultists and some lizardfolk said to worship Apep. 

“Are these cultists who MacHaven works for?” Markos asked. The woman shook her head.

“Then who are _his_ bosses?” Bleys asked.

“The Vanderborens,” she replied.

“Which ones?” 

“The brother and sister…” She said. “I never spoke to them directly, or anything…”

They did their best to see if she might contradict the story Gerloch had told, but except for the part about being MacHaven’s men, it seems the story the foreman had told had been woven mostly from truth.

After moving into the dining room with the hearth, the party made to set up camp and sleep off their wounds, reasoning that the darkness outside was too deep for anyone to be safe standing guard in, and that by locking down the stone building, they would quickly be alerted by the noise of anyone trying to break in.  It also allowed them to keep their horses inside over night.

“Tavius! Get over here!” Bleys called for their guide to join them from out in the gloom where he had hidden as soon as the fight began.

“My name’s not Tavius, it’s William!” the lanky man said with a nervous grin, when he saw the prisoners.

“Your name is Tavius,” Telémahkos said to him with a flicker of cruel satisfaction.  Tavius scowled at the blond man.

Bleys quizzed the guide about the Glitcheegummee Swamp to see how well he knew it. 

“I know it some, but the old mushroom man is the one you want to talk to. . .” Tavius replied.  “I should be able to bring you to him.

“You mean the old hermit that sings to mushrooms?” Bleys asked.2

“That’s him…” Tavius nodded. “Crazy, but mostly harmless, and he knows that swamp better than anyone… If anyone knows about a hidden shrine to an insect god in the deep mires, it’d be him…”

As this conversation went on, Telémahkos convinced Timotheus to join him in checking the caretaker’s house on the other side of the longhouse beyond the kennels.  And Markos, quietly asked the female archer about the value of the sparkleweed they had found in the bedroom.

The caretaker’s home was filled with quality furniture and except for its size seemed more like an owner’s home than a caretaker’s.  Telémahkos tore the place apart searching for clues while Timotheus stood guard. Frustrated at being able to find nothing that gave a clue about Vanthus or Lavinia’s alleged visit, he finally thought to check the ashes in the fireplace.  There is found the scrap of a letter.

He brought the scrap back to the others and gave it to Markos to read. There was not much left to interpret.  It referred to contacting the Apep-worshipping lizardfolk of the Goldstraw tribe and was signed by someone called ‘Martika of the Lizardfolk.’

“Bet you a silver she’s not a lizardfolk,” Timotheus said.

“Make it ten,” Markos snapped back.

“Done!” Timotheus grinned.

The interrogation of the captured woman continued again after a fresh bout of speculation.

“What did you do for MacHaven’s Brood?” Bleys asked.

“I’m a sniper…” She replied.  “When caravans were attacked or there were other kinds of ambushes, the prey would be driven below a position where I and the other archers were ready.”

“And these ambushes are how MacHaven’s Brood make their living?”

“That, and sparkleweed… and they had a shannis trade out of Kraken’s Cove, but I heard some noble adventurers killed everyone there,” she explained. “MacHaven was mad!”

“You did?” Bleys raised an eyebrow.  “Noble adventurers…?”

The woman’s eyes widened with a dawning realization. The watch-mage continued to interrogate her, trying to find out the number of bandits in MacHaven’s Brood and where MacHaven’s hideout might be.  He did not believe her when she said that the Vanderboren Stead was the hideout and smacked her a few times when he found her answers or comprehension to be purposefully obtuse.

“We need to get rid of these prisoners if we are going to be searching the swamp,” Markos said, walking over to Bleys.  Seeing the woman’s eyes grow wide again, he turned to her. “And I don’t mean kill you all…” He gave an unpleasant grin.

“That has yet to be decided,” Bleys said, grimly.

After Laarus dispensed some more healing to the wounded, the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland decided to check out the catacombs to make sure there was no immediate danger down that might break its way out overnight.  Also, the woman’s reports of the storing of goods down there, made them think that someone might come back for them, so better as much of it as possible be moved up stairs and confiscated.

The trapdoor had a metal ladder that led to cold natural caverns that spilled away to darkness.  The place was damp and smelled of dog feces and lime.  The main chamber that the ladder led down to held a wooden pallet upon which were several crates of stolen good like dishware, bolts of cloth, and furs.  Several large slabs of salted meat hung from the ceiling and there were a half dozen barrels of cheap wine and another half dozen of water.  There was also a much larger bushel of sparkleweed wrapped in a tarp, and a large box of refined shannis.

After moving as much as they could back up into the longhouse and placing the heavy desk over the trapdoor again, the young nobles fell to discussing what to with the prisoners, with the choices coming down to bringing them all the way back to Gullmoor, or bringing them to the Tarchon Steads.  Tavius was in the middle of explaining that it might be best to leave their horses behind because there are areas so deep they will have to swim. “Either that or procure a boat,” he said, when Laarus suddenly sat bolt upright and went pale.  He shivered and spat up a stream of clear bile that made the others turn away in disgust.  

“Brother Laarus! Was it another vision?” Victoria asked, moving over to hold him up as Telémahkos handed him a towel.

“I can create a boat using magic…” Markos said to Tavius, ignoring the fuss being made over his cousin.  Bleys as well did not react, merely turning away when the young priest spat up. 

“You can make a boat? Really?” Tavius was skeptical.  

Discussion turned to the sparkleweed and the shannis.  Laarus felt that it should be brought to the viceroy as evidence.

“You have seen it and your word is bond as a priest of Ra, that should be enough,” Bleys said. “I say we destroy it.”

“Don’t destroy it! That’s good stuff! Plus, everyone knows the viceroy smokes a bit of the weed every now and then… Who doesn’t?” Tavius said.

“The shannis at least…” Bleys said.

“That’s soldier’s boon! You know how much you can make off of that?” Tavius said.

“That stuff messes you up,” Tim replied.

“I thought you said you were a veteran?” Tavius complained.

“That’s why I know,” Timotheus smiled.

After deciding that they’d bring the prisoners, contraband and their horses to the Tarchon Estates, Telémahkos urged caution regarding mentioned Lavinia and her brother.  “We don’t want to her looking suspicious…”

“She _is_ suspicious,” said Markos.

“I agree with my cousin,” Laarus said. “I find it hard to believe that Lavinia could have been here and not known what was going on.  She is involved somehow… Perhaps through coercion, but that remains to be seen.”

“Was there something in your vision that has to do with this?” Telémahkos asked.  Bleys frowned.

“Perhaps…” Laarus was cautious.

“Just tell us what you saw in the damn vision,” Markos said.

“’This is what I would like you to deliver,’ I heard a voice say.   It was familiar and then it became clear. It was Lavinia’s.  But despite being dressed much as we saw her back in Quillton3, instead of her fine visage, she had the head of a tigress…”

“Are you saying she is some kind of were-cat?” Timotheus asked with a puzzled expression.

Laarus ignored him and continued. “In her hands she held a wooden box about six inches to a side, and as the sides of the box began to burn away some kind of orange sphere was revealed …”

“A sphere? Like a pearl?” Telémahkos asked.

“Very much like a pearl, despite its color, of course…”

“Who was she talking to?” Telémahkos wanted to know.

“I only saw her… Perhaps I was the one being addressed…” Laarus replied.

*End of Session #30*

-------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

1  A handle animal check is required both to get an animal to do its trick and to get it to cease doing so if the object of it is still present, in the case of attacking someone, for example.

2 Tavius made an off-hand remark regarding the hermit that sings to mushrooms in Session #3. See also InterSession #4.2

3 See Session #8 and several of the InterSessions following.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #31 – “The Darkness of the Deep Mire” (part 1 of 2)* 1

Osilem, the 24th of Syet – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The nippy autumn morning found Markos Ackers going between different companions to talk about his horse.  Having procured a wagon in which to move the prisoners and wounded to the Tarchon Steads, the Signers combed the estate for all weapons and other contraband to bring along as well at Bleys’s request.  Markos was amazed that his newly purchased warhorse was so well trained and was worried that using it in combat might be cruel.  It had been injured in the previous day’s combat against MacHaven’s men.

Bleys was blunt and continued working as he replied. “A horse is a tool like any other, and a warhorse is named such because it is a tool for war.  It is a sturdy animal. It shall take time to heal, but it shall. And if it should take such a wound that it would not recover, then it will be put out of its misery and replaced, such is the way with horses…”

Unsatisfied, Markos approached his cousin, but Laarus was also short with him, refusing to call on Ra to heal the horse. “It will heal on its own,” the young priest said.

Finally Markos went to Victoria Ostrander. “My cousin doesn’t think my horse is worthy of his god’s attentions.”

“Did it do anything unworthy?” Victoria asked with a rare smile.

“No, just the opposite. It fought… uh, bravely, I guess you’d say, even when beset by dogs.  I feel bad that it was wounded for our purposes…” Markos explained.  “I am used to being at sea, and not having to deal with animals as mounts…”

“And you’ve grown attached to it…” Victoria was still smiling.

“No! I just feel for its pain as a living creature is all,” Markos protested.  “And I am fascinated with how well it has been trained… It even listens to me who has little experience with such beasts.  I was hoping you’d have more empathy and compassion than Bleys or Laarus.”

“The horse has served you well and thus has served us all well,” Victoria said, and she walked over to the stable and called to her god, closing the horse’s wounds.

“Hey, boss!” Timotheus called to Bleys about an hour later when two oxen were hitched to the wagon, and the prisoners were being moved into it. “We bringing this stuff, too?” He pointed at some farm tools.

“He is _NOT_ the boss!” Markos barked.

“Actually, did we not vote Bleys the party leader some time ago?” Victoria said. Tim nodded his agreement. 2

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to that!” Markos pouted.  The argument continued when Telémahkos came over and mocked the small mage for his tantrum, but Bleys never commented.

“If he doesn’t like you calling the watch-mage ‘Boss’, call him ‘chief’ instead,” Tavius grinned to Timotheus.

---------------------------------------------

It took about an hour longer to reach the Tarchon Steads with the loaded wagon that it had for them to reach the Vanderboren property from there the night before.

“Hail! Did you find what you were looking for?” Baxter Morningfire called when he greeted them on the road into the Tarchon property.  He wore a floppy wide-brimmed leather hat and dull brown overalls. 

