# Welcome to the Halmae (updated 2/27/07)



## spyscribe

> Want facts at a glance?  This story hour is indexed!
> 
> If you're just starting out, I recommend StevenAC's excellent compiled pdf files, complete with sidebars, illustrations, and selected thread chatter. (Some of the chatter isn't even in the thread.  Spoooooky...)
> 
> Ahem, yes.  And if you aren't a player in the campaign, you might want to drop by Fajitas' Rogues Gallery thread, Secrets of the Halmae.  It's like a glimpse inside his dastardly little mind.
> 
> And now, a new map!



_A brief note for the uninitiated: 

This Story Hour is being written for two reasons and two reasons only.  I am (1) compulsive and (2) poor.  

"What the hell?" you might be reasonably asking yourself.  Really, it’s quite simple.  This campaign has been ongoing for almost a year and a half now, and for most of that time people (who shall remain nameless) have been musing aloud that there ought to be a story hour.  But we’re all too busy, or too daunted, or too whatever to take on the task.  

But, as I mentioned, I’m compulsive.  I take a lot of notes.  Some nights, the pencil doesn’t stop moving.  After all, someday we might want to know that the night of November 25th passed without incident although there were some odd sounds coming from the tunnel we were sleeping in.  It could be important.  This note-taking has been noticed.  Guess who gets tapped to write up a Story Hour.  No, no, go on… guess.  You get three, but the first two don’t count.  

Okay, you got it?  Anyway, this hinting has been going on for months.  Why has my resolve crumbled now?

Well, you might recall I mentioned the whole poverty bit.  Today is our DM’s birthday.  I really ought to get him something.  So I thought, "Hey, I’ll get him a Story Hour.  It’s the gift that keeps on giving."

So Happy Birthday, Fajitas.  Now you can show all your friends that you have a real, live campaign, and you know this log will get updated at least once a year, maybe twice, what with Hanukkah and all.  Seriously, I hope you like it.

And if it doesn’t fit, don’t worry, it will be bigger._


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## spyscribe

*Part the First*

*Part the First:*
In which: the party grows ever larger

_(Another note: this is not the beginning of the campaign.  I joined the group after they had been playing for several months and so this is as close to the beginning as I can lend a first-hand account.  If someone (hint hint) would like to tell the story about Reyu and the bear trap, that someone would be most certainly welcome to add recollections for the sake of historical completeness.)_

The group was beginning to reach an impractical size.  Their cart was filled with people, and even though several had opted to walk along on foot, the temple mule who had been pressed into service for the job of drawing said cart had taken to looking forlornly over his shoulder to the Elven woman at the reins with an expression that said, "Isn’t it time to go home yet?"

Reyu, the aforementioned Elf, passes the look on to her cleric companion, Anvil the Just. It had been at his temple’s behest they had traveled to Dar Aego on a mission to buy the freedom of several citizens of Dar Pykos who, through a legal loop-hole, had been sold into slavery in Dar Aego.  In fact, several members of the party had nearly fallen into that trap themselves.  Their task now was almost done, and if they never saw Dar Aego again, it would be too soon.  "Is there just the one left?" she asks.

Anvil nods.  "But I’ve received a message from al-Assal.  He wants to see us again before we leave."

"Why?"

"He didn’t say."

From the cart, a bearded man about three feet tall pokes his head up.  "Maybe he still wants me to come work for him." Reyu and Anvil exchange a look over the gnome Hue’s head.  Anything was possible.  

Anvil shrugs, "The farm Collin Meadowson was sold to is some distance from the city, on the road back to Dar Pykos.  We might  as well see what al-Assal wants, and then stop for Collin on the way home."

None of the five lately freed slaves in the cart are going to argue against spending as little time in the city as possible, so the party turns slowly round towards the gates of Dar Aego.

Dar Aego is one of seven city-states in the Darine Confederacy.  It is renowned for its opulent lifestyle—assuming you have the coin to pay for it—and its lovely architecture, free for the viewing.  Unfortunately, architecture is about all that Dar Aego gives away for free.  If you’ve got money though, anything is for sale, including justice.

Anvil would happily burn the entire city to the ground, and then a little lower for good measure.

The House of al-Assal is… well… a brothel, but a plush one.  The proprietor himself welcomes the party warmly.  "Ah, it is good to see you again." His gaze falls to Hue.  "I don’t suppose you’ve reconsidered my offer?  Some of my clientele have very…exotic tastes… you could be a rich man."

	Anvil cuts him off. "What is it you desire of us?"

	The master of the house is unruffled. "Well, I have aided you in your quest here, and I would like to request a favor in return."

	"What kind of favor?" asks Reyu with not a little suspicion.

	"A young lady arrived in the city last night.  She was supposed to meet a caravan going to Dar Pykos but she was delayed on the road, and they left without her.  I assume you will be going in that direction soon.  Perhaps you could take her there?"  

As he speaks, al-Assal draws aside a brocade curtain, revealing a human girl.  She’s about 19, thin, pretty, petite, and looking rather shell-shocked at being confronted by the mass of the party.  She wears ordinary traveling clothes and would be nondescript if not for her striking red hair and the weasel poking his nose out of one of her cloak pockets.  He and Hue’s ferret eye each other warily.

	"What’s your name?" asks Reyu, not unkindly.

	"Lira."

	"Why are you going to Dar Pykos?" Anvil shoots next.

	"I’m meeting a friend there."

	Thatch, the young fighter, has been quiet but breaks in with, "Can you fight?"

	Her shrug says, "I’m a 98-lb weakling, do I look like I can fight?"

	Anvil informs her, "We are on a mission for Kettenek, freeing those who have been wrongly—"

	"Can I come?"

	"Can you leave immediately?"

	Lira grabs a backpack resting by her feet and slings it onto one shoulder. "Yes."

	The rest of the party exchanges a quick look. "Let’s go then."

	They leave with hardly a backwards glance.  Except Hue, who turns as they leave to call back, "I’ll think about your offer… It sounds very interest—" before he is picked up by the back of his coat and hauled off by Thatch.

	Within minutes, the party is leaving Dar Aego as quickly as their much put-upon mule can take them.


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## Fajitas

Wak!  Now that's a birthday surprise, and no mistake.

Thanks, Spyscribe.  Now I'll have to push Wisdom Like Silence to get the first few adventures written up.

I can also post some world-y background information for interested readers.  Enjoy.


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## Piratecat

Whoo hoo!  One of my favorite West Coast players (Fajitas played Shara in my Eversink campaign, and Wisdom Like Silence played Kiri) has his own campaign and story hour.  

Damn it, if I can't play in it, at least I get to live vicariously.  Bliss.  Thanks, Spyscribe!


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## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> *
> Thanks, Spyscribe.  Now I'll have to push Wisdom Like Silence to get the first few adventures written up.
> *




Yup yup yup!  

Also, a thank you is due to WLS, for reading this in advance of posting and providing detail and suggestions (although any mistakes are still mine, all mine!).

Because (ironically enough) we haven't gotten to the part of the campaign where I really started taking notes yet.


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## WisdomLikeSilence

Ahh, but you actually wrote it.

Just a note for our gentle readers.  When we started this campaign Spycribe was *brand new* to role playing.   She's done splendidly, and is now one of our resident rules experts.

-WLS


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## dpdx

Cool! Another fruitful result of "Six Degrees of Piratecat, Kidc and Sagiro." And another Story Hour I'll be paying rapt attention to.  Well done, spyscribe. I look forward to your next update, even if it's not my birthday present.


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## Snipet

*HAPPY BIRTHDAY!*

Wow!  I'm impressed!  This is so cool.  Now I'll get the whole story about what happened before I joined the campaign!


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## spyscribe

First, thanks to everyone who has read and commented, or just lurked.  This plan has been hatching for more than a month, and it's a little strange to have it out in the open.  I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Look for a story update soon, but, in the meantime, Adar al-Assal (whose name has been corrected in the above text) has registered a protest regarding the characterizion of his establishment in the previous chapter.



> "A brothel?" al-Assal sniffs.  "My dear young lady, the House of
> al-Assal is bar none the finest pleasure palace in all the Halmae. We can
> provide for your every whim or pleasure, sensual or intellectual, and we
> cater to your every dream and desire.  A mere brothel aspires to provide the
> most meager of services for which the House of al-Assal is renown." He
> finishes with a flourish and a low bow.




The management wishes to clarify that it meant no offense to Mr. al-Assal, and invites those who have visited the establishment in question to further enlighten the general public with their testimonials.

Further, if the general public desires clarfication on any matter regarding the Halmae: its political structures, geography, customs, or the persons (generally or specifically) therein, said public should feel free to pose such questions so that the management and editorial board might provide illumination.

Thank you.


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## Orichalcum

*Testimonial*

As a renowned connoisseur of the brothels...ahem...pleasure domes of the Halmae, I would give al-Assal's establishment two kisses and an embrace. While the enthusiasm and verbal talents of his cadre of damsels often leave something to be desired, the divans are always soft, and the decor impeccable.  Of course, the place would have an improved rating if its interior plumbing was superior.

                          Michel al-Zagatan


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## spyscribe

*Part the Second: *
_In which, Kettenek’s justice in Dar Aego is completed (well, a little bit of it anyway), and the party is somewhat poorer for it._

On their way to the LaGrande farm where Collin, the last slave they have been sent to free, is working, Lira is introduced to the rest of the party.  Anvil the Just, Cleric of Kettenek; Reyu, an Elven Druid; Thatch, a Fighter even younger (although much taller) than Lira is; and Hue,* a Wizard.

_(* Hue is a gnome, but as far as we know no one, including him, has ever seen or heard of a gnome before, so in game, we don’t refer to him as one.  This is a pity because one of our great campaign quotes of all time is: "Pimp the Gnome for Justice.")_

Lira reveals that she is from another city state of the Darine Confederacy, Dar Henna.  She asks if the party has any news from that area, but they have nothing to share with her.  Time on the road passes uneventfully and by mid-day the party reaches the farm where they were told Collin has been sold.

Collin’s owner is willing, once the situation has been explained, to sell Collin back to the party for the 100 gold pieces that he paid for him, but the difficulty comes when Collin says he doesn’t want to leave. 

	Anvil are Reyu are very much confused.  "Don’t you desire your freedom?"  

"Why would you stay in this place?"

Collin tries to answer multiple questions at once, "Of course I’d rather be free, but…" he trails off.

	Hue pipes up, "You’ve got a lady friend, haven’t you?"

	Collin stares at Hue in shock, as does the rest of the party.  Hue is known for many things, but perceptiveness isn’t one of them.

	"Yes," Collin stammers, "how did you know?"

	"I can tell about these things."  Hue nods and attempts to look wise.  It might have gone off if he wasn’t standing in a cow pie.

	Apparently, Suaress, the lady in question, is a house slave, and was subject to harassment by one of the field workers.  Collin interceded on her behalf and has been protecting her since his arrival, but he fears what will happen to her once he has left.

	Collin looks to the party imploringly. "Couldn’t you buy her too?"

	The party was given an allowance by Anvil’s organization within the temple for their mission, but between four slave purchases and the bribes that constitute operational overhead in Dar Aego, paying for Collin will nearly exhaust the fund.  The farmer is happy to sell the additional slave, but not at a loss.  Somehow, the party has to come up with 100 gold pieces.

	Reyu tries to exploit the group’s other skills:

	"Is there anyone in your household or on the farm who requires healing?" she asks hopefully.

	"No injuries as like," the farmer replies, "couple of the workers have a touch of fever, can you help with that?"

	Reyu and Anvil exchange helpless looks.  Alas, illnesses they can do little about.

	The party huddles again:

	Hue pulls a few coins from his pocket.  "I could make these gold pieces look like platinum pieces, or I could use copper pieces—"

	Reyu cuts him off, "I do not think that would be a wise idea.  The farmer would surely be angered when he discovered the deception."

	"Maybe I could convince him to lower the price," Lira suggests hesitantly.

	Anvil is dubious, "Why would he do that?"

	"I’ve been known to be… charming."

	Male eyebrows shoot up around the circle.  "Charming?"

	"Not like that!" Lira catches herself starting to shout and lowers her voice to a whisper, "magically charming."

	Reyu blinks.  "You’re a mage?"

	"A Sorcerer."  Lira waits to see if there’s a follow-up to her admission, but no one presses the point.

	The party considers her suggestion.   "He’s going to be really angry if he notices you casting at him."

	"And it would have to be a quick deal because the effect wears off in an hour."

	"How far can we get in an hour?"

	"Probably not far enough."

	"He might alert the local guard."

	No one wants to run afoul of the local guard.  They don’t have near enough money to buy their own way out of enslavement. Additionally, Anvil seems to be fast running out of patience with the decidedly illegal bent that the conversation is taking.

	Finally, they group turns out their own pockets.  Between them, they have 58 gold pieces.

	Anvil grits his teeth.  "I am not going back to that city, and I’m not coming back here once we leave."

	Reyu glances over their collected gear.  "How much is a cart worth?"

	"We don’t really need the mule if we sell the cart," Hue points out.

	"We could sell Bob," someone jokingly suggests.  Everyone turns to look at Thatch’s horse.

	Thatch glowers at the others.  "No. We. Couldn’t."

	Anvil strokes his beard thoughtfully.  "Thatch, go clean up the mule."

	A few minutes later, the mule is clean, and the party returns to the farmhouse where the farmer is sitting on the porch, smoking his pipe patiently.

	Reyu steps forward, "All right, the cart, the mule and… 57 gold pieces, but that’s our last offer."

	The farmer hesitates.  "I’d have to see the mule."

	"Examine him as you like."

	Anvil points out the animal’s best qualities.  "As you can see, he is sound and fit."

	The farmer grunts.  "Well, he’s clean."

	"He is a holy mule, raised by acolytes of Kettenek."

	"Huh," the farmer seems only marginally impressed.  "57 gold you said?"

	"Yes," Reyu replies firmly.

	Another long pause.  A sigh.  "Sold," says the farmer.

	Anvil shakes his hand.  "May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you."  Then, he turns to the party.  "Okay, everybody out of the cart!"

And so, as the sun sinks slowly in the west, the party, including Lira, and six newly-freed slaves begins the journey back to Dar Pykos… on foot.


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## Cerebral Paladin

I suppose commenting on how our heroes are encouraging further illegal slave taking by making it financially beneficial is missing the point...

Seriously, it's great to finally get to read these stories in full instead of just hearing occasional war stories from Fajitas.  Looking forward to more posts!


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## Fajitas

Cerebral Paladin said:
			
		

> *I suppose commenting on how our heroes are encouraging further illegal slave taking by making it financially beneficial is missing the point...*




Well, yes. 

It is worth noting that the people who bought these slaves had no idea they were involved in anything illegal.  They thought they were buying legitimate slaves.  The people who were *knowingly* involved in illegal activities... well, things didn't end up so financially beneficial for them.


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## Jodo Kast

Well-written story hour, spyscribe, I'm looking forward to more installments on this one.

Fajitas, it seems you have addressed the issues associated with legal vs. illegal slave trade.  Does your campaign deal with the larger issue of the immorality of the practice as a whole, whether sanctioned by law or not?


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## Fajitas

Jodo Kast said:
			
		

> *Does your campaign deal with the larger issue of the immorality of the practice as a whole, whether sanctioned by law or not? *




I'm not entirely sure how to answer this.  Abolitionism is not a rampant theme in the game, if that's what you're asking.  But certainly more evil comes of it than good, as you'll see in a few runs.  There are both organizations and individuals opposed to it, but with one notable exception, they have never really taken center stage.  

The PCs, of course, have their own well developed ideas on the morality of the practice.  They are not, on the whole, in favor of it.  Particularly those of them who nearly experienced it from the inside.

It is also worth noting that slavery in the Halmae is based more on a Grecco-Roman slavery system than an American chattal slavery system.  Slaves do have some rights.  It's illegal to kill a slave, for example.  Of course, in Dar Aego, if you're rich enough to own a slave, you're almost certainly rich enough to buy your way out of trouble for killing one.  This is one of the reasons why Anvil the Just wants to burn the place to the ground.

The legality of slavery varies from city-state to city-state within the Darine Confederacy.  This and other inconsistencies in the Law are a source of concern among some members of Anvil's order.  Look for a more detailed side-bar on that soon.


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## spyscribe

*Meet the PCs*

As the party trudges along the road to Dar Pykos (trudge trudge trudge), an interlude: 

At the front of the column is Anvil, properly known as *Anvil the Just*.  He walks at the front because that is where Kettenek's Justice can best be served.  Unless it happens to be best found at the back, at which time he will move.

Anvil is in his mid-twenties and is most recognizable by his thick dark beard and the silver holy symbol of Kettenek hanging around his neck.  Kettenek, when not demanding Justice, also rules the domains of Winter and Earth.  At this moment, Anvil is explaining to *Lira* the benefits of becoming an acolyte of his temple once they return to Dar Pykos.  Apparently, she looks like someone lacking direction in life.

"Umm... I'm sure all that's true, but Ehkt gave me a challenge first," she finally gets a chance to explain.  Ehkt is a god whose domains include (among other things) Summer, Fire, and Chaos.

"What sort of challenge?" Anvil wants to know.

Lira stops to concentrate for a moment, and then fires a _Ray of Frost_ into the trees above their heads.  A bird squawks in protest.

"That sort of challenge."

On Lira's shoulder, her weasel familiar, *Euro*, bounces up and down excitedly, pausing only to whisper conspiratorially in her ear, "Yeah, you show 'em, Boss."

Anvil falls silent, perhaps unsure if Kettenek needs an acolyte who practices arcane arts.

Lira makes her escape while she can, and falls back until *Reyu*, the Elven Druid, dressed in leather as if she were still living among her own people in the forest, stops her.

"You could have hit that bird," she reproaches her.

Lira has the grace to blush, making her cheeks almost the same shade as her hair.  "Sorry."

Lira and Reyu, are, by strange coincidence, exactly the same height and weight.  One might mistake them for twins, if one were 50 yards off, blind drunk, and dumb as a post. 

Aside from obvious species differences, Reyu has dark hair, which she wears with beaded braids in the traditional manner of her people.   At a glance, another Elf, or one well-acquainted Elven customs, can know her name, tribe, and major accomplishments.

Reyu sighs to herself.  She has been sent by the matriarch to learn more about the humans, under the theory that it is always wise to know a potential enemy.  She has been among them now for less than a month and not only have they tried to arrest and enslave her for a crime she did not commit, but that act has paled against what she has seen them to do each other.  If humans have not fallen in her estimation, it is only because they didn't have anywhere to go.

*Thatch*, the party's front line, or to be more accurate, front point, whistles to himself as he walks beside his horse, *Bob*.  Thatch tops six and half feet tall, weighs close to 300 pounds with his armor on, and carries a very effective, if slightly rusty, sword.  He is also seventeen years old and fresh off the farm.  The horse, Bob, also has the air of being more accustomed to drawing a plow than carrying his owner into battle. 

The sword was Thatch's uncle's.  His uncle was a great hero in The War.  Admittedly, no one in the party is exactly sure which war that might be.  Thatch is from a small city-state called Sirrus, south of the Darine Confederacy.  Sirrus is most known for its poverty, which usually ensures that no one bothers to attack it.  Thatch is sure that the conflict was great and important and that in it his uncle did great and mighty deeds.  If others doubt, they usually look at the young Fighter and decide the point is not worth pressing.

Bringing up the rear of the procession is *Hue*.  A grown man three feet tall with an unkempt beard and wild white hair.  Hue is either a Gnome Wizard with a ferret familiar, or the Gnome familiar of a ferret Wizard.  Really, the party isn't sure.  When Lira introduced her weasel and asked him if his ferret had a name he replied: 

"Oh, I don't know.  Names are a very powerful thing, and he's not going to tell _me_ his."

No one in the party has ever met anyone like Hue.  Nor has anyone they have ever met.  Nor has Hue himself.  But, as Anvil once said, "He is skilled, and knows many things."

Hue's great passion is a monograph he is in the process of writing: 900 pages on the mating habits of squirrels.   Even Reyu, with her love of the natural world and exhaustive knowledge of all its creatures, never desired to know that much about that particular topic.

And so, the day wears on.  And the party continues walking towards Dar Pykos.


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## Jodo Kast

Great story and style, Spyscribe.  We're all benefiting from your gift to Fajitas (and from your compulsiveness and poverty, I suppose).


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## KidCthulhu

Not with the squirrels again!  What is it about squirrels that fascinates adventurers so?


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## spyscribe

*Part the Third: *
_In which, Elven curiosity is satisfied, but other mysteries are left unsolved._

	It’s a long walk back to Dar Pykos.  

As they make their way down the road, Hue tries to engage one of the newly freed slaves, Amelia, in conversation.  Amelia is about fifteen years old, with washed-out blonde hair.  Standing more than a head shorter than the girl, Hue catches a glimpse of her pretty gray eyes as she watches the ground in front of her.  He's the only one who can tell what color her eyes are.  In the time she’s been with the party, none of them have seen her make eye contact with anyone.

	"So," he asks, "you’re a student at the Mage’s Academy?"

	Amelia almost spits out her response.  "I _was_."

	"Aren’t you going to go back once we reach Dar Pykos?"

	Amelia does not seem to be in a talking mood.  "I hope to.  If they’ll have me."

	"Why wouldn’t they take you back?"

	"I don’t know."

	Hue is not perturbed by Amelia’s lack of forthcoming.  "I tried to get into the Mage’s Academy, once.  They didn’t want me.  They do strange things there sometimes."

	Amelia looks dubiously down at the small man walking beside her, but declines to be drawn into further conversation.

	Lira listens to the exchange and turns to Reyu.

	"What’s going on there?"

	Reyu makes a non-committal gesture.  "We’re not sure.  Amelia was sold into slavery some months ago.  Her first owner horribly abused her, then was found murdered.  We purchased her freedom from the family that bought her at auction, the Vojers.  The next day we got word that Lord Vojer had been found bludgeoned to death."

	"You think she had something to do with it?"

	"She denies it, but I’ve seen the scars on her back.  If she did, I don’t blame her."

	Amelia steadfastly refuses to open up to anyone, despite friendly overtures from most of her rescuers.  The entire group makes camp for the night in a clearing a little way from the road.  They set watches, but aside from some agitation from Lira’s weasel familiar, Euro, the night is quiet.

	Just before sunrise, Anvil and Reyu are on watch when Reyu catches sight of a figure in the woods.  "Who goes there?"

	The figure takes off running.  

	Reyu, instead of going in pursuit, casts _entangle_ on the woods in front of her where the figure was running.  There is a surprised yelp from the woods, but she notices another shadowy figure leaving the writhing branches.  She follows as Anvil wakes the others.  

When the rest of the group catches up to Reyu they find her facing off against five elves, one of whom is just pulling his way out of the trees—having added several leaves and twigs to his hair’s traditional beads and braiding. 

Reading the leader’s braids, Reyu notes that the group is from the Comin Nation, who usually stay much farther north on the peninsula.

"You’re far from your home, brethren," Reyu observes.  Simultaneously, she motions for Anvil to put down his sword.

The leader of the Elves slowly lowers his bow as the party stands down.  "As are you," he replies.

Fortunately for the party, the Elves aren’t interested in a fight, but wondering why Reyu is traveling with so many humans.  She reassures them that she travels of her own free-will and is not enslaved or otherwise coerced by the rest of the party.  Apparently satisfied, the Elves continue on, leaving the party to break camp.

_(Note:  Elves in the Halmae have a vaguely Native American tribal culture.  They mix with humans occasionally, but there is still a certain amount of racial tension.)_

The party reaches Dar Pykos the following day.  Reyu never thought she would be happy to see a human city, but compared to Dar Aego, she’s thrilled to cross the threshold of the city gates.

Although Tenacious the Just (Anvil’s superior at the temple) is sorry that the party has lost the cart and mule he gave them, he is, overall, quite pleased with their work.  Tenacious and Anvil are both members of an organization within the Temple of Kettenek known as the Universal Law Caucus, devoted to bringing about a single law code to the entire Darine Confederacy.  The Caucus hosts a dinner for the returning heroes and especially the Pykosian citizens they have recently freed from illegal enslavement. 

_(DM’s note: This dinner was a significant event, in that it was a huge PR stunt for the Universal Law Caucus. Five Pykosian citizens had been unrighteously sold into slavery, due to unscrupulous individuals and a gross miscarriage of Justice permitted by a loophole that Kettenek never intended. This became a rallying cry for the Caucus, and put them on the political map in Dar Pykos. Tenacious played it up for everything it was worth.)_


During the dinner, an acolyte comes up and taps Anvil on the shoulder.

"Justicar, there is a message for you."

Outside the banquet hall, Anvil meets a messenger bearing a letter from Immobile, a Justicar the party met in Dar Aego (Anvil had actually been sent to seek him out as he is one of the few members of the Universal Law Caucus in the city-state).  The night after the party left the city, two of al-Assal’s men had been beaten to death, in a manner similar to all of Amelia’s former owners.  Anvil sends word for Reyu, Thatch, and Hue to join him.

"Could it have had something to do with Amelia?" Thatch asks.  "She was at the House of al-Assal before she was bought at auction in Dar Aego."

"I don’t see how, she was with us, halfway to Dar Pykos." Reyu replies.

"Lira was there the night before, maybe she knows something."

Anvil sends an acolyte for Lira who quickly joins them.

"What is it?" she asks.

Anvil brings her up to speed.  "Do you know anything of these happenings?" he demands.

"No.  I don’t think so."  She squirms under the collective gaze of the party.

"Could the attackers have been looking for you?"  Anvil looms over the tiny sorcerer.

"Gods, I hope not.  I really don’t think they were.  There was this one guy, maybe… but I wasn’t even there."

Anvil fixes her with a look he’s perfected from his years on the bench.  "Are you a criminal?"

"No!" she protests, loud enough to draw a look from a passing server.

While the party is still somewhat unsure of their new companion, she does seem to be telling the truth, and the matter rests. 

_(Actual exchange went something like this: 
Anvil: Are you a criminal?
Lira: No!
DM: Sense motive, anyone?)_

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Lira declines Anvil’s offer of a bed at the temple, and instead goes to meet her contact in the city, a man named Devon attached to the Questors, a sect of Ehkt.  The reason why she seemed so uncomfortable surrounded by Justicars starts to become more apparent when the others realize she is a follower of the god of among other things, chaos.

Slowly, the slaves freed by the party in Dar Aego return to their normal lives.  Collin goes back to his own farm outside the city, along with Suaress.  Amelia is quickly and quietly readmitted to the Mage’s Academy, although Reyu sends her off with a stern warning not to get into trouble.  Amelia certainly doesn’t seem to be in the mood to go looking for any.

And so, with everyone safely home, the party takes a well-deserved break, all hoping that whatever trouble they might have found in Dar Aego will be content to stay there and they will be able to move on to the next chapter of their lives.


----------



## spyscribe

*Sidebar I*

_(The management realizes that the gentle reader might, after perusal of previous chapters, be asking him or herself questions such as, "Just who is this Kettenek guy anyway?  And why is he so possessive about Justice?"  

It is for the purpose of shedding light on such matters that we are pleased to bring you periodic informational supplements. While they should not be necessary for comprehension of the plot, it is our hope that they will provide an entertaining diversion for those with an interest in matters of the world and culture of our protagonists.

--spyscribe)_

*Sidebar: Gods of the Halmae*
_courtesy of Fajitas_

	There is an old parable about the three blind men and the elephant.  

Three blind men are asked to describe an elephant.  The first feels around and finds the trunk.  "Aha," he says.  "An elephant is like a snake!"  The second blind man feels around and finds the legs.  "No, no," he says. "An elephant is like a tree."  The third finds an ear.  "You’re both wrong," he declares.  "An elephant is like a manta ray."

So it is with the Gods of the Halmae.  They are strange and mysterious, and defy simple explanation.

Here is what is (almost) universally agreed upon*.  In the beginning, there were four fundamental forces, distinct in kind but equal in power.  They joined together to make and maintain the World.  Mortals call them Gods.  What they call themselves is unknown.

_(*The Sovereignty of Kettenek, a powerful theocracy, has a different view of the divine order.)_

Each of the Gods has multiple interpretations, but where one is found, the other three are present also.  They are the four elements.  They are the four seasons.  They are the cycle of life.  They are the four axes of alignment.  

*KETTENEK (keh-TEN-eck)*

	Kettenek is seen as a stalwart figure, implacable and unmoving, Guardian of the Underworld and Lord of Winter.  He brings the freezing cold, and like the cold he hardens and strengthens things.  Foundations are laid with Kettenek.  His words endure, and his law is rigid.  He is God of the Dead, though not of death, and holds the barrier between the living and the unliving.  

	Kettenek’s domains are Law, Earth, Strength, Protection, and Death.  Winter is his time of strength.

	Anvil the Just is a follower of Kettenek.  He is a member of the Justicars, an order devoted to Kettenek as the maker of Law.  Justicars tend to see the world in black and white.  Legal is permissible.  Illegal is not.  They are the judges and arbitrators of the Halmae.

	Anvil also belongs to a growing sub-sect within the Justicars known as the Universal Law Caucus.  This is a group of Justicars indignant about the way the Law changes from city-state to city-state.  The Law, they argue, should be an absolute. Why then is it not the same in Dar Pykos as it is in Dar Aego?  (In fact, an unscrupulous exploitation of these legal loopholes is what got the PCs into this mess to begin with.)  The Caucus is working to change this, though they face substantial opposition from both other Justicars and civil authorities.

*ALIRRIA (uh-LIR-ee-uh)*

	Alirria is the tender mother figure, caring and nurturing, lover of all life and the Lady of Spring.  Her tears of joy bring the rains, which restore all things to health.  Spring is the time of plantings and beginnings.  Journeys commence in Spring, and children are conceived.  Her world is a world of love.

	Alirria’s domains are Good, Water, Healing, Plant, Animal, and Travel.  Spring is her time of strength.

*EHKT (ect)*

	Ehkt is a boisterous warrior, never resting, never shirking, like a fire, always growing in any and all directions he can.  He is the Champion of Summer.  Ehkt seeks all challenges, physical or mental, and demands that they be conquered.  His days are days of war and learning.  Summer is a time to take on adversity and to be all that you are capable of, for good or for ill.

	Ehkt’s domains are Chaos, Fire, Sun, War, and Knowledge.  Summer is his time of strength.

	Lira is a member of the Questors, an order that sees Ehkt as the God of Challenges.  Questors constantly seek new obstacles to test themselves.  There is no quest, no dare, no stunt that a devout Questor will not attempt.

*SEDELLUS (SEH-deh-lus)*

	Sedellus is a creeping, hiding figure, crouched and lurking, the Mistress of Autumn, the Wind of Change, the Whisper of Death.  Things wither at her touch.  When her chill breath blows, leaves fall, animals flee, cities topple.  Some folk are ruined by her cruel whimsy.  Some are blessed.  Some are merely ignored.  Which it will be, she does not tell.  Autumn is the time of death, a time of upheaval, a time of change for weal or woe.  And the Mistress cares not which.

	Sedellus’s domains are Evil, Air, Luck, Trickery, and Destruction.  The Autumn is her time of strength.

Most members of the party and the general population worship all four in equal degrees. However, there are many sects devoted to specific aspects of each God.  For example, The Lady’s Handmaidens worship Alirria as the goddess of love, while Nature’s Tenders focus on her as the goddess of nature.  Some join these sects because their vocations demand it.  Some join because their personalities draw them towards one god or one aspect.  But even those, like Anvil, who have dedicated their lives to one specific part of the divine order, acknowledge the presence and power of the other three. 

There is very seldom in-fighting between religious sects.  Like the blind men and the elephant, each interpretation is correct, if not wholly complete.

Between them, the gods govern every aspect of the world. But there is one exception: arcane magic.


----------



## Jodo Kast

Very cool stuff.  I think the asides with further information about the setting are always a nice touch in Story Hours.


----------



## Bad Monkey Jeff

Alright, I _finally_ got caught up with the epic in progress, and I must say, it's completely awesome. Nice. Very nice.


----------



## spyscribe

*Continuing Adventures*



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> *
> (If someone (hint hint) would like to tell the story about Reyu and the bear trap, that someone would be most certainly welcome to add recollections for the sake of historical completeness.)
> 
> *




Let it not be said that our intrepid DM cannot take a hint.

Since this thread started, Fajitas has been picking the brains of Wisdom Like Silence, Bad Monkey Jeff, and Thatch's player in order to assemble the first part of the chronicle.  Or, as some of us refer to it, the campaign B.L. 

(Let it also not be said that I am the only compulsive person at our table.)

So gentle readers, do not despair!  

_(And allow me to interject at this moment how cool it is that I can say readers, plural.  And even more cool that some of the aforementioned readers don't even play in the campaign, or know anyone who does.  It's utterly mindblowing that total strangers find this of interest.)_

Coming soon are tales which will shed light on such nagging questions as: 

"Why do the PC's hate Dar Aego with such a burning passion?"
"How did this motley group come to travel together in the first place?"
"What does a bear trap have to do with anything?"

...and many more, to be shortly followed by the chronological continuation of the narrative.

Check back soon.  Kettenek's Justice demands it.


----------



## med stud

Are the names Lira and Euro just coincidences, or are they part of a theme centered around European money?


----------



## KidCthulhu

*Re: Continuing Adventures*



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> *So gentle readers, do not despair!
> *




I'm sorry.  I'm not a gentle reader.  I'm a cranky, demanding reader who'd like more updates.  Now.  

Gentle reader indeed!


----------



## Altin

Well, this is just great. So there is now *another* fantastic, well-written story hour for me to check for updates on a daily basis and develop inferiority complexes over. It's not to be stood for, it isn't. 

Meanwhile, the Gods sidebar details the most elegant pantheon I've ever laid eyes upon -- I'm shamelessly yoinking it for my own game. 

Yours,
Altin


----------



## spyscribe

med stud said:
			
		

> *Are the names Lira and Euro just coincidences, or are they part of a theme centered around European money? *




Actually, some of each.

What happened was that I named my character Lira without realizing, until we were in-game, that I had named her after Italian money.  

So, on the theory that it was better for people to laugh at the familiar's name than the character's, I decided the weasel was called Euro.

Our DM was not amused.

It seemed silly for a little while, but now those are just their names, and no one really thinks about it.  

Fajitas has even stopped giving me dirty looks when someone calls Euro by name.  So naturally, when Lira got a horse, she named him Frank.


----------



## Fajitas

Altin said:
			
		

> *Meanwhile, the Gods sidebar details the most elegant pantheon I've ever laid eyes upon -- I'm shamelessly yoinking it for my own game. *




Gorsh, thanks Altin. Y'know what they say-- "Yoinking is the sincerest form of flattery."

I'm glad you enjoy the pantheon. I'm quite proud of it. I always find it so difficult to keep 15 different gods straight, so I wanted something nice and small, but flexible enough for PCs to worship however they want.

If you're interested, I have details on some of the major orders devoted to each of the various aspects of the gods, though it's easy enough to make up your own. I figured I'd post them later as grist for the side-bar mill, after I get through describing the Darine Confederacy, Dar Pykos, Dar Aego, Elven Culture, the Ketkath Mountains, the Soveriengty of Kettenek, The Empire of Ebis, and, of course, the unusual place of magic in the Halmae.

As for the quality of the story-hour writing, I put the praise for that squarely where it belongs-- on the shoudlers of spyscribe. Ain't she great?

Update soon.  Really.


----------



## Sialia

Ah, a fine, fine read.  

Really looking forward to hearing more of this.

Many thanks for the gift to all of us!

And a happy belated birthday to Fajitas.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very First*

_As promised to our gentle (and not-so-gentle) readers: the beginning of our chronicle.  Graciously recorded by Fajitas._

	Following the party's return from Dar Aego, the next few weeks in Dar Pykos pass quietly.  Reyu makes connections among the local Elven population.  Thatch works to get the rust spots off his armor and attempts to dodge the blushing advances of Tessa, daughter of the owner of the boarding house where he is staying.  Lira meets some fellow sorcerers among the local Questors and sees her powers grow under their tutelage.  Hue has buried himself in the great library, and has not been seen around town for some time.  Anvil wakes up every morning and thinks about Justice.  For Anvil, Justice always has a capital "J."

	Reyu and Lira establish a standing breakfast date of language and cultural exchange.  During one such breakfast, Lira finally asks (in decent, if accented, Elven), "So, how did all you guys meet up, anyway?"

	"Ah," Reyu responds. "You did not know? It is a… complicated story…"

****************************
*PART THE VERY FIRST:*
_In which paths, as if by Fate, meet._

	ReyuMaren Kuyi walks quite calmly through the forest.  It is not the home forest of her people, the Turin Nation, but it is similar enough.  She has seen strange signs these last few days, signs of humans in the woods.  But for her, this is a good thing.  It means she is getting closer to her destination, the human city-state of Dar Pykos.

	The words of her grandmother, RakaShan Kuyi, the Voice of the Tribe, still echo in her ears. "The world is changing, little one, and the humans are changing it. I cannot see what will happen, but a new season is coming and we must be prepared.  So take your curiosity and your understanding, and live with the humans for a while, so that when the time comes the Tribe may draw upon your knowledge of their world."  

And so Reyu left her Tribe, her sisters and mother, and has traveled North for weeks to reach--

	There is a sudden SNAP and a biting pain runs up Reyu’s leg.  She has been so lost in her own recollections, she has not been paying attention to her feet.  She grabs her leg, and discovers that something has bitten her.  It is a like a set of teeth, but made of metal.  Its grip does not relent.  Clearly some human device, though to what end she is not sure.  But she is sure that it hurts a great deal.

	She attempts to pry it open.  No good. There is some locking mechanism, but the working of it is unfamiliar to her.  She curses aloud in Elven as she tries to figure it out…

************

	The boy called Thatch cocks his head and listens.  Beside him is Bob, once the family plow-horse, now his faithful steed.  On his back is the mighty greatsword his Uncle Oran used in the Wars.  And ahead of him… ahead of him lies adventure.  

Or at least, that’s the plan.  That’s why he left the farm, after all, to see the world in search of battle, fortune, and glory.  As his Father’s second son, he would not inherit the farm.  And, given the cold shoulder his brother’s new wife was giving him, now seemed the time to leave home and head to Dar Pykos to see what the world had to offer.

	Thatch listens more intently.  He thought he’d heard a voice a moment ago, a woman’s voice.  He stays absolutely still, and yes!  He hears it again.  It speaks unfamiliar words, but her frustrated tone is unmistakable.  

	What could it be?  A damsel in distress, waylaid by brigands?  Or perhaps a wood-nymph; he’s heard stories of them.  Either way, fortune and glory may be close at hand.  "Come on, Bob," he says, and follows the voice.  

It leads him to an Elf.  Caught in a bear trap.

	"Okay. This is kind of like fortune and glory," he thinks.  

"Hi!" he says.  "Need a hand?"

	Reyu turns around as best she can with her foot caught.   She switches to Common and replies, "That would be most appreciated."

	Thatch comes forward and kneels at the trap, working his hands awkwardly around Reyu’s foot to release it.  He finds the catch and pries the trap open.  Reyu removes her foot and inspects her wound.

	"My thanks," she says.  "What is… this?"

	"This? It’s a bear trap."

	Reyu stares at him.  "Why would you wish to trap a bear?"

	"Um. It makes it easier to kill?"

	"Why would you kill such a creature? Surely it is easier to reason with it."

	Thatch pauses to carefully consider his answer, when there comes from the woods a growl and a crashing noise. 

	Thatch whirls and draws his uncle’s sword, but Reyu immediately begins chanting in her native tongue, her hands moving in gestures long known to her people.  Suddenly all the forest around the noises comes to life, trees and shrubs twisting and twining like tentacles.  Thatch has little time to gape at this strange sight, however, as a large bear comes crashing out of the woods.  Trees and roots seem to grasp at it, as if trying to immobilize it, but it tears through with tremendous strength.

	The bear rears up, its paw pulled back to strike the injured Reyu.  But Thatch leaps in the way.  He swings his uncle’s sword mightily.  Unfortunately, he completely misses the bear, who now focuses its attack on Thatch.  WHUMP! Thatch stumbles under the force of the blow as the claws rake his shoulder.

	"Would you like to reason with it?" Thatch asks Reyu.

	"This one is beyond reason, I think," she responds, as she leaps in and grazes the bear with her spear.

The enraged animal falters, its attention torn between two foes.  Thatch takes advantage of the beast’s distraction.  He regains his balance and, with a single stroke of his uncle’s sword, he strikes the head off the bear.  Its body topples and falls at their feet.

	"That’s more like it," thinks Thatch.

	"Are you injured?" Reyu asks.

	"Um. Only a little," Thatch replies.

	Reyu places her hands on Thatch’s shoulder and begins to mutter in Elven.  As Thatch watches in wonder, a warm blue glow spreads from her hands, rippling like a cool breeze over a pond.  The torn flesh heals and closes before his eyes, leaving no trace of scar behind.  Thatch is awed.  He has heard, of course, that the gods grant great powers to some of their chosen ones, but he has never witnessed such a miracle before, let alone been the subject of one.

	Reyu turns and inspects the dead bear.  She points at the two arrows broken off in its body.  "This explains why the creature was so enraged.  Had it been more expertly hunted, its suffering would not have been necessary.  Still, I suppose we may get some value of the pelt, and the meat should suffice for some time." She looks up at Thatch.  "It is… fortunate… that we encountered each other."

	Thatch carefully cleans the blood of the old, battered sword.  "I guess so. Where are you headed?"

	"To Dar Pykos."

	"Really? Me too..." 

_To be continued._


----------



## Cerebral Paladin

Re:
    For Anvil, Justice always has a capital "J."


You mean there are people for whom it doesn't?



Great storyhour as always.

Cerebral Paladin


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Second*
_In which: our heroes reach Dar Pykos and start to wish they hadn’t
(recorded by Fajitas)_

	It is dark now, and the smell of roasting bear meat emanates from Reyu and Thatch’s fire. Reyu tends it, while Thatch lies staring upward, deep in thought.  They found the badly mauled body of the trapper that had injured the bear not too far from the bear trap. It is the first time Thatch has seen a body.  At least, it’s the first time he’s seen the body of someone who died by violence.

	"Dinner should be ready soon," Reyu informs him… and an unexpected voice answers:

	"Great! It smells delicious! Can I have some too?"

	It is a high pitched voice filled with a nearly feverish excitement, and it comes from the bushes nearby.  Thatch and Reyu whirl and see a strange little man.  He is maybe three feet tall, with a large nose and a dark beard full of twigs. He has great big expressive eyes¾though what exactly they express is unclear. It might be "Wow!" or it might be "Guess what the voices in my head are telling me!" Possibly both.  A ferret sits on the man’s shoulder, beady eyes darting back and forth.

	 Thatch would think he was a child but for the beard.  Reyu assumes he is some sort of nature spirit. But neither has ever seen anything like him before.

	Reyu speaks first.  "I… believe we could offer you some food."

	"Gosh, thanks!" he replies, and sits next to Thatch near the fire.  He looks up at Thatch and smiles.  "Hi there!"

	Thatch, unable to restrain himself, blurts out the obvious question.  "What are you?" 

	"Me? I’m Hue," the little man replies. "What are you?"

	"Um. I’m Thatch?" Thatch offers tentatively.

	"Great!"

	Reyu clarifies. "I think what my colleague wants to know is how you came to be here."

	"Oh! Well, I was out in the woods and I saw your fire and smelled your bear meat, so I came over.  It is bear meat, isn’t it?" Hue sniffs the aroma, as if making sure. "Yup, bear meat. Smells great!  Anyway, I’m working on a book! On the mating habits of squirrels.  I was out here doing research and…"

	At this, the ferret on his shoulder turns to glare sharply at Hue.  It is a look that, were it accompanied by speech, might be coupled with the words, "You fool! Don’t tell them everything!"  But the look is ignored by Hue, who genially blathers about squirrels for some time.

	Dinner is had, as well as a great deal of stirring conversation (assuming, of course, that squirrel mating habits stir you up).  Thatch and Reyu hesitantly inform Hue that they are headed to Dar Pykos, and inquire if he is headed that direction.

	"Oh, no. There’s still a lot to see out here."

	Thatch, relieved, releases a breath he didn’t notice he’d been holding.

	"I may come to town in a few days, though. Maybe I’ll see you there!"

	And with that comforting thought, they camp for the night.

***************

	They rise early the next day. With a jovial wave, Hue wanders back off into the forest. Their last glimpse of him is the Ferret, watching them from Hue’s shoulder with narrowed eyes.  Thatch and Reyu shrug, shoulder their packs, and continue their way to Dar Pykos.

	Before noon, they catch their first glimpse of the city.

Neither has ever seen a city-state like Dar Pykos before, and it is a magnificent sight.  The sky is clear, the sun is golden, and the morning light sparkles off the deep blue waters of the Halmae, the great sea.  Stone buildings, three or four stories high, are far more impressive and solid looking than the farmhouse Thatch grew up in.  And above them all rise the spires of the Great Library, taller than the tallest trees Reyu has ever seen.  Dozens of wagons make their way towards the main gates, laden with food or goods, each one carrying enough to feed Reyu’s entire tribe for a week. 

Reyu and Thatch come to the main road and follow it to the gate.  As Reyu passes the Watchmen, she gathers more than a few funny looks, some stopping in their work to openly point and stare.  Wild elves don’t often make their way into the city.  Reyu steadfastly ignores them, and without further impediment, they enter Dar Pykos.

Reyu and Thatch follow the road to the central marketplace.  People are everywhere, more people than either of them has ever seen in one place.  Merchants hawk their wares.  Vendors offer food.  It is an elaborate cacophony of sight and sound and smell and hustling and bustling, and Thatch and Reyu observe it all in astonishment. 

"Now what?" Thatch asks.

"I suppose we should look for lodgings," Reyu replies.

"Right. Where do you think we find those?"

They are about to pick a random direction to start looking when a passer-by stops.  He is a short man with a slight build and dark curly hair.  His most salient feature is a large scar that runs down his cheek.  He addresses them.

"I’m sorry, did I hear you say you were looking for lodgings?"

"Um. Yes."

"If you’re interested, I know of an excellent Inn with quite reasonable rates.  I could take you there."

Reyu and Thatch exchange a quick look.  There doesn’t seem to be any harm in looking at the place.

"Thank you.  That is… most kind," Reyu says.

"Right this way, my friends" their guide says, as he slaps Thatch on the back and leads them through the market.

But at the far end of the market, their guide unexpectedly bolts away from them.  He charges down an alley and around a corner before Thatch and Reyu have a chance to respond.  They stare after him a moment.

"Why’d he do that?" Thatch asks.

"I don’t--" Reyu begins, but she is suddenly interrupted by a shout from the market.

"There! They’re the ones!"

They turn to find a man pointing directly at them.  He has an imperious manner and wears fine blue and red robes.  An ornamental medallion hangs from his neck.  And he is flanked by six Watchmen, who quickly surround the stunned Thatch and Reyu.

"Um. Can we help you?" Thatch offers, but the imperious man does not answer.  He closes his eyes for a moment, as if concentrating, then points at Thatch’s pack. 

"There. That’s where it is."

The Watchmen remove Thatch’s pack and wrench it open.  At the very top lies a somewhat erotic obsidian statue.  Thatch’s eyes boggle.

"Um. Um. Um," he manages.  "That’s not mine."

"Of course not!" says the imperious man.  "That is the property of my lord, his eminence Count Dain Missola, stolen from his estate last night.  Guardsmen, I demand that these two be arrested and handed over for immediate judgment under the rightful law!"

To be continued...


----------



## jonrog1

Ah, a classic setup.  My own players have come to hate the marketplace, too.

Nice place you've got here.  And another classic campaign.  Heroes.  Freeing slaves.

My players spent two hours tonight trying to figure out how to start up a casino in the Blood Steppes, God love 'em.

Looking forward to the rest.


----------



## Ladybird

I've finally been able to sit down and read through this thread, and all I can say is...wow!  

Spyscribe, your descriptions are wonderfully fun to read! It sounds like this campaign has a great mix of characters, and you've really captured all of their personalities. (And I think the Lira/Euro/Frank thing is funny too  )

Fajitas, I'm really impressed at the world you've created, and it's great to be able to see the story unfold. (Like CP, I've only received brief snapshots, which are fun in themselves, but it's _really_ neat to read the story from the beginning)

Thanks to both of you for all your work, and to WLS and all the rest of the players for creating such a fun campaign! I'm really looking forward to the next installment!


----------



## spyscribe

*Meanwhile...*

Lira notices that Reyu has paused in her tale, and takes advantage of the gap to beckon to Mrs. Blackburn, the mistress of the boarding house.

“Is there any more porridge left?” she asks.

“Might be a bit,” Mrs. Blackburn allows cautiously.

Lira looks up at the older woman with an expression that would put a stray puppy to shame.  “Please?”

Mrs. Blackburn snorts, but turns back to the kitchen.  Lira swings her legs happily under her chair as the landlady soon returns with a refilled wooden bowl.

“Thank you,” says Lira and she digs in with gusto.

After a moment, she notices that Reyu has not started her story again.

“Go on.  You were arrested by the watch, and…”

But Reyu is still staring at the young woman across the table.

“How can you eat like that?”

Lira stops eating.  She checks.  Elbows off the table.  Back straight.  No porridge dribbling down chin.  She swallows so as not to speak with her mouth full.  “Like what?”

“Aren’t you full?”

Lira shakes her head.  “Not quite.”  She looks down at herself and shrugs.  “I know it isn’t going to muscle, but… I’m hungry.  Mother always said it’s why I don’t get sick much.”

Reyu mentally files a note for her future reports to the matriarch. _The size of an Elf, but with the constitution of a horse--_

“So, what happened next?”  The young human asks.

_--and the patience of a swallow._

Reyu drags her attention back to her tale.  “So, we were arrested…”


----------



## spyscribe

_Yay and verrily, we are back.

--spyscribe_

*Part the Very Third*
_In which: Justice takes a little doing.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_


	Anvil the Just arises at dawn, not because he has a lot to do but because that is what he does.  That’s what he’s done every day of his life.  Well, every day he’s been Anvil the Just, that is.  Every day since he gave up his old name and his old life and dedicated himself to Kettenek and the Justicars.

	He rises from his cell in the Temple of Justice and attends daybreak prayers.  He then adjourns to the mess hall, where acolytes bring him food.  He and his brethren engage in deep discussion of Kettenek’s Law and its rightful application, and then each attends to his own business.

	This day, Anvil’s business includes research.  He will spend the day in the bowels of the Temple, researching precedents on a finer point of Kettenek’s Justice in the archives.  He is on his way to the archives, when he is stopped by an associate of his, Stalwart the Just.

	"Anvil!" Stalwart hails him. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

	"Certainly," Anvil replies, "if I am able and my duties permit.  How may I help you in the service of Kettenek?" 

	"I was assigned Market duty this morning, but it turns out Iron is preparing to rule on the Liassos appeal today.  He asked me for an opinion based on Aegosian precedents, given my expertise.  Trouble is, I can’t find anyone to cover the Market for me, so I was wondering..."

	Anvil doesn’t need him to finish.  He is still only a First Order Justicar.  Market duty is generally reserved for those of the Second Order.  Inwardly, he leaps at the opportunity, though his outward appearance remains stony.

	"If Kettenek demands it, I shall take up this task in His name."

	Stalwart blinks a few times.  Even for a Justicar, Anvil is a tad austere.

	"Many thanks."

	"It is no more than my duty.  May Kettenek’s Justice be with you."

	"And you."

	And Anvil turns from the musty depths of the archives and heads towards the Market.

**************

	Market duty, while not quite comparable to latrine duty, is not the most favored assignment of a Justicar.  It is generally limited to mediation of petty disputes between merchants, farmers, anyone with a grudge.  True matters of Justice are seldom dealt with at the Market.  Anvil, nevertheless, attacks the job with gusto, dispensing his rulings as severely and dispassionately as if lives were in the balance.  Justice demands no less, even if only two chickens and a fence are in the balance.

	However, after delivering a textbook ruling in a matter of a thrown horseshoe, Anvil notices a disturbance a little ways off.  A group of Watchmen seem to have two people surrounded.  Miscreants, no doubt.  A young lad runs up to Anvil from the crowd.

	"Justicar! The Watch have made an arrest! They’re demanding justice! Come quick!"

	A chance for summary justice?  On Market duty!  Anvil hurries to the disturbance.  

	He arrives almost unnoticed.  Six Watchmen hold two people at spearpoint.  One is an elf-woman, dressed in wild furs.  The other is a large lad with a boyish face and a brickish build.  "But we didn’t do anything!" the large lad protests.

	A robed man wearing what Anvil recognizes as a Chamberlain’s medal of office scoffs at him.  "The evidence speaks for itself."

	"What evidence?" Anvil demands, making his presence known.  "Who are you, and who are they, and what are the facts of this case?  Tell me what has transpired, that I might dispense Justice swiftly and righteously, as Kettenek demands." 

	That stops the conversation.  All eyes turn towards the Justicar.

	"Um," says the large lad.

	"Who are you?" the robed man asks, quite stupidly given robes of office Anvil wears.

	"I am Anvil the Just, servant of Kettenek."

	The robed man straightens himself up.  "My name is Desalle, Chamberlain to my Lord Count Dain Missola.  These two individuals have stolen property from my Lord—"

	"But we didn’t!" the large lad insists.  Desalle pays him no heed.

	"—and I demand they be sentenced to enslavement and given into his possession immediately, under the rightful law."

	The lad’s eyes bulge.  The elf-woman’s brow furrows.  Anvil stares at Desalle.  "You demand their enslavement?  Is this not Dar Pykos?  Is not slavery illegal under our law?"

	Desalle crosses his arms.  "It is.  But my Lord Count Missola is a citizen of Dar Aego, and the statue they were found with is his property.  Under Aegosian law, slavery is the proper sentence."

	And suddenly, Anvil realizes just how legally complex the situation really is…




> THE SLAVE OWNERSHIP RULING.
> 
> 85 years ago, Dar Pykos outlawed slavery.  However, when the wealthy Aegosian merchants threatened to leave the city if they could not keep their slaves, the law was altered to accommodate foreign slave owners.  The Slave Ownership Ruling was written, which stated that "slaves being regarded in other Confederate city-states as property, not people, Dar Pykos will respect the ownership rights of foreign slave-owning residents and will abide by their local laws in related matters".
> 
> At the time, it seemed like the best solution.  However, 30 years ago, a case arose in which the defendant argued that the Slave Ownership Ruling was written such that it could be extended to provide protection to ALL property belonging to foreign residents.  Not just slaves.  The Justicar overseeing the case was persuaded and, in a highly controversial opinion, found for the defendant.
> 
> There has been great debate over the wisdom of this ruling, with Justicars split on either side.  Some see it as a commitment to Dar Pykos’s "melting pot" status, while others consider it the first step towards complete anarchy.  Since the Justicar who ruled on this is now the head of the Order in Dar Pykos, it has never been overturned.  But this is the very issue that spurred the creation of the Universal Law Caucus, of which Anvil is a member, and overturning it is the number one item on their agenda.
> 
> In the meantime, matters of law involving foreign residents in Dar Pykos are very, very sticky…




	Anvil strokes his bearded chin in an outward appearance of deep thought, while inwardly his mind races.  How best to proceed?  There may be a political opportunity here… but first and foremost, Justice must be done.


----------



## spyscribe

*Let there be feasting and rejoicing throughout the land!*

_The management would like to advise our two remaining readers that if they are searching for a reason for festivities, any one of the following events may be invoked: _

SpyScribe has finished her master's thesis!

Fajitas's work schedule has retreated from "truly insane" to "merely busy"!

Another update is just moments away!

_(The management would also like to clarify that the first two options on the above list are in no way intended as an attempt to explain or excuse the derth of updates in the past month.  Insofar as said derth was truly beyond explanation or excuse.  )_


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Fourth*
_In which: Anvil fires the forge of Justice_

	"You have proof then that these two are indeed the culprits?" Anvil asks.

	"We do.  They were found with the stolen item in their possession."

	"But we didn’t--" the large lad begins.  This time Anvil cuts him off.

	"What led you to search them for it?"

	"I did," Desalle replies.  "I have certain… gifts of an arcane nature.  I can pinpoint the location of missing objects.  And my abilities led me straight to them."

	Anvil turns his attention to the accused.  "Well, then.  What say you in this matter?"

	The lad blurts out "We didn’t do it!"

	"Then how do you account for the presence of the stolen item among your things?"

	"There was this guy who was going to show us to an Inn.  He must have put it there."

	Desalle laughs aloud.  "Is that the best they have to offer?"

	Anvil turns a stern glare on the lad.  "Why would this man seek to do such a thing?" he asks.  

	"I don’t know.  You’d have to find him and ask," the lad shoots back.

	And the elf-woman speaks up.  "Justicar.  Though I am not familiar with the… ways of your people, I would simply like to note that these crimes were committed last night.  We have only just arrived in the city today."

	"Can you corroborate this claim?" Anvil demands.  

	"We cannot, but perhaps the guards at the Gate who saw us enter can," she replies.

	"Excellent.  You," Anvil says, abruptly pointing at a Watchman, "go to the Gates and bring me anyone who can corroborate this story.  Wild elves do not often enter the city."  

The bewildered Watchman blinks at Anvil. "Uhh, I’m under orders to—"

"Kettenk’s Justice demands it," Anvil says, in a tone that brooks no argument.  The Watchman runs off.

A short time later, the Watchman returns with one of the Gate Guards in tow.  The Gate guard looks at the elf-woman and her large companion and nods.  "Yeah, that’s them.  Saw ‘em comin’ in this mornin’, I did.  They was gawkin’ at everythin’ ‘round ‘em."

The large lad sighs, visibly relieved. Desalle glowers, not at all pleased with the direction Justice has taken.  "Justicar, this is ridiculous.  If they did not take the statue, they are clearly in collusion with those who did.  Who would give away stolen goods to unsuspecting strangers?  I demand that justice be carried out upon these two."

"And so it shall be," Anvil responds.

"Then you will give them to my custody at once."

"I shall not.  I am not yet convinced that that is Justice."

"But Justicar—" 

"Unless," Anvil continues, matter-of-factly, "you feel you are more qualified to mete out Justice than I?"

Desalle’s eyes flash, but he knows better than to push his luck.  He backs down.  Anvil continues.  "Clearly this matter is not as simple as it may seem.  These two prisoners shall be turned over to my custody.  They shall be brought to the Temple of Justice, where we shall attempt to unravel the truth of this matter."

"I protest!" Desalle exclaims.

Anvil shrugs.  "All right."

Desalle stares at him, but Anvil has nothing more to say.  Then Desalle throws back his shoulders.  "My Lord shall hear of this," he says, and stalks away.  Anvil turns to his two prisoners.

"You two shall come with me to pursue this matter.  What are your names?"

To be continued…


----------



## spyscribe

*Sidebar: Slavery in the Halmae*

_(On the off chance that it is about to become relevant to the narrative, the management is pleased to bring you the second in our series of informational supplements.)

--spyscribe_

Slavery in the Halmae:

Slavery, as an institution, is a long-standing part of society in the Halmae.  Slaves are used as laborers, servants, and in many cases aides.  Halmae slavery is based on a Greek or Roman model, rather than American chattel slavery.  This means that slaves, although considered property, do have some basic legal rights.  Killing a slave for no reason is considered murder.  It may be easier to *justify* killing a slave than killing a free person, and the penalty may be less harsh, but there is a punishable crime there.  

One legally becomes a slave in a finite number of ways:

Prisoners of war are enslaved for life

Abandoned children are enslaved for life

Criminals may be sentenced to slavery, often for a finite term, 
though the duration is dependent on the crime.

People in debt may be enslaved for a term of eight years to repay their debt

People may voluntarily become slaves for a term of eight years in exchange for money

People may voluntarily choose to stay slaves after their term is up. These people are branded, to mark them as individuals who have deliberately chosen slavery over freedom.

Slaves may be bought and sold freely in places where slavery is legal.  Non-criminal slaves may be freed at any time, though they are automatically freed if their master dies.  Criminal slaves who are no longer wanted by their masters are sold back to the city-state or to another owner, unless their terms have expired.

	This, at least, is the system on paper.  Naturally, there are some abuses to be found.  Unscrupulous individuals have been known to keep slaves after their terms have expired.  The degree to which such abuses are prosecuted varies from case to case and city-state to city-state, but law-abiding slave owners tend to frown on those who abuse their power over their slaves.

There is no formal Abolitionist movement in the Halmae.  There are small organizations in each city-state opposed to it.  The Universal Law Caucus opposes slavery, but chapters have been known to abandon that aspect of their platform to forge political alliances in slave-legal city-states.

	Slavery is legal in the Empire of Ebis, Dar Henna, Dar Und, Dar Aego, Dar Thane, and Mynope.  A de facto form of slavery exists in the Kettenek Sovereignty, which has a severe feudal serf system.  Slavery is illegal in Dar Darine, Dar Karo, Noran, and Sirrus.  Dar Pykos, as noted, has an odd situation; citizens of Dar Pykos are not allowed to own slaves, but foreigners from lands where slavery is legal are allowed to keep theirs. 

_(addendum for those readers unfamiliar with the geographic references in the preceeding paragraph:  Any locale with the prefix "Dar" is a city state and member of the Darine Confederacy.  The Empire of Ebis and Kettenek Soveriegnty are their own entities, and all others mentioned are independent city states.)_


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

*Re: Let there be feasting and rejoicing throughout the land!*



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> *The management would like to advise our two remaining readers that if they are searching for a reason for festivities, any one of the following events may be invoked:
> 
> SpyScribe has finished her master's thesis!
> Fajitas's work schedule has retreated from "truly insane" to "merely busy"!*




Excellent reasons for festivities, both.

Would you like a cake to celebrate?

-WLS


----------



## KidCthulhu

Mmmmm.  Virtual cake.  With imaginary chocolate frosting.

[Pulls up virtual seat, and waits, virtual fork poised.]


----------



## dpdx

This Story Hour still rocks. Consider the pantheon swiped, if only so that I can have Justicars in my own campaign.

In fact, if I was DM, I'd give Anvil Leadership the minute he qualifies for it. Somehow, I need to see him with a sidekick/junior Justicar so that they can play off each other. He's so (old school) Joe Friday...


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx said:
			
		

> *
> In fact, if I was DM, I'd give Anvil Leadership the minute he qualifies for it. Somehow, I need to see him with a sidekick/junior Justicar so that they can play off each other. He's so (old school) Joe Friday... *




Hey, welcome back dpdx!  As a matter of fact, I have been trying to tell Fajitas that Anvil needs a sidekick, if only so that said flunkie can begin his exclamations with, "Holy Kettenek, Anvil!"  

As for the old school Joe Friday... well, you'll see in later installments, it's actually just a clever ruse to cover the fact that he's nuts.  Although Lira might be just a tad biased where that's concerned.

P.S. As your prize for being the first person to post in this thread (lo these many moons ago) who none of the players know in real life, if you let me know when your birthday is, I'll post an update for you on it.

--spyscribe (who is off to search for cake)


----------



## Cyronax

This is a great story hour! I just read the whole thing, and can't wait for more! 

The world is very well constructed as are the characters and the narrative. All around a good waste of my time during exams  

Thanks,
C.I.D.


----------



## Snipet

*WOO WOO!*    Congratulations you guys!


----------



## jonrog1

Hey spy, just letting you know I'm still reading and will e-mail you back about the gamer exchange as soon as the bad men who pay me for  scripts get their pages this week.

Give a yell when you want me to read your opus.


----------



## dpdx

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *P.S. As your prize for being the first person to post in this thread (lo these many moons ago) who none of the players know in real life, if you let me know when your birthday is, I'll post an update for you on it.
> 
> --spyscribe (who is off to search for cake) *



Aw, shucks: You're entirely too kind, spyscribe.

My birthday, in fact, was April 9th, and so instead of waiting 11 months to post, maybe you could just keep doing what you're doing. 

That'd be present enough for me - to mangle a saying, "What do you get for the man you don't even know?"


----------



## spyscribe

*Update on updates*

Thank you everyone, posts in the story hour were a bright spot in an otherwise trying day yesterday.

Fajitas has sent me the next installment which is safely esconced on my computer at home.  If it doesn't go up this evening, it'll be my first project tomorrow.

Snipet: Hey there!  We missed you Sunday.

jonrog: Whoo hoo!  Hostage... er... gamer exchance.  Good luck with the bad men who control the purse strings.  The opus is ready anytime you are.  I'll be in touch, say, early *next* week.  

dpdx: Ah, curses.  I suppose the other alternative is to declare any day there is an update to be your birthday and see how much cake you can extort out of your co-workers.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Fifth*
_In which: the PCs dislike an Aegosian for the first time
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	"Um.  His forehead was a little higher… like that.  Yeah.  And the scar ran longer… no, longer… Right.  That looks like him to me.  Reyu?"

	Reyu shrugs and nods.  It looks close enough, but then, to her most humans look alike.

	Anvil studies the charcoal sketch one of the monks at the Temple has produced based on Thatch and Reyu’s description of the man that offered to help them find lodgings.

	"That is a large scar.  Few who take such a wound to the face live," he comments.

	Thatch shrugs.  "That’s what he looked like."

	"Very well," Anvil says.  "We shall take this with us."

	"With us?  May I ask where we going?" Reyu inquires.

	"To prove or your innocence or your guilt by seeing if this man can be found.  You are still prisoners in my custody until such time as I give a ruling.  Until then, you shall serve the Temple.  And your first task shall be to aid me in this investigation."

	"What happens if we refuse?" Reyu asks.

"Then I will have no choice but to rule against you."

"I see.  And the law of your land is that… slavery… is the proper punishment for such a crime?"

"It is not the law of my land, but it is the law under which you will be tried.  Likewise, if you attempt to flee my custody in the course of this investigation, I will be forced to rule against you." After a brief pause, he adds, "Kettenek’s Justice demands it."

"Then by all means," Reyu says.  "Let us get underway."

	"Um. So where do we begin?" Thatch asks.

	"At the scene of the crime, of course…"

*************

	The estate of Count Dain Missola of Dar Aego is well kept.  It is a fenced in compound surrounded by a hedge, and consists of a manor house, a stable and livery area, and slave quarters.  The grounds are finely manicured, with a few simple topiary bushes and a fine marble fountain.  By Pykosian standards, it is very well to do, though by Aegosian standards it is very plain indeed.

	Anvil, Thatch, and Reyu are escorted to the manor house by a pair of guards.  There they are met by Desalle.  "Have you come to turn them over?" he asks Anvil.

	"We are here to investigate the matter.  Please send for your master."

	Desalle glares at Anvil, but leaves the room.  A few minutes later, he re-enters.  "May I present his eminence, Count Dain Missola."  And the Count enters the room.  He is a large man, made so by his naturally large frame and his excess of weight.  His beard is neatly trimmed, with dignified streaks of gray in it.  He wears several fine gold and silver chains, and exquisitely tailored clothing of Pykosian style.  He speaks in a deep voice.

	"Justicar.  How may I assist you?"

	"We wish to inspect the scene of the crime.  Tell us what you know of this matter, what transpired and where."

	Missola’s eyes flick towards Thatch and Reyu.  "You investigate with the two lead suspects at your side?"

	"I am not convinced of their guilt."

	Missola looks them over casually, as if they are bugs to him.  He looks at Anvil with a similar expression.  "The evidence against them would be compelling enough for an Aegosian Justicar."

	"Then they should be thankful they are not in Dar Aego," Anvil flatly retorts.

	Missola studies Anvil.  "You are only a First Order Justicar," he says.  "Mind your insolence, or I will see to it this case is handed to a more competent investigator."

	"If that is Kettenek’s Will.  Until then, I shall carry out his Justice as I see fit.  We would see the crime scene now."

	Thatch and Reyu inwardly cringes at Anvil’s ham-fisted approach to diplomacy, but Missola narrows his eyes, turns around, and walks deeper into the house.  "Bring them," he calls over his shoulder to Desalle, who bows and ushers them forward.

	Missola leads them to the scene of the crime, a parlor room filled with elegant drapes and divans.  The statue rests on a mantle over a large fireplace.  It is but one of many trinkets scattered about the room.  Thatch, Reyu, and Anvil inspect the room and question Missola and Desalle about the break-in.  It occurred in the middle of the night.  There is no sign of forced entry.  The one statue is the only thing that was taken.  When asked if he saw or heard anything, Missola looks dismissive.

	"I had retired for the evening before anything happened.  You’d have to ask the servants if they saw anything."

	"We shall," Anvil responds.  "I have one further question for you.  Have either of you ever seen this man?"

	Anvil holds up the sketch of the scarred man.  Missola and Desalle both inspect it. "Never," Missola responds.  The heroes scrutinize their faces, alert for any non-verbal clues that might belie their words, but they find none. 

	"Very well.  We will speak with the servants, now."

	Thatch can’t quite keep the outraged expression off his face as they are taken to the slave quarters.  A long room, bunks along the walls, a single curtain partitioning the men from the women.  The building, though seemingly adequate on the outside, is shoddy from within and ill lit.  The stables are in better repair.

	The slave master lines up the household slaves, about ten in all.  They all wear iron collars, but seem to be in reasonable physical health.  No obvious signs of abuse, well clothed, seemingly well fed.  Their demeanor, however, is disturbing.  They all keep their eyes to the ground, not once making eye contact with anyone.  Reyu shivers.

	Anvil questions a few of the slaves who might have been about the house last night.  They are completely deferential, and claim to have seen and heard nothing.  Nor do any of them claim to recognize the man in the sketch.  At a dead end, our heroes take their leave of Count Missola, and are shown off the estate.

	Although the interviews with the slaves yield no useful information, they haunt Thatch and Reyu deeply.  "How can they treat people like that?" Thatch demands.

	"It is the law," Anvil simply replies, his answer betraying none of this thoughts.

	"But is it Justice?" Reyu asks.  "If you attain this Universal Law you believe in, will such things still be permitted?"

	After a brief pause, Anvil responds, "That will not be a matter for me to decide.  Come.  Let us inquire further after this mysterious man of yours.  If he is a man of a criminal bent, perhaps he frequents some less savory locations…"


----------



## dpdx

*Re: Update on updates*



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Ah, curses.  I suppose the other alternative is to declare any day there is an update to be your birthday and see how much cake you can extort out of your co-workers. *



Alas, my co-workers are too smart for that, as they already know to give me donuts every April 9th.

But I appreciate the updates, nonetheless. This one was a good one. Anvil can hold his mud, it looks like.


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

*Re: Re: Update on updates*



			
				dpdx said:
			
		

> *Anvil can hold his mud, it looks like. *




You know, several months after we started playing, Anvil's player (BadMonkeyJeff) mentioned that he was going to make a diplomacy check.  The rest of us stared at him in astonishment.

"Anvil HAS diplomacy?!?"

It turns out he does, he just prefers to ignore it most of the time.

-WLS


----------



## Talix

Wow, excellent story hour!  I have no connection to anyone involved, all I have to say is thank god for pimping your story hour in your sig!  

The style is very, very well written, and I really like what I've seen of the characters so far - each unique and believeable.  And the extra information updates are much appreciated.  

The only thing that dismays me is the time interval between this post and the previous one on the thread - I really hope that updates come more frequently again, so we can find out just how good of a Justicar Anvil really is!


----------



## dpdx

Bumping - for Justice!


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Talix said:
			
		

> *The only thing that dismays me is the time interval between this post and the previous one on the thread -  *




Ok, this is entirely Fajitas fault.  Spyscribe, bless her soul, has already written several updates.  But we're not yet at the point where her character arrives, and for now we have to rely on a much more inconsistent source.  He keeps claiming he's too busy writing games and stuff....

Updates will come more frequently once we get back to Spyscribe's section.

-WLS

(We're getting bumped? Cool.)


----------



## Talix

WisdomLikeSilence said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Ok, this is entirely Fajitas fault.  Spyscribe, bless her soul, has already written several updates.  But we're not yet at the point where her character arrives, and we for now we have to rely on a much more inconsistent source.  He keeps claiming he's too busy writing games and stuff....
> 
> Updates will come more frequently once we get back to Spyscribe's section.
> 
> -WLS
> 
> (We're getting bumped? Cool.) *




I look forward to this.    Maybe you could just post place-holder posts, to be filled in later, and fast-forward a bit...    People could catch up!


----------



## spyscribe

Talix said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I look forward to this.    Maybe you could just post place-holder posts, to be filled in later, and fast-forward a bit...    People could catch up!   *




We may wind up doing something like that.  At any rate, Fajitas and I will talk when he gets back into town (at which point he swears to me there will be an update), and we'll work out our posting strategy.

The goal, of course, is to maximize frequency of posting and ease of reading.  How to do that is the trick.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *The goal, of course, is to maximize frequency of posting and ease of reading.  How to do that is the trick.  *




I suggest beating me about the head and neck with a stick.  I found it's worked in the past.  

My deepest apologies to those waiting for a fix.  There's a new update on it's way, and another one in progress.  I'm going to try as hard as I can to manage one or two a week 'til we're caught up to spyscribe's backlog.

In the meantime, mea culpa.


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I suggest beating me about the head and neck with a stick.  I found it's worked in the past.  *




*whack* *whack*

--The management


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Sixth*
_In which: Anvil provides some much-needed grease.
as recorded by Fajitas_

	Our heroes return to the temple of the Justicars.  Since they are, technically, prisoners, Anvil has Thatch and Reyu put to work in the archives for the remainder of the day.  What he has in mind to do next will have to wait until nightfall.

	As Anvil goes about his business, Stalwart the Just hurries up to him.

	"Anvil, I heard about what happened.  Is there anything I can do to help?" he asks.

	"I don’t believe so," Anvil replies.

	"You know, I am an expert in Aegosian Law.  I may be more acquainted with the subtleties of the case than you.  If you like, I’d be happy to take over."

	"Thank you, but I believe I can handle this," Anvil firmly informs him.

	"I see.  Well, if you need anything, just let me know."

	"I shall."  With that, Anvil leaves Stalwart behind.  The sun is setting, and he has preparations to make.

**********

	Reyu looks skeptically at the staircase before her.  It leads down below street level, to a dank looking tavern.  The sign overhead reads "The Squeaky Wheel."

	It is well past nightfall now.  All three are dressed in dark cloaks.  Anvil has even taken the precaution of covering his robes of office.  It doesn’t often pay to be a Justicar walking around unescorted in this part of town.

	"Are you sure this expedition will be… beneficial?" Reyu asks.  "This building seems… less than wholesome." 

	"Oh, it is far from wholesome," Anvil assures her.  "That is why it will be beneficial."

	"Will there be any trouble?"

	"No.  Kettenek shall protect us."  And with that, Anvil proceeds down the steps.  Thatch and Reyu have no choice but to follow.

	The interior of The Squeaky Wheel is as dingy as expected.  Low ceilings, a smoky atmosphere.  Suspicious looking men and women sit at the tables, keeping to themselves but eyeing the newcomers warily.  Thatch takes it in wide-eyed.  He’s never been in a real city tavern before.

	Anvil approaches the bartender.  "We are looking for information," he says, placing a gold piece on the bar.  The bartender points to a table in the back.  "You wanna talk to Nichols, then."  Anvil nods and heads toward the back table.  Thatch stays at the bar.  "Um.  And maybe an ale?"  The bartender stares at him.  

	Anvil and Reyu proceed to the table in the back.  A lone man sits there, half-covered in shadow, a black cloak obscuring much of his face.  They sit.  The man says nothing.  He simply looks at them.  A small smile can be seen on the visible part of his face.  

	Thatch hurriedly joins them, a tankard of cloudy ale in his hand.

	Nichols finally breaks the silence.  "So.  What can I do for you?" 

	"We are looking for this man," Anvil says, and he slides the sketch of their quarry across the table.  "Perhaps you have seen him."

	Nichols eyes the sketch.  His smile grows a little.  "Yes.  That’s a good point," he says.  "Perhaps I have."

	Thatch looks puzzled at that, but Anvil pushes a small stack of coins across the table at Nichols.  A black gloved hand slips out and scoops up the coins.  Then, it picks up the sketch, and Nichols studies it more closely.

	Thatch sips his ale and makes a face.  Then he sips some more.

	Nichols looks up from the sketch.  "Sorry.  I never seen a guy that looks like this.  I’d remember someone with a scar like that…."  Thatch and Reyu deflate.  "…but," Nichols continues, "there was a guy in here the other night looked just like this guy without the scar.  He had an eye-patch instead.  Called himself Remmer."

	"The scar, then.  Could it have been a fake?" Reyu asks.  

Nichols shrugs.  "Beats me."

"You say he was in here," Anvil asks.  "Why?  On what business?"

"Dunno," Nichols replies.  "But he was meeting some guy, name of Amos.  They had a few drinks, then left together."

"Who is this Amos?  Where can he be found?" Anvil demands.

"Those are all real good questions," Nichols responds amiably.

Thatch again looks puzzled, but Anvil slips Nichols a few more coins.

"Do you think you can find some answers?"  he asks.

"I’ll get right on it," Nichols answers.  Then, with a smile, "Shall I send you word at the Temple, Justicar?"

Thatch and Reyu exchange glances, but Anvil shrugs and nods.  "That will be fine."

Thatch sips his ale.  He hiccups.


----------



## KidCthulhu

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *The interior of The Squeaky Wheel is as dingy as expected.  Low ceilings, a smoky atmosphere.  Suspicious looking men and women sit at the tables, keeping to themselves but eyeing the newcomers warily.  *




Sounds like a wretched hive of scum and villany.  Yay!


----------



## Bad Monkey Jeff

*Re: Re: Re: Update on updates*



			
				WisdomLikeSilence said:
			
		

> *You know, several months after we started playing, Anvil's player (BadMonkeyJeff) mentioned that he was going to make a diplomacy check.  The rest of us stared at him in astonishment.
> 
> "Anvil HAS diplomacy?!?"*




I originally imagined there was some very clever set of rules in Anvil's head that made the blunt throwing about of one's Justicar-y weight the best form of diplomacy in many (most?) situations. Then I discoverd that bluntness was more fun to roleplay, and while I still imagine that there is such a clever distinction somewhere in Anvil's head, I haven't the foggiest clue what it is.

--Jeff

P.S. I'm not sure what it means to hold one's mud, and although it sounds like messy business, it also sounds like something Anvil can do with the best of them.


----------



## dpdx

*Re: Re: Re: Re: Update on updates*



			
				Bad Monkey Jeff said:
			
		

> *P.S. I'm not sure what it means to hold one's mud, and although it sounds like messy business, it also sounds like something Anvil can do with the best of them. *



You've probably never watched the thoroughly crappy Matthew Modine movie, _Vision Quest_, before, then. But don't worry, I meant to say that Anvil could hold his own, both w/in gameplay, and as a well-rounded character in roleplay.

Glad we've updated.


----------



## spyscribe

Gods of the Halmae 
(an abridged guide)


Alirria gives you life.
Ehkt gives you a beer.
Sedellus kills you,
And Kettenek makes sure you stay dead.


Update tomorrow, in the meantime, cheers!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Sixth*
_In which: someone finally gets somewhere
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	Anvil arises at dawn and goes about his morning routine.  However, he is interrupted by a knock at his door.  He opens it to reveal Tenacious the Just, a large, barrel-chested man, a 6th Order Justicar and the head of the Universal Law Caucus in Dar Pykos.

	Tenacious speaks in a booming voice.  "Ah, good morning Anvil" he says.

	"Good morning," Anvil replies.  "How may I be of service this day?"

	"I understand you’re involved in a cross-jurisdictional case?"

	"Yes."

	"I understand that you haven’t quite been handling it in a fully diplomatic manner."

	Anvil pauses to carefully phrase his response, as his superior watches.  "I have done as Justice demands," he says carefully.  "If some have chosen to take offense at that, that is their business.  I, for one, do not see how any righteous man could object to the demands of Kettenek."

	"Uh-huh," Tenacious says.  He has that look that he often has when talking to Anvil: the look of a man who knows that a tremendous headache is on its way. "Look, Anvil, I applaud your zeal in this case.  But Count Missola’s people have been making an issue of this at very high levels.  Now I’ve spoken to a specialist in Aegosian law, who assures me that Missola is in the right here.  By law, these prisoners should be enslaved to his custody.  I don’t much like it either, but we have little choice but to comply."

	"Sir," Anvil replies, "I do not believe that the prisoners are truly guilty of the crime, despite the evidence against them.  To let them be taken would be a dreadful miscarriage of Justice in Kettenek’s name."

	"Can you prove it?"

	"Alas, not yet."

	Tenacious sighs and strokes his well-trimmed beard.  "All right.  I’ll stall them for twenty-four hours, but that’s all the time I can give you.  If you can’t prove these people are innocent in that time, they’re going to be turned over to the Count."

	"Thank you," Anvil responds.  "I have faith that the true miscreants will be rooted out in that time, as Kettenek’s Justice demands."

	"Uh-huh," Tenacious says, and takes his leave.

*********

Anvil wastes no further time.  He checks with the temple acolytes, who inform him that word has come from Nichols. Amos was staying at a boarding house in the city, run by a Mrs. Blackburn.  An address is provided.  

	Anvil immediately goes to the cells that have been provided for Thatch and Reyu and pounds on the doors.  "Wake up! Our duty calls."  Reyu is already awake, though surprised to find Anvil up.  Thatch takes some rousing, as he is still quite asleep and slightly hung-over from the night before.

	But a few minutes of Anvil’s inexhaustible determination and a quick breakfast are all it takes to get Thatch moving, and the three head out into the city towards Mrs. Blackburn’s boarding house.

	The boarding house seems reputable.  The outside is in good repair.  Anvil knocks on the door, which is opened by a plump woman in an apron, presumably Mrs. Blackburn.  She eyes the heroes suspiciously.  "Well?" she asks.  "What’s all this, then?"

	Anvil responds.  "We are in search of a man named Amos.  We understand he takes his lodgings in this establishment."

	Mrs. Blackburn’s eyes narrow ever further.  "Don’t know what business that is of yours."

	"It is not my business.  It is Kettenek’s business."  Anvil shifts so that the holy symbol on his robes of office is clearly visible.  The woman’s eyes open wide, and she instantly begins talking a mile a minute.  "I knew it!" she exclaims.  "I knew it, I did.  Always thought he was up to no good, that one.  I says to myself, ‘he’s a bad egg, he is’.  Going to come to a rotten end, mark my words."

	"He has been engaged in suspicious activities, then?" Anvil asks sharply.

	"Well… no," Mrs. Blackburn replies, thinking.  "No, not sos I’ve noticed. But there’s a… a look about him.  I can always tell, I can."

	Anvil and the others exchange a look. "Kettenek’s Justice demands that we speak to him."

	"He ain’t here.  Ain’t seen him in a few days.  He’s like that, coming and going at all hours, misses breakfast more often than not.  That’s not respectable behavior, that ain—"

	"How long has he been missing?" Anvil interrupts.

	"Not sure.  I’d say since the day before yesterday."

	Anvil and the others exchange another look.  That’s the day Amos met with the scarred man.

	"It is imperative that we search Amos’s room," Anvil says.  Mrs. Blackburn is surprised at his abrupt tone.  "Immediately," Anvil adds.

	Mrs. Blackburn escorts them upstairs, chattering away non-stop about what a "bad sort" Amos is, "mark my words".  It’s not at all clear that she actually had a poor opinion of Amos *before* a Justicar came looking for him.  But now she is more than willing to inform them how every flip of his overly long hair "set my spine a-tingling".  Reyu is tempted to ask why she let him board there if she had such a negative impression of him, but decides not to stir up trouble.

	Mrs. Blackburn leads them to a door on a second floor landing.  She opens it with a key and leads them inside, her running narrative continuing.  Anvil, Reyu and Thatch ignore it as they search the room.

	It is a reasonably sized boarding room, small bed, small table, small dresser.  The bed is unmade, and the room disorganized.  Signs of an untidy person, though Mrs. Blackburn has already pointed that out.  They find only a few coins, no weapons beyond an eating knife, and no sign of spell components or mystical texts.  In short, Amos appears to be a perfectly ordinary young man, who probably hasn’t been in the city long.

	It is Thatch who first spots something interesting: a small pile of letters discarded in a corner.  They are love letters, from someone named Kashan.  The first several are fairly ordinary, but the last few indicate some kind of problem with the relationship.  Amos has clearly stopped returning her correspondence, and her requests to see him become more urgent.  The last is dated nearly two weeks ago.

	"I admit I am… unfamiliar with your mating habits," Reyu says, "but this seems a… troubled courtship."

	"Um, well, yes and no," Thatch answers.  "It’s actually kinda typical," he adds, at the puzzled look Reyu gives him.

	"Is it possible his recent… disappearance… is connected to these letters?" Reyu asks.

	"Anything is possible when criminal minds seek to have their way," Anvil responds.

	"Um. I don’t get it," Thatch says.  "I mean, what’s the connection?  Amos meets with the scarred man, only with an eye-patch, not a scar, then he disappears.  Did the scarred man do something to him?"

	"Perhaps this… Kashan… hired the scarred man to harm Amos," Reyu suggests.

	"Or perhaps they are both miscreants, working together in some nefarious purpose," Anvil adds.

	"And why would they want to make us slaves?" Thatch asks.  He crosses his arms in frustration, trying to put the pieces together.

	"These are all excellent questions," Anvil says, "but I do not believe there are further answers to be found here.  We must seek out this woman, Kashan.  Perhaps she can tell us more of this man Amos’s character, that we might know if he is honest or deceitful."

	"Humph!  I can tell you that," Mrs. Blackburn chimes in from the hallway.  

They ignore her.

	"‘Kashan,’" Anvil says, thoughtfully.  "That sounds like a Thanean name."

	"Thanean?" Reyu inquires.

	"Dar Thane is one of the city-states within the Confederacy, far to the north of here at the tip of the peninsula.  They are primarily a military state.  There are many Thaneans living in Dar Pykos, though they live in few neighborhoods.  It should not be hard to find this woman…"

_To be continued…_


----------



## Talix

The writing style is still very good, highly entertaining.  

I'm just glad that I'm reading about this investigation, instead of playing through it - I'm terrible at mysteries!    Anvil seems like he's doing a reasonably good job, though.

Thanks!


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Ehkt gives you a beer.*




Oh, so *that's* why Lira is Ehktian....   

-WLS


----------



## dpdx

Just the facts, ma'am... for Justice!

Good updates. Can't wait for the next one.


----------



## Greybar

Just joining in with a Cheers to the scribe and the rest of the group!  Keep 'em coming. Kettenek’s Justice demands it.

John


----------



## spyscribe

WisdomLikeSilence said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Oh, so *that's* why Lira is Ehktian....
> 
> -WLS *




   Please...  The beer is merely a pleasant fringe benefit.

--Lira


----------



## Harp

Drat!  Another Story Hour that I have to stay glued to.  That'll teach me to follow intriguing sig links.

_Excellent_ characterization and story telling.  Please keep 'em coming.


----------



## spyscribe

*Sidebar - The Darine Confederacy*

_Yes gentle readers, it’s that time again.  

Have you ever wondered why everywhere in the campaign seems to be called “Dar something?”  Does it seem a shocking lack of creativity in an otherwise novel narrative?  

Don’t answer that.

This is your handy guide to the cities of the Darine Confederacy.  Everything you wanted to know but were afraid to ask. 

--The Management_

*The Darine Confederacy*

	The Darine Confederacy, one of the major “kingdoms” of the Halmae, is a loosely affiliated group of city-states, first founded 150 years ago. The Confederacy is composed of 7 separate city-states, each pledged to a series of treaties with one another.  Most treaties are designed to encourage favored, low-tariff trade with each other. There are also provisions not to war on each other, though there is no provision for mutual defense. Each city-state sends two representative Senators to a Confederate Senate. These Senators vote on any issues that require the assent of the entire Confederacy, including decisions on whether or not new city-states shall be admitted.

	The Confederacy is composed of:

*Dar Darine*
The oldest city-state on the Darine peninsula, and the originator of the idea of the Confederacy.  Because of its role in the founding of the Confederacy, Darine considers itself the premiere city-state. They are a very advanced culturally, much more so than many of the other city-states.  Art, literature, and philosophy achieve their highest peaks in Dar Darine.  Darines are also somewhat snooty and superior about themselves, not unlike many modern day New Yorkers. Dar Darine is a democratic city-state (in the sense of Greek democracy).

*Dar Henna*
Dar Henna is an affluent city-state, seldom concerned with the affairs of others.  Given their position in the middle of the Darine Peninsula, they only joined the Confederacy to gain non-aggression treaties with all their neighbors (though they don’t object to the trade benefits). Hennans are more obsessed with internal status and power than what the outside world is up to. The power brokers of Dar Henna wage a constant war of backroom politics.  Dar Henna is ruled by a Doge, elected by the nobility from their own ranks.

_(Dar Henna is also Lira’s hometown.  Really, is it a wonder she has a weasel familiar?)_

*Dar Karo*
Karonians are focused primarily on external trade. Their craftspeople are the best in the Confederacy. Anything legal can be found in the markets here, and you’ll never find it finer made anywhere. Dar Karo is the only place in the Halmae where double masterwork items can be purchased.  It’s the newest city-state to be admitted to the Confederacy. Dar Karo is ruled by a monarch.

*Dar Und*
Though once a thriving city-state, Dar Und has come upon bad times.  It is now a sham of a city. The proper government, overrun with crime and corruption, effectively collapsed almost twenty years ago, leaving the city-state to be ruled by the crime bosses (as much as anyone is in control at all).  There is little in the way of public services, and the outlying lands are rife with banditry.  The only reason anyone still does any business at all with Dar Und is because of its strategic position on the major river on the Darine Peninsula.  River piracy is seldom worth the cost of “protection.” 

*Dar Aego*
Dar Aego is a decadent city-state, a hedonistic oligarchy where the rich do as they please, and don’t give a damn what the poor do as long as they stay out of sight. The inner city is built entirely of marble and gold, in which each manor tries to be more opulent and ostentatious than the next.  The outer city, the poor quarter, is a grotesque shantytown build of wood and dirt.  The only rule in Dar Aego is the Golden Rule—whoever has the gold makes the rules.  Dar Aego is ruled by a monarch.

*Dar Thane*
Dar Thane is a militaristic city-state, far and away the most stringent of the Confederate city-states. It is ruled by a General who appoints his own successor.  Thaneans have a very rigid, martial philosophy.  Discipline, order, bravery, and physical prowess are their chief values and their chief virtues.  Dar Thane is located at the very tip of the Darine Peninsula, close to the Empire of Ebis, with whom they have frequent clashes.

*Dar Pykos*
Dar Pykos, the central principality of the campaign, is a fairly typical fantasy medieval city-state. It has the full range of social classes: nobles, freemen, merchants, craftsmen, mercenaries, beggars, etc. It is ruled by King Orin and well civilized.  Dar Pykos is the great melting pot, where people from all over the Halmae (even elves and dwarves), can be found living in relative harmony.  The Great Library is located in Dar Pykos, as well as the only Mages Academy in the world.

_(Although Dar Pykos is the campaign “home base” for all of the characters, Anvil is the only PC actually from the city.  Thatch, Reyu, and Hue all hail from outside the confederacy.)_


----------



## dpdx

If my city were the Darine Confederacy, I'd be hailing from Dar Car Fixer, er, Dar Goodwrench. I swear to God, nothing but auto body shops and mechanics where I live.

So correct me if I'm wrong, but the decadent, corrupt city-state (Aego) is the place where slavery is still rampant. Humh. Makes sense.

More Update! for Justice!


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> * So correct me if I'm wrong, but the decadent, corrupt city-state (Aego) is the place where slavery is still rampant. Humh. Makes sense.
> *




Dar Aego is indeed the place the PCs went to buy back wrongly enslaved people.  However, slavery is legal in most of the Confederacy.  Dar Aego, Dar Henna, Dar Und, and Dar Thane all practice slavery still, as do some of the other kingdoms.  There are more places that practice it than don't.

New update tomorrow, I think.  Kettenek rewards the faithful.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Seventh*
_In which: someone fails a whole lot of Bluff checks
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	A few quick questions asked in the right places reveals the location of Amos’s paramour, the woman Kashan.  “She is the daughter of a wealthy Thanean Captain, Kuros Hemlek,” Anvil informs the others as they make their way to the Hemlek residence.  Reyu glances up at the sun.  It is mid-day.  Just under 18 hours left to prove their innocence before she and Thatch are enslaved.  Somehow, she thinks that this is not what her grandmother had in mind when she sent her off to learn about human culture.

	The Hemlek estate is nowhere near as opulent as the Missola estate, but it is virtually the same size.  The guards initially balk at granting the PCs entrance, but Anvil’s brief yet vivid description of the fate that awaits those who obstruct Kettenek’s Justice changes their minds.  The PCs are ushered into a waiting room.  They ask to see Kashan, and are told to wait a moment.

	A short time later, a stern, swarthy, well-muscled man with dark hair and a full beard descends the staircase.  He is Captain Kuros Hemlek. “Well?” he demands. “What is your business here?”

	Anvil, Thatch, and Reyu look at each other.  “Um.  Actually, our business is with your daughter, Kashan,” Thatch offers.  Then, belatedly he adds, “Sir.”

	“She is indisposed.  We are leaving for Dar Thane the day after tomorrow, and she is making necessary preparations.  I will speak for her.”

	“Um.  It’s really kind of, um, private business,” Thatch tries again.

	“Her business is my business.  I will speak for her.” Hemlek seems calm, but his eyes flash dangerously.

	Again, the heroes look at each other.  How much should they reveal?

	“It is a… delicate matter.  Perhaps we could--” Reyu begins, but is interrupted.

	“Then speak of it to me delicately,” Hemlek responds.  The only delicate thing about him appears to be his patience.

	Against his better judgement, Anvil relents.  “It relates to a matter of your daughter Kashan and a young man named Amos--"

	But another voice interrupts Anvil.  A young woman’s voice.  “Father?  What is it?  Did I hear my name?”  And down the stairs comes Kashan.  She is in her late teens, swarthy as her father but far more attractive, her hair cropped close in military style.  And, oh yes, she is six months pregnant.

	Tumblers suddenly begin to click for Thatch and Anvil.  Pregnant daughter.  Overbearing father.  Suddenly they have both a motive and a suspect for Amos’s disappearance, which means they may have a direct connection to the mysterious scarred man (Reyu, of course, does not make this same leap of reasoning.  Biological paternity is unimportant to elves).

	Meanwhile, Captain Hemlek attempts to dismiss his daughter.  “Return to your room, Kashan.  I will handle this.”

	But Anvil leaps in.  “Captain, as your daughter is surely more familiar with the man Amos than you are, she will be more valuable in helping us investigate his disappearance.  Unless,” he adds, carefully watching Hemlek’s reaction, “you believe you know more about Amos’s disappearance than she does.”  There is a hint of warning in Anvil’s voice.

	And Hemlek’s manner suddenly changes.  His eyes dart around quickly, looking at all three of his visitors.  His feet shuffle on the floor as he says, “Amos?  I don’t know anything about a man named Amos.”  

_(GM’s Note: This is why it’s important not to roll a 3 on your Bluff check when nose to nose with a Justicar.)_

	“Really?” Anvil asks.  “We were under the impression that he was the man who had impregnated your daughter.”  Anvil turns his attention to Kashan.  “Is that not true?”

	Kashan shifts guiltily and looks at her father.  She opens her mouth but Hemlek cuts her off.  “I will speak for her!” he snaps, but there is a shrill edge to his voice that wasn’t there before.  “I-I did not realize you spoke of _that_ man.  I was simply…unaware of his name, you see.”

	“Of course you were,” Anvil replies as condescendingly as he can _(GM’s Note: This is why it’s important not to roll a 1 on your Bluff check to recover from the 3 you rolled on your Bluff check when nose to nose with a Justicar)_.  He addresses Kashan again.  “When was the last time you saw Amos?”

	Kashan looks to her father before answering.  “Several weeks ago.  I tried to see him to ask him again to marry me, given…” she gestures vaguely at her condition.  “I’m sorry, did you say Amos is missing?”

	“He is,” Anvil responds.  Hemlek shifts nervously again. “Did he agree to marry you?”

	Kashan wipes at her eyes.  “No.  He still wouldn’t.”

	“The dog,” Hemlek spits, with real venom.  “No Thanean would behave so disgracefully.  In Dar Thane, such a man would be executed for cowardice and dereliction of duty.”

	Thatch blanches at that.  Reyu looks at him, puzzled.  “Why does he place such… importance on who conceives the child?  Is it not the mother’s choice who will be the father?”  

“Um.  I’ll explain later,” Thatch responds.  The young man is still reeling at this new, previously unconsidered consequence of sex.  Reyu, meanwhile, mentally notes that there are human cities with stranger laws than Dar Aego and returns her attention to the conversation at hand.

	“You are not in Dar Thane,” Anvil is saying, and Hemlek agrees.  “No, we are not,” he snarls.

	“And did you take it upon yourself to enforce the laws of Dar Thane while here in Dar Pykos?  Perhaps you hired a man of poor character to knife him in the back in a tavern?” Anvil demands.

	Hemlek face goes pink.  “Absolutely not!” he insists.  “I find this questioning an insult to my honor.  This interview is over!  You will leave my estates now!”  He motions for his guards.

	Anvil resists.  “Kettenek’s Justice has not yet been fulfilled.”  But Hemlek doesn’t care.  “You are merely a First Order Justicar.  I will not tolerate such insults from a subordinate.  Out!  Out, I say!”  Hemlek’s voice nearly squeaks as he screams at them.  Not wishing a fight, Anvil, Thatch, and Reyu allow the guards to lead them out of the house and back to the street.

	Once there, they look at each other.  “Um,” Thatch begins, “maybe it was just me, but I don’t think he was telling the truth.”

	The others agree.  “I believe we should return with a writ and search this estate.  Especially if they are planning soon to leave,” Anvil says.

	“What good will that do?” Thatch asks.  “If he hired someone to kill Amos, he probably wouldn’t leave evidence of it here.”

	“I am not certain he had Amos killed,” Reyu adds.  “His indignation when Anvil suggested he had done so seemed quite… genuine.”

	“Regardless, I believe we must press on him harder.  Your time is short, and we have no leads left to us beyond those we can find inside that estate.”

	And at that, the side gate of the estate bursts open and a wagon charges out, careening wildly as it turns a sharp corner.  Captain Hemlek has the reins.  And the wagon races down the street…

_Next time: Answers! Wagons! And we finally enter combat time!_


----------



## dpdx

Aw, man. Piratecat's penchant for cliffhangers, too.

Still, good update. Hurry back!


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx said:
			
		

> *Aw, man. Piratecat's penchant for cliffhangers, too.
> *




You don't know the half of it.

Fajitas also likes to end *game sessions* with cliff-hangers.  And this is all well and good, except for the infamous case where there we were, standing in horror at the evil mess which had just been unleashed before us...

And it took us two months to get our schedules coordinated to play the next session.

He claims it was agony for him too, because he knew what was going to happen and couldn't talk about it with anyone.

Uh-huh.  Sure.

It's this sort of thing that leads to players taking their subtle revenge by demanding the name of every NPC we encounter.  Ever.


----------



## Harp

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *It's this sort of thing that leads to players taking their subtle revenge by demanding the name of every NPC we encounter.  Ever. *




You've got to take it where you can.  Thanks, by the way, for the background posts detailing the campaign setting.  Very helpful for story immersion.


----------



## Talix

spyscribe said:
			
		

> It's this sort of thing that leads to players taking their subtle revenge by demanding the name of every NPC we encounter.  Ever.




LOL!  

Loved the update - it's great to have the little GM's notes in the margins, and the action is good, too.  The background updates are also very appreciated.    Thanks!


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *
> It's this sort of thing that leads to players taking their subtle revenge by demanding the name of every NPC we encounter.  Ever. *




Fortunately, one of my kind-hearted PCs took it upon herself to buy me a book of baby names.  Of course, she did that the week before my parents were coming to town.  Had to make sure it was well hidden by the time they arrived.  That's grief I don't need...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Eighth*
_In which: wagons careen, pedestrians scatter, Anvil demands, and someone gets their legs broken. All this, plus a new PC!
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	The man on the horse is named Cyrus Pentaskae.  

Cyrus is a holy warrior of Kettenek, one of the Guardians of the Barrier, a sect that reveres Kettenek as the Lord of the Dead.  The Guardians are fierce hunters of the undead who seek to ensure that those who pass into the earth stay there.  Cyrus is always quite zealous in ensuring this.

	Cyrus has worked with Anvil in the past, prosecuting those who practice Necromancy within Dar Pykos.  So when a sticky legal question arose for Cyrus (a technical distinction between “Breaking and Entering” and “Reasonable Suspicion of Unholy Activities”), he decided to ask Anvil about it.  But when he asked at the Temple of Justice, he discovered that Anvil was off somewhere working.  Cyrus was unwilling to wait.

	So now Cyrus is on his horse, searching for Anvil and look!  There he is, at the end of the block, with a tall man and an elf.  Except Anvil is, for some reason, looking down a side street.  And now he is staring in utter disbelief.  And now he shouts something that sounds like, “Hey!”  And now he takes off down the side street, running full tilt, waving and pointing and shouting, the elf and the tall man right along side him.

	“Hmmm,” says the man on the horse, and he trots to catch up.

*************

	Hemlek’s wagon hurtles down the street.  Hemlek drives, while in the back are two guards flanking Kashan, along with several trunks and a large barrel.  Anvil, Thatch, and Reyu stare in stunned silence for a moment.  Finally, with uncharacteristic brevity, Anvil shouts “Hey!” and he takes off after the wagon.  Thatch and Reyu are right with him.

The wagon is much faster than they are, and careens around a corner before they can overtake it.  With little choice, they pound down the street in pursuit.

	Suddenly, there is the sound of hoofbeats behind them.  “Anvil!  Need a hand?” a voice asks.  Anvil risks a quick glance over his shoulder.  He is surprised to see Cyrus, but not about to complain.  “Yes!” Anvil pants.  “Stop that wagon!  Kettenek’s Justice deman--"

	“Right,” Cyrus responds, and gallops past them and around the corner.

	Anvil, Thatch, and Reyu reach the corner and turn.  They find themselves in a wide avenue, one that leads directly to the East Marketplace.  And the avenue is full of wagons laden with goods, moving at a leisurely pace in both directions.

	“Um,” Thatch says.  “Which one is—"

	“That one!” Reyu says, and points.  Sure enough, one wagon is racing down the road, weaving in and out of the other wagons.  They take off in pursuit.

	Fortunately, traffic on the avenue slows the wagon down.  Running for all they’re worth, our heroes are able to gain on the wagon.  Cyrus is already galloping next to it.  “Stop this wagon!  Pull over!” he shouts, but Hemlek, at the reins, shows no sign of slowing.  Instead, he jerks the wagon to the side, trying to force Cyrus into oncoming traffic.  Cyrus manages to avoid the wagons coming at him, but loses ground in his pursuit.  Thatch, racing along behind, reaches out to try to grab the back of the wagon and jump on, but Hemlek’s weaving makes it difficult to get a grip and dangerous to get too close.  Thatch grits his teeth and runs harder.

	“Hurry!” Anvil pants.  “He’s almost reached the Marketplace…”

**********

	It is a glorious day in the East Marketplace, thinks Neville the Watchman.  The sun is shining, the produce smells fresh.  Yep.  This is the assignment.  He takes a bite of his fresh sausage in a bun, and chews happily as he takes in the sights around him.  Funny, that wagon there, he thinks, as he glances down the street.  Seems to be going awfully fast.  Maybe I should have a word with the driver.  Might not be safe, driving like… good gods, he’s going quite fast, isn’t he?  And weaving a lot.  Could he be drunk?  Well, as long as he slows down before he hits the Marketpl… hang on.  He’s not slowing down at all.  In fact, he—

	Neville drops his sausage in a bun and dives out of the way as the wagon comes hurtling at him.  Somewhere in the Marketplace, someone screams.  Heads turn, and people dive left and right, trying to get out of the way as the chase barrels its way into the Marketplace.

	Neville looks up from the ground, just in time to see a Justicar running past him, in pursuit of the wagon.  He hears “…stop, I say!  Kettenek’s Just…” as the Justicar charges by.  

	Right, thinks Neville, and joins in the pursuit.

***********

	The wagon skids as Hemlek turns into the market. Thatch and Reyu take advantage of the skid to close in on it.  Thatch leaps for the side, getting a grip on it, but one of the guards in the wagon knocks him off before he can get over the edge.  Thatch rolls out of the way of the wheels as the wagon thunders past.

	Reyu aims for the horses instead.  She grabs for the reins just as Hemlek gets the wagon back under control.  He jerks the wagon to the side, slamming it into Reyu.  She falls to the ground hard, and there is a sickening crack as the wagon crushes both her legs.  Reyu screams.

	Hemlek spurs the horses on, heading for the East Gate.  But suddenly, Cyrus gallops in from out of nowhere.  He grabs at the harness on Hemlek’s horses and jerks it back as hard as he can.  

With a whinny, the horses rear up and come to a dead stop.  But the wagon, already moving fast, jackknifes completely out of control. WHAM!  It slams into a vendor’s cart, spilling fruit everywhere. Cyrus is thrown from his horse, but safely rolls with the fall.  People scatter in a frenzy as the wagon and the wreckage slam into another cart!  Someone on the wagon screams, and it might just be Captain Hemlek himself.

	Finally, the wreckage comes to a halt.  There is a moment of complete silence, during which everyone breathes loudly, just to make sure they’re still alive.  And then the silence is broken by a loud voice.  “In Kettenek’s name, I demand that you surrender yourself!”  It is Anvil, now flanked by six Watchmen from the Marketplace.  None of them look happy.

	Hemlek, panicked, motions to his guards, who jump down off the wagon to defend them. But the guards are easily subdued by the Watchmen.  Anvil and the Watchmen surround the wagon.  “You will now surrender yourself to the proper authority of Dar Pykos,” Anvil informs Hemlek.  

	Hemlek glances around like a caged animal.  “My family name will not be dishonored in this manner,” he practically shrieks, and lightning fast, he whips a knife to his own throat.  “Permit us to leave, or I will end my family line with honor.”

	Anvil’s brow furrows.  He is about to shrug and say, “Sure, go ahead” when Thatch taps him on the shoulder and points to Kashan.  The six-month pregnant woman also holds a knife to her throat.

	Anvil studies her closely.  There is resolve on her face, clearly, but also… fear?  She looks like this is something she’s willing to do, but really _really_ doesn’t want to.

	“Um. Um. Um. Okay.  Look.  We can work this out or something, right?  Um. You don’t have to…” Thatch is saying, trying to calm the situation down.

	But Anvil merely looks Hemlek right in the eyes and speaks a single word.  “Surrender,” he says, and his eyes flash.

	And Hemlek drops his knife and puts his hands up in the air. 

	No one seems more surprised than Hemlek at his actions, and as he looks at his raised hands in shock and horror, the Watchmen leap forward and grab him.  

	“Um.” Thatch says.  “How did you…?”

	“Kettenek sees fit to bless me with a spell of Command that I might better see his Justice done,” Anvil replies, and turns his attention to Kashan.  There are tears in her eyes, but she still holds the knife to her throat.  

	“I… I will do it,” she says, but not very convincingly.  “I will defend my family honor.”

	“Come,” Anvil says.  “You do not wish to do this.”

	“I do not,” Kashan says, “but I will.  Do not dishonor my father, and I will surrender to you.”

	Anvil sighs.  “Kettenek’s Justice demands consequences for your father’s actions.  However, assuming that no further wrongdoings by him are uncovered, your father need not be imprisoned.  Justice will be satisfied if your father forfeits all his property remaining in Dar Pykos and vows never to enter our city again.  Is that acceptable?”

	With a look at her father, Kashan nods and drops her knife.

	Order is slowly restored to the Marketplace.  Reyu seems to be injured worse than anyone, but with a mystical chant (through her gritted teeth) she heals herself.  No one else is hurt, though many people are frightened and angry.  Anvil and the Watchmen help restore calm.

	Thus, it is Thatch who notices the bumping sound coming from the barrel in the back of the wagon.  *bump, bump*  He listens more carefully.  *bump*  Slowly, he draws his greatsword and, using the tip as a lever, he pries the lid off the barrel.  He looks into it.

	A very frightened young man looks up at him from inside, tightly bound and gagged.

	“Um,” Thatch says.  “I guess you must be Amos.”

_To be continued…_


----------



## dpdx

Wow... forfeiture of assets and banishment for Obstruction of Justice, Resisting Arrest and Attempt to Elude? May I never get a parking ticket in Dar Pykos.

Of course, Thatch having discovered Amos in the back of the cart adds Witness Tampering, and possibly even Kidnapping I to the mix. I'm not so sure the Cap'n's gonna get off even that easily anymore.


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> *Wow... forfeiture of assets and banishment for Obstruction of Justice, Resisting Arrest and Attempt to Elude? May I never get a parking ticket in Dar Pykos.
> *




Well, let's not forget that his Attempt to Elude involved rampaging through a major public area in an out-of-control vehicle, so that adds Destruction of Property, Reckless Endangerment, and several counts Assault with a Deadly Wagon...


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> *
> 
> ...and several counts Assault with a Deadly Wagon...   *




Oh groan!  Lucky for you the Hutt isn't in effect on-line.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *
> Oh groan!  Lucky for you the Hutt isn't in effect on-line. *




For those who don't understand what this means, we use Piratecat's Piggy rules when we play.  The Piggy (for the uninitiated) is a piggy-bank you keep on the table while playing.  It helps keep people focused on the game.  If you make an out-of-game reference, you pay the Pig a nickel.  Bad puns cost a dime.  Stories about other campaigns cost a quarter.  All proceeds go to buying snacks and drinks for gaming.

When we moved out here, we wanted to continue playing with Piggy rules.  The only problem was, we didn't have a piggy-bank.  Instead, we had a big plastic Jabba the Hutt, whose mouth actually opens.  This makes him ideal for putting coins into.  When you want to retrieve them, just pop his head off and voila.  Sometimes you have to fish dimes out of the end of his tail, but feeding coins to Jabba is well worth the trouble.

It also does wonderful things to the PCs whenever I place the Hutt next to the battlemat.  "Um, that isn't there, right?" they always ask, cringing, as it towers over their miniatures.

Some day.  Some day...


----------



## dpdx

I'd give the Hutt a dime for that one; it was masterful.

One of these days it'd be worth reading an (abridged) set of Kettenek's Rules of Justice.


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx said:
			
		

> *I'd give the Hutt a dime for that one; it was masterful.*




There are certainly times we have all paid the Hutt with pride.  Not to mention the nights when folks feed the Hutt a dollar and then make sure they get their money's worth.  

My great moment came when the party convened one morning and Anvil informed us all that we must, "await the call of Kettenek."

Response (a la the Avon Lady): "Ding dong!  Kettenek calling."

In case you were wondering, penalties do stack, but if you manage an out of genre bad pun that is also a story from a previous campaign, you get a round of applause to go with your $0.40 fine.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Ninth*
_In which: things are succinctly summed up.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	After he is removed from the barrel, Amos is calmed down and his injuries are tended to.  He proves more than willing to speak to the authorities about his ordeal.  He admits that he had had a secret affair with Kashan, who he had met in the Market several months ago.  Amos was new to Dar Pykos, having just arrived from the outlying farmlands where his family lived.  He was awed and overwhelmed by the bustle of the city-state, and found it a very exciting place to live.  Too exciting to be tied down when he discovered Kashan was pregnant.  So he ended things.  She kept trying to contact him, but he never responded.

	Then a man contacted him.  He said his name was Remmer and that he knew a way to make Kashan stop bothering Amos.  He arranged to meet Amos at the Squeaky Wheel.  When Anvil shows Amos the sketch of the scarred man that framed Thatch and Reyu, he identifies him as Remmer, though with an eye-patch instead of a scar. 

Amos continues his story.  He went to the bar, Remmer bought him a few drinks, they left together… and then Amos started feeling woozy.  The next thing he knew, he found himself bound and gagged in the Hemlek residence.

	Amos claims that Hemlek offered him one last chance to marry his daughter.  Amos replied that he didn’t want to.  At which point, according to Amos, there was lots of screaming about cowardice and dishonor and being taken to Dar Thane to stand trial and be executed.  Then there was stuffing into a barrel and loading onto a wagon.  Then there was chasing and bumping, a little mortal terror (and relaxing of bowels, though Amos glosses over that part), and finally, thankfully, Thatch pulling the lid off the barrel. 

	Captain Hemlek is also questioned after the incident, and not nearly as gently as Amos. Surprisingly, he denies none of the facts as Amos presents them.  He does, however, quite firmly maintain that he acted within his rights and that by the laws of Dar Thane, he had every legal right to have Amos detained for trial and execution as a coward for refusing to marry his daughter.  When asked why he thought the laws of Dar Thane might possibly apply here in Dar Pykos, he claimed that Remmer told him that Pykosian Law permitted it.  Something called the Slave Ownership Ruling…

	This leads to a series of questions about the relationship between Hemlek and Remmer.  According to Hemlek, he met Remmer some time ago.  Remmer was acting as a middleman selling Blackroot Distillate, a narcotic substance illegal in Dar Pykos but legal in many other city-states, including Dar Thane.  (Indeed, the watch finds two vials of Blackroot Distillate in Hemlek’s wagon.)  Though Hemlek was at first skeptical of Remmer‘s motives, Remmer assured him that, under Pykosian law, it was legal for Thaneans to possess Blackroot Distillate.  After all, Thanean law allowed it…

The heroes make a quick attempt to find Remmer through the source of Blackroot Distillate.  A few coins spent at the Squeaky Wheel earn them the name of Tatiana, an alchemist who has been preparing Blackroot Distillate.  When questioned, she identifies the man in Anvil’s sketch (only with a moustache rather than a scar or an eye-patch) as “Reller”.  Reller came to her some time ago, asking if she was interested in selling Blackroot Distillate.  She responded it was illegal, but Reller explained to her about the Slave Ownership Ruling.  She checked it out with a Justicar, and discovered that yes indeed, it did seem legal to sell Blackroot to people from other city-states living in Dar Pykos.  Reller agreed to act as a middleman for her, requesting only a 1% finder’s fee on sales.  

Unfortunately, she has no idea how to contact Reller.  He comes to her with orders for Blackroot and returns whenever she says they’ll be ready.  She promises to contact Anvil if he appears in her shop.

Anvil, Thatch, Reyu, and Cyrus return to the Temple of Justice to pour over what they have learned.  There is a lot to assimilate, and what it all means is still unclear.  However, Anvil slowly starts to offer a theory.  “It is becoming clear to me,” he says, “that this man who framed you, Remmer or Reller or whatever his name truly is, is seeking to take advantage of the Slave Ownership Ruling for some reason.  He has now been implicated in three separate incidents involving the ruling: your alleged theft, the kidnapping of Amos, and the Blackroot Distillate.”

	Reyu interrupts.  “I understand that the Slave Ownership Ruling allows people from foreign city-states to be treated… differently.  Under their own laws.  However, it was my… belief… that this ruling applied only to _property_.”

	“That is correct,” Anvil replies.

	“Then why would it apply to Amos?  Surely he cannot be considered property.”

	 “That is true,” Anvil says, “but his daughter may be, making Amos’s refusal to marry him a crime against property, much as the crime you stand accused of was.”

	Several jaws drop open as they all stare at Anvil.  Especially Reyu’s.  As Anvil does not seem inclined to give a further explanation, Thatch eggs him on by saying, “Um!?”

“She is not enlisted in the military,” is Anvil’s response.

	“And that makes her a slave?” Reyu demands.

	“No.  But un-enlisted Thaneans are not full citizens.”  He shakes his head.  “It is very complicated, but, under Thanean Law, it may well be valid.”

	Silence falls around the table, while Reyu slowly smolders at the notion of someone’s daughter being considered property in any way.

	Thatch breaks the silence.  “Um.  Well, fascinating as that is, it’s almost sunset.  We only have until tomorrow morning to, um, you know, not become slaves.”

	Anvil shakes his head.  “We know that this man is involved in multiple conspiracies to take advantage of the Slave Ownership Ruling. Beyond that, we still know little.”

“I wonder why.” Cyrus muses.  “What reason could he have?  He can’t be making much money on a 1% commission.  And no money changed hands over Amos…”

“The reasons for his discordant behavior are still a mystery,” Anvil says.

Thatch slowly speaks, as if still working the idea out as he talks.  “Um… well… in the past couple hours, we’ve found three separate plots this guy was involved in.  Is it possible there are, um, you know, more?  Like, maybe that have already happened?”

Anvil nods, approvingly.  “An excellent thought.  Perhaps if we were to check records for recent cases invoking the Slave Ownership Ruling, we may find further clues to his activities.”

And so, the group heads to the archives.  “Indeed.  The archives,” Reyu mutters, remembering the hours she has spent here cleaning as a prisoner of the Temple.  However, their search of the archives quickly proves fruitful.  They find several cases over the last six months, involving the Slave Ownership Ruling, including four noteworthy cases involving Pykosian citizens who committed crimes against Aegosians.  In each case, the sentence was slavery.  There are in particular, three striking things about these cases.

1) In each case, the Aegosian against whom the crime was committed was Count Dain Missola. 

2) In each case, the accused professed their innocence.

3) In each case, the overseeing Justicar was Stalwart the Just.  

The one who was supposed to be on Market duty when Thatch and Reyu were accused of stealing Count Dain Missola’s statue.  

The one who keeps offering to take over the case for Anvil.

The righteous fires of Justice, which always burn brightly in Anvil, begin to glow white-hot...

_To be continued…_


----------



## Talix

Sweet!    Great chase scene!  And cool that the PCs are starting to pull it all together.  

Still very much enjoying this story.


----------



## dpdx

Never have I seen such a good cop story related seamlessly to the world of medieval fantasy.

Good cop, Anvil! Have a donut.


----------



## dpdx

What season is it in the Halmae at this point of the story?


----------



## spyscribe

Well, you've caught me away from my notes, but if memory serves _(Fajitas, feel free to jump in here if I'm mistaken)_ the campaign started sometime in August, which is the last month of summer in the Halmae.

Technically, I suppose it would be referred to as "the month of Ehkt descending" but not only is that a mouthful, it's just easier to keep track of what the date actually means if we stick to Gregorian month names.

One difference:  I'm pretty sure that in the Halmae all months have 30 days.  (Kettenites would not be so pleased if they got stuck with a short one.)


----------



## dpdx

So, is the month of Ehkt gonna reascend before we hear from you guys again?

Update! UPPP-DAAATE![/cartman]


----------



## spyscribe

Sorry about the lack of update last week.

Fajtas skipped town to spend the holiday weekend playing in a different campaign he's involved in.  

Obviously, he no longer loves us.   

Hopefully, there will be more story soon.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Well, you've caught me away from my notes, but if memory serves (Fajitas, feel free to jump in here if I'm mistaken) the campaign started sometime in August, which is the last month of summer in the Halmae.*




Spyscribe's pretty much right.  I didn't start keeping track of dates right away, but late August is pretty much on track.

And, at present, all the months in the Halmae are as long as their modern counterparts.  Seasons start at the beginning of a month, so Summer is June, July, August, Autumn is September, October, November, etc.  New Years is on March 1st, rather than January 1st, 'cause that just made more sense.

New update is written and will be posted as soon as humanly possible.  Sorry for the delay.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Tenth*
_In which: Justice demands answers
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	Anvil pauses outside of the door to Stalwart’s cell.  He listens carefully.  There is no sound of anyone within.  Nor should there be, as Stalwart is supposed to be working elsewhere at the moment.  Slowly, Anvil reaches for the doorknob and turns it.  >click<  The door opens.

	He reflects briefly on Thatch’s reaction when Anvil had announced he intended to search Stalwart’s cell. “Um, can you do that?” Thatch had asked. “I mean, isn’t that like breaking the law or something?”

	“Justice demands it,” had been Anvil’s reply.

	Anvil slowly creeps into the empty cell.  Nothing in plain view is obviously criminal, so he begins his search.  No suspect documents.  No direct evidence of a connection between Stalwart and the Aegosian Count Missola.  Not a lot to go on.

	And then he checks under the bed, and finds a bag of gold.  75 Aegosian gold pieces.  The jackpot.

*************

	Thatch, Reyu, and Cyrus stand around and look imposing, as Anvil slams the bag of gold down on the table in front of Stalwart the Just.  “Explain these,” Anvil demands.

	Stalwart stares at it.  “You invaded my cell?” he asks.

	“That is not the issue,” Anvil insists.  “Explain these.”

	It is not, strictly speaking, forbidden for Justicars to maintain personal funds.  It is just very uncommon.  The Temple provides most of what a Justicar would need: food, clothing, equipment.  It is not considered seemly for Justicars to have an alternate means of making money, as it could be perceived as damaging to their objectivity.  In fact, it could *be* damaging to their objectivity.  

	Stalwart looks up, a twitch in his eye.  “I’ve done nothing wrong,” he says, defensively.

	“Nothing wrong!?” Thatch blurts.  “You framed us and were gonna have us sold into slavery!” 

	“I did nothing of the sort!” Stalwart cries, his voice rising a tone in pitch.  “I never framed anyone!  I always acted within the law.  If others have bent the law, how could I know--"

	“Then you admit your collusion with nefarious men,” Anvil says.

	“I didn’t-- I don’t--" Stalwart stammers.  He finally gets out, “I’ve studied Aegosian law!  It’s only natural that Aegosians would come to me.”

	“And pay you to rule in their favor?” Anvil demands.

	“That’s how things work in Dar Aego!  Each side in a case makes a contribution to the Temple,” Stalwart protests.  

	“They pay to the Temple or the Justicar?” Cyrus asks.

	“The-the Justicar.”

	“What size… contribution are they allowed to make?  Are there any limits?” Reyu asks.

	“Well, no.  It-it depends.”

	“And when one party gives more money to a Justicar than another, that never affects the judgement, does it?” Thatch asks.

	“Kettenek supports the pious, the pious give freely to the Temple, so those who give freely are clearly--" Stalwart begins, but there’s little conviction behind his words.  He seems to be reciting from rote something he read once, and it comes off as a pathetic justification.

	The others are disgusted, but Anvil is incredulous.  “This system is what they call… this is how they dispense… *that’s* supposed to be Justice!?” he roars. 

	Stalwart cowers before Anvil’s fury.  “They were entitled to be treated under Aegosian law,” he says meekly.  “It is the law.”

	Anvil storms about the room, while Reyu’s cooler head takes over.  “Tell us exactly what… business… passed between you and Count Missola.  It may go better for you if you are… honest.  Were you contacted by this man, Remmer or perhaps Reller?” she asks, showing him the sketch.  “He has often changed his name and appearance.”

	“I never met anyone named Remmer, nor anyone who looks anything like that,” Stalwart says, indicating the sketch.  “I never even met Missola.  Only his factor, Desalle.  He said they were looking for an expert in Aegosian law.  He… well, he made sure to mention that they were willing to… tithe.  Like Aegosians.”

	“Then they framed innocent people for crimes of property, sent them before you, paid you in gold, and you sentenced them to slavery?” Cyrus asks, skipping to the end.

	“I didn’t know they were innocent,” Stalwart protests.

	“Um, they all said they were,” Thatch points out.

	Stalwart looks to Anvil for support.  “Nearly everyone judged in a criminal case claims they’re innocent.  Anvil, tell them.”

	“It is true miscreants often lie about their culpability,” Anvil says grudgingly, but then turns on Stalwart, “which is why Justice must be demanded!  The truth of the matter must be ascertained.  It cannot be accepted.  The claims made against these two…” he indicates Thatch and Reyu “…were proved suspect by the most basic of questions.  Did you even bother to investigate the innocent pleas of those who stood before you?”  Anvil stares at Stalwart, who hangs his head in shame.

	“No,” he says quietly.  Then he adds “it… it was all legal under Aegosian law.”

	There is silence around the room for several long moments.  Finally Thatch asks, “Um.  So, does that prove we didn’t do it?  Are we free to go now?”

	To Thatch’s dismay, Anvil shakes his head.  “Though Stalwart can tie Count Missola to multiple heresies of Justice, he cannot tie him to the scarred man you saw in the Marketplace,” Anvil says.  “Until that connection can be drawn, the charges against you cannot be disproved.”

	“It seems,” Reyu says carefully, “that there are few who can make that… connection.  And they seem to be limited to those involved in the conspiracy themselves.”

	“Yes,” Anvil says, thoughtfully.  He turns to Stalwart.  “Your acts demand Judgement by those higher than I.  Do you wish a chance for partial atonement?  I will testify to such actions on your behalf.” 

	“Yes,” Stalwart replies.  “Yes.  What would you have me do?”

	“Do you have a means of communicating with this man, Desalle?”

	“I can send him a message.”

	“Excellent.  You will send Desalle a message that I have discovered the identity of his associate, Remmer, and that he had best advise him to leave town.”

	“All right.  And then?” Stalwart asks.

	“Then nothing,” Anvil responds.

	“Um, what do the rest of us do?” Thatch asks.

	“We?  We shall follow Desalle …”

_To be continued…_


----------



## dpdx

Thanks for the update.

I'm a little bit incredulous that Stalwart cracked that easily. Don't Justicars have to be a _little_ tough?

And Cyrus is too good to be an NPC. Someone's got to play him.


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx said:
			
		

> *
> And Cyrus is too good to be an NPC. Someone's got to play him. *




Well, at this point, he was a PC.  At least, that's what they tell me. _I've_ never met the guy who supposedly played him. 

Actually, Cyrus was around in the bits that I posted at the very beginning of the thread.  He just didn't make much of an impression.


----------



## spyscribe

*This is not an update*

Today is Friday.  

If there are any compulsive-types reading this storyhour they might have logged on today and thought, "Hmm... Usually, spyscribe puts up an update on Thursday or Friday.  There wasn't an update on Thursday so maybe there will be one today. (What with it being Friday and all.)"

Ahem.

Let me tell you a little story.

As I was dropping Fajitas off at the airport on Wednesday, I asked him, "So am I going to get an update?"

He leans down to the window and says, "I'll try.  Feel free to villify me in the story hour."

Humph.  

Villification is only fun to point, and I'm sure people would rather read an acutal update than this pointless dithering.

I'm going to try to work up a sidebar for early next week.

If people have suggestions for stuff they want to know about, post away.  Right now, it's looking like arcane magic in the Halmae.


----------



## spyscribe

_Lo and behold!  An update!_ 

*Part the Very Eleventh*
_In which: bait is taken
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	Anvil’s initial plan is executed without a hitch.  Stalwart sends a message to Desalle, informing him that Anvil is “looking for a scarred man in connection with the case,” and subtly suggesting that “if this man exists, it would be ill for your case if Anvil found him.”  The group stakes out the Missola compound and waits to see what will happen next.

	It is well after sunset when the gates of the compound open and a cart pulls out.  There is a lone driver, who is neither Desalle nor Missola himself.  There is a whispered conversation about what to do.

	“Let’s follow it,” Thatch says.

	“It may only be a diversion.  They may be on to us,” Cyrus points out.

	“Or it may be simple business.  There may be nothing nefarious about this,” Anvil notes.

	“Still, it is… late… for business,” Reyu comments.  “Perhaps two of us should follow the cart, while two remain watching the compound.”

	They agree to split up.  Thatch and Cyrus maintain a watch on the house from opposite ends of the street, while Reyu and Anvil sneak down the street in pursuit of the cart.

	The cart follows a winding course down the streets of Dar Pykos.  Anvil and Reyu stick to the shadows, trying to follow unobserved. 

************

	Thatch fidgets from his hidden position across from the Missola compound.  How come Reyu and Anvil get all the fun, he wonders.  How come they get to chase the cart while I have to wait here doing nothing?

	Because if anyone spots me, I can probably fight ‘em better than Reyu or Anvil, he answers himself.

	Sure, okay.  But still, I’m getting cramped, and it’s kinda boring sitting here in the shadows.  He stretches out his left leg to relieve the tense muscle, and doesn’t notice that it is now quite visible in a pool of light on the street… _(GM note: Gotta love a 3 on a Hide Check.)_

************

	“I feel as if we are going in circles,” Reyu whispers to Anvil as they continue to follow the cart.  The cart has done nothing but wind its way down a series of twisted alleys, all of which look the same to Reyu.  It slowed down once, outside of a tavern, but it did not stop, and they did not see anyone get in or out.

	“We are going in circles,” Anvil responds, pointing ahead.  “We passed this tavern before.  It is where the cart slowed down.” Sure enough, Reyu can again make out the swinging sign of The Fortunate Traveler, adorned with the holy symbol of Alirria, who looks over those on long journeys.

	“Perhaps it dropped someone off before.  Someone we did not see,” Reyu suggests.

	The words no sooner escape her lips than the wagon suddenly begins to slow.  A figure furtively darts from the door of the tavern towards the wagon, and makes to jump on.

	“Now!” Anvil hisses, and the two of them rush forward.

	The figure scrambles onto the back of the wagon as Anvil and Reyu leap towards it.  “Hold!  Kettenek’s Justice demands it!” shouts Anvil.  The driver, acting instinctively, hauls up on the reins and the cart comes to a stop.  Reyu grabs the figure in the back, yanking the hood of his cloak from his face.

	It is Desalle, Count Missola’s chamberlain.

	Reyu and Desalle stare at each other for half a moment.  Reyu grabs for her spear, but Desalle is faster.  He points his finger at her and opens his mouth to chant.  Fortunately for Reyu, Anvil is even faster than Desalle.  “Surrender!” he calls, his eyes flashing, and the power of Kettenek echoes in his voice.

	And Desalle, looking startled, throws his hands in the air.

	Anvil grabs Desalle before he can react and slaps masterwork manacles on his wrists _(GM’s Note: Yes, Bad Monkey Jeff really and truly purchased masterwork manacles with almost all his starting cash.  He was just itching to use them on someone)._  Desalle does not look in the least bit happy.  “How dare you?” he blusters.  “What is the meaning of this?”

	“I will ask the questions,” Anvil calmly responds.  “What is your business here tonight?”

	“My business is the Count’s,” Desalle snaps back.  “If you have questions, I suggest you ask him.”

	“Oh, don’t worry.  We shall.  For now we would know your business here.”

	But Desalle won’t answer.  Reyu taps Anvil on the shoulder.  “If he was meeting with the scarred man, he may yet be in the Tavern.  I can look for him there while you watch this one.”  

	Anvil nods his assent, and Reyu enters The Fortunate Traveler.

**************

	Thatch pinches himself to stay awake.  This, he thinks, is not what heroing is supposed to be about.  Nothing’s gonna happe--

	And suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of something moving behind him.  Just a flicker of shadow, but definitely something.  He grips his uncle’s greatsword more tightly and shifts his position for a better, careful look. 

	He sees nothing.  He watches in absolute stillness for a few more moments.  Nothing at all.

	Cautiously, he tucks his leg back in underneath him.  Okay, maybe this is a little trickier than it looks, he thinks, as he tries to keep one eye on the compound and one eye behind him…

_to be continued..._


----------



## Talix

I was also surprised the corrupt Justicar gave in so quickly, but I guess the whole point is that he wasn't strong - otherwise he wouldn't have given in to temptation.  

Plan seems to be working well so far!


----------



## Fajitas

Talix said:
			
		

> *I was also surprised the corrupt Justicar gave in so quickly, but I guess the whole point is that he wasn't strong - otherwise he wouldn't have given in to temptation.  *




The key to Stalwart is that on some level he knew he was doing wrong, but had constructed an elaborate series of self-delusions to convince himself he was in the right.  The problem was that these delusions were pretty fragile.  Once someone started kicking them apart, the whole thing came tumbling down around him.

It started fairly small.  Desalle offered minor amounts of money for minor legal rulings in Missola's favor.  It wasn't 100% kosher under Pykosian law, but all the cases dealt with Aegosians.  "And after all," Stalwart told himself, "it's legal in Dar Aego."  What's the harm?

Then the legal rulings started getting more serious.  People were sold into slavery.  Stalwart got more uncomfortable, but the money got better and there was always at least *some* evidence to suggest the accused were really guilty.  It was a Count versus a series of nobodies.  Any Aegosian court would have ruled the same way.  It wasn't Stalwart's fault that Dar Pykos let these things be decided under Aegosian law.  He was really just doing his duty, right?  Right?  He didn't want to look at things too carefully, because he was afraid of what he'd find if he did.  So it didn't really take a lot of pressure from Anvil to break him.  

Also, unraveling this damned plot had already gone on way the hell too long. 

For the record, the actual conversation was more involved, but the recounting of it suffers from a) lousy notes from the original session, which was almost two years ago, and b) the absence of Bad Monkey Jeff as Anvil at this session (I think.  No one can fully remember if he was there or not. For further details, see a)).

As for Cyrus, yes, he was indeed a PC for a short time.  His player was only present at one or two sessions.  The character, however, stayed with the party for a while, as we kept waiting for the player to return.  Eventually it became clear that that wasn't going to happen, so poof, that was the end of Cyrus. He disappeared right about the point where spyscribe's chronicles left off for this extended flashback.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Twelfth*
_In which: Reyu is bewildered, an old friend returns, and Anvil ponders commissioning a masterwork gag.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	Reyu glances around the inside of the Fortunate Traveller.  It is reasonably full, as it is still early in the evening.  Most tables are crowded.  She scans the room, looking for the familiar face of the scarred man.  Or, at least, looking for a furtive figure skulking in shadows.  She sees neither at a first glance.

	She does catch a group of humans staring at her.  Not that that is terribly uncommon.  She is, of course, an elf dressed in traditional furs and beads and thus often attracts attention in Dar Pykos.  She is about to ignore them and turn back to her business, but she suddenly realizes that these humans aren’t human at all.  They’re elves!

	She whips her head around to gawk at them.  Indeed, they are elves, but dressed in the manner of the humans of Dar Pykos.  Even more shocking, their hair is cut short, without the braids and life-beads that are so important in elven tradition.  Reyu is stunned.

	They notice her staring back and whisper among themselves.  Reyu approaches, wondering if these strange kin can be of aid to her.  “Pardon me, sistren” she says to them in Elven.  “I find myself in need of assistance.”  

Two of the elves stare blankly at her, while the third rolls her eyes a little.  “She wants assistance,” she explains to the other two in Common.  “I’ll say,” one of them mutters, while the other snickers.

Reyu looks back and forth between them, slightly confused.  “Do you not speak our native tongue?” she asks.

“I do some. They don’t,” the female explains.  “We don’t have a lot of use for it in town.”  She looks down her nose at Reyu, who is still confused.  The other two seem to be trying not to laugh at her outfit.

“I’m sorry,” Reyu explains, thrown by their appearance.  “I had not realized… I am new here.” (“Clearly,” one of non-Elven speakers whispers, but Reyu ignores him).  “I did not know there were… elves… living in Dar Pykos.”  When she says “elves” it is not with her usual hesitation, but rather as if she is not entirely sure the word applies to these three.  It is difficult for her to keep the disapproval out of her voice.

The others don’t even try to keep their disapproval quiet.  “You hadn’t?” one responds.  “I thought your type were supposed to be all watchful and stuff.”

Reyu stares coldly, her ire fully roused.  “Are all the elves in Dar Pykos like you?” 

“No,” they answer.  “Just the successful ones.”

Reyu swallows her anger and attends to business.  “I am looking for this man,” she says, producing the sketch of the scarred man.  “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed him here?”

“No,” the elves respond, not really looking at the sketch.  “But you could ask the bartender if you’re curious.  It’s traditional.”  Somehow, they manage to make that last word an insult.

Reyu turns her back on them and heads toward the bar.

But before she gets there, she feels a tug on her cloak.  She turns around, expecting to see the three elves again, but instead she a very strange, very familiar, very short man with a ferret on his shoulder.

“Hi there!” he says in an excited voice.  It is Hue, the man she and Thatch met in the forest.  “Fancy meeting you in a place like this!  What are the chances, I mean, Dar Pykos being so big and all….”  He continues prattling about the odds of such a chance meeting.  The ferret on his shoulder looks furtively all around them, as if suspecting that this “chance” meeting is actually some kind of plot.

“Um,” Reyu says, adopting a page from Thatch’s book. “It is good to see you, but I am in something of a… rush.”

“Can I help?” Hue asks.

“Well--"

“Great!  Lead the way!”

Unconvinced of the wisdom of this action, but seeing little choice, Reyu hurries to the bar.  Hue follows behind her, going on and on about his latest discoveries on squirrel mating habits, and how there’s only so much even a legitimate researcher can take before he has to come back to town for a drink.

“Hush,” Reyu tells him as they reach the bar.  She gets the bartender’s attention.  “Excuse me.  I’m looking for this man.  Has he been here tonight?”  She produces the sketch of the scarred man.

“We’re looking for someone!  How come?” Hue asks, out of sight beneath the bar.  Both Reyu and the bartender ignore him.

The bartender glances at the sketch.  “Oh him,” he says.  “No, I haven’t seen him tonight, but he usually stops by every couple of days.” 

“Indeed?” Reyu asks, her eyebrows arching.

“Yeah.  He usually stops by to pick up messages.  Number of folk leave things for him here.  Lot of folk get messages here.  Travelers and the like.”

“I do not suppose,” Reyu begins, her mind wheeling, “that a message was left for him a few moments ago.”

“Actually, there was,” the bartender replies.  “Fella came in, dropped it off, waited a few minutes and then left.  Right before you came in, matter of fact.”

“Might I perhaps… see this message,” Reyu asks.  The bartender looks hesitant, so Reyu, with little to lose, adds, “Kettenek’s Justice… demands it.”

The bartender seems convinced, and reaches under the bar for a moment.  He returns with a piece of parchment.  He holds out his hand expectantly and clears his throat.  Reyu stares at the outstretched palm, not quite understanding, but Hue says, “I bet he wants money! You should give him some money!”

The bartender looks pained, but Reyu drops a coin into his hand and he presents her with the parchment.  It reads:

“The Justicars are looking for you. Lay low.  If they catch you, say nothing. We’ll take care of things.  –D”

Reyu heads for the door, Hue trailing behind her.  “So, good news then?” he asks.  Reyu just smiles.

************

	It’s hard to say what Desalle is looking at with more disgust: Anvil, who watches him like a hawk with his sword in hand, or the manacles that pin his wrists.  He twists and pulls his arms, but the masterwork manacles give him little room to maneuver.

	Desalle turns his eyes on Anvil.  “If you know what’s good for you,” Desalle says, “you’ll release me and we can pretend this never happened.”

	“No, I don’t think so,” Anvil responds flatly.

	“Do you know what the penalty for making unfounded accusations against a Count is in Dar Aego?” Desalle asks.

	“I presume it involves slavery,” Anvil replies, “but as we are not in Dar Aego, it does not matter.”

	“This cart is Aegosian property,” Desalle reminds him.  “You have assaulted my person and insulted my Lord here.  By the rightful law, I can have you--"

	Anvil interrupts him.  “Do you know what the rightful law does to people who threaten Justicars?  It is only slightly less severe to them than it is to people who bribe Justicars.  I think you will find that Kettenek does not take kindly to his faithful being manipulated.  If I were you, I would not worsen my state by continuing to speak.”

	Desalle mutters something under his breath.  Anvil leans forward to catch it, but at that moment, a sudden burst of light blinds and dazes him.  A spell, he realizes a moment too late, as Desalle knocks him off the cart.  “Drive! Drive, you fool!” Desalle hisses to the driver.

	The cart races away, leaving a gasping, stunned Anvil lying in the street, staring after it.

_To be continued…_


----------



## Harp

Ack!  So close to realizing Kettenek's Justice!

Excellent update, as usual.  Keep 'em (and the campaign setting sidebars) coming!


----------



## KidCthulhu

All that money spent on masterwork manacles, and no change left over for a scrap of rag for a gag.  Oh, the irony.


----------



## Fajitas

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> *All that money spent on masterwork manacles, and no change left over for a scrap of rag for a gag.  Oh, the irony. *




Well, ever since then, they've been careful to bind *and* gag prisoners.  Though I suppose it's only a matter of time 'til they try that on someone with Still Spell and Silent Spell.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Thirteenth*
_In which: our heroes take a good long look at somebody’s chest
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	Reyu and Hue emerge from the Fortunate Traveler just as Anvil staggers to his feet, clutching his dizzied head. Before Reyu can even ask what happened, Anvil gestures vaguely down the street towards the cart. Words prove unnecessary.  One look is enough.  Reyu dashes in pursuit, Anvil a step behind her.

	“Hey! Wait up!” Hue shouts, as he follows them.  Apparently, a few words were necessary.   

***********

	From cover of darkness, Cyrus scans the street along the Missola compound.  Nothing.  Good, he thinks.  So far, they don’t know we’re here.  That’ll keep this nice and quiet.  He glances on down the street, where Thatch is watching from his hiding place…

	…and sees Thatch’s leg sticking out of the shadows.

	Crud, he thinks to himself.

	And then he hears the cart, bouncing along the street, pulling up to the compound.  “Let us in, you fools! Hurry!” Desalle’s voice all but shrieks, as the cart makes a hair turn towards the gates.

	Double crud, Cyrus thinks.

	Moments later, Reyu and Anvil come panting down the road, followed by a strange small person Cyrus has never seen before.  They run straight up to the gates.  “In Kettenek’s name, open these gates!” Anvil loudly declares.

	Crud, crud, *and* double crud, Cyrus thinks, as he looses his sword and breaks his cover.

	Cyrus joins the others at the gate.  Thatch arrives a second later.

	“Um. I guess it didn’t go so…” Thatch begins, but trails off as he sees Hue. 

	“Hi!  Nice to see you again!” Hue says, waving at Thatch.  The Ferret, from Hue’s shoulder, eyes Thatch suspiciously with his dark, beady, ferret-eyes.

	“Right,” Thatch says, as his eyes refocus on Reyu. “Guess it didn’t go well.”

	“Yes and no,” she replies.  “We can now connect Desalle to Remmer.  Unfortunately…”

	“Desalle escaped custody,” Anvil says, “and is still wearing my manacles.”  It’s almost hard to say which annoys Anvil more.  He turns to Cyrus.  “Run into the street and fetch the first contingent of Watchmen you come across.  Tell them Justice demands they come here immediately.”

	Cyrus runs off, giving the rest of the party enough time to introduce Anvil and Hue, and to fill the little man in on what is going on.  Hue seems disturbingly entranced by the notion of taking part in an official investigation.

Cyrus returns shortly thereafter with a troop of Watchmen. Anvil and the Watchmen continue to demand entrance for some time before there is any indication that anyone is listening.  Finally, a pair of guards opens the gate and allows the party in.  

	They are escorted into the house.  Missola descends the stairs coming towards them,  Desalle a step behind him with a sneer on his face.  There is no sign of Anvil’s manacles.  “What is the meaning of--" Missola begins, but Anvil has had quite enough.

	“We are here to search these premises for evidence of an illicit conspiracy to frame and enslave innocent citizens,” Anvil says.  “And to re-arrest your chamberlain.”

	“My chamberlain informs me that *you* attacked *him* with a magical assault for no reason,” Missola says calmly, as if this is the opening salvo of a debate.  But Anvil is having none of it.  

	“He is welcome to repeat that story in court,” Anvil says.  “In the meantime, we will search these premises.  If you hinder us, you will be arrested as well.”  He gestures for the Watchmen to spread out.  The Watchmen look back and forth between the Justicar and the Count, unsure who to listen to.  Anvil is, after all, merely a First Order Justicar.  There is a brief, tense standoff.

	Missola’s face twitches.  Finally, he regains his cool demeanor and walks straight up to Anvil.  “Very well,” he says.  “Search if you must, Justicar.  But I assure you, you will find nothing.”  He then adds, in an undertone that only Anvil can hear, “I will have your robes for this.”

	Anvil ignores the threat and directs his companions and the Watchmen to begin searching.  “Um.  What exactly are we searching *for*?” Thatch asks.

	“Evidence,” is Anvil’s only reply.

	“Um,” Thatch responds.

	“We will know it when we see it,” Anvil assures him.

	“He’s right, you know,” Hue chimes in.  “In my studies, I’ve seen a *lot* of evidence, and you always know it!  This one time, I saw this squirrel--"

	“Perhaps,” Reyu says quickly, “we should begin our work sooner rather than later.”  There is a collective sigh of relief as the horror of another squirrel lecture is narrowly avoided.

	The party begins the upstairs search, while the Watchmen search the downstairs.  After a quick scan of the layout, the party agrees that the Count’s personal study is probably the best place to start.  Missola and Desalle accompany them, watching haughtily and occasionally reminding the party not to damage anything.  At Anvil’s command, two Watchmen keep a careful eye on them at all times.  These Watchmen are in turn watched by two of Missola’s household guards.  Thus, it is a rather tense group that squeezes into the study and begins its search.  

	By Pykosian standards, the study is fairly ornate.  Delicate carvings (clearly the work of artisans in Dar Karo) adorn the walls and shelves.  A few bits of mildly erotic artwork (clearly of more dubious origin than the carvings) are hung on walls or set on corners.  Exquisitely crafted weapons are hung about the place.  A fine fur rug lies across the floor.  

Anvil makes for the large desk on one side of the room.  He begins rifling through the drawers, flipping through letters.  Thatch checks out the bookshelves, pulling on books, looking for a secret trigger.  Cyrus turns his attention to a small chest sitting atop a table.  Hue looks around at everything wide-eyed.  “Wow!” he says.  “You have some cool stuff!”  He waves his hands and chants, and to those looking closely his eyes flash blue for a moment.  Now Hue looks around the room again, scrutinizing things more carefully.

Meanwhile, Cyrus is having little luck with the chest.  “I can’t get this thing open,” he declares.

Hue turns his sight to the chest.  It is maybe a foot and a half long and half as wide.  Like everything else here, it is crafted from the finest of materials.  But to Hue’s eyes, there is something more interesting about the chest.  It is tinged in a bluish aura.  “Maybe it won’t open ‘cause it’s magic!” he exclaims to Cyrus.  The others look around in surprise. “Conjurational magic, I think,” Hue adds.  

“Where are the keys?” Thatch asks Missola.

Missola scoffs.  “I am under no obligation to aid you in this endeavor,” he says.

“Your aid will not be necessary,” Anvil informs him, as he holds up a ring of four keys he has found in the desk.  He tosses them to Cyrus.  “Try these.”

The four keys are nearly identical.  They are shaped the same, but each has a different colored gem in the handle.  Cyrus shrugs and tries the one with the ruby handle.  It clicks in the lock.  He opens the chest.  The interior is lined with red velvet.  Inside is a sack of coins, nearly 100 gold pieces.

“That’s it?” Thatch asks.  “He has a magic chest, and all he keeps in it is money?”

“Try another key,” Reyu suggests, and she notices that Missola stiffens slightly at the suggestion.  However, with a glance at the Watchmen watching him, he takes no action.

Cyrus closes the chest, picks another key at random (the sapphire handle), and inserts it into the lock.  Again it clicks.  Again Cyrus opens the chest.  This time the inner lining is blue velvet, and the contents of the chest have changed.  There are now about 15 small vials inside the chest.  Cyrus whistles under his breath.  “Looks like some kind of arcane enchantment on the chest.  This thing may well be the most expensive item in the room.”

  Reyu picks up a vial and inspects its contents.  “It looks very much like the… substance… we found in Captain Hemlek’s cart,” she says.  “The Blackroot Distillate.”

“Blackroot Distillate is perfect legal in--" Missola begins.

“--in Dar Aego,” half the group finishes.

	There are still two more keys left, so Cyrus tries them out.  The diamond key produces a white-lined compartment containing two larger flasks of liquid.  Reyu inspects them, but is unsure what they are.  Hue, however, squints at them, concentrating.  “Hey!” he says.  “These are magic, too.  Probably some kind of potions.”   He takes them from Reyu, unstoppers them, and sniffs deeply.  “Yup! Definitely potions.”

	“But not evidence,” Thatch mumbles.  The potions are replaced, and the last key, the emerald key, is inserted into the lock.  Click.  

	The green-lined compartment is filled with a large quantity of gems.  There is nothing else to be seen.

	The group’s shoulders collectively slump.  They had so been expecting something more here.  After a slight pause, Thatch speaks. “Um. Maybe there’s another compartment in it somewhere.”

	“We’re out of keys,” Cyrus points out.

	“No, I mean, y’know, a normal one.  Like, a fake bottom or something.  Um.  That happens a lot in stories. Or so I’ve heard,” he adds lamely.  It seems worth a try, so the party removes the contents of the green chamber and searches the inside carefully.  They repeat the process for each chamber, placing the contents on the table and running their fingers along the inside.

	In the red chamber, they find something.  There is another key, hidden underneath the lining.  It is identical to the first four, but with a piece of obsidian in the handle.

_to be continued..._


----------



## KidCthulhu

Ah, obsidian.  The universal magical indicator for "someone's up to no good here."


----------



## dpdx

This is such a good Story Hour. I have no words to describe how much I enjoy it.


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx: Aww gee.  That's really nice to hear, and I'm glad you like it.  All due props to Fajitas, because really, where would we be without him?

KidC: Funny you should mention the obsidian.  We were gaming a couple nights ago, and in a bit of downtime Fajitas took pains to point out to me that the key had _obsidian_ and not onyx in the handle, just so I should not suspect it indicated some obscure tie to the Vast Onyx-Acquiring Conspiracy we have been getting hints and whispers of lately.

_(Before I am accused of being a shameless tease, really, that's almost all we know about these goons.  However, the practical upshot of this whole digression is that I am now going to refer to them as "VOAC.")_


----------



## Fajitas

Gawww.  Thanks, dpdx.  We try.   

In other news, I thought I should take a moment to thank Ms. J.K. Rowlings for the loan of her chest.  

Err, I mean her magic chest.  

Err, I mean Mad-Eye Moody's magic trunk, which I've twisted for my own purposes above.  There.  Y'all knew what I meant (especially you, KidC).


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Fourteenth*
_In which: oddly enough, the chest is not opened.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	“What do we think this is?” Cyrus asks.

	“It’s a spare,” Missola pipes up from the back of the room.  They all turn to look at him, but only Anvil notices the small bead of sweat trickling down his forehead.

	“We should try it anyway,” Anvil says.

	Cyrus, grinning now, fits the key into the lock.  Click.  He tries to lift the lid…

	… and nothing happens.  The lid won’t budge.  Cyrus tugs and pulls, but the lid is still locked tight.  Thatch, the strongest of the group, has a go, but it won’t open for him either.  “Um. Maybe we’ll get better leverage on the floor,” he suggests, and tries to move the chest.  But, to his surprise, the chest won’t move from the table. 

	“What the…” Cyrus mutters, as Thatch pushes the chest back and forth.  The table moves, but the chest doesn’t.

	“Perhaps…” Reyu says as she steps over to the chest.  She grabs it and lifts -- but not as if she is intending to move it.  Instead, she lifts it as if the chest were on a hinge, like it is merely the lid to some other chest.  

	The chest moves, revealing a small, black-lined compartment in the table beneath it. It is clearly magical, as the compartment is too deep to fit in the small table the chest was sitting on.  Inside the compartment is a leather bound book.

	Reyu smiles and reaches in for it.

	Behind the party, Missola snarls, grabs a sword down off the wall, and charges at them!

	The Watchmen are taken by surprise as Missola’s two guards come at them, and hastily defend themselves.  Missola himself charges at Reyu, who drops the book and manages to avoid his attack.  Desalle, snarling, takes his aggression out on Anvil by casting _magic missile._  A blue-white bolt of energy strikes the Justicar in the chest.

	The party quickly responds in kind.  Thatch, wielding his uncle’s greatsword, catches Missola with a mighty blow.  Reyu backs off to give Thatch room and readies her short spear for the next attack.  Cyrus and Anvil both draw, Cyrus focused on Missola while Anvil goes after Desalle.  However, before either can attack, Hue, hiding behind the table with the chest, casts _grease_.  The floor ripples beneath the combatants, and suddenly the entire area is covered by a slick, oily fluid.  Wham!  Desalle and Missola fall to the ground, as does Anvil on his way to his target.  Cyrus keeps his feet, but his swing goes wide as he tries to adjust to the unstable footing.

	Missola flails about with his weapon, keeping the party at bay but failing to inflict any damage.  Meanwhile, Desalle, scrambling across the slickened floor, fires another bolt of energy at Anvil.  Anvil is now fairly injured, but he scrambles out of the greased area and swipes at Desalle.  Thatch stumbles to regain his feet, as Reyu and Cyrus both strike Missola.  And then, as suddenly as it appeared, the grease evaporates like water on hot pavement.