“We found MacHaven’s Brood!” Timotheus called back with a grin as he gestured into the wagon.

“Really?” The steward said, running over with a couple of his workers to look in the wagon.

“Some of them, anyway,” Victoria said.

“The master of the steads has arrived before dawn,” Baxter said smiling. “Let us take your horses and lock up these prisoners and I will have someone feed you while Sir Valerius is informed.  I am sure he will want to discuss this with you…”

“And us with him…” Bleys replied.

Sir Valerius Euthymius Tarchon greeted them warmly.  He was a tall handsome man with long brown hair, and a well-kempt beard and no mustache (in the Swann style).  He came to them as they ate at some benches in a hall not unlike that they had slept in the night before in the Vanderboren Stead longhouse.  Tavius of Bog End excused himself.

“So these are the infamous Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland,” he said with a half-smile, clapping his large calloused hands. 

“We call ourselves the Scions of Thricia,” Telémahkos said.  Timotheus coughed his disagreement, but Bleys went into an explanation of what had happened at the Vanderboren Stead before the usual bickering could erupt before their noble host.  Timotheus quickly got into the spirit of it, interjecting descriptions of the battle when appropriate. Telémahkos went on to explain about the connection between the bandits, the lizardfolk and whoever was sending the plagues of locusts.

Valerius nodded his understanding.  “My son told me of your group soon after he and Sir Quintus returned from New Harbinger after you aided him during that… misunderstanding with the Gold Straw Lizardfolk,” he said. “I must admit I was surprised when I heard they had become hostile, as I was led to believe that you…” He looked to Bleys. “…were brokering some kind of alliance with them and young Lord Swann… I have just recently returned from seeking out my son in the bog, hoping beyond hope that he might still be among the living… But nothing turned up…”

“How goes the fight against the lizardfolk?” Bleys asked.

“Strangely…” Valerius said.  “They fight, but they are not aggressive, and often flee… Sir Septimias Benedict Swann insists that they are to be chased down and destroyed…”

“Sir… There is a tragedy going on in that bog…” Markos said.

“And we also fear there may be a tragedy here in Moraes Heng,” Telémahkos interjected. “We fear that people may come to think Lavinia Vanderboren is somehow involved with MacHaven…”

“I doubt it…” Valerius dismissed the notion. “I know the girl and her parents… She is likely being taken advantage of now that her parents are gone…”

Sir Valerius Euthymius Tarchon agreed to bring the prisoners to Gullmoor, and to have their horses transported there as well. He also said that after talking to the Viceroy he planned to return to the Crossroads Bog and continue to seek out his son, but that he would also try speaking to Thricius of Anhur in hopes of rethinking the assault on the lizardfolk.

“Leaving now?” Valerius said when the discussion and meal were over.

“I see no reason to delay,” Timotheus replied.

“I concur,” said Bleys.

“May Isis guide you,” Sir Valerius said.

Stashing some of their heavier gear with their horses, they repacked the packhorse’s saddle and Tavius’s pony and brought those with them.  Their lanky guide began to bring them northeast to the pass that would bring them down to the shadow of Moraes Heng and then around to the deep mire of the Glitcheegumme Swamp.

Tavius led them on a damp trail that was flanked on one side by thick foliage drooping in the cold and showing signs of having been damaged by frost, and on the other side the muddy red cliff wall of the plateau they had come down from.  As they marched the topic of the group’s name came up again. Timotheus hated the name ‘Scions of Thricia,’

“Well, ‘Sons of Thricia’ excludes Victoria,” Telémahkos said.

“I don’t care,” said Victoria.

“I abhor ‘Sons’” said Bleys.

“Then let’s go back to ‘Signers’ until we come up with something better,” Timotheus suggested.

“I _hate_ ‘Signers’ most of all,” Markos complained, and the bickering took off again.

Annoyed with their argumentativeness, Tavius eventually turned to them with a serious face and said, “There can be dangers in this swamp.  We all need to be quiet now…” The young nobles acquiesced.

 By noontime, the weather was much warmer, and the water swirled in warm eddies and currents around and beside them. In some places, the ambient light was dusky because of the overhang of trees.
 Finally they came to deep shining green patch of water beyond which were a bunch of islands of myriad sizes, each cloistered with thick brush and drooping willows.  

“It is always warm in this part of the swamp all winter long,” Tavius explained. “And in the summer it is unbearable…”

“What causes this warmth?” asked Markos. The guide just shrugged his shoulders.

They were forced to wade across the murky water, Tavius in the lead drawing the pony, which basically swam most of the way, and Bleys behind drawing the packhorse, which also struggled and kicked at the deepest parts.  The water never reached past chest height for the tallest of the Signers, but Markos, Laarus and Victoria had to hold their heads up in several places to keep their mouths away from the pungent water.  The area they approached was darker, and they could head the croaks of frogs and toads and the chittering of many insects.  It was a long way to wade and all told they were in that deep water for nearly three-quarters of an hour.  Halfway along, Timotheus noticed some movement in the water far off to their left, something sliding off one of the islands and plopping into the water.  He warned the others who did their best to quicken their pace; causing Markos to lose his balance and splash face first into the water.  Telémahkos and Tavius laughed.  When Tavius finally led them up to drier land (for there was no truly _dry_ land around here at all), they stopped to check themselves and the animals for leeches.

From there the guide brought them over several small islands broken up by babbling brooks and streams, most only a few feet apart, but occasionally they had to wade thigh deep in the green muck again. It was nearly two hours later when they heard the horrid singing echoing over the trees.

”That’s the old man…” Tavius said.

“That’s some set of pipes on that hermit!” Timotheus smiled.

“That’s Markos’ future we’re listening to,” Telémahkos jabbed.  Markos scowled.

Leaving the mounts behind they quietly moved ahead to look at the clearing beyond.  There was a small shack built with what was obviously local wood and patchwork roof of thatch and sticks.  It had a small raised porch and a worn wooden door, painted a faded red.  About sixty feet in front of it was a rickety dock that stretched out into deep murky water, and tied to it was a large rowboat.  Between the house and the dock was a metal tub with handles next to a stump, and inside the tub was a skinny old man with a big jutting jaw covered in white fuzz except for a blue-black mole under his lip.  He was scrubbing his back vigorously in time to his song as suds splashed over the side.  The muddy patch of grass the tub was in was dotted with large mushrooms nearly eighteen inches high, about six in all.

“_Oh! I love your fishy beets! And your great big woman teats!  When I get out my fishing keets I get hooked on your fishy beets!_ His common was accented strangely, like a foreigner of some kind, and his singing warbled and broke like the dying call of the emus of the UKSF.

After a brief disagreement about who should approach him first, “_Not_ Tim,” Telémahkos  had said, emphatically, upsetting his cousin, Telémahkos and Laarus stepped out of the brush and called, “Hello!”

“What?!” The old man sat up in his tub. “Finally found me ‘eh?” He jumped out of the basin, suds flying off his pruned naked body, and he made for the shack.  As he reached the door he turned around and shook a fist.  “Go back to Haffar’s Port, ya bastids!”  The door slammed shut and as they approached they could hear a heavy bar slide into place behind it.  A narrow window high up on the front wall few open and the old man pointed a heavy crossbow through the vent.  “I knew you’d find me eventually, but I ain’t going without a fight!”

“Sir, I am not sure who you think we are, but we certainly did not come here to harm you,” Telémahkos tried to explain.

“That’s just what assassins would say!” the man spat back.

“I should have gone, I’m a people person…” Timotheus complained.

“Naw, that’s just old man Katan, _crazy_,” Tavius grinned.  But Timotheus stood, brushed himself off and walked boldly towards the shack.  As old man Katan noticed him he trained the crossbow on him, as Telémahkos continued to explain how they were looking for the old shrine of Apshai in the swamp, and Laarus questioned the man as to who it is from Haffar’s Port that he was so afraid of.

“Tell the big man to get back!” Katan growled. “If he tries to bust down the door he’s getting a bolt in the eye!”

“We mean no harm,” Timotheus said with his hands in the air, as Telémahkos scowled at him for coming forward.  “I liked that song you were singing about the fishy bits…”

“So you were spying on me, too? Eh?  But still couldn’t the drop on old Katan… It’s been 30 years and I still got it!” The old man laughed. “Just how many of you Red Lantern assassins are there?”

Laarus looked to Telémahkos, who snarled when he saw Timotheus look at him, too.

“We are not members of the Red Lantern Gang,” Laarus said. “But there are eight of us in total.”

“Look!” Markos said to Bleys, Victoria, Tymon and Tavius, while Telémahkos, Timotheus and Laarus turned because they thought they heard something squeak behind them. 

The mushrooms were moving.3

“Ya dang varmints!” Katan bellowed, noticing the strange creatures moving around the tub.  They had nubby feet that detached from the ground, narrow, nearly useless arms and big-eyed faces beneath their mushroom-cap heads.  They were white and gray, with little patches if red-brown and blue on their caps. They cooed to each other cutely in high-pitched voices.

“Bleys! Markos! Mushroom people!” Telémahkos called to his companions who were still hiding.  Seeing as there was no reason to continue to do so, the two wizards came forward with Victoria behind them.

“Gods dang ‘em! They’re stealing my clothes again!” Katan complained.  

“Shall we help you get them back?” Timotheus asked with a wide grin.

“How do I know you’re not assassins?” Katan asked back.

“Because if we were we would have assassinated you by now,” Bleys said. “I am Bleys the Aubergine, watch-mage of the Academy, not a cutthroat assassin…”

“Yes, we would not have called out to you,” Telémahkos said. “We would have merely snuck up and killed you in the tub or waited until you went to sleep…”

“Maybe you were just trying to make sure you had the right man…” Katan reasoned.

“When have you ever known the Red Lanterns to be concerned about who they kill?” Telémahkos asked.

”Good point, sonny!” Katan said. “I’ll come out, but if you try anything funny, I swear to Horus, I will take at least one of you with me!”

“Understood.”

“Dangnabit! They _did_ take my clothes!” Katan swore, and he threw open the door and went running out to the tub.  The little mushroom creatures let out a string of giggles as they hopped down towards the dock clutching Katan’s pants and shirt.