	But Hue is already casting again.  This time, a cone of multi-colored light flies out of his hands.  Beams strike various combatants.  Missola’s two guards instantly drop.  Missola and Reyu are also caught in the cone, but seem to shrug off any effects.  “Oops!  Sorry!” Hue calls out to Reyu.

	The two Watchmen, now that their opponents have fallen, turn their attention to Desalle.  The chamberlain, still on the ground, is suddenly faced by three swords: Anvil’s plus the two Watchmen’s.  He snarls defiantly, but raises his hands in surrender.  

Meanwhile, Missola, still undeterred, rises to his feet and strikes Thatch with a furious blow.  But the young farm-boy responds in kind, as do Cyrus and Reyu.  Missola falls, unconscious and bleeding.  The battle is over.  The din of combat gives way to gasps of pain and panting for breath

	And, in all the chaos, no one notices as Hue, still hiding behind the table, slips the two potions that they removed from the chest into his pack.  Well, no one but the Ferret notices, and he doesn’t say anything.  But one can almost hear him thinking, _Excellent work, Hue.  These will be of great value to m-- er, “us”._

_to be continued…_


----------



## dpdx

I had to read it twice, but now I caught it.

Very subtle. I don't want to give it away, though.


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> *Very subtle. I don't want to give it away, though. *



I'm curious what you see, dp.  Feel free to e-mail me with it.

There is something pretty subtle in there that even the players missed at the time.  Though, to be fair, there are both in and out of game reasons why they'd miss it.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Fifteenth*
_In which: some loose ends are tied up and others become plot hooks.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	Anvil and Reyu tend to the wounds of their friends.  Anvil expends a _cure minor wounds_ to stabilize Missola, after having him bound and arrested.  Missola and Desalle are both taken away by watchmen.

	Over the next few days, the scouring of the Missola compound turns up little further evidence of wrong-doing, but the leather-bound book found in the chest provides everything that they need.  It is Missola’s ledger and details every scheme that he was involved in.  

As it turns out, very few of his enterprises are fully legitimate.  In addition to selling Blackroot Distillate, his business largely consists of importing goods from outside the Confederacy, but smuggling them into Dar Pykos as Confederate goods, thereby paying lower import taxes.  Inferior goods from the city-state of Sirrus (Thatch’s home area) are being brought in and sold as goods from the esteemed craftsmen of Dar Karo.  Incredibly rare spices from the Empire of Ebis are being brought in as spices from Dar Henna.

The records also clearly indicate the income from five innocent people Missola had convicted and sold as slaves. Roughly 10% of the profits from their sales are paid out to “trial expenses;” these figures are nearly equal to what Anvil found in Stalwart’s cell.  In addition, 1% of both the slave sales and Blackroot sales have been paid out as “finder’s fees” to an unknown individual, presumably the scarred man.

Efforts are made to locate the scarred man.  A watch is set at The Fortunate Traveler, but there is no sign of him.  Subtle inquiries among informants on the street likewise turn up no trace.  As near as anyone can tell, the mysterious man has completely disappeared.

Fortunately, his presence is not required.  The combination of the ledger, the note Reyu obtained, the Bartender’s testimony, and the Justicars’ not-so-gentle interrogations of Desalle and Misolla are more than enough to condemn the two Aegosians for multiple crimes, and enough to clear Thatch and Reyu of all charges

Anvil has the pleasure of sharing the good news with them.  “You are free to go,” he informs them.  “Welcome to Dar Pykos.  May Kettenek’s Justice be with you.”

“Um. Okay.  I guess that’s that,” Thatch says.

“Indeed,” Reyu says.

And, with that, Thatch and Reyu are finally free to settle in Dar Pykos.

Their first concern is lodgings.  As it turns out, Mrs. Blackburn’s boarding house, where Amos had been living, now has a few openings.  It seems that Amos’s brief experiences in Dar Pykos were quite enough of city life for him.  Thatch takes his room.  He finds the accommodations quite good.  Mrs. Blackburn’s cooking is excellent, though her busy-bodying is a little tiresome.  It also does not take long for her sixteen-year-old daughter, Tessa, to develop quite a crush on young Thatch.  He finds this somewhat embarrassing, although she’s too shy to do much more than glance at him over breakfast or look away red-faced whenever she notices him looking at her.  He also finds it very strange to be addressed as “Mr. Thatch”.

Reyu also takes a room at the boarding house, rather than staying with the elven community in Dar Pykos.  She feels that living among humans, though it may be distasteful, is probably more useful to her mission to learn about human society.  Besides, she fears that the elven community will be much like the three assimilated elves she met at The Fortunate Traveler.  It turns out, however, that there are more traditional elves in Dar Pykos, with whom she gradually makes contact.

Cyrus returns to his chapterhouse, while Hue vanishes off to wherever he stays in Dar Pykos.  He tells them that if they need him, they should ask for him at the Great Library (he does not mention that he sleeps on a shelf in the basement there.  At least, he does when the Librarians don’t catch him).  And Anvil the Just returns to the Temple of Justice, to continue his duties, quite confident that this case will not go unnoticed by those higher up in the Temple.

How right he is.

A few days later, Anvil is summoned by Tenacious the Just, the 6th Order Justicar who heads the Universal Law Caucus in Dar Pykos.  Anvil is admitted to Tenacious’s study.  The desk is strewn with parchment.  Tenacious himself, though a large man, seems barely able to keep his head above it.  

He looks up as Anvil enters.  “Anvil,” he says without emotion, “please have a seat.”  Anvil does so.  Tenacious regards him a moment.  “Well, your handling of the Missola situation seems to have… come to a noisy conclusion.”

“No noisier than Justice demanded,” Anvil points out.

“You caused quite a stir,” Tenacious says.

Anvil thinks for a moment, trying to phrase the proper response in what is clearly a difficult position.  But, before he can open his mouth, Tenacious smiles.  “Anvil, relax,” he says.  “You’re not being reprimanded.  In fact, you’re being promoted.”  From behind a stack of parchments, Tenacious pulls out a 2nd Order sash and tosses it to Anvil.  “You’ve done excellent work for the Temple.  And, more pertinently, for the Caucus.”

Anvil covers his pleasure with his usual dogmatic approach.  “I only did as Justice--” he begins.

Tenacious cuts him off with “Uh-huh.”  Tenacious regards him for a moment longer, then says, “Anvil, these people you worked with.  Do you trust them?”

 “They seem to be of good character,” he says.  He takes a moment to consider if Hue fits in this category, but decides that yes, even Hue *seems* to be of good character.

“And they’re capable?”

“They have proven themselves so.”

Tenacious strokes his beard.  “Do you think they would be interested in doing some… further work for us?”

Now Anvil’s curiosity is truly piqued.  “Of what nature would this work be?”

Tenacious searches carefully for the words.  “It occurred to me that the Caucus could use a… well, a troubleshooting team.  For special cases, like this, where some form of action outside the usual range of Justicar activities is called for.  You and your companions have proven yourselves fairly adequate to the task, so I thought you’d be a perfect place to start.  What do you think?”

“For myself, I am happy to serve Kettenek in this manner.  I cannot speak for the others, but I can inquire.  They are reasonable people.  I’m sure they will see the wisdom of furthering Kettenek’s will,” Anvil says.  Tenacious sighs and rubs his temples.  Anvil continues.  “Are there specific tasks you have in mind for them?  It may help to convince them if I can provide further details.”

Now, Tenacious smiles.  “Well, as I said, you caused quite a stir with this Missola case.  There’s been a lot of talk—a lot of outrage over this abuse of the Slave Ownership Ruling.  And _that_ has been very good for the Caucus.  We’ve always been opposed to the Slave Ruling, and right now a lot of other people are coming around to our side.  A lot of highly influential people.  The Caucus is actually starting to get some attention.

“We want to levy this attention while we’ve got it.  By our records, Missola sold five innocent Pykosian citizens into slavery in Dar Aego.  We want to be the ones to bring them home.  And we thought you and your companions would be the perfect people to do it.”

Anvil smiles.  “I think, perhaps, they can be persuaded to aid in this endeavor.”

Two days later, the party is on the road to Dar Aego.

_to be continued…_


----------



## dpdx

Innocent  question for Justicars and future Justicars: If a subject of the Darine Confederacy was to be incarcerated for a crime, but was yet himself a victim of a crime, and was due restitution, should that subject still receive it?


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> *Innocent  question for Justicars and future Justicars: If a subject of the Darine Confederacy was to be incarcerated for a crime, but was yet himself a victim of a crime, and was due restitution, should that subject still receive it? *




So, I think what you're asking is:  If someone were convicted of a crime, but was due restitution for a separate crime that had been committed against him, would he receive said restitution?

I'd say it's likely to be situationally dependent, based on the relative severity of the two crimes.  If he was due restitution for petty larceny, but had himself committed murder, then no, he's not likely to get it; the Temple of Justice would probably keep it.  If the situation was reversed, then yes, he is likely to get it.  If the two crimes were of more-or-less equal severity, then it's likely that restitution would be made to his nearest kin or something. 

That'd be my guess, tho' Bad Monkey Jeff, as the resident Justicar, may have a different opinion.  Keeping in mind, of course, that neither of us have actually written the Confederate Law Code.


----------



## Bad Monkey Jeff

dpdx said:
			
		

> *Innocent  question for Justicars and future Justicars: If a subject of the Darine Confederacy was to be incarcerated for a crime, but was yet himself a victim of a crime, and was due restitution, should that subject still receive it? *



Absolutely! Ketennek's justice be delivered upon all who deserve or bring it up on themselves!

(Unless Ketennek has delivered unto us a law indicating otherwise, of course.)

(Noting also that one found guilty of a heinous crime isn't going to have a lot to do with the proceeds of a minor civil judgement in his favor. If he's been enslaved, for example, one imagines the proceeds in question would become his owner's property.)

--
Bad Monkey Jeff, Follower of Ketennek


----------



## dpdx

Thanks, Jeff!

So while Missola is rotting away in the hole, Hue, who ripped off his potions, gets to pick the iron filings out of his gruel.


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> *So while Missola is rotting away in the hole, Hue, who ripped off his potions, gets to pick the iron filings out of his gruel. *




Hue, alas, will not be sold into slavery for being the first person to *actually* steal from Count Missola.  Though it's an awfully funny idea.

For the record, the subtle thing no one ever picked up on related to Desalle's spell-casting abilities.  Way back when Desalle first pointed the finger at Thatch and Reyu, he claimed he knew they took the statue by casting _locate object_.  But, in the final fight, he was only casting one _magic missile_ at a time.  Why?  Because he's only a second level sorcerer.  He can't cast _locate object_.  Nor did he need to, being in league with Remmer/Reller.

Clues based on rules are a little meta, I grant, but for some reason my addled, new-GM brain thought that this was the vital clue that would put it all together.  It didn't, obviously, largely 'cause most of my players were newbies (or at least new to 3rd ed), and had no idea that a sorcerer who could cast _locate object_ would cast multiple _magic missiles_.

However, given the place of arcane magic in the Halmae, it makes perfect sense that not everyone is entirely familiar with how it works.

Next up, the road to Dar Aego.  It's paved with yummy, good intentions.


----------



## jonrog1

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Tenacious sighs and rubs his temples. *




I love this mental image.   Just a vocie-over as Anvil speaks. 

"Is he still talking?  Gods, this can't be right.  Nobody loves justice this much. Just Jimmy McJust, Winner of the ALl-Justice Just-off didn't love justice this much ...   Nope, still talking.  Wonder if we can figure out some way to get him out of town ..."


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Sixteenth*
_In which: Dar Aego doesn’t get a second chance to make a first impression.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	The trip to Dar Aego is an uneventful week on the road.

Thatch, Hue, and Reyu have agreed to go on retainer to the Universal Law Caucus of Dar Pykos.  They will be paid 10 gold per week for their services to the Caucus.  Cyrus, who already has allegiance to a Kettenite sect, is unable to accept the offer.  However, he hates leaving a job half-done, and is just as willing as the others to aid in rescuing the unjustly enslaved individuals.

	The group has been given instructions by the Caucus to track down five people and purchase their freedom.  In addition to a list of their names, the party has been given 1,000 gold.  Their five objectives were sold for a total of 750 gold, so the party has plenty of additional funds for unexpected expenses.  Unfortunately, the Caucus has little information beyond their names.  What happened to them after they were sold to Dar Aego is unknown.

“Um.  Remind me again why we have to buy them out of slavery?” Thatch asks, as he rides on Bob alongside the others, who ride in the mule-drawn cart given to them by the Caucus.  “If they were enslaved illegally, shouldn’t they just be free?”  

“Yes,” Anvil responds, “but the wrongdoing in this matter is solely on the part of Count Missola.  Those who purchased the slaves in Dar Aego had no idea they were buying illegal slaves.  An offer of fair recompense for their expenses should help smooth the process.”

“It doesn’t seem fair that the Caucus should have to pay for it,” Thatch grumbles.

“They didn’t,” Anvil reminds him.

The money actually came from the Missola estate.  The estate is now under the control of the Count’s son Ess, who, in addition to offering the funds to purchase the wrongly enslaved people, has volunteered to recompense them for the work they have done during their bondage.  

Despite this generosity, Ess is a slimy, weasely, hedonistic young man.  He had to be awakened at 3 in the afternoon when the party arrived to pick up the gold.  He made their skin crawl, but he did give them the money.  In addition, he provided them with the slaves’ last known location.  They were sold to one of the major slave houses in Dar Aego: the House of al-Assal.  Ess has sent a letter to the proprietor, Adar al-Assal, informing him of the situation and telling him to expect the party.

	It is with some degree of anticipation that the party first sets eyes on the high walls of Dar Aego.  They shine brilliant white in the morning sun.  Indeed, as the party gets closer, they can see that the walls are made entirely from white marble!

“How… solid,” Reyu comments.  “Shall we approach?”

They follow the main road towards the city gates.

“Um… I can’t help but notice,” Thatch says, “that we’re the only cart on this road.”

Indeed they are.  As they approach the city, they note that the other vehicles heading toward the main gate are carriages.  All are covered, the passengers out of sight.  All are fairly ornate.  Almost all are trimmed with gold, many are adorned with jewels, and one slow moving one even seems to have solid gold wheels.  In comparison, the party looks quite underdressed.

	Still they press on towards the gate.  There is a brief wait, as the gate guards clear each carriage for entry.  The next carriage driver over spares a moment to sniff down his nose at them.

	Eventually, the party reaches the front of the line.  Through the gate, they catch a glimpse of the city.  The buildings are built of shining marble.  Trees and fountains line the stone-paved street.  At a glance, the architecture appears to put even the finest buildings in Dar Pykos to shame.  

But before they can enter, they are stopped by a gate guard.  He is dressed in a well-sculpted breastplate and short leather skirt.  Both are trimmed in gold.  The guard nearly double-takes when he sees them, and says, “What’s this?  The back gate is for shipping.  Turn that thing around!”

	There are momentary puzzled looks, and Hue is the first to speak up.  “Oh, we’re not shipping!” he says.

	The guard looks skeptical.  “Really? Then what is your business here?”

	“We’re here to buy slaves!”

	The guard looks even more skeptical.  Fortunately, Anvil steps in before Hue tries again.  “We are on a mission for Kettenek.  Justice demands we enter this city.”

	“Well you’ll do it by the back gate.” The guard pauses a moment.  “Unless, of course, you have the proper documentation.”

	“What documentation would that be?” Anvil asks.

	“Oh, depends.  A letter of introduction.  Authorization papers.  Something like that perhaps.”

	“Oh! You mean like a bribe?” Hue says.

	The guard looks slightly put out by Hue’s directness.  “Let’s just say it’s always good to have the right people on your side in Dar Aego.” 

“I have many of the right people on my side,” Anvil says, brandishing a roll of parchment given to him by Tenacious.  It is a letter of introduction to the head of the Universal Law Caucus in Dar Aego.  “This letter of introduction was given to me by the Temple of Justice in Dar Pykos.  They are on my side.”

That seems to make up the guard’s mind.  “Uh-huh,” he says.  “Church business uses the back gate.  Now move!”  He turns his attention to the next cart.

	There is a pause.  “Um,” Thatch says, speaking for everyone.

	So they turn the cart around and head for the back gate.  

	“Psst!” Hue loudly whispers to Anvil.  “I think he was just looking for a bribe.”

	“I know,” Anvil responds.  “I did not wish to give him the satisfaction.”

The road leading around the city is dusty and ill-used and, as they reach the rear, they see that there is another road altogether, leading toward an entrance in back.  A string of wagons and carts work their way towards it.

	The party joins the line, and is soon admitted to Dar Aego.  It is nothing like they expect.

	The view from the back entrance is completely different from what they had seen at the front.  From here, Dar Aego is a shanty-town, filled with ramshackle wooden buildings.  It would be charitable to call the streets dirt, as they are actually mud.  There is nothing green or growing here, and the air stinks of too many people crowded into too small a space. 

	“But… but…” Thatch says.  “Where’s the marble?  Where’re the fountains?”

	“Probably behind that wall,” Cyrus says, nodding towards the second wall before them, seemingly a sister to the exterior wall.  It is just as high as that one, but this wall is made of stone, not marble, and in ill repair.  In fact, when they look behind them, they discover that from the inside, even the outer wall is made of rough stone.  The marble is only an external façade.

	Dar Aego is built like a donut.  There are two great concentric walls.  The inner wall surrounds the large center of the city-state, where the wealthy citizens live.  Between the two walls is the small, cramped Outer City.  This is where everyone else lives.  The main gates of the city open in such a way as to hide the outer city from view.

	“But why do the wealthy get the greater area?  Surely there must be far fewer of them,” Reyu says, trying to work this out in her mind.

	“Surely,” Cyrus agrees darkly.

	Reyu’s opinion of humanity drops another notch.

	The group makes their way through the Outer City.  Their inquiries as to how to pass into the Inner City are eventually answered by an Alirrian priestess, caring for the sick here.  By the smell and sound of things, she has her work cut out for her.

	There is a small, well-guarded gate that leads from the Outer City to the Inner.  Only those with work permits are permitted through.  Anvil reluctantly slips one of the guards 10 gold, and they are admitted to the Inner City of Dar Aego.

	The change is striking. The roads are wide and paved.  Trees and parks dot the landscape.  The buildings gleam, full of columns and arches and statues.  Each is bigger and more ornate than the next.  In fact, many of then look flat out ridiculous in their attempts to be grander and richer than the others.  It is opulence run amok.  And the people are worst of all.

	They are mostly dressed in bright, toga-like robes.  It is hotter in Dar Aego than Dar Pykos, thus the people wear lighter fabric, and generally more revealing cuts.  There is no dominant color among the outfits.  Indeed, in many cases, there is no color coordination at all.  People wear multiple clashing colors at once, the better to be noticed.  They also wear much jewelry.  Earings, necklaces, and headdresses made of gold, silver, and gems.  One woman actually seems to be wearing a piece that is somehow simultaneously an earring, necklace, and headdress.  It is all Thatch can do not to stare openly. 

	The slaves of Dar Aego are fairly plentiful, and easy to pick out.  They are the only people wearing white, and their outfits are generally skimpier than those of their masters.  Many have iron collars about their necks.  They do not make eye-contact with anyone, and the free Aegosians do not seem to notice them.

Apart from slaves, the party are virtually the only people walking on the street.  Free Aegosians ride in open carriages for all to see, except those who are carried on divans, borne by slaves.  One divan passes with a single person on it, carried by nearly 20 slaves.

	“Isn’t that a bit much?” Thatch asks in a quiet voice.

	“Depends on how many slaves carry your neighbor’s chair,” Cyrus says.

	“We should perhaps not… tarry here,” Reyu says.  “We seem to be attracting attention.”  Indeed, many of the people passing by have been staring at them.  Few of the stares are friendly.  “Let us find this… House of al-Assal.”

	The party waylays a slave and asks for directions to the House of al-Assal.  The slave obliges, though he stammers as he speaks to them.  He seems quite relieved to take his leave, and quickly walks away.

	“Y’know,” Thatch says, “I don’t think I like this place.”


----------



## Harp

So are we getting pretty close to Lira's first appearance?


----------



## spyscribe

Harp said:
			
		

> *So are we getting pretty close to Lira's first appearance? *




Pretty close, although not imminently.  Remember, by the time the party meets Lira, they only have one more slave to free.

However, they should be even closer on Thursday. 

Oh, and on an unrelated note, the Mustelid Anti-Defamation League has registered a protest with the management regarding the characterization of Ess Missola as "weasely."

Their statement has been appended below: 



> _originally posted by M.A.D.L._
> *Yeah... he wishes he was weasely.  You know what I'm saying Boss?*


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Seventeenth*
_In which: readers may judge for themselves the nature of al-Assal’s establishment.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_ 

	The House of al-Assal, much to the party’s surprise, is actually tasteful.  It is a large building with an open courtyard in the center, and also boasts extensive grounds outside the house itself—hidden from view by a great hedge growing around the property.

	The party follows the walkway to the entrance, where a well-groomed slave waits patiently.  He offers to inform the Master of the House of the party’s arrival, and gestures them inside.

	The entry hall is a spacious, marble room.  Elaborate and tasteful mosaics are splayed on the walls.  A pair of slaves plays delicate music in one corner.  There are couches and divans a plenty, upon which a number of patrons lounge.  Servants bring them plates of fruit.  The air is thick with a perfumed smell.  

	“This seems a fine change from the bulk of the city,” Anvil remarks.

	“Look again,” Cyrus says, and points to the alcoves.

	Along the walls at regular intervals are a series of alcoves.  In each are… well, people.  Men and women, clad in scanty, flimsy gauze that leaves little to the imagination but gives it quite a kick-start.  They sit very still, three or four to an alcove.

	“What are they…” Thatch begins, but trails off as a well-dressed man who has been perusing the alcoves stops.  He takes the hand of one of the women, who stands up and follows him.  Another slave gestures them through a doorway and out of sight.

	Indeed, all around the room, men and women select people from the alcoves and lead them towards the back.

	“Um,” Thatch says.  “Um. Um um. Um.”

	“Indeed,” Reyu says, glancing around.  She notes with outrage that one alcove contains four elves. 

	Thatch positively goggles.  Anvil sidles up next to him.  “It may be best not to look around.”

	“Is that a dwarf?” Thatch whispers.

	“Steady, lad,” Cyrus says.

	“Gosh! Whaddaya think of this town now?” Hue asks.

	A figure emerges from the back, a well-tanned man with a shaven head.  He is dressed in a fine, red wraparound robe, decorated with beads and sequins.  His approaches the party and bows with a deep flourish.  “Welcome, weary travelers, to the House of al-Assal,” he says, steepling his long fingers, “the finest pleasure palace in all the Halmae.  I am Adar al-Assal, and I am at your service.”  He bows again.

	“Pleasure palace,” Cyrus says.  “I thought this was a slave house.”

	“And so it is,” al-Assal answers smoothly.  The man oozes a well-practiced charm; it’s an obvious affectation, but he’s extremely good at it.  “A pleasure palace, a slave house, a house of chance, a place of rest, and the finest dining in Dar Aego.  All this and more.  We cater to every whim and need, every dream and desire.  We can stimulate the body or the mind, and provide any diversion you should seek.  This, my friends, is the House of al-Assal.”

	“Um,” Thatch says.

	“You have elves here,” Reyu says coldly.

	“Indeed, we do.  Or dwarves, if that is your pleasure.  Alas, due to their rarity, female dwarves are available only by appointment,” he adds apologetically.  “We do cater to all tastes.”  His eye falls on Hue.  “Now you, my small friend, I’m quite sure a unique individual like yourself would be… very popular in this establishment.  Would you perhaps consider an offer?  Not as a slave, of course, simply a contracted hire.”

	“Really?  Gosh,” Hue says, and he actually considers it for a moment before noticing the incredulous looks the rest of the party is giving him.  Even the Ferret doesn’t look like he can find an angle on this one.  “Uhh, I think I have to pass,” Hue says, sheepishly.

	“Ah well.  The offer is open, any time you change your mind,” al-Assal sighs.  “Now, on to business.  Unless, of course, there is anything you desire after your long journey?  A wash?  A massage?  A refreshing drink, perhaps, or some other concoction?  You will find no fresher Blackroot distillate within the city walls.”

	“No, thanks,” everyone responds, though Thatch lags half a beat behind the others.

	Al-Assal bows again, smiling.  “Very well, then.  To business.  I was, of course, shocked to hear of these terrible circumstances.  I am, quite frankly, appalled to have played even so small and unwitting a part in it.  We at the House of al-Assal hold ourselves to the strictest of standards.”

	“No doubt,” Anvil says.

	“I have here,” al-Assal continues, presenting Anvil with a rolled up parchment from his robes, “the sales records for the individuals you seek.  They include the names and last known addresses of each of the buyers.  It should be quite easy for you to track them down from there.”  Al-Assal looks rather apologetic.  “I do hope the young lady is all right.  She had quite an… independent streak.  I fear that rather extreme efforts were required to instruct her on her proper place.  You will extend my sincerest apologies, won’t you?”

	No one really knows how to answer that.  Hue says, “Sure!” but no one else even tries.

	“Then you have my gratitude,” al-Assal says with another bow.  “And now, if there is anything else you require?  The House of al-Assal is open to you.  You are welcome to stay here as my guests, free of charge, for the duration of your visit to our city.  You will find the other accommodations in town more expensive and less… accommodating.”

	Thatch’s eyes bug, but Anvil says, “Thank you, but we have contacts at the Temple of Justice.  They will provide us with lodgings.”

	“As you wish,” al-Assal says.  The smile has never left his face for an instant.  “If there is anything else I can do for you during your time here, you have but to ask.”  With a final bow, al-Assal backs away and leaves the entry hall.

	“Do we, um, have to stay at the Temple?” Thatch asks in a small voice.

	“Yes,” several party members inform him, and, grasping Thatch firmly by the elbows, they exit the House of al-Assal.


----------



## Bad Monkey Jeff

*It all comes together...*



			
				Fajitas said:
			
		

> *Hue, alas, will not be sold into slavery for being the first person to *actually* steal from Count Missola.  Though it's an awfully funny idea.*




Bwah! It all comes together! Now I understand why Hue was so nervous when he produced those potions a few sessions down the road! I'm pretty sure Anvil _never_ found out about their stolen nature, even when we eventually used them. And of course, Thatch and Reyu weren't particularly interested in making sure Ketennek's justice was delivered upon him for that particular crime...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Eighteenth*
_In which: Justice gets a new look.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	Anvil obtains directions to the Aegosian Temple of Justice and the group makes their way there.  The wealthy Aegosians that pass them on the street universally give them disdainful looks, doing little to improve the party’s overall impression of the place.

	The Temple itself is constructed of white marble, brilliant and elaborate.  It is a far cry from the stern and austere building in Dar Pykos. 

	“Who is it we are meeting here?” Reyu asks.

	“I have been given a letter of introduction to Immobile the Just, the head of the Universal Law Caucus here in Dar Aego.  No doubt he will put their resources at our disposal,” Anvil replies.

	Anvil flags down a temple acolyte and asks to be led to Immobile.  The acolyte takes the party to an office.  “Come in,” says a voice from inside, and they do.  The man behind the desk is young and clean-shaven.  His robes, though similar in design to Anvil’s, are of a much finer fabric and a cut more adapted to the style of Dar Aego.  They also indicate that he is merely a Third Order Justicar.  “Yes?” the man asks.

	Anvil steps forward, slightly confused.  “I am here to see Immobile the Just,” he says.

	“That’s me,” the man responds.

	“You head the Universal Law Caucus here in Dar Aego?” Anvil asks, surprised.

	Immobile immediately jumps out of his seat and hurries to close the door.  “I do,” he says.  “Who are you, and how do you know that?”

	Anvil introduces himself and the others, and presents Immobile with the letter of introduction.  Immobile reads it twice before he relaxes.  “Forgive my paranoia,” he says.  “The Caucus is not exactly popular here in Dar Aego.  We operate more or less underground.”

	“I did not mean to alarm you.  I was merely surprised to find a Third Order as head of the Caucus,” Anvil replies.

	“As I said, the Caucus isn’t very popular here.  It’s not as though we’re arguing that Aegosian law should become the universal standard.  Now,” he says, indicating the letter, “clearly your mission here is a very important one. Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot I can offer you.  Our resources are few.”

	“Do you have someone who knows their way around?” Hue asks.  “I keep having to ask people, and they all stare at me funny when I do.”

	“They stare at you funny when you don’t,” Thatch mutters under his breath.

	“A guide?  Yes, that I think I can spare,” Immobile says.  He opens the door and snaps for an acolyte.  “Have Essela come see me,” he commands.  The acolyte runs off.  “Now,” Immobile continues, “as to people staring at you... that’s a harder issue.  You, all of you, do rather stick out.  People here tend to look down on… um…”

	“Outsiders?” Anvil offers.

	“The poor,” Immobile finishes.  “Or at least people less well off than themselves.  You see it everywhere here, in the houses, the carriages, the clothes.  Appearances mean a lot in Dar Aego, and yours say you don’t belong here.”

	“Is that all?  We could look like we fit in easy,” Hue says, and begins to cast.  A small fog appears around him and coalesces into the image of an Aegosian robe, complete with a gold headdress covered in dangling bells.  Or, rather, it coalesces into cheap imitation thereof.  The robes appear to have been stitched by someone who doesn’t know how to sew, and the headdress seems to have been dragged behind a carriage for some distance.  “See,” Hue says, inordinately proud.

	“Um. Don’t bells usually make noise?” Thatch asks.

	“Perhaps,” Reyu interrupts, “it would be easier if we were simply to purchase Aegosian robes.  If it will ease our dealings with people here, it seems worth the expense.”

	“It will certainly ease your dealings here,” Immobile says.  “I can provide Justicar robes for Anvil.  I can send an acolyte to purchase clothing for the rest of you, though I warn you they are not likely to be cheap.”

	“We only require 750 gold to buy back all the slaves,” Anvil says.  “The Caucus has provided us with 1000.”

	“990, after what you slipped the gate guards,” Cyrus points out.

	“Nonetheless, this seems a reasonable expense.”

	The others agree, and Immobile sends his acolyte.  In the end, the plainest of Aegosian robes costs the party 20 gold each.  “910,” Cyrus says.

	Another acolyte soon returns with the party’s guide, Essela.  She is a member of the Order of Law, an order of monks attached to the Justicars who serve as part clerks, part bailiffs.  Essela works for Immobile, and is also a member of the Caucus. 

	“Where to first?” she asks dryly.

	The party pauses to consider this question, and Anvil produces the list the party has been given of wrongly enslaved Pykosian citizens: 



> 1) Colin Meadowson- a farmer from outside Dar Pykos.  He had been on his way to market six months ago when he was arrested.  Stolen goods belonging to Missola were found in his cart.  He was sold as an unskilled laborer for 100 gold to the LeGrande plantation, outside of Dar Aego.
> 
> 2) Amelia Morrin- a 16-year old girl.  She had just arrived in Dar Pykos to attend the Mages Academy.  She was arrested in the Market five months ago, accused of stealing the Count’s pouch.  Due to her literacy and intellect, she was sold for 250 gold to the Morjene estate.
> 
> 3) Dennis (last name unknown)- a petty criminal from the streets of Dar Pykos.  He was sentenced four months ago, despite his claims of innocence, for assaulting Ess Missola just outside the Missola estate.  Dennis was sold as a household slave to the Lowess estate, for 100 gold.
> 
> 4) Andrew (last name unknown)- also a thug from Dar Pykos.  Sentenced for the same assault on Ess as Dennis (the two were allegedly in it together).  Andrew was sold as an unskilled laborer for 100 gold to a marble quarry outside of the city.
> 
> 5) Henrik Cotton- a former Watchman from Dar Pykos, who was busted for drinking on the job.  He was arrested two months ago, allegedly for a break-in at the Missola estate.  Due to his excellent physical condition, he was sold to the city as a municipal laborer for 200 gold.




	“Colin and Andrew are both outside of the city,” Reyu notes.  “It would be more… convenient… to deal with those here first, then leave to retrieve the others.”

	“The quarry is several hours north of the city,” Essela pipes up. “The plantation is several hours west.  The city makes as good a place as any to stop between them.”

	“Still, it seems to me we should deal with those nearer sooner,” Reyu responds.

	“Um, wasn’t al-Assal a little concerned about the girl?” Thatch asks.  “Maybe we should get her first, then go to whoever’s closest.”

	All agree that this seems like the best plan.  And so, Essela leads them through the city to the Morjene estate.


----------



## Piratecat

Why do I think that this can only end in tears?


----------



## Harp

OK, I'll bite...'Halmae' is Greek for what?


----------



## Fajitas

Harp said:
			
		

> *OK, I'll bite...'Halmae' is Greek for what? *




Salt-water, or brine.  Technically, it's "halme," but I liked the look of it with an "ae" better.  

The Halmae is the name of both the large, Mediterranean-like sea at the center of the gameworld (or at least at the center of the map), as well as the lands that surround that sea.  Originally, the campaign was going to be set in the bronze-age, which is why the main "kingdom" is a Greek-like confederation of city-states.  

Ultimately, both my players and I decided that to do a bronze-age game right would require too much research and mechanics mucking (I mean, really, what is plate mail in the Bronze Age?) to be worth it, thus I changed the time period to a more standard D&D flavor, but left the setting largely intact.

That said, I was still looking for a name for the world, and wanted something Greekish that meant "life-blood" or "Sea of Life".  So I asked Orichalcum, and "Halmae" was the best word she came up with.

So, yes.  The Halmae.  Salt-water or brine.  As Orichalcum pointed out, the campaign might just as well be called "Welcome to the Pickle Juice".


----------



## Fajitas

Piratecat said:
			
		

> *Why do I think that this can only end in tears?   *




Please select your response from the following options:

     1) Because you are perceptive.

     2) Lucky guess.

     3) Because, as an experienced GM, you know that all the best adventures end in tears

     4) Because you've read the end of this adventure at the beginning of this thread, and know how it ends.

     5) Because tears are, by definition, halmae (see above post).

If you do not have a touch-tone browser, you may wait here and our next available service representative will be with you shortly.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Nineteenth:*
_In which: Anvil becomes more adept at greasing the wheels of Justice
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

Much to their surprise, the party discovers that they receive fewer disdainful looks now that they are dressed as locals.  In fact, most Aegosians now ignore them.

	“I find it… puzzling that their attitudes should change,” Reyu says.  “These robes are not very fine.  Surely we do not look any more wealthy in them than in our own clothing.”

	“You don’t,” Essela says.  “But now you look like poor Aegosians, not poor strangers.  Poor Aegosians get ignored.  Poor strangers get scorned.”

	There is a pause.  “I agree with Thatch.  I do not like this place,” Reyu finally replies. 

	The party arrives at the Morjene estate.  “We must speak to your master,” Anvil informs the guard at the gate.  “It is an urgent matter of Justice.”

	They are hurried into a sitting room of limited excess (by Aegosian standards, anyway).  Eventually, a bored looking man arrives.  “My name is Hassel.  I am the chamberlain here.  What is your business?”

	“We are looking for a slave by the name of Amelia Morren,” Anvil says.  “She has been wrongfully sentenced to slavery, and we have come to buy her freedom.”

	Hassel gets a puzzled look on his face.  “Amelia… Amelia… I do not believe we have any slave here by that name.”

	The party exchange worried looks.  “Maybe something happened to her.” Thatch says.

“Have you ever had a slave by that name?” Reyu asks Hassel.

	“Not that I can recall,” Hassel answers.

	“I do not understand.  We were told that this girl was sold to the Morjene estate.  How can this be if you do not have her?” Anvil asks.

	Sudden understanding dawns on Hassel’s face.  “Ahhhhh,” he says.  “But this is not the Morjene estate.”  All eyes turn to Essela full of blame, but she looks as surprised as any of them.  “That is, not anymore,” Hassel adds.  “It is now the Sharma estate.  My master purchased these grounds after Lady Morjene’s untimely demise.”

	“What of her slaves?” Cyrus asks.

	“We did not purchase any,” Hassel says.  “Though I presume they were sold at auction, as was the rest of her property.  She left no heirs.”

	“Who handled the auction?” Anvil asks.

	“I believe the Masheri House of Barter won the auction contract from the authorities.  I’m sure they have records.”

	So Essela leads them to the House of Barter.  Though the façade is almost as elegant as the House of al-Assal, the interior is not.  This is far more of a business building.  Or, at least, far more of a struggling business.  Rolls of parchment and boxes filled with random contents are piled everywhere. A number of officious looking people bustle about, all far too busy to pay attention to the party.  

They stand around, waiting to be noticed.  Finally, Hue shouts out, “Hey!!”

	A tired looking middle-aged man, startled by the sudden shout, turns to glare at the party.  “May I be of service?” he asks, in the tone of voice usually reserved for saying, “Go away and leave me alone.”

	Anvil explains the predicament and offers Amelia’s name.  “Justice demands that we locate her,” he finishes.

	The man nods, giving no indication that he actually cares in the slightest, and says, “Well, we sell a lot of slaves, and we keep a lot of records.  I’ll see what I can do, but it could take weeks to find the right one.”

	“Weeks!” says Thatch.  “We don’t have weeks.”

	The man turns to Thatch, completely deadpan.  “Sometimes it just takes time to get things done.  It is a pity, but what can be done?”

	“Oh, hey!” Hue blurts out.  “I’ll bet he wants a-- oww!”  

“Sorry,” Cyrus murmurs, as he removes his heel from Hue’s toes.

	Anvil pulls 10 gold from his pouch.  “Kettenek’s Justice demands she be found as soon as possible,” he says, handing over the coins.

	 “I’ll send word tomorrow,” the man replies.

	“I really do not like this place,” Anvil says, as they make their way out of the House of Barter.

	“900,” Cyrus replies.

************

	As the municipal slave pens are closer to the House of Barter than the Lowess estate, they decide to go after Henrik, the ex-Watchman next.  Essela leads them towards the edge of the city, towards an elaborate marble building.  Emerging from either sides of the building is a high stone wall, which surrounds a large, unseen area.  Several guards patrol atop the wall, and the reek of unwashed bodies and human refuse faintly wafts over it.

	They enter the building and wander the halls until they find a door marked Slave Purchases.  They enter.  This time, Anvil does not wait to be noticed.  He walks up to the first person he sees, a haughty looking woman, and says, “We are looking for a municipal slave named Henrik Cotton.  Kettenek has tasked us with purchasing his freedom.  Will you tell us where he can be found?”  And he immediately hands her five gold pieces.

	The woman looks at Anvil, surprised by his directness, then at the coins.  “I don’t know where he can be found.  I imagine he’s out in the city working at this time of day.”

	“Then if you could tell us where, we would be most appreciative,” Anvil responds, and hands her another five gold.

	“I’ll be right back,” she says with a smile, and she vanishes into a side room.

	Hue pats Anvil on the back... of his knee.  “See!  You’re getting the hang of it.”

	“890,” Cyrus says.

	Roughly twenty minutes pass before the woman returns.  “You’re in luck,” she says.  “He’s not working today.  He’s here at the pens.”

	“I am… surprised,” Reyu says.  “I did not think you would permit your slaves a day of rest.”

	“We don’t,” the woman responds, “but condemned slaves aren’t put to work.”

_to be continued..._


----------



## Harp

This story hour just has the most clever (and _frustrating_) cliff hangers.  Excellent work.


----------



## porthos

Fajitas said:
			
		

> *
> So, yes.  The Halmae.  Salt-water or brine.  As Orichalcum pointed out, the campaign might just as well be called "Welcome to the Pickle Juice". *




Would it be safe to assume that the SH title is also a reference to the very first Buffy episode, "Welcome to the Hellmouth"?

Fantastic Story Hour, by the way...


----------



## Fajitas

porthos said:
			
		

> *Would it be safe to assume that the SH title is also a reference to the very first Buffy episode, "Welcome to the Hellmouth"?*




>sigh<

So, I'm probably going to lose geek points for admitting this, but, no.  

Well, not on my part, at any rate.

You see, the world information packet that I wrote for my players began with the words "Welcome to the Halmae" in big letters at the top.  It seemed like a good opening line (which may, in fact, have been a subconscious connection with the Buffy title. I'm honestly not sure).  I didn't think anything more of it, and certainly never thought of it as a title for the campaign.

Then spyscribe needed a name for the Story Hour.  I think that *she* thought it was an intentional Buffy reference, 'cause I'm a freakish fan, so she went with it. It was only after that that I noticed the connection.  

So that's the real story.  Not intentional on my part, but I think it was intentional on spyscribe's, who *thought* it was intentional on mine.  

Redistribute geek points as you feel appropriate.  

Glad you're enjoying, porthos.


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> *
> So that's the real story.  Not intentional on my part, but I think it was intentional on spyscribe's, who thought it was intentional on mine.
> *




Well, I don't remember the exact chronology, but either I wasn't aware of the pun when I named the story hour, or if I did, I knew it wasn't intentional.

Mainly, because when my roommate pointed it out to *me* I immediately called Fajitas up saying, "Okay, I'm a dummy, I just noticed the Buffy reference."

And he said, "Huh?"

Fajitas _had_ mentioned not being wild about it as a campaign name, but before springing the surprise I talked to WisdomLikeSilence, and neither of _us_ could come up with anything better to call the story hour, so that was it.

At one point, I think I figured that if we had been playing in the campain for more than a year before anyone noticed, surely no one casually reading would make the association... 

Best laid plans.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Mainly, because when my roommate pointed it out to me I immediately called Fajitas up saying, "Okay, I'm a dummy, I just noticed the Buffy reference."
> 
> And he said, "Huh?"
> *



Ahh, yes.  That's how it happened.  Now I remember.  That was really quite funny.

So, porthos, apparently neither of us is as clever as you think we are. 

Y'know, looking back over this explanation, it's pretty clear I should have just said "yes" when you asked at the beginning.

>cough, cough<



			
				porthos said:
			
		

> *Would it be safe to assume that the SH title is also a reference to the very first Buffy episode, "Welcome to the Hellmouth"?
> *



Yes.  Absolutely.  Spyscribe and I collaborated for long, hard hours on that.  Glad you enjoy it.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Twentieth:*
_In which: the party’s accountant is not pleased
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	There is a shocked pause.  “Condemned?” Anvil says.

	“Yes.  It turns out your slave is something of a troublemaker.  He attacked his overseer two days ago.  Normally, that would just warrant a beating, but it seems the overseer took it personally.  He wants him executed.”

	“But, but, but he was never supposed to be enslaved at all,” Thatch protests.  “He’s an innocent man.”

	“We are prepared to recompense the city for his purchase and remove him from this place forever.  There is no need to execute him,” Anvil says. 

	“I’m sorry,” the woman says.  “Only the overseer in question can drop the charges.  I can’t sell you a condemned slave.”

	Anvil heaves a weary sigh.  “Very well.  Can you give us the name of the overseer?”

************

	“Drop the charges?  On that rat dung?  Never.”

	Nytiss, the overseer, is a burly man whose hand never leaves his whip and whose eyes never leave his charges.  He lords over a chain-gang of ten men who are repaving a section of street.  From time to time, he cracks his whip on the back of the nearest slave.  As near as the party can tell, there is no reason for him to do this.

	Anvil speaks in tones of carefully controlled patience.  “We have explained to you the situation,” he says.  “Surely you can see Justice demands this man be freed.”

	“Justice?” Nytiss scoffs, spitting on the ground.  “Justice’d be hangin’ him in a cage ‘til he dies of thirst for all the rest of these scum to see.”  He cracks his whip again.

	“Isn’t that, um, a bit extreme?” Thatch says.

	“Yeah!” Hue chimes in.  “Why’ve you got such a big stick in your ass?”

	Nytiss actually turns to glare at Hue, who Cyrus very calmly grabs by the shoulder and thrusts out of sight behind him, ignoring the muffled “Hey! I was just asking!”

	Nytiss spits again as he sizes up the party.  “You don’t let slaves turn on their masters.  Any slave who does is no use to nobody.  And any slave who sees another get away with it, ain’t gonna be much use for long.  I been workin’ slaves since before that mule of yours…” he indicates Thatch “… could wipe his ass, and I ain’t never had so much as a word of backtalk.  Not ‘til that bucket of horse urine struck me.  And by Ehkt’s balls, I’ll see him gutted for it.”  He turns back to watch his slaves and crack his whip.

	The party shoots each other disgusted looks, but it seems they are at an impasse.  Hue whispers a little too loudly, “Offer him money!”

	“He does not seem… inclined… to deal,” Reyu says.

	“You never know ‘til you try,” Hue responds, nodding sagely.  The Ferret also nods knowingly.

	Anvil shrugs.  Turning to Nytiss, he says casually “And there is nothing that might induce you to change your mind.”  His hand strays to his pouch, which he very meaningfully jingles.

	Nytiss looks back over at him.  Then down at the pouch.  Then back at his slaves.  Then back at the pouch.  He seems quite torn.  Finally, he motions Anvil over to the side, a few steps further away from the slaves.  Anvil follows him.

	“Tell you what,” Nytiss says.  “You want him, you buy him from me.  Pay me his price, all 200 gold, and I drop the charges.”

	“It was my belief that only the city could sell us a municipal slave,” Anvil says.

	“Oh, you’ll have to pay them, too.  But all the gold in the world won’t do you no good if you don’t meet my fee first.”  Nytiss smiles as he says this. 

	“400 gold for one slave?” Anvil says.  “Surely there is room to negotiate.”

	“There was,” Nytiss answers.  “We did.  I’ll drop the charges for 200 gold.  That’s negotiated.”

	Anvil is hesitant.  If they pay 400 gold for Henrik, they will not have enough left to purchase all the other slaves from freedom.  Carefully he says, “I must discuss this with my companions.”

	“Take all the time you want.  Execution’s at dawn, though,” Nytiss says.  He spits again and turns back to his slaves.  

	Anvil rejoins the others.  “He wants 200 gold to drop the charges.  He would not negotiate.”

	Cyrus whistles low.  “Steep.”

	“Um. So what do we do?” Thatch says.  “I mean, we can’t pay that.”  

	“Perhaps,” Reyu says, “we can find another buyer…”

***********

	“I’m… stunned,” says the woman from the municipal slave pens.  “I could have sworn charges had been filed against this slave, but I simply cannot find the paperwork anywhere.”

	“Indeed.  Apparently, you were mistaken,” Anvil says, as he hands her a pouch with fifty gold pieces in it.

	“Apparently so,” she says with a perfectly straight face, as the pouch vanishes into her robes.  “Of course, the city would be happy to sell him to you.”  Papers are signed.  She presents Anvil with the official bill of sale, and Anvil presents her with the official 200 gold. “I’ll see that he’s brought to you immediately.”

	“One down,” Thatch remarks.

	“640,” Cyrus intones.

********

	After a short wait, Henrik is brought to them, eyes squinting and posture stooped, as if he has been confined in a small dark place for some time.  He smells foul, and fresh welts criss-cross mostly healed scars on his back.  Hue flinches from the smell, and begins to cast _prestidigitation_.  A small whirlwind begins at Henrik’s feet, growing larger as it spins up his body, whipping the grime off him.  The whirlwind evaporates, and Henrik is now clean from head to toe; the smell is gone.  

Henrik looks at them, quite surprised.  Whatever he was expecting to happen, this wasn’t it.

	Reyu murmurs in her own tongue and touches Henrik’s back.  A warm, blue glow spreads from her hands, pouring like liquid into the welts on his back.  As the glow fades, the wounds have healed into fresh skin, which now cuts across the older scars.  Unfortunately, Reyu’s magic can do little to heal old wounds.

	“Whu…who…” Henrik stammers.

	“Henrik Cotton,” Anvil says.  “You are now a free man.”


----------



## porthos

Fajitas said:
			
		

> *
> So, porthos, apparently neither of us is as clever as you think we are. *




Hah! I don't know... you both still seem pretty clever. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and pretend it was all intentional. 

Nice touch on the ending for the update, btw.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Twenty-First*
_In which: someone wears a really, really ugly hat.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	After they drop Henrik off at the Temple to be cared for, Essela leads them to the Lowess estate.  Their quarry here is named Dennis, a petty thug from Dar Pykos, sold for 100 gold as a household slave.  A quick glance at the Lowess estate tells the party that it contains lots and lots of household slaves.  The estate is huge.  From the street, it is impossible to even see the house, which is hidden behind the immaculately trimmed hedge and the large, ornate entrance, built on marble foundations with a gate that actually appears to be made of solid gold.

	“Ya wouldn’t think a gold gate could keep people out,” Thatch observes.

	“Sure it would!” Hue points out.  “Why break into the house when you can just steal the gate?”  The Ferret nods, as if approving of this plan.

	“The Lowess family is one of the oldest and richest in Dar Aego,” Essela says.  “They’ve got more money than they know what to do with, so they just like to make sure it gets seen.”

	“How did they amass such fortunes?” asks Anvil.

	“No idea,” Essela responds.  “The current generation didn’t earn it, that’s for sure.  The present head of the family, Tern, makes the rest of the idle rich look positively industrious.”

	The household guards question them at the gate, but Anvil’s implacable Justicar manner wins them admission.  They proceed down a road through the estate.  The grounds are full of greenery: flower gardens, topiary, exotic trees.  The plants are tended by a bevy of slaves, who trim, water, and weed.  The garden is unquestionably beautiful, but Reyu finds the precise cultivation disturbing.  _Even the plants here are enslaved_, she thinks.

	The house itself is one of the most opulent and least tasteful they have yet seen in Dar Aego.  The front of the building is an open porch, with two long, curved staircases leading up into the house. The floor is tiled in alternating gold and marble.  Tall pillars are placed nearly every five feet, creating the effect of a forest of cold, white oaks. 

	A servant is sent to fetch the master, but returns with a minor functionary.  “You may explain the situation to me, and I will convey it,” the functionary explains.  So Anvil patiently tells him the story.  “Wait here,” the functionary says, and runs off.  

A short time later, he reappears with another functionary.  If their respective outfits are anything to judge by, the new one is slightly higher up in the pecking order than the previous one.  He requests that Anvil explain the situation to him, which he does, though a tad less patiently.  The new functionary asks the party to wait, and disappears as well.  He returns with yet a third, whose robes are nicer still.  Anvil tells the story again, working hard not to clench his teeth as he does.  The third functionary also asks them to wait, and vanishes.

	“Someone else will have to speak to the next one,” Anvil says, a vein throbbing in his forehead.  

	“Why?” Reyu asks.

	“I am likely to smite him.”

	Finally, a ringing voice calls down from the top of one of the staircases.  “Ahhh, welcome visitors.  I understand we have business to discuss?”

	The party turns to look.  Descending towards them is a man in voluminous red robes that look like they must weigh a hundred pounds.  They are studded with gold and jewels; the fabric is visibly stretched by their weight.  A wide smile is plastered across his face, which is heavily overdone with make-up.  His gait is strained and rigid, probably on account of the enormous hat on his head.  It is nearly two feet tall, and shaped like a “T”.  Bangles, bells, and baubles hang off either side of it, jingling and jangling as he walks.

	“Wow!” Hue says.  “These guys dress great!”

	Three new functionaries walk in a line behind this man.  The highest-ranking one, who wears a chamberlain’s medallion, is the closest.  The lowest ranking one is farthest away.

	The men reach the bottom of the staircase.  The over-dressed one speaks again.  His smile is slightly unnerving.  “I am Tern Lowess, master of the house,” he says, clearly holding his hand out for the party to kiss.  They look at each other.  No one really seems to want to do it.  Finally Hue runs forward, grabs the hand, and shakes it.

	Surprise registers on Tern’s face, though his smile never wavers.  His eyes strain downward to look at Hue, who comes up to about his waist, but as he doesn’t seems to be able to bend his neck while wearing his hat, it is hard for him to get a good look.  Instead he laughs.  He tries to sound good-natured, but comes off sounding nervous.

	“Now then,” Tern says, “I understand you were interested in some sort of business transaction?  Please, tell me the details.”

	The vein on Anvil’s head starts throbbing again, so Reyu steps forward.  “We are here to… purchase a slave from you.  He was… wrongfully sentenced to slavery in Dar Pykos, and we have come to buy his freedom.”

	Tern blinks a few times, still smiling.  He steps backward, half-turning his head to the functionary immediately behind him while still trying to face the party.  He whispers something to the functionary.  That functionary whispers to the one behind him, who whispers to the one at the end of the line.  He, in response, whispers back to the one in front of him, who whispers back to the one in front of _him_, who whispers back to Tern.  Tern waits for the whispered response, the smile never leaving his face.

	The functionary finishes whispering. “I am shocked, quite shocked to hear of this,” Tern says immediately.  “I assure you I had no idea whatsoever, and would never have purchased this slave if I had.”

	The party stares at Tern and his functionaries for longer than is perhaps polite.  Finally, Reyu says “We did not believe you knew anything about this, and we are all… shocked… to hear of it.  We are simply here to buy back the slave from you.”

	Tern whispers to his functionary again, smile in place as always.  The whisper passes down the line to the end, and is then transmitted back to the front.

 “Very well,” Tern says.  “And which slave might this be?”

	“His name is Dennis,” Reyu says.  “We do not know his surname.”

	Again, Tern whispers.  The party follows the message as it cascades down and back.  “Ah, yes.  Dennis.  Of course,” Tern finally says.  “Dennis works in my gardens.  He is an excellent worker.”

	“We were told that he was purchased for 100 gold.  We are prepared to offer that price for him,” Reyu says.

	Tern again whispers behind him.  The whisper travels towards the back, but it stops briefly between the second and third functionaries.  They whisper hastily to each other for a moment, before the second passes a whisper up to the first, who transmits it to Tern.  “I am afraid I cannot accept that sum,” Tern says.  “I would part with him for 500 gold.”


----------



## KidCthulhu

Why am I seeing Dom DeLuise in "History of the World"?  Treasure Bath!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Twenty-Second*
_In which: Reyu negotiates, and Anvil nearly changes the face of the Confederacy.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	The party’s jaws collectively drop.  “What?!” Thatch exclaims.

	“500 gold,” Tern repeats, without prompting.

	Anvil pipes up, clearly fighting to control his righteous anger.  “See here,” he says.  “This man was purchased as a household slave, an untrained laborer.  It is my understanding that 100 gold is the going rate for household slaves.  Do not seek to take advantage of us, or Kettenek’s Wrath shall surely be upon you.”

	A hint of anger and confusion show in Tern’s eyes and his smile kinks a notch, as he slowly steps back and whispers to his first functionary.  _He doesn’t have the slightest idea what a slave is worth_, Anvil suddenly realizes.  _These people behind him are telling him everything._

	This time the whisper only goes back to the second functionary before it returns to the front.  Tern’s smile reasserts itself.  “He *was* an untrained laborer… when he was purchased.  Now, however, he is a skilled artisan, and a far more valuable commodity.”

	 “A skilled artisan?  You said he was a gardener,” Reyu says as evenly as she can.

	“He has developed quite a green thumb since he came here,” Tern replies.  “He has a great talent for gardening.”

	Anvil bursts out “Even skilled artisans do not sell for more than 250 gold!”

Tern’s smile falters, but he whispers to his people.  Again, the whisper only goes as far as the second one before returning.  Tern reasserts himself.  “If I am to be deprived of my finest gardener,” he says, easily,  “I deserve some compensation.  He has made my gardens the envy of Dar Aego.”

“Surely there is room for… negotiation,” Reyu says, over the sound of Anvil’s heavy breathing.

“Certainly,” Tern replies.  “I am not, after all, unreasonable.”

“We cannot afford 500 gold,” Reyu says, “for there are other slaves we must also purchase.  But we could afford to double our original offer.  Shall we say 200 gold?”

“No, no,” Tern says affably.  “As I said, some compensation is in order.  But I am not unmoved by your plea.  I would be willing to drop my price to… 495 gold.”

The party gapes at him, trying to see if this is a joke.  But the earnest look on Tern’s face and the pained look of his second functionary indicate that no, it is not a joke.  This is Tern’s idea of negotiation.

“Allow me to… discuss this with my companions,” Reyu says.  Tern’s smile widens.  They take this as a blessing (on the assumption that Tern’s hat prevents him from nodding) and quickly huddle out of earshot.

“I do not think negotiating with him will be… productive,” Reyu says.

“So what do we do?” Thatch asks.

“Return to Dar Pykos, raise an army, and storm this place,” Anvil says.

“I’m pretty sure the Pledge of Confederacy forbids that,” Cyrus points out.

“Then first we’ll withdraw from the Pledge.”

“What’s with the guys behind him?” Thatch asks, aiming for a productive train of thought.

“I think they’re his advisors,” Reyu says.  “He seems… unsteady without them.”

“The first is clearly a chamberlain,” Cyrus notes.  “The last one answered all the questions about the slaves.  The second answered all the money questions.”

“The slave master and the money guy?” Thatch asks.

Cyrus shrugs.  “As good a guess as any.”

“Um.  Then the second guy is probably the one we actually need to negotiate with.”

“Sure.  But how do we do that with Tern here?” Cyrus asks.

“Easy!” Hue says.  “We ask him to leave so we can talk without him.”

“That might be considered… rude,” Reyu points out.

“Really?”

“I don’t think talking directly to Tern is gonna do it here,” Thatch says.

“I agree,” Reyu says.  “He is quite… inept.”

“Um. And Anvil might have a stroke.”

“There may be another way,” Essela says quietly.  All eyes turn to her.  “We do have professional negotiators at the Temple.  One of them, Resolute, is a member of the Caucus.”

The others take a moment to consider that idea.  “Our representative could deal directly with Tern’s representative without it seeming rude,” Cyrus muses.

“And he stands a better chance of getting a reasonable price,” Reyu adds.

“I like this plan,” Anvil comments.  “It involves us not being here.”	

The party breaks their huddle and turns back to Tern.  “We are happy to open these… negotiations,” Reyu announces.  “We shall send a representative to you to… work out the details at once.”

Tern seems slightly perplexed by that, and whispers to his chamberlain.  The chamberlain fields this one himself, whispering directly back to his lord.  Tern, now reassured, turns back to the party.  “Excellent.  My controller will receive him when he arrives.  Now, good day to you all.”  And with a last, rigor-like smile, Tern heads back up the staircase.

The party lets out a sigh of relief.  “I hope this Resolute knows what he’s doing,” Thatch says.

“Me too,” Essela replies, and the party heads back toward the Temple of Justice.

**********

	As it is late in the day, the party decides not to pursue any of the other slaves tonight.  The first thing they do upon their return to the Temple is track down Resolute the Just and ask him to negotiate with the Lowess estate on their behalf.  He agrees, and heads off immediately. 

Now the party must plan for tomorrow.  They still have no leads on Amelia’s current whereabouts.  They’ll have to wait for word from the House of Barter before they can pursue her further.  The other two slaves are outside the city, one at a plantation, one at a quarry.  As the plantation is on the way back to Dar Pykos, they decide to save that one for last. 

	“It’s about five hours to the quarry from the city by cart,” Essela says.  “We’ll need to leave early to get back before the gates close.  Getting in after dark can be… very expensive.”  There’s more than a little rancor in her voice.

	“Then hopefully, we shall hear from the House of Barter early,” Anvil responds.

	Resolute returns some hours later.  He looks exhausted.  “That man is an Aegosian among Aegosians,” he says, with little humor.

	“How did you make out,” Reyu asks.

	“250 gold.  Best I could manage.”

	There is simultaneous relief and frustration among the party.  It is a better price than they expected, but still more than they have budgeted.

	“So, if we pay that, we’ll be left with…” Reyu begins.

	“390,” Cyrus says.

	“Colin and Andrew should each cost us 100 gold,” Thatch notes.

	“Plus 250 for Amelia.  Assuming all goes smoothly,” Reyu notes.  “That’s 450 total…”

Cyrus brings up the grim truth.  “If we pay this much for Dennis, we won’t have enough for all the others.”  

_to be continued..._


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Twenty-Third*
_In which: the party considers how to better their fortunes, and Justice is served… mostly.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

Cyrus sums up the party’s dilemma.  “We need more money.”

Silence falls as the party considers their options.  “Um.  I suppose Hue could always take up al-Assal on his offer of employment,” Thatch says uncomfortably.

	“Yeah! I could!” Hue says.  “Justice demands it!” _ (DM’s Note: At this point, Bad Monkey Jeff began laughing hysterically, nearly fell out of his seat, and finally squeaked out the words “Pimp the gnome for Justice!”  It immediately became a campaign slogan.  Unfortunately, since no one knows what a gnome is in the Halmae, it doesn’t get used in-game.)_

	“Surely there is another option,” Reyu says, looking around hopefully.  

	“There are the gladiator fights,” Essela says.  “Or the chariot races.  One can always bet on those.”

	The party contemplates this option.  “I am not comfortable with the notion of making such a bet,” Anvil says.  “We stand to lose what little we have left.”

	“I could enter the gladiator fights,” Thatch says.  “I bet I’d do pretty well.”

	“Or you’d get killed,” Cyrus points out.

	“I can handle myself,” Thatch retorts.

	“There is still risk involved.  It should be saved for our last resort,” Anvil says.

	The party lapses into silence again.  Finally, Reyu asks, “How much are we short by?”

	“60 gold,” Cyrus responds.

	“We did spend 80 gold on these robes.  We won’t need them once we leave the city.  If we can recover only 60 of what we spent…”

	“…and not incur any other expenses…” Anvil adds.

	“…we should be able to afford everyone.”

	The party agrees to aim for this goal.  “Right!  So I guess we shouldn’t let our robes get dirty or anything,” Hue says.

	“That would be best,” Anvil informs him.

	Their plan in place, they agree to spend the 250 gold for Dennis. They give the money to a trustworthy acolyte, who takes it to the Lowess estate.  A short time later, the acolyte returns.  With him is a well-tanned man with thick dark hair and a moustache.  He looks about thirty yeas old and is dressed as a slave.  He scrutinizes the party with bright but skeptical eyes.  

	“You are Dennis?” Anvil asks.

	“Yeah,” the man says, in a deep, dry voice.  “They told me something about being free to go?”

	“You are,” Reyu says, kindly.

	“Huh,” Dennis says, thinking about it.  “First time I ever heard *that* at the Temple of Justice.”

	“Two down,” Thatch says.

	“390,” Cyrus notes.

	“Plus robes!” Hue adds.  “Don’t forget the robes.”

***********

	Word arrives from the House of Barter first thing in the morning.  When the Morjene estate’s assets were split up, Amelia Morren was sold to the Vojer household.  “It is not far,” Essela tells the party.

	To the party’s surprise, Lord Vojer seems a perfectly reasonable individual.  “I had no idea,” he says, after they explain the situation to him.  “Of course, she should be freed.”

	“We are prepared to compensate you for her purchase,” Anvil informs him.

	“That’s very kind.  I’ll need to replace her, if I can. It’s not easy to find slaves intelligent enough to tend a library.”  Lord Vojer claps his hands, summoning a servant, who he instructs to bring Amelia to them.  

	Anvil doles out 250 gold pieces, Amelia’s sale price.  Lord Vojer takes the money, and the transaction is complete.

	“Is that it?” Thatch asks.  “No strings?  No bribes?  No hidden costs?”

	“Apparently not,” Reyu says.

	“Three down.”

	“140,” says Cyrus.  “Plus robes.”

	They wait for Amelia to arrive.  Lord Vojer shakes his head, sadly.  “The poor girl.  It’s hard to imagine how she’s suffered.  I believe she was treated rather badly by her previous owner.”

	“Of course she was,” Reyu says.  “She was a slave.”

	“Not all slaves are treated harshly,” Lord Vojer replies.  

	“Perhaps.  But it is not a custom that I will ever… understand.”

“There are plenty of people who treat their slaves just fine.  Lady Morjene was never among them.  The family wasn’t known for its, well, charity or kindness.  She had a terrible reputation, on all fronts.  It’s fortunate Amelia wasn’t there long.”

	“What happened to her former master?” Anvil asks.

	“She was murdered.  Bludgeoned to death, rather savagely, so they say.  The gods know she must have had enough enemies.” 

	Anvil nods, satisfied.  “Then it seems that Justice was served,” he says.

	A few moments later, the servant returns with a young woman.  She is thin and pale, though she seems healthy and clean.  She does not look at anyone in the room, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor.  “You sent for me, milord?” she says, in a quiet, deferential voice, and she curtseys.

	Reyu steps forward.  “Are you Amelia Morren?”

	“Yes, ma’am” she says, curtseying again.

	“You do not need to call me ma’am,” Reyu says, kindly.  “You are a free woman again.”

	Amelia seems confused.  Her brow furrows, and her eyes dart around, but they never leave the floor to look at Reyu.  “I’m… I’m what?” she asks.

	“You are free,” Anvil says.  “You have been a victim of a terrible miscarriage of Justice, which we are here to correct as best we are able.  We will take you back to Dar Pykos with us.”

	“I’m… I’m leaving here?” she says.  There is the faintest hint of a tear in her eye.

	“Yes, you are.”

	Amelia is quiet for a moment.  Finally she says, “May I have a moment to collect my things, please?”

	The party looks around in surprise at one another.  They’d have expected a more joyous response to the news.  “Of course,” Reyu says.  Amelia curtseys again, and disappears.

	“Um,” says Thatch.  “Is she all right?”

	“I think it’ll take more than money to make things right with her,” Cyrus says.

**************

	As the group returns to the Temple of Justice, they try to engage Amelia in conversation.  She keeps her eyes to the ground, responding with quiet, noncommittal answers.  The only one who gets any real response from her is Hue.  “Hey!” he says.  “Do you remember that al-Assal guy?  He said we should tell you he was sorry he had to be so extreme!”

	Amelia’s head jerks in Hue’s direction and she actually looks him in the eye.  “He’s sorry?” she practically snarls.  “Is that supposed to mean anything?”

	“Sure,” Hue says, before anyone can stop him.  “It’s good, isn’t it?  It means he really didn’t mean it!”

	Whatever light was in Amelia’s eyes for a moment dies out.  Her eyes return to the ground.  “He meant it,” she says, quietly.  “They all mean it.”

	“He seemed really sincere,” Hue says.

	Amelia’s jaw clenches, and she suddenly turns around and lifts up the back of her shirt to reveal a latticework of old wounds from the lash of a whip.  “Then I guess this was an accident, was it?”

	Even Hue is stunned into silence.  Amelia drops her shirt again, and resumes her sullen staring at the ground.

	There is little conversation after that.


----------



## dpdx

Don't mind me; just pimping the Gnome for Justice. (Bwah!)


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Twenty-Fourth*
_In which: the party quibbles for their quarry at a quarry. (It’s quite a quandry!) 
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	The party arrives at the Temple of Justice, where they briefly debate their next course of action.  It is still early enough in the day for them to make it to the quarry and back to retrieve Andrew, the fourth of their five objectives.

	Henrik and Amelia opt to stay at the Temple while the others head off to the quarry.  Surprisingly, Dennis asks to come along.  “Andrew and I were arrested together,” he says.  “I feel a little responsible for getting him into this.”

	“You bear no responsibility,” Anvil assures him.  “You were framed by unscrupulous miscreants.  It is no fault of your own.”

	“Huh?” Dennis says.  “Oh, no.  We weren’t framed.  We did it.”

	There are several stares at that.  “You did it?” Reyu says.

	“But the records showed you said you were innocent,” Thatch protests.

	“Well, duh,” Dennis responds.  “What would you have said?”

	“So you really did assault Ess Missola?” Anvil asks.  “Why?”

	“We were hired to,” Dennis says.  “Andrew and I used to work together a lot.  I was kinda the brains, he was kinda the not-brains.  Anyway, this guy paid us five gold each to wait outside the compound and beat the crap outta the kid.  He didn’t mention all the guards inside the estate.  He kinda left that as a surprise.”

	“Tell me,” Anvil says, suspiciously, “do you recall the name of the man who hired you to perform this assault?”

	“Yeah,” Dennis says, thinking.  “His name was… uh… Regger.  That’s it.  He called himself Regger.”

	There is a collective shaking of heads from the party.  Regger is no doubt another pseudonym of the man called Remmer or Reller, the same scarred man that set Thatch and Reyu up.

	“Hey,” Hue suddenly pipes up.  “If you really did attack Ess, doesn’t that mean that you really deserve to be sentenced to slavery?”

	Dennis looks aghast at the notion.  Anvil considers it for a moment, but says, “I do not think that is necessary.  You had no intent to commit this crime before you were set up.”

	“Damn straight,” Dennis agrees.

	“Though your past does appear to be somewhat checkered,” Anvil reminds him.

	Dennis puts a hand on his chest.  “Justicar, I’ve been  here, enslaved for months now. Believe me when I say that I’ve seen the error of my ways, and I have no intention of ever doing anything that lands me at your Temple again.”  He looks honestly repentant.  Anvil nods, satisfied that this sinner has had a true change of heart.  Dennis smiles wryly.  “Besides,” he says, “I was thinking of setting up shop as a gardener.  Turns out I’m pretty good at it.”

*************

	It is five hot hours of travel over dusty roads to the marble quarry.  Reyu, Anvil, Hue, Dennis, and Essela all ride in the cart.  Thatch rides Bob.  Cyrus rides his own horse.

	They catch a first sight of the quarry as they crest a rise.  It looks as if someone has taken a bite out of the earth, exposing the rocky innards for all to see.  Huge scaffolds with complicated pulley systems haul rock up the sides.  Tiny people can be seen moving all about the rock face,  some clearly working, others clearly guarding them.

	The party draws closer.  As they near the edge of the quarry, they are approached by six guards.  Each has a crossbow drawn and loaded, though they do not point them at the party.  One of the guards steps forward.  He is a rough man, short and stocky, with a stubbly beard.  “What’s all this?” he asks.

	Anvil rises.  “One of your slaves has been wrongfully sentenced to this fate.  We are here to buy him from bondage.”

	The lead guard grins, throwing a glance at his followers.  “Yeah?  Let’s see your money.  We don’t much like armed parties trespassing all the way out here.”

	Anvil reaches into his pouch and produces a handful of coins.  “Our purpose here is sincere, goodman…?”

	“Reyes,” the lead guard says, with an ugly grin.  He looks at the money, then back up at Anvil.  “I’m afraid we don’t handle these sorts of things out here.  Business office is more for that.”

	“Then will you direct us to the business office?”

	“Tell you what,” Reyes says.  “For a slight handling fee, I’ll take care of the entire transaction myself.”

	Anvil sighs.  More bribes were probably inevitable.  “Would a handling fee of five gold pieces be acceptable?” he offers.

	“See, here’s what I was thinkin’,” Reyes responds.  “I was thinkin’ you hand over all the gold you’ve got, then you get the hell out of here before we prosecute you for trespassing.”  He and his fellows laugh.

	Anvil is about to respond harshly, but he suddenly notices that the guards aren’t holding their crossbows quite as casually as they had been a minute ago.  Reyu taps him on the knee and nods towards one of the scaffolds, where another pair of guards now has their crossbows at the ready.  

	Very carefully, Anvil says, “That deal is unacceptable.  We are here on Temple business, and have no quarrel with you.”

	“Good,” Reyes says.  “Then you’ll hand over the gold and be on your way.”

	Anvil racks his brain for a peaceful way out, as crossbows begin to train on the party.  He can feel everyone else tensing up around him, ready to respond to any aggression.

	“What’s it gonna be?” Reyes asks, taking a half-step forward.

	The instant he moves, Thatch goes for his greatsword.

	And the instant Thatch moves, two crossbow bolts fly towards him from the guards at the scaffold.  Both strike him, one plunging deep.  Thatch falls off of Bob, bleeding profusely.  The party’s front-line fighter has dropped before combat has even begun.  

_to be continued…

*****************

(DM’s Note: I really didn’t mean to roll two hits, one of them a crit, on those guards’ readied action.  And then I *really* didn’t mean to roll 21 points of damage on my 3d8. On the plus side, if it had been anyone but Thatch, it would have killed them right out, so I suppose it could have been worse.)_


----------



## dpdx

I'd imagine that merits a little skull-cracking for Justice, no?


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> I'd imagine that merits a little skull-cracking for Justice, no?




Well, it certainly merited a lot of sweat from the DM.  I'd been counting on Thatch to drop these guys at roughly the rate of two per round.  I was not looking forward to a TPK on the second adventure.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Twenty-Fifth*
_In which: Dennis borrows a blade, Essela doesn’t, and the Ferret sees some action. 
(DM’s Note: *I* wanted to start this with “In which: The party quells the quarrel for their quarry at the quarry,” but spyscribe quashed that quip.)
(Editor’s Note:  )
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	“Get down!” Reyu shouts, and ducks for cover on the cart as the rest of the guards open fire.  The others on the cart duck as well, just as a hail of crossbow bolts fly towards them.  More bolts strike the cart than the party, who take advantage of the cover to draw their weapons.

	Cyrus slides off his horse and stays near the cart, defending its flank.  Reyu’s longbow sings as she returns fire at the enemy.  “Anvil!  Can you get to Thatch?” she calls out.

	“I’ll try!” Anvil responds.

	“Hey.  Do you have a knife?” Dennis asks Reyu urgently, as another hail of bolts flies at the cart.

	“A what?” Reyu asks.

	“A knife,” Dennis repeats.

	“On my belt,” Reyu answers, reloading.

	Without asking permission, Dennis grabs the knife from her belt.  He flips it around in his hand and, in one fluid motion, hurls it at an oblivious guard.  It strikes him solidly in the arm.  The guard screams, dropping his crossbow, and looks around for his assailant. His eyes fall on Dennis. “Heh,” Dennis says, nervously.  “Do you have another knife?”

	The guards have largely dispensed with the crossbows by now, and have pulled their swords.  Essela heaves herself over the side of the cart, taking a fighting stance next to Cyrus.  “Need a sword?” he asks her.  She shakes her head in reply as two guards rush them.  Essela moves like a blur, deftly dodging sword strikes.  Her opponent is not so deft, and her hands and feet connect solidly with his face.  Cyrus takes him down with a powerful blow, and continues his attack into the next guard.

	Anvil, mindful of Thatch’s critical state, watches Hue’s _magic missile_ find its mark on Reyes, who grunts with the impact. _This must be ended before it goes too far_, Anvil thinks, and he points his finger at Reyes.  The power of Kettenek surges through him.  “Surrender!” Anvil _commands_.  

	Reyes, to his own surprise, throws his sword to the ground and puts his hands in the air.  “Surrender, boys!  Give it up!” he encourages the others.  A few look startled and hesitate, but most are unable to hear him over the din of combat.

	“Damn,” Anvil mutters, and jumps off the cart to run to Thatch. Another crossbow bolt, from the guards at the scaffold, scores Anvil across the cheek.  _Someone should do something about them_, he thinks, as he reaches Thatch’s side.  

Meanwhile, another bolt from the scaffold strikes the cart, passing mere inches before the face of the mule.  The mule, already unnerved by the fighting around him, now fully panics.  He rears up as best he can and starts to run forward.  “What the--?” Cyrus says, as the cart he is defending rolls out from behind him.

	Reyu, Dennis, and Hue are caught by surprise as the mule runs off with them.  Reyu realizes the terrified animal is heading straight for the edge of the quarry.  _Have to stop the mule!_ she thinks, and scrambles over to grab the abandoned reins.  She pulls up on them as hard as she can.  The mule stops.  “There, there,” she mutters to it in Sylvan, knowing it can’t understand but hoping the woodland tongue will calm the creature more than Common or Elven.  “It’s all right.”

	Anvil, about to heal Thatch, is momentarily distracted by the moving cart.  He fails to notice the guard coming towards him, who strikes him solidly across the gut.  Anvil’s prayer of healing becomes a grunt of pain, and the Justicar collapses into unconsciousness.

	Fortunately, Hue notices Anvil’s collapse.  “Reyu!” he calls, pointing at their fallen comrades.  

Reyu glances over at Anvil and Thatch, lying side by side.  She swears in Elven.  “Hold these,” she orders Dennis, and passes him the reins.  Gripping her spear, she dashes towards  Anvil and Thatch.

Dennis stares at the reins in his hand.  “Sure,” he says, nervously.  “Why not?” 

Next to Dennis, Hue begins to cast.  As he finishes, the Ferret jumps off Hue’s shoulder and charges into the fray.  He leaps onto the leg of one of the guards and bites at his knee.  Crackles of electricity suddenly burst from the Ferret, sending the guard into convulsions.  The guard drops.

	Reyu charges across the field of battle towards Thatch and Anvil, but her movement is suddenly cut off by Reyes. Anvil’s _command_ seems to have worn off. Reyes twirls his sword menacingly at Reyu.  “Going somewh--”

But the rest of his words are cut off as Essela flings herself at him.  “Go!” she calls to Reyu.  “I’ll handle him.”  Reyu retreats towards Anvil and Thatch, as Essela takes Reyes on.  

Essela’s feet move like lightning in a deadly series of kicks, but somehow Reyes manages to evade each one.  Essela moves in closer, throwing a flurry of punches at Reyes’ face.  Despite her speed and fury, Reyes blocks or dodges every blow.  Essela growls in disgust.  

_(DM’s Note: Poor, poor Essela.  It was her player’s first D&D combat, and she must have just missed Reyes’s AC by 1 three or four times.  We all felt awful.  On the other hand, she did at least keep him occupied.)_

	Reyu dives towards Anvil’s prone body.  _I’ve only got one _cure_ spell, so I’ll have to heal Anvil first_, she thinks, and she speaks Elven words to invoke healing spirits.  A warm blue glow spreads over Anvil’s body, and he sits up, shaking his groggy head.  “Ugh,” he says, as he reaches towards Thatch, and begins chanting a healing prayer to Kettenek.

Meanwhile, Cyrus dispatches his foe with a mighty cry, and runs to Essela’s aid.  He takes up position behind Reyes, forcing the guard to split his attention.  _That’ll do it_, Essela thinks, and launches yet another attack.  Cyrus’s flanking effort proves effective, and Essela connects solidly with her opponent.  He staggers, but does not drop, and retaliates with a brutal strike of his own.

	Dennis surveys the fight.  It’s not going well.  Two guards are down, but most of the party is wounded, and Thatch and Anvil are still unsteady on their feet.  The two guards on the scaffold are completely untouched and reloading their crossbows yet again.  _Someone should*really* do something about them_, Dennis thinks, as he struggles to control the mule.  

	And suddenly, before his eyes, the two guards drop, brained from behind by a pair of slaves.

	“Uh-oh,” Dennis says.

	Five slaves come charging over the ridge, taking advantage of the guards’ distraction to attempt escape.  They carry picks and hammers, and they don’t seem to care who they attack.  The battle-lines dissolve rapidly as the guards find themselves attacked on two fronts.  Several drop as the slaves plow through them.

	Two slaves reach the cart.  “In here!” one shouts, as he raises his pick to strike Dennis with it…

	…and he suddenly drops, a crossbow bolt right through his throat.

	“NO ONE MOVES!!” a female voice shouts from behind.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Twenty-Sixth*
_In which: Hue speaks, and surprisingly, no one tries to shut him up.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	The party freezes, then carefully turn their heads to look.  A group of fifteen more guards has come upon the fight.  All have crossbows trained at various combatants: slaves, party, and the guards as well.  One by one, everyone throws down their weapons.

	The leader of the guards steps forward, shouldering her crossbow, as the rest of her people gather weapons.  “Would somebody like to tell me just what in the gods’ names is going on?”  She looks back and forth between the obvious authority figures, Reyes and Anvil, waiting for a response.

	Reyes speaks first.  “Slave revolt!” he gasps out.  “These trespassers here were a part of it.  They showed up, a bunch of slaves tried to make a break for it.  It’s some kind of plot.  My boys and I were just trying to stop it.”

	The woman looks at the party with disgust in her eyes.  “Slave stealers, eh?” she says, and her guards close in on the party.  “Know what we do to slave stealers around here?”

	Anvil’s mind is racing.  He knows that he and his companions are all thinking the same thing: if we get arrested here, we’ll be sentenced to slavery, and we can’t buy ourselves out.  He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can Hue pipes up.

	“That’s not true!” Hue says.  “We weren’t here to steal slaves!  We were just here to buy one.  But then this guy started trying to take our money, and threatened to attack us if we didn’t give it to him.”

	To everyone’s surprise, the female guard suddenly motions for her guards to stop “He did what?” she asks, and she turns an appraising eye on Reyes. At a gesture, her guards suddenly begin to close on the other guards.

_Unbelievable_, Anvil thinks.  _She believes him._

	“Absolutely,” Hue continues.  “And then, um, after he threatened us, he said *he* was going to free a bunch of slaves and blame us for it, so we’d be convicted as slave stealers.  So *he* freed them, not us!”

_That’s right_, Anvil thinks.  _That’s exactly what he… no, wait.  That’s not what happened at all!_  Somehow, Hue’s story is so convincing that Anvil almost believes it.  Even Reyes seems confused about what happened.

	 The female guard, however, has no confusion at all.  “I might’ve known,” she says, glaring at Reyes.  “I’ve always said you were a greedy, good for nothing waste of space.  Let’s see how some time *inside* the quarry suits you.”

	At a gesture from her, her guards surround the protesting Reyes and his followers and march them off.  She approaches the party, quite contrite.  “I’m very sorry that had to happen.  Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

	“Actually, yeah!” Hue says.  “We’re here to buy a slave…”

	Hue explains the situation.  The guard, whose name is Ellon, is only too happy to escort them to the business office, where they can make the necessary arrangements.  She is even willing to grease the wheels for free, as an apology for Reyes’s behavior.

	“What have you done?” Anvil whispers to Hue as they walk to the business office.  “What made her believe you?  Have you somehow bewitched all our minds?”

	“Nope!” says Hue.  “I just drank this!”  He holds up one of the two potion vials he stole from Count Missola’s study.  “It was a _potion of glibness_.  It makes a person really really convincing.”

	“Indeed,” Anvil agrees.  “Where did you come by such a thing?”

	Hue looks away from Anvil, guiltily.  “Oh, you know,” he stammers.  “People find things sometimes.”

	“Indeed,” Anvil agrees, and decides that perhaps this time, Justice does not demand further questions...

*************

	With Ellon’s help, the party quickly navigates the bureaucracy of the business office.  Papers are signed, and guards are sent to fetch Andrew.  He turns out to be quite a large fellow, as tall as Thatch but much wider.  “Hey Dennis,” he says, upon recognizing his former partner.

	“Heya, kid,” Dennis says.  “Wanna go home?”

	“Four down,” says Thatch.

	“40,” Cyrus notes, grimly.

	“Plus robes!” Hue reminds him.

	“Not anymore,” Cyrus says, and suddenly everyone realizes that the robes they had been hoping to sell back have been horribly torn and bloodied by the fight.

	“Now what?” Reyu asks.

	“Oh, that?  That’s no problem,” Hue pipes up.  “I can clean those up in a jiffy!”  And, casting _prestidigitation_, Hue cleans his robes before their eyes.

	“What about the rips?” Cyrus asks.

	“The power of Kettenek can mend garments,” Anvil says, completely serious.  Various people try not to laugh.  “There will be people at the Temple who can repair them as if nothing had ever happened.”

	And so, with Andrew in tow, they pry the remaining crossbow bolts out of their cart and head back to Dar Aego.

***********

	They reach the city just as the sun is setting.  At the party’s request, Essela has set them up with work papers, which allow them to enter the city through the back gate without having to pay a bribe.  They return to the Temple, where they remove their Aegosian robes and once again don their normal clothing.  Acolytes use _mending_ spells to repair the tears.  The stains are more difficult to deal with, but Hue promises to learn more _prestidigitations_ tomorrow.  

	At first light, Hue begins studying his spellbook.  Amelia watches from a corner, almost enviously.  “I haven’t had a spellbook since I came here,” she finally explains when Reyu presses her on it.  “They wouldn’t let me have one.”

	“You’re welcome to borrow mine some time,” Hue offers, though the Ferret seems less sanguine about the prospect.

	Reyu watches concerned as Amelia leaves the room.  She has been trying to reach out to the poor girl, but Amelia keeps turning away.  Reyu shakes her head, unable to believe humans could treat a child in this way.

	Hue is quickly able to clean the garments.  They look completely new.  Essela volunteers to take them to be resold.  She returns with 70 gold.  “I convinced the merchant they had never been worn.  And that it was in his best interest to be owed a favor by the Temple of Justice,” she says.

	“110,” Cyrus says.  “We may pull this off yet.”


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Very Twenty-Seventh*
_In which: we return to the beginning... in a manner of speaking.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

	Everyone makes their preparations to leave.  Good-byes are made to Immobile and Essela, supplies are replenished, and Henrik, Amelia, Dennis, and Andrew all take seats in the cart.

	Before they go, Immobile quietly draws Anvil aside.  “I don’t mean to alarm you, but something happened last night you should know about.”

	“Indeed?”

	“There was a break-in at the Vojer estate last night.  Lord Vojer, the one you purchased Amelia from?  He was murdered.”

	Anvil considers that, very quietly.  “How?” 

	“Beaten to death, rather violently.  I’ve taken steps to ensure that this case falls on my desk, but I thought you’d like the warning.”

	“Is there any reason to think the girl is involved?” Anvil asks.

	Immobile shrugs.  “It doesn’t seem likely.  She was here all night, and she hardly seems capable of beating a full-grown man to death.  Still, it’s unsettlingly similar to what happened to her last master.  It might be a coincidence, but… I don’t know.  If you want to get her out of the city, you’d better go soon.  People are going to demand Justice, and they might not care if it’s truly just.”

	“Very well,” Anvil says.  “Thank you, my friend.  If you are ever in Dar Pykos, consider me at your disposal.  I hope you have success with Kettenek’s work here.  May His Justice be upon you.”

	“And you, Anvil.  And you.”

	Anvil turns to rejoin the others, when Immobile suddenly snaps his fingers.  “I almost forgot.  There’s one more thing.  You received a message from the House of al-Assal last night.  He asked you to stop by before you leave.”

	Anvil’s nose wrinkles reflexively at the mention of al-Assal.  “Did he say why?”

	“No.  He just said it was important.”

	For a moment, Anvil debates not bothering to respond.  But then he shrugs.  “Very well.  We shall stop by on our way out of town…”

**************

"And the rest," Reyu finishes, "you already know." 

	Lira nods, slowly, as she licks her spoon clean.  Mrs. Blackburn clears away the remains of their brunch.  “Wow,” Lira says.  “That’s quite a story.”  She pauses for a moment.  “So, you want to go get some dessert?”

End Interlude


----------



## spyscribe

On March 21st of this year, I posted the following missive:



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> Let it not be said that our intrepid DM cannot take a hint.
> 
> Since this thread started, Fajitas has been picking the brains of Wisdom Like Silence, Bad Monkey Jeff, and Thatch's player in order to assemble the first part of the chronicle.  Or, as some of us refer to it, the campaign B.L.
> 
> (Let it also not be said that I am the only compulsive person at our table.)
> 
> So gentle readers, do not despair!
> 
> Coming soon are tales which will shed light on such nagging questions as:
> 
> "Why do the PC's hate Dar Aego with such a burning passion?"
> "How did this motley group come to travel together in the first place?"
> "What does a bear trap have to do with anything?"
> 
> ...and many more, to be shortly followed by the chronological continuation of the narrative.




Well, this has turned out to be a rather loose interpretation of the word "shortly."

So, just in case anyone needs a refresher on the beginning of the thread: 

Part the First 
In which: the party grows ever larger

Part the Second 
In which: Kettenek’s justice in Dar Aego is completed (well, a little bit of it anyway), and the party is somewhat poorer for it.

and

Part the Third 
In which: Elven curiosity is satisfied, but other mysteries are left unsolved.

_And now..._


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Fourth: *
_In which: we begin a new mission_

It’s been three weeks since the adventurers returned to Dar Pykos.  The freed slaves have settled into some semblance of their normal lives.  Reyu has told Lira the story of the party’s adventures which led them to find her in Dar Aego.  Anvil still rises each morning and thinks about capital-J Justice.

Lira prefers to rise in the morning and think about not discharging _rays of frost_ on random members of the populace.  With everyone else in the Questor chapter house up to greet the dawn and the new challenges that Ehkt brings, Lira has found that if she sleeps in, no one bothers her as she sits on her mat doing her focusing exercises.  

Although many sorcerers are Questors, not all Questors approve of arcane magic, and Lira, with 10 gold in her pocket, would rather not loose the free bed she has found that does not come with any proselytizers.

Today, she opens her eyes… and finds Devon staring down at her.  

Lira cranes her neck to look up at him from her position sitting on her pallet.  “Good morning.”

Devon starts to speak, pauses, starts again, finally, he blurts out, “Have you done anything illegal?”

“Umm… I don’t think so.”

Devon lets out a long breath.  “There’s an acolyte of the Justicars here looking for you.”

“What does he want?”

“He’s been charged with bringing you back to his temple.”

Lira casts about for an explanation for this turn of events.  She’s almost positive she hasn’t done anything in the city to get herself arrested, but then again, neither did Reyu and Thatch.  “Did he say who sent him?” she asks finally.

Devon tries to remember.  Justicar names all start to run together for him.  “Hammer?… Forge?”

“Anvil?” Lira suggests.

“Anvil.  That’s it.”  Devon confirms.  He gives her an odd look.  “Is this someone you know?”

Lira lets out a sigh of relief.  “He was one of the ones who escorted me here from Dar Aego.  I guess I should see what he wants.”

“You think a challenge awaits?”

Lira laughs.  “Almost certainly.”  _If nothing else, trying not to snicker when he suggests I become an acolyte._

**************

Lira is ushered (straight-faced) into a small anteroom where Anvil, Reyu, Thatch and Dennis are already waiting.  Anvil explains that he has gathered them for a meeting with Tenacious, who has another mission for them.  They are only waiting for Hue, but soon the acolyte sent to the great library to fetch him returns empty-handed.

	The acolyte is quite apologetic.  “I’m sorry, Justicar, I could not find him.”

	“Did you check the reference section?” Anvil demands.

	“Well… ah… not specifically, but the librarians said they hadn’t seen him for several weeks.”

	“Perhaps, he has returned to the field to continue his… research,” Reyu suggests.

	“Or decided to take al-Assal up on his offer,” adds Thatch.

	In any event, the group decides that Hue will show up when he wants to and that they had best not keep Tenacious waiting any longer.

_(Note: it’s not that we don’t like Hue, it’s just that his player had been called away on short notice to Abu Dhabi for at least three months, so we knew we weren’t going to find him even if we went looking.  This did not stop our DM from grousing about our meta-gaming for months afterwards.  However, that would come back to haunt him.)_

	Tenacious is not long on details when he meets the party.  “A professor Alexandra at the Mage’s Academy has asked for our help in a matter of contract enforcement.  Not that I approve of the arcane arts or those that meddle with them, but the Caucus needs all the friends it can find.”  If Tenacious notices Lira turning slightly red, he doesn’t pause for it.  “This professor has made arrangements to buy a diamond from a dwarf and he now refuses to sell.”

	“Why?” The party wants to know.

	“You’ll have to ask her.  You’ll find her in the Artificy building at the Mage’s Academy.”


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> (Note: it’s not that we don’t like Hue, it’s just that his player had been called away on short notice to Abu Dhabi for at least three months, so we knew we weren’t going to find him even if we went looking.  This did not stop our DM from grousing about our meta-gaming for months afterwards.  However, that would come back to haunt him.)




>sigh<  

So, out of the blue, I had about 15 minutes to figure out why Hue had vanished, 'cause I thought that even tho' the *players* knew he wouldn't be there, the *characters* would need a reason not to look for him, roleplayers that they are.  So I worked feverishly and came up with an explanation, and a rather entertaining one at that.

And then they didn't bother.  "Oh, okay, can't find him, well, let's go without him.  See ya."

>sigh<

At any rate, my work here is finished.  Spyscribe's got the reins again, as she mentioned.  I'll still be here for Sidebars and snarking, but from here out, the text is hers.

Guess I'll go work on the next session or something.


----------



## KidCthulhu

D'arrr.  It be a fine thing when a Master has a scurvy crewman to write the tales o their adventures, b'like.  Then the Master can drink o the grog and chase the wenches, while the mates do the scrubbin' o the decks.

Happy Talk Like Pirate Day to ye!


----------



## Fajitas

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> D'arrr.  It be a fine thing when a Master has a scurvy crewman to write the tales o their adventures, b'like.




If ye be callin' a fair lass like spyscribe "scurvy," ye'd best hold yer tongue, else I'll slit it from yer gullet and hold it for ye, don'cha know?   

(>sigh< One of these days, I'm really going to run that Pirates of the Halmae side-campaign I've been dreaming of...)


----------



## Piratecat

If you do so, invite me, eh?


----------



## spyscribe

*Sidebar IV*

_Detecting a bit of anti-arcane sentiment creeping into our tale?  Do you suspect that perhaps Lira is just a touch paranoid?  Wonder no longer as we bring you:_

*Sidebar: Arcane Magic in the Halmae*

	Divine magic has always been a part of life in the Halmae. In the beginning, it is said divine forces shaped the world. To this day, devout worshippers of the gods invoke their blessings. 

	But recently, a new power has been felt...

History of Arcane Magic

	About 250 years ago, the first sorcerers were born on the Darine peninsula. Their powers were notably different from those of the clergy, and many thought them unholy. Sorcerers were shunned and feared, often lynched or stoned by their neighbors. 

Slowly, sages and clerics began to realize that these people were not cursed, but were tapping into some new energy.  About 100 years ago, scholars began to study it, and the first wizards were born.  Now, both exist: wizards, probing the possibilities of arcane power in private study, and sorcerers, born randomly throughout the world. 

Arcane Magic and Society

	No one knows where arcane magic comes from, though there are more than a couple of theories floating around. Some say it has always been a part of the world, but only recently understood and recorded. Others say it represents some kind of fundamental change in the world order.

	Regardless, arcane magic occupies a controversial place in society.  There are many opposing views. Some people see it as unholy, falling out of the direct purview of the gods.  Others see it as another part of the gods’ plan.  After all, if it truly defied them, why would they allow it to exist?  Some consider it dangerous.  Others accept its new, “modern” conveniences.

The view of magic within the Churches is also varied, though it tends towards the negative in most places.  In addition to the ideological threat arcane magic presents, there is also a growing political threat.  Wizards and sorcerers are coming to occupy roles in society that have traditionally been occupied by clergy.  As arcane power grows, the Churches’ power may well diminish.

Naturally, arcanists tend to have a different view of their abilities. Some consider themselves blessed.  Some feel they are indeed cursed, and hate themselves as much as others do.  Lira is not the only sorcerer who sees her talents as having a divine source, in her case a challenge from Ehkt.  As she has been known to quip, “I tried believing I was an unholy freak of nature for a while, but it wasn’t really working out for me.” 

Dar Pykos, as in all things, tends to have a rather liberal view of arcane magic.  Renowned as a center of learning, Dar Pykos is home to the only mage’s academy in the Confederacy, quite possibly the only one in the world.

Limitations of Arcane Magic

	Arcane magic is still an experimental force in the Halmae.  There are very few high level wizards known to exist.  The Chancellor of the Mages Academy himself is only roughly eleventh level, and most of the professors only ninth.  

Fifth level arcane spells are becoming more and more common, though very few sixth level spells have even been researched.  Seventh level spells are still, as far as anyone knows, purely theoretical.

Arcane magic has other limitations in the Halmae.  For example, the basic elements, fire, earth, air, and water, fall clearly under the domain of the gods.  It is not possible to create them using arcane magic; these elements can be manipulated or transported, but not created from nothing.   _(Yep, that’s right.  No _fireball_ or _burning hands_ in the Halmae.  _Freezing hands_ or _lightning hands_ are the usual form)_.


----------



## Fajitas

Piratecat said:
			
		

> If you do so, invite me, eh?




Tell you what: you get yourself out here, and I'll get off m'butt and run it.


----------



## porthos

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Sidebar: Arcane Magic in the Halmae*




Great stuff! Fajitas, I really enjoy the world you've crafted. It's different enough to stand out, but not so far from the "norm" that it seems different for the sake of being different. It's obvious you've thought through a lot of the details to create a fully fleshed out world. Kudos.

Oh, and great storytelling, spyscribe! I enjoy your pacing and the way you reveal things.


----------



## dpdx

So... okay. I've figured out the order now. I'm ready.


----------



## spyscribe

_(Hey Porthos, glad you're enjoying the story.  We think Fajitas' world is pretty neat too. 

dpdx: get set, because here comes...)_

*Part the Fifth: *
_In which: A diamond is a Wizard’s best friend._

	The Mages Academy  is an inconspicuous set of buildings right in the heart of Dar Pykos.  It covers roughly four city blocks, but where the streets should be is instead a large grass quad.  If you didn’t know where you were, you could walk straight onto the campus of the only school for the arcane arts in the Confederacy, thinking only that you had walked into some kind of civic park.

	The main buildings are in varying styles, mostly stone. Students practice their spell-casting in the quad, with professors standing by to contain any mishaps.  The party pauses to watch as one young wizard manages to cause his own right leg to grow to disproportionate size.  Anvil shakes his head and mutters something about safety.  Reyu is somewhat surprised to hear Lira wonder under her breath, “Why do people study this stuff?”

	“Not everyone is fortunate enough to have your gift,” the Elf points out.

	Lira gives a ladylike snort.  “Not everyone would call it a gift.”

	 A few polite questions lead the group to Professor Alexandra’s workshop in the School of Artificy.  The Professor is a middle-aged woman whose face is lined more from worry than age.  Her hair is up in a no-nonsense bun, from which several stray wisps have escaped.  At the moment, she is in the middle of a lesson to a group of first-year students, among them, Amelia.  

	The party catches her eye as they enter the room.  “Yes, what is it?” she hisses.  “Can’t you see I’m the middle of a lesson?”

	Anvil takes charge.  “We were sent by Tenacious the Just, from the Temple of Justice. He said that—"

	But the moment Anvil mentions Tenacious’s name, Professor Alexandra’s demeanor changes.  “Yes! Yes, of course. I’m so sorry.  Please, please come in.”  She sets the students to work on their own and takes the group to a corner to explain her situation.

	The Professor had made arrangement to buy a large diamond from Gurn Stoneshaper, a dwarven miner, at a price of 1,500 GP.  The contract had been made and signed, but when she sent payment, the dwarf simply sent her money back with no explanation.  She sent him 2,000 gold pieces next and the money was duly returned along with a flat refusal to sell, although without any reason.

	“Well, if the money has been returned, what do you want us to do?” asks Anvil.

	“I want the diamond,” explains Professor Alexandra.  “It’s crucial for my research.  I’ve theorized that gemstones, particularly valuable diamonds, may have great potential as foci or components for powerful arcane spells.  I’ve had encouraging results from smaller stones, but I’m at a dead end unless I get a larger one.  Besides, we had an agreement.  There’s no reason why he shouldn’t sell to me.”

	Although dubious that they will be particularly persuasive, the party agrees to go to the Dwarven mines near Dar Und and make Gurn Stoneshaper another offer.  She gives them 1500 gold, the agreed upon price.  The Professor has one other request.  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I’d like to send my own agent as well, who can speak for me in negotiations.”  No one in the party voices any objections, so she motions for her assistant, Edmund, to join them.

He’s a third-year student, about 18.  A pair of spectacles perch on the far end of his nose, and he looks at the party over them, not through them.  He wears the plain robes of a Mage’s Academy student, which are slightly too short for his gangly arms and legs, and he carries a bulging portfolio of vellum of various types and sizes and a specially designed case for quills and ink.  

 “Edmund, these are the people I spoke to you about.  I’d like you to go with them to speak to the Dwarves.”

“Absolutely, Professor,” he responds, in clipped upper-class tones.  “You can count on me.  I won’t let you down, rest assured.  With this stout looking group at my back, I shall not return without that diamond.”

He turns dramatically and starts for the door.  “Very well then, let’s be off.” 

He stops when he realizes the party is not following him.  Edmund smiles at them condescendingly, as if he hadn’t quite made himself clear.  “I said, we should probably be off.  It is a long journey, lots to do, miles to go, hmmm?”

The party stares at him with a mixture of dislike and disbelief.  His smile falters under the weight of their stares.  “Well… it is, isn’t it?” he stammers.

Rather than answer, the members of the party find excuses to spend a few minutes getting final details from Professor Alexandra and making their good-byes. 

Once back on the street Edmund takes the lead again, heading directly for the city gates.  “Right. Well, now we’re off then. Good to be on the road, isn’t it?  Not that I’ve traveled much before, but I have read extensively on the subject, and from all I’ve learned…” He trails off when he notices the party is heading in the opposite direction.

“What now?”

Anvil fixes the young mage with a steely look.  “You assume an attitude of authority.  It is unwarranted.”  With that, he begins walking towards the Temple.

Edmund blinks in shock.  “I-I don’t understand.  You are all in the employ of Professor Alexandra, and I’m her assistant.   She has given you your orders.  I-I don’t understand the reason for the delay.”

Reyu takes pity on the young human, just a baby after all.  “We need to collect our things for the journey.  Cloaks, food, bedrolls.  Surely you have preparations to make as well?”

Edmund is even more taken aback.  “I… I assumed that had been taken care of.  I mean, you’re here to provide those things, aren’t you?”

“I’m sure we can… manage,” Reyu assures him.  When one has already seen more than 100 winters pass, patience is easier to come by than for the younger races.

The party scatters to collect their things from their various lodgings.  

******

Reyu finishes her packing quickly and goes to find Anvil.  He is attempting to requisition a crossbow for the journey.  Perhaps remembering that this is the same Justicar who returned from his last trip light by one cart and a good mule, the Quartermaster is somewhat grudging as he hands over the weapon.

“Don’t loose it,” he warns Anvil.  “It’s our only one.”

Reyu quirks an eyebrow.  “Your only one?”

Anvil sighs and shakes his head.  “Somehow, we wound up with 800 bolts and one crossbow.  Don’t ask me how that happened.”

******

Delays and Edmund’s impatience aside, the party gets on their way by midday.  Thatch leads the party astride Bob who seems pleased to be out of the city stables and on the road again.  Dennis follows beside on foot, often pointing out landmarks and potential sites for ambush to the young fighter as they go.  Anvil also walks, his contemplation of Justice only interrupted by the unconscious grinding of his teeth as Edmund prattles on in the background about what an honor it was to be chosen from this assignment, and how he was the obvious choice because of all his arcane academic accomplishments.

Lira, riding beside him in the cart that Reyu drives, bears the brunt of Edmund’s discourse.  With nothing of interest on the road she had been passing the time reading Edmund’s notes over his shoulder.  As far as she can tell he is in the midst of composing an elaborate and long-winded treatise that boils down to the fact that lamb and kid vellum are equally good for making scrolls.  Then, Edmund notices her reading.

“I can explain to you what this is all about if you like. It is rather complicated and technical.”

“No, I think I’ve got it.”  Lira flashes Edmund a quick smile, and the young mage is temporarily left speechless.  People do not often smile at Edmund.  People like Lira, even more seldom.

“Are-are you sure? As I said, it is quite complicated for the layman. There’s no shame, of course, in not being able to--”

Lira shrugs.  “I do have some magical background.”

Edmund’s eyes go wide with excitement.  “Really?  I never thought to meet an esteemed colleague on this journey.  With whom do you study?”

Lira is almost positive she sees Reyu hide a smile.  “Well… I don’t study as such.  I was born to it.”

Edmund’s excitement drains away.  “Oh.  You’re one of _them_.  Er, not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he says, rapidly backpedaling.  “I mean, you do things your way; we do them ours.  There’s nothing wrong with that, however simple your ways might be.  There’s something primal and visceral about it, that inelegant, primitive force.  And sorcery was a vital first step to the development of the more advanced arcane arts…”  Now on a roll, Edmund happily keeps himself going the rest of the afternoon.  Lira takes small comfort that if she has to listen to him talk her ear off, at least he drives Anvil to tooth-grinding distraction as well.

As the party approaches Dar Und, the quality of the road deteriorates, and most of the farms they pass along the way have been razed.

	The party spends the night sleeping in the barn of one such farm hosted by the farmer, Toroth, and his family.  Initially wary of the group, when Toroth sees they have a Justicar with them, he invites the party to stay and tells them of the bandits that have been troubling the area.  Anvil promises him that the party will, “Smite them all.”  Meanwhile, Reyu is fascinated by her first exposure to human children, and the children are equally fascinated to see their first real, live Elf. 

	As they leave the next day, Thatch looks out over the burned and broken fields and is reminded of why he didn’t stay home to be a farmer.  Bob doesn’t seem to be missing his former life as a plow-horse either.

	By mid-morning, Lira has gotten tired of listening to Edmund expound on the virtues of this vellum over that one and tries to get some better conversation out of her weasel.

	“Oh!” Edmund exclaims, “You have a familiar!  I hadn’t even realized you could.  A weasel?  Well, I suppose that’s all right. Simply everyone at school has a weasel.”  

Psssst.  You want I should bite him, boss? Euro thinks at Lira.  Lira buries her head in her hands.

“Personally,” Edmund continues undeterred, “I’m saving myself for a pseudo-dragon—“

	Everyone would have welcomed anything that would shut Edmund up, except he was cut off by Dennis shouting, “In the woods!” and an arrow going >thunk!< into the side of the cart.


----------



## dpdx

Another good update, but:

You traded Hue for Edmund? I'm terribly sorry.


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx said:
			
		

> Another good update, but:
> 
> You traded Hue for Edmund? I'm terribly sorry.




Yeah... not as sorry as we were.  

(BTW: for the record, Edmund is an NPC, so it wasn't _exactly_ a trade.)


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> You traded Hue for Edmund? I'm terribly sorry.



Well, the party needed a temporary wizard, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to give them someone that would make them really yearn for Hue's return.

Personally, I love Edmund.  He's one of my favorite NPCs to play.  He's one of those characters that I was afraid I wouldn't be able to play right, yet every time I opened my mouth to speak for him, *he* told me exactly what to say.

He was, for the record, inspired by the lovely and talented Miss J.K. Rowlings' Percy Weasley (in Books 1-4, at least).  It's always important to give credit where it's due.

Oh, and for anyone keeping track, Dar Aego was inspired by a combination of Ancient Rome, The City of Gold and Lead from John Christopher's _The Tripods_ Trilogy, and (much as it pains me to admit it) the planet from Piers Anthony's _Split Infinity_ series ("Phaze", I think its name was) (Or maybe "Photon") (Oh, come on. Like I don't have better things to worry about). 

If they'd ever bothered to go to the gladiator fights or the chariot races at the Grand Collesium of Dar Aego, it would also have been inspired by the Babylonian Court in Los Angeles at Hollywood and Highland.  Only the 50 foot tall elephants would be made of gold, not plaster.  Seriously.


----------



## porthos

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Reyu finishes her packing quickly and goes to find Anvil.  He is attempting to requisition a crossbow for the journey.




This got me wondering about magic weapons & items in Halme. While the players seem to have access to "normal" magic in terms of spells, what is their access to magic items like? Since coming by normal crossbows requires paperwork, what's it take to get a +1 crossbow?

Tangentially, what level are the PC's at this point in the story?


----------



## Fajitas

porthos said:
			
		

> This got me wondering about magic weapons & items in Halme. While the players seem to have access to "normal" magic in terms of spells, what is their access to magic items like? Since coming by normal crossbows requires paperwork, what's it take to get a +1 crossbow?
> 
> Tangentially, what level are the PC's at this point in the story?




The PCs hit 2nd level right before this adventure.  For the record, they're going to hit 5th level after our next session this weekend.

As for magic weapons in the Halmae... none of the PCs have ever seen one.  It's known that weapons can be enchanted for a brief period of time via spells like _magic weapon_.  There are certain holy weapons said to be blessed by the gods with divine powers, but these are considered unique artifacts and are closely kept by royalty or the preisthood.  

"Commonplace" permanent magic weapons, as they exist in standard D&D worlds... if anyone has succeeded in creating them, they aren't advertising that fact.  Not yet, anyway.

(To maintain game balance, I've introduced Karonian weapons, made by mastercraftsmen in the city-state of Dar Karo, which give a +1 to attack and to damage, but are not effective against DR.)

Other magic items are pretty rare.  Divine items are more common than arcane ones, but divine items are usually considered relics and are held by the clergy.  Potions have permeated the general market.  Wondrous Items are out there, but are still... well, wondrous.  Rods, wands, staffs, and rings are pretty much solely in the possession of wizards and those they choose to bequeath them to.  There is a very small but extant market for scrolls, as they're mainly only useful to casters; there's not a lot of demand for them outside the community that can create them.

If you're looking for such things, the School of Artificy at the Mages Academy is probably the right place to go. Professor Alexandra herself may well have the most extensive collection of arcane magic items of anyone in the Halmae.

Also, as to the crossbow thing... I'm not entirely sure what that was about from my end.  I'd always worried a little about having made a PC a judge, as that's a fair chunk of in-game power.  With that in mind, I think I was trying to keep a limit on what he could freely requisition from the Temple.  Bad Monkey Jeff has been pretty good about it, so it hasn't really been a problem.  But he is a fickle monkey, and can be a tad perverse when the spirit so moves him. 

_EDIT: Added info on non-weapon magic items._


----------



## spyscribe

porthos said:
			
		

> This got me wondering about magic weapons & items in Halme. While the players seem to have access to "normal" magic in terms of spells, what is their access to magic items like? Since coming by normal crossbows requires paperwork, what's it take to get a +1 crossbow?




It's also worth pointing out that most of the time, getting a crossbow or dagger or a what-have-you isn't that big a deal.  You just go down to Crazy Eddie's Armory* and pay for it.  Anvil doesn't take a regular salary, and so counts on the Temple to provide such things.

*No, it's not actually called that.


----------



## spyscribe

_The management regrets to announce that our usually scheduled Monday update has been unavoidably detained by last-minute rewrites.

Please stand by._


----------



## ellinor

In that case, I have a question about sorcerers in the Halmae.  Lira sees her talents as a challenge from Ekht... Are most actively religious sorcerers Ekhtian, or are sorcerers more evenly distributed among the churches?


----------



## Fajitas

ellinor said:
			
		

> In that case, I have a question about sorcerers in the Halmae.  Lira sees her talents as a challenge from Ekht... Are most actively religious sorcerers Ekhtian, or are sorcerers more evenly distributed among the churches?




Sorcerers are spread pretty much equally through all the churches.  There may be a slight bias for Ehkt and Sedellus, but any of the gods can provide comfort to one dealing with the trauma of discovering their new abilities.

Those who turn to Alirria do so out of a belief that they are a part of the natural order, rather than unnatural freaks; they want to feel they have a place in this world, and they tend to use their powers to better it.

Some of those who turn to Sedellus do so because they feel arcane magic is a change in the world whose influence is growing. They want to be at the forefront of that change.  Others turn to Sedellus as the goddess of evil, trickery, and deceit; the world hates me, so I'll hate it right back.

Those who turn to Kettenek tend to do so out of a need to control their abilities.  They believe Kettenek will help them find the stability and order that their sometimes unpredictable powers deny them.

And, like Lira, those who turn to Ehkt view their powers as a personal challenge, to be met and conquered.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Sixth: *
_In which: the party is attacked (duh)._
Almost before the party can react, four bandits come running out of the woods, swords drawn, accompanied by another volley of arrows.  Along with the arrows comes a sickening wave of dread.  

Reyu immediately recognizes the effect of a _bane_ spell.  She blinks for a second and shakes off the effect.   She can see several archers, hiding in the woods, along with a woman holding a quarterstaff.  Since the woman doesn’t seem to be interested in closing to melee range, Reyu presumes she was responsible for the spell.

“Watch out!” Reyu calls.  “There’s a spell-caster with them!”

Anvil grimaces through the wave of dread that seems to be settling over him.  “That much,” he replies through gritted teeth, “is obvious.  It will not help them evade Kettenek’s Justice.” 

Reyu drops to one knee on the wagon seat to gain cover and retaliates with an _entangle_.  The trees begin writhing as though alive, reaching down to ensnare the snipers hidden within.  Reyu nocks an arrow, and prepares for whatever’s coming.

_At last,_ Thatch thinks as he leaps off his horse and draws his greatsword.  The bandits that emerged from the woods are already upon the wagon.  Thatch is somewhat hampered by the grass growing up through the broken road, as it attempts to wrap around his knees, but at least the whipping branches are playing havoc with the archers’ aim. 

Unfortunately, not quite enough havoc. Edmund, in rear of the wagon, stands up to cast.  As he begins to loudly chant and wave his arms in an arcane incantation, an arrow comes flying out of the woods, and hits him full in the chest.  He continues to chant as he sinks to the ground, barely conscious, and a sword-bearing bandit advances for the kill.  However, just as Edmund slips into unconsciousness, a golden, glowing badger appears behind the swordsman and sinks his teeth into his knee.

Reyu has her bow out and is trying to sight the archers in the woods or the spell-caster with them, but the whipping trees are giving her arrows as much trouble as the highwaymen’s.  Dennis has likewise been doing great damage to tree trunks and stray branches.

Not counting the one busy hacking at the enraged badger chewing on his knee, three bandits still surround the wagon.  One leaps over the side and advances on Lira.  Thatch runs forward _(a damsel in distress, finally!)_ but is distracted by the two bandits that remain on the ground.  With a mighty blow, Thatch pulls back his sword and swings, cleaving through them both like wheat stalks.

Lira, for her part, finishes the last words of a chant and snaps her fingers right in the face of the bandit leering down at her.  Two wisps of white light streak from her fingertips into his eyes.  He abruptly stops leering and stands there, blinking stupidly, quite literally dazed.  Lira scrambles backwards, but finds herself pinned into a corner of the wagon.

The bandit blinks out of his daze and advances again.  Lira, in a fit of desperation, pulls out her dagger and takes a swing at him.  Her strike goes wide by a mile, but the sight of a five-foot tall, 98-lb girl slashing at him with a knife leaves the bandit almost as confused as her previous spell did.  

Almost.  

The bandit raises his sword to strike when he is brought up short once again, this time by the sight of a longsword protruding from his stomach.  He falls, revealing Anvil behind him.  Lira looks up from the pile of steaming entrails at her feet.  “Er, thanks.”

From the road, Dennis shouts, “I see them, they’re running!”

Anvil calls back, “Smite them all!”  Dennis obediently takes off into the woods in pursuit of one of the archers and the female caster, being careful to avoid the still active area of Reyu’s _entangle_.  Anvil pauses to stabilize Edmund, then follows, Lira on his heels.

Reyu spies two more of the snipers taking off in another direction.  Leaving the wounded Edmund behind to guard the wagon and its cargo, she calls for Thatch to follow and takes off into the woods.

While Edmund groans in agony in the back of the wagon, Thatch gets back onto Bob, and he and Reyu pursue the second group of snipers. Reyu’s ability to move quickly through the undergrowth allows her to easily keep pace with the horse.

As Lira and Anvil struggle through the woods after the first archer and caster (with considerably less grace than their Druid friend), Lira abruptly remembers that she has another weapon in her arsenal.  Stopping short she concentrates, casts, and a bolt of blue-white energy suddenly flies out of her finger-tip, easily swerving through the whipping tree-branches and waving trunks to strike its quarry.

The bolt draws scant blood from its target, but the caster stops in her flight, glares, and creates an _entangle_ of her own, right on top of Dennis, Anvil, and Lira.  Anvil is immediately ensnared by a tree limb, while Lira almost makes it to the edge of the effect before being plucked off her feet by a rogue vine.  Dennis, farther ahead of the other two, escapes the area of effect.

“What should I do?” he calls back.

“Smite them!” Anvil responds, struggling to escape.

_Smite them_, thinks Dennis.  _Riiiiiight…._


----------



## dpdx

What part of Smite Them don't you understand, Dennis? Jeez...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Seventh:*
_In which: the party attacks, the result of which is much moral debate._

Dennis bursts out of the woods into a small clearing.  The first thing he notices are signs of a small camp: several tents and a cookfire.  The second thing he notices is the man in an apron tending a cookfire, looking surprised as hell.  It’s not until third that he notices one of the bandits and the female caster mounting horses to make their escape.

_Three of them, one of me, two of them are on horses.  Oh sure Anvil, this set-up has “smiting” written all over it…_

Suddenly, two *more* bandits burst out of the woods from another direction. 

Dennis draws his weapon in a game attempt at inflicting Kettenek’s Justice and is about to charge, when he sees that the two bandits running at him are immediately followed by Thatch and Reyu, storming out of the woods in pursuit!

“Get ‘em, Bob!” Thatch cries to his mount, and attempts to charge his two mounted foes.  But Bob, a farm-horse unused to combat, panics and rears up into the air.  Thatch struggles to maintain his balance and calm his mount.

Reyu dashes forward—attempting to cast _animal friendship_ on the woman’s horse.  As she gets close, the woman raises her quarterstaff and cracks the Druid over the head.  Reyu stumbles back, blinking as the two horses wheel off into the woods.

Thatch has finally managed to dismount, but by the time he finds his feet, the two have already made their getaway.  Thatch watches them gallop off, absently stroking Bob’s neck to calm the skittish animal.  _If I could teach Bob not to be afraid of fighting, they won’t get away next time…_

“Don’t hurt me, whatever you do, don’t hurt me! Please!”

The three members of the party turn to where the man with the apron has dropped his cooking spoon and put his hands in the air.  

 The two more classically bandit-looking bandits appear less sanguine about the prospect of being apprehended, but with the departure of their boss, they seem at a loss whether to maintain the fight or attempt to follow.  Obviously, _this_ was not part of the plan. 

They wisely choose surrender.  Dennis takes their weapons and secures them. 

By the time the rest of the party—including Edmund and the wagon—arrives on the scene the only tasks that remain are interrogating the prisoners and going through the bandits’ collected swag.

Along with various goods, cash, and gems, items of note are several vials of liquid which glow brightly under Reyu’s _detect magic_, a blank piece of vellum (probably a used scroll), and a silver holy symbol of Alirria, the goddess of Spring, Air, Rebirth and, presumably, the patron of the woman who was casting at them during the fight.

The holy symbol is unusual, however.  Most holy symbols consist of both the symbol the god and the symbol of the specific sect to which its wearer belongs (Lira’s symbol, for example, consists of the symbol of the Questors, overlaid onto the general sun symbol of Ehkt).  This symbol, however, contains no sect marking.  It is an unadorned symbol of Alirria.

Anvil, meanwhile, has been focusing his attention on the prisoners.  “You will answer my questions,” he demands of them.

“Piss off,” one responds.

“You stand accused of banditry.  The penalty for this crime is death.  The Law does not specify by what means, or over how long a period of time.  Answer my questions, and I will request mercy on your behalf when we deliver you to the proper authorities.” 

“I said, piss off,” one bandit responds.

The other one coughs nervously.  “Um, I’ll talk,” he says.

“Who was that woman?” Anvil demands.

“Boss’s woman. Bad news.”

“Why’s that?”

“You know how it is.  Women getting mixed up in business.  She was the one as told us you’d be coming.”

“How did she know?”

“How should I know?  But she shows up two nights ago and the next morning the Boss tells us a group with some serious cash’ll be along sometime next day.  Then there you were.”

This is most worrisome to the party.  Toroth told them there were bandits in the area, but there’s no reason they would know the party was coming… unless someone has betrayed them.  

However, the most immediate concern is what to do with the prisoners.  Obviously, letting them go isn’t really an option.  Anvil declares that Kettenek’s Justice would normally demand they be handed over to the local authorities.  Unfortunately, the nearest city-state is Dar Und, where the local authorities consist of whichever crime boss happens to be on top that day.

It takes Anvil a beat to register that he _is_ the “local authority.”

The party lacks resources to imprison the bandits or take them back to Dar Pykos, even if this were in a Pykosian jurisdiction.  Enslavement is not a popular option with the party members, even if it were at all feasible.  

“We might have to execute them,” Anvil finally admits.  “They are admitted bandits.  Justice demands it.”

At this Dennis, only lately a petty criminal himself, turns slightly gray.  Edmund falls uncharacteristically silent.  Reyu is disgusted, such punishment being nearly unheard of among her people, but she is well aware this is not her affair.  

The cook likes the idea even less, and tells the party his opinion on the matter loudly and at great length.

Eventually, Anvil rules that the cook never took up arms against them, thus neither he nor their informant should be executed.  Instead, Anvil uses his holy symbol as a brand so that they might be known by honest folk.  Their last living companion, however, is hanged.  His body, along with those of the bandits slain in combat, is strung up along the side of the road: a warning to others in the area that would defy Kettenek’s Justice.

During this process, Dennis goes off to gather firewood.  Lira sticks around for a while, but having started the day with her first acquaintance with intestines not served as tripe she eventually opts instead to withdraw and retch quietly in the bushes.

The next day, the party resumes the road to the Dwarven mines.


----------



## dpdx

Wow. Just, wow.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Eighth:*
_In which: The party reaches the Dwarven mines._

    The first thing the party notices is the sound, a low level rumble of activity, punctuated by the occasional >CLANG!< of metal on rock.

	Rounding a bend in the road, the party begins to notice sentries—several Dwarves, armed with axes and crossbows, watching them from behind an embankment.  The Dwarves wave them along the road with little comment.

    The Stoneshaper Mines soon come into view, an enormous encampment outside a gaping hole in the side of a low hill, disappearing deep into the bowels of the earth.

Dozens of Dwarven teamsters load cargo into horse-drawn wagons, while others unload chests from carts coming out of the mines, pulled by massive, ox-sized lizards.  Reyu is amused to note that the lizards are kept upwind of the horses.

The party is greeted with caution, but no hostility, and Gurn Stoneshaper is soon sent out to meet them.

“Alexandra sent you?”

The party nods.

“I won’t sell.”

“Why not?”  Reyu asks.

Gurn harruphs.  “Wizards and their unnatural experiments.” (Lira elbows Edmund hard to keep him quiet).  “I’ll be no part of that.”

“But if you didn’t want to get involved with wizards, why did you agree to sell to her in the first place?” Reyu persists.

“I didn’t know what she was planning to do with it.”

Lira, hoping it will help their case, switches to Dwarven.  “What was that?”

Gurn blinks, surprised by either the language switch or the question.  “Don’t you know?”

“We’ve just been hired to carry out a transaction, we’re neutral parties here.”

“She was going to… she was going to grind it up into powder.”  The Dwarf has difficulty even saying the words.  “A beautiful diamond, flawless and she was going to… ignorant humans.”

All eyes turn to Edmund.   “But...but...but,” he splutters, “but that's preposterous! Why would she possibly want to pulverize it? Of course, diamond dust is useful in certain spells, but you use small stones for that.  They're much cheaper.  Only an idiot would think she would pay 1500 gold for a diamond only to crush it to bits!”  Gurn scowls at the implied insult, and Lira elbows Edmund again to get him to stop “helping.”

The Party is eventually able to convince Gurn of the logic of this argument, and Edmund offers to swear profuse oaths that the diamond will be kept intact.  The party manages to stop him before he promises anything too drastic.

They then ask Gurn why he thought Professor Alexandra was going to destroy the diamond.

	“Well, a little while after I send word I found the stone, a woman shows up, human.  She was the one who told me what the Professor was going to do.”

	“Just a random woman?”

	“No, she’d been here once before… maybe a year ago.”

	“Was she warning you about wizards then, too?”

	“No.  She’d come to make a purchase.  Nothing exciting, some small, cheap precious stones.  Little bit of just about everything that comes out of this mine.”

	“Why did you believe her when she told you about the Professor?”

	The Dwarf considers.  “Well, now that you mention it, it _is_ a bit odd, but she just seemed like someone you should trust.  Nice girl.”

	Reyu pulls out the piece of vellum the party found among the bandits’ gear.  “Did she read something to you, maybe off something like this?”

	Gurn runs one hand through his beard.  “Yeah, why?”

	Reyu and Lira exchange a look.  The look says: _scroll of charm person._

	Gurn takes the news that he was likely the subject of a mind-affecting spell fairly well.  Feeling rather bad about the whole affair he agrees to send the diamond back to Professor Alexandra with the party, for the original price he and the Professor agreed upon, despite Alexandra’s offer of an additional 500 gp.  As conversation turns to less contentious matters, Reyu asks one last question:  

“This human woman, did she only come to warn you about Professor Alexandra?”

	Gurn considers.  “No…  she was also looking for some onyx.”

	“Did you sell it to her?”

	The dwarf shakes his head.  “She was after one really large piece; we didn’t have anything like that.”  He shrugs.  “We don’t get a lot of onyx here.  I told her she’d have better luck in the Ironroot mines, or maybe in the Forgefire mines, up near Dar Thane.”

	Lira jumps in.  “Did she say what her purpose was?”

	“No.  Just that she needed a big chunk onyx for it.”

	Gurn lacks any more information on the mysterious woman, but he offers the party a tour of the mines, which are not only a marvel of engineering, but gorgeous as well. A series of solid tunnels leads to a network of huge caverns hundreds of feet tall.  The walls are covered with scaffolding, where hundreds of Dwarven miners work, the >tink, tink< of their picks echoing off rock faces that sparkle in the reflected lights of dozens of torches.  

Although the Dwarves invite the party to dine with them, they politely decline the always tempting option of stewed lizard and instead opt to cook for themselves.  

Most of the party does try some of the fabled Dwarven ale, although only Thatch and Lira are able to drink it without suffering extended fits of mixed coughing and gagging.  Lira’s head for ale coupled with her fluent Dwarven make her very popular with their hosts.

	“Are you sure you have no Dwarven blood?” one of the miners asks as Lira finishes her second mug.

“Not that I know of,” she replies with a smile.

“Well, she’s short enough,” someone in the party mutters, but in the crowd and noise of dinner no one can tell who.


----------



## ellinor

_Dozens of Dwarven teamsters _

What a great mental image.  And I've got to ask:  Do the Dwarven Teamsters have as poweraful union in the Halmae as the human ones do here?    

Thanks as always for a great update.


----------



## Fajitas

ellinor said:
			
		

> What a great mental image.  And I've got to ask:  Do the Dwarven Teamsters have as poweraful union in the Halmae as the human ones do here?




Well, a battle-axe tends to improve one's bargaining position...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Ninth:*
_In which: the plot thickens, Lira makes discoveries regarding Dwarven ale, and Thatch learns why he is not a rogue._

	The party sleeps well (some better than others) and the next morning—although not, as Reyu would prefer, at the crack of dawn—they begin their journey back to Dar Pykos.

	The trip back is uneventful, and Professor Alexandra is almost as glad to get her diamond as the party is to be rid of Edmund.  They do give him a portion of the proceeds of the goods captured from the bandits, along with the used piece of scroll vellum.

	“Take it,” Anvil tells him.  “Use your magics to discover who created the scroll, so that we might know who has betrayed us.”

	“Um… I don’t know if it’s possible—“

	Anvil fixes him with a trademark stare.  “I have every confidence in you.  Now go!  Return not until you have an answer.”

	With much fluster, Edmund leaves.

	Once the young wizard is out of earshot, Lira turns to Anvil.  “I don’t think that _is_ possible.”

	“No?”

	She shakes her head.

	“Then he will be able to expand the frontiers of knowledge.”

	“And in the mean time he won’t bother us?”

	“Kettennek’s Justice works in mysterious ways.”

	No one can add anything to that, so the group returns to the temple to see Tenacious.

	The senior Justicar is pleased with the success of their mission, but just as disturbed as the party is by their apparent betrayal and ambush on the road.  He asks them to follow up on it and see what they can discover.

	The party’s first and best clue is the holy symbol of Alirria left behind by the woman with the bandits.  Within Dar Pykos there are several major Alirrian sects:



> Major sects of Alirria within Dar Pykos:
> 
> * Nature’s Tenders*
> This sect worships Alirria as the goddess of nature and growing things.  They encourage those both in cities and the country to live in harmony with the Mothers’s bountiful gifts.
> 
> *Nature’s Protectors*
> A fanatical offshoot of the Tenders with much more aggressive tendencies, the Protectors are effectively medieval eco-terrorists.  They are an underground group, not officially sanctioned by the Benedictress.
> 
> *The Givers of Life*
> Pacifists and healers, the Givers devote themselves to Alirria’s soothing aspects. They are physicians and midwives, who live to help the sick and injured.
> 
> *Water Walkers*
> The Walkers worship Alirria as the patron of travelers.  Consumed by wanderlust, they dedicate themselves to trying to see as much of her bounty as they can.
> 
> *The Lady’s Handmaidens*
> The Handmaidens worship Alirria as the goddess of love and fertility, and they provide, ahem, services in that regard.
> 
> _(Reprinted from _Sects! Sects! Sects!: Where to Worship in Dar Pykos_, Edward Fol, editor. published by Crazy Eddie’s Pocket Guides.  Used with permission.)_




Each sect has a distinctive design for their holy symbols.  Naturally, the one that the party found has no such identifying features.

	The party tends to suspect that the Protectors—with their rather criminal bent—might have had something to do with their attack.  If the group sees arcane magic as unnatural, it makes sense.  Of course, that same shady quality means that one cannot simply walk into their chapter-house and ask if they know someone who might have tried to kill the party.  (In point of fact, the Protectors do not have a formal presence anywhere, let alone urban areas).

	Luckily for the party, Dennis is a gardener, and since having been freed from slavery, he’s made some friends among the Tenders in the city.  Dennis meets with one of them, a Sister Rose.  She confirms that there is no one answering the woman’s description among _her_ order, and she doesn’t see one of her sistren having a motive to sabotage Professor Alexandra or the Dwarves.  She does allow however, that the Protectors might, and cautiously agrees to see if she can arrange a meeting.

That evening, Lira goes to see Devon, her contact among the local Questors, to tell him of her adventures and to see if he has a friend among the Water-walkers.  After all, if you’re going out in search of challenges, it’s a good idea to have a map, and no one makes maps like the Water-walkers.

	Devon is very interested to hear Lira’s accounts of her latest adventure, and quite impressed when he learns that she likes Dwarven ale.  As it happens, he has a small keg, which he promptly taps.

	Between the ale and the good company, Lira nearly forgets the primary purpose of her visit.  The keg has been drained down to the sludge, (which Devon assures her is the best part and Lira gamely tries), when Lira remembers to ask about Water-walkers.

	“This woman, you think she’s one of them?”

	“We don’t know. ‘S why we wanna ask.’

	“Good plan, that.”

	Once the merits of the plan have been decided, Devon remembers that he does have a friend among the Water-walkers.  They go to talk to him.

	Imagine the boundless joy of Devon’s friend to find two tipsy Questors on his front step.

**********

	No, he doesn’t know anyone like the woman they describe among the Water-walkers.

	No, he doesn’t know them all, and they do come and go quite a bit, but most of the women don’t wear dresses—not practical for walking through the world.

	No, her holy symbol is not particular to his sect or any other.

	Yes, he will let Devon know if he hears something, but he’s going to be leaving the city soon, and so doubts it will be of use.

	Well, hopefully no great challenges will come his way, but a safe journey to you too, wherever the roads may take you.

**********

	Lira stumbles back to Mrs. Blackman’s boarding house where the rest of the party is waiting for her.  She falls into a chair holding her head.

	“So,” Thatch asks, “what did you find out?”

	Lira eyes him balefully.  “The sludge is NOT the best part.”

	Luckily, Sister Rose has, in the meantime, come through and arranged a meeting with a member of the Protectors at the Fortunate Traveller, a local Alirrian inn.  

It is decided that Reyu and Dennis, being the most nature-oriented of the party, will actually talk to the contact while Lira and Thatch will stay in the background to keep an eye on things.  Anvil, upon hearing where the meeting will take place decides that once _dazed_ is twice shy, and remains at the Temple to contemplate Justice.

_(Note:  No, of course  Kettenek’s Justice is not cowed by mere cantrips, but Bad Monkey Jeff couldn’t make that session so we gave Anvil the excuse not to tag along.)_

	Lira and Thatch arrive at the inn first.  Thatch orders two bowls of the house stew—quickly amended to one stew, one coffee by Lira—and looks around for the woman the others are supposed to be meeting.  He finds her sitting at a back table, where she can keep an eye on the door and the rest of the room.  She catches him staring and glares at him.  Thatch quickly looks down at his soup.  It’s tough to be inconspicuous when you’re nearly seven feet tall.

	Reyu and Dennis arrive moments later.  They go over to the woman and introduce themselves and their business.

	“Why are you looking for this woman?” their contact asks.

	Reyu steps in smoothly, “We think we found her holy symbol.”

	A skeptical eyebrow arch.  “You went to all this trouble, trying to return her holy symbol?”

	“There is also some… unfinished business.”

	“Oh?  What sort of unfinished business?”

	“She tried to kill us.”

	The woman takes a moment to digest this.  “Why would she do something like that?”

	“We’re not sure,” Reyu replies evenly. “That’s part of the reason we want to talk to her.”

	The other woman considers.  “It’s not our way attack civilians without cause.  It is true we have crossed paths with the Dwarves, but no true defender of Our Mother’s Gifts would trouble herself merely to impede a sale.  If this was unprovoked by violence against her person, or the natural world, she is not acting as one of us.”  

“What about the Wizards?” Reyu asks.

The woman blinks, puzzled.  “What about them?  We have no quarrel with the arcanists, certainly no more than with any other city-dweller.”

Given a description and shown a sketch of the caster with the bandits, the Protector says she doesn’t know anyone matching it.  To Reyu and Dennis at least, she seems to be telling the truth.

	“You’ll let us know if you hear anything of this woman?” Reyu asks.

	The Protector just shoots a glance over at Thatch and Lira on the other side of the room.  “Tell your friend over there he’s got a lot to learn about surveillance.”

	Reyu and Dennis take this to mean that the interview is over.  Seeing as their cover has already been blown, they walk over to where Thatch and Lira are sitting and join them.

	“Is she one of them?” Thatch asks.

	“No,” Dennis replies, “and this is the last time we send you undercover.”

	“So,” says Lira, “she’s not a Protector, or a Water-walker, or a Tender, and gods help us if she’s a Giver, so what does that leave us?”

	Dennis looks over at Thatch claps him on the shoulder, and cracks a wide smile.  “Off to the Handmaidens!”

Thatch gulps. “Umm?”

_to be continued… _


----------



## dpdx

> off to the Handmaidens!



That's what I thought right off. Seriously.


----------



## KidCthulhu

I'm surprised it took them this long.  I mean, who passes up the chance to pump a Handmaiden?  Er, for information, that is.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Tenth:*
_In which: the party pays a visit to the Temple of the Handmaidens._

The entry-hall of the Handmaidens’ temple has a beautiful stone parquet floor, its highly polished, intricate design meant to be relaxing.  The rest of the decor is equally well-done.  There are small alters, fine stonework, and high arched ceilings… but to appreciate any of that, Thatch would have to look up from his boots.

	Fortunately, Dennis is less awed and embarrassed by his surroundings and is carrying on a quite civil conversation with their hostess.  “You’ll have to excuse my young friend here,” he explains, “he is,” Dennis drops his voice to a whisper, which is deliberately still loud enough for Thatch to hear, “inexperienced in these matters.”

	“Of course,” the priestess replies.  Her name, she has told them, is Lady Lorelei.  She speaks politely, with a serenity borne of many seasons’ experience soothing rattled nerves of young worshippers.  Her calm demeanor, however, is the only thing which shows her years.

	Thatch discovers heretofore undiscovered depths of embarrassment.  Dennis ignores him.

	“I was wondering, there’s this girl… About so tall, dark hair, about that long…”   Dennis describes the woman they are looking for, dredging his mind for details until Lady Lorelei interrupts--

	“Oh!  You must mean Jelliana.  I’m sorry, she left nearly a month ago, and we haven’t seen her.  She’s only been here sporadically over the past season.  I fear she’s been… distracted lately.”

“Distracted?”

The priestess waves her hand apologetically.  “In recent months, she’d begun to talk frequently about the unholy blight of arcane magic and those who practice it.  I don’t know where she was getting it from, but she’d become quite radicalized on the subject.”

“When she’s not here, do you know where she goes?”  Dennis asks.

“I believe she keeps quarters in the city, but I’m afraid I don’t know where.”  She turns to Thatch and smiles.  “But I’m sure there’s someone else here who can assist you and your young friend in your worship.”

	Thatch manages to find his voice.  He turns to Dennis.  “Um… if she’s not here, maybe we should, um, just be going?”

	Dennis gives him a hearty slap on the back in return.  “Nonsense!  Don’t worry.”

	The priestess reaches out a reassuring hand.  Thatch swallows.

**********

“What is taking them so long?”  Reyu wonders aloud, as she and Lira wait outside the Temple, watching the ebb and flow of worshippers.

	Lira shrugs.  “They could be a while.” At Reyu’s questioning glance she adds, “I’ve got older brothers.”

	A priest emerges, bidding farewell to a female parishioner, and notices the two women waiting outside.  “Can I help you ladies?”

	Reyu shakes her head.  “I don’t think so.”

	The priest purses his lips.  “If you are not here to worship the goddess, I’m going to have to ask you to move along somewhere else.”

	“Why?”  Lira wants to know.  “Is it illegal to stand around?”

	“Well,” the priest begins, “in point of fact…”

	Luckily, Reyu catches the priest’s subtext.  “Oh, no.  We’re not trying to infringe…  We’re here with some friends of ours.”

	“Ah ha,” says the priest.  “Well, you’re welcome to wait for them inside.  Or, if you are interested in any form of worship yourselves, our doors are open to all.”

	The women do enter, but Thatch and Dennis are nowhere to be seen. Reyu pauses to appreciate the architecture.  “It really is quite lovely.”

	Lira glances about.  “I don’t think that’s what most people are here to admire.”

	Reyu rolls her eyes.  “Humans have less sense about sex than ferrets,” she mutters, earning a wounded look from Euro, who pokes his head out of Lira’s pocket and surveys his surroundings before giving the mustelid equivalent of a shrug.  

Well, she may have a point there, Boss.  Ferrets don’t know nuthin’ when it comes to sex.  Playing with shiny things, that they got down.  But sex?  I’m just sayin’, you know.

Lira—blushing—guides Euro back into her pocket.  Not for the first time glad that she is the only one who can hear his color commentary.

Reyu catches the arm of a passing acolyte.  “Our friends—a very tall young human and an older, shorter man with dirt under his fingernails—when they become available could you please tell them that we will meet them at Mrs. Blackburn’s?”

	The acolyte readily agrees and Reyu quickly ushers her companion towards home.

	And the night passes uneventfully… more or less.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Thatch manages to find his voice.  He turns to Dennis.  “Um… if she’s not here, maybe we should, um, just be going?”
> 
> Dennis gives him a hearty slap on the back in return.  “Nonsense!  Don’t worry.”
> 
> The priestess reaches out a reassuring hand.  Thatch swallows.



Just for the record here, folks, I'd like to be clear that I wasn't playing Dennis that evening.  Like they say, you can lead a PC to a brothel, but you can't make him... um, you know.

No, the delicious part about this moment was that Dennis was being played by Thatch's player's then-girlfriend.  And this was her first ever table-top game.


----------



## Piratecat

I'm pumping a handmaiden RIGHT NOW, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.  Ahem.  

Sounds like a great session!


----------



## dpdx

Fajitas said:
			
		

> No, the delicious part about this moment was that Dennis was being played by Thatch's player's then-girlfriend.  And this was her first ever table-top game.



Then-girlfriend? Sounds like a test...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Eleventh*
_In which: the party interrogates the half of the city they did not speak to the day before_

	Reyu is, as usual, up at dawn.  If there were a time to like the city, the early morning would be it.  Most of the humans are still in their beds; those who are not hurry quickly about their business and do not bother a lone elf conducting her prayers.

	Thatch and Lira barely make it downstairs before Mrs. Blackburn clears the breakfast dishes.  Luckily for Thatch, Mrs. Blackburn’s daughter Tessa has held back “a little something” which she sets at his place, blushing.  Luckily for Lira, Mrs. Blackburn makes excellent coffee.

	Once everyone has eaten their fill, the group adjourns to the Temple of Kettenek to meet with Anvil.  Knowing Jelliana’s name and sect affiliation is somewhat useful, but it provides little insight into where she can be found now.

	“We should try to find out how she knew about our mission.”

	“Well, she must have gotten that scroll from somewhere.”

	“Well, it’s an arcane spell; she would have had to get someone else to scribe it for her, probably at the Mage’s Academy.”

	“Think Edmund’s had any luck finding out who made it?”

	Long silence.

	“Well, _I’m_ not going to ask him.”

	“Amelia’s in Professor Alexandra’s class, maybe she knows someone who might be selling scrolls on the side to make a little extra money.”

	It seems worth a shot, and so Anvil sends an acolyte to pull the young mage out of class.

	Amelia is less than thrilled to be called away from her studies and also understandably reluctant to finger any of her classmates.  After reassurances that the party does not suspect anyone of deliberate misconduct, merely of being duped into compliance, she gives the name of a girl who is particularly good at scroll-scribing, Tamarak.  

Before they let her return to class, Reyu asks one last question.  “Do you know anyone at the Academy who might have had reason to sabotage Professor Alexandra?”

Amelia squirms in her seat, looking at the floor.  “No.”

“Are you sure?”  Reyu prods, gently.

She shakes her head again, then manages to glance up at the elf.  “I’ve heard her arguing with Professor Noah, sometimes.  He teaches alchemy.”

“What did they argue about?”

Amelia shrugs.  “School stuff.”

	Once Amelia is gone, Lira and Dennis decide follow up with Tamarak at the Mage’s Academy.  Even if she didn’t make the scroll in question, she will hopefully know who did, which will hopefully lead to Jelliana’s source of information about the party.  Also, they can check up on Edmund’s progress.  Although Lira is spend any more time around the young wizard than is absolutely necessary.  Meanwhile, the rest of the party decides to return to their informant Nichols of The Squeaky Wheel.

**********

	Lira and Dennis find Edmund, surrounded by half-filled pieces of vellum, bits of potions, and liberally spattered with ink.  He looks up when they enter.

	“Five minutes!  Really, I almost have it.  I just need to complete this analysis.”

	Lira and Dennis look at each other, shrug.  “Okay,” they reply and head off for a quick chat with Professor Noah in the alchemy lab.

	After ascertaining that Noah’s professional rivalry with Professor Alexandra does not extend beyond some departmental bickering, they return to Edmund.

	Unsurprisingly, the analysis has not been completed.  “Well, no I don’t have it yet, but I think I’m very close. Definitely making progress.  Just give me another five minutes.”

Lira and Dennis exchange a glance and mutely shake their heads “no.”

Edmund barely pauses.  “It really is quite fascinating,” he enthuses.  “I do think I can get quite an impressive paper out of it.  If you’d like to hear about my work—“

	Dennis quickly cuts him off.  “That’s okay.  You don’t know who made the scroll?”

	“Not yet, but I’m very close.”

	“We’re sure you are,” Lira breaks in before Edmund can regain his momentum.  “But, maybe you should take a break for lunch or something.”

	“Oh, well, um.  It’s just so exciting, the thrill of discovery and all that.  I mean, it’s different for your sort, but ah, lunch.  Good idea.” Edmund pauses, perhaps taking his first breath since Lira entered the room.  He looks hopefully at the young sorcerer.  “Have you… eaten yet?”

	“Yes.  Before we came.”

Edmund deflates slightly, but does his best to cover it.  “I see.  Well, I’ll go now.  Get a fresh perspective.”

	Dennis gives him a nod and a smile.  “Good idea.”

	Dennis was not the one Edmund was hoping for a smile from.  Lira finally obliges and Edmund scurries happily from the room.

	“Well,” says Dennis, “I guess we should go see Tamarak.”

**********

	Tamarak is a swarthy girl, who stands with the prideful posture of a citizen of Dar Thane.  Her dark hair is cut short, and her dark eyes flash with indignation at the idea that she might be selling scrolls.  “I make them for my friends.  That’s all.  Who told you I sold them?”

	Lira takes the path of most evasion.  “We just heard.”

	“I bet it was Annika.”

	“Why her?”

	“She’s always trying to sabotage me.  She thinks she’s _so_ good at artificy, but just ask anyone…”

	Twenty minutes later Dennis and Lira know more than they ever wanted to about the politics of first-year mage’s academy students and are no closer to figuring out how Jelliana might have gotten hold of one of their scrolls.  At last, they manage to extricate themselves.

	“Is talking incessantly a requirement for entry to the academy, or do they learn how to do that after they’ve arrived?” Lira asks Dennis as they leave.

	“Amelia doesn’t talk much,” he points out.

	Lira shakes her head.  “Too much or too little.  Let’s hope the others have had better luck.”

**********

	Sure enough, Nichols is at his usual table at The Squeaky Wheel.  He agrees to talk to the party, but shakes his head at their description of Jelliana.

	“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve spent my time with the Handmaidens, but ah… never had the pleasure of her acquaintance.” He shrugs.  “Not really my type.  Did you think of tracing the other way?” 

	“What do you mean?” Anvil demands.

	“Well, instead of tracing Jelliana to the academy, who there knew you were going to the mines?”

	Reyu ticks off on her fingers.  “Edmund swears he didn’t tell anyone.  Professor Alexandra would have no reason to sabotage us.”

	“Was there anyone there when she told you about the job?” Nichols asks.

	“Well…” Thatch tries to remember, “She was teaching class when we arrived, but then we went into her office… Didn’t we?”

Thatch looks over at Anvil, who looks at Reyu, who looks back at Thatch.

“Well… That would explain it.”

_to be continued…_


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Twelfth*
_In which: the party finds a terribly clever and novel way in which to circumvent certain difficulties, a fact which is endlessly lamented by the DM._

	"We had that discussion in front of twenty first-year mage's academy students?!?"

	The rest of the party briefs Lira and Dennis on their recent revelation regarding the circumstances in which Professor Alexandra informed them of her difficulties with the Dwarf.  In the main, they take it rather well.

	Although the party is generally intelligent, they realize that might not have been their finest hour.

_(Okay, yes, we freely admit that’s a bit of an understatement.  In fact, so sure were we that we *hadn’t* had that conversation in front of witnesses, we spent nearly three hours _*in real time*_ talking to every NPC in the city before Fajitas found a way to clue us in.)_

	"So," said Thatch, "now we have to interview 20 fifteen-year-olds to see who might have sold us out to a cleric who hates arcane casters?"

	Dennis, still testy from one such interview, speaks up quickly.  "There's got to be a better way to do this."

	The party discusses the problem from all angles.  Are there leads they haven't yet explored?  Would it be feasible to circulate Jelliana’s description with the city Watch, in hopes someone knows where she stays in the city when not at the Temple of the Handmaidens?

“We should employ magical means to locate her,” Anvil announces solemnly.

“Do you have such… means?” Reyu asks.

Anvil looks at her blankly.  “No.  But among those who have risen in my order, such things are possible.  We should submit a petition to Bastion the Just---”

	"Wait a second," Lira interrupts. "This involves a mage's academy.  Do you think someone has a crystal ball we could use?"

	Not ten minutes later, the party is in the Divinations building, having convinced the reclusive professor to allow them to use his scrying device.

	Reyu makes the first attempt.  She concentrates on the ball in front of her, recites the incantation, and focuses her mind on everything she can remember about the priestess in the woods.

	Slowly, the scene comes into hazy focus.  Jelliana is in a room.  She stands with three men around a table, examining a piece of paper spread before them.  Reyu cannot see it clearly, but she guesses it is some kind of map.  

	Behind Jelliana is a window.  From her angle of view Reyu can make out rooftops of the city, but nothing to pinpoint the room’s location.  She attempts to get a better view, but as she tries to refocus the crystal ball she looses her concentration, and sphere before her goes dark.

Reyu gives a small sigh of frustration and relates what she was able to discern.

“Should I try?” Lira asks.

The elf shrugs.  “It… could not hurt.  If possible, try to look out of the window.  See if you can tell where they are, and what they are looking at on the table.”

	Lira has never before tried to use a crystal ball, but after only a few seconds of concentration, the room Reyu described to her snaps into focus—as though someone has unshuttered a lantern on a painting. 

And there, dead center of the composition, is Jelliana.

To her right is a man dressed entirely in black, and although his clothing is not immediately familiar to Lira, she notes that his hair is shaved into a topknot, similar in manner to certain orders of monks.  The assumption is further strengthened by virtue of the fact that he carries no obvious arms.

In sharp contrast is the man to Jelianna’s left, a tall handsome man who wears a holy symbol of Kettenek over his breastplate.  He carries a large sword and appears in all respects to be a knight in shining armor.  The only thing out of place is that his holy symbol, like Jelliana’s, is unadorned by sect affiliation.  That, and the fact that he is consorting with someone who has already tried to kill the party once.

The man beside him appears much less refined.  His crudely made leather leggings show signs of obvious repair and even the silver holy symbol around his neck looks as though it has undergone some hard battering.  Still, it identifies him as an Ehktain, also without sect affiliation.

There is a break in Lira’s descriptive monologue, and Thatch leans down to whisper in Dennis’s ear, “Kettenek, Ehkt, and we know Jelianna’s a Handmaiden of Alirria…  Want to lay odds that the monk is a Sedellen?”

Dennis shakes his head.  “No bet.”

Having examined as closely as the can the occupants of the room, Lira turns her attention to the table before them.  Indeed, Reyu’s supposition was correct that they were examining some kind of map.

In fact, it’s a map of the Mage’s Academy.

Lira abruptly asks Professor Davis, "Why can't I hear what they're saying?"

	Reyu knits her brows in puzzlement.  "If this… device.... is similar to magic practiced by my kind, sound _should_ work…"

	The professor waves a hand impatiently.  “You think we let just *anyone* use our good crystal balls?  Those are for people who *know* what they’re doing…” 

Dennis rolls his eyes, “Well, she seems to be faking it pretty well.”

	Anvil is incredulous.  "You gave us a low-rent crystal ball?"

Professor Davis mutters something under his breath as he returns to his research.

	Lira, having gleaned all she can, cuts her connection before the occupants of the room realize that they are being spied upon.  "I could see the spires of the Library through the window.  We should be able to triangulate where the building is from that."

	Thatch tightens his sword, and the party heads out.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> "So," said Thatch, "now we have to interview 20 fifteen-year-olds to see who might have sold us out to a cleric who hates arcane casters?"




>sigh< So there I was, with a list of twenty Mages Academy students.  I had worked out all their names, personalities, inter-relationships, what they knew about the scenario, and what clues they had that could lead the PCs to the real culprit. I figured they'd ask Amelia if any of her fellow students frequented the Temple of the Handmaidens, then interview those few students, and off we'd go.  I'd been watching a lot of _Law & Order_ at the time.

Instead, what'd they do?  They ran right for the cyrstal ball.  Twenty NPCs down the drain.

>sigh<  It's a rough life, being a DM...


----------



## dpdx

Aw, don't feel bad, Fajitas. Look at it this way: you've just worked up 20 possible sub-plots!  (BTW, where _is_ your Rat-Bastardly Plotting Thread {players keep out}, or do you not want help with that sort of thing?)


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> >sigh< So there I was, with a list of twenty Mages Academy students.  I had worked out all their names, personalities, inter-relationships, what they knew about the scenario...
> 
> Instead, what'd they do?  They ran right for the cyrstal ball.  Twenty NPCs down the drain.
> 
> >sigh<  It's a rough life, being a DM...




The kicker is, I distinctly remember sitting there, on Bad Monkey Jeff's couch as we were playing, and saying to myself, "Now, there is no possible way he wants us to talk to all those people..."

Sigh, try to save your DM work and all you get is grief.

Of course, it didn't help when Lira started rolling 18s on her scry checks.


----------



## dpdx

Hey, all's well that ends with Kettenek's Justice!

Anyway, here's wishing all my favorite Halmites a wonderful Halloween. [We had a grand total of four ToT-ers - in a city of >1 million. Go figure.]


----------



## Greybar

_>sigh< It's a rough life, being a DM..._

Great sympathies for you here. [grin]

_...a tall handsome man who wears a holy symbol of Kettenek over his breastplate. He carries a large sword and appears in all respects to be a knight in shining armor. _

I'm looking for some great Kettenek vs. Kettenek action, here.

(as a GM, I love the possibility that two LG characters can go at it hammer-and-tongs, though I'd guess this new fellow is more like LN.  Good does not mean that you cannot disagree to the point of armed conflict.)

john


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> Aw, don't feel bad, Fajitas. Look at it this way: you've just worked up 20 possible sub-plots!



That is indeed the up-side.  About 5 of the students have appeared in game since then, and one of them has become a major NPC.  And the rest will definitely still be there when the party finally gets back to Dar Pykos... but I'm getting ahead of myself.



			
				dpdx said:
			
		

> (BTW, where _is_ your Rat-Bastardly Plotting Thread {players keep out}, or do you not want help with that sort of thing?)