“Hey, Laarus! You might want to go arrest them, they’re thieves” Telémahkos said to the priest, mocking.

“What are they?” Markos asked, as the creatures tossed the clothes into the muddy water on the bank, forcing Katan to climb down and retrieve them, grumbling about how he’d have to wash them again.

“Hells if I know!” Katan said.  “They showed up not too long ago, and always bothering me with their singing and tricks… I hate ‘em!”

“Are they edible?” Victoria asked.  “I wonder what they’d taste like?”

“You don’t eat creature like that!” Timotheus protested, but then he stopped short and rubbed his chin. “Though perhaps sautéed in butter? No, no, no! Forget I said that!  You can’t eat creatures like this, they are obviously intelligent…”

“Well, compared to you…” Markos winked.

”Shut up, little man! I’m smart enough!” Timotheus growled, but Markos had already moved on, slowly approaching one of the mushroom creatures with a copper coin, trying to catch the light with it, before placing it on the ground in front of it.

“Meep!” The creature turned and hopped away.

“Hmm, you know what? I think they think I’m stupid…” Markos said.

“Do you think they really so smart to figure that out so quickly?” Telémahkos asked with a laugh.

“So what you people disturbing my solitude for?” Katan asked. “I don’t get many… scratch that… _any_ visitors out here…”

Once again Telémahkos explained how they were looking for the old hidden shrine of Apshai deeper in the swamp.  “Do you know it?”

“I might…” Katan replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gots to get dressed…” He walked into his shack.

As Telémahkos, Bleys, and Laarus stood by one side of the shack, the priest wondering aloud what it was Katan was hiding. There were hundreds of chicken scratch marks on the side of the shack counting off days and days of Katan’s life here in this isolated place.  Meanwhile, Victoria, Timotheus and Markos were over by the dock, continuing to watch the mushroom creatures with great interest. They meeped and peeped and danced and rolled, looking at the party like shy children or enthusiastic dogs.  One even let Victoria pick it up and look right into its face. It cooed pleasantly.

As she put it back down, the militant cocked her head. “Do you hear that?”  But before anyone else could pinpoint it the little mushroom creatures began to sing.  It was a lilting impression of old man Katan’s own singing, but with a bizarre inhuman weaving harmony that was actually not unpleasant despite its strangeness. 

“Shut up out there, ya lousy varmints!” Katan yelled from inside the shack.

“They’re trying to drown out the noise,” Victoria said.

“What noise?” asked Timotheus.

“What was that buzzing?” Telémahkos was asking simultaneously, noticing that Bleys too was looking around for its source.  

In less than a moment it became clear. Telémahkos flinched as he saw something black come swooping in towards his face, buzzing loudly. He swatted at it ineffectually, but the thing’s proboscis bit down deep into his neck.  It was huge mosquito, nearly a foot in length and it was sucking blood out of Telémahkos at an astonishing rate, latched onto him  He tried to pull it off, but its grip was too tight, so he scrambled to draw a dagger.  

Meanwhile, as Bleys began the incantation of a spell, another came swooping in to bite on to Laarus’s back, while a second went for Telémahkos, but missed as he dodged wildly.4

“Tim! Over there!” Victoria said, drawing her own dagger and charging in that direction when she saw the commotion.  Another mosquito darted out of the brush and grabbed hold of her arm and began to draw blood from her as well.  Yet another was buzzing around her.

 Telémahkos moaned as he swerved wildly and stabbed at the creature, but his desire to not stab himself made him simultaneously over cautious, and the thing kept drinking.

_…to be continued…_

--------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

1 This session was played on Saturday, May 24, 2008 in Maplewood, New Jersey.

2 This vote occurred back in Session #15.  Amazingly, Markos voted for Bleys to take on leadership.

3 This scenario was taken from the adventure _Old Man Katan and the Mushroom Band_ by Ted James Thomas Zuvich from Dungeon Magazine, Issue #41, May 1993.

4 Telémahkos used his dodge feat against that one and it missed by one.


----------



## handforged

Yikes, set on by surprise by giant mosquitoes.  Who knew that Bill Gates was hiding in that swamp waiting for them?

~hf


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## el-remmen

handforged said:


> Who knew that Bill Gates was hiding in that swamp waiting for them?
> 
> ~hf




Not sure I get the Bill Gates reference.


----------



## handforged

Bill Gates let loose a jar of mosquitos at a conference to raise awareness of malaria in thrid world countries.

[ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppDWD3VwxVg]YouTube - Video Bill Gates/mosquitoes @ TED (unedited point segment) ~ 2-4-09[/ame]

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #31 – “The Darkness of the Deep Mire”* (part 2 of 2)

“_Augio Allio!_" Bleys completed his incantation and Timotheus grew to over twelve feet in height.  The _enlarged_ warrior, reached over and easily grabbed the mosquito and yanked it off Telémahkos, crushing it to death in his huge hands.

Meanwhile, one of the mosquitoes, still buzzing around, spotted Markos and grappled on to the mage’s chest to feast.  All the while, the mushroom men continued to sing, hopping towards Katan’s shack, to gather chorus-like before the door. Laarus struggled to yank the insect grasping onto him.

“Hold still!” Bleys said to Telémahkos, and rolling a dart in his hand along with an adder’s stomach and some powdered rhubarb, he spoke an arcane word and an arrow of acid went flying from him.  Unfortunately, however, the mosquito proved too small a target to get easily hit and Telémahkos screamed as the acid splattered on his clothing and skin.  In desperation, he was finally able to stab the mosquito satisfactorily with his dagger, and as it detached to fly off bloated and happy, Timotheus stomped over and crushed it with a firm hand clap.  But drained nearly dry and with the acid still burning him, Telémahkos collapsed.

Markos cut at the mosquito on him as he leapt into the bathwater of Katan’s tub, causing it to detach, while Victoria called on Anhur to _create water_ causing a momentary downpour on a mosquito still diving at her.  It buzzed and fluttered with wet wings on the ground trying to straighten up and fly, but Timotheus stomped on it, killing it.  Seeing that the one that had been on Markos was still buzzing around the tub, Victoria stabbed it and it collapsed to the ground, pouring out Ackers blood along with its own ichor.

“_Veneficus aquom!_ Markos cast as he stood in the tub, and two arrow of blue watery light slammed unerringly into the one on Laarus’ neck, killing it.  The priest did not hesitate; he stepped over to Telémahkos and called on Ra to close his wounds to keep him from dying. However, the blood sucked away from him would take some time to recover from.

Timotheus helped Telémahkos to his feet. “You’re pretty pale, cuz…”

“What in tarnation was that?” Katan said, finally coming out of his house in a half-corroded chain shirt with a club, and an ill-fitting helmet on.

“Giant skeeters,” Timotheus said.

“Gods! I ain’t never seen skeeters that big!  They could kill a man…”

“They almost did,” Telémahkos croaked.1

Tymon and Tavius were called out from their hiding spot and they dealt with tying up the packhorse and pony to a post on the side of the house, and Tymon fell to dealing with the group’s gear as he was prone to do.

Timotheus convinced Katan to allow Telémahkos to rest in his shack with Tymon looking over him, while Markos and Bleys speculated on why the mushrooms had started singing when the creatures attacked.

“Perhaps they called them?” Laarus said.

“No, I heard the buzzing before they started singing,” Victoria said.

“So you have never seen insects like that before?” Bleys asked.  Katan shook his head.  The watch-mage continued. “Giant locusts… Giant mosquitoes… There must be some connection, and I would not be surprised if these mushroom creatures are somehow connected as well.  You say they only recently arrived?”

“Well…” Katan took a seat on the stump by the tub. “I used to see one or two at a time deeper in mire when I do my gathering… Never were too bothersome.   They’d sing a little, I’d sing a little… But a few weeks ago they kind of followed me home and then the next thing I knew there were six or eight of them varmints following me around, staying out front of my house and making a gods-damned racket half the time…”

“Fascinating…” Bleys was deep in thought.

“The only thing that seems to shut them up is when I light me a cigar…” Katan continued. “I guess they don’t like ‘em…”

“Or they do!” Markos snapped his fingers.  “The smoke from your cigars probably keeps the mosquitoes at bay, that’s why you’ve never seen one before.  When the mushrooms hear them they start singing, you light a cigar and you’re saved!  The mushrooms have been protecting you and trying to warn you!”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Bleys said.

“These things?” Katan held up a loosely rolled greenish-brown cigar.  “I make them from some leaves that grow out in the mire…”

Markos offered to buy some, but Katan was hesitant, saying they took a long time to dry out and make.

Over the next couple of hours the young nobles took the time to rest. Markos badgered Victoria and Laarus into healing Telémahkos, and they all munched on rations and on Katan’s roasted whole onions smeared in some kind of cranberry paste, and small fried fish.

When convinced that the party could make a second rowboat by means of magic, Katan finally agreed to act as their guide to the old Apshai shrine.  He also had the makings to roll a few more of his swampleaf cigars, and he agreed to make those as well.

“How do you know where this shrine is?” Bleys asked the old man.

“Live in swamp long enough with no people around and ya get bored,” Katan explained. “I used to wander into every nook and cranny of the place I could find just ‘cause there was nothing else to do…”

Later in the evening, Timotheus and Markos spent a long time discussing principles of the Pillars of Thricia,2 but finally everyone went to sleep (the mushroom creatures planting themselves in the ground and going into some dormant mode wherein they were indistinguishable from just very large mushrooms), ready to head out the next day.


Osilem, the 24th of Syet – 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

Morning found the Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland taking their time to get ready to go. After Victoria and Laarus prayed for their spells, the militant used _lesser restoration_ on Telémahkos to handle his loss of blood, but two casting was not enough to get him back to full health.

The on-going morning conversation concerned what to do with Tavius and the mounts, and coming to the doorway of the shack, leaning weakly in the frame, Telémahkos announced that he wanted to send Tymon back to civilization with the guide to keep him safe.  As usual, Tavius drove a hard bargain about his pay and what he would charge for coming back for them in four days time.  After raising his price when Markos insulted him, Tavius finally agreed to Bleys’s offer.  As for Tymon, it was left for him to decide what he wanted to do, and he agreed to stick with the party.

As Tymon took over making breakfast that day, and Victoria and Timotheus took some time to spar, Markos and Katan sat at the edge of the dock talking quietly.

“How long have you been hiding out from the Red Lanterns?” Markos asked the old man.

“A long time… nigh 30 years or so…” Katan answered sadly.  Two of the mushroom creatures were running back and forth up and down the dock trying to get their attention and giving their little squeaky laugh. Markos smiled at them, Katan scowled.

“That’s _is_ a long time… Ever consider they may not be after you anymore?” Markos asked.

“Red Lanterns never forget them that crossed them, or else they wouldn’t be the Red Lantern Gang…” Katan answered.  “Anyway, I’ve gotten used to being out here on my own…”

“But still, there must be some way to buy off the contract on your head,” Markos said. “Or perhaps there are only a few people left who remember whatever it was you did and they can be bribed or… uh…you know… _taken care of…_”

“Taken care of!? That’s what got me in trouble in the first place, _taking care_ of someone I shouldn’t have…” Katan said, angrily, but then his anger was immediately deflated. “But still… It was an accident…”

“It strikes me as unfortunate that you would have to remain here hidden when there is so much of the world to enjoy for something that may not even be a concern to anyone anymore…” Markos said. “I am unconvinced of your belief that it would not be forgotten after all this time… There is a lot you can contribute… For example, I am sure the University of Thricia would be willing to pay for a report and specimen of these mushroom creatures…”

“You sure do talk funny…” Katan replied with a smile. He was missing several teeth and his remaining ones were crooked and yellow. “Can’t you talk like a regular person?”

“No…”

There was a long awkward silence.  Markos turned to one of the mushroom creatures as it got close and whistled at it. It turned it face towards him and meeped in confusion.

“I guess they only copy you…” Markos said to Katan.

“Whaddya mean, copy me?” Katan’s brow furrowed.

“When the mushroom creatures sing, they seem to be mimicking you,” Markos explained.

“WHAT!” The dock creaked as Katan rose to his feet suddenly. “Them varmints can’t sing at all!  You’re saying they sing like me? I sing better than them little moldy things!” He marched off in annoyance.

Markos stayed behind finding that if he sung to the little mushroom man, it would sing back in the best imitation it could muster. He was having fun, his legs dangling off the side of the dock, smiling when the creature got the melody right, or even improved on it, and muttering to himself that perhaps _he_ should present a paper at the university on these creatures.

“I think he’s finally found a friend,” Timotheus commented to Bleys as they watched the salty mage playing on the dock in the dappled morning light.

Suddenly there was a disturbance in the water under the dock, and Markos instinctively pulled his legs up, just as a great dull green monster came splashing up out of the water, its huge maw slamming shut to try to grab him.  It was a gigantic crocodile, over twenty feet long, with a head that could easily fit a man of Markos’s slender stature.  Markos screamed like a girl as he scrambled to his feet to avoid the great beast as it climbed up onto the dock, causing it to groan in protest as its outer supports gave way.  The mushroom creature peeped in fear as it slid down the askew dock into the crocodile’s mouth.  One bite and it was motionless, but spores of some kind went flying out of its little broken body, and the crocodile gave a strange sneeze.  Suddenly, it was moving with strange lumbering movement, _slowed_ by whatever was in the spores, though it did not stop trying to get at Markos.

“Tymon!” Telémahkos called from the porch of the shack, seeing the monster attack.  “Get your crossbow, and bring bolts and my weapon belt!”

Timotheus went running out to the dock, trying to provide the crocodile a different target as Markos continued to scramble. “Get up here!” He swung his sabre down on the croc’s face, but its hide was much too thick to be easily cut.

“May Ra’s light sear this abomination from the water!” Laarus prayed to his god for _the holy light of Ra’s Glory_, but the beam of golden holy light that came from the sky scorched the dock, missing the creature completely.

“Gods! I ain’t never seen one of those around here!” Katan said, from his position frozen in shock and fear at the base of the dock.  Bleys leapt into the rowboat beside the dock, to try to get a vantage to attack the crocodile, but he caught his foot on the gunwale and fell face first into the boat.  Victoria was moving to a similar position, and the rocking of the boat caused her to fall atop the watch-mage.

Atop the broken dock, Markos screamed as the crocodile grabbed hold of his legs and then did a quick chomp to try to draw him in more deeply.  There was blood everywhere, and Markos tried to focus through the pain to cast a spell, but the effort drove him to unconsciousness.3

“Tymon! Try and get one of Victoria’s spears and a torch on the shore,” Telémahkos continued to give his manservant orders, and Tymon struggled to obey.  Meanwhile, Telémahkos saw an opening and let an arrow fly from his short bow, and it nicked the crocodile’s wide back.

“Pay attention to me, ya scaly bastard!” Timotheus roared, but even his mightiest blows were bouncing off the thing’s thick ridges.  Laarus of Ra came running out onto the dock, flail drawn and closed with the beast as it drew back.  Annoyed with the priest swinging the weapon in its face, it opened its mouth and Markos’s limp form plopped into the water.  It snapped at Laarus, but the priest leapt back.  However, he lost his footing and as he struggled to remain upright the croc snapped again, and this time Laarus felt the thing’s teeth tear into the flesh of his leg.  Luckily, however, he was able to pull it free before he was grabbed as his cousin had been.  In the rowboat, Bleys and Victoria stood.  The militant hopped up onto the dock, and then into the water beside the crocodile, while Bleys, leaving his sword in the bottom of the boat, cast a spell. “_Sagitta corosiva!_” But his _acid arrow_ sailed over the thing to hiss harmlessly into the water.

As Laarus and Tim hacked and swung at the thing ineffectually, Bleys spoke another arcane word and _jumped_ off the boat, leaving it to rock wildly, and flew through the air, spinning to land by Victoria and the limp form of Markos, whom the militant was healing.  However, she had to hop awkwardly away to avoid the crocodile’s huge thrashing tail. 4

“Gods! Oh Gods!” Markos croaked painfully as he waded as fast as his injured body allowed him through the deep water and to the far side of the dock away from the melee.  Katan came running back out of his shack with his crossbow in time to see Laarus yanked off his feet by another bite of the crocodile.  The young priest grew even paler than normal and the crocodile gulped at him, drawing him deep to drive long sharp teeth into Laarus’s waist and chest.  The disciple of Ra’s head hung loosely from his shoulders.

“Get the hell out of there!” Timotheus yelled to Bleys and Victoria, who were still in the water as the immense monstrous reptile withdrew once again moving at normal speed, Laarus’ body disappearing further into its maw as is disappeared into the water.  The burly warrior gave chase and hacked some more to no avail.  Bleys obeyed leaping once again with the aid of magic, to land on the far side of the dock on dry land, turning in time to see both the animal and their companion disappear just as an _acid arrow_ from Markos hissed against its snout.

“Noooo, Laarus!” Victoria cried, casting _bull’s strength_ on herself before climbing into the rowboat.  “Someone get this boat moving… We need to save Laarus!”

Everyone scrambled to get in the rowboat.  Timotheus dropped his sword and shield and grabbed an oar and Markos hopped in.  Bleys spotted the crocodile surface briefly some forty feet away and cast _magic missile_, sending two arrows of light to slam into its back as it submerged again, leaving bloody bubbles to burst on the surface of the murky water.

“Oh, that awful!” Katan said sadly, seeing the desperation on the faces of the young nobles. “They’re never gonna find his body… He’s gone…”  

Bleys leapt again, but this time he overshot the boat and landed awkwardly in the water.  Telémahkos hurried forward, leaving Tymon standing confusedly with a torch in one hand, a crossbow in the other, and a spear leaning on his shoulder.  The blond Briareus ran among the scattered arrows he had fired at the thing on the dock and fired another blindly, trying to gauge by the trail of blood on the water’s surface.

Victoria cast _enlarge person_ on herself as Timotheus rowed the boat out to follow the trail, and was forced to roll off the boat before her increased size and weight caused it to submerge.  She risked leaving herself vulnerable to feel around the mucky depths with her spear, but there was nothing.  In the end, all the found was Laarus’s right hand with a bit of his forearm still attached as his signet ring on one finger.

Laarus Raymer, priest of Ra, was dead.

The Scions of Thricia returned to shore in silence, and no one said anything for a long time.

“I would like to at least find his holy symbol…” Markos finally said, and the others agreed.  As he, and Tim and Victoria worked to dredge the area of the bog to find it, Telémahkos took care of giving Tavius instructions of what to do with the packhorse and when to come back.

“And if I find out that you have been selling information about us or that anything on our packhorse is missing, I will kill you, but first I will make you watch as I kill your family…” Telémahkos said to the guide with all the quiet grimness he could muster.

Tavius smirked. “You can trust me…” he replied, dismissing the threat.

“What do we do now?” Timotheus asked Bleys as he returned from the search, all they found was the priest’s crunched up shield and the necklace he had been given by the Ray-Ree. 5

“We continue on as we planned…” Bleys replied. “The fraternity of warriors is never stronger than when they have suffered a loss…”

“Yeah, I know…” Timotheus said sadly. “I’ve been there before… More than I care to recall…”

“I thought as much…”

“We need to be more cautious when we get to this temple or shrine or whatever it is…” Timotheus added.

“I am not one to be reckless, but at the same time over-caution has its own dangers,” the watch-mage said wisely.

It was decided that the young nobles would spend the day resting once again and that at dawn they would have a short informal service for their fallen companion.

“So let’s all try to think of nice things to say about Laarus,” Timotheus said to the others.

*End of Session #31*

-------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

1 Telémahkos suffed 7 points of Constitution damage from the mosquitoes.

2 The Pillars of Thricia is the book found among Oroleniel the Salmon’s things that proposes a form of democratic government to replace Thricia’s magocracy.

3 Markos was _staggered_ (i.e. at 0 hit points).

4 This was an attack of opportunity from the large creature.

5 This is the jackal-head necklace given to each of the party members in Session #20.


----------



## handforged

Whoa!  I was not expecting that.  I guess we will never find anymore about Laarus's visions, unless you care to spill the beans.

~hf


----------



## darkhall-nestor

Has there been a new character rolled up yet


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## el-remmen

darkhall-nestor said:


> Has there been a new character rolled up yet




Yep, and he'll be introduced in the next session.