It's not that I don't *want* help.  I just never quite got around to setting one up.  Something to think about, tho'.



			
				Greybar said:
			
		

> (as a GM, I love the possibility that two LG characters can go at it hammer-and-tongs, though I'd guess this new fellow is more like LN. Good does not mean that you cannot disagree to the point of armed conflict.)



I absolutely agree.  One of the things that appealed to me about my pantheon was the inherent degree of internal conflict within each of the Churches.  Even among Kettenites, there isn't complete consensus about what good is...


----------



## spyscribe

_(Editor's note: Although this story hour began as a birthday present for Fajitas, he's not the only one of us who has a birthday.  For example, today is mine. So, in order to celebrate in good hobbit fashion, updates for everyone!)_

**********

*Part the Thirteenth:*
_In which: the party breaks down a door, or rather, gets in position to break down a door, then stops to consider their strategy, then… >sigh< Someone, tell me we’re not the only dithering party out there… _

	Lira has soon led the party to the building where she and Reyu scryed Jelliana and her cronies.

	It's an inn which a faded sign proclaims to be The Lion’s Head.  It’s not in the best part of town, but certainly not in the worst either.  Behind it, in the middle distance, rise the graceful spires of the great library.  Reyu takes up position at the back of the building, where she has a view of the room’s window and back door of the inn in case anyone tries to make a get away.  Dennis finds a disused doorway across the street and covers the front.

“So,” Thatch asks, “should we just go in and ask for her?”

Lira seems unsure, “Maybe we should try something more subtle.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know…”  

Lira trails off as she notices that Anvil is already striding ahead into the inn, leaving her and Thatch little choice but to run and catch up.

	The ground floor of the establishment is a common room and tavern.  Anvil accosts the proprietor.  "Have you a scutt-boy?" he demands.

	The innkeeper stops short, likely wondering what in the world a Justicar could want with his kitchen-boy.  "Uh.... Yes."

	"Send him for the Watch."

The man sizes Anvil up for a second, then turns and calls over his shoulder, “Annie!  Tell Jonas to run for the Watch, and he’d best be quick about it.”  

He turns back to the Justicar, “Now what is this about?”

“We come in search of a woman who lodges here--” Anvil holds up a sketch of Jelliana.

“Oh, Lady Jelliana.  Second floor, top of the stairs.  She in some kind of trouble?”

Anvil gives the innkeeper a once-over.  He’s a solid man, and given the tenor of his establishment, it seems likely that he has been called upon to break up a couple of bar fights in his time.    Accordingly, his response to the innkeeper’s question is, “Have you a cudgel?”

The innkeeper nods.

“Fetch it, Kettenek’s Justice demands your aid.”

	As quietly as possible, Anvil, the innkeeper, Thatch, Lira, and Euro climb the steps to the hall outside Jelliana's room.  Euro sniffs about and ascertains that the conspirators are still present.  "Everyone ready?" Anvil asks.

	Lira whispers, "Not to mitigate a challenge, but there are four of us and four of them."

	"So?"

	"We might want some slightly better numbers on our side for this one."

	Anvil considers for a moment.  "Everyone, wait here."

	He turns around and quickly descends the steps back to the tavern.  Scanning the room, he spots two likely types sitting together at a table with mugs of ale.

	Both men are rather startled to find a Justicar staring down at them.  Anvil turns to the man on his right.

	"What is your name, good sir?"

	The man pauses, as though afraid it is a trick question.  "James."

	"James, are you a man of good moral character?"

	"Are you a Justicar?"

	"Yes."

	"Then, yes."

	"Excellent.  Kettenek requires your services for the execution of his Justice."

	"Execution?!" James starts, but Anvil has already turned to his companion.

	"And you sir, what is your name?"

	"Uh... Nathan"

	"Are you-"

	"Good enough, but I don't know about this."

	"You will be compensated for your services." Anvil assures him.

	The prospect of payment and the force of Anvil on a mission quickly have the two men up the stairs to join the others.

	Thatch already has his sword out.  "Are we ready to go yet?"

Everyone nods.

“Okay, on three.  One… Two…

James breaks in with a whisper, “Wait!  We going in the front line, or the back?

Anvil considers for a split second, “It matters not, so long as you smite them.”

Thatch begins again, “One…”

“Err…”

Everyone turns to stare at Nathan.  

“I ah… don’t have a weapon.”

As no one immediately steps forward with a spare longsword, Anvil rolls his eyes and reaches into his tunic pocket, doing his best not to let his armor chink *too* much as he does so.

He pulls out his eating knife and solemnly passes it back to the skeptical bar patron.

“Do not damage it.”

“Err… right.”

“One… Two…”

“What about—?”

“Three!”

With a mighty shout, Thatch crashes through the door, bursting the lock and doorframe, and sending the door spiraling off its hinges into the room.

_to be continued…_


----------



## Despaxas

how much you guys wanna bet there's nobody in there, cause they slipped out due to all the noise. 

Rest assured though, you are not the only dithering party out there. 1 party of mine once had to sneak in and out of a house 4 times cause we kept forgetting crucial things. God how the Dm kept a straight face with all the bad guys in the house in the 1 room we needed to get into, just laughing their heads off.


----------



## Greybar

_In which: the party breaks down a door, or rather, gets in position to break down a door, then stops to consider their strategy, then… >sigh< Someone, tell me we’re not the only dithering party out there… _

You're not the only dithering party out there.

Though many times for my group the difference between dithering and moral debate is a fine one.  You want to encourage moral debate, but discourage dithering.  Aw heck, I usually let them dither - better than rushing into TPKs.

john


----------



## Piratecat

Happy birthday!


----------



## porthos

Happy birthday, indeed! Congrats on making it this far in life - however far that may be - and sharing a birthday gift with all of us.


----------



## Capellan

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Although this story hour began as a birthday present for Fajitas, he's not the only one of us who has a birthday.  For example, today is mine.
> 
> _In which: the party breaks down a door, or rather, gets in position to break down a door, then stops to consider their strategy, then… >sigh< Someone, tell me we’re not the only dithering party out there… _




Happy Birthday!  My present to you is peace of mind:



			
				Company of the Random Encounter said:
			
		

> (T)he group follows the corridor to a T-junction.  To the left, the tunnel quickly gives way to rubble.  To the right ...
> 
> "A door." Macwood remarks.
> 
> "A large stone door." Ming Li confirms.
> 
> "Looks important." Briar agrees.
> 
> The group looks at the door for some time.
> 
> "It's closed." Ulfgar observes.
> 
> The group stares at the door for a while longer.
> 
> "Maybe we should leave it for later and check that other door, first." Twinkle offers, "It was smaller, and wooden."
> 
> With murmurs of agreement from the others, the group turns their backs on the Ominously Large Stone Door and heads back the way they came.




_Definitely_ not the only dithering party out there.  Glad I could help!


----------



## dpdx

Happy Birthday, Spyscribe!

My present to you, though it isn't much, is continued faithful readership of your Story Hour, and...

As many intriguing plotlines as I can cook up for the group, once Fajitas posts the RBP thread.


----------



## Harp

Yeah, ok, just go ahead and add my name to the bottom of that "faithful readership" birthday card.  (Dang, I'm _always_ too late to go get a good present.)


----------



## jonrog1

Happy Birthday, and ...

Dithering. Ah, well, we USED to have a joke in my group -- "All we need for 4 hours of gaming is a room, a connecting corridor, and another room."  The group would debate endlessly ...

But, no, now the None Dare Call Them Heroes party is gripped with  a new directness.  A new, um, well, "strategy" isn't the word.

An excerpt from an upcoming Story Hour:

***********************************************

"ARRRRRRrrrrtthe trail leads into that bookstore," Amril coughed as she shifted back from wolf to elf form.

Taggart nodded to the others.  "Amril the right flank, Malachi with me.  Indigo --" The swordswoman unsheathed her Oathblade, prepared herself. 

"Knock on the door?" Malachi asked.

"Knock on the door," Taggart confirmed.

Nod didn't wait for a command.  He just stood there, slightly more ready to kill everything than usual.  And he was usually unusually quite ready to kill everything.  If you follow.

Taggart and Malachi strode up to the closed door.  Taggart knocked forcefully.

BANG BANG BANG.

A view hole in the door slid open.  Two watery eyes peered out.  "Yes?"

Pause.

Longer pause.

Taggart and Malachi looked at each other.

Paaauuuuuuuuuuussse.

They ran back down the stairs.

"Weren't you going to say --" "I thought you --"

Within, the apocalyptic planar-travelling death cult casually prepared its defenses.


----------



## spyscribe

Thank you everyone, for the kind birthday wishes and for the tales of dithering. 

The kicker to this particular instance of pre-door-bashing hesitation is that the end of the last post was the end of the session.  It seemed like a good cliff-hanger, and an easy place to pick up when we played again in two weeks.

Except two weeks later, Fajitas was in the final crunch of writing his master's thesis.  So was Bad Monkey Jeff, who was at the same time writing a chapter for a Call of Cthulhu supplement.  Then there was graduation and the awarding of all of these master's degrees to deal with and _still_ no time to game.

*About a month and half later* we finally broke that darn door down.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Fourteenth *
_In which: the DM says, “Wait!  Did you go * through* the door, or did you just break it down?_

	It seems like months have passed since Thatch got a chance to really swing his sword in a proper fight, and he has to admit it feels good to be back in the thick of things.  It feels slightly less good when he bursts through the door to be greeted by an angry barbarian and knight of Kettenek.  Both attempt to persuade Thatch through brute force and violence that he doesn't really want to be there.

	Lira, determined to make a better showing in this skirmish than the last, launches a _magic missile_ at the barbarian.  From within she hears someone shout, "Earth’s stones!  A witch!"  She rolls her eyes.  "Nice to meet you too!"

	Anvil wastes no time with witty rejoinders.  Signaling to Kettenek’s three latest recruits to follow him, he bursts through the door behind Thatch to join the fray.  As he enters, Anvil notices Jelliana and the monk standing at the back of the room.  The monk has grabbed a pile of documents and is attempting to make his escape out the window.

	Before Anvil can charge after him, however, Jelliana begins to cast.  Within seconds, the entire room is filling with a dense fog.  Undeterred, Anvil forges ahead, into the mist.

###

	Outside, behind the inn, Reyu has found a secluded spot where she can watch both the back door and the window of Jelliana’s room.  Taking out her new masterwork longbow, she nocks an arrow, and waits.

	When she sees the monk climbing from the window and dropping gracefully to the roof below, it takes barely an instant for her to draw her bow and send an arrow flying.  It hits the man square in the chest, but amazingly, he does not loose his footing.  Instead, he vaults gracefully to the ground, lands easily, and begins to run.

Reyu pursues.

###

	Meanwhile, Anvil has gotten all the way to the window without locating anyone hiding in the fog.  Looking out, he sees Jelliana already out on the roof.  Shouting for assistance, he climbs out after her.

	Alas, fleet-footedness is not one of Anvil's strengths.  He doesn't fall off the roof, but he doesn't exactly stand tall for Kettenek either.  Slipping on the sloping surface, he just manages to catch the ridge-peak and avoid an ignominious spill.  At the other end of the roof, Jelliana laughs and—as Anvil watches helplessly—heals herself from the scant injuries she has sustained so far.

###

	The monk glances back quickly as he dashes through the city streets.  The elven archer seems to be falling behind, but he realizes he has been badly injured by her arrow still lodged in his chest.  He takes a slip of paper out of his pocket, puts it in his mouth, and chews.  Just a few more seconds.  At least now, if he is captured, the infidels will remain ignorant of the—his inner monologue is abruptly derailed by a hawk which has descended from out of a clear sky to lock its talons into his shoulder.

The monk stumbles, blood flowing freely, chewing the slip of paper even as he looses consciousness and falls to the ground.

The hawk has long vanished back to wherever it came from by the time Reyu arrives at in the alley where the monk has fallen.  Still, she takes a moment to murmer her thanks to the now departed ally Nature saw fit to send her when she called upon its aid.

When she examines the monk, Reyu finds a holy symbol of Seddelus tattooed upon his chest, and underneath that--a still beating heart.  Hoping he might prove to have useful information, she sets about binding his wounds so that he does not bleed to death before being handed over to the human authorities.  

Somehow, she suspects that if he does survive, he will not thank her for her attentions.

###

	Inside, Lira runs into the swirling fog… and right into the corner of a wooden table.  Limping slightly, she makes her way to the window and climbs onto the roof, where Anvil and Thatch are facing down with Jelliana.  

At least, they are _staring_ her down.  Staring seems to be about all they can do.  Both men have swords raised, but neither steps forward to take a swing.  As Lira watches, Thatch pulls his sword back to strike, only to have his muscles freeze up, stopping him mid-motion.  All of Anvil’s abortive blows are similarly stymied.

_Okay… good thing I don’t have a sword_ Lira thinks as she begins to cast another _magic missile_.  She's about to let fly when she's suddenly overcome by the feeling that she really doesn't want to injure Jelliana.  

In fact, she’s about to drop her concentration when she abruptly remembers that this is the woman who tried to have them killed by bandits, and yes, she really would like to hurt her.  Lira completes her spell, and a shimmering blue bolt flies from her fingertip, striking Jelliana full in the chest.

	Anvil has finally found his footing on the roof, but to his frustration finds his attacks stymied by some nefarious spell.  In desperation, he runs at Jelliana, and although every muscle protests the action, his forward momentum is enough to knock her backwards off the roof.  Thankful to be getting back to Kettenek's element, Anvil doesn't even try to stay on the roof himself and tumbles after her.	  

Thatch doesn't hesitate.  He takes a grip on his sword, runs for the edge of the roof, and jumps.   He might not have been able to land a blow with his sword, but the young fighter lands on Jelliana like 300+ pounds of bricks.

	In a confused tangle of limbs, the two men struggle to prevent the—now quite battered—priestess from getting up or healing herself.  Thatch attempts to knock her unconscious with the pommel of his sword, but only succeeds in striking sparks from the cobblestones beside her head.  

Anvil is struggling to maintain his precarious grapple when both men are startled by a blue streak which >whooshes< past their heads, then slips under Thatch’s sword and around Anvil’s right arm to hit the snarling Jelianna smack in the middle of her chest.  With a small gasp, she slumps into unconsciousness.  

Both men turn to see Lira, still standing on the roof.  She smiles and gives a little wave, looking quite pleased with herself.  

"_Magic missiles_ never miss.  Gotta love it."


----------



## darkbard

*bump*


----------



## dpdx

Yay! Go Lira!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Fifteenth*
_In which: the countdown begins._

	The Watch soon arrives.  Jelliana and the monk are taken into custody and delivered to the Temple of Justice.  They probably would have protested this action had either one been conscious at the time.  The barbarian and the knight are taken to the morgue.  The party examines the room for clues.

	Of greatest interest are the papers that the monk had been attempting to carry away from the scene.  One of them is the map of the Mages’ Academy Lira and Reyu saw the group examining through the crystal ball.  There is another map as well, which Anvil identifies as describing the local sewers.  Both maps are marked with a circle at a particular intersection, which the party guesses to be some kind of muster point.

	Before handing the monk over to the Watch, Reyu had searched his person, and she did remember to check his mouth.  It seems he had been chewing on some kind of note.  Back at the inn, Reyu carefully unfolds the soggy bit of paper.  It tears as she attempts to flatten it, but the writing is still legible.

_(Note: There was a slow ripple around the table when we (the players) noticed that—as Wisdom Like Silence announced she was going to search the monk—Fajitas was chewing on something.  Sure enough, she remembers to check the guy’s mouth and he takes out this spit wad and slaps it into her hand.  We could read the message, but the paper was soggy enough that it ripped in half as WLS tried to unfold it.  Oddly enough, no one offered to help with that job.)

	(Additional note: Fajitas is the only person in the group who was disappointed that the PC who found that particular note was played by his significant other.)_

	The text is as follows:



> Commander-
> 
> We have attained the necessary material from another source.  You need not return to yours.  I commend you strongly for the crucial role you have played in this mission.  Without your work, we could not have completed the project.  This honor is yours alone.
> 
> All is now in readiness.  At midnight on the Ascendancy, we enter the new stage of the challenge we have set ourselves.  With the help of our new allies, they cannot stand against us.  We shall purify the city with holy might.
> 
> May your gods watch over you.  Glory shall be ours.




	Thatch sums up the group's sentiments.  "That doesn't sound good."

Seddelus is the goddess of change and destruction.  Seddelus Ascendant (or mid-autumn) is traditionally celebrated at sundown on October 15th.  It seems unlikely the conspirators have chosen this date by accident.

	"So,” Dennis asks, “If it's midnight of the Ascendancy, does that mean midnight between the 14th and 15th or midnight between the 15th and 16th?  I can never remember.”

“Midnight between the 14th and 15th.”

“What’s today again?”

“October 13th.”

“Crap.”

Stopping only to hurriedly reimburse the innkeeper for the damage to his door, the party takes off for the Temple of Justice.

	As the group approaches, they are surprised to find two figures coming down the steps to meet them.  It is Immobile the Just, their Universal Law Caucus contact from Dar Aego, along with Essela.  Both wear grim faces.

	“Immobile.  What business brings you to Dar Pykos?” Anvil says.

	“Amelia,” Immobile responds, darkly.  “Do you have a moment that we might speak privately?”

	Anvil nods.  “Unfortunately, only a moment.”

**********

	In the privacy of Anvil’s cell, Immobile explains the situation to him.  “There is growing demand for a hearing in the murder of Lord Vojer.  Amelia is… wanted for questioning.  Some people feel that there are one too many coincidences connected to her.”

	Anvil shrugs.  “She is a small girl, and Lord Vojer was beaten to death.  It seems unlikely she is capable of committing such a crime.”

	“True.  But the coincidences are… striking.”  Immobile sighs.  “I spent no small amount of Caucus funds to ensure that this case landed on my desk.  I’m here to determine if her extradition to Dar Aego is warranted.”

	“Many in Dar Pykos would object to her being taken back to Dar Aego.”

	“And many in Dar Aego will object to her not being brought back,” Immobile counters.  He studies Anvil carefully for a moment. “However… if you wish, I can see to it that the facts of the case do not warrant extradition.”

	Anvil is somewhat perplexed.  “You have already investigated the facts of the case?”

	“No.”

	“Then how can you be sure they will not…” Anvil trails off as the subtext of Immobile’s statement finally sinks in.  He stares coldly at Immobile.  “Are you proposing to fix the outcome of this case?”

	Immobile phrases his words very carefully.  “I’m an Aegosian Justicar, Anvil.  I’ve paid for this case.  My ruling is final, whatever it may be.  I know it’s not how things are done here, and the Lord knows it’s not how I would choose to do things myself.  But it is right and proper according to the laws of Dar Aego.”

	He pauses to let that sink in.  “I’m offering you this as a choice, Anvil.  I have the power to make this case go away, once and for all.  There may be political costs back home if I do, and there may be political costs here if I don’t.  But if you say the word, I’m ready to rule here and now.”

	Anvil quietly contemplates Immobile’s offer.  Finally, he says, “Have you time to spend investigating the facts of the case?”

	“I have a few days.”

	“Then you should take them, that we may *both* fully consider the decisions that lie before us.  Justice demands no less.” Anvil meets Immobile’s eyes with a steely gaze.  No further words are exchanged between them.

***********

	“What was that about?” Reyu asks when Anvil rejoins the group.

	“A matter that can wait for another day,” Anvil responds.  “How do things stand?”

Lira looks up from a table where she has been rereading the note.  “I don’t like this phrasing: ‘the challenge we have set ourselves.’”

“Why not?” Anvil asks, as he had never noticed Lira having particularly strong grammatical opinions before.

“Because,” she replies, “it sounds like something a Questor might say.”  She shakes her head, not wanting to believe a member of her own order might be involved with Jelliana and her ilk.  “I should go talk to Devon, see if he knows anything about this.”

“It would seem… wise,” Reyu suggests, “to consult with the other temples as well.”

“Excellent,” Anvil interrupts.  “We can identify Jelliana’s co-conspirators.”

“Well, that,” Reyu allows, “but whatever this… group… is planning, we will not want to face it alone.”

The party exchanges sober glances.  What started as a minor contract dispute has suddenly become something much larger.

Anvil nods curtly.  “I will speak to Tenacious.”

_to be continued..._

(P.S.  Welcome to the story hour darkbard!)


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> (Additional note: Fajitas is the only person in the group who was disappointed that the PC who found that particular note was played by his significant other.




And ohhhhhh, how disappointed he was...


----------



## neoweasel

Fajitas said:
			
		

> And ohhhhhh, how disappointed he was...



<Nelson Muntz> Ha-Ha!</Nelson Muntz>

Of course, Tam will probably Sneak Attack Selim come Christmas, but it was worth it.


----------



## Fajitas

neoweasel said:
			
		

> Of course, Tam will probably Sneak Attack Selim come Christmas, but it was worth it.




Now, now, neoweasel, in-jokes make people feel left out.  Especially our thousands* of readers who *don't* know that you're referring to the characters we play in the three-times-a-year campaign we're in together, which will have its next session just before Christmas.  We wouldn't want to leave them behind.

Anyway, Tam would never Sneak Attack Selim.  You just don't do that to the Cleric.  Instead, you innocently make him look like an @ss at every possible opportunity, and you smile while you do it.  


*_And by "thousands" I mean "dozens"._


----------



## neoweasel

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Anyway, Tam would never Sneak Attack Selim.  You just don't do that to the Cleric.  Instead, you innocently make him look like an @ss at every possible opportunity, and you smile while you do it.  [/i]



And the gods know that you have plenty of practice doing JUST THAT.

BTW, I'm enjoying reading this a lot.  The cultures involved are interesting, and I'd be interested to peruse anything that you might have lying around your harddrive you might want to send me.


----------



## Pyske

Fajitas said:
			
		

> *_And by "thousands" I mean "dozens"._




Baker's dozens, then.  I enjoyed the story hour so far, they have been very well-written and entertaining.

Why do I picture Edmund, bleeding profusely from a wound taken in the sacking of the academy, gasping out with his dying breath:  _"Just... five... more... minu... *thud*"_

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


----------



## Seonaid

Noooo! I finished what is here! I thought it would never end, and yet it has! 

I already expressed my feelings privately to spyscribe, but I'll say it here as well: Excellent, excellent, excellent. Very lovely writing. Very humorous. Great world. I wish I was in this campaign. I wonder how my old campaigns would look in SH format, but it doesn't matter because we hardly took exhaustive notes, when we took notes at all.

Keep up the terrific work! This is the only SH I've ever read, and I'm glad I followed that link in spyscribe's sig.


----------



## dpdx

Now that Destan's been bought, and the updates will come less frequently , the other SH legends (that means you, spyscribe) are gonna have to step up and update as frequently as time permits. It's a delicate ecology here in the forum...

Seriously, I still love this Story Hour. It can't die.


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> Seriously, I still love this Story Hour. It can't die.




No worries.  Nobody's goin' anywhere.  Things may be a tad slow through the holidays, but there's plenty of story left to tell (in fact, we're still about a year and a half behind).

Glad to see so many folks are enjoying our little game, and welcome aboard Seonaid.  As spyscribe put it to me yesterday, you can't buy a pimp that good.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Mmmm, saliva note.  I'd heard about this little trick a while ago, but it's cool to hear how it played out in game context.  I'd try it with my players, but we tend to eat well at my game, and I'm not sure anyone could distinguish "I'm eating delicious home baked goodies" from "I'm chewing a vital clue".

As for Tam and what he might or might not do, somebody put your money where your wassname is and write up Stone Tablet as a Story Hour.  Stop teasing!


----------



## neoweasel

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> As for Tam and what he might or might not do, somebody put your money where your wassname is and write up Stone Tablet as a Story Hour.  Stop teasing!




You're bloody well joking, right?  That's ten years of gaming to write up.  Admittedly, the last five years have been thrice-a-year sessions, but still...

OK.  If I can convince Fajitas and the GM to hand over notes, I'll see what I can do.  I've already planned to do a SH for the GM's other campaign I'm in.  I might as well go whole-bloody-hog.


----------



## Fajitas

Well, as long as we're off the subject...   



			
				neoweasel said:
			
		

> OK.  If I can convince Fajitas and the GM to hand over notes, I'll see what I can do.  I've already planned to do a SH for the GM's other campaign I'm in.  I might as well go whole-bloody-hog.




The idea of writing up Stone Tablet has been discussed before, and hasn't happened 'cause, well, I need to sleep.  As for notes... ain't much of 'em.  Especially to cover the five years we were playing regularly before neoweasel joined.

Fortunately, spyscribe takes scrupulous notes in the Halmae.  Scrupulous enough that I've been known to ask her what happened...


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Fortunately, spyscribe takes scrupulous notes in the Halmae.  Scrupulous enough that I've been known to ask her what happened...




Of course, he doesn't always agree with me when I tell him. 

Actually, I can only think of one time we had a dispute over a fact of any importance, and I gave in with good grace.  

Eventually.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Actually, I can only think of one time we had a dispute over a fact of any importance, and I gave in with good grace.
> 
> Eventually.



Trust me, if you knew everything about the characters involved that I know, you'd agree that your way didn't make any sense.  Of course, that also means you'd have been rummaging around inside my brain, and we all know that nothing good comes of that.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Sixteenth*
_Thirty hours and counting…_

	Jelliana is being held in a small stone room, far beneath the Temple.  She sits in a plain wooden chair, wrists secured behind her.  She slumps in her seat, looking with hatred through half-lidded eyes at the small window in the door in front of her.  Her mouth remains resolutely shut.

	“She knows we have magic to keep her from lying to us, so naturally, she’s not inclined to talk.  The monk either.”

	The priest overseeing the interrogation is a quiet man, who goes about his work with a businessman’s precision.  The party stands with him in the corridor outside Jelliana’s cell.  “I’m sure they both have more to tell us, the only question is how long it will take them to talk.  Obviously, we have very little leisure in this matter.”

“Can you use magical means to compel them?”

The priest throws a rueful glance over his shoulder at the cell door.  “They’ve both proved to be… strong willed.”

“Then how…?”  Reyu asks.

The priest makes a gesture with his right arm as though to dismiss an unpleasant matter not proper for mixed company.  As he does so, his large sleeve lifts and Thatch notices for the first time the very long dagger belted to the man’s side.  “We have… some reliable techniques.”

Thatch can hear Dennis swallow dryly beside him.  Silently, he seconds the sentiment.  Even Anvil is disinclined to linger, and he makes the group’s excuses with a short, “We will not detain you then.  Please advise Tenacious or myself if you learn anything of import.”

**********

Kettenek’s Pillars live to serve. It is their mission to support all worthy and noble undertakings, and they provide the foundation on which all such deeds can rest.

The main chamber of the Pillars’ Temple is ringed by a line of columns, each one a figure carved of stone quarried from throughout the Halmae.  There is sandstone from Ebis, slate from the Ketkath Mountains, even Aegosian marble.  The austere symmetry of the scene is rather marred by Anvil placing the knight’s severed head on the central dais.

“Do you know this man?” he demands of the order’s leader, Sir Malcom.

The Pillar takes a moment before he nods, causing his armor to chink lightly.  “Sir Allen.  I knew him well… At least, I thought I did.”  He corrects himself.  “You say he was a part of a group plotting some kind of attack on the Mages’ Academy?”

“He was.”

Sir Malcom shakes his head.  “Myself, I do not hold with those who support the eradication of the arcane.  However, not all my brothers in arms are of the same mind.  Without a ruling by the Church, that cause is as worthy as any other.”

“We believe his cell was connected to a larger conspiracy which will attempt to go forward with their plan tomorrow night.  Do you have men who will stand to the Academy’s defense?”

“I know there are those of my order who feel as I do.  We will be ready.”  He looks down at the head on the table.  “To plot an attack on so many innocents… May Kettenek have mercy upon him.”

Anvil nods soberly.  “And upon us all.”

The party turns to leave, but Sir Malcom calls out to them.

“If you would, do you think you could arrange to send the rest of his body?”

Lira raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“He was one of us.  It is our right to bury him.”

Anvil indicates his assent.  “It will be done.”

Outside the temple, Thatch takes a deep breath of clear air.  “Well, that’s one down.  How many of the other orders do we need to visit?”

**********

	Late that evening...

	The party collapses into chairs in a meeting room at the Temple of Justice.  Lira takes off a shoe and flings it at the wall in disgust.  "Well, we’ve got the Pillars and the Givers of Life, and every other sect in the city figures they’ll let the gods sort it out later.” She scowls.  “I hope that was worth it."

	Reyu is much calmer, although just as tired. "I thought it went surprisingly well."

	"You," Lira informs her, "did not spend the day listening to every religious nut in Dar Pykos imply that you were an unholy freak of nature.  And," she continues, "it didn't help that you and Anvil were standing there nodding the whole time."

Reyu regards the young sorcerer patiently.  “It is a difficult matter which demands careful consideration.”

Lira makes an inarticulate sound of exasperation and sends her second shoe flying to join the first.

	She exaggerates the situation only slightly.  Although the phrase “unholy freak of nature” was never actually uttered, most of the religious sects of the city were reluctant to commit open support to the defense of the Mages’ Academy.  No one came out and explicitly condoned the idea of an attack, but it is clear that many in the city would not be sorry to see the school quietly close.  

“Weren’t you going to go talk to Devon tonight?” Thatch asks the sorcerer, glancing out the window at the setting sun.

“Crap.  You’re right.”  Lira heaves another sigh, then goes to retrieve her shoes. _At least,_ she thinks, _this will be a friendly meeting._

**********

Devon sees Lira, as always, in his office at the Questor chapter house.  Lira settles herself in her usual chair, and tells him about the threat to the academy the party has uncovered.

Devon listens, and shakes his head sadly as she finishes.  “That’s terrible.  To stage an attack within the city, at the risk of so many innocent lives…”  He exhales heavily and runs a hand through his hair.  “It’s not that I approve of the academy—teaching unnatural arts—but…”

Lira stops listening, staring dumbly past Devon’s knees and into the hearth.  The fire crackles brightly, but she feels suddenly cold—as though all of her blood has been suddenly siphoned into the pit of her stomach.  _No, not him too…_

Lira does not make a practice of telling people about her magical talents.  She has informed the party, mostly because she didn’t want them to find out the first time they saw her casting _magic missile_.  If any had a problem with what she was, she’d rather not find out in the middle of a fight.  She’s never explicitly told Devon, but neither has she been as circumspect as is her usual habit.  She had assumed—since they share mutual acquaintances in Dar Henna—that he already knew.  

Sitting there in his office, Lira begins to mentally review their conversations since she arrived in the city, trying to remember if she has said anything to reveal to him that she is the embodiment of “unnatural arts.”

“Lira…?”  Devon’s voice breaks into her thoughts.  She forces her attention back to the present.  “Is everything allright?”

“Yes… fine…”

Devon’s brows knit with concern.  “You seem troubled.”

Lira forces the diplomatic smile that she does so well.  “Distracted.  There is a great challenge before us.”

“That there is.”

Lira gets up to leave.  “Do you know anything of this… group?  There was an Ehktian among them.”

Devon shakes his head.  “From your description, he doesn’t sound like a member of this chapter house, but I will make inquiries.”

He promises to leave a message with Mrs. Blackburn if he hears anything, and Lira departs soon after.

About halfway back to the boarding house, the young sorcerer calms down enough to think clearly.  Since she first arrived in Dar Pykos, Devon has shown her nothing but kindness.  She has apparently been wrong in her assumptions about his attitudes towards arcane magic, but surely if he was aware of her talents, he would not have revealed to her his feelings about the academy.  

_He may not be a friend, but he is not necessarily an enemy either.  He’s just one more person to be cautious with._

Lira pulls her cloak a little tighter against the autumn chill, and hurries through the darkening streets to Mrs. Blackburn’s.

**********

The morning of October 14th dawns bright and clear.  Anvil arises to find a message waiting for him from the chief interrogator.  Jelliana has revealed a name.


----------



## Seonaid

And now I know how much suspense surrounds the campaign . . . my first "live" update!


----------



## Harp

Page 3?  I think not.  Back to the front with you lot.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Seventeenth*
_Three… Two… One…_

Professor Alexandra shuts the door on her class of third-year students and looks around at the group of adventurers crammed into her office.

“Does the name Jordan Hampton mean anything to you?” Anvil demands.

“Yes, he’s one of my first year students.  What is this about?”

“We think he’s the one who told Jelliana you had sent us to get the diamond.  May we speak with him?”

Professor Alexandra rubs the bridge of her nose and sighs.  “I take it you’re asking as a Justicar, not a private citizen?” she asks.  Anvil nods.

“Excuse me a moment.”   Alexandra closes her eyes and mutters a brief incantation.  This is followed by a short whispered exchange with someone only she can hear.  After a few moments she opens her eyes again and regards the party.  “Meet me in the administration building.  I’ll go get him out of class.”

**********

	In his prime, Edmund Worthington II possessed one of the finest arcane magical minds the Halmae has ever seen.  His early theories of levitational magic eventually led to the creation of the spells _fly_, _levitation_, and _feather fall_.  Sadly, those days are long past, and the wizard who sits behind the richly carved mahogany desk in the wood-paneled Chancellor’s office is a frail, white-haired old man, with a very quiet and conciliatory nature.

Professor Alexandra and Jordan arrive a few minutes behind the party.  Jordan is a skinny fifteen-year-old, with freckles and an awkward manner.  He takes a seat and Anvil focuses on glowering down at him with every inch of Justicar intimidation at his disposal.  Reyu stands on his other side, wearing an expression that suggests she eats human babies for breakfast.  Jordan gulps.

“What is your relationship to the Priestess Jelliana?” Anvil demands.

(Thatch leans over to Dennis and whispers, “Umm… I thought that was kind of obvious?”)

“We…” Jordan stammers, “We’re in love.”

“Love,” Reyu repeats, her tone flat with disblief.

“Yes.”  Jordan repeats, sitting up a little straighter.

“She was planning an attack against the Mage’s Academy.”

Jordan is unsure for only a second.  “You’re lying.”

“We’re not.  We found the plans in her room at The Lion’s Head.”

“What were you doing there?”  Jordan scans the room, looking for an ally.  He finds none, but then, “understanding” dawns.  “I know what this is… you’re just jealous.”

Lira looks at the young wizard and puts on her most dazzling smile.  “Come on, we’ve got no reason to lie to you…  Maybe she’s just fallen in with the wrong sort of people,” she suggests.  “Tell us what you know, and we can help her.”

Jordan is only partially reassured.  “She wouldn’t plot against the Academy,” he insists.  “She wanted to study magic.  To be a wizard.”

“Did she ever ask you to bring her anything from the Academy?  A scroll of _charm person_ maybe?” 

Jordan gulps.

“Tell us the truth,” Anvil says, “Kettenek’s Justice demands it!”

“I… I… got her a couple scrolls.  One of them might have been _charm person_.  I… didn’t want to, but she said she needed them.”

“What spells were on them?”

“I don’t know!  I just grabbed some out of the Professor’s cupboard.  I’m sorry, but you can’t blame her, this isn’t her fault!”

Professor Alexandra blanches at the revelation of the theft.  “What sorts of scrolls do you keep there?”  Reyu asks.

“Just some student work… nothing higher than second level.”

The party exchanges glances, that’s still higher than any of them can cast.

	The interview continues for a few more minutes, but the party is soon satisfied that Jordan’s complicity in the conspiracy was limited to following his hormones instead of his head.  Despite all of their efforts at persuasion, they are unable to convince Jordan that Jelliana was not as in love with him as he was with her.

	After Jordan returns to class, the Chancellor mostly seemed annoyed that Professor Alexandra has asked the party to intervene in the matter of Gurn Stoneshaper and the diamond in the first place.

	"I told you to let that go!" the old man practically shouts.  "And you just went ahead, stirring up trouble."

	"But," Reyu points out, "If not for our intervention, the plot against the Academy might never have been discovered."

	“If it wasn’t for _people_” the Chancellor eyes Professor Alexandra meaningfully, “making unnecessary problems—”

Anvil interrupts him.  "You should send the students home."

	Chancellor Worthington blinks for a second before wheezing, "Out of the question!  Create a panic over nothing.  We don’t bother anyone.  Why should anyone bother us?"

	Lira speaks very slowly, just in case the Chancellor has trouble understanding Common. "We’ve found evidence that group of unknown size and unknown arms is planning something at midnight tonight, and if you don't do anything, lots of people are going to die.  Don’t you care?"

	The Chancellor stares back at her.  "Do you think it would be possible for you to have a little less information about this ‘plot’?” He waves a hand of dismissal.  “People will always dislike us.  These are rogue misfits.  I'm not going to create a panic over nothing."

And with that, the discussion is closed.

	Professor Alexandra sees the party out of the Administration Building. 

	"That man," says Anvil, with characteristic tact, "is a fool."

	Alexandra does not agree openly, but her look speaks volumes.

	"We have to protect the students," Reyu urges her.

	Alexandra nods tightly.  "I'll talk to the other professors.  We'll be on guard tonight, and we'll do whatever we can as far as spell selection.  Unfortunately, we don’t have a lot of time to prepare.  I suppose that students who live locally can go home; although I don’t know how many of them will agree to.  Only a handful of them have families that live within the city…"  She gives a helpless shrug.  "It's all we can do.  Let's hope it's enough."

**********

	By sunset that evening, the party has secured several major allies:  Tenacious has spoken to King Orin who has called out the City Watch in force.  The Pillars of Kettenek have come through with a well-armed squad to assist in the academy’s defense.  All together, eight squads of four or five roam the grounds, keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble.  The Givers of Life have healers with several of these groups and their hospital stands ready for casualties.    Finally, Dennis has paid five of the city's less-reputable citizens to scout out the sewers and report back with what they find.

	One by one, the spies return.  The first has found nothing.  Neither has the second.  Nor the third.  Nor the fourth.  The fifth does not return.

Midnight is only minutes away.

	The party is in the Divinations Building, where Professor Davis is keeping his crystal ball (the good one, with sound, Lira notices) focused on the muster-point marked on Jelliana's sewer map, as he has for the past hour.

	Nothing.

	"I'm telling you," Thatch tells no one in particular, "we should have gone into the sewers ourselves.  Rooted them out."

	Maybe they should have.  At the time, facing an unknown enemy in unknown numbers didn't seem worth the risk.  Now, waiting, with all the academy in readiness, knowing that in a few minutes *something* is going to happen, the party wracks their brains for the thing they have forgotten, the thing they could have done.

	Two minutes to midnight.

	One.

	Dennis clears his throat, a loud noise in the otherwise silent room.

	"I don't know if this will help, but could you try to scry for the fifth guy I sent out?"

	In seconds, the Professor is refocusing his crystal ball and locates the man Dennis describes.

	"I've got him." As the scene comes into focus the Professor Davis’ voice becomes more and more agitated.  "He's... unconscious, or dead, I can’t tell…  It's underground, somewhere in the sewers, a room or junction of some kind... the space is filled with barrels, I can't tell..." He stops, then, almost in a whisper, "By the Gods! The fuse, it's-"

	The sound of an earth-shattering explosion rocks the building.


----------



## thatdarncat

Gah! I'm up to date... and such a cliff hanger!


----------



## Seonaid

They're horribly, horribly good at that.


----------



## Fajitas

Seonaid said:
			
		

> They're horribly, horribly good at that.



Well, we take pride in our cruelty around here.  Glad it's appreciated.

Alas, I'm afraid we're going to have to be a little more cruel than usual this time.  See, spyscribe is going into finals week for her last semester of grad school.  There may be some time before she gets a chance to post.

But don't worry.  Uncle Fajitas is here to take care of you with a Sidebar or two to tide you over.  Probably not a "Effects of Large Explosions on Mages Academies in the Halmae" sidebar, but hopefully something entertaining.

And hey, you guys think you got it bad?  This is where we ended a session going into the end of grad school for both myself and Bad Monkey Jeff.  Scheduling was a nightmare.  As a result, it took us a full month to get to the next session.


----------



## spyscribe

*A minor "fix" of Halmae goodness*

Just a little mindless diversion while waiting for sidebars.



			
				Fajitas said:
			
		

> >sigh< So there I was, with a list of twenty Mages Academy students.  I had worked out all their names, personalities, inter-relationships, what they knew about the scenario, and what clues they had that could lead the PCs to the real culprit...




More than a year later, I've got a project due for Survey of Interactive Media



> Assignment 5
> 
> i)  Construct a number of hyperlinked web pages, each of which contains some element the user could construe as narrative--a sentence or an image.
> 
> ii)  In the alternative, take an existing narrative, and reconstruct it as a hyperlinked narrative.




At least all that work didn't go to waste for everyone.


----------



## Seonaid

spyscribe said:
			
		

> At leaast all that work didn't go to waste for everyone.



Hehee, thanks for the link. A few minutes less in the long wait for an update.


----------



## ellinor

A little bit of Third Page Prevention for ya.  Good luck with the end-of-semester excitement, Spyscribe!


----------



## Fajitas

*Sidebar: Religious Orders of the Halmae*

Just before the attack at the Mages’ Academy began, our heroes visited a number of religious orders in Dar Pykos to seek aid for their cause.  Most of these discussions happened off-screen.  But we thought some of you out there might be a little curious as to just what religious orders there are out there that the PCs might have gone to.  Thus, we present…

*Sidebar: Religious Orders of the Halmae* 

The many different interpretations of the gods of the Halmae have led to the rise of a wide number of religious orders, each worshipping their own god in their own way.  There are very nearly as many orders in the Halmae as there are different beliefs.  Some of the major ones are described below.

Religious orders are not restricted to clerics, or even to divine casters.  Anyone can belong to any religious order.  Initiation rituals vary from group to group; it takes little more than a declaration of intent to become a Questor, whereas it takes many years of training and study to become a Justicar. 

(_NOTE: This is in no way an exhaustive list of religious groups in the Halmae.  It is merely the list that I created for the PC packet at the beginning of the campaign.  They were designed as seeds for character generation, tidbits to help spark the imagination. Details were deliberately left vague, allowing PCs interested in these orders to take part in their development.  

Each entry include the most common classes, alignments, or clerical domains associated with each order, as well as any game-related trivia._)

*Kettenite Orders
Kettenek’s Pillars*
The Pillars live to serve. It is their mission to support all worthy and noble causes. They provide the foundation on which worthwhile undertakings can rest. They are usually Fighters and Paladins, but anyone who feels they can support righteousness is welcome in their membership. (Lawful Good, _Law, Strength, Protection_)

*Justicars*
Justicars worship the Law. They hold rigidly and mercilessly to its tenets. Everything is black or white for them. Legal is permissible, illegal is not, end of story. Judges and paladins are often found among Justicars. 

Anvil, of course, is a Justicar, a member of the Universal Law Caucus, a splinter group within the Justicar Order.  (Lawful Neutral, _Earth, Law, Strength_)

(_NOTE: The Justicars are probably the most well explored order in the game right now. They have deviated somewhat from the way I originally saw them, and that’s mostly my fault.  Since they occupy a prominent position in most justice systems in the Halmae, they have turned out to be a somewhat more politically savvy than they are described as above.  Or, at least, the higher ranking ones like Tenacious are.  Lower ranking ones like Anvil… they tend to be a tad more rigid in their thinking._)

*Guardians of the Barrier*
The Guardians revere Kettenek as the Lord of the Dead. They seek to ensure that those who have passed into the earth stay there. They seek to contain the undead, and more extreme members constantly protest resurrections. Many members of this sect have little to do with the living. They are often morticians. 

Cyrus, during his brief tenure in the game, was a Guardian, as is the current head of the Church of Kettenek in Dar Pykos.  All Guardians take the name Cyrus when they are inducted into the Order. (Lawful Neutral, _Earth, Protection, Strength_)

*Crossers of the Barrier*
The Crossers were originally an offshoot sect of the Guardians. They probed the secrets of the undead, learning how to create and control them. They seek to emulate the Lord of the Dead, by ruling over them. Needless to say, Crossers are not very popular in civilized areas. 

Since the Crossers originated from Guardians that had gone bad, many of them also carry the name Cyrus.  This couldn’t possibly ever lead to confusion.  Or hilarity.  (Lawful Evil, _Earth, Law, Death_)

*Alirrian Orders
Nature’s Tenders*
The Tenders worship Alirria as goddess of nature. They encourage harmony with nature.  Many wander the wilds, offering the goddess’s aid to her creations. Others live in city-states, helping the people there to live peaceably with nature. Tenders are busiest during planting seasons, when every farmer around seeks their blessings. Druids and Rangers often belong to this sect. 

Although Dennis is not a Tender, he has developed close ties with them.  (Neutral Good, _Water, Plant, Animal_)

*Nature’s Protectors*
A more fanatical branch of the Tenders. Medieval eco-terrorists, the Protectors will aggressively protect nature against the encroachments of humanity. (Chaotic Neutral, _Water, Plant, Animal_)

*Givers of Life*
The Givers see Alirria as a healer. They dedicate themselves to providing for health needs. They are healers, physicians, midwives, etc. They live to help and aid the sick and injured. 

The current head of the Church of Alirria in Dar Pykos is a Giver.  (Lawful Good, _Good, Healing_)

*Water Walkers*
Walkers are consumed by wanderlust. They have a burning desire to see everything that exists in nature. They are always on the move. The longer they stay in one place, the more they miss elsewhere. Walkers often serve as messengers in their travels. (Neutral Good, _Water, Travel_)

*The Lady’s Handmaidens*
The Handmaidens worship Alirria as the goddess of love, and they provide, ahem, services in that regard.  Their temples are effectively high-class brothels, but there is nothing dirty or illegal about them.  Their priests, both male and female, seek to share love, sexual comfort, and respect with others.  

Jelliana, of course, was a Handmaiden.  And, while Dennis is not a Handmaiden, he has >cough, cough< developed close ties with them.  (Neutral Good, _Healing, Good, Water_)

*Ehktian Orders
Students of the Sun Blade*
The Sun Blades see Ehkt as the god of War. Ehkt craves honor and glory, and showers praise on those who find the most. Most warriors, mercenaries, or soldiers belong to this sect. 

The current head of the Church of Ehkt in Dar Pykos is a Sun Blade.  (Chaotic Neutral, _War, Sun, Fire_)

*Keepers of Light and Flame*
Keepers believe that Ehkt encourages growth. To them, self-improvement is the ultimate form of worship. They seek physical (Keepers of Flame) or intellectual (Keepers of Light) perfection, depending on their personal focus; the holiest of Keepers seek both. Monks, Wizards, scholars, and librarians are frequently Keepers 

The Keepers of Light are one of the more pro-arcane orders around.  The Keepers of Flame have less interest in the arcane question.  (Chaotic Good, _Sun, Fire, Knowledge_)

*Questors*
The Questors worship Ehkt as god of challenges. Like a fire constantly in need of fuel, Questors constantly seeks new obstacles to overcome. There is no quest, no dare, no stunt, no new or potentially exciting and dangerous experience that a devout Questor will turn down. 

Lira, of course, is a Questor.  (Chaotic Neutral, _Fire, Chaos_)

*Sedellan Orders
Harbingers of the Future*
The Harbingers worship Sedellus as goddess of change. All things must end that new ones can begin. Change is inevitable, and often frightening. The Harbingers do their best to shepherd people through changes, feeling no need to force it upon them.  They are the most respected sect of Sedellus. 

The current head of the Church of Sedellus in Dar Pykos is a Harbinger. (True Neutral, _Air, Luck_)

*Fortune Riders*
The Riders see Sedellus as goddess of chance, never knowing which way her fickle winds will blow, but always working an angle to get it blowing in their favor. Riders are often con artists or tricksters. The Order supports itself through games of chance. They are not generally well thought of, but who really wants to offend the goddess of luck? Rogues are often Fortune Riders.  (Chaotic Neutral, _Air, Luck, Trickery_)

*Children of the Wind*
The Children are dedicated to Sedellus’s evil nature, to death and destruction. They detest civilization and all its trapping, constantly seeking to bring about its downfall. They have little formal organization, as they are generally killed on sight. However, they continue to strike, generally from small cells, leaving ruin in their wake. It is *highly* recommended that PCs not play Children of the Wind. (Chaotic Evil, _Evil, Destruction_)


_GM’s Note: As I said, this list is by no means exhaustive.  If anyone out there has cool ideas for new Religious Orders, feel free to send ‘em my way…_


----------



## Greybar

Good stuff.  I like the challenges that come from reconcilling how people can draw power from the same god you do, yet for purposes that seem opposite to how you see your own god.  Have the heroes beat their heads on that much?  So far I think they've just opposed the people without questioning why the god gives boths sides divine support.

john
p.s. oh, and a big thanks for sharing the story with us!


----------



## Ladybird

> Cyrus, during his brief tenure in the game, was a Guardian, as is the current head of the Church of Kettenek in Dar Pykos.  All Guardians take the name Cyrus when they are inducted into the Order. (Lawful Neutral, _Earth, Protection, Strength_)




Out of curiosity...why do they all take the same name? And why is that name Cyrus?

And although I've probably said it before, I'll say it again: I really like the religious system you've thought up. I love the idea of deities that are so multifaceted, and whose followers can interpret them in such different ways.

There, now I've buttered you up - can we please have a resolution to the cliffhanger? 

Good luck to everyone who's in the midst of finals! Hang in there!


----------



## Fajitas

Greybar said:
			
		

> I like the challenges that come from reconcilling how people can draw power from the same god you do, yet for purposes that seem opposite to how you see your own god.  Have the heroes beat their heads on that much?




There is general agreement, especially among those learned in religion, that the gods are abstract and unknowable.  Thus, while you can quibble philosophy between orders, there's very little fundamentalism.  The heads of the Churches all know that there are many correct interpretations.  It's usually only the young and impetuous that consider other orders heretical.  Especially since they can clearly cast _holy smite_ at you.

Naturally, there are exceptions to this.  No one but the Crossers really think that they're doing Kettenek's will.

And then, of course, there are the Sovereigns.  But they're just nutjobs.

Still, there are a lot of politics that take place behind the scenes, as the various Churches and the various Orders attempt to live with one another.  This is one of the reasons Tenacious the Just isn't quite as Justicary as Anvil.



			
				Ladybird said:
			
		

> Out of curiosity...why do they all take the same name? And why is that name Cyrus?




Cyrus is the name of the man that founded the Guardians way back when.  His name is taken a) out of respect, and b) to indicate that no one soldier is more important than the mission.  That said, they do usually have a second name, to help differentiate themselves.  Otherwise mail call at the Chapter House would be a nightmare.

At any rate, it's not dissimilar from nuns using the name "Mary".

-Fajitas

PS- And a big thanks to you for enjoying the story...


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> And then, of course, there are the Sovereigns.  But they're just nutjobs.




And hoo-boy are they.



			
				Fajitas said:
			
		

> Cyrus is the name of the man that founded the Guardians way back when.  His name is taken a) out of respect, and b) to indicate that no one soldier is more important than the mission.




Well, except for Cyrus.  He was a bit higher up the ladder.


----------



## KidCthulhu

All Cyruses are created equal.  Except some Cyruses are more equal than others.


----------



## dpdx

Merry Christmas to the writers, players and readers of my favorite story hour. This just keeps getting deeper, and better.

From Animal Farm: "All animals are created equal, but some animals are more equal than others."


----------



## KidCthulhu

Fajitas said:
			
		

> And then, of course, there are the Sovereigns.  But they're just nutjobs.




Wait.  Who are the Sovereigns?  They aren't on the list above.  So - slow - of - brain.


----------



## Fajitas

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Wait.  Who are the Sovereigns?  They aren't on the list above.  So - slow - of - brain.




Ahhh, I was wondering if anyone was going to pick up on that.  The Sovereignty of Kettenek is one of the three major "kingdoms" of the Halmae, along with the Darine Confederacy and the Empire of Ebis.  They'll be covered in a forthcoming sidebar, "Kingdoms of the Halmae".

It came up 'cause the PCs have been in the Sovereignty for a while now in RL game-time.  And... well, the Sovereigns are kind of nutjobs when it comes to religion.  Tho' it's probably best not to point that out to them.


----------



## Seonaid

I was wondering about that too, but I figured it was just something that had been said before and I missed it.


----------



## spyscribe

_We're all tanned, toned and... er..   At any rate, done for the semester and back from GenCon SoCal.  So it must be time for..._

**********

*Part the Eighteenth*
_In which: Boom._

	The party rushes to the window, just in time to see a giant column of fire shooting out of the ground—engulfing the administration building and one of the two dormitories.

	From sewer grates surrounding the academy, shadowy figures come pouring out onto the streets, converging on the school.

	Lira licks her lips, which have gone suddenly dry.  "So that’s what ‘cleansing the city with holy might’ meant."

	Shouting to Professor Davis to stay inside and to somehow let them know if there's someplace they're urgently needed, the party runs for the stairs, sprinting across the quad towards the dormitories.

	The Academy is in chaos.  

	The night is eerily well lit from the flaming buildings.  In the flickering shadows, Anvil can see the Watch and Pillars of Kettenek engaging the foes rushing up from the sewers.  The only thing louder than the roar of the flames and the clash of metal against metal is the sound of hundreds of students, screaming. 

	The dormitories are two long buildings, parallel to each other and running east-west on the grounds.  The South Dormitory has not yet caught fire, and the doors at the west end are open with students pouring out.  Most of them are in a huge knot, turned inward, everyone flinging spells at something no one in the party can see.

	The east quarter of the North Dormitory is already engulfed in flames, but the doors at the opposite end remain shut and bolted.  Standing by them are five men, all armed.

	Anvil suddenly hears Professor Alexandra’s voice echoing in his head.  "You must keep the fire from the alchemy building.  If the fire reaches the spell components, who knows what could happen.  I’ve got some items that might help, but I don’t know if I can get to them.  Dammit, the students are supposed to be helping with this.  Where the hell are they?” 

He looks over at the School of Alchemy.  Although it is next to the burning administration building, it is not yet on fire.  A student runs out of the South Dormitory, coughing up smoke.  Anvil grabs the coughing student’s arm.  He points to the young man's fleeing classmates.  "Take these people," Anvil tells him, "make a bucket brigade and start fighting the fire at the North Dormitory."  It's the sort of tone that brooks no argument.  

	Even in his panic, the young student listens.  After a second he nods, and begins moving through the other students, with purpose this time, waving for attention.  Anvil hears him shout hoarsely, "Everybody, find a bucket!"  Slowly, but surely, a wavering line of students bearing bowls, cups and the occasional _ray of frost_ begins to form.

	Thatch, Dennis, and Reyu, joined by several Pillars, have already run through the crowd of fleeing students to engage the five fighters in front of the still mysteriously sealed North Dormitory.  As they get closer, they can see flames licking across the roof, as students desperately claw at the barred windows, screaming and trying to get out.  Thatch grits his teeth, takes out his sword and starts swinging at the nearest enemy he can hit.  

	Reyu braces her short-spear and stabs at a ranger-type wearing an unmarked holy symbol of Alliria.  She scores a glancing blow, but he quickly retaliates, raising a short-sword and making a vicious slash right at the elf’s gut.  Reyu tries to dodge the blow, but she is unable to move away in time.  The stroke is just about to hit home when suddenly… a FOOT comes flying in from the side, knocking aside both the stroke and the swordsman.  

Reyu whirls to see Essela—from Immobile’s temple in Dar Aego—bring her foot back and fall into a ready stance.  Her voice contains not a hint of irony as she says, "I heard you might need some help."

	Lira has not gone charging into melee.  Her role in battle has become a mantra.  "Stay at the back.  Keep out of range.  If you see a bad guy, hit him with a _magic missile_.  Stay at the back.  Keep out of range..." In front of her, the knot of students from the South Dormitory has begun to unravel.  Lira comes forward, looking for what was at the center.

	She finds two creatures unlike anything she has ever seen:  beasts of pure shadow.  The flickering firelight slides off sleek forms, and when the _things_ move, they leave lingering trails of inky mist that hang in the air for an instant before boiling away into nothing.  

One beast crouches atop a grown man, once a professor, now a corpse, ripped apart by the beast's all-too-solid claws.  The other pounces on a student, who screams in agony.

	"If you see a bad guy, hit him with a _magic missile_."  Thought becomes deed as Lira casts, blue bolt flying from her index finger straight into the haunch of the second shadow beast.  And then, just as it hits the misty flank, the bolt... falters, and with a small "pfft" vanishes.

	Lira stands, shock rooting her to the spot.  The beast turns atop the student, fixing the young sorcerer in its gaze.  Still staring at her, the creature makes a casual twist of its claws, ripping out the throat of the student lying beneath it.

	The creature sniffs the air once, snarls... and leaps.

_to be continued…_


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the 18th, special behind-the-scenes exclusive!*

As Fajitas is describing the scene to us, there is not a sound around the table.  One of those moments when we are all _riveted_ on the game.



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> The party rushes to the window, just in time to see a giant column of fire shooting out of the ground—engulfing the administration building and one of the two dormitories.
> 
> From sewer grates on surrounding streets, shadowy figures come pouring out onto the streets, converging on the school.
> 
> The Academy is in chaos.




Dead silence falls as Fajitas pauses for dramatic effect...

And then Anvil's player goes, "Oh good!  I have _protection from chaos_."

Still one of the top quotes of the campaign.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Still one of the top quotes of the campaign.



And still the number one reason why Bad Monkey Jeff is getting coal in his stocking from me again this year... 

In other news, it turns out that watching eleven and a half hours worth of Lord of the Rings movie is harder your neck than it is on your butt.  Who'd have guessed?

Oh, and special thanks to Sagiro, from whom I yoinked our exciting new beasties.  I adjusted the physical description to fit my own particular style, but their abilities are pretty much the same.  Those who read his story hour and recognize them, please keep mum.  My players still don't know everything about 'em yet.


----------



## Seonaid

spyscribe said:
			
		

> _to be continued…_



I think that, because you all were on vacation (or at least, vacation from posting here), you should post another update in between the normal updates. You know, to catch up. 

More, more, more! ::whine::


----------



## KidCthulhu

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Oh, and special thanks to Sagiro, from whom I yoinked our exciting new beasties.  I adjusted the physical description to fit my own particular style, but their abilities are pretty much the same.  Those who read his story hour and recognize them, please keep mum.  My players still don't know everything about 'em yet.




Hee-hee.  I know what they are.  And you guys is well and truly fudged.


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Oh, and special thanks to Sagiro, from whom I yoinked our exciting new beasties.




Yeah Sagiro, thanks a heap.


----------



## thatdarncat

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Yeah Sagiro, thanks a heap.




Took me a second, but now I recognize them. Heh. hehehehehe

Oh, and Fajitas, it just depends on where you're sitting in the theater


----------



## Piratecat

No, really! They're _friendly._


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Nineteenth*
_In which: Lira makes a new “friend.”_

_(Note: what follows is probably one of the most Lira-centric portions of the story to date.  Frankly, it’s what I was paying attention to at the time.  If other players feel their worthy deeds did not receive due honor in this chronicle, let me know, and we’ll see what we can do to supplement this account.)_ 

	As burning, slicing claws rake down her front, Lira does the only thing she can think of that might help.

	She screams.

	It is a scream of pain, and fear, and just a little bit of rage mixed in for good measure.  It is as loud a sound as Lira has ever forced out of her small throat.

	In the cacophony of the fleeing, the burning, and the dying, it is completely lost.

	Thatch, Reyu and Essela have all they can handle facing down the warriors in front of the dormitory.  For perhaps the first time in his short adventuring career, Thatch finds himself evenly matched.  Reyu is having no better luck, and Essela is starting to take heavy damage.  Between the clash of fists and swords, none of them notice one more scream for help, let alone recognize its source.

	Anvil, supervising the bucket brigade doesn't hear her either.  

	Fortunately for Lira, he does see the young sorcerer go down.  Calmly, Anvil loads his crossbow, takes careful aim, and fires.

	The missile buries itself deep, knocking the creature off balance enough for Lira to scramble up from the dirt and run away.

The creature takes off after her, close on her heels, snarling, slavering, and then, just as it leaps… a terrified student dashes between them.  The beast twists in midair, catching the student with four sets of razor-sharp claws.

	Lira doesn’t watch the lifeless body crumple to the ground. She just runs, knowing that if she cannot find a place to hide, it will be her own blood staining the trampled earth.  Unfortunately, cover that is not on fire is quickly becoming scarce.  

“Over here!” Anvil yells, gesturing for Lira to get behind him.  She wastes no time doing so, and pulls from her belt one of the party’s few healing potions.  Anvil readies his sword, and turns to face the beast.

	As the creature runs towards a solid wall of Anvil, it seems to decide that this is almost as tasty a morsel as the little one who keeps running away.  It leaps, hitting the Justicar with a surprisingly solid >thunk< that sends him sprawling.  Anvil's armor partially protects him from the shadow beast’s raking claws, but not completely.

	Anvil, grits his teeth against the pain and—offering a quick prayer to Kettenek that the creature attacking him is as un-lawful as it looks—casts _protection from chaos_.  He feels a familiar surge of lawful power wrapping around him and for a split second, it seems to work.  The divine mantle solidifies between him and the shadow beast… and then the beast's claws sink through it like tissue paper, once again sinking into his flesh. _That,_thinks Anvil, _really shouldn't happen._

	Lira, hands shaking, finally manages to load her own crossbow.  She is familiar with the weapon, but has never actually used one in combat before.  Turning back and taking careful aim, she lets fly and watches as the bolt buries itself in the roiling mist of the creature's shoulder. 

	The beast shudders, howls in rage… and boils away into nothing.

Anvil sits up, gives Lira a quick nod, and turns his attention back to the battle at large.

	Thatch, Reyu and Essela, with the help of several Pillars of Kettenek, are finally starting to make progress against the armed men in front of the sealed dormitory.  Reyu turns to the scene behind her, where a shadow beast has just eviscerated another young student. 

	The thought rises unbidden: "baby-killers." She takes a moment to really look at the creature and revises her assessment: "_unnatural_ baby-killers."

	Reyu turns on it, viciously jabbing with her short spear.  The blow hits, but the creature merely growls in anger, and attacks. 

	The analytic part of Reyu's brain notices that, along with the slicing sensation of the claws, there is a burning feeling, almost like acid.  The battle has gone suddenly quiet, and she can distinctly hear the sound of her own ribs cracking under the creature's assault, followed by a blossoming sensation of the worst pain she has ever experienced, until mercifully, she blacks out.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Twentieth*
_In which: *sigh* smoke, shadowbeasts… you were expecting? _

	Lira and Anvil both see the elf fall.  Almost at the same moment, Anvil sees Essela's eyes go wide as the Allirian ranger plunges his short sword into her gut.  She coughs once, spraying blood across her attacker’s face, then sinks to the ground.

	Lira watches the shadow beast.  Unconcerned with its now unconscious prey, the creature is sniffing the air again.  It turns its head from side to side, searching, searching...  Abruptly, it stops, and turns straight towards her.

_But I didn't do anything to this one!_ Lira thinks desperately, as she tries to come up with some means of stopping the creature.  Her wounds are only partially healed and she suspects that another blow will kill her.  Unfortunately, the only way to keep it away is to have someone else between her and it.  Once again, that someone is Anvil.

	The Justicar readies his sword and attempts to defend himself as the beast bears down on him.

	The shadow beast charges in.  Anvil parries, but as he lifts his blade to cleave the creature’s skull, it reaches in under his guard, and catches the Justicar with a full-on claw-swipe.  Anvil lets out a hoarse shout, and falls.

**********

Thatch is finally starting to have some luck in this fight.  He has found his rhythm and the tide of battle is beginning to turn.  _Of course_, he has to admit, _remembering to drink the potion of _bull’s strength_ we found on the bandits doesn’t half help._  Thatch has just sunk his sword deep into the chest of one attacker, a Seddelen rogue, and nearly pins him to the ground on the blade when he hears Lira’s voice, behind him yelling:

	"Thatch!  Go kill that thing!"

Thatch pulls back on his sword just as Dennis back-stabs the last standing attacker.  They turn back, and see—for the first time—the black beast upon the field.  Sword raised, Thatch dashes forward, Dennis on his heels.

**********

	Lira runs in the opposite direction to where Reyu and Essela have fallen within ten feet of each other.  Reyu has a healing potion and Lira attempts to revive her first, hoping that once the druid is conscious she can aid the bleeding monk.

	Carefully, Lira pours the potion down the elven woman's throat, slowly at first, and then faster as Reyu gains life enough to swallow on her own.  Lira looks down, and notices that although the elf's wounds are healing, they remain raw and not completely closed.  A glance at her own belly shows that she too still bears marks from the creature's claws.

	When Reyu blinks back to consciousness, the air is still filled with smoke and screams.  "Are they dead yet?" she asks the sorcerer kneeling by her head.

Lira puts the bets possible spin on bad news.  “One of them is.”

	Reyu gets to her feet and casts her last _cure light wounds_ of the day on the fallen monk.  It barely raises Essela to consciousness.

Across the quad, Thatch charges towards the remaining shadow beast.  He bears down upon it with a mighty shout, and in two sword strokes the beast boils away to nothing at his feet.  _"Well,"_ he thinks, _"that wasn't so hard."_

**********

Annika coughs hard on the black smoke that fills her small bedroom.  Even lying flat against the floor it's getting hard to find good air.  She can hear her classmates farther down the hall, screaming as the walls of their rooms catch fire.

The gap between door and floor allows for a little circulation.  Annika stays as close as she dares, creeping forward for a breath and then scooting back as quickly as possible so that the _thing_ outside can't smell her.

She tries hard not to vomit as the image rises unbidden of Mai, her cat familiar, rent by horrible black claws.  It's as though a piece of her has been ripped out.

As if the beast outside could hear her thoughts, suddenly, inches from her face, the misty black nose is back snuffling at the gap under her door.  Claws gouge at the wood, and Annika scrambles madly back.   She's choking on the heat and the flames, and as the door splinters, she just has time to register the thought that this is going to be the last thing she ever sees.


----------



## dpdx

Wow. Serious, serious update. You dropped _Anvil_? You bastards!


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx said:
			
		

> Wow. Serious, serious update. You dropped _Anvil_? You bastards!




Ahem.  Unless you are referring to our shadowy onyx-acquiring conspiracy, that would be bastard, singular.  I just write this stuff down.  

Oh, and speaking of writing stuff down, to give Anvil his full second-level props, it _probably_ took more than one hit to take him out.  The darn shadowbeasts didn't manage to score crits against *everyone*.

(...er... not that it _took_ a crit to take Lira to one hit point.)


----------



## Seonaid

Update, update!


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> The creature takes off after her, close on her heels, snarling, slavering, and then, just as it leaps… a terrified student dashes between them.  The beast twists in midair, catching the student with four sets of razor-sharp claws.




>sigh<  I'm such a softie.  See, the crit that the beast used to kill that poor student was rolled for Lira.  But, well, it would have killed, killed her dead.  

Now, I don't mind killing characters, but I hate it when they die stupid, unsatisfying deaths.  In this case, it would have been due to a deep strategic miscalculation (leaving the sorcerer alone in the back to deal with the mage-killing monsters) which was made before the PCs had enough information to make good decisions.

So I took pity on her.  That once.  Lira has now used up her GM fiat.

Besides, spyscribe was a pretty new player.

And I was fairly sure I would kill her on the next round.


----------



## spyscribe

_Sorry about the delay in posting this update.  I'm on the road.  Still, look for a series of short, but frequest posts over the next week or so._

*Part the Twenty-first*
_In which: the party attempts a rescue._

Annika’s door shudders on its hinges, the beast lets out a blood-chilling howl and...

falls silent.

Before Annika has time to recover her wits a huge man opens her door.  They stare at each other for a few seconds and Annika realizes he is still more boy than man, a few years younger than herself.  "Umm…" her rescuer says, "You should probably get out of here."  Annika wastes no time following his instructions.  She runs for the West doors—smashed to splinters on their hinges—and doesn't stop until she's caught by a group of her classmates.

It takes a little work to convince them she's all right, but Annika soon gets a bowl and joins the line of students in the bucket brigade.  It's only then that she has time to wonder who the people who slew the beasts were.

Further down the burning building an elf coaxes a warhorse forward, pulling out bars over one of the dormitory windows.  Several students tumble out the window, but now that the doors are open, most that can are braving the hallways.

Throwing a bowl of water against the flaming building Annika sees that she ran right past another shadow beast without even noticing it, as it was completely surrounded by men wielding swords.  As she watches, a man in leather armor sinks a short-sword into its side and the creature boils away into thin air.

The man sheathes his weapon and yells down the south corridor, “Lira!  Get out of there!”

Several of Annika’s classmates come running out, followed by a woman about her age with soot-streaked red hair.

“Is that everyone?” he asks.

The woman shakes her head.  “No, but it’s everyone who’s going to make it out.”

At that moment, the burning administration building, four stories of flaming logs that went up like a torch in the initial explosion, collapses in on itself.  Amid the hail of burning debris, Annika watches as molten hot sparks shoot upward, then float on the wind to the academy greenhouse, where they quickly begin to burn.

_to be continued..._


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Twenty-Second:*
_In which: the roof (among other things) is on fire._

As it becomes apparent that everyone in the North Dormitory is either out or dead, Anvil begins shouting to the bucket brigade to re-direct its efforts.  Before he can get the line to shift, Professor Alexandra is at his elbow.

"Didn't you get my sending?" she asks the harried Justicar.

"Yes," he replies.  "We had to get the students out first."

"You must keep the fires away from the alchemy vault.  If it explodes, there will be disastrous consequences for the entire city!"

Professor Alexandra points to the flaming greenhouse.  No one lives there.  Aside from rare plants from throughout the Halmae, it's empty.  

“_That_ is built onto the side of the Alchemy building.”

Anvil decides not to ask what disastrous means.

"If we can get to my office I have some items which may be useful, but the building is already on fire, we'll have to hurry."

Anvil is already redirecting the bucket brigade to the greenhouse.  "Take whomever you need.  We'll do what we can here."


----------



## dpdx

Yay! Mini-Halmae! Yay! [/Special Ed]

Curious to know - are you using the regular rules for what catches fire after how long, etc.?


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> Curious to know - are you using the regular rules for what catches fire after how long, etc.?




To my extreme irritation, I was pretty much unable to find rules in the Core books for firefighting, so I had to make it up on my own.

The basic rule was this: Each round, a burning square would ignite adjacent squares (depending on wind direction).  Those adjacent squares got a DC 15 save.  If they failed, they became "nascent" fires, just starting to catch.  The next round, nascent squares would become full on burning squares.  The round after that, they would set their neighbors on fire.

The more interesting rules ended up being those for putting fires out.  They varied depending on technique, and I'll cover those once you see the full arsenal the PCs had at their disposal.  

The real fun I had was going through the magic item lists in the DMG, making a list of all the widgets that a) would be useful for fire fighting, b) wouldn't be troublesome if the PCs ran off with them, and c) were within Professor Alexandra's ability to make (even professors at the Mages' Academy aren't much higher than 9th level arcanists...)


----------



## spyscribe

_Speaking of magical widgets used to fight fires..._

*Part the Twenty-Third: *
_In which: Reyu acquires magical cookware, and Thatch, a fashion accessory._

Reyu, Dennis, and Thatch follow close behind Professor Alexandra as she runs across campus to the artificy building.  The North side of the building has already started to burn.

The door to Professor Alexandra’s storeroom is located at the back of her classroom.  Thatch puts a shoulder to it, and with his magically enhanced strength easily knocks it in.  Of course, the fact that it was half burned through didn’t hurt either.

Behind him, Professor Alexandra swears.  Then, she casts and Thatch feels a cool touch on this back of his neck.

“Umm…?”

“_Resist elements_,” she answers.  “It won’t help much, but it’s something.”

Thatch moves to a part of the floor that isn't on fire and uses his cloak to beat out flames that are creeping across the threshold.  Reyu, Dennis, and Professor Alexandra slip by into the long storage area.

The Professor quickly picks up two scrolls and a wand from a bin near the door.  She looks around frantically for a few seconds. 

“What are you looking for?” Reyu asks her.

The professor points to a fallen set of shelves.  They have toppled forward, trapping their contents beneath them.  "If you can pick that up, there should be a pitcher you can use."

Thatch gives Dennis a questioning look.  He's sure it will be good for the bucket brigade, but from a professor at a Mage's Academy he'd expected something a little more... magical.

Dennis shrugs, and tries to find a good position to help Thatch lift the shelves.  Despite Thatch’s even greater than usual strength, the task proves problematic if only because it is hard to find a place to stand near them that is not on fire.  

Reyu and the Professor both use their cloaks to beat back the flames until finally the men are able to get a proper grip on the problem and heave the shelves upright.

Once that is accomplished, Dennis and Thatch start stomping out the flames between them and the door while Reyu darts in and grabs a pewter pitcher from a pile of miscellaneous objects jumbled on the ground.  Hoping that the object is more than it seems, Reyu turns to where the floor is catching fire behind her and makes a pouring motion with the pitcher.

Nothing happens.

"Say, 'fresh fountain,'" Professor Alexandra tells her, digging through the pile to rescue what looks like a ladies' fan from a smoking box.

Reyu tightens her grip on the pitcher.  "Fresh fountain!" she shouts, coughing.

Instantly, water gushes from the pitcher and splashes onto the floor, putting out the nascent flames.

Dennis uses his cloak to beat out a patch of fire creeping across the doorway.  “If we don’t need anything else, I think we should get out of here,” he calls.

Professor Alexandra takes one last moment to look around the largest storehouse of arcane magical items in the Confederacy.  “That’s it,” she agrees reluctantly, and runs for the door.

Reyu follows.  Water continues to pour out of the pitcher, leaving a wet trail behind her.  "Professor..." Reyu asks, "how do I--?" 

"Tell it to stop," Professor Alexandra answers her unfinished question.

"Stop it," Reyu tells the pitcher.

The pitcher is instantly empty. _Well,_ thinks Reyu, _this should be interesting_.


----------



## thatdarncat

_is sitting by the burning dorm with a stick and marshmellows, happily toasting._


----------



## Fajitas

And now, we enter the age of the truly multi-media story hour.  This is a visual aid for the next installment: a map of the current state of the School of Alchemy.  Will our daring heroes contain the fire?  Or will our intrepid DM be forced to roll five times on the table of spells for magical traps (3.0 DMG, p117) and apply those effects to all of Dar Pykos?

Only spyscribe can say...


----------



## Fajitas

Okay.  This time, with feeling...


----------



## Father of Fajitas

Setting fire to the Dormitory, eh, kid? For this, I taught you how to play?


----------



## Orichalcum

*Once more with feeling?*



			
				Father of Fajitas said:
			
		

> Setting fire to the Dormitory, eh, kid? For this, I taught you how to play?





You keep claiming there are no Buffy references, Fajitas, and then use headers like once more with feeling?

Welcome to EnWorld, FatherofFajitas! I was just talking to someone this morning about how we'd happily vote for your dog Merlin as President (at least, in a two way race with certain other candidates). Merlin the dog versus Merlin the legendary wizard was a tougher call, on the other hand. Please give a hug to MommyFajitas as well. 

I can also attest that these fire-fighting rules work fairly well, at least in the minor application that I borrowed them for in an upcoming session of Alea Iacta. You have to be willing to accept a certain amount of chaos as a GM, though.


----------



## Ladybird

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Welcome to EnWorld, FatherofFajitas! I was just talking to someone this morning about how we'd happily vote for your dog Merlin as President (at least, in a two way race with certain other candidates). Merlin the dog versus Merlin the legendary wizard was a tougher call, on the other hand. Please give a hug to MommyFajitas as well.




Woohoo! Yeah, I second all of that  Welcome aboard, Daddy Fajitas! Hi to Mommy Fajitas! Merlin for President! All of 'em!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Twenty-Fourth* 
_Meanwhile…_

Anvil quickly decides that the greenhouse itself is a lost cause.  On the other side of the wall joining it to the alchemy building are two classrooms, with a corridor between.  Diagonally adjoining the north classroom is the alchemy vault.

Anvil positions himself in the north classroom near the wall closest to the vault.  Flames have already consumed the adjoining wall and are licking across the floor.  Anvil stomps at the flames, using his cloak to smother their advance.  He can hold them, but any progress he makes against the fire is quickly lost.

Anvil grimly stares down his adversary.  _This far,_ he allows, _but no further_.

Around him, the flames slowly creep across the room.

Not oblivious to this fact is Lira, who stands in the hallway between the classrooms, trying to keep the door clear for Anvil.