----------



## el-remmen

*InterSession #31.1 – "The Raymer Blood" (part 1 of 1)* 1

The sun felt so close; it cast a shadow that covered the colorless landscape Markos found himself in.  He stood at the prow of a barge, pushed and dragged by dozens of goblins, all in various states of death.  At the front an ogre pulled a chain attached to the prow, one of its legs wobbly where a huge gash cut down to the bone.  The wound was crusted over, and the bone looked like it should tear loose with each step. The wood of the hull protested as it was dragged across the gray earth, driving up a cloud of fine noxious dust that burned Markos’s lungs and obscured his vision.  Was that a set of black gates in a tall stone wall off in the distance? All he could tell was that this was a land of gray and black craggy hills, dotted with white wavering trees.  There was something unnerving about them.

Markos turned and saw the only other person on the barge was at the till at the stern.  But no, wait… he was suddenly at the stern, too.  The scene the ship departed from seemed identical to the one it approached. 

“What are those trees?”  Markos asked the figure. It was Laarus.  The young priest of Ra was dressed in white, a gold ankh about his neck, and ashes smeared over his eyes.

“They are not trees,” his voice seemed distant, like it emerged from deep down in his body. His lips did not move.  “They are the spirits of the dead, rooted to their spot, waiting…”

“Waiting for what?”  Markos felt distant from his own voice, as if whatever sense of himself he had were somehow lodged more deeply into his body than his vocal cords were.  Everything seemed to be framed in darkness, as if observed from within a cave or tunnel.

“To be claimed, to not be claimed… One day you shall wait as they do…” Laarus intoned.

“Even dead, you’re an asshôle…”

“Listen to me Markos… There was more to that vision…2 More that I had not seen in life, but I have seen it now and I want to show it to you… You have your mother’s blood… There is much you could see and learn and if you let go your arcane obsession…”

“Are you going to show me or lecture me?”

“Give me your hand…” Laarus reached out and took his hand, and then his very essence billowed out into a translucent spirit and was sucked into Markos’s body, and suddenly he was in a dark place… A den lit by a hearth…Rain battered the shutters:

“_This is what I would like you to deliver.” The voice was Lavinia’s, but as his vision rose up from her tall elegant boots to her lavender velvet dress, instead of the soft skin of her décolletage, there was the head of a tigress.  Her hand rested atop a wooden box about six inches to a side.  The side of the box began to burn away revealing some kind of orange sphere beneath.

“You are not, Lavinia,” Markos heard himself say, except it is not his voice that issued from his body.

“No, I am not…”

“Stanislaw Torn,” He said and turned to see himself in the mirror above the mantleplace. He was wearing mauve watch-mage robes, but had the head of a bat, the body of a woman.

“Yes,” Lavinia said.  “And trade it for the sword of Sylaire and beware the Whistling Gold…”_


All went black and Markos awakened…


*End of InterSession #31.1*

--------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

1 This was actually given to Markos’s player as a handout immediately before Session #32 began.

2 Laarus is referring to a vision he had in Session #30.


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #32 – “Assault on the Old Apshai Temple”* 1

Balem, the 26th of Syet - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)

The Scions of Thricia were up early the next day - up before Ra’s barge pulled the sun out from deep in the underworld where it spent its nights.  The day before, Tavius left with the packhorse and pony, agreeing to come back for the party in four days time and then four days after that if they did not come in one day of his waiting. He was paid a generous sum of silver and promised more on their next meeting, whether they ended up needing him or not.

Markos cast _preserve food_ on what remained of Laarus’s corpse, his right hand and forearm, in order to return it to the Raymer Family Vaults, where the dead were entombed.

They ate sparsely and divided some of Laarus’s remaining things.  Victoria was given a potion of _aid_ the priest had in his pack.  Bleys, the potion of _cure light wounds_. 

As the sun finally came up, Victoria called the others to join her down near the dock, where they stood in a circle around what remained of their fallen companion.

“Brother Laarus,” she said. “I didn’t know you long, but saw in you a shining example of a priest of Ra. You were honest and held others to high standards. You were unbending in your faith and in your service to the King of the Gods. I am saddened by this loss, but for myself, not for you, as I know you are in His service, watching over us from Ra’s Glory as we seek justice in your name.”

The others were silent for a long while, but then Telémahkos spoke up. “Laarus was a good man who did honor to his House.  We may have disagreed often, but he saved my life more than once.  I shall miss his presence and will do what I can to honor his memory in my thoughts and deeds…”

“Yeah, he was unyielding in his beliefs,” Timotheus said with a much more casual tone than the others. “Sure… He’s with Ra now.  But he was our shield-brother and our sword-brother, and for that we will finish in his name what we started with him.”
Bleys spoke next: “"The Glory of Ra shines ever more bright this day as He rides Matet with one of his most pious, Laarus of House Raymer.  May Osiris judge him fairly. Our companion gave his life to the Charter of Schiereiland: a duty to his King, a service to the Margrave, and a most noble deed for his country.  No greater sacrifice could be asked, no greater sacrifice could be made. As we go forth from this place, let us each bear the illumination of Laarus in our breast, such that we may hold to his example and deliver his light to the darkness in the old Apshai temple."
Only the croaks of frogs and the chatter of insects broke the silence before Markos finally spoke.  In his shack, Katan banged against something and quickly shushed himself. 

“I will be truthful,” Markos finally said, wearing his common smirk. “As that was Laarus’ best quality.  He had good intentions… Unlike some… And he had flaws like all do. I may not have loved my cousin, but I respected him and had what I’d call… a growing affection for him. I will remember him.  May Ra and all the gods look favorably upon him in the next stage of this existence…”

The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland were about to end their memoriam for the fallen comrade when Markos raised his hands, gesturing for them to wait. 

“Last night…” He hesitated. “Laarus’s gift of prophecy passed on to me, I had a vision last night…”2

“Or, now that he’s gone you can no longer fight the madness within you…” Telémahkos baited.

“Or, I am being manipulated somehow,” Markos speculated, smirking.

Victoria glared at them.  “Enough with this banter, and you had better not making mock of this occasion. I hope you are not joking about this vision…” She clenched a fist.

“What would you do if I were?” Markos took over the baiting from Telémahkos, who stopped laughing when he saw Victoria’s face.

There was a long dreadful silence and then Markos spoke again. “But yes… I did really have a vision.  In it I was accompanying Laarus to the land of the dead and he allowed me to see the rest of the vision he had the other day.3  Remember? The one where there was a tiger-headed woman with Lavina’s voice giving him a box with an orange pearl in it?  Well, I saw more and heard more…  Turns out the tiger-headed woman with Lavinia’s voice wasn’t Lavinia at all, but Stanislaw Torn!  And he/she asked me to trade the pearl I was being given for _the Sword of Sylaire_… Some of you may remember the name ‘Sylaire’ from the notes we found in Dalvan’s tomb…  Anyway, next thing I knew I turned and looked in the mirror, and I wasn’t me either.  I was someone wearing mauve watch-mage’s robes, except I had the head of a bat…”

“Perhaps it was something you ate,” offered Bleys.

“No! It wasn’t something I ate, you condescending prick,” Markos spat.  “It was an actual vision.  I felt it. I saw it. I know it… Laarus communicated with me…”

Bleys nodded.

“Do you think that was your friend, Maeve the Mauve… Whatever her name is?” Markos asked the watch-mage.

“It seems likely…” Bleys replied. “She knows Lavinia…”

“Does this vision change anything we plan to do now?” Timotheus asked, impatient.

“No,” said Bleys and he and Markos moved off to confer on what spells to prepare for the day.  As they talked, Markos tried to offer a deal to trade some spells, but Bleys refused to make a decision on the matter yet.  Meanwhile, Telémahkos pulled Timotheus aside and expressed his wish to return to Lilly City to find a sword-master when this was all over.

“I am all for it, cousin and I will go with you,” Timotheus said. “But you know the others will be against taking the time to do so…”

A little more than an hour later they headed off.  Markos, Victoria, Telémahkos and Katan led the way in the old man’s boat, while Timotheus, Bleys and Tymon rode in the one Markos conjured. A mushroom creature had been shooed onto each boat in hopes of using them to warn of the approach of any more of the deadly mosquitoes.4

“Why aren’t you riding in your own boat?” Victoria asked.

“It could disappear!” Markos answered.5

As they made their way through the deep stretches of the swamp, cleaving through the murky green, Katan let out a painful croak of a song, interrupting it only to tell Markos and Victoria, who were rowing, which way to turn.  Timotheus rowed the rear rowboat on his own.  The heat grew as they pierced the center of the swamp. It was unseasonable at times with lots of tiny biting insects, but mostly the morning was calm and almost beautiful, drifting through curtains of thin green flowering vines that drooped into the water.   Katan had warned the young nobles that there would be a point near the middle of their trip where they would have to carry the boats across an island or two to save time.  The old man pointed towards a large green island. The water around it was a churning brown from multiple streams that emptied from this island and other nearby islands. Bleys looked back and noticed a log floating some yards behind the boats.  The thing was he had noticed it before and while it had seemed closer, they should long left it behind.   He carefully reached over for his longbow and strung it.

Timotheus frowned.  “Just keep rowing,” Bleys said to him. “I thought I saw that giant crocodile.”  But Bleys lost sight of it as the boats were brought aground on the steep muddy bank of the islands.  The boats were heavy and awkward to move, as they struggled to get them up on their sides to drag up, Telémahkos heard deep croaking coming from the other side of the thin frond-like trees that obscured most of the island.  The croaking sounded familiar, frog-like, but too much like a voice.  He drew his rapier, as Tymon and Markos began to look around, having heard it as well.

“What’s with the sword?” Tim asked his cousin, oblivious due to most of the work to move the boats falling on him.

“Bullywugs…” Telémahkos replied. 

“They could just be large frogs… like the mosquitoes or the crocodile…” Victoria suggested.

“Either way they are dangerous,” Telie responded. There was a brief discussion about what to do and Telémahkos felt it was better to seek them out and fight them now, rather than to risk being attacked while carrying the boats across the island.  Victoria agreed, so as the boats were pulled further up the shore to make sure they did not float back out into the bog, Telémahkos crept ahead to scout. 