She concentrates, casts, and a silvery _ray of frost_ leaps from her finger and hits the flaming wall in front of her.  The flames go out, but new tendrils are soon licking at the wood.

"You're going to be trapped in there!" she yells to Anvil, but the Justicar ignores her.

Lira wipes the sweat dripping into her eyes and casts again, striking back a runner of flame advancing around the doorframe.

She doesn't look behind her.  If she did, she would see on the other side of the hallway that all four walls of the south classroom are already aflame.

Essella however, is quite aware of the gravity of the situation.  Standing at the intersection of the hall to the greenhouse and the one to the outside, she directs the students to douse the corridor wall shared by the south classroom, keeping open the party’s last line of retreat.

They're losing ground.

It occurs to Esselea that the flames might be beyond their abilities to combat, and that they might all perish among the burning timbers.  She contemplates that for a moment, and makes her peace with it.  If she or Anvil is lost to the flames, she is certain they will find favor at Kettenek's hand.  The sorcerer she is not so sure about, but it is not her concern.

But if they die in vain, and these chaotic fires wreck their havoc on the entire city it will be most... frustrating.

She takes a moment to search for signs of the approach of the Professor and the others.  Whatever the wizard has to help them, she hopes it arrives soon.

Then, through the smoke already chocking the doorway, she sees a group of figures running towards her.  It looks like… yes, it is the young fighter, Thatch, in the lead, long strides devouring the distance across the quad to the alchemy building.  And in his hand he carries… a lady’s fan?


----------



## Fajitas

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> You keep claiming there are no Buffy references, Fajitas, and then use headers like once more with feeling?




1) Actually, what I said is "_This time_ with feeling." 

2) I never claimed there are *no* Buffy references.  I just claimed that the title "Welcome to the Halmae" is not an intentional one.

3) Yeah, 'cause no one ever used the phrase "once more, with feeling" before Joss Whedon put pen to paper.

4) As Sigmund Freud once said, Ori, "sometimes, a stake is just a stake."*



			
				Father of Fajitas said:
			
		

> Setting fire to the Dormitory, eh, kid? For this, I taught you how to play?



Oh, and everyone, say hi to my father, from whom (rather than in spite of whom) I learned to play D&D.



*Well, he would've if he'd ever watched Buffy...


----------



## neoweasel

Fajitas said:
			
		

> 3) Yeah, 'cause no one ever used the phrase "once more, with feeling" before Joss Whedon put pen to paper.



Actually, I just checked in my copy of "Sources of Phrases Throughout the Years" by Rex Ecto and it says that the phrase was first found in a book written by one Joss Whedon.  Title of the book being "Ich bilde dieses."


----------



## Orichalcum

*While we're being pedantic....*

Isn't it "expatriates?" Because Piratecat Ex-Patriots would mean that you used to swear loyalty to Piratecat, but then you went off and committed high treason against him. This would be amusing to watch, admittedly.

<duck season>


----------



## neoweasel

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Isn't it "expatriates?" Because Piratecat Ex-Patriots would mean that you used to swear loyalty to Piratecat, but then you went off and committed high treason against him. This would be amusing to watch, admittedly.
> 
> <duck season>



Admittedly, to commit treason against Piratecat, they'd have to commit war against him or give Aid and Comfort to his enemies.  Unless they were bound by a different Constitution.

<rabbit season!>


----------



## Piratecat

Father of Fajitas said:
			
		

> Setting fire to the Dormitory, eh, kid? For this, I taught you how to play?




He was like this in Boston, too. I wouldn't let the dog sit near him unless I had a fire extinguisher handy.



> Admittedly, to commit treason against Piratecat, they'd have to commit war against him or give Aid and Comfort to his enemies. Unless they were bound by a different Constitution.




Umm - guys?  Do I have a say in this?  Please? 'Cause if I have to start boiling oil to suppress the peasants, you should know that I'll be reduced to using non-stick Pam.


----------



## neoweasel

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Umm - guys?  Do I have a say in this?  Please? 'Cause if I have to start boiling oil to suppress the peasants, you should know that I'll be reduced to using non-stick Pam.



I should admit that the only reason that I posted that is to show how ridiculously unlikely it would be for them to commit treason against you.  

Actually, all you'd have to do is declare Fajitas' S.O. to be your enemy, and he'd be guilty of treason right off - as well as a few others.


----------



## Father of Fajitas

Piratecat, if they try to commit reason against you, you've got nothing to worry about.

And hugs, Orichalcum and Ladybird!


----------



## neoweasel

Father of Fajitas said:
			
		

> Piratecat, if they try to commit reason against you, you've got nothing to worry about.



When has ANYONE on this board been known to commit reason, is what I want to know.


----------



## ellinor

neoweasel said:
			
		

> When has ANYONE on this board been known to commit reason, is what I want to know.




Hey!  I resemble that comment!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Twenty-Fifth*
_In which: the party fights fire with… well, it’s not fire._

Thatch feels just a little silly standing in a burning hallway holding a little fan.  He carefully opens it.  It's lacy.  Thatch feels just a little sillier.

Tentatively, the 6'7" 300lb fighter wiggles the fan in the direction of the flames at the end of the hall.  With a great >WHOOSH!< a surge of air pushes forward, forcing the flames back to the far wall.

_(DM’s world note: That was a _gust of wind_ spell, for the record.)_

Okay, maybe not so silly after all.

Dennis moves past Thatch to the classroom where Anvil continues to hold his line, tumbling to avoid the flames now creeping down both sides of the corridor.  Gamely, he takes out the wand Professor Alexandra gave him, points it at a burning desk and _wills_ it to do something.

A ray of sparkling frost shoots from the end of the device, coating the top of the desk and extinguishing the flames.

_(DM’s Note: When later asked why anyone in their right mind would make a wand of _ray of frost_, Professor Alexandra claimed that it was an early wand she had crafted, working out some of the finer points of theory.  Although, she admitted, these days she mostly uses it for stirring drinks…)_

Anvil raises an eyebrow, and Dennis hopes he didn't just earn himself a spot in a particularly cold area of the afterlife.  But when the Cleric speaks he says: 

"Excellent.  Hold the Line.  Thatch, get in here and-"

But he is cut off by a shriek and Reyu shouting, "Duck!"

**********

Moments earlier: 

As they run from the burning Artificy building to the burning Alchemy building—passing ongoing pitched skirmishes between the City Watch and attackers bearing unmarked holy symbols and the unmistakable odor of those who stage their ambushes from sewers—Professor Alexandra finds breath to explain the functions of the items she has managed to rescue.

"Can any of you cast from arcane scrolls?" she asks Reyu.

"I believe Lira can."

"That's right.  Edmund did mention she was a sorcerer.  Fine."  

Thatch breaks in, "Umm…  Do you know any spells to help?"

Professor Alexandra gives a tight nod.  "If got one powerful spell left that should work, but I'd like to save it until it's absolutely necessary." The others gesture their agreement, and Alexandra continues.  "The pitcher has another setting.  If you hold it and say 'fresh geyser' you'll get a stronger stream of water." 

"How much stronger?" Reyu wants to know.

"Much stronger."

**********

Standing in the hallway intersection, facing the burning greenhouse, Reyu braces her feet, grabs the pitcher with both hands, and points it towards the center of the flames.

"Fresh geyser."

A torrential stream of water shoots from the mouth of the pitcher, as though a rock has been removed from a dam.  The stream douses the flames, the walls, the ceiling, and everyone standing in the corridor.

To Reyu, it feels like a horse has kicked her in the stomach and knocked her flat.  She starts to shout, "sto-" as she falls, but before the command is out of her mouth the pitcher wrenches free of her grip and flies backwards, ricocheting off the walls at mad angles.

“Duck!” Reyu shouts, an instant before the pitcher goes sailing over Lira’s head.  

The sorcerer straightens, sputtering.  “Thanks.”

The pitcher knocks off a corner and goes flying into an open area where it continues to bounce off walls, spraying every surface with fresh, cold water.

Thatch quickly takes off after it, pressing the fan into Reyu's hands as he passes the dripping elf.

This is a magic item he can get excited about.


----------



## neoweasel

spyscribe said:
			
		

> _(DM’s Note: When later asked why anyone in their right mind would make a wand of _ray of frost_, Professor Alexandra claimed that it was an early wand she had crafted, working out some of the finer points of theory.  Although, she admitted, these days she mostly uses it for stirring drinks…)_



Hmmm...  A new magic item for the idle rich, I see.


----------



## Harp

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Thatch quickly takes off after it, pressing the fan into Reyu's hands as he passes the dripping elf.
> 
> This is a magic item he can get excited about.



I think I went to high school with Thatch.  Well, OK, a kindred spirit at least.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Twenty-Sixth:* 
_In which we pose the question: pitcher of endless water… or greased pig?_

Lira wrenches her eyes away from the sight of Thatch throwing himself on the ground in an attempt to tackle a sliding spinning pitcher while simultaneously shouting: "Stop! Stop! Stop!"

Under circumstances any less dire, it would be hilarious.  Even now it's a _little_ bit funny.

But Lira looks away because Professor Alexandra is asking her a question.

"Can you use scrolls?"

Lira takes the two rolls of parchment tentatively.  "Umm... Sure?"

The Professor nods briskly.  "I'm going to the check the vault.  I'll signal you if the fire gets through."

Lira nods, and takes a moment to examine the vaguely familiar magical writing.  She can recognize the spell as _pyrotechnics_, and she's familiar with the _theory_ of casting from a scroll, but it's not something she's actually done before.

_A challenge then,_ she thinks, with mental if not actual eye-roll, _Ehkt will be so pleased with me._ 

Behind her, Reyu regains her feet and flutters the fan at the flames creeping down the corridor.  A gust of wind blows them back to the ruined wall of the greenhouse, but the force of the rushing air rips the delicate lace from the fan’s ribs.  

Reyu tries the fan again, but the thin cloth merely flaps up and down, useless.  She tries again, nothing.  If Reyu were given to colorful invective, she’s certain now would be an appropriate time to let fly.  However, she is not.  Instead, she retreats to the corridor intersection and joins Essela and the students in their efforts to maintain a line of retreat out of the building.  

Meanwhile, Lira runs for the north classroom.

The good news is that Anvil and Dennis have succeeded in keeping the fire away from the wall the classroom shares with the alchemy vault.  The bad news is that the flames creeping across the floor have them nearly surrounded.

Lira positions herself in the doorway, unrolls the first scroll, and begins to cast...

##

Anvil is distracted from his task of *Maintaining the Line* by a flash of light--nearly blinding in its intensity.  When he blinks away the afterimage he finds that half of the room has stopped burning.  In the doorway stands Lira, unrolling a piece of vellum with a second blank sheet lying at her feet.

"Hang on" she warns Anvil and Dennis.  "It's about to happen again."

The two men shield their eyes, and Lira once more begins to chant.

##

Thatch is completely focused on tracking his foe.  Actually, it’s not that different from catching chickens back on the farm…  Except that the chickens weren’t spraying hundreds of gallons of water a minute.  Of course, chickens don’t generally ricochet either.  Okay… It’s this way, off the back wall, here it comes... and gotcha!

Thatch dives for the sliding pitcher, snags the handle with one hand as it skitters past, and then holds on with all of his strength.  "Stop," he tells it firmly, and the pitcher obediently stills.

##

Back in the entry hall, the wall shared with the south classroom barely retains the right to be called a wall.  Essela isn’t sure if this is a good thing or not.  On the one hand, if the wall is no longer there, it can’t be on fire anymore.  On the other hand, then the only thing left to burn will be the floor in front of the building’s only exit.

_At least there isn’t a second floor_ Essela thinks as she coughs hard to clear smoke from her lungs.  She jumps at a tap on her shoulder from Thatch.

"Can I try something?" the young fighter asks.

Essela raises an eyebrow.  "Be my guest."

Thatch braces himself against the non-flaming wall of the corridor and faces into the heart of the fire.  Thatch makes sure the pitcher is braced in both hands and against his chest, and that his feet are solidly on the floor.

"Fresh geyser."

The kickback is strong, but Thatch grunts and holds his ground.  The jet of water pounds through what's left of the wall and douses a path all the way back to the greenhouse.  Even better, the area under the water-stream doesn't relight.  

Tentatively, Thatch slides a few feet to his right.  He keeps his grip on the pitcher and begins dousing a new swath of flame.  _At last_, he thinks, _progress._

Meanwhile, in the north classroom, Dennis, Anvil, and Lira look in satisfaction at a room largely free of fire.  Then, as they watch, the flames begin to creep forward again.

##

Professor Alexandra has been keeping close watch on the interior walls of the alchemy vault.  Minutes pass, and they remain untouched.  She reaches forward to feel to wood and finds it still cool under her fingers.  

Then, dimly she hears Anvil call, "Professor, we could use a little help here."

Hurrying towards the inferno of the North classroom, Alexandra is greeted by the sight of a building nearly in ruins.  Every surface is dripping with water and stained black with smoke.  Although the flames seem to have receded somewhat, the near side of the greenhouse burns strongly.

"If you have something which can aid us, I believe now is the time." Anvil suggests.

Alexandra appraises the situation and quickly agrees.  She picks her way forward, around burning desks, through a narrow path cleared to what used to be the structural wall between the greenhouse and the alchemy building.  Now, it has burned completely though.  Professor Alexandra steps through the remaining timbers to stand in the corner of the greenhouse, and casts.

A small flame creeps up and catches on the hem of her skirt.  Alexandra ignores it.  Dennis watches the fabric smolder and is just wondering if she should do something to help when a silvery vortex begins to form in front of the Professor.

Suddenly, a vortex become a cone and shoots forward, enveloping the flaming greenhouse in a wash of bitter cold.  Without the heat to burn, a great trench of flame sputters and dies.

Farther inside the alchemy building, Lira fires off a final _ray of frost_, and catches herself against a charred timber, spent. 

Thatch brings the stream of water around to the last of the flames, far from the vault.

Cut off from any new fuel sources, the remains of the greenhouse soon burn themselves out.


----------



## Pyske

And the heroes triumph once more.  Yay!! 

I have such a clear mental picture of Anvil in his ranger hat saying "Only _you_ can prevent forest fires.  Kettenek's justice demands it!" 

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


----------



## spyscribe

Pyske said:
			
		

> And the heroes triumph once more.  Yay!!




Well, we mostly triumphed at any rate. 

On a side note, it seems like every couple of months someone starts a "why play a sorcerer instead of a wizard?" thread.  And when I see it, I always think of this encuonter, because there is _no way_ had I been playing a wizard and operating with the information we had, would I have thought to myself, "Hmm, big fight coming up.  I bet _magic missile_ will be completely useless... better load up on _ray of frost_."


----------



## porthos

I love this story hour. It's like the Little Story Hour That Could. Great low-level adventures written up in a completely entertaining way. Nicely done.


----------



## Fajitas

porthos said:
			
		

> I love this story hour. It's like the Little Story Hour That Could.



Thanks, porthos.  We like to think we can.  We think we can.

For the record, the entire Mages' Academy fire represented two straight sessions of non-stop combat time, which is pretty intense for 2nd level characters.

Also, for the record, I've included the various fire fighting techniques below.  Unless otherwise noted, burning squares got a DC 15 save versus these techniques.  Nascent squares got no save.

Smothering- A PC can smother a 5-foot square using a cloak or some other object.  Smothering is a full-round action.

_Ray of Frost_- Clears a 5-foot square.  Must roll to hit, DC 10.  If you miss the square aimed at, roll a d8 as per missing with a thrown weapon to see what square you strike.

Bucket brigade- As _ray of frost_, but targeted square can be no more than 10 feet away.

Decanter of Endless Water- On fountain, it counts as a bucket.  On geyser, it drenches a 5x20 foot column.  Geyser also requires a strength check to stay standing, and a Dex check to keep hold of the Decanter.

_Pyrotechnics_- Extinguishes 20x20 square.  No save.

Wind Fan- Creates a 10 foot wide gust that extends until it hits an object.  50% chance to extinguish all fires within its range.  Can also affect direction of spread.

_Cone of Cold_- The tactical nuke of fire-fighting.  Extinguishes all flames in range.  No save.


----------



## spyscribe

Damn it Porthos!  Now I'm really wishing there was a little train icon I could use for the thread instead of just "D&D 3.0."   

Glad you enjoy the story.



			
				Fajitas said:
			
		

> Smothering- A PC can smother a 5-foot square using a cloak or some other object.  Smothering is a full-round action.




In play, it looks something like this: 

*Anvil Holds the Line*

Anvil's initiative: Bad Monkey Jeff rubs out red dot indicating 5' nacent square.
Fire's initiative: Fajitas puts the dot back.
Anvil's initiative: Bad Monky Jeff rubs out red dot indicating 5' nacent square... again.
Fire's initiative: lather, rinse, repeat.

I think BMJ spent the entire session putting out the same 5' square.


----------



## dpdx

Very cool!

So, Fajitas, how'd you work out the mechanics of Thatch catching the runaway water pitcher? I can't help thinking there was some serious trigonometry and differential equations involved...


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> So, Fajitas, how'd you work out the mechanics of Thatch catching the runaway water pitcher? I can't help thinking there was some serious trigonometry and differential equations involved...



Nothing quite so complicated, I'm afraid.  I think it was just a Dex check.  The pitcher, of course, moved randomly throughout the room, careening off walls and such.

That particular bit of the scenario played out exactly the way I hoped it would: low-strength character starts out with it, high-strength character realizes they should have it...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Twenty-Seventh*
_In which: the party recovers from a night that felt like it lasted three months…_

The party gathers outside the ruined building.  Even here, the air reeks of smoke, but Reyu gulps the comparatively cleaner atmosphere.  It feels like her lungs will never be clear again.

Nearby, Lira coaxes a very wet, sputtering weasel out of her cloak.  Euro quickly runs up to her shoulder, and snorts.

No offense Boss, but your hands are freezing.

Lira touches a hand to her face and jumps at the sudden cold. She supposes this is what you get for casting nine _rays of frost_ in quick succession.

Thatch looks at the devastation all around them.  The Academy still smoulders, but the flames are no longer spreading.  Members of the Watch run down the handful of enemies who have not already fled the scene.  At last, he spots what he’s looking for.  There, in an empty space between two buildings, stands his faithful steed, Bob.

Thatch whistles, and the wounded but faithful warhorse slowly makes his way back to his master.  Thatch pats him on the neck reassuringly, and looks around to see if there is a healer available.

Instead, he sees a dark figure, standing at the edge of the Academy grounds.  With a start, Thatch realizes it appears to be staring at him and his companions.

“Thatch!  You coming?” The young fighter turns to see that the others are already making their way towards the street, leaving the final mopping up in the capable hands of the City Watch and fire brigade.  He hesitates, looks back at the shadowy figure… but it has already vanished.

**********

Mrs. Blackburn is considerably less than pleased to have three of her boarders coming in after midnight, filthy and reeking of smoke.  

“Never in my life!” she exclaims, although the force of her scolding is largely lost on its intended targets.  “I run a respectable establishment, I do, and here you are, coming in at all hours, up to gods know what--”  She turns to the stairs and spies Tessa watching.  “What did I tell you about them?” she demands of her daughter.  “I told you they were trouble.  Do you want to end up like this!?”

Reyu breaks into the landlady’s harangue.  “Would it be possible to get a bath?”

“A bath?!?  At this hour?  Of all the—“

“It’s that or smoky sheets tomorrow,” Lira offers, managing a vague shadow of her usual charming smile.  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Mrs. Blackburn continues to mutter to herself as she turns up the stairs to heat the bath-water.

******************

Lira is dead tired.  Still, she has enough energy left to be glad that she isn’t dead.  She dries off from the bath and slips into her night-shirt, covering the scars that the beast’s claws have left across her belly.  Despite magical healing, Reyu and Anvil bear souvenirs of their encounters with the shadow creatures as well.  The priests at Anvil’s temple have no explanation, and can only guess that the marks are permanent.

Lira shudders at the memory of the burning claws.  One thing she is sure of.  Whether by nature or by training, those _things_ were hunting spell-casters.

****************



> Submitted to His Royal Highness, King Orrin of Dar Pykos, in the 12th year of his reign, may the gods preserve him in good health and wisdom, {etc. etc, etc.}
> 
> Report of His Grace, Sir Owen Coldswain, Master of Arms of the City, Capain of the City Watch, pertaining to events transpiring at the Mages’ Academy on the night of Sedellus Ascendant:
> 
> At midnight the night of Sedellus Ascendant an explosion was triggered in a sewer tunnel underneath the Mage’s Academy.  Watch Investigators believe some fifteen to twenty barrels of firepowder had been deliberately stacked beneath the Academy's Administrative building.
> 
> Simultaneously, an unconfirmed number of attackers exited from various staging points at sewer grates on or near academy grounds and engaged with both guards on patrol and academy students and faculty.
> 
> It appears that certain groups of attackers had the specific mission of taking four aggressive creatures of unknown nature and origin with resistance to spells and other magical effects, and sealing them inside the students’ already burning dormitories.
> 
> Allow me also to note that the students in question range in age from as young as 16 to 20 years of age, at the oldest.  The deliberate and cold-blooded nature of this assault can only suggest that the purpose of this attack was nothing short of the destruction of the Mages' Academy and as many of the students and faculty as possible.
> 
> A group of operatives associated with the Temple of Justice (see the attached dossiers) discovered advance warning of the plot, and arranged for City Watch to be on double duty.  Additionally, they provided for the presence of Pillars of Kettenek and Givers of Life.  Members of these organizations provided crucial assistance during the incident, as did the operatives themselves.
> 
> In the opinion of this observer, had this assault come with no prior warning or preparation, casualties and damage could have been much greater.
> 
> Casualties:
> 
> His Majesty’s Officers and other emissaries of the Law
> 5 members of the Watch
> 3 Pillars of Kettenek
> 1 Giver (killed by unknown creature, coll. “shadowbeast” – it does not appear that the instigators of the attack targeted the healers).
> 
> Assailants
> 20 – all bearing holy symbols (or tattoos) not marked with any sect affiliation
> 
> (note: Based on the number of dislodged sewer grates and the seeming pattern of four attackers per cell, we believe this was the total number of attackers.  Most of these attackers have been recognized as local members of various religious sects, though several bodies have yet to be identified.  Attackers were aided by between 6 and 8 “shadowbeasts.”  However, since the bodies of these creatures vanish upon their death, exact count is uncertain.)
> 
> Civilians
> *54* Mages’ Academy Students are dead or missing.
> *4* out of 9 members of the faculty either confirmed dead, or in the case of the Chancellor, missing and presumed dead.  Chancellor Edmund Worthington II is believed to have been in the Administration Building at the time of its collapse.
> 
> Property Damage
> Three buildings (Administration, North Dormitory, School of Artificy) destroyed completely by fire.
> Two buildings (School of Alchemy, South Dormitory) half burned.
> 
> Fire did not spread outside the grounds of the academy.
> 
> I have already ordered the City Watch to remain vigilant over the coming days and weeks for heightened violence against arcanists or possible retaliation from the academy.  However, I fear that anti-arcane religious fervor has reached dangerously unstable levels.  I humbly submit that Your Highness, as well as the other leaders of the City, must take immediate action to determine what, if anything, can be done to relieve these tensions and prevent the occurrence of another such incident.


----------



## Seonaid

:: jaw drops :: 54 students! Wow . . . Thanks for the great updates!


----------



## dpdx

Survivors, besides (obviously) the party?


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> Survivors, besides (obviously) the party?



There were approximately 200 students at the Academy before the fire, and nine professors.  All other details... you'll have to wait for the next update.


----------



## dpdx

Wait for an update?? How long?


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx said:
			
		

> Wait for an update?? How long?




If all goes according to my clever plan, look for it sometime tomorrow.  

I'm really excited about some of the updates coming up in the next couple of weeks... only in part because I'm not doing all of the writing for them!


----------



## spyscribe

*I'm a day earlier than I thought.  So sue me.*

*Part the Twenty-Eighth*
_In which: all in not well in the aftermath…_

When Anvil emerges from his chambers the following morning, he finds the usual order of the temple disturbingly unsettled. 

When he goes searching for Tenacious, Anvil is informed that the elder Justicar has been in meetings since that night, along with much of the rest of the church’s upper hierarchy.  The halls are abuzz with whispered rumors.  Several members of the order who had spoken out against arcane magic have been confined.

Several others are missing.

Anvil goes in search of one of the former.  Being locked in his rooms, Sturdy the Just is easy to find.

“It is an outrage what has been done to you!  An outrage, I say!”  shouts Anvil as he pounds on the other man’s door.

There is a puzzled pause on the other side.  “Err… come in?”

Anvil does.

“What has happened in this city?” Anvil asks as he takes a seat.  “Fires at the Mages’ Academy, suspicion among our ranks.  What have you done to deserve this treatment?”

Sturdy spreads his hands wide.  “I know not.”

“You do not approve of these wizards.”  Anvil suggests.

The other man remains silent.  After a moment, Anvil continues.  “They meddle in unnatural matters.”

The other man suddenly bursts out, “That is what I say!  Is it not a question still undecided by the Church?”  

Anvil nods, but says nothing, encouraging the other man to continue.  He obliges.  “If it is found that these arts are the domain of the gods, I will abide by it, but,” his voice rises as if to air his protest to the entire building through his closed door, “that is not yet the case, and I have merely spoken what I find to be the truth of Kettenek in this matter!”

##

Despite her displeasure the night before, by morning, news of what happened at the Mage’s Academy has reached Mrs. Blackburn, and she doesn’t even mind when Lira and Thatch are a bit late to breakfast.

She fusses over them and Reyu as much as they will permit, and Tessa is practically glued to Thatch’s elbow, despite his best efforts to dissuade her.  The three eat quickly and head to the Temple of the Justicars to regroup.

##

Once the party has convened, they decide to see if they can gain any information about what happened the night before and who the perpetrators behind it might be.

The most obvious route of investigation seems to be the origins of the shadow creatures, and so they decide to pay a visit to the Keepers of Light.

_(Keepers of Light are an Ehktian sect that worship their Lord through self-improvement, specifically through the acquisition of knowledge.  Sort of like the Questors, only they read, instead of climbing random mountains.)_

“Hmm…” the head of the chapter house leans in close to examine the five parallel scars running over Lira’s belly.  “And the rest of you scarred as well, despite magical healing?”

Anvil and Reyu nod, but Thatch speaks up.  “Umm… I didn’t.”

“You weren’t wounded!”  Lira points out.

“They weren’t that tough!” Thatch replies.

The man looks up from Lira’s midriff and quirks an eyebrow.  “Interesting.”

As Lira steps aside to re-tuck her shirt, Thatch bends down to speak to the older man.  “Really.  They were lightweights.  I mean, I know she says they nearly killed her, but Lira’s kind of…” Thatch searches momentarily for the appropriate term, “delicate.”

Lira rolls her eyes, but Reyu speaks up.  “We believe the creatures had a… preference for spell-casters.  That… may have affected Thatch’s assessment.”

The Keeper thinks for a moment.  “That _is_ fascinating.  Not like anything I’ve heard of, but I’ll do some research.  Check back in the next couple of weeks.  If I’m going to find anything, I’ll have it by then.”

The party thanks him and takes their leave.  Although there is very little discussion, almost as one they find themselves walking towards the Mages’ Academy.

The party soon finds they are not the only curiosity-seekers who have come to investigate the excitement of the night before.  As they near the academy, they spot four students, in their schools robes, walking together back to the campus.  Or rather, they _were_ walking, now they are running while vainly trying to shield their heads from the cobblestones being thrown by a small gang of local children.

Almost by reflex, the party falls into tactical mode.  Reyu and Anvil shout as they run towards the stone-throwers, Thatch remains quiet, but obviously reaches for the hilt of his sword.  Dennis and Lira stay alert, watching for allies in nearby alleys or other trouble on the periphery. 

The ragged gaggle of nine to twelve year olds looks over to find a wild elf, a Justicar, and a very tall man with a very large sword running in their direction shouting… and quickly decides to be somewhere else.  

As the urchins melt away into the alleys, Reyu, Anvil, and Thatch turn their attention to the students.

Most of them are unharmed, although one is bleeding from a small gash on his forehead.  With a whispered chant, Reyu touches the wound, and it vanishes.

“Thanks,” says the young man.

But not all the students are so happy about their rescue.  “Well, that’ll show them,” grumbles one… whose voice is not entirely unfamiliar.

Reyu turns to the source of the complaint and finds... Amelia, pushing back the hood of her cloak.


----------



## spyscribe

Bonus points if you still remember who Amelia is!


----------



## thatdarncat

Ummm wasn't she almost killed by those shadow creatures? *scratches head* I didn't think she was that important. *ducks*


----------



## dpdx

Amelia's the Halmae's answer to that chick in the Ring that comes out of your TV and turns your face into a schwa.

She'd be a slave somewhere, and her owner would automagically turn up dead. And of course, she has no idea how it happened. At least twice.


----------



## Fajitas

thatdarncat said:
			
		

> Ummm wasn't she almost killed by those shadow creatures? *scratches head* I didn't think she was that important. *ducks*



Close, cat, but dpdx has it.  You're thinking of Annika, who wasn't that important.  

At the time...


----------



## thatdarncat

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Close, cat, but dpdx has it.  You're thinking of Annika, who wasn't that important.




Actually, I was trying to be cheeky. I should have double checked first apparently


----------



## Fajitas

thatdarncat said:
			
		

> Actually, I was trying to be cheeky. I should have double checked first apparently



Hmph.  Wiseguy.


----------



## dpdx

Okay, cool! Do I win an _update?_


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx said:
			
		

> Okay, cool! Do I win an _update?_



Nope.  Sorry.   

*Part the Twenty-Ninth*
_In which: the party meets an old… acquaintance, and makes a new one._

Reyu turns her attention to the glowering young wizard.  “Are you injured?”  she asks—with genuine concern.

“I’m fine,” Amelia spits back.

“What troubles you?” the elf asks, puzzled.

“Oh, nothing.  I’m sure now that you’ve given them a good chasing off, they won’t bother _us_ anymore.”

One of her classmates breaks in.  “We’re very grateful, really.”  He turns to the others.  “Come on, we should be getting back.”

The party walks escort for the students back to the academy grounds.

In daylight, the devastation is even starker than it was the night before.

The formerly green main quad has been churned to a field of soot-covered, bloody mud.  Students work in small groups, sifting through the rubble, looking for bodies of their fallen classmates.

Even in the open air, the smell of smoke, beginning to tinge with mildew, hangs over the area.

The one encouraging sign is that the students are not alone.  Every temple in the city, if not every sect of every temple, has sent representatives of the faithful to help with the cleanup.  Lira, who has been looking for someone from the Questors who might know more about the shadow creatures spots a woman she knows. 

“Rosemary!” she calls.

“Ah, Lira, well met,” the woman replies as she makes her way over.  Rosemary is a bit closer to what one might expect to find among a sect devoted to taking up Ehkt’s challenges.  Namely, she is taller than an elf and doesn’t break a sweat lifting a full water-pitcher.  “Have you come to take on this challenge?”

Lira gives a rueful smile.  “Actually, I took it on last night.”

Rosemary listens closely as Lira describes the battle the previous night, especially the shadow beasts.

“Are you sure it wasn’t a bear?  You know, a big black bear or something?”  

Lira shakes her head.  “I’m sure.”

Behind her, Thatch mutters, “Besides, they weren’t that big.”

Lira ignores him.  “Well,” Rosemary considers, “they don’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard of, but that doesn’t mean no one knows of them.”  Rosemary scans the area, finally signaling to a woman on the far side of the quad.  “This is Moira, she’s a Water-Walker.”

Lira and Moira turn and greet each other.

Thatch swallows quietly.  Okay, he’ll admit it.  He’s noticed that Lira is… cute, in a so-small-she’s-about-to-break kind of way.  But really, not something he spends a lot of time thinking about.  At all.  And he never really thought she and Reyu looked much alike.  Reyu _is_ an elf, and that makes a difference.

Lira and Moira might actually pass for sisters.  Red-haired, pretty, blue-eyed sisters (except that Lira has brown eyes… whatever).  Thatch feels Dennis’ elbow in his ribs and quickly finds something fascinating on the toe of his left boot.  He swallows again.

Reyu glances over and shrugs.  All humans look pretty similar to her.

Lira looks up at the other woman.  She looks up at most people, and Moira does have a good seven inches on her, although her vantage gives her a perfect view of the holy symbol of Alirria hanging around the other woman’s neck.  Lira also notes the design clearly denotes the other woman’s affiliation with the Water Walkers, even if Rosemary had not already said as much.  She begins to ask Moira if she has ever seen or heard of a creature like the shadow-beasts from the night before when Moira cuts her off.

“You were here last night?”

“Umm… Yeah.  We were the ones who discovered there was going to be an attack on the Academy.”

Moira’s eyes light up. “Really.  What happened?”

Reyu looks at her quizzically.  “What… have you heard happened?”

“Well, some folks over at the Thirsty Traveler this morning were suggesting that the mages somehow brought it on themselves… you know… like they lost control of their own unnatural powers.  Someone else told me that King Orrin ordered the Watch to attack, to drive the wizards from the city… But my _favorite_ rumor is that the gods caused the moon to fall out of the sky as a sign of their disapproval of arcane magic.   

Reyu blinks.  “One hopes that will be… dispelled… when the moon rises tonight.”

“You’d think that one would have lost credibility when the moon set as normal _last_ night, but it’s still a great story.”  Moira grins.  “The most common rumor is that it was a bunch of religious fanatics, although opinions are split as to whether they’re organized from within the temples or without.”

Anvil nods.  “Indeed.”

The party gives Moira their version of events and she files it away with the others as she considers the description of the shadow creatures.

“I don’t know, but… there’s something familiar.  Kind of like someone took bits and pieces of a half dozen different fairy tales and wrapped them all up together into one.”  Moira runs a hand through her hair thoughtfully.  “We could go back to my way-post.  The head of my order has traveled a lot more than I have, maybe she’s heard of the strange creatures you encountered.”

Having no better plan, the party agrees and accompanies Moira back to her waypost.

“Do you travel a lot?” Lira ask her as they walk.

“As much as I can.  I’ve only been in the order a few years, but I’ve covered the Confederacy pretty well.”

“Ever been to Dar Henna?”

“Once, but not lately.”

“How about Dar Aego?” Thatch asks with a derisive snort.

Moira’s eyes light up.  “Oh yes, I’ve been there several times.  The architecture is stunning, just absolutely incredible!  Have you ever seen the gladiatorial arena?”

Thatch scratches behind one ear.  “No, we ah… missed that.”

“If you’re ever back there, you should make a stop,” Moira advises the young fighter.

“Umm…  Yeah.  Sure.”

Anvil walks a little faster.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Moira’s eyes light up.  “Oh yes, I’ve been there several times.  The architecture is stunning, just absolutely incredible!  Have you ever seen the gladiatorial arena?”



Ahhh, Moira, one of my all time favorite Halmae characters.  Moira was brought in as a PC by Thatch's player's girlfriend at the time, after having previously cameoed as Dennis.  She was out in LA for the summer, and joined the game.  Unfortunately, we didn't play quite as much that summer as I'd hoped, and she had to go back to school all too soon.

This line above was entirely her doing.  She had heard the players grousing about how much they hated Dar Aego, and she'd heard me grousing about how the PCs never went to the really cool gladiatorial arena there to earn more money.  Thatch's player muttered something about Dar Aego, and she said the above without missing a beat.  I just about fell out of my chair laughing.

Oh, and for those who don't remember, the Water-Walkers are an Alirrian sect of wanderers and travelers.  As it turns out, they serve as mail carriers as well.


----------



## Piratecat

Fajitas said:
			
		

> She had heard the players grousing about how much they hated Dar Aego, and she'd heard me grousing about how the PCs never went to the really cool gladiatorial arena there to earn more money.  Thatch's player muttered something about Dar Aego, and she said the above without missing a beat.




I bet modrons fight there.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Thirtieth*
_In which: an alchemist stammers, Moira causes some to blush, and Thatch once again stares at his shoes._

Upon reaching Moira’s way-post, the party finds it is in as much a state of upset as the Temple of Justice was that morning.  Lori, head of the local Water Walkers, has been in meetings since late the previous night, and Moira finds that several of her fellow Walkers have not been seen since approximately the time of the attack.  “Of course,” she qualifies, “that’s not so unusual here as it would be among the Justicars.”

Having run out of ways to immediately pursue investigation into the mystery of the shadow beasts, the party decides to see if they can find anything out about the black powder that started the explosion.  They suspect this might have been the “supplies” spoken of in the note they found with Jelliana’s cell.

“Jelliana?” Moira asks, “of the Handmaidens?”

Anvil fixes her with a trademark stare.  “Do you know this woman?”

“A little bit.  I used to work with her.”

“You used to be a Handmaiden?”

Moira nods without a trace of self-consciousness, adjusting a lute that hangs across her back.  “I’ve been a little bit of everything in service to Alirria.  I started as a Giver, tried being a Handmaiden, and now I’m a Water Walker.”

Thatch gulps and once again finds something fascinating to look at on the toe of his boot.  He had been doing so much better with the whole “not staring” thing.

**********

“We are looking for the least reputable alchemist in Dar Pykos,” Anvil announces as the party walks in the front doors of the Alchemist’s Guild.

“Huh—Wha—?” the desk clerk seems somewhat flustered by this request.  “I’m sure we wouldn’t have that information _here_— ” he begins.

“There is a substance,” Anvil continues undeterred, “a powder that can be ignited to explosive effect.  Who knows the art of its manufacture?”

Behind him, Moira gives her new companions a questioning glance.  Most of them shrug as though to say, “You get used to it.”

The clerk, however, is as of yet unaccustomed to outbursts of this nature.  He finally manages to blurt out:  “Who _are_ you anyway?”

Anvil is brought up short for a fraction of a second, as though the answer should be self-evident.  “We are the hand and might of Kettenek,” he finally replies. 

The clerk stares at him.  

Behind Anvil, someone coughs.

Anvil glances over his shoulder to find the vast majority of his companions looking almost as skeptical as the clerk.  He turns back and amends his earlier statement.  “Well, _I_ am.”

Introductions out of the way, the clerk is quite cooperative, although his information is rather disappointing to the adventurers.  The black power (fire powder in the vernacular) is both cheap and simple to fabricate.  It can be safely transported over long distances as long as precautions are taken to keep it away from open flame, and it can be stored in a dry place indefinitely without harm to its efficacy.

“So,” says Thatch, “they could have gotten it from anywhere, been amassing it in small batches for months and there’s no way to trace it even if it hadn’t all been used up in the explosion.”

Reluctantly, the party has to agree with that assessment, and decides to abandon that avenue of investigation.

On the whole, it’s been a frustrating day for the adventurers.  Their greatest accomplishment: chasing off a group of ten-year-olds throwing rocks.

Moira takes her leave and returns to her way-post.  Reyu also departs, heading for the outskirts of the city to spend time with the local community of elves and “be among green things.”  With no mission, and no collective obligations for the remainder of the evening, the adventurers each take their own ways through the city…

**********
Anvil’s way, naturally, leads back to the Temple of Justice.

There is a small writing desk in a corner of the catacombs of the Temple of Ketennek which is reserved -- by tradition -- for Anvil the Just. Although it stands in a particularly dark corner with an uncomfortably low ceiling, Anvil prefers it to all others because it connects, by way of an ancient arched doorway, to the most hallowed records of Ketennite justice, the primary sources upon which all modern rulings are based. While others content themselves to study the recent writings and cases, Anvil prefers the uninterpreted word of the Justicars of old.

It is very late at night, though there is no way to tell that down here.  Anvil sits at the desk, preparing a scroll from the wisdom of a weighty tome scribed by Stronghold the Just in elder years.  He works by candlelight, and the candle he started with has burned its way down to a tiny nub when Tenacious the Just appears behind him.

"Justicar Anvil," he says.  “I thought I might find you down here.”

"Tenacious the Just," Anvil replies. He slips off his stool to stand before his superior.

“Working late?” Tenacious asks, with a light smile.

“I am working,” Anvil responds.  “Is it late?”

“Very,” Tenacious responds with a sigh.  He seems weary.  Preoccupied.  "Tell me of your companions, Anvil," he says, abruptly.

"Surely you know the priests of this temple as thoroughly as--"

"No, no.  Of those companions with whom you traveled to Dar Aego.  Those with whom you saved many lives at the Mages' Academy of late."

"Ah," replies Anvil. He contemplates the question, unmoving. Finally, he speaks: "They are just, each in his or her own way."

"And are they skilled?"

"They are."

"Trustworthy?"

"Indeed."

With the next question, Tenacious's brow assumes the most serious of postures. "Anvil, if the best interests of the Caucus rested upon their shoulders -- if the best interests of the Temple of Justice itself rested upon them -- do you believe they could be relied on?  Do you feel they could act in those interests?"

Anvil considers, but only briefly, before he answers.  "As they are with me, and I with them."

Tenacious takes in Anvil’s words.  Then he nods. "Good.  Those interests -- of Ketennek, and of the Caucus – may well fall to you all.  And soon." 

Anvil’s curiosity gets the better of him.  “In what manner?”

But Tenacious shakes his head.  “I cannot talk about it yet.  I will know more later.  All I can say is that you should be ready.”  Tenacious turns to leave.  “Don’t work too late.”

"May Ketennek's Justice be upon you," intones Anvil.

"And you," Tenacious replies, and he disappears into the darkness.

_Very well, then_, Anvil thinks to himself, as he returns his attention to the wisdom of Stronghold the Just…

**********

_Special thanks this week to Bad Monkey Jeff for writing up Anvil's scene with Tenacious!_


----------



## Talix

Aaaaaaand... I'm caught back up!

Honestly, I can't believe it's been so long since I frequented this story hour.  The writing has remained most excellent, and the talent for making low-level adventures and personalities extremely entertaining is very impressive.  

Thanks a ton for sharing it with us, and I look forward to the next update!


----------



## spyscribe

Thank you kindly Talix, but who are you calling "low level?"  I'll have you know the Mages' Academy fire brought the party up to *third*.      

Just you wait.   Reyu and Anvil gettin' down with the second level spells, Euro able to deliver touch spells for Lira... you know, if she _knew_ any touch spells...

*shrug*  What can I say, when you only level twice a year, you appreciate it.

Look for a short update sometime this evening.

P.S.  Welcome back!


----------



## spyscribe

Moira lies on her bunk, idly strumming her lute.  It’s good to be back in her home city.  In the year since she joined the Water-Walkers, she’s seen much of the world.  But, as much as she loves the travel, the way posts on the road never seem as comfortable as they do in Dar Pykos.

There is a knock at the door.  “Mm-hmm,” Moira says, by way of invitation.

The door opens.  It is Lori, the Post Mistress.  She seems flustered.  “Moira, you, ah, you have a visitor.”

“Okay,” Moira says.  

Lori steps back from the door, and a woman enters.  She is middle-aged, dressed in long green robes and a tall green hat.  Moira gasps at the sight of her, and quickly jumps up from her bunk.  It is the Benedictus—the head of the Church of Alirria in Dar Pykos.

“Y-your Eminence,” Moira stammers.  “I-I didn’t expect--”

“It’s all right, child,” the Priestess answers serenely.  “I’d be surprised if you had.”

Moira smiles, relaxing slightly.  “If I may ask, to what do I owe this honor?”

The Benedictus glances around the room, taking in Moira’s well-worn pack, her lute, her travel cloak.  “I wished to meet you,” she says.  “I’ve been in a great many meetings in the past day, and your name has come to my attention on several different occasions.”

Moira swallows.  Given her past, there are any number of people who could have dropped her name.  And, given her sharp tongue, there are any number of things they might have said about her.

“I understand you were raised by the Givers of Life,” the Benedictus continues.

“Yes, that’s true.  My parents left me with them when I was a child.  Their farm was failing, and they didn’t think I’d last the winter….  That’s what I’ve been told, anyway.  I don’t really remember.”

“I see.  And then, when you came of age, you came to the city, and spent time as one of our Lady’s Handmaidens?”

“I did.”

“Why the Handmaidens?”

“Well… I was curious.  It was better than being on my own, and the Handmaidens are less, well, stodgy than the Givers.  They were very pleasurable years.”

“But you left the Handmaidens, and now you travel the Lady’s many wonders as a Water-Walker.”

“I’ve never been very good at staying in one place.”

“Apparently not.  You have traveled much.”

“I’ve only been with the Water-walkers for a year or so--” Moira begins to explain, but the Benedictus gently interrupts her.

“I do not mean physically, child.  I mean spiritually.  You have explored so many of the ways of our Lady.  You have seen her in her many faces, more than most of your sistren ever will.  Even those far older and more experienced than you.”

Moira isn’t sure how to answer that.  “I suppose I have.”

The Benedictus focuses her deep green eyes on Moira.  “I am curious why.  Is it because you seek to know her?  Or merely because you have a short attention span?”

Moira struggles to answer.  It is a question she’s never been fully able to answer herself.  “I guess…” she begins, “I guess I’m just waiting until I find some place that I truly feel I belong.  I’ve never experienced that moment when I know that what I’m doing is what I was meant to do.  I suppose I’m still looking for that.”

“Yet you have only chosen to explore the ways of our Lady,” the Benedictus responds.  “There are many other paths one might tread.  Why have you never sought them?”

This question is easy.  “Your Eminence,” Moira says, “for as long as I can remember, I’ve had no mother but the Goddess.  Hers are the only footsteps I would follow in.”

The Benedictus considers that for a moment, then she smiles.  “A fine answer, child.  Thank you.”

The High Priestess turns to leave.  But, on the threshold of the door, she stops.  “Oh, one more question.  I understand you were at the Mages’ Academy this morning, helping with relief efforts.  Why did you go?”

Moira blinks, surprised the Benedictus would even need to ask.  “They were people in need,” she says simply.

The Benedictus nods.  “May our Lady’s sweet water nourish you, child,” she says.  And she leaves.

Moira closes the door and sits back on her bunk.  She picks up her lute, idly strumming it.  “_Now what_,” she wonders, “_was that about?_”


----------



## Talix

Somebody's about to get promoted!    (or some other reward/additional trust, but you know what I mean)

Wow, only leveling twice a year.  That's a pretty big contrast to the campaign I'm in, where we are constantly faced with the question of "if people gain power this quickly, why isn't every third peasent we meet at least 10th level?"


----------



## spyscribe

When the party adjourns for the evening, Lira finds herself with little to do.   Aside from her traveling companions she has no friends in the city, no local family, and no business that demands her attention.  

For lack of anything better to do as much as anything else, she returns to the academy where she and Euro help with the clean-up efforts. Eventually though, the gathering dusk reminds her that these are not the days for a spell-caster to be on the streets alone after dark.

Upon arriving at Mrs. Blackburn’s, she finds a note waiting for her: 



> Lira,
> 
> Come see me at your earliest convenience.  It is a matter of some urgency.
> 
> Devon




Lira carefully refolds the paper to cover the sudden tremor in her hands.  She checks the window.  If she hurries, she should be able to reach the Questor's chapterhouse by nightfall.

When she arrives, Lira is slightly surprised to be ushered, not to Devon’s office, but into his private parlor.  

Lira takes a chair opposite him at his bidding, still unsure why she has been summoned, and waits for him to speak.

Finally, he breaks the silence.  “So Lira, I hear you have had quite a challenge these last days.”

Lira nods, and relates to him what she can of her own experiences at the academy.  She notices that although he is clearly trying to put on a good face, he is more subdued than usual.

At last, Lira’s tale comes to a close, and she asks what’s on his mind.  Devon seems uncomfortable, falls silent for a few moments, but finally speaks.  “Lira, you do realize that whatever my feelings on arcane magic, they do not extend to those like yourself.”

Lira freezes.  _I didn’t know for sure that you knew I was a sorcerer_ she thinks.  Aloud she says, “That’s good to hear” and means it.

“You cannot help what you are, or what you have become,” Devon continues.  “Ehkt has given you a challenge, a great challenge.  I do not envy you.”

“I don’t envy myself some days.”

A pause.

“Lira, are you ready for another great challenge?”

“What sort of challenge?”

“I would tell you if I could,” he finally says after a long pause.  “I do not know what is coming.  I cannot tell you what you may be called upon to do. But you may be called to act and the outcome of Ehkt’s very mission on earth may depend on you.  When that time comes, you may not have the church, or anyone.  You will be alone.”

_Don’t you see,_ she thinks, _I’ve always been alone._  She says as much, then amends, “except for my present companions of course.”

“Yes, of course.”  Devon nods.  “But they all have their own reasons, their own agendas.  This will fall to you.  If you are not—”

Lira breaks in, gaze steady, voice quietly resolved.  “What can I do?”

Devon holds her eyes a long moment.  At last, he gives the barest nod.  “A good answer,” he says, almost to himself.   “A very good answer…  For the moment, nothing is required, but I will be in touch.”  

He glances at the window.  It is now full dark.  “Would you like to stay at the chapterhouse tonight?  I can arrange to have a place made up for you.”

Lira, with much on her mind, gratefully accepts.  As she crawls into the bed which has been prepared for her, her thoughts whirl.  Relief that Devon does not hold her talents against her, that she need not lie to him or maintain careful omission.  Despite everything, the lifting of that load, as well as a curious sense that she has just taken the first step on a great journey, soon carries her into a deep and dreamless sleep, Euro curled beside her on her pillow.

So great is her joy at finding this small corner of acceptance in a chaotic world that she entirely forgot to ask Devon what is perhaps the most important question of all.

“Why me?”


----------



## Talix

Hmm, this sounds familiar...    So, each of the temples is choosing a champion of kick-butt-ness?


----------



## KidCthulhu

Talix said:
			
		

> Wow, only leveling twice a year.  That's a pretty big contrast to the campaign I'm in




Fajitas studied at the PirateCat & Sagiro Institute for Really Slow Levelling.  Keeps the players hungry.  And when some of your players are new to the system, it helps them master one set of powers before you hit them with new ones.


----------



## spyscribe

Thatch is soundly asleep, dreaming of home.  His parents, his brother, his farm, perhaps most of all his Uncle, the great adventurer who fought in the Wars and whose sword Thatch himself now bears.

	But suddenly, something is wrong.  He feels it subconsciously, a sense of intrusion.  He snaps awake, and suddenly finds a dark figure leaning over him.  He gasps and sits up.  The figure gasps as well and jumps back.

	It is Tessa, Mrs. Blackburn’s daughter.  And she looks mortified.  

	“Um.” Thatch says, trying to blink sleep from his eyes.  “Um.  What are you…?”

	“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Tessa says, red-faced.

“Um... no problem?” Thatch says weakly. _Did I forget to latch the door last night_, he wonders to himself.

“I just… I wanted to talk to you… maybe get to know you a little better,” Tessa says, taking a small step towards him.  “This is the only time I could really talk to you, so I thought… is that okay?”  

“Um. Um.  Um.” Thatch stammers, trying to figure out what else he can say.  “Um. Okay,” he finally manages, quite sure there was a better answer, but really not sure what it was.

Tentatively, Tessa sits down on the edge of the bed.  Thatch quickly adjusts the bedding to make sure it provides him with adequate coverage.  He’s fairly certain that there could be a more awkward situation than this, but for the life of him he can’t imagine what it might be.  _Well, I suppose Mrs. Blackburn could walk in on us_, he thinks. _Yes. Yes, that would do it._

“So… how long have you been in the city?” Tessa asks.

“A little over a month,” Thatch says. 

“A-are you married?” Tessa asks quickly.

“Um. No,” he says.  _Or I suppose this situation could get *more* awkward_, he thinks.

“Oh.” A pause.  “Seeing anyone?”

“Um, no.  No, not really.”

A pause.  “Do you have any children?”

_Oh, dear gods_.  “Um, no, none that I-- No.  No, I don’t.”

“Do-do you want to?”

“Buh-? Wha-? Huh?” 

“You know. I mean, someday?”

_I could be in the Temple of Justice right now_, Thatch thinks.  _Anvil’s asked if I want to be an acolyte at least a hundred times.  Why oh why oh *why* didn’t I take him up on it?_  “Um.  I guess,” he mutters.

There is quite the awkward lull in the conversation.  Finally, Tessa tries a new tack.  “So, how did you get involved at the Mages’ Academy?” she asks.

“Me? Well, um, I guess they needed help and, um, some people I know asked me if I wanted to help, and, um, so… I helped.”

“Are they really as powerful as people say they are? The wizards there?”

Thatch shrugs.  “I guess. It varies. Some more than others.”

Tessa nods.  “Who is it?” she asks.

Thatch blinks.  “Who is wha--?” he begins, but he doesn’t get any farther, as Tessa suddenly leans forward and kisses him right on the mouth.

“Um?” Thatch barely manages, as Tessa breaks off the kiss. 

“I’m sorry,” Tessa says.  “I should go.  You… you can go back to sleep.”

“Um, okay,” Thatch says, thinking that’s a perfectly good idea. 

“You won’t tell anyone I was here?  My mother, she would…”

“Don’t worry,” Thatch says.

Quietly, Tessa opens the door and slips out.  Thatch, suddenly aware of how incredibly tired he is, lies back down.  But a thought crosses his sleepy mind.  He pushes himself up, stumbles across the room, and latches the door from the inside.  Then, for good measure, he places his chair under the handle, barricading it shut.

_That should take care of it,_ he thinks, yawning.  He topples back into bed and falls asleep, and he stays that way the rest of the night.

##

	The next morning, Thatch dresses.  It takes him somewhat longer than usual, as his mind is completely preoccupied with thoughts of how he’s going to manage breakfast with Tessa present.  He resolves that it will probably be easiest if he just doesn’t look at her, and, so determined, he goes to the door to leave his room.

	Which is when he notices that the chair he propped under the door handle isn’t there anymore.  It’s against the wall, where it normally is.

**********

_(And you thought you were going to meet a Sedellan, didn't you?      Special thanks to Fajitas for writing up this scene and Moira's. These were all one-on-ones, so obviously, the only one I was around for was Lira's.)_


----------



## dpdx

Thank you for such awesome updates. I liked Moira's best, but they were all excellent.

That makes Dennis and Reyu the only ones left, neh?


----------



## spyscribe

Hey, in case anyone missed it, there's a transcript of last night's story hour author's chat here.  It was a lot of fun and had a lot of cool people participating, plus me.  



			
				dpdx said:
			
		

> That makes Dennis and Reyu the only ones left, neh?




Well, Dennis is an NPC, so since he didn't come running in the next morning saying, "Guys!  Something weird happened last night..." I'm guessing he went home and went to sleep.  We'll have to see if Fajitas has time to write up Reyu's encounter.

I was just commenting to Fajitas how it changes the feel of the story knowing what everyone was doing the night after the academy fire.  At the time, when the group picked up together the next morning all I knew was that my companions had "their own agendas" and that Thatch's player had been rolling a lot of dice.

It's enough to make a young sorcerer paranoid.


----------



## Angcuru

Nice writing there, Spyscribe.  I've read up to the part with the mix-up/framing just minutes after Reyu, Thatch, and Hue first enter the city.  Very nicely done, very humorous.  I just love Hue, he's so awesome!


----------



## Angcuru

*grin* 
 
*snicker*
 

_Ho! Hue Bombadil, Hue Bombadillo!_

*rolls on floor with fits of uncontrolled laughter*


----------



## spyscribe

Welcome aboard Angcuru!  Take your coat off, stay awhile.  Pay no notice to the ferret in the corner...



			
				Angcuru said:
			
		

> _Ho! Hue Bombadil, Hue Bombadillo!_
> 
> *rolls on floor with fits of uncontrolled laughter*




Errr... is this a reference to the interest in squirrels, or am I missing something?

But, glad you're having fun.


----------



## Angcuru

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Errr... is this a reference to the interest in squirrels, or am I missing something?



No, it's a reference to how Hue seems to me to be very much like Tom Bombadil, what with his animal friends, big red nose, beard, small stature, random appearances, and general uniqueness.  Plus he's awesome.

Nothing to do with squirrels, really.


----------



## Angcuru

No...this can't be _all_ of it...Where's the rest?!  GAH!


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Angcuru said:
			
		

> No...this can't be _all_ of it...Where's the rest?!  GAH!




Congratulations, Spyscribe!

I think you've hooked another one. 

-WLS

(Welcome, Angcuru.  There's plenty more to come)


----------



## spyscribe

WisdomLikeSilence said:
			
		

> Congratulations, Spyscribe!
> 
> I think you've hooked another one.




Bwah hah ha ha ha!

(mine is an evil laugh)


----------



## Mimic

Great story, can't wait for the next instalment.


----------



## spyscribe

*A year already?*

*Part the Thirty-First*
_In which: an old plot thread rears its ugly head._

Reyu wakes before dawn the next morning.  Looking east across the city to face the rising sun, she conducts her daily prayers.  She takes her time, soaking the morning light, measuring each breath.  Once finished, she deliberately orders her things, makes her bed, and at last, prepares herself to descend among the humans once more.

She is still easily the first resident of the boarding house down to breakfast.  Not that this is at all unusual.  The humans sometimes seem inordinately fond of their slumber.

Still, Thatch and Lira are usually also rather fond of their breakfasts.

Mrs. Blackburn is clearing the last of the breakfast dishes when Thatch comes barreling down the stairs, barely in time to scarf down a cooling bowl of porridge under his landlady’s watchful eye.

“Have you seen Lira?” Reyu asks him.

Thatch shakes his head, then leans down and whispers conspiratorially.  “Someone broke into my room last night.”

“Who?”

“Um…  I woke up in the middle of the night, and someone was in there…  And um…” Thatch glances over at Mrs. Blackburn, and lowers his voice still further.  “And then I moved my chair to block the door, but when I woke up, it was back against the wall again.”  

“Does anything seem to be missing?”

Thatch shakes his head.  “Everything _seems_ to be in order.  Would you mind… umm… taking a look?”

“Certainly.”

Thatch finishes bolting his porridge, and he and Reyu return to his room--thoroughly inspecting it for signs of a break-in.  Although Reyu carefully inspects the windowsill and doorjamb, there are no signs that someone forced either entry.  Indeed, aside from Thatch’s own testimony, Reyu can see no evidence that anyone aside from the young fighter has been in the room.  However, Thatch’s word has always been good enough for her, and she is sure, at least, that Thatch believes what he is saying.

After several minutes of careful searching, they abandon the effort, and, already running late, hurry to join the others at the Temple of Justice.

On the way out, Reyu knocks on Lira’s door.  No response.  She tries the knob.  Locked.

**********

When Thatch and Reyu reach the temple, they find the others (including Lira) already gathered and waiting for them. Anvil stands at the head of the small meeting room, with an air of someone about to say something of great importance.  Of course, Anvil often looks like that before he orders lunch.

Lira looks across the room and sees Reyu giving her a puzzled look.  The druid comes over and whispers as Anvil clears his throat.  “We missed you this morning.  Were you called away early?”

Lira nods and whispers “yes” as Anvil begins to speak.

“We must prepare ourselves,” Anvil informs his companions, “Kettenek will soon call us for a great and important mission.  I suggest you all go and ready yourselves in you own way, now.”

“But what are we preparing for?” Reyu asks.

“I do not know.”

“Then how are we supposed to get ready?”

“That,” says Anvil, “is the challenge before us.”

Although Lira is always game for a challenge, no one else is particularly inspired by Anvil’s pronouncement.  Soon, they have something else to think about as Essela knocks on the doorframe.

“Excuse me, Justicar,” she says, stepping into the room, “but there may be a more immediate challenge before us.”

Anvil blinks.  “What do you speak of?  Have you discovered new evidence related to Amelia’s case?”

Essela closes the door behind her.  “For her sake,” she replies, “I hope we have not.” 

Anvil frowns.  “Explain yourself.”

“Last night, some hours after prayers, I received a summons from Immobile.  The body of a dockworker by the name of Randal Cheswick had been brought to the Temple of Justice.  Immobile asked me to view the corpse and confirm his suspicions.”

“Which were?”

“At some point last night, Randal Cheswick was bludgeoned to death.  To all appearances, this was done in a very similar manner to the attacks upon Amelia’s late owners whist she was enslaved in Dar Aego.”

_(Note: and this, dear readers, should be taken as a caution to players everywhere: ignore at your peril a clever little plot set-up by your DM.)

Oh, and Fajitas, Happy Birthday._


----------



## Talix

Hey hey, one full year of story hour goodness!    And yes indeedy, happy birthday!  

Thanks again for sharing all of this with us, Spyscribe.  

I'm very curious about Thatch's encounter - at this point I'm thinking a dream (i.e., it never happened, which is why the chair isn't blocking the door when he wakes up), but I have no idea why - seemed pretty innocent, relatively...


----------



## Ladybird

*Woohoo!*

Happy anniversary to the Storyhour and big happy-birthday wishes to Fajitas! May they both have many happy years to come


----------



## Angcuru

A bit shorter than I would have liked, but good just the same.   

I can very easily see this being made into an anime series, what with:

1 - Funny, hilarious character interaction.

2 - A very small sorceress who devours large quantities of food and gets weird looks from a lot of people.

3 - An innkeeper's daughter that clings to the big dumb fighter like a leech.

4 - The constant use of a comment/phrase which never seems to die down in it's ability to amuse.  

5 - A big, overly done city full of snooty rich people.

6 - The occasional bought of viscious combat to reinforce the hilarity.

Besides, _*Justice Demands It!*_


----------



## thatdarncat

Yay, update 

Happy birthday Fajitas


----------



## Fajitas

Thanks for the birthday well-wishes, everyone.  I had a wonderful birthday weekend, full of good friends and time spent plotting evil things to do to them in-game.


----------



## Piratecat

Yes, happy birthday!

We miss you.


----------



## dpdx

Happy Belated, Fajitas. And thanks for the update, Spyscribe. Keep it up!


----------



## neoweasel

Happy birthday Fajitas.

Is it just me, or is the obvious explanation for what happened to Thatch in the night that it was a dream?

:sigh:

No-one uses Occam's Razor anymore, do they?


----------



## Fajitas

neoweasel said:
			
		

> No-one uses Occam's Razor anymore, do they?



Well, I don't.  Not since I cut myself shaving with it, anyway.  I'm more into Occam's Electric Beard-Trimmer since then.


----------



## orsal

neoweasel said:
			
		

> Happy birthday Fajitas.
> 
> Is it just me, or is the obvious explanation for what happened to Thatch in the night that it was a dream?




That had occurred to me too, at least as a possibility. I'm still waiting to find out...


----------



## Angcuru

My guess is that Tessa is going to stow away in a wagon or something carrying the party's supplies, only to end up having to be rescued by Thatch, which was her plan all along.  And then once she has his confidence, she turns back into a succubus and drags him down to heck.


----------



## jonrog1

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Thanks for the birthday well-wishes, everyone.  I had a wonderful birthday weekend, full of good friends and time spent plotting evil things to do to them in-game.




Oh, not too, evil, although thanks for all the prep you helped me with for my little guest appearance this weekend.  Everybody's saving throws, weaknesses, magic items, spell DC's...  you HAVE been making the checks for them to notice how they're being scryed for an ambush, right?  Hate to get a TPK tainted by a rules hitch.


----------



## spyscribe

jonrog1 said:
			
		

> ...  you HAVE been making the checks for them to notice how they're being scryed for an ambush, right?  Hate to get a TPK tainted by a rules hitch.




Wow.  Someone's taking the trouble to scry on us before attacking?  Usually, if someone wants to ambush us, they just listen for the tramping sounds coming through the woods...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Thirty-Second*
_In which: the party puts on their gumshoe hats… er, shoes… er, whatever_

In hopes of not appearing to be an inquisitorial squad, Reyu, Essela, and Lira go alone to the Academy to speak with Amelia.

If Amelia appreciates their consideration, she shows no sign of it.  The fact that she senses someone trying to cast _charm person_ on her moments before the party approaches her probably doesn’t help her mood.

_Someday,_ thinks Lira, _that spell is going to work…_

Reyu approaches the young wizard, who is at work clearing the wreckage of what used to be the Administration Building.  “May we speak with you?”

Amelia stares fixedly at a point to the right of Reyu’s foot.  “You are, aren’t you?”  Other students pause in their work to watch the newcomers, wary.

“Come,” Reyu urges her.  “Let us go somewhere we can speak more privately.”

Aside in an empty corner of the quad, Reyu takes her most patient tone.  “Amelia, do you know a man named Randal Cheswick?”

“No.  Who is he?”

“He was murdered last night.” Essela responds flatly.  “Do you know anything about that?”

“I know where 54 people were murdered the night before last,” Amelia spits back.

Reyu sighs.  “He was bludgeoned to death,” she tells the young wizard.

Amelia looks at the ground.  “I don’t know anything about it.  It’s got nothing to do with me.  Can I go now?”

**************

Later, the entire party investigates the scene of the crime, while Anvil questions the lately widowed Mrs. Cheswick.  “What did you see last night?”

“Well, it was night.  Everyone was in bed, and there was a noise downstairs, see.  And Randal went to look, and then he was shouting.  I ran down to see what was going on--”

“Did you have a light?”  Anvil demands.

“No, it was dark, but there was light from the street coming in through the window, and those… thugs had broken the door in.”

Anvil surveys the scene.  The house is in one of the poorer areas of town, close to the docks.  A tavern across the street would have still been open at the hour in question providing a little illumination from its own windows.  Dennis is examining the door.  Not that it takes a lot of examination to see that someone has bashed the door in, breaking the flimsy hinges.

Mrs. Cheswick continues.  “I saw… a whole gang of them, beating _my husband--_”

“A gang of whom?” Anvil presses.

“Wizards!” she replies, obviously convinced her previous description had been sufficiently clear.

“You said it was dark.  How can you be sure?”

“Well it must have been… They were wearing those robes, like the students do at that school of theirs.  Pulled the hoods up over their faces too, the cowards.”

“Think carefully,” Anvil cautions her. “Could it have been anyone else wearing similar robes?”

“Well of course not!”  Mrs. Cheswick’s voice rises shrilly.  “Normal people don’t go around bashing other people’s heads in!”

Lira looks over at Thatch, not sure which one of them should be offended.

Mrs. Cheswick continues, “I don’t know why King Orrin even allows them in the city.  If you ask me—”

Anvil raises a hand to cut her off. “Did your husband share your views about wizards?” he asks.

“Well, I don’t see—” she begins.

“Mom?”  A small boy, about 12 years old comes down the stairs.  “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Mrs. Cheswick says to her son, “go back upstairs.”

The party stares.  They’ve seen the young Cheswick before.  Then, he was throwing rocks at Mages’ Academy students.

###

“So,” says Thatch, “what do we do now?”

It’s a good question, which the party has been wrangling for some time on the way back to Anvil’s temple.  Even Reyu has to admit that it looks pretty obvious that Amelia is somehow involved, but… “Mrs. Cheswick saw a group of students attack her husband.  Amelia is not a group.”

“Do we know that they’re Academy students?” Thatch presses.

Dennis shakes his head, “In that light, anyone in a robe would look about right, especially if they kept the hood up.”

“She seemed…” Reyu searches for the right word, “predisposed to blame the wizards for the incident.”  

“Also, if they were wizards, why beat him to death?”  Eyes turn to Lira, who protests.  “What?  I’m just saying.  You don’t see me going after people with clubs.”

Anvil strokes his beard.  “But it is true those like you can loose control of their talents.”

Lira sighs.  “One, Amelia is a wizard, not a sorcerer.  Two, even if she were an untrained sorcerer, I’ve never heard of a mishap like that _killing_ someone.  And three: gang of people, with clubs!”

Dennis looks thoughtful.  “Could she have some kind of ally she can summon?  To exact revenge on those who hurt her?”

The party falls silent, considering the possibility.  Also, perhaps considering that this is not a girl they want to tick off, at least, not any more than they already have.

“Is it possible that this guardian or ally exercises vengeance of her behalf?” Reyu suggests.

“Umm…  If this is something that happens without her trying, why won’t she talk to us about it?” Thatch asks.  “She’d be innocent.”

Reyu raises an eyebrow.  “She was innocent of stealing from Count Missola as well.”

Anvil considers.  “I do not know of any similar cases, but if these speculations are correct, it is unlikely this is the first time it has manifested.  I believe Professor Alexandra once mentioned she did not live far from the city.  Perhaps we can go talk to her parents.”

_(Note:  Yep, that was what we decided to do, and Fajitas, God love him, just said, “Sure, you can borrow horses from the temple and be there that afternoon.”   And on that note: Happy GM’s day everyone!)_


----------



## weiknarf

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Part the Thirty-Second*
> 
> 
> Amelia looks at the ground.  “I don’t know anything about it.  It’s got nothing to do with me.  Can I go now?”




That's good enough for me.

This is a wonderful story!!!

Too bad I'm caught up.


----------



## Angcuru

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Part the Thirty-Second*
> _In which: the party puts on their gumshoe hats… er, shoes… er, whatever_



ROFL!!!

I just had this hilarious image of Anvil wearing a Sherlock Holmes-style hat, smoking a clay pipe. "Elementary, my dear Lira,"  Anvil strokes his beard “...it is true those like you can loose control of their talents.”

And then he's shooting up behind a shadowy column in the temple, heard muttering to himself, "Ooohhh....gimmme that gooooooood justicccceeee....." *thud*


----------



## jonrog1

Hey all, short hijack.

Sorry I didn't get a chance to call yesterday, but please tell everyone I had a FANTASTIC time when you were kind enough to host me.  I hope my somewhat more ... ahhh ... chewy roleplaying style wasn't too disruptive.

Out of penance of both forgetting to bring munchies and introducing _Anh-ishtala'h_, the beetle-cofee with five times the caffeeine of Red Bull into the campaign, I will drop a small parting gift off to the big guy's place sometime this week.

Again, thanks, and I can honestly say hearing the word's "Justice demands it" in person is remarkably inspiring.

John


----------



## dpdx

You're a very lucky person, Mr. Jonrog1. But try not to rub it in, as my 1st-level Justicar, Caltrop the Just, has been languishing on my hard drive for the last eight pages of posts.


----------



## spyscribe

jonrog1 said:
			
		

> Sorry I didn't get a chance to call yesterday, but please tell everyone I had a FANTASTIC time when you were kind enough to host me.  I hope my somewhat more ... ahhh ... chewy roleplaying style wasn't too disruptive.




I think I can safely say that a fantastic time was had by all.  Glad we were finally able to coordinate schedules and pull this off.


----------



## Angcuru

*eagerly awaiting next update*

I wonder if crack is this addictive...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Thirty-Third:*
_In which: the party hits the road.  The road just lies there and takes it._

The Morrin family lives near a small hamlet outside the city walls, a journey of only a few hours on horseback.  To avoid looking like a mob, the party splits into two groups of three, Thatch, Reyu and Dennis going to the town center while Anvil, Essela, and Lira veer off to the Morrin family farm.

**********

Amelia’s mother, Amanda Morrin, having just gotten over the shock of finding a Justicar on her doorstep, the horror at learning of the fire at the Mages’ Academy, and the intense relief of finding out her daughter was unharmed, is frankly aghast at the idea of Amelia having some kind of magical protector.

“Well, they aren’t doing a very good job of it, are they?” she points out.  “We asked her if she didn’t want to come home after… you know, but she was dead set on becoming a wizard.  Never did have much of an interest in the farm.”

“Were there any unusual incidents as Amelia was growing up?” Anvil asks.

She shakes her head, “Nah.  Had a bit of colic when she was a young one, then spent all her time reading fairy stories or hanging about with the village alchemist.  He taught her a little magic; then she left for the Academy in Dar Pykos.  You know what happened next.”

“This alchemist.  What is his name?”

Amanda thinks for a moment.

_(Note: okay, we had been talking to a lot of NPC lately, and although Fajitas keeps a list of Pykosian NPC names, it was starting to get a bit thin.  So, we go on this little jaunt, and hear about the alchemist, and naturally, Bad Monkey Jeff (Anvil’s player) asks for his name.

Fajitas: Of course, he needs a name…  >much flipping of pages and muttering ensues<

Bad Monkey Jeff: What of his family?  Did he have any brothers?  What were their names?

Fajitas: No!  No family, no brothers, no parents!  He just appeared one day, we don’t really know what happened!

We decided that probably wasn’t a plot hook.  )_

“Gregor,” she replies at last.

After a bit more light conversation, Anvil decides he is unlikely to get any more useful information from this source.  “Would you like Kettenek’s blessing on your farm?” he asks abruptly.

Amanda looks to the turning leaves and then to the cleric on her porch.  “Well, it’s Sedellus’s time, but we’d—“

“Excellent.” Anvil turns and marches down the steps.  He starts to circle the fields, praying and casting _detect magic_ as he goes.

Essela and Lira are left on the porch.  “So,” Lira breaks the awkward silence before she can be pressed into service stringing green beans, “what did you say your sons’ names were again?”

**********

Meanwhile, back in town, Reyu and the others have found the alchemist on their own, but he has no new insights on the matter.  Amelia was a very bright girl, with a certain knack for wizardry, but he never saw any evidence of links to supernatural creatures or abilities beyond her training.

“She did love fairy tales though,” he remembers.  “You know, all the old stories about shining heroes and villains justly punished.”

Reyu raises an eyebrow, and exchanges a significant glance with Thatch and Dennis.  Justice has been something that’s been distinctly lacking in Amelia’s life lately.

**********

Dark has already fallen by the time the party returns to Dar Pykos, and only the fact that they travel with a Justicar convinces the night watchmen to open their gate and let them in.

The next morning, they pay a visit to Professor Alexandra.  They find her in the main courtyard, coordinating the remaining faculty and students, answering questions.  She looks harried in the extreme.  Anvil approaches, negotiating the throng that surrounds her.

“Professor.  We require a few moments of your time.”

“Go ahead.” Alexandra replies, not looking up from the vellum someone has pushed under her nose to sign.

Anvil looks around, there are at least thirty people in easy earshot, most of whom have stopped what they’re doing to listen.  That didn’t work out so well last time.  Anvil clears his throat.  “In private.  This is a matter of Kettenek’s Justice.”

**********

In the professor’s private office, the silence lingers.  No one has really been looking forward to this.  Finally, Reyu clears her throat.  “Are you… aware of a dockworker murdered the night before last?”

An expression not unrelated to disgust flits across Professor Alexandra’s features.  “How could I not be?  With half the town claiming he was beaten to death by students, we can’t let them outside without someone spitting at them, or throwing rocks, or worse.”  She rubs the bridge of her nose wearily.  “Tell me you’ve found out it was some drunken dispute.”

“We suspect it was Amelia.” Anvil informs her flatly.  “Has she been studying evil things?”

The Professor is unimpressed by his bluntness.  “No.”

Reyu tries the more diplomatic approach.  “We do not necessarily believe she is the actor here, but… misfortunes seem to follow her.”

The professor sighs.  “The last thing the school needs is a murder investigation.  I can’t let you take her into custody unless you have proof.  We’re sitting on a powder keg and that would be more than enough to set it off.”  Alexandra winces at her own metaphor.  “I mean, relations between arcanists and the rest of the city are… not _us_ literally, here… It’s rather delicate,” she finishes finally.

“Professor, have you slept…?”  Lira doesn’t bother to finish her question.  The look on Alexandra’s face makes the answer self-evident.

“There is no rest for those seeking Justice,” Anvil intones.

A silence falls on the room.

“Does Amelia have any friends we could talk do?” Dennis asks.

“Not many, she’s a quiet girl, keeps to herself.  Not surprising, considering…”  The professor sits back in her chair and closes her eyes in thought.  For a moment, it seems that she may have dropped off, but her eyes soon flutter open again.  “You might want to talk to Neville.  He was always trying to hang around her, even if she wasn’t interested in letting him.  And… Hadass.  They were friends.  At least as far as either one of them had friends.”

The party thanks the professor, and quickly takes their leave.  As she watches them go, Alexandra makes one last request.  “Please, keep this quiet.  I don’t need a riot on top of everything else.”


----------



## Angcuru

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Fajitas: No! No family, no brothers, no parents! He just appeared one day, we don’t really know what happened!



Hilarious.


----------



## Fajitas

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Hilarious.



Hmph.  To you, maybe...


----------



## Pyske

So what are Pykosian names based on?  My own bad habit is to use too many people named "Bob".  I've tried to mitigate this a bit by affixing surnames: professions, city of origin, or street names.  Bob Treelane, Bob Smith, Bob Cormyr, etc.  It's really sad when you have to start using more than one of the options (Bob Daggerdell-Weavermain). 

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


----------



## KidCthulhu

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Hmph.  To you, maybe...




I feel your pain, my friend.  I *have* to stop making up names on the fly, because I can never remember them!  And then my smart alec players are always asking about them. "Hey, remember that guy we met 3 months ago?  The shop keeper?  What was his name?"


----------



## Angcuru

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Hmph.  To you, maybe...


----------



## Fajitas

Pyske said:
			
		

> So what are Pykosian names based on?




Pykosian names are by-and-large English, by which I mean British.  I decided this not quite early enough into the game, which is why, for example, Regger/Reller/Remmer had a weird, made-up fantasy name.  If I had it to do over, his names would be Nick/Rick/Dick, or some variant thereof.

Every major location in the Halmae (i.e. city-state or kingdom) has its own naming convention, thus it's usually easy to tell from the name of an NPC what his place of origin is.  Many religious orders (Justicars and Guardians being the most obvious) also have naming conventions.


----------



## spyscribe

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> ...And then my smart alec players are always asking about them. "Hey, remember that guy we met 3 months ago?  The shop keeper?  What was his name?"




For the record, the session now being recounted--which goes back to the morning after the fire and goes through a couple more updates at least--with its numerous chats with even more numerous NPCs is what gave rise to my compulsive note-taking at the table in the first place.  *shrug* It seemed perfectly harmless at the time...

So in our game, when we're trying to remember the name of the shopkeeper from three months ago, if Fajitas doesn't remember, he just shrugs and looks at me.

It also means that a lot of NPCs helpfully spell their unsusual names upon first meeting the party.


----------



## Bad Monkey Jeff

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Hmph.  To you, maybe...



And to me! We have you outnumbered!


----------



## Angcuru

Bad Monkey Jeff said:
			
		

> And to me! We have you outnumbered!



Have you ever considered taking a more Minsc-like approach to dispensing justice?


----------



## Black_Kaioshin

Heh heh, I finally caught up! Great story hour, I'm loving it! Of course, now that I'm caught up, I have to wait for updates...


----------



## spyscribe

_Whoo hoo!  New reader and I just got a project off my desk!  Updates for everyone!_

*Part the Thirty-Third: Addendum*
_Briefly, an interlude…_

Upon the party’s return to Dar Pykos from the Morrin family farm, Anvil and Essela repair to the Temple of Justice, where they have only a few hours to nap before rising again for midnight prayers.  But while Essela is asleep within moments of her arrival at the monastery, Anvil finds a letter from Tenacious waiting for him in his cell.

He reads it with efficiency.  Then once again.  And, having committed its contents to memory, burns it.

For his part, upon returning to Mrs. Blackburn’s (amid much clucking disapproval by the proprietress) Thatch carefully inspects his bedroom for any sign of intrusion.  Nothing.  Undeterred, he sets a block behind the door, moves his bed to reinforce the block, and places a hair across the window ledge, so he will know if anyone attempts to use that method of entry.

_There_, thinks the young fighter.  _That ought to do it._

As Lira ascends to her room, Mrs. Blackburn calls after her.  “Oh, I nearly forgot.  There was a letter for you.”  She hands Lira a small envelope, sealed with Devon’s signet.  Lira takes it with a nod, and much to the disappointment of her landlady, continues up the stairs to read the message in the privacy of her own rooms.

**********

_And with that, we return to our tale, and the more pressing matters which come to light the following day…_


----------



## Angcuru

spyscribe said:
			
		

> _There_, thinks the young fighter.  _That ought to do it._



Poor Thatch, all afraid of a _little_ romance involving a beautiful young, innocent(?), and (dare I say it?) seductive girl who may or may not be some sort of extra-planar being able to phase through a door without a trace, thus stealing up to his bed and FEASTING UPON HIS *SOUL*!!!!......


----------



## KidCthulhu

spyscribe said:
			
		

> _And with that, we return to our tale, and the more pressing matters which come to light the following day…_




Is that pressing as in "Rubbing with a hot iron to make one's clothing neat and tidy", or pressing as in "A 16 ton weight has just made you in to humanoid pate"?


----------



## Angcuru

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Is that pressing as in "Rubbing with a hot iron to make one's clothing neat and tidy", or pressing as in "A 16 ton weight has just made you in to humanoid pate"?



I suspect that it is actually both at the same time.  Getting squished with a 32,000 lb. red-hot iron.  Kind a like FLCL.  Great Show.


----------



## Salthorae

*curses*

I curse the moment a few hours ago when I decided to take a peek at this thread and thereby put off the paper I have to turn for one of my grad seminars tomorrow!

Great story though and I look forward to more


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Thirty-Fourth*
_In which: Dennis philosophizes; Reyu’s opinion of humanity drops another notch, and Anvil keeps his diplomacy skills well-hidden._

Thatch and Anvil go to find Neville while the rest of the party waits outside, out of the way of the continuing reconstruction efforts.

Dennis shakes his head.  “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“That someone would try to blow up the Mages’ Academy?” Lira asks.

“Well, that too.  But I meant that the Temple of Justice would put six people to work investigating the death of a dockworker.  People like that—people like me,” he quickly amends, “get killed every night.  Just get left in the gutter, maybe someone comes and buries them, maybe not.  If Immobile didn’t think this was somehow related to his cases, Randall Cheswick would just be one more disposable person.”

Reyu listens in undisguised shock.  “But—” she stammers, her Common unequal to the task of articulating her revulsion of the concept.

“It’s nice that you don’t think so, Reyu,” Dennis assures her.  “But, life just isn’t as valuable for everyone as it is for important people.”

Reyu was never predisposed to think particularly highly of humans.  Watching the machinations of their justice system has not improved her opinion.  Still, she had thought her opinion had reached the point where at least it could fall no further.

It’s probably just as well that Thatch and Anvil return about then.

“What did Neville say?” Essela asks.

“He knows nothing that will assist the workings of Kettenek’s Justice.”  Anvil replies.

Taking no chances, the group locates Hadass and sits down with her en masse.

Hadass is, as it turns out, an Ebisite.  _(The Empire of Ebis is located North of the Darine Peninsula across the narrow straits of Dar Thane.)_  Although she has adopted Pykosian standards of dress, her dark skin and hair stand out amid the—by and large—fair adventurers—that, and the fact that she’s bundled from head to foot in a large shawl.  Although it is only mid-autumn, the girl is clearly used to warmer climes. 

Anvil takes point on the questioning.  “We are here to speak about Amelia.”

“Why don’t you just leave her alone?  Don’t you think she’s been through enough?”

“Ketteneck’s Justice—”

Lira steps forward, cutting Anvil off.  “We’re worried about her,” she reassures the girl.  “We don’t want anyone else to get hurt, least of all Amelia.”  Lira tries to look as non-threatening as possible.  Given her stature, it’s unlikely she could look threatening if she tried. 

Hadass softens a little.  “I don’t know anything that could help you.”

“Tell us anything,” Lira suggests.  “Does she have a familiar?”

“Is it creepy and evil?” Thatch whispers to Dennis.

Hadass shakes her head.

“Does she ever talk about the people who hurt her?”

“Not really.  She’s pretty quiet.”

“You are her friend, are you not?  Surely she would confide in you.”  

Lira shoots Anvil a withering look.

“If she did, why would I tell you?”

Reyu, standing quietly in the corner, speaks. “We know what happened in Dar Aego.  She needs help.”

Hadass hesitates, and Lira tries again.  “We don’t think it’s her fault, but we have to find out what’s going on before it gets worse than it is.”

A long pause.

“Sometimes, when she wants to be alone, she goes into the sewers.  I don’t know what she does down there.”

_(to be continued…)_


----------



## Angcuru

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “Sometimes, when she wants to be alone, she goes into the sewers.  I don’t know what she does down there.”



...play with explosives?


----------



## Capellan

> “Sometimes, when she wants to be alone, she goes into the sewers. I don’t know what she does down there.”




Sneaking into the sewers?  *phew*  for a second there I thought she was going to do be up to something weird and disturbing ....


----------



## blackshirt5

I finally finished it.

Now I get to curse Angcuru's True Name as he gets me addicted to this and it influences my Homebrew setting.


----------



## KidCthulhu

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *
> “Sometimes, when she wants to be alone, she goes into the sewers.  I don’t know what she does down there.”*




Is Amelia secretly the Sewer Urchin?  "Yeah, definitely very nice in the sewers."


----------



## Greybar

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Is Amelia secretly the Sewer Urchin?  "Yeah, definitely very nice in the sewers."




Whooo, nice reference.  Next up:

"Spoon!"
"What do you mean, _Spoon!_"
"Ketteneck's Justice demands Spoon!"


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Thirty-Fifth: *
_In which: our heroes sink to new depths._

“Why…” says Thatch, straining to lift the heavy sewer grate, “would anyone… go into the sewers… to be alone?”

Dennis shrugs, “Makes more sense than going down there to meet people.”

With a last grunt of effort, the metal grille flips over onto the grass at the corner of the Academy quad.

“Hopefully,” says Reyu wryly, “we will soon find out.”

One by one, the party members make the short drop into the sewer tunnel.  Lira goes last, caught by Thatch and landing with a light splash, shin deep in water.  Well, liquid anyway. 

It *stinks* in here, Boss.  Euro opines, rather unnecessarily.

With all hands not bearing torches firmly clamped to noses, the party cautiously proceeds.

After following the sewer tunnel for several minutes, Thatch calls a halt.  Their passage has been blocked by a pile of rubble.  Loose bricks, sticks and mud have formed a jumble, almost blocking the tunnel, but with a space, just large enough for a small person to squeeze through at the top.

“Should we take it down?” he asks.

“No need,” Lira pipes up.  “Reyu and I can fit through and let you know if there’s anything interesting on the other side.  Plus, it won’t advertise we’ve been snooping around down here.”

Reyu and Lira quickly scramble through.  Although there is nothing of immediate and obvious interest, they do make one observation that quickly induces the others to follow.

“It’s drier over here!”

As the rest of the party removes enough debris to make a Thatch-sized opening, Reyu scouts ahead.  The main tunnel leads to a side tunnel, which eventually leads to a rectangular alcove, and in the middle of the far wall she finds… a door.

Everyone else soon gathers around to investigate.

Since a quick _detect magic_ shows the door giving off a distinct aura of abjuration, the party decides not to just grab the knob and open it.

“Anyone got any ideas?” Dennis asks.

Five minutes later: 

Anvil crouches in one of the far corners from the door with a freshly cast: _resist elements: electricity_ active.  Making a quick prayer to Kettenek that he’s guessed the energy type correctly, he hunkers down behind his shield.  (He also makes a mental note to memorize _augury_ more frequently in the future.)

Reyu carefully drops a small noose over the end of the doorknob then takes the other end of her rope back down the side passage where the others are already waiting behind Lira.  With Reyu in place, Lira casts.  A shimmering disk briefly flashes across the corridor, then fades to near-invisibility.

Lira swallows, dryly.  _Shield_ is a new spell for her.  She hopes it works the way she thinks it does.

“Everyone ready?”

Quick nods accompanied by Anvil’s “Proceed,” and Lira casts again, this time _mage hand_.  Concentrating hard, Lira points at the doorknob.  Slowly, the knob begins to turn.  There is an audible >click<, and the latch opens.

Nothing happens.

Reyu grabs her end of the rope and with a mighty tug, pulls the door open.  Simultaneously, a sheet of crackling white energy shoots out from the doorknob in a plane that would have been about waist-height, had anyone been standing there.

The effect vanishes in a few seconds, and before Reyu has blinked the dazzle out of her eyes, Anvil is charging forward, through the door and into the room beyond.

It’s a fairly large room, roughly square, with old crates and trunks pilled up in each corner.  There’s a sort of smear on the floor at the center, perhaps from a fire.  But the most notable features of the chamber are the six corpses scattered on the ground.

Anvil strides right up to the one nearest the door and prods it with his boot, as though about to demand it explain its presence in the sewers of Dar Pykos.  The corpse, unsurprisingly, does not answer.

The fact that it begins lurching to its feet, however, is rather more unexpected.


----------



## dpdx

Cool. Can't wait to hear Anvil attempt to _turn undead_.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Thirty-Sixth:*
_In which: Fajitas says, “Do you know how long I have been carrying around this card, waiting for you guys to get interested enough in Amelia to find this place?”_

Anvil finds himself standing in the center of the room, six zombies closing in around him.

He is vaguely aware of the rest of the party leaping into action behind him.  The wet *Thunk!* of Thatch’s sword slicing into a shuffling animated corpse.  The *squelch-suck* of Essela’s right boot slamming into a rotten ribcage, _sinking into the creature’s chest cavity and then being pulled back out._  The *whoosh* of *two* _magic missiles_ whizzing by his head accompanied by Lira’s exclamation of “Oh, cool!”  

_(Note: Oh yes, be afeard of our newfound third-level might!)_

A few seconds later, Reyu finishes her own spell, and out of the corner of his eye, Anvil glimpses a four-foot long rat, which suddenly appears and begins gnawing on a zombie’s knee.

Still, the zombies are all focused on Anvil.  They lurch forward, determined to rip him limb from limb.  Anvil stares them down, daring them to attack.

The zombies reach forward, grasping…  and only manage to get their arms tangled up with each other.

Anvil smirks.

_(DM quote: “Never have I seen so many fives on so many d20s.)_

As the battle continues to rage around him, Anvil takes out his holy symbol, and invokes the might of Kettenek.

Seconds later, blinding rays of light burst from his outstretched silver holy symbol.  The zombies scream.

Approximately twelve seconds later—as Thatch’s sword separates the last cowering zombie head from its trembling shoulders—it’s all over.

Dennis surveys the scene.  “Well, I guess she didn’t go into the sewers to be alone.”  

The party turns their attention to searching the room.  Lira locates three scrolls, although she is only able to recognize two of them by sight.  Finally she realizes what’s giving her trouble.  “They’re divine,” she explains.  “One _undetectable alignment_, this one’s _death knell_… I’m going to take a wild guess and say that the third one isn’t _cure light wounds_.”

It’s Dennis who first notices something odd about a medallion worn by the zombie Anvil kicked when he entered the room.  The face shows an impressively rendered lion’s head, mane flaring in all directions.  However, when he turns it over to see if there’s a maker’s mark, he finds that the reverse side depicts a skull wreathed in flames.  Searches of the other zombies reveal that four wear similarly creepy-looking (although, Anvil confirms, not evil) items of jewelry.  

As the rest of the group turns to wiping off acquired undead goo, Essela (despite being one of the most zombie-covered among them) goes stock still, starting at one of the re-dead corpses.

“Do you see that?” she says, indicating a mostly-rotted livery worn by one of the bodies.  “Whoever this was, he used to be a member of House Morjene.”  Essela gets blank looks from the rest of the party until she clarifies, “Lady Morjene was Amelia’s first owner in Dar Aego.”


----------



## neoweasel

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *“Do you see that?” she says, indicating a mostly-rotted livery worn by one of the bodies.  “Whoever this was, he used to be a member of House Morjene.”  Essela gets blank looks from the rest of the party until she clarifies, “Lady Morjene was Amelia’s first owner in Dar Aego.”*



*
And so many things click into place...

Wow.*


----------



## blackshirt5

neoweasel said:
			
		

> And so many things click into place...
> 
> Wow.



 Simply awesome.  I wish I could write and run low-level adventures like you.


----------



## KidCthulhu

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “Lady Morjene was Amelia’s first owner in Dar Aego.”




It's nice to see someone taking real professional pride with their vengance.  That's attention to detail there.  The mark of a true revenge craftsman.


----------



## Angcuru

I am left wondering why Anvil didn't say something along the lines of "Kettenek's Justice demands that you return to your eternal slumber!" or the like.


----------



## blackshirt5

Angcuru said:
			
		

> I am left wondering why Anvil didn't say something along the lines of "Kettenek's Justice demands that you return to your eternal slumber!" or the like.



 Agreed, that would've been cool.


----------



## dpdx

Okay, that's just wrong that I agree with Jay and Silent Bob; er, Angcuru and blackshirt5, but exactly: more pithy pronouncements from Anvil, especially with something so obvious as a turning of undead, which I believe I referred to in my pre-update fawn. Ahem.


----------



## blackshirt5

dpdx said:
			
		

> Okay, that's just wrong that I agree with Jay and Silent Bob; er, Angcuru and blackshirt5, but exactly: more pithy pronouncements from Anvil, especially with something so obvious as a turning of undead, which I believe I referred to in my pre-update fawn. Ahem.



 Dunno whether to be insulted that you compared me to Jay, or honored to be compared to Silent Bob.


----------



## Angcuru

blackshirt5 said:
			
		

> Dunno whether to be insulted that you compared me to Jay, or honored to be compared to Silent Bob.



I think you are Jay and I'm Silent Bob.  Or at least that's the way the comparison would go IRL.  Except that we only hang out about once a week, but that's beside the point.  I think.  Maybe.  

ANYway, when's the next update?


----------



## Fajitas

neoweasel said:
			
		

> And so many things click into place...



So there we were, waaaaaaay back in Dar Aego.  And Cyrus, this undead hunter was a member of the party.  And I thought, "Gosh, I've got an undead hunter in the party. I better add some undead."  Thus was Amelia born.

Then Cyrus's player stopped showing up.  And the PCs decided that they should get out of Dar Aego without investigating Amelia's problem.  And about six months later, here we were.

Boy that was fun to let percolate.

Glad y'all are enjoying.

BTW- I think Anvil would have said something cooler, but it was really really late by the time we got to the fight.  Also, he was being attacked by something like five zombies at once.  He was, perhaps, a little flustered.  It happens even to Anvil.

The next time he turned undead, for the record, there were many delightful proclamations.  But we got a long way to go before we get to that...


----------



## dpdx

blackshirt5 said:
			
		

> Dunno whether to be insulted that you compared me to Jay, or honored to be compared to Silent Bob.



Nah, nothing like that; I was just picking up on the Jersey connection, and the fact you guys know each other.


----------



## blackshirt5

I dunno, Angcuru, I don't really think I'm drugged out enough to be Jay.  Plus I bear more of a resemblance to Silent Bob than you(trenchcoat, short and squatly built).  And let's face it, I'm just cooler. 

Please note, however, that I'm nowhere near as cool as Thatch.  And when IS the next update?


----------



## spyscribe

blackshirt5 said:
			
		

> And when IS the next update?




Guys.  Don't get me wrong here, I'm really glad you enjoy the story and are looking forward to the next installment.  But it hasn't even been three full days since the _last_ update.

If all goes according to my clever plan, there should be another one towards the end of the week.

In the meantime, revel in the anticipation and suspense.  And you know... maybe try the decaf.


----------



## Angcuru

spyscribe said:
			
		

> In the meantime, revel in the anticipation and suspense.



But it's such a _good_ story......


----------



## blackshirt5

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Guys.  Don't get me wrong here, I'm really glad you enjoy the story and are looking forward to the next installment.  But it hasn't even been three full days since the _last_ update.
> 
> If all goes according to my clever plan, there should be another one towards the end of the week.
> 
> In the meantime, revel in the anticipation and suspense.  And you know... maybe try the decaf.



 Listen, I will chain you to a computer with access ONLY to the Story Hour forums, spyscribe.  I love ya dearly for posting this story, but I need it, and you're my dealer. 

Seriously, it's only because it's SO GOOD!  And the frightening thing is, I drink green tea.  No coffee, barely any soda.

EDIT: rofl at the reply times for me and Angcuru.


----------



## neoweasel

spyscribe said:
			
		

> In the meantime, revel in the anticipation and suspense.  And you know... maybe try the decaf.



Do you REALLY want a caffeine fiend on decaf?  Jittery and grumpy, trying desperately to find some other fix to take the pain away?

You think they're pushy _now_...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Thirty-Seventh: *
_In which: we find an old friend, and carry out an unpleasant errand._

Having scoured the room in the sewers for any other clues, the party quickly hurries back aboveground.  Anvil sends Dennis to the Temple of the Justicars to find Tenacious and bring him up to speed on recent events.  The rest of the party briskly makes their way across the quad towards Professor Alexandra’s office, when suddenly, a familiar voice suddenly cries out behind them, “Hey!  Where’re you going?”

There, standing in the middle of the quad, is Hue.  He smiles and waves.  The ferret, perched on his shoulder, eyes the wreckage suspiciously. 

Hue smiles a little less when he gets within nose-shot of them.  “You guys stink!  Where have you been?”

“The sewers!” Lira replies brightly.

“Forget that,” says Reyu, “where have *you* been?”

“Oh!” Says Hue, as though he had quite forgotten that he had been gone.  “I had to go.  There was a purple squirrel migration.”

“A what?”

“A migration.  Of purple squirrels.”

**********
_some weeks earlier…_

Thomas Wellsome thought he had found the ideal job in the reference section of the Great Library of Dar Pykos.  The Great Library is the foremost research collection of the Darine Confederacy, and while it does attract scholars from throughout the Halmae, Thomas’ days are, for the most part—

“Hey!  Would you like to read my book on squirrels?”

—quiet. 

“No,” Thomas replies, “I’m really quite busy.”

The small man who has been—as far as Thomas can tell—living in the stacks for the last few weeks looks up at him critically.  “You don’t look busy.”

“Well, I am.”

“With what?”

Thomas has been having some variation of this conversation at least twice a day for the last week and half.  “You know,” Thomas finally bursts out, “I hear there’s a purple squirrel migration going on *right now* outside the city.  You should check it out for your research.”

“Wow,” says Hue.  “I’ve never heard of squirrels migrating before.”

“You could probably write the definitive work on the subject… Unless someone else gets out there to observe it first.”

The ferret rolls its eyes and buries his head in his paws.

Hue stares at the librarian in amazement.  “You’re right…  I better get going then.  Thanks!”

With that, the little man leaves, and the reference section is quiet once again.

**********

“We didn’t find any though,” Hue says agreeably.  “Maybe next year.”

The ferret rolls his eyes.

Hue continues undeterred, “You guys really do stink, you know.”  With that, he casts _prestidigitation_ and soon all traces of the party’s subterranean adventure have been erased.

While this is going on, Euro scampers off Lira’s shoulder and has a quick consult with the ferret.  He comes back with a report: 

Well Boss, he says that’s what they were doing…  I mean, they didn’t see any purple squirrels, but… not for lack of looking, you know what I mean?

Lira nods, replying mentally, _“I’ve never even heard of regular squirrels migrating.”_

I don’t know from squirrels, Boss… I myself, have never felt the urge, not that… you know, urges yeah, but not migrating.  Sure, we came South from Dar Henna, but that was a you thing, Boss, you know? 

Lira merely nods, scratching Euro behind the ears.  The weasel continues.  Hey Boss, I bet… if it’d been you and me looking for those squirrels… we could have found ‘em Boss.

**********

The party (and Hue) has to wait a few moments before they can get in to see Professor Alexandra.  

“You know,” says Thatch, “speaking of people we haven’t seen in a while, with all the time we’ve spent at the academy, it’s strange that we haven’t run into Edmund.”

“Or…” Reyu says with a meaningful look at Lira, “that he has not found _us_.”

Lira shrugs.  “Don’t ask me.”

Dennis shakes his head.  “I bet he’s still in his lab, trying to figure out who made that scroll Anvil gave him.” The party laughs a bit at the memory.  “He probably didn’t even notice the fire,” Dennis continues, “he was just working away thinking, _why is it so warm in here?_”  

Even Anvil cracks a smile at that.

“Oh, I—I’m sorry…”  The party turns to find Professor Alexandra standing in the doorway of her make-shift office.  Their smiles die away as they see her stricken expression.  “I...  I thought you knew.  Edmund was trapped in the North Dormitory.  He…  He didn’t survive.”

The room is very quiet.  Dennis feels his face grow hot.  He’s not the only one.

“Oh.”

Lira shifts in her seat.  She’s a little surprised at how neutral she feels at the news.  She never wanted Edmund’s advances, but on the other hand, she never wanted him dead.  Part of her wishes she were a bit sorrier.

“We’re sorry to learn that,” Reyu says.  

The Professor nods in acknowledgement.  “I don’t suppose you’ve come with any better news.”

Although Professor Alexandra is not happy to learn what the group has discovered, when presented with proof of Amelia’s necromancy, she has little choice but to allow Anvil to take her into custody.  The party decides to try and convince her to go quietly.

Amelia is still clearing wreckage of the dormitory.  For the moment, the work has paused as a slightly older blonde student buries her familiar, a small cat.  Amelia shoots a quick glare at the party as they approach, but refuses to acknowledge them again until the last handful of earth has been laid over the tiny grave.

Work resumes and Amelia whirls on the party.  “What?”

Reyu tries to put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, but Amelia flinches away.  “Amelia,” she says, “you need to come with us.”

“I *need* you to leave me alone.” 

With Thatch helping, Anvil begins to guide the group, including Amelia, away from eavesdroppers and towards the academy gates.

“What is going on?” Amelia demands.

Anvil comes forward, and speaks very low in Amelia’s ear.  “We have been to the sewers.”  He shows her the lion/skull-shaped brooch taken from one of the zombies.  “You can come quietly or not, but you will come with us.”

At the sight of the brooch, Amelia’s bravado vanishes.  Suddenly she looks very much like a very lost little girl.  “Did… did you hurt them?”

“Hurt them?”

Amelia looks beseechingly at the party, “They were my friends.”

The stunned silence that greets that remark is finally broken by Thatch.  “Ummm…  They’re not your friends…  They’re zombies!”

Her lower lip begins to quiver.  “They were *my* friends.”

Reyu takes the girl around the shoulders.  “Come now…”  And gradually, Amelia allows herself to be led away.


----------



## Angcuru

HUE IS BACK! YAY!    

It's just awesome the way Euro calls Lira 'Boss".


----------



## jonrog1

"They were my friends?"  What is WRONG with you people?

_... yoink ..._


----------



## blackshirt5

jonrog1 said:
			
		

> "They were my friends?"  What is WRONG with you people?
> 
> _... yoink ..._



 My thought exactly.

I'm enjoying this immensely.


----------



## Fajitas

jonrog1 said:
			
		

> "They were my friends?"  What is WRONG with you people?



Well, sometimes when you're alone in a strange city and, y'know, enslaved against your will, sometimes your zombies are the only ones who will talk to you.  It's kind of like _Lost in Translation_, but with more undead.

By the way, the final fate of Edmund was an outcome I decided to leave up to the PCs.  That is, I decided that if they inquired into his well-being immediately after the fire, he would have survived.  If they didn't, then he died. It two whole sessions before anyone thought to ask what had happened to him.


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> By the way, the final fate of Edmund was an outcome I decided to leave up to the PCs.  That is, I decided that if they inquired into his well-being immediately after the fire, he would have survived.  If they didn't, then he died. It two whole sessions before anyone thought to ask what had happened to him.




Ah ha!  So Lira's suspicions were well-founded.  Speaking his name *would* have caused him to suddenly appear!

Also, for the arcane trivia files, this episode contains Euro's first in-game speech of any length.  (Although the story was that he'd always been able to talk, hence his earlier speeches in the story hour.)  His first actual words in-game were "It stinks in here, Boss."  At that time, however, I was too surprised to have a familiar who talked like a cross between Peter Lorre and Cheech Marin to remember to be surprised that he talked at all.  The migration speech was where Euro really came into his own.


----------



## dpdx

Great update! Thanks!

Now, does Hue get busted soon?


----------



## neoweasel

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Well, sometimes when you're alone in a strange city and, y'know, enslaved against your will, sometimes your zombies are the only ones who will talk to you.  It's kind of like _Lost in Translation_, but with more undead.




You are a truly disturbed individual, you know that?


----------



## KidCthulhu

Fajitas said:
			
		

> By the way, the final fate of Edmund was an outcome I decided to leave up to the PCs.  That is, I decided that if they inquired into his well-being immediately after the fire, he would have survived.  If they didn't, then he died. It two whole sessions before anyone thought to ask what had happened to him.




Schrodenger's NPC.  I love it. [tips hat]


----------



## Surreptitious

*How to befriend a Zombie?*



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Part the Thirty-Seventh: *
> 
> Anvil comes forward, and speaks very low in Amelia’s ear.  “We have been to the sewers.”  He shows her the lion/skull-shaped brooch taken from one of the zombies.  “You can come quietly or not, but you will come with us.”
> 
> At the sight of the brooch, Amelia’s bravado vanishes.  Suddenly she looks very much like a very lost little girl.  “Did… did you hurt them?”
> 
> “Hurt them?”
> 
> Amelia looks beseechingly at the party, “They were my friends.”
> 
> The stunned silence that greets that remark is finally broken by Thatch.  “Ummm…  They’re not your friends…  They’re zombies!”
> 
> Her lower lip begins to quiver.  “They were *my* friends.”
> 
> Reyu takes the girl around the shoulders.  “Come now…”  And gradually, Amelia allows herself to be led away.




Instead of working on my master thesis I have spend the evening reading this thread, I really like the cast and the storyline. You are doing a fantastic job Spyscribe. I will definitely follow this story hour closely.

As I read the last update and Fajitas comment, one thing struck me, how did Amelia manage to kill 6 servants and turn them into zombies?


----------



## Fajitas

Surreptitious said:
			
		

> As I read the last update and Fajitas comment, one thing struck me, how did Amelia manage to kill 6 servants and turn them into zombies?



Ah, but she didn't.  The full details will be revealed in our next exciting update (or, possibly, the one after that.  Not sure how they're spaced out).

And hey, glad we could distract you from masters thesing.  Lord knows gaming distracted me from mine...


----------



## Seonaid

Fajitas said:
			
		

> It's kind of like _Lost in Translation_, but with more undead.



This is great, definitely deserves sigging.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Thirty-Eighth: *
_In which: the party goes to court._

The inquest takes place later that day, in a small courtroom in the Temple of Justice.  Tenacious the Just oversees the proceedings.  Also present are Professor Alexandra and Immobile the Just, who is there to speak to Aegosian interests in the proceedings.  

Thatch shifts in his seat.  Although it is autumn, the afternoon has grown uncomfortably hot.  He whispers to Dennis, “What are _we_ doing here again?”

Although Thatch had tried to pitch his voice for Dennis alone, Anvil turns around in his seat.  “So that we might see the workings of Kettenek’s Justice, and so appreciate His Law.”

“Yeah,” says Dennis, looking rather nervous, despite not being a defendant in the proceedings, “what he said.”

A few minutes later, Amelia is led into the courtroom, escorted by two monks of Essela’s order.  She is followed shortly thereafter by Tenacious.  An acolyte declares the court to be in session, and Tenacious begins to cast.

_(Note: I love D&D double-think.  At this point Fajitas describes Tenacious casting and then says, “Okay everyone make me two will saves.  If you fail the first one, you can’t lie.  If you make the first and fail and second and you *do* lie, raise your hand.  

Additional note: this session Tenacious was being played by our first EN World guest star, Orichalcum.  After the trial, she’ll pick up as Dennis for the rest of the session.)_

Reyu watches the proceedings with great interest.  She cannot help but sympathize with Amelia, who fell victim to the very plot by which she and Thatch were so nearly ensnared.  Although Anvil has assured her numerous times that Kettenek’s Justice _is_ fair and impartial, Reyu is still somewhat skeptical.  

The party members are all called to testify as to their discoveries in the sewers under the Academy, and as to their knowledge of the defendant.  The three scrolls they discovered with the zombies are all given into evidence, as well as Essela’s observations that the livery worn by the zombies was that of House Morjene.

Under oath (and the effects of _zone of truth_ and _discern lies_) Amelia admits to having found a scroll in the library of House Morjene, and, in a desperate attempt to escape the abuse she was suffering at the hands of her mistress, using it to raise six zombies from the Morjene family crypt.

At the revelation that Lady Morjene was beaten to death by her own undead relatives, Reyu is fairly certain she spots a small smile slide across Immobile’s features.

However, the true question before Tenacious is the murder of Randall Cheswick.  Although everyone is the courtroom is soon convinced that Amelia is almost certainly responsible, no one knows quite what to do about it.  Normally, under Pykosain law, she would be executed, however there are certainly mitigating factors.

Professor Alexandra argues for leniency on two main points.  First, Amelia never would have raised the zombies in the first place had she not been suffering under a gross miscarriage of Justice, in which the Temple of Justice itself has already been directly implicated.  

Second, since the attack on the Mages’ Academy, the mood in the city has not been exactly friendly towards arcane casters.  If Amelia were to be tried and executed for the crime it would almost certainly serve as a flashpoint for riots and further violence against the academy and other arcanists within the city.

When the Professor finishes her plea, Immobile asks to address the court.  While he is certainly sympathetic to the Professor’s point of view, he points out that Pykosian politics aren’t the only ones at issues here.  Simply put, if Amelia receives only a slap on the wrist for this crime, he will be under intense pressure to move for her extradition to Dar Aego where she would face execution or, quite possibly, enslavement.  “While I am personally horrified by young Miss Morrin’s plight, The Powers That Be in Dar Aego can’t allow slaves to get away with killing their owners.  And, quite frankly, that the killing did not stop in Dar Aego would indicate that she was not _merely_ trying to defend herself.”

Tenacious leans forward.  “Are you saying that the people of Dar Aego will not respect the ruling of a Pykosian court?”

“Not at all,” Immobile shakes his head adamantly.  “But if certain parties are dissatisfied with the results of this proceeding, there will be political consequences, not only for myself, but for the Universal Law Caucus.”

Alexandra rises again.  “Your honor…”

The arguments drag on for several hours.  Anvil sits patiently, secure in the knowledge that this will be handled by his superiors and attempting to lean whatever he can from their deliberations.  He notices that Tenacious is careful to listen to everything said by everyone addressing the court.  As befits a Justicar of his stature doing the work of Kettenek’s Justice, Tenacious’ face is largely expressionless, although Anvil observes that his practiced neutrality occasionally slips for an instant.  In those moments, he seems quite unsure of the best course of action, and his eyes dart back and forth between Immobile and Professor Alexandra.

Thatch looks over at Dennis, who looks like he would like to leave, or be sick, or both.

Suddenly, Reyu asks to address the court.  “Your honor… I am… unfamiliar with your practices, but, may I make a suggestion?”

Tenacious rubs the bridge of his nose wearily.  “I am sure that any light you might be able to shed on this matter would be welcome.”

“My grandmother is a wise woman and… a leader among my people.  Your… concern is for the safely of the citizens of the Confederacy.  In that case, sentence her to exile.  I will send word to my grandmother and she will take her in.”

Tenacious’ brow furrows as he addresses the elf in his courtroom.  “Are you not concerned she will be a danger to your people and your grandmother?”

“A danger would concern me,” Reyu replies, “but Amelia does not.”

“She is already responsible for six deaths.”

“You do not know my grandmother.”

With this as a cornerstone, Tenacious is soon able to hammer out a deal.  Sentence is passed of lifelong exile from the Confederacy, along with a fine of 6,000 gold pieces, to be paid out to survivors of those killed by the zombies in Dar Pykos and Dar Aego.  In recognition of their own culpability, the Temple of the Justicars in Dar Pykos pays 4,000 gold, and between them, the Academy and the party (using funds from the sale of the jewelry found on the zombies) makes up the rest.

As Amelia is taken from the courtroom back to her cell, Reyu tries to catch her eyes.  Amelia, however, maintains her usual fixation on the ground before her.  Reyu makes a mental note to speak to the girl before she is escorted from the city.  The court cannot force Amelia to go anywhere specifically as long as it is outside the borders of the Confederacy, but Reyu hopes to make a compelling argument on behalf of her grandmother.

As the party is leaving the courtroom, Thatch mutters, “Seems like she got off kind of lightly to me.”  Dennis shrugs, non-committal.  Essela doesn’t say anything, but gives a sympathetic nod.

Lira stops dead in her tracks.  Although she does not raise her voice, everyone in the party hears her as she says, “To leave home, knowing you can never return, is no easy thing.”  And with that, she turns on her heel, and strides off.

Thatch stands, blinking for a few seconds.  “Umm… What was that about?”

Anvil snaps his fingers, as though this has just recalled his memory to some detail he had meant to share.  “This Friday, I have been summoned to a meeting at the castle.  I will require your attendance.”

And without further explanation, he hurries off on his own.

There is a long pause. 

Reyu finally breaks the silence.  “Do you suppose that is the same meeting at the castle on Friday that the rest of us were invited to, or another one?”

Dennis shrugs.  “I guess we’ll find out on Friday.”

Thatch nods.  “Umm…  But how does that have _anything_ to do with Lira and the whole exile… thing…?” Thatch trails off, uncertain.  

Dennis pats him on the back sympathetically.  “Come on, let’s go get a drink.”


----------



## blackshirt5

Excellent Excellent Superb Superb HUM!!!

Loving it.  Need more.  Gimme gimme.


----------



## Surreptitious

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Part the Thirty-Eighth: *
> _In which: the party goes to court._
> 
> Under oath (and the effects of _zone of truth_ and _discern lies_) Amelia admits to having found a scroll in the library of House Morjene, and, in a desperate attempt to escape the abuse she was suffering at the hands of her mistress, using it to raise six zombies from the Morjene family crypt.
> 
> At the revelation that Lady Morjene was beaten to death by her own undead relatives, Reyu is fairly certain she spots a small smile slide across Immobile’s features.
> ”




I suspected some kind of old crosser relic, but scroll and the family crypt... that explains it. 

I like the irony of someone like Morjene, who properbly murdered her rivals to become mistress of the house, being killed by dead family members. 

/Good gaming


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

Woohoo, finally caught up with the story.
Awesome work, both by Spyscribe as well as by the players and the DM.
One more addict to start harrassing you for updates.


----------



## Orichalcum

*Ooh, my guest star appearance!*



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Part the Thirty-Eighth: *
> _In which: the party goes to court._
> 
> The inquest takes place later that day, in a small courtroom in the Temple of Justice.  Tenacious the Just oversees the proceedings.  Also present are Professor Alexandra and Immobile the Just, who is there to speak to Aegosian interests in the proceedings.




It's been two years, but I had so much fun at this session! Thanks again retroactively for allowing me to dispense Kettenek's Justice. Besides, exile leaves so many more...loose ends.   

Spyscribe, I think you got the dialogue between Tenacious and Reyu totally right - his skepticism and her perfect faith in her grandmother's discipline. I look forward to seeing you this summer sometime or another!


----------



## spyscribe

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Spyscribe, I think you got the dialogue between Tenacious and Reyu totally right - his skepticism and her perfect faith in her grandmother's discipline. I look forward to seeing you this summer sometime or another!




Oh, thank you!  I loved that little exchange with Reyu.  Tenacious' air of "You're sure you want to send this girl in the direction of people you care about?" was just perfect.  (err, that would refer to the way you played it, not the way I wrote it.)

Actually, I suspect Reyu will be trying to touch base with Amelia at our game tonight.  I'm *sure* she's not up to anything at all... problematic.

See you in September, if not before.   

(By the way, AS, just noticed that you delurked to post in our thread.  I'm honored.  Also, admittedly a bit boggled that we've got readers from places like Australia, Denmark, and the Netherlands.  The wonders of modern technology!)


----------



## spyscribe

Lira said:
			
		

> “To leave home, knowing you can never return, is no easy thing.”




*Interlude:*
_In which: Reyu seeks answers._

_(note to players in our game: There may still be a couple details here that are not common knowledge to everyone in the party.  I don’t think anything here will be a surprise to anyone, but if you wish to remain pure of out of character knowledge, skip this update.)_

Reyu finds Lira that evening, eating alone in a local tavern where the two of them used to frequently meet for breakfast.  In the time they’ve spent together Lira’s elven accent had become almost passable, but upon reflection, Reyu realizes that in all their conversations Lira has said almost nothing of herself.

Lira has now stationed herself at a table in a corner with a bowl of stew, a mug of ale, and an expression calculated to dissuade any potential “company.”  Euro is coiled around her neck, poised to take on any unwelcome visitors.

Reyu sits down anyway.

“What you said earlier today at the temple…  You _can_ go home, can you not?”

Lira bites her lip.  “I _could_.  I just don’t think anyone would be very happy to see me.”

Reyu patiently waits for her companion to continue.

“My parents were… not exactly pleased to find out their daughter was a sorcerer… I don’t blame them, I mean, _I_ wasn’t exactly pleased to _be_ a sorcerer.  I kept it a secret for more than a year, but… I couldn’t control my talents, couldn’t…”  Lira pauses, takes a deep breath and a swallow of ale.  “They kept me in the house and pretended they didn’t have a daughter anymore.  Eventually, I ran away.  And then you met me in Dar Aego.”

Reyu puts a hand on the young human’s shoulder.  Lira looks down in surprise.  Reyu is not usually one for touching.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.  Someday you will return home, and your family will see that.”

Lira gives a half smile, skeptical but polite, and returns her attention to her stew.  Reyu sits with her for a few moments, then leaves as silently as she came.


----------



## Angcuru

_Reyu is not usually one for touching._

I think a well-used _Charm Person_ spell can fix that.


----------



## dpdx

Angcuru said:
			
		

> I think a well-used _Charm Person_ spell can fix that.



It better be powerful - elves get a bonus to saves from enchantments, right?


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

Dare I say it?  Do I really dare to ask?
*Shaking from withdrawal symptoms and losing inner struggle*
Update! Please!!!! I need my fix!!!! Have mercy!!!!!


----------



## spyscribe

_(Pfew, made it!  Happy Birthday Bad Monkey Jeff.  And special thanks to Fajitas, who shared in this week's writerly duties, as well as his usual advisorly ones.)_

*Part the Thirty-Ninth*
_In which: the party goes to Court._

In the center of Dar Pykos, there is a castle.  It is not the tallest building in the city-state; the spires of the Great Library hold that honor.  Nor is it the most ornate; many private homes are far more elegant.  It is a public building, and built with that in mind.  It is large enough to handle all the business of the city.  It is solid enough to withstand an assault should the city come under attack.  And it is grand enough to impress those coming here on business.

The castle is the home of the ruler of Dar Pykos, King Orin.  It is the seat of his government.  It is here that all important decisions regarding the future of Dar Pykos are made…

*Friday* 

	Contrary to what one might expect, when the appointed day and hour comes to pass Anvil is *not* the first to arrive for their summons.  In fact, he is the last, primarily because Lira, Reyu, Thatch, Dennis, and Hue have all decided to show up absurdly early, just to beat him there.  Those hoping for a reaction from him are disappointed, however.  He merely nods at them, says “Excellent,” and enters the castle.  Rolling their eyes, the others follow.

	They announce themselves to the guards, and are led to a waiting room where they are, unsurprisingly, told to wait.  And wait they do.  There is someone there already, a brown-haired woman, sitting quietly on a fine chair, her eye quickly scanning each of the party members in turn.  She wears a holy symbol around her neck indicating that she is a member of the Fortune Riders, a Sedellan sect devoted to the goddess as the Lady of Luck.  She says nothing to the party, and they say nothing to her.

	They wait a short time before another woman is brought to wait with them.  This one, the party recognizes.  It is Moira, the Alirrian Water-walker they met at the Mages’ Academy.  Moira blinks when she sees the party, then grins.  “Y’know, I hadn’t expected to see you people here, but I probably should have.”

	It is Lira who first puts things together, her eyes darting from Moira’s Alirrian holy symbol to Anvil’s Kettenite one, to the strange woman’s Sedellan symbol.  _Each of the gods is represented here_, she thinks.  _I bet this woman is supposed to be with us_.

	She approaches the stranger.  “Let me guess.  You were given a letter asking you to come to a meeting at the castle at this time today?”

	“Yes,” the woman responds, cautiously.

	“Hi.  I’m Lira.”

	“Eva Kouris,” the woman responds, politely inclining her head.

	At that moment, a man appears, dressed in fine robes.  “Good afternoon,” he begins.  “I am Sir William Collingswood, Chief Steward to his Royal Highness King Orin of Dar Pykos.  On His Highness’s behalf, I thank you all for heeding our summons.  Before your audience, I must request that you leave all weapons and spell components here.  The guards will see to it they are cared for.”

	Anvil immediately complies.  After only a moment’s hesitation, most of the others do as well.  Lira notes Eva hands over her rapier, as well as an impressive array of throwing knives.  It is not clear whether she or Dennis carries more.

	The parting is hardest on Thatch, who reluctantly passes over his uncle’s sword.  “Be sure you, um, take care of--"

	“Rest assured, it will be well tended,” Collingswood smoothly replies.

	Once the party’s weapons have been secured, Collingswood leads them down a long hall to a large pair of oaken double doors.  “This way, if you please,” he says, as he swings the doors open.  The party steps forward.

_Well_, Lira thinks, _whatever challenge is coming, I hope I’m ready for it_.

Don’t worry, Boss, Euro thinks at her. I got your back.

	And she enters the room.

The audience chamber, aside from the eight adventurers, is empty.  Empty of people anyway.  There is a dais at one end of the room with five ornate chairs upon it.  The group just has a chance to register this fact when a small door to the side of the dais opens, and four figures file in.

Anvil quickly recognizes them as the heads of the four temples of the city.  The head of the church of Kettenek is a gaunt old man wearing black robes, formerly a Guardian of the Barrier.  The Benedictess of the Alirrian sects is a Giver, resplendent in her green robes and elaborate hat.  She gives a small nod to Moira as she enters.  The Ehktian is a Sun Blade.  A large man, with read hair and a full beard, he almost seems to radiate light himself, in his highly polished armor with his holy symbol engraved upon the breastplate.  The Sedellen is the last to take her place, standing in front of her chair.  She wears the simple grey robe of the Harbingers, and surveys the room with a slightly bored expression.  

Following the heads of the four temples, Tenacious and Professor Alexandra enter and takes places off to one side of the dais.

The last chair, in the center of the dais, remains empty.  

A moment later the great doors—opposite where the party was shown in—open and King Orrin enters.  He is a youngish man, dressed in a manner that is clearly regal, but not ostentatious.  Upon later reflection, what strikes Lira most about their entire visit to the castle was the lack of ceremony and protocol.  There are no heralds, no order of precedence, surprisingly few formalities.  Except for his title, King Orrin gives the overriding impression of being simply a very smart, very sensible man.

He has an easy smile, and takes careful note as the assembled adventurers introduce themselves.  He is apparently familiar with their names, but curious to put them to faces.  Except for Anvil (who, although respectful of rank, is cowed by no man) and Hue (who doesn’t know any better) the group members are only partially put at ease.  Lira’s curtsey has a practiced smoothness despite her nerves, but many knees and backs bend with slight, but noticeable tremors.

After all the summoned guests curtsey or bow according to their custom, the dignitaries on the dais sit, and the King addresses the room.

“All of you are aware of the attack that has lately disturbed our city.  It is thanks to efforts by many of you that the perpetrators were not able to do more damage than they did.

“It has also become apparent that it is vital to this city that the Mages’ Academy not exist as an island, isolated from the rest of the populace, but as an integrated and integral part of Dar Pykos.  I have conferred with this Council and we are all in agreement.  To achieve this, the Academy will require strong leadership by a new Chancellor.  

“However, there is no one among the faculty, or elsewhere in this city who is both qualified and willing to accept the position.  The next Chancellor must be strong enough to hold their ground.  Rational enough to navigate the political waters of the civic and religious authorities of the city, and last, but certainly not least, powerful enough to defend the academy should it once again come under attack.”

Hue suddenly pipes up.  “I’d love to be the next Chancellor, but my research with the squirrels—” He is cut off abruptly by Thatch’s hand coming down to rest on his head.

King Orrin quirks an eyebrow at the interruption, but he seems more amused than anything else.  “We are told of four archmagi, men and women of immense power, dwelling in the lands around the Halmae.  This, if you are willing, would be your mission.  Find these individuals, and deliver a message to each of them, inviting them to come here that we may meet them and determine if one or more of them should be offered the position of Chancellor.”

King Orrin pauses to nod to Anvil, Lira, Eva, and Moira.  “Four of you would be representatives of your churches.  All must see that the temples are united and supportive of this endeavor, so that we might prevent a recurrence of the ugliness which has lately marred and endangered our city.”

Anvil steps forward without hesitation. “If it is the will of Kettenek that we should find these wizards, it is certain that we cannot fail.”

Lira is next, saying simply: “I accept this challenge.”  The head of the Temple of Ehkt grins broadly at her and pounds the arm of his chair in support.

“As do I,” Moira adds.

“And I as well,” says Eva.

King Orrin surveys the others.  “I have heard from Tenacious the Just that you have worked as a team to the great benefit to the Temple of Justice, and the city as a whole.  Are the rest of you willing to similarly commit yourself to this task?”

“Sure!” says Hue, momentarily stepping out from underneath Thatch’s hand.

Reyu, Thatch and Dennis exchange quick glances.  Reyu bows respectfully and comes forward.  “This is indeed a noble endeavor, but I think we would like to learn more of our mission before formally accepting.”

King Orrin nods, untroubled, and gestures to one side where Professor Alexandra stands.  “Professor, I believe you are the most knowledgeable among us as to the individuals in question.  If you would?”  He indicates she should come forward and speak.


----------



## Seonaid

Oooh! If the posts in which Fajitas has a direct hand are always this long, let's have more of 'em! 

Also--I noticed you said "Friday." Is that the same day of the week as the one we know and love? If so, that seems incongruent. The world is so well defined and set up, and not similar to what I know, that naming a day of the week "Friday" seems wrong. Just curious as to the thought behind it.


----------



## Angcuru

I think the use of the Julian days of the week is more out of unconscious habit as a human being in a western society than a lack of attention to detail of the world.  Hey, even Tolkien used the Julian calendar, so I'm more than willing to forgive this very slight discrepancy of Spyscribe's/Fajitas', whom, while capable of forming an excellent and entertaining story, saldy have less renown.


----------



## spyscribe

I'll let Fajitas give the definitive answer on the days of the week question, but it was something that came up when I was drafting the post.  Probably should have cut it since "Friday" didn't wind up being in the post where it came out what those darn letters we saw Anvil and Lira getting were about.

Then again, it did post on a Friday, so that's kind of cool.

I think it's a question of weighing authenticity against pain in the neck factor.  We could call the first month of spring (that also happens to be the first month of the year) "The month of Alirria rising" but it's easier for everyone to remember what that means if we just go ahead and call it "March."

Of course, in my notes, "March" is still "3" in number form, even though it's the first month of the year.

As for post-length, there just wasn't a good place to end the update any earlier.    

Seriously, I don't like updates to go a lot longer than 1200 words.  (The one above was right around 1600, I think).  This might just be a personal thing, but as a reader, I get turned off by endlessly scrolling posts.


----------



## Fajitas

Seonaid said:
			
		

> Also--I noticed you said "Friday." Is that the same day of the week as the one we know and love? If so, that seems incongruent. The world is so well defined and set up, and not similar to what I know, that naming a day of the week "Friday" seems wrong. Just curious as to the thought behind it.




I actually spent a lot of time thinking about the calendar in the Halmae.  I decided early on that being able to keep track of dates and how much time had passed was useful, so I definitely wanted a calendar.  The problem was that, logically, the Halmae should have a sixteen-month calendar: four seasons of four months a piece.  And, frankly, rather than seven-day weeks, they should either be four day or eight day weeks.

Okay, I thought.  Difficult but not inherently undoable.  But then I thought, yeesh.  I'd have to name all these things.  And then the problem sets in.  Because if I tell my players, "It is Friday, the 19th of October," they instantly know what I mean.  Wheras if I tell them "It is Eighthday, the 19th of Sedellus Waxing," we all have to stop for a minute while they translate that.  And it gets even worse when you have to start calculating how long between two events.  "Sedellus Waxing is how many months after Ehkt Rising?"  It reaches a point where the flavor gets in the way of the functionality.

So, I figured, if the Julian calendar is good enough for Tolkein, it's good enough for me.  If it helps, you can think of it, just like Tolkein's calendar, as having been translated from the original Halmae Common for the sake of the reader.


----------



## Seonaid

I definitely agree/understand, but it would be cool to read it anyway.  Thanks again guys for the great stuff!


----------



## blackshirt5

So great, once again.  Keep up the good work.


----------



## thatdarncat

Fajitas said:
			
		

> But then I thought, yeesh.  I'd have to name all these things.  And then the problem sets in.  Because if I tell my players, "It is Friday, the 19th of October," they instantly know what I mean.  Wheras if I tell them "It is Eighthday, the 19th of Sedellus Waxing," we all have to stop for a minute while they translate that.  And it gets even worse when you have to start calculating how long between two events.  "Sedellus Waxing is how many months after Ehkt Rising?"  It reaches a point where the flavor gets in the way of the functionality.



Exactly the thought process I went through when I was working on my setting. New calanders are cool and all, but they're also a real pain in the butt.


----------



## Angcuru

Working on new calendars and such is a pain, true.  But what doesn't kill you just makes you stronger....unless it cripples you.


----------



## blackshirt5

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Working on new calendars and such is a pain, true.  But what doesn't kill you just makes you stronger....unless it cripples you.



 Until we get to the point where we have to stop and figure out where we are in the game year.

I'm only using the Exalted calendar for my game because it's preprovided and it's simple.


----------



## Seonaid

I think it would be easy, if you printed up a calendar and had it clearly marked. But the act of doing that isn't exactly simple. I dunno, maybe someone like me would like doing that, but most people probably wouldn't.  In novels, unless the calendar is intuitive or laid out in an appendix or such, it's easier (better) to use Julian notation. However, it still jars me, a little bit, out of the setting.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Fortieth*
_In which: SpyScribe and Fajitas search for an elegant way around a whole lot of exposition._

Professor Alexandra steps forward, glances at the assemblage on the dais, and clears her throat.  Although she is unaccustomed to speaking in such august company, she is determined not to let it show too much.

“Unfortunately, we know very little as fact about these four wizards.  Most of what we’ve gathered is rumor and hearsay. We do not know their names, nor races, nor genders.  We do not know precisely where they are, though we have rough ideas.  One is to the southwest, out in the Wildlands beyond the unaligned city-states of Mynope and Noran.  One we believe is somewhere in the Ketkath Mountains, east of the Halmae and deep in the lands of the Sovereignty of Kettenek.  A third is thought to be north, somewhere in the deserts of the Empire of Ebis.”

Lira interrupts.  “I didn’t think there were _any_ arcane casters in Ebis.”

“Apparently, there is one.  Assuming our information is reliable.”

“That’s three.  What of the fourth?” Reyu asks. 

Professor Alexandra looks slightly apologetic.  “The fourth… we don’t really know.  Our understanding is that the fourth one travels.  They say his, or her, tower moves at whim, and no one knows where it will be found next.”

Thatch’s eyes goggle at the thought of a moving tower.  

“And what, exactly, do you wish us to do?” Reyu asks.

“We’ll provide you with invitations to give each of the wizards, inviting them to come here and be evaluated for the job.  We want you to find them, deliver the invitations, and report back to us.”

“Report… what, exactly?”

“We want you to observe these individuals.  You are likely to be the only ones who are able to meet them when they are not attempting to impress us in an interview.  You may be best equipped to judge if they are suited to the post, and your opinions will certainly be sought in our deliberations.”

Anvil nods.  “If we find them wanting in our initial impression, should we decline to invite them?”

 Professor Alexandra gets an almost panicked look on her face.  “No, no, no,” she says, quickly.  “Wanting or not, deliver these invitations. These are incredibly powerful people who are not to be trifled with.  Frankly, we don’t even know how powerful they are.  Whatever you do, don’t upset them, don’t antagonize them.  Just deliver the messages.  If you have personal feelings, report them to us when you get back.  We’ll be the ones to tell them no when they arrive in the city.  Let them be angry at us, not you.”

Dennis, meanwhile, has been shifting his weight back and forth, somewhat edgy.  “Look,” he finally says, “I don’t mean to be rude about this, but… well… what’s in it for us?  I hate to be blunt, but what do we get?”

Several members of the party cringe inwardly, but King Orin smiles.  “Whatever you need,” he says.  “Funds, equipment, transportation.  Anything we can offer, though admittedly we may not be able to do much for you while you’re traveling.  But you’ll be in the employ of the Temples and the City, for which you’ll be well paid.  You will have our full support, both diplomatically and materially.  And you will, of course, have the thanks of a grateful King.”

Thatch, Reyu, and Dennis look at each other.  Finally, Reyu speaks.  “I believe it will be… most instructive for me to participate,” she says.

That leaves only Thatch and Dennis.  Dennis shrugs his shoulders at Thatch, who, after a moments thought, says “Ummm.  Okay.  Sure.”

“Yeah.  Why not?” Dennis adds.

King Orin nods.  “Very well.  Then it is settled.  Take what time you need to make your preparations.  Professor Alexandra and your superiors in your Churches will be at your disposal.  Should you need anything from me, you may contact my Chamberlain, Sir Collingswood.  I wish you all the fortune that all the gods see fit to bestow upon you.  Good luck.  And thank you.”

With that, the King makes his exit, and the heads of the Churches follow him.  The party bows as the dignitaries leave.

As soon as they are alone, Anvil immediately takes charge.  “We have much work ahead of us.  We should gather what we need quickly and efficiently, that we may begin our task at once.  I suggest we all meet tonight at midnight, to pray that Kettenek will grant us speed and success upon our journey.”

“Oh yeah,” Dennis mutters to Thatch.  “We’re in it now.”

*************

The next few days are a flurry of activity.  Anvil gathers letters of introduction from nearly every notable in Dar Pykos: Tenacious, the heads of the Churches, and King Orrin himself.   He has a special staff made, with a hollow end, and uses it to secretly store these letters.

Since the Ketkath Mountains are a frequent destination for Questors seeking challenges, Lira speaks to several members of her order who have been there, gathering as much information as she can.  All describe a strange and rugged place, full of creatures seen nowhere else in the Halmae.  But it is Rosemary who provides an important clue.

“I’ve never been there, but there’s supposed to be a place deep in the mountains, called the Kuio Valley.  They say it’s like the calm in the center of a storm.  If there is a wizard as powerful as you describe in the Ketkath, perhaps it is he who has tamed that valley.”

Meanwhile, Moira collects maps of the lands to the south and west, where the party plans to journey first.  Sadly, beyond the non-aligned city states of Noran and Mynope, there are few maps to be had.  When her chapter-mistress finds out where she is heading, she makes a request.

“Do you think you could detour by Dar Und?  We have letters bound there, and it is not often we get people walking in that direction.”

Although Moira has no objections to making the journey herself, several other members of the party object to the unnecessary risk the side trip will present; Dar Und is a city-state without a proper government, completely overrun by crime, corruption, and “The Bosses.”  Moira is forced to decline.

Professor Alexandra presents the party with a great many items. To begin with, she produces four scrolls, each sealed with the King’s signet and elaborately bound in his colors.  “These are the invitations, one for each of the wizards.”  Hue reaches for them, but Anvil is quicker.    

“I shall take these,” he says, and no one seems inclined to argue.

Then Professor Alexandra opens a cabinet and produces an array of items.  There are three glass globes, white, blue, and black.  There is a small porcelain house and a small porcelain plate.  There is also a wand, a headband, and a sack.  “These are for you,” she says.

“What are they?” Lira asks

“Magic items, some of which I’ve crafted, some of which I’ve had the Temples prepare.  They’re largely for emergency use, should you find yourself in need.”

The party cannot help but gape.  None of them has ever possessed this many magic items before.

Professor Alexandra holds up each of the items in turn as she describes their function.  “This wand was donated by the Givers of Life.  It casts healing spells, and is fully charged.”

After some tactical discussion, the group gives the wand to Eva.

The Professor continues.  “This headband will allow you limited contact with us here in Dar Pykos.  Once per week, you can use it to send me a message to update me on your progress, and I’ll be able to respond.  You will be limited to 25 words, however, so write your messages in advance.”

“Can it only be used to contact you?  Or may messages be sent to others using this device?” Anvil asks.

“No.  Should you need to, it can be used to contact anyone you know.”

Anvil takes the headband.  _Great_, Lira thinks to Euro. _Now we’ll only be able to send her 19 words, ‘cause every message will end with “May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you.”_

Professor Alexandra continues.  “This plate, also donated by the Givers, will provide you with a days’ worth of food and water.  To activate it, read the words inscribed on the rim.  Likewise, this house will provide 9 hours of shelter.  The activation words are written on the bottom.”

“What of the globes?” Reyu asks.

“Ahhh,” Professor Alexandra replies.  “These, I’m particularly proud of.  When broken, these globes will activate the spell contained within.  The black globe will protect you all from spells or creatures of an evil nature.  The blue one will provide all eight of you with healing, if you are close enough when activated.  And the white one…”  She picks up the white globe and holds it out to the party.  “I want all of you to touch this.”  

They all comply, even Euro and the ferret come forward to poke the sphere with a nose or paw.  Professor Alexandra mutters a few words over the globe, and there is a white flash of light.  “It is now attuned to all of you.  This is an emergency escape device.  If you need a quick retreat, break this globe.  It will teleport all of you here to me.”

“To this room?”  Lira asks.

“To wherever I happen to be.”

“Neat!” Hue exclaims.  

But Thatch suddenly goes pale.  “What about Bob?” he asks.  “Will it teleport him, too?”

“Bob?”

“My horse.”

Professor Alexandra blinks a few times.  “Well, no.  It’s not attuned to him.”

Thatch looks crestfallen.  Dennis pats him on the shoulder.  “Don’t worry.  We won’t use it if we don’t have to.”

“What about the sack?”  Hue asks.  “What does that do?”

“This?” Professor Alexandra asks, somewhat taken aback.  “Oh, nothing.  But it has 2000 gold in it.  For discretionary use.”

************

At last, supplies have been gathered, the horses have been equipped and loaded, and the party, whose members have now swelled to eight, makes ready to depart.

Anvil gives an appraising glance to a large wooden box Thatch secures to one of the pack-ponies.  “What is that?” he demands.

Thatch merely shrugs, but Reyu hears the question and comes over.  “It’s a masterwork healer’s kit.”

Anvil raises an eyebrow.  “What would you ever need that for?”

Reyu regards him soberly.  “It is best to be prepared for all eventualities…  Does not Kettenek’s Justice demand it?”

Anvil carefully searches her face for any hint of a smile.  He finds none.

“So it does,” he eventually allows, and goes on his way.

**********

_(Note: For those keeping track at home, Moira is carrying the ceramic plate and house, and Lira has the three “in case of emergency, break glass” balls.  And indeed, a certain member of the party will have cause to be glad we decided to bring along a masterwork healer’s kit.)_


----------



## thatdarncat

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Although Moira has no objections to making the journey herself, several other members of the party object to the unnecessary risk the side trip will present; Dar Und is a city-state without a proper government, completely overrun by crime, corruption, and “The Bosses.”  Moira is forced to decline.



So just how many fun and interesting encounters did they avoid here? 

(And how many of those encounters are going to come back to bite them? )


----------



## Angcuru

> _Great_, Lira thinks to Euro. _Now we’ll only be able to send her 19 words, ‘cause every message will end with “May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you.”_



Damn straight.


----------



## Fajitas

thatdarncat said:
			
		

> So just how many fun and interesting encounters did they avoid here?
> 
> (And how many of those encounters are going to come back to bite them? )




I don't think it would have been a long sojourn in Dar Und.  I figured it was the last time they'd be in the area for a while, and that perhaps, before they went out to explore the world at large, I could introduce them to one more city-state.  Which is not to say that there won't be consequences for them not going, mind you.  One never knows what kind of important things are being sent in the mail...

For the record, this game took place about a year and a half ago.  The PCs are still on this mission.  They have just met the penultimate archmage, and are about to head off to find the last one this weekend.


----------



## Len

That's six months per archmage! Well, I guess it's not so long considering this is before Interpol and Amber Alerts.


----------



## spyscribe

Len said:
			
		

> That's six months per archmage! Well, I guess it's not so long considering this is before Interpol and Amber Alerts.




Also, keep in mind that's real-time.  In-game, we got this mission just after Sedellus Ascendant and it's currently a few weeks past Alirria rising.  That's not so long, really.


----------



## Len

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Also, keep in mind that's real-time. In-game, we got this mission just after Sedellus Ascendant and it's currently a few weeks past Alirria rising. That's not so long, really.



Oh well, that's, um... Dangit, can't you use a _normal_ calendar?   

It still seems long compared to the campaign I'm playing in, but then we get to level up more than once a year too. Of course, it doesn't matter how long it took, as long as the story isn't boring.


----------



## dpdx

Somebody definitely needs to talk to Anvil about whether or not it is Just that he should carry the overwhelming majority of the party's important magic items. Besides the very cogent point about brevity in sendings, there's also lesson 427 in the Big Picture Book o' Justice, entitled Maybe It's Not a Good Idea to Put All Yer Scrolls in One Justicar, Lest He Be Plane-Shifted or Fireballed to a Crisp.

Of course, Hue will probably have pilfered half his stuff by the game session after next, and to the party's great salvation and benefit, no less.

I love this Story Hour.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Also, keep in mind that's real-time. In-game, we got this mission just after Sedellus Ascendant and it's currently a few weeks past Alirria rising. That's not so long, really.




*LOL*  Lady, you kill me.  



			
				Len said:
			
		

> That's six months per archmage!




On average, it's only somewhere around 6 or 7 sessions per.  However, that number is skewed 'cause, we got *way* sidetracked between archmagi One and Two.  I found a fun little Dungeon module that I thought I'd run them through for a brief lark.  Then all hell broke loose, and it took us about another 5 sessions to get back on track.  And then, 'cause we were in the area, I couldn't resist another quick sidetrack to explore an interesting aspect of the world.  With one thing and another, it actually ended up being about *11 months* real time between One and Two.

I'm only just realizing that now myself.  Holy cr@p is about all I can say.


----------



## blackshirt5

I need more...sleep.

However, more important is that I get more Halmae'e goodness.


----------



## jonrog1

Well pick up the pace, people, I want to see ho wyou got out of that little pickle -- and I'm also wondering, how much longer before the last two (err, one and a half, you know) PC's joined the party?


----------



## dpdx

jonrog1 said:
			
		

> Well pick up the pace, people...



You'd do well to follow yer own advice there, Mr. Dark Canada and Scarred Lands Haven't Been Updated in a Month Man.


----------



## Fajitas

Well, I was *supposed* to spend this afternoon paying bills and getting work done.  Instead, I've spent it doing this, 'cause geography is about to start becoming relevant.  Enjoy.

This map represents the known world of the Halmae.  Or, at least, what's known in the Confederacy.  The Sovereignty stretches off to the west for an unknown distance, and the Empire of Ebis is known to have many more cities than that, though their precise names and locations are not general knowledge.  As for what may lie across the ocean to the east... well, that's anybody's guess.


----------



## Seonaid

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Well, I was *supposed* to spend this afternoon paying bills and getting work done.



Cool. 

Update?


----------



## spyscribe

jonrog1 said:
			
		

> Well pick up the pace, people, I want to see how you got out of that little pickle -- and I'm also wondering, how much longer before the last two (err, one and a half, you know) PC's joined the party?




Oh, the little pickle?  Your plan worked, and we all died horribly.  Just see if you get an invite to play in the "Pirates of the Halmae" one-shot now.    

The PC(s) of which you speak hooked up with us just as we were hitting level four, between archmagi one and two.  Real-time: Jan '03.

As for the pace, I've got the pot holding for you on line one...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Forty-First*
_In which: our new mission begins._

The journey from Dar Pykos south through the Confederacy is relatively uneventful.  The roads are well traveled and seem free of the bandits that plagued the party last time they went this way.  In fact, it is with a shock that they realize that less than two weeks have passed since Professor Alexandra first sent them on a mission to buy her diamond from the dwarves.

Someone wonders aloud if the diamond survived the fire.

Mostly though, the party adjusts to suddenly becoming a group of eight, instead of a group of five.

Hue of course is no stranger to most of the party.  No stranger than the last time they went adventuring with him at least.  Moira proves to be as convivial and outgoing as she was the first time they met her, and endears herself to almost everyone by singing whenever they are on the road.

(When Hue is listening to her sing, he isn’t asking questions, or trying to follow squirrels that scamper across the path.) 

Eva, the Sedellan, tends to keep to herself.  Lira finds, however, that she is not unfriendly, merely reserved around strangers.

“This is… quite the group,” she observes somewhat dryly.

Lira agrees.  “It’s a good thing we’re on the King’s business, because I don’t think there’s another reasonable explanation we could give for all of us being on the road together.”

“If _that’s_ even a reasonable explanation.”  Both women giggle.  “Are you Pykosian?” she asks.

Lira shakes her head.  “Dar Henna, you?”

“Dar Darine.”

“I’ve never been there, is it nice?”

Eva shrugs.  “Not so nice that I didn’t leave.”

Lira sighs.  “I hear you.”

**********

Knowing only that the first archmage they seek lives somewhere in the wild lands to the south-west of the Darine Peninsula, the party plans to head towards Noran and see if there are any leads to be found there.  Noran is an independent city-state, and the last human settlement of any size east of the Ketkath Mountains.

Although no one in the group has ever been to Noran, the city-state has a reputation in the Confederacy as a just and lawful place.  Being relatively distant from their nearest civilized neighbors, the Noranians take it upon themselves to make sure their lands do not descend into anarchy.  Roads are kept clear of bandits and in good repair to assure reliable trade.

However, before reaching Noran, the group does make one stop, to visit the dwarves of the Stoneshaper mines.

“Welcome back!”  Gurn Stoneshaper greets the party with a wide smile and a once-over.  “What can I do for you?  Professor Alexandra looking for another diamond?  Just found a beauty—”

Anvil cuts him off.  “We come on business of our own.  We are carrying large numbers of coins.  They are both heavy and attractive to thieves.  Can you exchange them?”

Gurn shrugs.  “Sure.  Get you some gems if you like.  Thieves like them just as much though.  More, since you can’t trace ‘em.”

Anvil strokes his beard thoughtfully.  “We intend to travel to the Ketkath Mountains.  Do you know of trustworthy individuals there?”

“Sure, got a cousin out working in the Ironroot mines.  Why?”

“If we give you a sum of money, could you give us letters that he might redeem for us when we arrive?”

Gurn catches on quickly.  “Not a problem.  We can get you letters, and I’ll send word to Olek so he’s expecting you…  Olek’s my cousin,” he explains.

“Thank you.  May Ketennek reward you for your aid to us.” 

Gurn nods quickly, “And you, and you…  You folks staying the night?”

**********

Lira, Thatch, and Moira are the only party members who truly appreciate the extent of dwarven hospitality, being the only party members who can drink dwarven ale without gagging.

“Hey Gurn,” Lira asks, tapping his mug, “how’s this stuff cold?”

He laughs, “Come back in winter, lass.”

Lira grins.  “Oh, I’ve got a trick you’re going to like.”  She concentrates, casts, a silvery _ray of frost_ shoots from her finger right at the dwarf’s ale.  Grun watches in amazement, then takes a cautious sip of the sub-zero brew.  He licks his lips, thoughtful.

“Can you do that again?”

“More than once.”

Gurn climbs up on the table and shouts to a couple of young dwarves who are serving that evening, “Lads!  Bring out the good stuff!”

**********

The adventurers get off to rather a late start the following morning.  Reyu looks at Anvil quizzically as she notices the half-keg now strapped to the back of his saddle.

“Are you certain that was a… wise… investment of party funds?”

“We are journeying to far lands, and requesting coin from dwarves who are strangers.  It seems likely this will smooth relations.”

***********

Experimentation with holistic hangover cures aside, the road once again settles into an uneventful routine.

Each night regular watches are set, and each night nothing happens.

Until…

The party has been traveling for close to two week, and by Moira’s reckoning, they are only about two more days out from Noran.  She, Lira and Reyu are sitting first watch.  The night seems quiet.

Then Lira whispers, “Euro says he hears someone in the woods.”

Sure enough, the weasel’s tail has gone stiff as a bottle-brush and he runs back in forth in great agitation across Lira’s shoulders.

Reyu takes a quick scout around the camp, but comes back shaking her head.  “Perhaps,” the elf suggests, “he heard a mouse.”

Lira sighs, “He said some_one_, not some_thing_.”

Yeah, you tell her, Boss.

Moira turns to check the area again, when she abruptly _does_ notice something amiss.

It’s the man stepping out of the woods with a cross-bow leveled at her chest.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> It’s the man stepping out of the woods with a cross-bow leveled at her chest.



One might think, as a former Handmaiden, that Moira would be used to people directing things to her chest.

Moira: (pointing at her eyes) Hey! Buddy! Bolts up here.


----------



## Pyske

I can't tell you how pleased I was to get to read another update this evening.  Great way to improve on a long day.  Thanks!

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


----------



## Angcuru

> “Can you do that again?”
> 
> “More than once.”
> 
> Gurn climbs up on the table and shouts to a couple of young dwarves who are serving that evening, “Lads! Bring out the good stuff!”



Priceless.   



> Experimentation with holistic hangover cures aside, the road once again settles into an uneventful routine.



 

Love it.  More soon, please.


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> One might think, as a former Handmaiden, that Moira would be used to people directing things to her chest.




*shakes head*  You read that line and then just waited for me to post it, didn't you?

Angcuru, glad you enjoyed Lira's party trick.  Her drinking habits are an interesting example of the dice defining a character.  I didn't originally picture her as much of a drinker, but according to her con checks, she's got the best head for dwarven ale of anyone in the party.

At this point, it can pretty well be relied upon that if the party runs into a group of dwarves, Lira will have chilled the keg before the encounter ends.


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*Again SpyScribe made me come out and post*

Awesome update, mylady and very funny as well. 
Seems you are more and more getting the hang of ending with cliff-hangers.

More updates please


----------



## doghead

_In which: doghead reaches the end of the story (so far) and joins the other forlorn readers hanging around the gate waiting for the mistress of the quill to reappear._

Fajitas. I'm going to yoink your pantheon as well if thats OK.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Forty-Second:* 
_In which: the party searches for answers—although not to life, the universe, and everything._

“Nobody move!” the man barks.  Around the camp, five more armed men step forward.

See Boss!  I told you there was somebody out there!

Mentally, Lira shushes him.  Without turning her head, she looks around as best she can.  The men, at least the ones she can see, all seem to be wearing similar clothing, with an insignia she doesn’t recognize on the chest.  Behind, she can hear her companions shifting in their bedrolls.

The men still have their crossbows at the ready.

More seconds tick by.

“Okay…” Lira begins cautiously, “We’re not moving.”

“What are you doing out on the road this time of night?” the man demands.

Anvil does not move, but he calls out, “We could ask you the same question.”

Moira interjects, “I’m a Water-Walker.  We’re carrying letters to Noran.”

At the man’s indication, Moira slowly pulls her holy symbol out from where it had slipped under her tunic.  The head crossbowman examines it carefully.

“A Water-Walker?  There’s a way-post two miles down the road.  Why aren’t you staying there?”

“I didn’t know that.  I’ve never been this way before.”  Moira slowly lowers her hands.  “Now, are you going to introduce yourself?”

The man lowers his crossbow just a hair.  “Sgt. Paris.  Noran Highway Guard.”

“Moira d’Ailleron.  Pleased to meet you.”

The rest of the party is soon introduced and any lingering doubts the sergeant might have had are allayed by their letters of passage and the fact that they travel with a Justicar.

As the guards escort the party to the next way-post, Paris and Anvil spend the time discussing Justice and its application to the highway system.  The rest of the group spends the hour waiting until they can go back to bed.

At the way-post, Paris takes his leave, but cautions the group they should not attempt to camp in open country again.  “You’re two days to Noran, there’s another way-post at the half-way mark.  The next patrol might be more nervous on the trigger.”

Moira thanks him for his advice.

Two days later, the party reaches the gates of Noran.


Anvil has to admit.  He finds something intensely pleasing about the city.  Its walls are solidly built, clearly designed to fulfill their function of protecting the inhabitants within from bandits, wild animals, and others who would defy Ketennek’s Justice.

At the gates, visitors are required to peace-bond all weapons, down to and including daggers; although he notices that spell components may be carried freely and openly within the city.

The surrounding lands are heavily forested, and so most buildings within the city are made of wood.  The aesthetic of the walls carries over to the inner dwellings.  Buildings are solid and functional, and while there are few indications of extreme wealth that one finds in the best neighborhoods of Dar Pykos, neither are there signs of extreme poverty.  The party takes lodging at the local way-post of the Water Walkers, and sets about making inquiries as to where they can find a powerful wizard, and a reliable guide.

Anvil leads the party back to the city’s main road, and takes a moment to survey his surroundings.  He turns to the party.  “Excellent, we can begin a systematic—  Where are you going?”