In order to get a good view he climbed a low hanging tree that emerged askew from a sandy bank.  Up ahead, a stream cut through a larger sandy bank gurgling as it slowed and widened to a rock filled pool before narrowing again and disappearing into the bog.  Vine-covered trees dotted the area.  Below he saw a group of frog-men with drab-olive skin mottled with brown.  They wore no armor, but carried wooden shields decorated with woven fronds, and crude spears with notched wooden heads.  He saw at least four, but guess that more were about. They were beating the brush as if looking for something.  Telémahkos carefully climbed back down the tree and hurried back as quietly as he could to report what he had seen.

In the meantime, the others had brought the boats up onto the embankment, and had them on their sides.

“If they are looking for something or someone, perhaps we should take advantage of the element of surprise and attack them now,” Victoria suggested.

But it was too late…  “Get the boats prow to prow!” Timotheus said as he saw the green frog-men hopping out of the trees in their direction, croaking angrily.  He turned to see them hopping towards him, not noticing Telémahkos hiding behind a tree between the frogs and his cousin.  Bleys the Aubergine put his foot down on the edge of one of the boats to keep it in place, allowing Timotheus to draw his saber and turn fully to face the coming foes.  Tymon held the other boat up, doing his best to turn it as Tim had directed, while Victoria prepared her spear, stepping around the boats on the left.   The mushroom people squealed and dove into some nearby brush.

Telémahkos stepped out from behind his tree as the bullywugs hopped past and thrust his rapier through the back of one’s neck, sending it to the swampy ground in a shower of green greasy blood. 6  The other bullywugs did not slow their approach towards Tim.  The first two found their spears caught on the big warrior’s bulette shield, but the third, thinking it had gotten past Tim’s defense was shocked to see his spear crack in half against the brawny man’s breastplate.7  Telémahkos moved around the other side of the three to flank the attackers with his cousin.

As the other set of wugs came around the far left side of the boat to attack Victoria and Bleys, one strayed near the bank and was suddenly gone, as the giant crocodile snapped out from within the brown murky water to trap the frog-man in its maw with one bite.   After taking a missing shot an an approaching bullywug, Bleys let the boat fall and made to hop across it, but his foot got caught in one of the seats and he fell over in the middle of it.8

As Markos cast _magic missile_ weakening one of the bullywugs Timotheus and Telémahkos had penned in, Victoria called to her god.  “Anhur! Laarus’ killer has shown its maw, give us the strength to win our revenge,” she prayed, casting _bull’s strength_ on herself.

As fear filled the bullywugs they began to grow sloppy, and one in trying to stab at Timotheus found its thrust guided by his saber into the side of its ally.8  Timotheus took advantage of the confusion, and sliced one open. He then follow through to cut its neighbor in half.9  An arrow flew out of seemingly nowhere, striking the leg of one of the frog-men from behind the melee. Telémahkos flicked his thin blade drawing green blood from one of the creatures as he dared a look back to see if he could spot its source, but he couldn’t.

“_Quies!_ Markos cast, running fine sand between his fingers and sending a bullywug to sleep in front of the giant crocodile, dooming it to be munched on as well.  Bleys stood, one foot on the boat’s gunwale and let an arrow fly right into the crocodile’s back, but its armor-like plates resisted the projectile, just as it resisted the thrust of Victoria’s spear and a bolt from Tymon’s heavy crossbow.  The manservant had left old man Katan to hold up the boat, while he reloaded the thing on Telémahkos’s command.  The sound of a flute came from among the trees where the mysterious arrow had come from, and as one of two remaining bullywugs turned to hop away from the chaos, it was caught by Telémahkos’s rapier in the eye instead.  It collapsed, bleeding out.

The flute song had a strange disruptive rhythm that broke up its melody in an uncomfortable way, and it was echoed by the mushroom creatures, who poked their heads up to see where it was coming from. The crocodile surged, snapping at Victoria, but somehow its movements seemed to be mimicking the strange music, causing it to fall short of its prey. 9 “_Rectus telum!_ Markos chanted and an arrow of pure acid flew from his hands to splatter on the crocodile’s neck and face.  Even its roar seemed to echo the strange magical song effecting is movements.  Bleys dropped his bow and drew his sword, cutting down at the thing as it passed him, aiming for the sizzling spot, his stony face demonstrating a certain satisfaction when his blade drew the reptile’s blood.

“_Veneficus absentium aquom!_ Markos cast again, and two _magic missiles_ slammed into the great beast’s back.

“Somebody _enlarge_ me!” Timotheus called, but it seemed he did not really need the extra girth and strength, for he cut a huge gash in the monster as it reared up, and for a moment it struggled on its side, revealing its more tender underbelly for Victoria’s spear to penetrate.

Telémahkos fought the remaining bullywugs, turning to keep sight of the crocodile in the corner of his left eye, and finally saw the source of the arrow and the music.  It was a skinny mud-covered man playing a small flute.  The man stepped out from behind a tree to get a better view of the melee.  The crocodile flipped back right side up and spun with a speed that belied its size, bludgeoning Timtheus painfully with its tail in the process and knocking the brawny warrior down.  Victoria and Bleys flanked the thing, but most of their blows had trouble penetrating its scales.

Markos pulled a dagger and shoved it in the lower back of the remaining bullywugs It croaked in surprise and as it collapsed the mage looked up to Telémahkos who had been fighting it. “Now go get that thing!” He gestured to the croc with his chin.

But before Telémahkos could make his way to draw the melee, Tymon let go with another heavy crossbow bolt that found the bleeding burned creature’s eye, puncturing through to its brain, finally killing it.  The young nobles could not suppress a cheer. 

“Hail and well met!” The stranger with the flute called, making his way towards them.  He had dirty blond curls plastered to his head by mud, and wore studded leather under a green tunic.  Despite the dirt, he had an obvious rugged handsomeness set off by angelic shining brown eyes.

Timotheus greeted the newcomer enthusiastically, always willing to make a friend, while the others greeted, keeping a posture of wariness.

“I am Savion Gold of Collines d’Or,” the man said, holding out his hands as he approached.

“We are the Scions of…” Telémahkos began. “Yeah, yeah…” Timotheus interrupted his cousin. “The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland…”

“We heard your music,” Victoria said, introducing herself. “At one point it seemed to ensorcell the crocodile… Thank you…”

After each of the nobles introduced themselves in turn, gesturing to Katan and Tymon, Savion explained that he was on trail of some gnolls who had kidnapped a child.

“I was on my way to Moraes Heng to see if I could find some aid,” he said. “My quarry seem to have crossed a deep bog by some kind of craft…”

“We should help him!” Timotheus turned to the others.

“If a child is in danger we should help him,” Markos agreed, but his scowl at Tim displayed an annoyance with Tim’s readiness to offer their aid to someone they did not know.

“He could be a MacHaven plant,” Bleys said.

“My thoughts exactly,” said Markos.

“Who?” Savion asked.

“No way!” Timotheus. “That would mean that MacHaven would have to know we were going to here at this time on this day and then have him wait around for us? For what…?”

Savion Gold looked back and forth among the young nobles, with an amused expression, wondering at how they spoke of him as if he weren’t’ there.  He looked down at the hopping mushrooms and squinted, as if not quite believing what he saw, but he said nothing about them.

“Well, I’ll tell ya one thing, they ain’t no gnolls in these parts,” Katan spoke up. “He could be a Red Lantern assassin!”

Bleys the Aubergine cocked an eyebrow and looked to the stranger.  “Tell us about these gnolls,” Markos asked, growing more suspicious.

“He is right. There are no gnolls in this bog. My companions and I tracked them all the way from Collines d’Or. They had taken a large number of human children from some villages there and we organized a posse to get them back.  A few days ago we finally caught up with them nearly all of them and rescuing… most… of the children.  Three escaped carrying a boy named ‘William,’ we call him ‘Wee Willie’.  His brother was among those in the posse and he fell in the battle.  The others decided to take the other children back to safety, but I chose to go on and try to save Willie…”

“Where is Collines d’Or?” Telémahkos asked.

“The southwestern shores of the Captured Sea…”

“That is a long way to bring children,” Telémahkos replied. “To what end?”

“We do not know for sure, but we figured they were slavers,” Savion replied, going on to ask what the Signers were doing in the Glitcheegumme.

“Could there be a connection between these insect cultists and the gnolls?” Markos speculated aloud.  “Gnolls have animal heads, right?”

“Hyena,” said Timotheus. “Whatever those are.” Savion nodded.

“Is a connection really likely?” Victoria asked.

“Evil lizardfolk, insect worshipers, giant crocodiles, and now hyena heads?” Markos continued. “All of them are beasts, and so are frog-men…”

It was agreed to let Savion come with them as long as they were headed in the same direction and there was reason to think the gnolls may be connected to the cultists they were seeking out, and thus MacHaven.

“This beast slew one of our companions,” Victoria said a little later, looking down at the crocodile as Markos cut its belly open hoping to retrieve more of Laarus to bury or bring with him to the family vaults.10

“It seems you have avenged his death,” Savion replied,

“No, this is just a dumb beast,” Victoria said, anger brimming in her voice. “Vengeance shall come to those who’s evil plans caused us to come to this bog in the first place…”

_…to be continued…_

------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

1 This session was played on Saturday, June 7th in Maplewood, NJ.

2 See InterSession #31.1

3 See Session #30.

4 See Session #31

5 There was a doubt that the boat would last long enough since Katan was so vague about how long it took to reach the island where they would have to carry the boats across a narrow island.

6 Telémahkos scored a deadly hit with a sneak attack on an attack of opportunity on the unaware bullywug.

7  The bullywug made a critical fumble: _Hard Awkward Blow_, Roll weapon’s damage, double and add Strength bonus. Compare this to weapon’s hardness and hps to see if it breaks.

8 Bleys failed a balance check.

9 Timotheus used his cleave feat here.

10 Remember, all that was left of Laarus was his right forearm and hand.


----------



## handforged

A BARD!  Whoa, that is certainly going to change things up a bit from stern old Laarus.  We'll see what happens I guess.  Markos inheriting the visions will also be a neat twist.

~hf


----------



## el-remmen

*Session #32 – “Assault on the Old Apshai Temple” (part 2 of 2)*

Later as Timotheus started work on skinning the crocodile (quickly realizing it would take much longer than they had), Markos prepared a spell in place of one he had readied that morning.1  They finished carrying the boats across the mucky ground and then continued deeper into the bog on the other side. Timotheus, Bleys and Victoria rode in the magical boat, while Telémahkos, Markos, Tymon, Savion and Katan rode in the larger boat, along with a great deal of gear and Tim and Victoria’s armor.

The foliage grew even thicker and their progress slowed as they often raised the oars to push aside brush as they went by.  About two hours after getting past the island where they fought the bullywugs the mushroom creatures began to sing, and Katan began to holler his hatred of their song.  “Ya nasty varmints! You’ll call the creatures of the swamp down on us!”

“You are making more noise then they are,” Victoria said.

“Light the cigars!  Light the cigars!” Markos called and Katan obeyed.  In the rear boat, Bleys did the same. They all heard the buzzing of the giant mosquitoes momentarily, but it passed without their coming into view.2

When the danger was past, Markos had fun getting the mushrooms to harmonize with him on bawdy sailor’s song, annoying everyone, but Katan most especially.

As they passed one last long stretch of deep still green bog water, Markos called out to those in the rear boat, “The spell may be ending soon, so that boat might be disappearing!”

“How will we know?” Timotheus called back.

“When you fall into the water,” Markos replied.  And a few moments later, about 100 yards short of the mossy shore of an island thick, the _conjured boat_ disappeared, sending Bleys, Timotheus and Victoria into the water.

“You fool,” Telémahkos cursed Markos.

“Race you!” Timotheus said to Bleys, and the two of them made a beeline for the shore, Bleys’s finer swimming stroke edging out the strength pulling Timotheus in great ragged yanks across the water. 

Timotheus pulled himself out of the water laughing and then reached down to help Victoria out as well and later grabbed the prow of Katan’s and helped pull it ashore.

This was a lush island, green and covered in tall broad blades of wavy grass that leaned over each other in humps and waves. It rose up in rounded hills that built upon each other, leaving a winding path of grass-choked valleys that had clearly been hacked through with machetes.  Katan explained that the last time he had passed through this area there had been no path and the way up to the overgrown shrine was a difficult passage.  Savion asked that the others stood where they were while he went to the edge of the hacked path and checked for tracks.

In the meantime, the others discussed what to have Katan do.  Bleys felt he should come back in two days and told the man as much, and the others quickly agreed.  Since the matter was decided, he moved up to observe Savion looking for tracks, asking a few key questions about how such things were done.

“It may be there is another way out of here, so if we are not here waiting in two days forget it,” Bleys said, handing the man some coins. “But we shall find a way to send you due payment.”

The Scions of Thricia, with their new companion and manservant in tow, began to make their way up the path.  Savion said he had found several sets of tracks overlapping each other, including those of lizardfolk and some he was sure were made by the gnolls he had been tracking.  Timotheus led the way, followed by Bleys and Tymon.  Then came Savion, Telémahkos, and Markos.  Victoria took up the rear of the line.  The grass was slick and often their booted feet sunk down into the soft loam below as it was impossible to know exactly where they were stepping.  The grass was tall and thick, like tight blooming ferns creating a thick green wall to either side of them, and forcing them to go directly along the path.  

“Look! Canoes!” Victoria called to the others.  Everyone else had walked past them without noticing, but there were three large canoes tucked into a ditch at the roots of some of the grass on the right side.  The canoes were painted green and brown and blended easily with the background.  “Markos, make sure to mark this place in your memory so that we might find them again on the way back,” the militant said.

The tanned mage walked back and looked to where she pointed and then made an exaggerated expression as if he were straining, putting his right hand to his temple.  “It is memorized,” he said to Victoria with a smirk, and rolling his eyes he turned as everyone else continued to walk.

“What do lizardfolk need with canoes?” Timotheus asked. 

“The gnolls might have used them,” Savion suggested.

“And MacHaven’s Brood,” added Bleys.

They had marched perhaps thirty minutes when Timotheus stopped short.  “Gnolls!”

There were three tall humanoids wrapped in studded leather armor and holding long recurved bows.  They had red-furred hyena faces with long toothy snouts and large eyes.  Savion rushed forward and winced as an arrow cut him deeply across the forearm as he reflexively raised his arm to deflect it, dropping to one side to pull and arrow from his quiver.

“I’ll keep them tied up!” Timotheus called, rushing forward, ignoring the arrows narrowly missing him as he advanced, hacking at one of the hyena-headed men.  It leapt back, deftly fitting another arrow to its bow as it did, giving a sharp barking call to its two companions.

Bleys moved up and then squeezed into the thick press of the tall broad grass letting an arrow loose that caught one of the gnolls in the calf, before springing out, advancing and firing again, this time the gnoll barked in deeper pain.  Meanwhile, the three of them kept deftly avoiding Timotheus, managing to withdraw just enough to fire arrows that only shattered uselessly against the bulette shield. Telémahkos ran up and supported his cousin, screaming for Victoria to aid him, but the militant was not as fleet of foot in her scale armor, and had been trailing the line.  Markos kept hidden, slowly advancing by hiding behind different lumps of the fern-like grass.

One of Savion’s arrows found the lead gnoll’s chest and it collapsed, dying. And Victoria reached the melee in time to pen in another that bounced between heavy blows from her spear, Telémahkos’s rapier and Timotheus’s saber.   It fell over dead.

The remaining gnoll withdrew down the path dropping its bow and drawing a battle-axe off its back.  The party could see now that around the bend here, the path split into two directions, though the way to the right was much narrower.  The gnoll stuck to the left.  Timotheus rushed it, shield up and the resounding blow echoed across the grass as Tim’s jaw chattered as he fell backward painfully.  The gnoll barked its laugh-like bark delightedly, but its victory was short lived.  Markos let a bolt from his gnomish repeating crossbow fly, staggering the thing, and then Bleys moved up and fired an arrow from his longbow. The hyena-headed man-beast fell back, dead.

Tymon and Telémahkos helped Timotheus to his feet.  The gnolls were searched and their weapons distributed, though the axes were thrown into a nearby ditch.  They found many silver and copper coins in a sack along with what looked like two large insect cocoons.  They were a dirty whitish-gray and slightly curved, ridged on one side with a seam.  Markos sliced the thing open and inside was some kind of large locust pupae.  It was unmoving, dead by the time he got the thing open, ichor spilling all over his hands.  They also found leather leashes of the kinds used on human slaves.  Savion recognized them as the type used by the previously defeated gnolls slavers.

“They must have dropped the boy off at the shrine,” he said.

As Victoria called on Anhur to heal Timotheus, Savion scouted the two paths (Bleys once again, looking on) and announced that the gnolls had come from the broader path.  

They marched on pressing the pace as fast as they dared.  

“You said you are from Collines d’Or?” Markos asked Savion as they marched.  “That is in the northwestern shore of the Captured Sea?”

“Yes,” Savion replied, shortly.  He continued to march at the increased pace, and Markos momentarily fell behind.

”So, your surname is ‘Gold’… As in House Gold, former bannermen of House Amber?” Markos asked. He had recently learned much of the area from his research at the Library of Thoth in Lilly City.3

“Yes, I am descended from the nobles of House Gold,” Savion replied. “But now is not the time to discuss lineage…”

Markos nodded, “I just wanted to say I have some interest in House Amber and thought perhaps you knew more about them…” 

Savion nodded. “I know some…”

The trail they were on began to get windier making it way up a steeped hill covered in the wall-like grass.  They caught a glimpse of a large opening above them and some areas that looked like they were smaller clearings flanking it to the lower left and right.  The foliage here was more like an unkempt hedge, tall and creating narrow passages that wound up the hill.

A lizardman’s voice was heard to call in common, “Intruders!”

Ahead the path forked out, and the lizardfolk appeared on their right and then dove back the way it came around the corner.  Telémahkos hurried after, followed by Timotheus.  “We need to hurry to save the kid,” Telémahkos called out.  “We must not be too late!:

Bleys quickly cast _message_ on Telémahkos before the swordsman disappeared with his cousin around the bend.  But Telémahkos stopped short as the lizardfolk hurried past a shambling humanoid figure with pasty yellow skin and dead eyes.  It was some kind of zombie, but was wrapped in a green thorny vine that emerged from its neck and head.

“Ra’s Balls! Timotheus! Kill that thing!” Telémahkos swore.  “I’m checking for the kid.” He leapt and avoided a spear the lizardman spun and chuck at him, hurrying past the zombie-creature.  The thing reached out with its calcified hands and slapped at Telémahkos with dead heavy limbs.  The blond Briareus grunted and fell into a tumble to get past.  Timotheus charged in as Bleys began to cast another spell, stepping forward to keep them in sight.

Timotheus buried his saber into the creature’s shoulder and yellow-green ichor poured from the wound instead of blood, and it would not fall.4

“_Augeo Alio!_ Bleys completed the long spell and Timotheus grew in size to reach over twelve feet in height.  The narrow confines of the path were now blocked by his immensity, making it difficult to get past him on the main path, or even in the direction Telémahkos had gone.  Savion, whistling a jaunty tune, managed to squeeze past just as Timotheus was still growing, while Victoria cursed and bullied her way through the tall grass and broad-leaved bushes. She cut through the intersection and by-passed Timotheus, arriving back at the main path where it curved to the right, joining Savion.  Markos dove between Tim’s legs and followed the newcomer and the militant, quickly passing the latter.

Tymon pushed his body against the hedge and reached for the zombie with his longsword, chopping through its head.  The thing collapsed and fell apart, letting out brown dust.  Timotheus squeezed down the side path and found Telémahkos at the edge of a pit in one of the side clearings they had noticed before.  The lizardfolk was on the other side, drawing a thatched cover off from over the hole.  

“Watch out! It is probably like the thing that killed Victoria’s horse that time!” Telémahkos warned his cousin.6  Timotheus could easily reach the lizardfolk with his increased armreach and drew green-black blood from it, but the lizardfolk was able to pull the cover clear.

“Get out of here!” Telémahkos called to Tim, jumping forward to stab the lizardfolk with his rapier.

Out on the main path, Savion was startled by a second zombie creature stumbling at him from a path on the left.  The whistling man hurried further down the path away from the thing.  Another lizardman spun around the corner, spearing at Markos, who cried out in alarm.  Victoria called to Anhur and lay a _cure light wounds_ spell on the mage as she drew her morningstar with her other hand.  She swung the heavy spiked and moved in.  Bleys let an arrow loose at the lizardfolk, but the projectile stopped by the hedge, hanging limply between blades of thick grass.  The zombie turned to the next nearest target and slammed Victoria under the chin, pushing its way into close quarters with her.

Savion’s whistling changed into several sharp blasts and a flare of red light burst into being near the lizardman’s head, but seemed to have no affect on it.  Victoria tried to drive the zombie back with pure strength, pushing her morningstar into its belly to pry it back away from her.  Tymon moved up and chopped at the thing from behind.  It spun around and slammed the manservant heavily on the side of the head.

Bleys hung back looking for an opening with his bow, stopping only to cast _expeditious retreat_ on himself.

Meanwhile Telémahkos was able to thrust his rapier through the neck of his own lizardman foe and hurry to dive between the legs of his fleeing cousin, before any of the feared yellow pollen emerged.  Seeing the battle out in the intersection Telémahkos squeezed past Bleys and then fell into a roll, gaining momentum to leap over the melee, twisting his body to avoid the spear thrust of the lizardfolk attacking Savion.  Timotheus stepped over Bleys and then charged in trying to use his increased size to barrel through the fight and emerge at the other side, but the vine-covered zombie got tripped up in his legs and he did not get by.

A third lizardman emerged from around the corner from where more of the tall frond-like grass formed a ring around the huge clearing atop the flattened hill.  It flung a javelin and Telémahkos gasped as he felt the pain of it glance off his ribs through his chain shirt.  Savion moved to join Telémahkos, but stopped short as he felt the sting of many needles against his arm and face.  He looked up to see another strange humanoid creature atop a tall narrow moss-covered standing stone that was one of matched pair, twelve feet high that flanked the entrance to the clearing – the old shrine of the dark insect god.  It has fibrous skin of a dun-brown and pale green that covered knots of muscled vine. And over all its body it was covered in countless tiny needles.  In its hands it held a short bow and wore a quiver on its back, but the needles had emerged from its very body.  Another of these bizarre needlemen stood on the twin stone at the other side of the entrance. Just within these stone columns were deep shafts of clear water about five feet wide and ten feet long.

Markos chanted an arcane word and the lizardman in the intersection fell to sleep, and Victoria squeezed against the hedge to flank the zombie.

“Telémahkos! What is happening up there?” Bleys whispered, using his spell to talk to Telémahkos, still trapped behind the fight by the zombie and Timotheus’ immensity.  The third lizardman came charging up just as Timotheus chopped down the zombie, but it managed to stop just short of being caught by the saber’s wide swing. 

If Telémahkos heard Bleys call to him, he did not reply. Instead he reached into his toga and drew out the potion of _invisibility_ that Markos had given to him after the first assassination attempt back in Sluetelot.5   He choked it down and promptly disappeared.

Savion fired some arrows at the needleman on the left, but the arrows seemed to do little or no harm to the thing. Unfortunately for the newcomer, the same could not be said for these creatures’ arrows on him.  They both fired and he felt one clip his shoulder and the other bounced off a stud on his armor.  He could feel the welt swell and tighten beneath his clothing.  Behind him, Victoria slammed the remaining lizardman in the shoulder with her morningstar, knocking it down.  Tymon stepped over and thrust his sword in its chest drawing blood.

“Finally!” Timotheus swore, pushing past everyone, his broadened shoulders brushing against the hedge on either side as he made it to the opening to the circular shrine area.  He winced as he felt the bite of needles flying at him from the plant-men flanking him.  “Telémahkos! Where did you go?”

“Tim! Telémahkos is invisible!” Bleys whispered with his spell.  The blond Briareus had informed the watch-mage of his state by means of the _message_ spell, as he hurried towards the center of the shrine area.  The area was about 80 feet across and at its center was a painted circle of stones with a stylized red mantis in the center.  There were five tall spires of stone ending in rounded points and covered in damp green moss that flanked each side of the central circle, eight of them were about six feet in diameter and nine feet high, but the center one on each side was nearly ten feet in diameter and twelve feet tall. The wall of tall frond-grass (fifteen feet tall) emerged from a trench dug around the entire circumference of the place and brimming with green water.

Two figures in long brown robes were walking at a steady pace around the circle on the ground, while a third stood over a small boy tied up lying on his side and crying.  The third figure was a homely woman with two long dirty nappy brown fraying braids emerging from her shaved scalp.  She was covered in countless tiny tattoos of insects, including on her face and head.  She wore studded leather and held a spear in one hand, on her back was a quiver of javelins.  She turned to look at Timotheus with her cold gray eyes.

“Get away from the child!” Timotheus demanded. “And perhaps I won’t kick your asses quite as hard!”

Telémahkos was not far from the tattooed woman, on his hands and knees on the edge of the circle, invisible and taking in the layout of the place.  He gulped softly as he noticed two black ants, larger than mastiffs making their way from the rear of the clearing.  “I’m up at the cicrle,” Telémahkos whispered to Bleys via the spell that connected them. “I am going to save the child…”

Savion shouted as he was struck by another arrow, so moving forward Bleys spoke some arcane words to protect the newcomer from the onslaught of missiles.7  Nearly simultaneously, Victoria called on Anhur to shield Savion with her faith, as the tracker was bleeding profusely.

“Chansomps say,” the woman with the spear called, obviously referring to herself. “Apshai!  Dark lord of the hive and the colony! Use your power over plants to grasp these intruders!”  And suddenly the grass and bushes began to grow and coil in a large area at the entrance to the clearing and even right up to the edge of the inner circle.  Tymon and Markos were held immobile, while the others were able to avoid the quivering plantlife for now.  The sleeping lizardman was also caught by the grasping foliage. “Master! What should I do?” Tymon cried out, squirming to free himself.   

But Telémahkos was too busy, he straddled the boy and flared his cloak, hoping to shield him with his invisibility (but failing), quickly cutting the first bond about the boy’s wrists.  “We are noble heroes here to rescue you,” he whispered to the would-be sacrifice.  He noticed that the boy was bound to a stake in the ground that was tied about his waist and had two sets of bonds on his ankles and knees.

One of the circling druids stopped to direct one of the giant ants towards Timotheus, who made a large crack in its shell with his saber as it approached, barely sidestepping to avoid an arrow from the needleman on the right.  Victoria hopped from one side to the other avoiding the flailing plants and handing a potion of _aid_ to Savion as she passed him to reach the clearing entrance.  Bleys followed with his increased speed, passing her and managing to escape the area of _entanglement_ altogether.   He moved to the left side of the clearing, noting one of the two ants charging to clamp down on Victoria’s calf with its pincer, even as she winced from needles flying at her from the flanking plantmen.  Savion drank the potion and then fired an arrow at the needleman on the left.  The arrow made contact and drew the smallest bit of sap-like blood from the plantman.

“You will not stop the coming of the avatar!” Chansomps cried, beginning to huff and puff as her chest expanded and her eyes grew wild and bloodshot.  She charged at Bleys who was well within the clearing now, but the watch-mage easily avoided her, running with the speed granted by his spell past the circle, to the deeper into the clearing. Telémahkos cut the second set of bonds on the boy.  There was a cry as one of the two druids cut across the circle to strike Timotheus with a club she drew from under her voluminous cloak.  Tim’s _enlarged_ blade drew blood as the insect-priestess tried to duck out of its way and slammed her cudgel into Tim’s knee, but she got the worst of the exchange.  The other druid thinking he could use the distraction, found himself cut deeply across the face, and as he fell the last thing he felt was the point of Timotheus’ sword slicing open his gut to spill his entrails on the grass.

Chansomps turned from chasing Bleys and went after Timotheus instead.  The _enlarged_ brawny warrior cut through the foe swinging at him and brought his blade up in time to send the berserking druid’s spear off line and clip her with the tip of his sword on the chin, drawing a lot of blood.  

Bleys hustled around the left side of the clearing and let loose and arrow, hitting the needleman on the left dead in the center of its back.  It made no sound.

Victoria roared as she felt the grass about her ankles finally grab a tight hold of her, arresting her movement, but was able to bring down her morningstar heavily one last time, crushing the ant biting at her. Roaring her ambition to slay all her foes to her god, she entered her holy rage.

Tymon finally able to pull himself free dragged himself over to Bleys. “If you can make me big, Master Bleys, I will attack those thorny things on the rocks!”

As Savion continued to send arrows at the needlemen, Timotheus fell into the harsh rhythm of melee against the raging druid-warrior, Chansomps, and Telémahkos cut the last bond on the captured boy…

*End of Session #32*

--------------------------------------------------------
*Notes:*

1 Arcane casters can prepare spells in place of already prepared spells if they take 15 minutes per spell level. However, just the act of beginning to prepare a new spell removes the old one.

2 Remember, the cigar smoke acts as a deterrent to the giant mosquitoes.  (See Session #30)

3 Markos had his cousin Laarus get the information with the help of Telémahkos’s brother, Nikephorus.  (See Session #27)

4 This was a yellow musk zombie.

5 See Session #27.

6 See Session #4

7 _Protection from Arrows_


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## darkhall-nestor

helloooooooooooooo  where is everybody?


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## darkhall-nestor

poke poke

anybody home?


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## el-remmen

Actually, no, I'm not home. . . not really. Well, in my new home in Binghamton, NY, where I've recently started a PhD program in English Studies.  

I am sorry that I never posted a note here to give the status of the story hour, but between being really busy with life, being at  waning point in my interest in D&D/RPGs (happens every few years) and starting at a new school in an intensive course of study, I have not had time to work on the story hour (though there is one more installment written up to be posted).  

We ended the campaign this past August with kind of an open-ended final session of the young nobles going off on a great adventure - perhaps we will take it up again some day.

Thanks all for reading, and perhaps I will get around to post the last installment over winter break and maybe even try to write up those last ones.

Peace.


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## el-remmen

Just a bump 12 years later to say, I am planning on doing a compiled and cleaned up PDF version of this (unfortunately) incomplete story hour and will be looking for the lost session #33 that I claimed to have written up.


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