Eva, who is already halfway down a side alley, turns back.  “I’m going to go find a card game.”

“We are on a mission of Kettenek’s Justice—”

“We need information, right?”

“Correct.”

“People gossip at the poker table.”

“You could have mentioned that before wandering off.”

“Sorry.”  Eva actually blushes.  “I haven’t been part of a group before.”

Anvil considers for a moment.  “Your point is well taken.  Proceed.  Now, the rest of us—  Thatch, Dennis!  Come back here.”

“Um… We were going to help her with that poker thing.”

“No, you are needed here.  As I was saying…”

As Anvil swings into his plan, Lira leans over and whispers in Reyu’s ear, “You know, at first I wasn’t sure if I was going to like her.”

When it comes down to it, Anvil’s plan consists of going to the local wizard’s shop and demanding, “Who is the greatest wizard in the area?”

Amiens, the owner of said shop, is slightly taken aback.  “Well, I’m fairly… puissant myself… Is there something I can help you with?”

Anvil suspects that this mission is not going to be accomplished by merely walking into a shop.  Still, in a quest one must leave no stone unturned.  “We seek an archmage of such power that he is capable of drowning this entire block in a river of fire.  Can you do such magics?” He follows the question with a penetrating stare.

The wizard shifts uncomfortably.  “Well, no…”  (Anvil ignores Lira pulling at his sleeve.)  “I can’t think of any _wizard_ who could.”

“Then you are of no use to us.  Thank you for your time.”  Anvil turns to leave.

“Anvil!”  (Lira finally gives up on sleeve tugging as a means of communication.)

“What?”

The sorcerer sighs.  “Arcane magic doesn’t make fire.  It’s Ehkt’s element.”

“Ah, of course.” Anvil turns back to Amiens.  “Well, then some equivalent feat, without the fire.”

Amiens still shakes his head.  “I know of no one like that around here.  I have heard a couple rumors though, some kind of great power among the Miyen elves, out in the wildlands.”

“Do you know how we can find these Miyen elves?” Anvil demands.

The shopkeeper shakes his head.  “They don’t mix much with outsiders.”

“You mean humans,” Reyu corrects him.

“Certainly, but they don’t even like to associate with the other elven nations.”

After thanking the shopkeeper and taking their leave, the party consults as to their next step.  If they are going to find this powerful force among the Miyen, they are going to need a guide.

Fortunately, this had been anticipated, at least indirectly.  Since the group intends next to journey into the Ketkath mountains, Moira had already made inquiries as to whether there was anyone in town who knew those lands.  The Post-mistress told her about a local Water-walker, currently in town, but a frequent traveler in the mountains.  With any luck, he will be familiar with Miyen lands as well.

His name is Benedic, and although he keeps no fixed address in the city, Moira has been told that when he _is_ in town, he can usually be found at a tavern called The Thirsty Watchman.

**********

Eva joins up with the party just outside The Thirsty Watchman that evening.

“Have you uncovered any information?” Anvil asks.

Eva shakes her head.  “But I’m up 10 gold.”

The autumn night falls early and the tavern’s windows are already shuttered against the chill.  Still, light spills from the open door out onto the neatly cobbled street.  Sounds of laughter, talking, and eating can be heard from the outside.

Dennis grins.  He realizes that of all the strange places he’s found himself with these companions, they’ve never all done something as simple as going out to a tavern.  This ought to be interesting.


----------



## Angcuru

Thanx for another good update.

I've noticed a few little things that, while minor and very easy to overlook due to the overall awesomeness inherent of the setting, just don't seem right. 

This kinda seemed weird:



> “Sgt. Paris. Noran Highway Guard.”
> 
> “Moira d’Ailleron. Pleased to meet you.”



It may be a bit of a stretch, but this seems too French for the Halmae.  D'(insert name) and similar devices abound in european languages, but when the sergeant's name is _Paris_ of the _Noran_(looks a lot like _Nor*m*an_) Highway Guard, I flinched.   

And _poker_ in the Halmae?  I expect this is more of a lack of player knowledge of every minute detail of a world's entertainment/gambling customs than an oversight on the DM's part, but it just seemed to stick out like a little black fly on the Mona Lisa.

[/detail freak-out] 

BTW, I think it's just awesome that you've had it going this far without having them to to a tavern.


----------



## spyscribe

As usual, I'll let Fajitas take major world questions, but not before I throw in my two cents. 



> This kinda seemed weird:
> 
> 
> 
> 
> “Sgt. Paris. Noran Highway Guard.”
> 
> “Moira d’Ailleron. Pleased to meet you.”
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> It may be a bit of a stretch, but this seems too French for the Halmae. D'(insert name) and similar devices abound in european languages, but when the sergeant's name is Paris of the Noran(looks a lot like Norman) Highway Guard, I flinched.
Click to expand...



Poor Paris.  He spent his first 30 seconds of in-game life as "Lt. Paris"... until Fajitas figured out why I was looking at him so oddly, at which point he was summarily and retroactively demoted.

Keep in mind, every city state and region in the Halmae has its own naming conventions.  Paris does make sense if you figure out what thematic link it has with names of other Noranians the party meets--Amiens and Benedic.  It's not mentioned in the write up, but Lira also had a brief chat with a local sorcerer named Cassio.

As for Moira, I was just asking Fajitas about her last name the other night, so I'll let him provide illumination on that score.  I actually think the logic behind it is pretty cool.



> And _poker_ in the Halmae?



Shrug.  Not to be flip, but what should we call it, tongo?  The big thing that hangs in the sky and gives light during the day is the sun, the green stuff that grows beside the road is called grass, and the game where you bet money on whether your hand of cards is worth more than the next guy's is called poker.  

If loosing meant you turned into an iguana, it would probably have a different name.



> BTW, I think it's just awesome that you've had it going this far without having them to to a tavern.



We were all pretty amused too.    Glad you're enjoying the story.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> As usual, I'll let Fajitas take major world questions, but not before I throw in my two cents.



No reason for me to jump in when you've handled it pretty ably.  



			
				Angcuru said:
			
		

> It may be a bit of a stretch, but this seems too French for the Halmae. D'(insert name) and similar devices abound in european languages, but when the sergeant's name is Paris of the Noran(looks a lot like Norman) Highway Guard, I flinched.



Sufficed to say, any resemblance between Noran and the Normans is purely coincidental. As spyscribe said, there is a naming convention for Noran, but it's fairly unconventional and it's cribbed from something a friend of mine did.  Bonus cookies to anyone who figures it out.

As for Moira, well, her surname may sound French, but there are surely people with French names somewhere in the Halmae (Italian, German, English, Greek, Norwegian, Japanese, and Arabic names have all been assigned already. I haven't figured out exactly where the French names are yet, but then, not every region of the world has been detailed yet).  

Besides, Moira's last name is not necessarily the one she was born with.  It's derived from her goddess's name. She was left as a child with the Alirrian Givers of Life.  The Alirrian Church is more her family than anything else. When she gave herself a new name, it's perfectly reasonable to think that she adjusted it, based on customs she encountered in her travels.

As for poker, well, see the above conversation about months and dates.


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*Look and behold. We have an update!!!*

And there was great joy when the update was unveiled.
And the writing was great, as we have come to expect from the lady SpyScribe.

Always makes me laugh when Anvil is "requesting" information  

Keep the updates coming our way, please!?!?!?!?!?!


----------



## blackshirt5

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “Then you are of no use to us.  Thank you for your time.”  Anvil turns to leave.
> 
> “Anvil!”  (Lira finally gives up on sleeve tugging as a means of communication.)
> 
> “What?”
> 
> The sorcerer sighs.  “Arcane magic doesn’t make fire.  It’s Ehkt’s element.”
> 
> “Ah, of course.” Anvil turns back to Amiens.  “Well, then some equivalent feat, without the fire.”




Reading this, I now understand why Angcuru loves Anvil so much.  It's himself, really.  This IS something Angcuru would say in game to someone.

And Noran's naming convention is from Romeo and Juliet, correct?


----------



## orsal

blackshirt5 said:
			
		

> And Noran's naming convention is from Romeo and Juliet, correct?




Or from Shakespeare more generally. Benedic is a character in Much Ado About Nothing, Cassio in Othello, the duke of Amiens appears in (I think) As You Like It. I'm not sure about the Paris connection, though.


----------



## Fajitas

orsal said:
			
		

> Or from Shakespeare more generally. Benedic is a character in Much Ado About Nothing, Cassio in Othello, the duke of Amiens appears in (I think) As You Like It. I'm not sure about the Paris connection, though.



Well done, orsal and blackshirt. Noran names are indeed Shakespearean. Paris is indeed from Romeo and Juliet.

Bonus cookies for you.


----------



## blackshirt5

Wasn't a character named Paris in Romeo and Juliet?  I could've sworn there was.


----------



## blackshirt5

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Well done, orsal and blackshirt. Noran names are indeed Shakespearean. Paris is indeed from Romeo and Juliet.
> 
> Bonus cookies for you.



 Yay!  *Jumps up and down with glee* I got a cookie, I got a cookie!

Now, can I get another update?  I'm hopelessly addicted.  Cookies aren't enough.


----------



## orsal

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Well done, orsal and blackshirt. Noran names are indeed Shakespearean. Paris is indeed from Romeo and Juliet.
> 
> Bonus cookies for you.




Ah yes, I had to look Paris up. I forgot that was his name.

But, since you mentioned Amiens, Benedick, and Cassio, does that mean Demetrius, Edgar, and Falstaff will be the next NPCs we meet?


----------



## Angcuru

Bah, I'm not like Anvil in the _GIVE ME THE JUSTICE NOW, BIOTCH!_ kinda way, but rather in that we are both very precise in what we say and how we say it. 

Unlike SOME people.


----------



## blackshirt5

I meant it sounds like something you'd say, as in the way it's phrased Angcuru.

Although, if I choose to continue studying law and become an attorney, I WILL say "Justice Demands It" to SOMEONE, during my time in the law field.  I swear to you, I'm not kidding.

Speaking of Not Kidding, I'm not kidding; when do we get another update?  I'm fiending here.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Forty-Third:*
_In which: The party walks into a bar…_

Most laborers have finished their work for the day, and the tavern is full and busy.  The air smells of beer and wood-smoke, and although Lira and Moira in particular notice more than a few appraising glances turned their way, the atmosphere is warm and friendly.

Anvil strides up to the bar, and addresses the man behind it.  “We are seeking a man by the name of Benedic, is he present in this establishment?”

The bartender pauses.  “Do you mind if I ask why you’re looking for him?”

“We are in need of a guide.  We are told he has expertise.”

Apparently, the man is satisfied as to Anvil’s honesty.  “Well, that he certainly has.  He hasn’t been in yet tonight, but he’ll probably be along soon enough.”

Having no other plans for the evening, the party decides to wait for the mysterious Benedic to make an appearance.

Eva notices a card game going in one corner and separates from the group to see if she can get dealt into the next hand.  Reyu stops to observe a group of humans engaged in some sort of contest involving hand-thrown darts and a wooden target.

After a quick word with the bartender, Moira pulls up a chair to one side of the fireplace, places an empty bowl by her foot, and starts tuning up her lute.  A few men at a nearby table give their opinions as to her womanly charms, but Moira simply smiles and ignores them.  

The rest of the group heads off with ales for an empty table in the corner opposite the card game.  Soon, a man comes over and invites Thatch to join in an arm-wrestling contest.  Thatch does, and presently has a few extra gold in his purse to show for it.  Moira begins to play and before her first song is finished the bowl at her foot is no longer empty.  Eva is even up for the night and it looks like it is going to be both a pleasant and profitable evening when a very large man walks over to the table where Anvil, Lira, Dennis, and Hue are sitting.

From the way that he walks, it’s clear that he’s been hitting the ale fairly heavily.  Lira slides a bit closer to Anvil, whose posture straightens.  However, the man stops in front of Hue.

He lets out a sound halfway between a snort and laugh, points at the diminutive adventurer and asks, “Why are you so short?”

The man grins, laughing at his own joke, and turns to his buddies at the table behind him to make sure they appreciated it.  Most of them grin back and raise their tankards.

Hue considers the question.  He doesn’t know.  Lacking an answer, he asks a question of his own.  “I don’t know.  Why are you so stupid?”

“Who are you calling, stupid?” the drunk demands.

“You,” Hue replies, cheerily oblivious to the cringes of everyone within earshot.

“Why I’d like to—“ the drunk is cut off by a friend grabbing his elbow from behind.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Hue and the others, “he’s had a few too many tonight.”  He turns to Hue.  “No offense.”

“None taken—“ Hue begins, but the burgeoning of goodwill is abruptly cut off by a shout from the poker table.

“He cheated!  I saw him!  He cheated!”  One of the players has jumped to his feet and frantically jabs his finger in the direction of the man across the table.

The accused stands up so fast his chair tips over behind him.  And that’s when things start to happen very, very quickly.

The breakdown goes something like this: 

   The accused card-cheat steps forward to defend his honor by belting his accuser across the face.  

   The accuser, not to be outdone, punches the accused right back.

   The rest of the room, seeing that someone has hit someone else, starts thinking about who _they_ would like to hit.

   Anvil, wishing to stop the fight before it can get completely out of hand, stands up and casts _calm emotions_ on the group at the card table.

   The group of drunks at the next table takes exception to Anvil’s use of magic in a friendly tavern brawl, one of whom takes it upon himself to demonstrate to Anvil the consequences of conflict escalation by pulling a knife on him.

   The first drunk, seeing that everyone else is getting into it now, decides to beat up the little guy for calling him “stupid.”

   Hue ducks behind a table and casts _color spray_ at him.  This doesn’t make anyone feel more charitably disposed towards Hue, but it does mean the guy trying to beat him up is blind.

   Reyu casts _barkskin_ on herself, but this doesn’t bother anyone as she has already taken cover out of sight behind the bar.

   Moira tries to calm the room with her singing, but to little avail.  Thatch and Dennis set about subduing the members of the crowd by knocking them out.

Eva looks across the card table at the melee.  She’d get involved, but she’s just feeling too mellow to get very excited about the point of the dispute.  The point of dispute is pretty murky at the moment anyway.  There is however, a large pile of coins sitting in front of her that no one is paying much attention to.  Very _calmly_, Eva sweeps the pile into her money pouch, and heads for the door.

On the other side of the room, Lira is also staring at the bar brawl unfolding before her.  She runs through her options.  With spell-casting off the table, she’s not left with much.

Thatch glances over her shoulder and notices her indecision.  “Get out, now!” he yells.

Lira doesn’t have to be told twice.

###

Outside the bar, Lira ducks into an alley where Eva is already hiding.  “You want to head back to the Way-Post?”

Lira cranes her neck to get another look at the main door of the tavern.  “Let’s hang on for now, the others might need help. Then we can--”

Lira is cut off by the heavy sound of tromping feet—a formation in quick march.  The two women shrink back into the shadows then peek out again after the group has passed.

The Watch.

Even outside, Eva and Lira can clearly hear the leader bellowing over the noise of the brawl, quickly dying down.  “Everyone in this room is under arrest!”


----------



## Angcuru

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Part the Forty-Third:*
> Even outside, Eva and Lira can clearly hear the leader bellowing over the noise of the brawl, quickly dying down.  “Everyone in this room is under arrest!”



"JUSTICE DEMANDS IT!" - Anvil, his hand sticking out, pointing at the cieling from under a pile of thugs, only his arm and hand visible.


----------



## KidCthulhu

I wondered when this group would get around to trashing a tavern.  All the cool adventuring parties do it.


----------



## Fajitas

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> I wondered when this group would get around to trashing a tavern.  All the cool adventuring parties do it.



This game was titled, in my notes, "8 Ways to Start a Bar Brawl".  I had a different hook for every member of the party to possibly be the one dragging them into the fight.  I was quite curious to see who it was gonna be...


----------



## spyscribe

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> I wondered when this group would get around to trashing a tavern.  All the cool adventuring parties do it.




You know how it is.  Big party, just got some new members, you want to do something all together, to bond.

Plus, it'd be a shame to travel to a new part of the world and _not_ get arrested.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Just reached the end of the thread.  Very nice, all around.   Paticular kudos to spyscribe for writing and Fajitas for writing up a very cool world.


----------



## Talix

Just caught up after a little story-hour hiatus, and I'd forgotten how good the writing was here.  

So if Hue was taking the bait to be the one who started the brawl, and that's what you wanted, why did one of the drunk's friends hold him back?  Did you decide that Hue wasn't being antagonistic enough to put the responsibility for it on him?  

BTW, we have a gnome in my D&D group who acts extremely similarly to Hue, only he does it specifically to annoy people/thinks it's funny, not because he's honestly that "different" (as I get the impression Hue is).  

Thanks for sharing it all with us!


----------



## spyscribe

Thomas Hobbs, Welcome!  And good to see you around again, Talix.  Glad you're enjoying the story.

Yeah, Hue...  High INT, low WIS, in case you couldn't tell.  If he does just enjoy getting reactions out of people, then the character is far more subtle than any of us ever gave him credit for.  In fact, there is a theory going around that Hue's complete lack of guile is the only thing keeping the ferret's plans for world domination in check.

I can just picture the two of them when they first met:

Ferret (thinking and rubbing its little paws together):  Excellent...  The first phase of my plan is complete.  I am bonded to the bipedal wizard.  Already, my towering intellect has increased, and his opposable thumbs will prove most useful for--

Hue: Look Ferret!  A squirrel!

Ferret:  Erm...  I begin to fear I have miscalculated.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Forty-Fourth*
_In which: an irresistible force meets an immovable object._

“I’ve never seen them in town before.”

“—Been asking questions all over the place.”

“_Said_ they were looking for a guide.”

“*She* was the one who was cheating, Officer.  *We* were just having our usual friendly game.”

“He cast something.  Then, all of a sudden I’m hitting this guy.  I didn’t want to, I just couldn’t help myself.” 

“That little freak called me stupid!  And then he tried to kill me.”

“_I_ was just trying to keep things from getting out of hand.”

“There were two other women with them, but they both split soon as the fight started.”

Steadfast the Just strokes his beard as he surveys the riff-raff in the Thirsty Watchmen.  Another brawl.  The second tonight, in fact.  There are days when Steadfast the Just is tempted to shut-down the taverns, in Kettenek’s name, the better to preserve the tranquility of Noran.  But no, his superiors insist such an act would only incite more violence.  And he must admit that it is not Just to punish those guilty of no wrongdoing for the misdeeds of a few unsavory elements.  Unsavory elements against whom Justice must now be meted out.

After questioning the tavern staff and regular customers, Steadfast has a pretty good idea what happened.  He turns to deal with the miscreants directly, but first, he speaks to one of the members of the Watch who first arrived to subdue the scene.

“Two of the possible instigators have fled.  Track them down.”

With a quick nod, the man leaves, and Steadfast turns to the six travelers gathered in one corner of the room.  Clearly a suspicious lot.  He will hear their side of the story, and pass his judgment.  Kettenek’s Justice demands no less.

**********

Meanwhile, outside the tavern Lira and Eva try to come up with a plan of action.

“The guard just seems to be waiting there.”

 Hey, Boss?

“How much longer do _you_ want to wait?”

Boss?

“If they’ve been arrested we should find out where they’re going to be taken—”

Boss!

_What?_ Lira finally turns her attention to her familiar.

You ah… wanna get out of sight, maybe?

_I *am* out of— Oh… Ehkt’s balls!_

As Lira realizes she was not as hidden as she had thought, she also realizes that the guard by the door has been joined by two other members of the Watch, who are now making their way towards the alley where she and Eva are waiting.

Eva reaches for a concealed dagger in her cloak.  She didn’t mention she was carrying it to the guards at the gate, and so they didn’t ask to peace-bond it.  “Should we run?”

“You run.  They already know I’m here.”

Eva quirks an eyebrow.  “You sure?”

“Go!”

Eva takes to her heels as quickly and quietly as she can.  Lira (and Euro) turn to face the approaching watchmen.

You got a plan, Boss?

_Of course I have a plan._

And as the first Watchman comes around the corner, Lira takes a deep breath… and screams. 

###

“I am Anvil the Just, of Dar Pykos.” Anvil informs the local Justicar who has arrived on the scene.

“I am Steadfast the Just, of Noran,” he replies, sizing up the foreigner.

“It is good that you have come here to restore order and lawfulness,” Anvil states.

Steadfast tries to determine if the other man is mocking him.  It is true not all members of his order are as… serious… as he.  Still, there does not seem to be any sarcasm in the other man’s manner.  “I am glad you approve of lawfulness.  There are those here who believe you to be the cause of its breech.”

Anvil’s reply is flat and immediate:  “They are mistaken.”

“That is what I am here to determine.”

Behind Anvil’s back, Thatch notices Moira trying to catch his eye.  He looks over to see the bard mouthing, “Oh my.”

###

Outside the in alley, Antonio the watchman tries to reason with the seemingly hysterical girl before him.

“It’s okay,” he tells her, hands up in what he hopes is a non-threatening pose.  “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.  I just need you to *calm down* alright?”

The girl, although hyperventilating slightly, does stop screaming.  “What do you want?” 

“I’m with the Watch—”

“I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Antonio takes a deep breath.  He really hopes that she doesn’t start screaming again.  “I’m sure you didn’t.  But there was a fight in the tavern, and the Justicar is going to need to ask you a few questions.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re a witness.  And there was a woman who ran away before we got here.  Did you see her?”

“See who?”

Antonio keeps himself from groaning, barely. “Why don’t you just come inside for a bit with me, okay?”  

She gives him an uncertain look. “I don’t want to go back in there.”

“The fight’s over.  It’s safe.”  He extends a hand.  Reluctantly, the girl comes over and allows herself to be led inside.  Antonio lets out a silent sigh.  This is going to be a long night.  He can tell.  Still, if he has to baby-sit a dim bystander, at least she’s cute.  

###

Steadfast listens, skeptically, to the party’s story.  It’s original, he’ll give them that.  But credible?  Hardly.  Kings and wizards and vast conspiracies of magic-haters?  Perhaps a Justicar in Dar Pykos would buy such swill.  Maybe a Justicar didn’t and that is why this motley band is now on the run.  But Steadfast the Just is no fool to be swayed from Kettenek’s will by such transparent lies.  And those who come to spread their unlawful ways to _his_ city, live to regret it.

The thought occurs, that resolving this case might be just the break he needs to get his promotion to Third Order.  Then, at last, he might finally be allowed off of market duty…  With an act of will, Steadfast returns his full attention to the task at hand.

“I suppose you have proof of this vital mission you are on?”

“Certainly,” Anvil replies, and he reaches for the staff which contains his letters of introduction from the King and Temples of Dar Pykos.

However, before he can bring them out, a member of the Watch comes over and taps Steadfast on the arm.  Reyu listens closely as he whispers in the Justicar’s ear.  “….found one of the women, just outside… Doesn’t _look_ dangerous, but she’s got a set of lungs on her.”

Across the room, by the bar, Reyu sees Lira being brought in, guided by a Watchman who keeps a heavy hand on her shoulder.   She’s either very nervous or putting on a good show of it.  There’s no sign of Eva.

###

Eva runs as quickly and silently as possible through the alleys of Noran, but she can’t seem to shake her pursuers.  The city is laid out in a straightforward pattern, but that doesn’t overcome the fact that the Watchmen simply know how to get around better than she does.

She sees a pile of discarded crates behind a building that might allow her to get up on the roof-tops, but she doesn’t think she has enough lead time to get up before someone comes down the alley after her, and once on the roof, there’s no cover to speak of.

She ducks behind the pile.  There are ale casks, old straw, and produce crates…  Must be another tavern…  Eva curses her own stupidity.  She’s standing at the back door of some kind of inn or tavern, with any luck, one filled with people.  If the Watch doesn’t have a good description of who they’re looking for, getting lost in a crowd is probably her best shot of escape.  As quickly as she comes up with the plan, Eva slips through the door at her back, and in a few moments, hears running feet passing through the alley behind her.

###

Steadfast questions the red-haired girl from the alley.

“What’s your name?”

“Lira.”

“Just Lira?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you run out of the tavern?”

The girl stares at him just a little incredulously.  “There was a big fight going on.  I got scared, and my friends told me I should leave.”

“And what scared you so much that you just _had_ to leave right then?”

She gestures to her 98-lb frame.  “If you were me, would _you_ stand around in the middle of a bar fight?  Besides,” Lira lowers her voice a bit, “these big guys had been giving me looks all evening; it was creepy.  I just wanted to get out of there.”

“Who are these ‘friends’ you came in with?”

Lira indicates the six strangers across the room.  _Just as I suspected, _ Steadfast thinks.  _Clearly there’s more going on here than these strangers would have me believe…_  Aloud he asks, “Couldn’t they protect you?”

“They were busy enough trying to keep things under control without worrying about me.”

“If you’re so delicate, why do they travel with you?”

A pause.  “I have other talents.”

“I see.”  

Steadfast leaves her by the bar and returns to consult with the watch.  _Evasive *and* impudent._  Well, it would all be dealt with soon enough.  He finds the head Watchman, and takes him just outside for a consultation.

“Have you found the other one?”

“Not yet.  Our men have a good description, though.  Your orders?”

“Kettenek’s Justice demands she be found.  Keep looking for her.  Take the seven travelers into custody at the Temple of Justice.  Tell everyone else to go home for the evening, but the barman can reopen in an hour or so.”

The man salutes smartly.  “Yes, Justicar.”

###

The tavern isn’t particularly crowded, but it isn’t empty either.  It is also, Eva notes gratefully, quite dimly lit.  She slips into a table near the back with a good view of the door, getting a glance or two from some men playing cards in a corner, but none of them come over.

Although Eva’s posture is a comfortable slouch, its takes an effort of will to get her heart rate down to something approaching normal.  Luckily, it’s a skill that Eva has some practice with.  She’s just trying to work out her next move when two members of the Watch come in the front door.

One of them goes over to talk to the men playing cards.  They exchange a few words she can’t make out, and then one of the players nods in her direction.

Eva is about to bolt when— 

“Something to drink, ma’am?”

The kitchen scutt is at her elbow.

“No, thank you.”

Eva rises and takes a step towards the back door when a hand suddenly wraps around her upper arm.  “Going somewhere?”

###

Thatch stares at the featureless stone wall in front of him, then glances around at his equally subdued companions.  “Slavery isn’t legal in Noran, is it?” he asks.


----------



## blackshirt5

Very nice, spyscribe.  Excellent as always; what more can a guy say?


----------



## doghead

A beautiful reversal of roles.

_Is slavery legal in Nolan doghead wonders ..._


----------



## Fajitas

doghead said:
			
		

> A beautiful reversal of roles.



Thanks, doghead.  Glad you're enjoying.  I had a lot of fun this session.  "Steadfast the Just attempts to out-Anvil Anvil" was about all my notes said.

And no, fortunately for the PCs, slavery is *not* legal in Noran.



			
				Talix said:
			
		

> So if Hue was taking the bait to be the one who started the brawl, and that's what you wanted, why did one of the drunk's friends hold him back? Did you decide that Hue wasn't being antagonistic enough to put the responsibility for it on him?



I honestly can't remember why I wasn't Hue's hook that started the brawl.  I think it was a combination of two things: First, Hue's player wasn't actually there that session.  Wisdom Like Silence took over the part of Hue's attitude for the evening.  It didn't seem quite fair to put Hue at the center of the controversy when his player wasn't there.  And second, Eva's player was new to both the game and gaming.  I think I wanted to gently nudge her into the spotlight.  It can be very easy for new players to sit back and let the experienced players handle things.  I wanted to make her take the initiative.

As it turns out, she not only took the initiative, she also took the money and ran.  It's amazing how quickly newbies become pros...


----------



## Angcuru

*claps hands riotiously*

YAY!   

That's the only thing this story hour needs, more Euro!


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

Update? Please? Pretty please? Pretty pretty please?


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Thanks, doghead.  Glad you're enjoying.  I had a lot of fun this session.  "Steadfast the Just attempts to out-Anvil Anvil" was about all my notes said.




Very similar to what I thought reading the passage.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Forty-Fifth*
_In which: Kettenek’s Justice is served._

Steadfast speaks very slowly and carefully.  The vein to one side of his forehead is beginning to throb.

“You are *absolutely sure* that these letters are authentic?”

The monk to whom Steadfast has brought the strangers’ letters of introduction nods.  “Quite sure, Justicar.  The invitations are all clearly sealed with King Orrin’s signet… Do you see that engraving below the crest?  Now, most forgers would assume it’s the royal motto: _From all the hand of fellowship, To all the light of knowledge_, but actually it’s the creed of the Darine Confederacy:  _Together for Peace, Together for Prosperity_.”  The monk pulls out another letter, “And this is _clearly_ his signet again, and signature.”  And another letter, “And you can see for yourself that Bastion the Just’s signature matches perfectly with this—”

Steadfast cuts him off.  “Enough!”

Behind him, Anvil, who had insisted in being present while the letters were examined, allows himself a small smirk.  “Are you satisfied?” he asks.  

Steadfast merely glares at him.  It is a look Anvil recognizes.  A look that says, “I’m going to be on market duty again tomorrow.”

###

Meanwhile, back in their cell…

“No, no, no…” Eva shakes her head and begins reshuffling the pack of cards.  “A straight *beats* a flush.  I told you that.”

Thatch shakes his head.  “Good thing we aren’t playing for money.”

Eva and Dennis both freeze and look at the young fighter.  “Says who?”

“Umm…”

It’s probably best for all concerned that the discussion is ended by the sound of a key scraping in the lock of their cell door.  Steadfast and Anvil have returned.

Steadfast wastes no time on preliminaries.  “Having confirmed your accounting for your presence in this city I am prepared to clear you of accusations of instigating violence and disturbing the peace.”  He turns to Anvil.  “Although I would advise you, Brother, to be more judicious with your use of magic in the future.  Your motives were laudable, but the results could have been most unfortunate.”  

There is a pause, and Reyu speaks up.  “Are we… free to go then?”

Steadfast clears his throat grudgingly.  “You are.  However,” he indicates Lira and Eva, “the two of you are each found guilty of leaving the scene of a crime.  The fine levied is twenty-five gold pieces.”  Although Steadfast’s tone was almost certainly intended as arch, he comes across as more than a little petulant.

“But—”

“You may pay the bailiff on your way out.  May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you.”  

And without even waiting for Anvil’s, “And upon you,” Steadfast turns on his heel and leaves.  

The party members stand for a moment, a bit stunned by their abrupt reversal of fortune.

“But I didn’t *go* anywhere!” Lira protests.

###

Out on the streets of Noran again, Moira clears her throat with some trepidation.  “I sort of hate to bring this up, but we still need to talk to Benedic.”

This is met with a more or less collective groan, but since they have no other leads for a possible guide, and no other idea where they can find him, the party turns back, once again, to the Thirsty Watchman.

“Umm…  What if he’s not there?”  Thatch asks as they make their way through the quiet streets.

“We will leave a message for him to seek us out at the Way-Post,” Anvil announces.

“It is possible,” Reyu points out, “that he will not follow up on the message.”

By this time, the party has reached the tavern in question once again.  It has reopened and warm light spills out from the open doorway onto the street where the party waits, still reluctant to re-enter.

Lira lets out a loud sigh.  “Moira and I will go in and leave a message with the barman that we want to see this ‘Benedic’ and that he should come find us at the Way-Post.  Something tells me he’ll come find us,” she adds dryly.  “But,” she turns to Anvil, “if I get charged 25 gold to walk out of this bar again, I’m telling them you’re good for it.”

And with that, the two redheads walk into the bar together.

###

“Hello.”

The bartender looks up from his work, blinks.  Nope, he hasn’t had that many tonight.  There must actually be two of them.  “Hello, ladies… “  Then, he recognizes them.  “I don’t want any more trouble tonight.”

The shorter of the pair smiles in response.  “Believe us, neither do we.  We were actually just wondering if you could pass along a message for us, to a man named Benedic.  He’s a Water-Walker?”

“Well, I can give him a message, sure… or you could just talk to him yourselves.”  The bartender indicates a man with his back to them, sitting at a table near the fire.

Lira and Moira thank the man, and make their way over.

When they arrive, they find Benedic in the middle of telling a story to his companion at the table.  “And then, out of nowhere, this huge bird comes soaring over me…”  He turns, noticing for the first time the two women waiting patiently at his elbow.

Benedic cuts quite the dashing figure himself.  He is dressed in greens and browns, a perfect match for his sparkling eyes and charmingly untidy hair.  He wears a leather jerkin, open halfway down his chest and—one cannot help but notice—he fills it in admirably.  His friend, seeing that no one at the table is at all interested in _him_, raises his beer in friendly salute, and moves to join another table.

“Can I help you, ladies?”

Lira swallows, mouth suddenly dry.  Moira leans down to whisper in her ear.  “I’ll go get the others.”

“Um…  My companions and I, we’re going to be doing some traveling, into Miyen lands, and then the Ketkath Mountains.  We’re um, looking for a guide.”

“Well, I’ve been known to do some of that work.  What sort of companions do you travel with?”

“Er… them.”  Lira points over her shoulder to the rest of the group, now rapidly approaching.

Benedic gives them a bit of a once-over.  He clears his throat  “These are wild lands you’re talking about going into.  None rougher in the Halmae. If you don’t mind my asking, why?”

Anvil clears his throat.  “We are on a mission from King Orrin of Dar Pykos to seek out the four most powerful wizards of the Halmae.” 

“Uh huh.”

Lira speaks up again.  “We’ve heard rumors that one of them might be found among the Miyen elves, and another in the Kuio Valley of the Ketkath.  Have you been there?”

“Well, I can’t say as I’ve been _in_ Miyen lands, but there aren’t many outside the Miyen who have.  Generally they let you know when you’re getting close and if you’re smart you leave them alone and they’ll return the favor.  As for the Ketkath, you won’t find a better guide for those parts outside the Sovereignty.”

The party gathers for a moment of close discussion.  When they turn back to Benedic, Reyu asks, “What would you charge for your… services.”

The man pauses for a moment, considering.  “Group your size, for where you want to go, let’s say ten gold a week.  It’s a little less than my usual rate, but…” he smiles slightly.  Lira thinks she catches a wink, but she’s not sure.  “I’ll cut you a deal.”

The offer seems reasonable enough, and with that agreed, the party arranges to meet Benedic again the next morning to purchase any supplies and equipment they might need for wilderness travel, and then to depart the city.

They make their farewells, and depart.

Lira glances over her shoulder as she’s leaving, but when someone asks her why, she insists it was to make sure Steadfast wasn’t lurking in the shadows.


----------



## Len

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Steadfast speaks very slowly and carefully.  The vein to one side of his forehead is beginning to throb.



That seems to be a common condition among Justicars who have met Anvil.   

I'll have to put off reading the rest until after work.


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*Great*

Wow, should have asked for an update sooner it seems ;-)

Great and like many others here I really liked the confrontation between Anvil and Steadfast.

Can only hope you'll be pleasing us for a long time to come with more of this excellent story.
*bows in salute to SpyScribe's talent*


----------



## Angcuru

Vein-throbbing goodness!


----------



## spyscribe

A little interlude.  Fuller update later in the week.

_Interlude:_

As all plans for departure do, this one develops a small hitch.  The party is all ready to leave Noran, having secured last minute supplies, including a set of four beads that Reyu has purchased to present as gifts to the leaders of the Miyen, when Moira is suddenly called by the Mistress of the Way-Post at which they are staying.

She rejoins the group some ten minutes later, and begins unburdening her horse.  “I’m sorry, but I can’t come with you right now.  There’s a plague in the lands to the South and they need someone to carry medicines.”

“Aren’t there others who could go?”  Anvil demands.

“Yes, but I’m the only one who used to be a Giver of Life.  I’m sending a message back to the Benedictess in Dar Pykos.  Hopefully this won’t take long, and I’ll try to catch up with you in the Ketkath.”

With Moira determined to go, there is little for the party to do but redistribute the funds and magic items that she held for the group.  Within minutes Moira is back up on her horse and riding quickly out of the city gates and away towards the south.

A moment of quiet, and then, Benedic clears his throat.  “We’d best be getting on ourselves, if we’re going to make any headway before nightfall.”

And so with little ceremony, the party members get on their horses and depart.


----------



## Fajitas

Alas, poor Moira.  She was one of my favorite character concepts of all time.  But, unfortunately, her player was only with us for a single summer, and we didn't proceed *nearly* as far as I thought we would in that time.  When she left I needed a quick way to write her out, and this was the best I could do with the materials available.

Alas.


----------



## Angcuru

Aww.....

But hey, you can still invoke the universal DM privelage of _I'm taking your PC and turning it into *MY NPC* because you either are unable to play it to its full awesome extent or because you aren't here anymore so therefore won't care either way and can't do anything about it anyway MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!!!....Pass the soda._  Sounds like you'd like to....


----------



## Fajitas

Angcuru said:
			
		

> But hey, you can still invoke the universal DM privelage of _I'm taking your PC and turning it into *MY NPC* because you either are unable to play it to its full awesome extent or because you aren't here anymore so therefore won't care either way and can't do anything about it anyway MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!!!....Pass the soda._




I did think about it, but chose not to for a couple of reasons.  First of all, I was already playing two NPCs, Denis and Benedic.  Second of all, the thing I liked most about Moira's character was her inner journey, trying to figure out what facet of Alirria was the best one to suit her.  That kind of thing is, IMO, much more fun to play as a PC than to watch your DM play as an NPC.  And third, I don't drink soda.  Makes me burp.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Forty-Sixth*
_In which: spyscribe utterly fails to come up with a clever intro._

The first few days through the woods are quiet and uneventful.  After less than a full-day’s travel, Benedic leads the party off of established trails and into an untracked wilderness known in the Confederacy as “the wildlands.”  Untracked by humans at any rate.

Reyu is relieved to be back in the woods.  She notices signs of deer, raccoons, beaver, puma, and even the occasional bear.  She also sporadically notices the marks that indicate that some of the smaller humanoids have passed this way.  The odd dwarf, but also goblins.  Interestingly, no elves.  But no signs are particularly fresh, and she keeps her own counsel.  

Mostly, Reyu is looking for an animal to become her adventuring companion.  Now that they are out of the city, travel with a wolf would be much less problematic.  Although, she allows that the horses might not feel that way.

**********

The group has been traveling for about six days.  It’s nearly winter now, and the daylight hours are cold.   The nights, as it currently is, are colder.   Anvil sits second watch, keenly aware that Kettenek Rising is only a few weeks away.  He is prepared to make his celebrations wherever he finds himself, but Anvil must admit that—

Suddenly, three goblins come running out of the woods at breakneck speed through the clearing where the party has camped.  The small creatures are yelling at the top of their lungs, brandishing javelins and morningstars.

Behind them, seven more run out of the trees.  Then eight, then ten...

Anvil draws his sword, and with a shout to Reyu—also on watch, goes running into the fray.

It only takes a few moments for the rest of the party to rouse, but it only adds to sense of confusion.  People are yelling, shouting, and meanwhile wave after wave of goblins continue pouring out of the woods.  Reyu takes note of the area where they all seem to be coming from, and casts _entangle_ on the trees across the goblins’ path.  _Odd_, she just has time to think, _they didn’t surround the camp before attacking.  It’s almost like they’re running from someone._  Still, it’s lucky for her, as the spell is able to stem the onslaught.  Reyu is quite satisfied to see four goblins caught in the twisting, reaching branches.

She doesn’t waste any more time on tactical musings, and readying her short-spear, faces the horde of goblins tearing through the camp.

Anvil is quickly surrounded by a small mob of goblins.  They don’t seem to be hurting him much, but the sheer numbers frustrate him.  _If only there was a way to attack more than one of them at a time…_ 

Not far away, Thatch has taken the time to mount Bob, and man and horse begin killing the invaders as quickly as they get into range.  As Bob stomps one to death, Thatch leans down in the saddle and decapitates two others with a single blow.  The fighter can’t hide his grin.  Let them keep coming.

Lira does her best to stay out of close-range and fires off _magic missles_ as quickly as she can cast.  It feels like she’s barely making a dent.

Hue, meanwhile, takes cover behind the picketed horses and casts _freezing sphere_, which he begins rolling towards the heart of the fight.  

Eva finds herself back to back with Benedic, who is practically frothing at the mouth as he hacks his way through the flood.  _What is his thing with goblins?_ she wonders as she thrusts her rapier through one assailant’s chest.

As the fight continues, Reyu notices that some of the goblins are not simple warriors:  a few carry slightly better weapons than the shoddy javelins and morningstars wielded by the majority of the mob.  One who wears odd bits of bone and other trinkets on a string around his neck chants and attempts to strike Anvil with some kind of spell.  

“Anvil!” she shouts.

The Justicar spins just in time to see the shaman coming at him, hand covered in a glowing aura and raised to strike his back.  He brings up his sword and with a mighty blow, severs his attacker’s arm.

Dimly, through the clash of weapons and cries of battle, Eva hears faint shouts in the distance—shouts in a language she does not understand.  _Damn, not more of them._

Reyu also hears the voices in the distance.  She, however, can make out a few words and understands the language.  The voices are speaking in Dwarven… and are coming from the same direction the goblins were.  The last piece of the puzzle snaps into place.

The goblins _were_ running from someone.

A group of someones, in fact.

Who would quite likely be useful allies in this battle.

Except that they’re caught in her _entangle_ spell.

_(to be continued…)_


----------



## Len

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Who would quite likely be useful allies in this battle.
> 
> Except that they’re caught in her _entangle_ spell.



That _entangle_ is a great spell. Unless your DM finds some way to screw it up.   

Thanks for the update. Now it's back to updating my own campaign log.


----------



## Fajitas

Len said:
			
		

> That _entangle_ is a great spell. Unless your DM finds some way to screw it up.




DM screw it up? Are you kidding? I'd been counting on those dwarves as the relief column, 'cause I didn't think the PCs could take on all 30-odd goblins by themselves.  I was sweating my @ss off, trying to figure out how to keep that frickin' _entangle_ from turning this into a TPK.

Fortunately, the fact that, on 1d8-1 damage, I never managed to roll higher than a *3* helped mitigate things.  And I rolled a lot of d8s.


----------



## Len

So even when you're trying to _help_ the party you nearly kill them! Must be your inner rat bastard at work.


----------



## Angcuru

Don't worry Lira, I'm sure that once you can cast Fireball, you'll feel a whole lot better.


----------



## jonrog1

Wait, so this guide is good looking and broad-shouldered and woos the chicks, while I got to play ... whom I played.  Hmmm.

I seriously doubt that in the entire history of D&D, _Entangle_ has ever worked exactly as its caster intended.


----------



## spyscribe

jonrog1 said:
			
		

> Wait, so this guide is good looking and broad-shouldered and woos the chicks, while I got to play ... whom I played.  Hmmm.



You got to do your share of chick wooing as I recall.   

Benedic was the character Ross played when he and Jo came to visit.


----------



## Angcuru

Jonrog praise, always a good thing.   

Dark Matter update also a good thing.     Dark Matter + Halmae + Medallions update on same day = JOY!  (here's hoping)


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*Bump-master*

The Erynavarian god of Justice (Tymaril) has ordained that this SH be bumped back to first page.

"Justice demands it!"


----------



## spyscribe

_Sorry to all that we've run a bit late on this update.  Elven sidebar and more adventures coming next!_

***********

*Part the Forty-Seventh*
_In which: a goblin dead at your feet is worth four still caught in your _entangle.

Lira, out of _magic missiles_ switches to her crossbow.  Her bolt goes wide and she calls out to Reyu, “What do you mean, you can’t dismiss it?”

“I mean—” (Reyu pauses to skewer a goblin) “that the trees will become still in their own time.”

Anvil grunts.  One of the goblins lands a blow to his neck, but either the weapon is so badly made or the strength behind the strike is so puny, the Justicar is barely scratched.  “That is most inconvenient,” he informs Reyu.

Hue pokes his head up from behind one of the horses and _color sprays_ a goblin.  “We could set the trees on fire,” Hue suggests.  Blinded, the target of his spell runs off in a random direction into the woods.  

“Umm… Let’s not,” Thatch replies.

However, in the time that it has taken the party to come to grips with the fact that they have trapped their own allies, the tide of the battle has turned.  Goblins are still thick on the ground, but mostly in the sense that there are dead ones lying all over the place.  A few might have managed to slip by in the confusion, but eventually the remaining fighters decide that this is not a battle worth continuing.  They are slaughtered as they flee.

The party begins looting the goblin corpses—not that they seem to have much worth looting—but Reyu locates a few small water-skins filled with a noxious liquid she tentatively identifies as healing potions.  A few minutes later, the enchanted trees cease writhing, and a few seconds after that, eight dwarves come running into the clearing.

“Where’d they—?” the dwarf in the lead looks down at the remains of the goblin he nearly stepped in.  “Oh, that’s where they went.”

“You are… hunting… these creatures?” Reyu asks.

“Well, we were.” The dwarf, Zrod Cavebreaker, shakes his head, and gestures back to the trees.  “We didn’t think they had that kind of magic on them. Saw some got caught in their own trap… serves ‘em right.”

Reyu almost blushes.  “Certainly.”

Anvil clears his throat.  “Can you tell us why you were in pursuit of these beings?  Have they committed unlawful acts?”

“Unlawful?  They were goblins.” Zrod says this as though it is explanation enough.  Anvil merely blinks.    The dwarf sighs, scratches his beard and continues.  “It was a raiding party…  Bold one too.  They struck from their territory, barreled through the caves, and took off into the woods.”  He sighs.  “I ah… don’t suppose you found any gems on them.  Would have been about 1,500 gold worth?”

Suddenly, from the other side of the clearing, Thatch shouts, “Oh wow!”  

Everyone turns to see the young fighter holding up a sack taken from one of the goblins.  Beside him, also looting the bodies, Eva swats him on the arm.  “What?” he asks.

Lira turns back to Zrod.  “I think that’s a ‘yes.’”

**********

The dwarves, eager to thank the party for the recovery of their treasure, invite the adventurers back to their cave for the evening to celebrate their victory and sleep in a more defensible location.  The party, especially the dwarven ale drinking members, quickly accepts.

For those who can stomach such things, the local brew is quite good, and the dwarves prove to be convivial companions.  Lira is a bit disappointed that their ale is kept quite cool already, thanks to the nearing winter and natural features of the caves.

Zrod explains: “These caves are part of a whole network of caverns and tunnels.  The deep ones stay cold, even through midsummer.”  

“How deep do they go?”  Lira asks.

“Oh, they’re all through these foothills, even into the Ketkath Mountains they say.  Don’t know that anyone ever got that far though.”

“Do you know anything of a… strange force… among the Miyen elves?” Reyu wants to know.

Zrod shakes his head.  “Always something strange going on among those folks…” He glances back at Reyu, “If you’ll pardon my saying so.”

Reyu replies in perfect dwarven.  “Of course.”

The party learns there are a few wizards among the dwarves, but no one of particularly remarkable power.  Eventually, everyone settles down to sleep, and the rest of the night passes uneventfully.   The following day, Anvil drafts a note thanking their hosts, and then the party departs, continuing their trek towards Miyen lands…


----------



## Len

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “What do you mean, you can’t dismiss it?”



What do you mean, she can't dismiss it?
Oh, this was back in the 3.0 days, wasn't it?


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Len said:
			
		

> What do you mean, she can't dismiss it?
> Oh, this was back in the 3.0 days, wasn't it?





Exactly.  <sigh>

Still, we managed to take care of the goblins on our own, and entangle has been useful a time or two.

-WLS


----------



## spyscribe

Yeah, getting the dwarves stuck in the _entangle_ was pretty funny until WLS noticed she couldn't dismiss the spell.  Good to know that she apparently could now.

We'll have to remember that next time we're someplace with vegetation.

As a side note, this session contained one of my favorite DM quotes of the campaign.

Fajitas: "Seven-- no *eight* dwarves come running out of the woods..."



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> _Sorry to all that we've run a bit late on this update.  Elven sidebar and more adventures coming next!_




And just to be clear, by "we" I do mean, "me."  (or, more gramatically "I")


----------



## Angcuru

Spyscribe, I've sent you a PM about an idea to spice up this story hour.


----------



## Pyske

Change is evil.  Changing this story hour is especially evil.  Feh!

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


----------



## ellinor

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Spyscribe, I've sent you a PM about an idea to spice up this story hour.




No need for more spice, only more justice and adventure!   
and a ::bump:: for continued third-page prevention . . .


----------



## Fajitas

Hey, everybody.  Sorry for the recent delay.  Consider it our summer hiatus.

We've got the next update almost ready to go, but in the meantime, here's a preparatory sidebar.  Before our heroes reach the Miyen Elves, it might be helpfuly to know a thing or two about Elven culture.  Thus...

*Sidebar: Elves of the Halmae*
_(Or: everything you wanted to know about your pointy-eared neighbors, but were afraid to ask)_

Elves in the Halmae are quite unlike standard fantasy elves.  They are more based in Native American culture.  They are a nomadic people, living in small, extended family units.  These units, called a tribe, generally consist of fifty to one hundred elves.  Large groups of tribes, often interrelated, form nations.

For the most part, elves live in unclaimed lands around the Halmae.  They tend to eschew human cities and settlements, though individual farmers may be on good terms with nearby elves.  There are some small number of elves living in human cities, but the majority of these are slaves.  Dar Pykos is virtually unique for its community of elves living in the city itself.

Elven culture is also generally matriarchal.  This is not to say that there are not male elves of stature and influence, but there is a subtle cultural lean towards the feminine.  This is most obvious in the use of “she” or “her” as the default third-person singular pronoun.

_Religion_
Elves in the Halmae do not generally choose to venerate one god over any of the others.  They understand, better than most humans, that the four gods are inextricably intertwined in the natural order of the world. Generic elven ceremonies invoke all of the gods at once.  There are specific ceremonies that invoke specific gods, but only because that god’s sphere is most related to that particular prayer.  Where a human cleric would pray to his one god for whatever he needed, an elven cleric would pray separately to Alirria for healing and Kettenek for strength.

_Leadership_
An elven tribe has not one but four leaders, each with a well-defined sphere of responsibility.  Each leader is preeminent in her sphere, and no position is considered stronger than the others.   The positions are:

The Hand of the Tribe- the hunt and war leader, and in religious ceremonies she represents the presence of Ehkt.   

The Heart of the Tribe- responsible for all domestic affairs within the tribe.  She speaks for Alirra.

The Head of the Tribe- the representative of Kettenek.  She is responsible for enforcing tribe law.  The Head also settles any questions that arise over which tribe leader has jurisdiction.

 The Voice of the Tribe-  responsible for the tribe’s religious traditions, for speaking for the tribe at Elven gatherings, and for guarding the long-term future of the tribe.  If the tribe leaders are ever split two to two over something, it is the Voice who has the deciding vote.  The Voice represents the presence of Sedellus.

Most Elven activities are divided between the four spheres, but many overlap.   For example, the Head and the Heart preside over marriages, but the Heart and the Voice preside over births and naming ceremonies.   Trade is split between the Heart and the Hand, and the education of young elves is the responsibility of all.

In addition to the tribal leaders, each elven nation has a Hand, Heart, Head, and Voice.  These leaders have the same responsibilities as their tribal counterparts, but they also hold responsibility for all inter-tribal conflicts.

_Culture_
Elves have a mostly oral tradition.  There is a huge litany of stories that make up the total of elven traditions, although elves do also have a primitive writing system, utilizing knotted rope as characters.  

Elves mark their accomplishments with extremely intricately stone and wooden carved beads that they wear braided into their hair.  Extremely involved and complicated traditions govern the beads, and if you know what to look for, you can tell a great deal about an elf from her beads and her hair.

Every elf is given a bead signifying her tribe and a bead signifying her mother when she is first born.  She will wear these on a string around her neck until she reaches adulthood, at which point she is allowed to braid them.   The Elven saying “everyone begins with two beads” refers to the idea that everyone starts at the same level, and must earn additional honors on their own.  

At the age of sixteen, elves are given a father bead, and at the age of sixty-four they earn a name bead of their own. At this time, they braid the beads in and are considered full adults.  Additional beads are earned through extraordinary accomplishments, or given to mark particular social obligations.

_Marriage and Children_
Because they live so long, elves do not commit to a partner for life, and there is no stigma attached to ending a partnership.  Marriage beads are always made of wood to reflect this impermanence.  Furthermore, marriages are not limited to opposite sex couples or to two people, although the most common variant is still a man and a woman.  For the duration of the marriage it is a full partnership, and when it ends the partners divide their belongings equally and return to their own tribes.  Children below the age of sixteen always stay with their mother, and children over the age of sixteen may choose which parent to accompany.

Fatherhood is less of a biological concept with the elves than a social one.   Because a child belongs first to its mother and its tribe, there is no stigma attached to an out of wedlock birth.   Indeed, the mother does not even name the father until the child’s sixteenth birthday.  This is the man who has been most involved in the child’s upbringing, and although it is usually the biological father (especially if the couple is married) it does not have to be.  Frequently an uncle or a grandfather is given father right.  Although a female elf is given a mother bead when she bears a child, a male elf does not earn a father bead until he is given father-right.

_Game Mechanics_
Because of the changes in their culture, wizard is not the favored class for elves in the Halmae.  An elf may choose at character creation whether Ranger or Druid will be her favored class.


----------



## doghead

Once again you have managed to combine a collection of simple ideas into an elegant whole that is more than the sum of its parts.

What I really need to do is get a brian like yours. Or better still, yours. But without the dodgy bits. But which bits are those, and are they actually necessary if you want the same results? You see, its more complicated than it looks. So until I work it out, I am just going to have to make do with stealing your ideas.

the head of the dog


----------



## Fajitas

doghead said:
			
		

> What I really need to do is get a brian like yours. Or better still, yours. But without the dodgy bits.




Thanks, dog.  I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm afraid my brain is in use at the moment.

Actually, for this particular bit of brilliant elegance, the brain you really want is that of my happily-soon-to-be-wife, WisdomLikeSilence.  She plays Reyu, and did most of the leg-work on developing Elven society.  As she put it, "only a political economist could come up with a governmental system like this."

And no, you can't have her brain, either.  

New update coming very soon.  Promise.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Fajitas said:
			
		

> The Hand of the Tribe
> The Heart of the Tribe
> The Head of the Tribe
> The Voice of the Tribe




Collect all four!  Combine them to make giant combo-Buffy elf!

Sorry, Fajitas, I couldn't resist.  It is a cool society, and WLS is a genius as always.  Can I steal some of this?


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> New update coming very soon.  Promise.




What do you know?  He's right!  

*Part the Forty-Eighth*
_In which: A dialogue is begun. _

Some days pass.  Benedic has been leading the party deeper into the woods, towards the territory of the Miyen elves.  The woods are largely silent, save for the occasional rustle of birds or deer, running off as they take sight of the group.  A November chill is in the air; the warming breezes off the Halmae mean that the winters are never *too* cold, but all the same the passing of the seasons can no longer be denied. Sedellus is waning, and soon Kettenek will rise.

Pssst.  Hey, boss?

_Yes?_ 

Did you know someone was following us?

Lira feels her heart skip a beat as she glances around them all.  No one else seems to have noticed anything.  In fact, Lira doesn’t see anyone herself.

_What?  Where?  Who?  Are you sure?_

Of *course* I’m sure. Who you think you’re talking to?  There’s two people back there.  They’re hiding pretty good.  I didn’t get too good a look, but they smell kinda like elves, you know?

Elves!  _The Miyen_, Lira thinks.  _I guess they know we’re here._

She carefully picks her way up alongside Benedic.  

“Don’t look now,” she says, quietly, “but I think we’re being followed.”

Benedic regards her with surprise.  “Oh, you noticed?  Yeah, they been there a couple of hours now.  I didn’t think anyone else had spotted ‘em.  You got pretty sharp eyes.”  He flashes her a rakish smile.

Lira feels herself start to flush.  “Thanks,” she murmurs.

What? Hey, those were my eyes that saw them.  I’m the one with the sharp eyes, boss.

_Shut up, Euro._

If Benedic notices Euro’s agitation, he doesn’t say anything.  “I figured we’d press on a little bit.  Make camp and wait for them to contact us.  We get deep enough into their lands, they’ll stop in soon enough.”

They press on another hour or so before Benedic calls a halt.  Lira quietly spreads word of their watchers among the others.  Reyu expresses her admiration for the skill of the elves that stalk them.  She hadn’t noticed them either.  Anvil expresses his irritation that the matter had not been brought to his attention immediately.  Eva makes sure she has a dagger within easy reach.  _As if it’s not bad enough that we’re out here, tromping through the middle of nowhere_, she thinks, _but now we’re being followed by elves I can’t see.  Why oh why oh why did I sign up for this gig?_

**********

The elves do not make contact until Reyu’s watch.  Eva shares the watch with her, and is quite surprised when six elves emerge from the woods around them.  They all have spears at the ready.  Some of the younger ones look quite nervous.  About as nervous as Eva, actually.

“Six? I thought there were only two?” Eva hisses to Reyu.

“As did I.  It seems there are now… more.”

Reyu calmly rises to face the leader.  A quick glance at his braids tells her that his name is MetiGuyen Eechi, of the Eechi Tribe of the Miyen Nation.  He is a hunter, some years Reyu’s senior.  She waits patiently, allowing him the same chance to study her braids.  Finally, he speaks.

“You are far from home, little sister,” he says, in a thickly accented Elvish that even Reyu has difficulty understanding.  “These are Miyen lands.  Our hunt is closed to the Turin Nation, and to the humans you bring with you.”

“We did not come to steal the hunt of our Miyen sisters,” Reyu responds.  “We came to talk.  We are in search of a great power, which we have heard that may be found in Miyen lands.  We wish only safe passage through your territory, that we may meet with the one we seek.”

At this, the eyes of the elves widen.  The nervous ones look even more nervous.

“What did you say to them?” Eva asks in Common, warily eyeing the spears pointed at her.

“Only that we wished to speak with the great power in their lands.”

MetiGuyen studies Reyu even more carefully.  “Are you then a servant of the health of the Miyen Nation?”

Reyu finds this a very strange question indeed.  The health of a Nation, or _kai_ in Elvish, is a known concept among the elves.  It refers to the strength, well being, and the overall good of an elven Nation.  It is generally used synonymously with the Nation itself.  Reyu has never before heard anyone referred to as a servant of the health of their Nation, but then, she supposes, it is the duty of all elves to serve the health of their Nation. 

“I do not serve the health of the Miyen Nation, but I wish nothing but good health to the Miyen Nation,” she responds.

MetiGuyen takes a moment to think that answer over.  He doesn’t seem at all sure what to make of it.  Finally, he says, “Your quest for the health of the Miyen Nation is a matter beyond me.  You and your companions will wait here.  I shall fetch the breath.”

Now Reyu is quite perplexed.  She begins to wonder if the Miyen speak an entirely different dialect of Elvish.  She understands the words, but not the meaning.  What does it mean to bring breath?

“I fear I am having trouble understanding you.  We are not looking for the Miyen Nation itself.  Merely for a great arcane power that we have heard dwells near here.”

MetiGuyen responds simply, “I shall fetch the breath.”

With that, he disappears into the dark.  The other elves maintain their watch on the party.

“Well?” Eva demands.

“He said he was going to fetch the breath,” Reyu responds.

A pause.  “Is that an elf thing?”

“I… do not know.  Perhaps we should wake the others.  Carefully,” she adds, as she eyes their nervous guards.

***********

It is several hours before MetiGuyen returns.  The rest of the group is now awake, watching the elves watch them.

“I bet we could take ‘em,” Thatch points out. 

“Perhaps.  But we shall not,” Reyu counters.

“There’s only six of them.”

“And if you keep speaking that way, you will… antagonize them.”

“They probably don’t even speak Common,” Thatch says, but he wisely keeps it under his breath.  He focuses his attention on Dennis and Eva’s card game, though neither of them is really focused on it.

MetiGuyn is leading another elf behind him.  He stands aside and says to Reyu, “The breath.”

The other elf steps forward.   She is middle aged, and her braids are very long indeed.  LidoMana Eechi, they name her, mother of two, keeper of nature’s secrets… and, to Reyu’s surprise, Voice of the Eechi Tribe.  Well, not quite.  She bears a bead indicating this position, but it has been modified somehow.  Lessened.  Reyu has never seen anything like it.

Reyu bows deeply, in a gesture of respect.  “I had not realized such an distinguished visitor was coming to us.  In my Nation, your position is called the Voice of the Tribe.  Not the Breath” she says.

When LidoMana speaks, she addresses herself only to Reyu.  She doesn’t even look at the others.  Lira translates for the benefit of those who do not speak Elvish.  Whether or not this bothers LidoMana, none can say, as she seems to be doing her best to ignore the non-elves all together.  “It is called the Voice to us as well.  But I am no longer the Voice.  I am now merely the Breath.  The Miyen have only one Voice,” LidoMana says.  Then, seeing Reyu’s obvious confusion, she adds, “It has been so since the coming of the health of the Miyen Nation.  The health of the Miyen Nation is now the Voice for all the Tribes of our Nation.  We who were Voices are now Breaths.”

A very strange thought crosses Reyu’s mind.  “The health of the Miyen Nation.  You speak of it as if it was a person.”

“It is,” she answers.


----------



## Capellan

Well, _this_ is going to go badly.


Glee!


----------



## Angcuru

Muahaha!


----------



## doghead

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Thanks, dog.  I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm afraid my brain is in use at the moment.
> 
> Actually, for this particular bit of brilliant elegance, the brain you really want is that of my happily-soon-to-be-wife, WisdomLikeSilence.  She plays Reyu, and did most of the leg-work on developing Elven society.  As she put it, "only a political economist could come up with a governmental system like this."
> 
> And no, you can't have her brain, either.
> 
> New update coming very soon.  Promise.




OK. I have a confession. 

I stole WLS's ENWorld handle for my latest pbp game here.


 

Wisdom Like Silence. It really is quite a beautiful name. I will of course change it if you wish me too.

the head of the dog.


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

doghead said:
			
		

> OK. I have a confession.
> 
> I stole WLS's ENWorld handle for my latest pbp game here.




I can hardly object, since I stole the handle from an Ian Banks novel.  Ian Banks, for those who don't know, is a British writer of beautiful science fiction with improbably named spaceships.  Wisdom Like Silence is the name of one of his ships/characters,  as well as a reminder of the benefits of measuring my words on message boards. 

Good luck with the PBP game, Doghead!

-WLS


----------



## doghead

Thanks WLS. And thanks for your work on the elves. 

I've read some of Ian Banks' novels, as well as a number of his Ian M Banks' ones. But it was a while ago. I don't remember the ship in question.

I really like the way the meeting with the Breath read. I would love to have seen how it was presented and played. Thanks for all your work bring this to us spyscribe.


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

doghead said:
			
		

> I've read some of Ian Banks' novels, as well as a number of his Ian M Banks' ones. But it was a while ago. I don't remember the ship in question.




Wisdom Like Silence is a relatively unimportant GSV in Excession.  The name, I must admit, has stuck with me much longer than the character.  

-WLS


----------



## Capellan

Psst .... guys, it's _Iain_, not Ian.  There's an important Scottish distinction there, I'm sure.

Capellan
- who is in no way a fan of Banks.  No sirree.  Ignore my Custom Title: it means nothing.


----------



## spyscribe

> I really like the way the meeting with the Breath read. I would love to have seen how it was presented and played. Thanks for all your work bring this to us spyscribe.




In this case, in this case, your kudos really should go to the deserving fajitas, as he and I have temporarily swapped our writer/editor hats.

The idea is that as he writes this, I can get a bit of a backlog going again. 

I don't think the encounters with the Miyen Kai played out the way anyone had really expected, and there is a solid reason why--when fajitas offered to write a section of the story hour--I off-loaded this part onto him as quickly as possible.


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Capellan said:
			
		

> Psst .... guys, it's _Iain_, not Ian.  There's an important Scottish distinction there, I'm sure.




Oops.  You are soo very right.  Thanks for the correction.

-WLS


----------



## doghead

Capellan said:
			
		

> ...
> 
> Capellan
> - who is in no way a fan of Banks.  No sirree.  Ignore my Custom Title: it means nothing.




I've been more curious about the avatar.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Forth-Ninth*
_In which: A dialogue goes on.  And on.  And on._

“The Health of the Miyen Nation is an elf?” Reyu asks, incredulous.

“No less than an elf, certainly,” replies LidoMana.

Lira has been attempting to translate for the others, but the frequent use of this unfamiliar concept has confused her.  Reyu quickly explains to them the concept of _kai_, though she barely understands herself how it can be personified.  LidoMana seems to tolerate this interlude.

Anvil speaks.  “It would seem then that this personification, this ‘Miyen Kai,’ is the one that we seek.  We must know more of this.  Instruct her to explain in greater detail.”

Reyu passes Anvil’s demand on, though she changes it to a request as she translates.

LidoMana answers slowly.  “Many strange things have transpired in the three seasons past.  It began in the holy lands of our Nation, with the coming of beasts.  Creatures of shadow, like wild boars, that arose from the depths of the land. Neither spear nor spell seemed to stop them. Many great hunters of the Miyen were felled by them.”

At this, Lira becomes agitated.  She interrupts, using her most deferential Elvish.  “Creatures of shadow who magic could not harm?  We have encountered similar beings.  Did they leave wounds on your warriors that even the gods could not heal?  Wounds like these?”  She lifts her shirt to display the scars on her stomach left by the shadow-creatures the night of the Mages’ Academy fire.

Lira’s question obviously startles the elves, as several spears are suddenly pointed in her position.  Lira freezes, still holding her shirt up.  _What kind of threat can they *possibly* think I am in this position?_ she wonders.

Just let ‘em try it, boss.  I got your back.

“What did you say to them?” Thatch asks.

Benedic answers for her.  “Nothing offensive.  I’m just surprised she spoke at all.”

Anvil nods, and flashes Lira a thumbs up.

Lira’s not sure which is more worrisome: the elves aiming weapons at her or Anvil offering her a sign of approval.

LidoMana quickly glances at Lira’s scars, but when she speaks she only addresses Reyu.  “I do not know of any such scars, but then, few warriors of the Eechi Tribe faced these beasts.  The Miyen Tribe bore the brunt, as they are the guardians of the holy lands.”

“Besides, the shadow-creatures we faced didn’t look much like boars,” Dennis points out to Lira.

“Um, and swords worked pretty well against them,” Thatch adds.

“Warriors from all the Tribes were gathered,” LidoMana continues, “and they ventured into the holy lands, in an effort to find the lair of these beasts and destroy them.  But they found no lair.  Instead, they found a pit, amidst a rocky outcropping.  A deep pit of boiling shadow and darkness, like a thunderstorm held trapped within the ground.  The beasts came from there, and those who sought to enter it were destroyed.

“It was then, in our time of greatest despair, that the Miyen Kai arrived.  The creatures appeared, and he used great magic to smite them.”

“He?” Reyu interrupts, eyebrows raising.  “The Miyen Kai is male?”

LidoMana nods.

“So?  What does it matter if he’s male?” Hue butts in, speaking in Elvish.  Dennis, who has been positioned to stifle Hue, promptly does so.

“It is… quite rare for a man to be the Voice of his Tribe, let alone of his Nation,” Reyu explains to all, translating herself for LidoMana.

“The Miyen Kai is rare indeed,” LidoMana agrees.  “He is now Voice, Hand, Head, and Heart of the Nation.  Since his coming, he has stood guard over the pit of shadows.  When the beasts arise, he smites them.”

“Find out what they know of him before he came here.” Anvil asks.  “What lands does he hail from?  What has he done before now?”

Reyu passes along the question.  LidoMana looks troubled, as if she herself has wondered these very things.  But she simply responds, “Does a drowning elf ask from where comes the log she clings to?”

“Probably from upstre--" Hue begins, but Dennis again performs his appointed task.

“The coming of the Miyen Kai was foretold to my people.  We have been awaiting him since the days of my mother’s mother’s mother,” LidoMana says.

“There is a prophecy?” Reyu asks.  “What does it say?”

“It says that in the time of great need to the Miyen, one shall arise to restore the health of the Nation.  Our need was great.  And our health has been restored.”

The party takes a few moments to consider this.  It is Anvil who then speaks.

“We must speak to this Miyen Kai, for we are on a mission from the King of Dar Pykos.  Ask her to lead us to him.”

Reyu translates.  But LidoMana shakes her head.  “The Miyen Kai lives on the holy land.  It is forbidden for outsiders to set foot upon it.”

“That is not acceptable,” Anvil insists.  “Kettenek demands we speak to him.  That is our holy task.  Reyu, convince her of that.”

It occurs to Reyu that perhaps there is merit in ignoring non-elves. Nonetheless, she presses on.  “Our need is great.  Surely an exception can be made.”

“That choice is not up to me.  The Miyen Tribe has the task of guarding the holy lands.  They are the only ones who could allow you passage.”

“Then may we be allowed to speak to them, so that we may plead our case?”

Much negotiation follows.  LidoMana is wary of allowing strangers that deep into Miyen territory.  Especially when they are humans (and a… well, a Hue).  However, Reyu makes a persuasive argument.  Finally, LidoMana agrees that, if the party will allow themselves to be blindfolded, she will have MetiGuyen lead them to the Miyen Tribe.

The party agrees.

For a full day and a half, they ride blindfolded through the woods, their horses led by elves.  Euro and the Ferret are put into sacks, to ensure that cannot see anything either.  At night the blindfolds are removed while the party makes camp.  The elves leading them do not speak to the party much.  If they must, they address all statements through Reyu.

Eva has the most difficulty, riding blind through the forest terrain.  More than one low branch catches her unawares.  Not for the first time, she wonders why she left the city.  In fact, she wonders why anyone ever leaves cities.


----------



## Angcuru

A thumbs up from Anvil?  Is that a good or a bad thing, I wonder....


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Fiftieth*
_In which: *Another* dialogue begins, and then goes on and on and on. Gods, why won’t it stop?  Please, can’t we hit something?_

The first sign that they have arrived is the change in sounds.  The soft rustling of people moving through the woods is slowly joined by murmuring voices.  The occasional clunk of wood on metal.  The sounds of many more feet than have been with them thus far.  They also notice the smells: campfires and roasting meat.

Eventually, the party is brought into a small teepee.  Here their blindfolds are removed.  An elf instructs them to wait.  They are also asked to surrender all weapons.  Eva considers keeping a hidden knife, but rapidly rejects that suggestion.  If the elves try to kill her, a single knife isn’t going to do much good, and if they discover that she has kept a weapon, they are that much more likely to try to kill her.  She turns over all of her weapons.  The others appear to do the same.

The party waits for some time before two young men enter, each bearing a shallow bowl of water.  Reyu informs the others that these are to allow them to wash before they meet with the Council.  Wash they do.  It does little to alleviate the dirt and grime of the last weeks’ travel, but a little is better than nothing.

“So, um, what is this Council we’re meeting with?” Thatch asks.

“The Council is the Voice, Head, Heart, and Hand of the Nation.  Or… whatever they are now called here,” Reyu answers.

“But we’ve already met with the Voice.  The Breath, right?” Thatch asks.

“No.  That was the Voi—Breath of the *Eechi* Tribe.  This will be the Council of the *Miyen* Tribe, which… serves as the Council for the entire Miyen Nation. There is no higher position of honor to an elf than to sit upon the Council of her Nation.”

“Oh,” Thatch says, and he scrubs a little harder behind his ears.

Finally, the party is lead from their teepee.  They are not blindfolded this time, and are able to catch a glimpse of the village around them.  There are many tepees scattered about, and a central circle in the middle.  Firepits have been set up there, where several elves can be seen cooking.  Most of them ignore the humans moving through their midst.  Or, at least, they try to look like they’re ignoring them.  Several shoot the occasional glance their way.  Some looks are hostile.  Some just curious.  Only the children look openly, hiding from behind tepees or their parents.

They are lead to another teepee, a much larger one, with beads and knots decorating the outside.  Inside the teepee is a small fire, mostly burning embers, and four elves, two male and two female.  The younger of the two females sits slightly forward.

Reyu studies the Council, taking in what she can learn of them from their postures and their beads.  The first male is UlAneya.  He is marked as the Hand of the Nation, though like the LidoMana, his bead is strangely modified. _No longer the hand,_ Reyu mentally notes  _I wonder what his new title is._. His beads indicate he has no children, but they also denote his skill as a hunter.  The fine furs and feathers he wears support them.  His eyes are flat and suspicious, but otherwise reveal little of his thought.

Next to him is a rather plump woman, AitteTaru, the (modified) Heart of the Nation.  Her beads indicate that she is a mother of four, grandmother of twelve, impressive progeny for an elf.  Her beads also indicate that she is a healer of skill. She greets the party coolly, but with interest.  Still, it the warmest greeting they have yet received.

Next to her is an ancient elf, thin and wrinkled.  The beads in his long white hair call him RemanKotu, the equivalent to the Head of the Nation.  He bears three father beads, from two different women.  He is teacher, thinker, stargazer, poet, songwriter, and lorekeeper.  His younger beads indicate a great deal of travel as well.  His look, however, is one of pure hostility, as if it was a struggle to even get him to sit in a tent with outsiders.

The last of the Council, the one sitting forward, is a young woman, AinaRoto.  Her beads indicate that she is the Voice of the Nation.  _The Breath_, Reyu reminds herself.  But Reyu can hardly believe she is even that.  She can’t be more than a few decades older than Reyu herself, incredibly young for a Voice.  She has no children, and though she is an accomplished weaver, she bears few other notable achievements.  She wears a look of challenge on her face, sitting tall and proud in the face of these outsiders.  But around her eyes, Reyu can see how nervous she is. 

The party sits.   

“The Miyen Council is gathered,” the Breath says in Elvish.  “We are united in Breath, Thought, Blood, and Finger.”

Reyu hears the strange version of the familiar words.  _Breath, Thought, Blood, and Finger instead of Voice, Head, Heart, and Hand.  How… very strange._  There is no hesitation as the Breath says these words, though it seems that the Finger scowls as he is named.  

“What matter do you have for this Council?”

Reyu looks to the others, only to find they are all looking at her.  She sighs, and informs the Council of their business.  She tells them of their mission to seek great archmagi, of which they believe the Miyen Kai to be one.  She asks their permission to enter the Miyen holy lands, to invite him to come to Dar Pykos.

The Thought is the first to speak.  The old man seems outraged, and speaks with a fire Reyu did not expect from his frail frame.  “No!  It is forbidden for outsiders to enter the holy lands.  That is the law of the Nation, and must be inviolate.”

“Then perhaps the Miyen Kai can be asked to come here to meet with us, and we need not enter your holy lands,” Reyu offers.

The old man scowls.  “That may fulfil the letter of the law,” he says, “but the Miyen Kai is himself holy.  To allow outsiders to speak to him…”  He ruminates on the legality of that.

But the Blood speaks up.  Her kindly round face is filled with concern.  “If the Miyen Kai comes here, he will not be guarding the pit from which come the creatures of shadow.  He cannot leave the holy land.  He must stay there, vigilant, to ensure the safety of our Nation.”

The Finger speaks.  “Many of our hunters are with the Miyen Kai.  They can guard the pit in his absence.”

“Your hunters were not able to defend us when the creatures first appeared.”

“They did not yet know what they were dealing with.  Now they have seen the creatures defeated.  Believe me, we can hold them off."

“But for how long? These outsiders wish to speak to the Miyen Kai to lure him away.  What if he chooses to go with them?  What if he chooses to leave us?”  

The Finger almost smiles.  “If he does, so be it.  Surely his wisdom is greater than our own,” he says, a hint of sarcasm layered beneath his words.  “Is he not the Head, Heart, Voice, and Hand of the Miyen now?  Who are we to contradict him?”

All eyes turn to the Breath, the only one who has not yet spoken.  She seems hesitant, unsure. “I…I would like to hear more discussion,” she says, finally.

And discuss they do.  A long, drawn out debate follows.  A very, very long debate. Lira, Eva, and Anvil join in occasionally, getting Reyu to pass on questions and arguments for those who do not speak Elvish.  However,  Lira isn’t sure if anything said by a non-elf does more than irritate their hosts. The Breath and the Thought cast _comprehend languages_, that they may understand the humans without the need of a translator. 

The Council members argue with the party and they argue with each other.  The Blood, though friendliest in attitude, is most vehemently opposed to the party’s request, due to her concern for the safety of the people if the Miyen Kai leaves.  The Finger, on the other hand, seems to welcome that outcome.  He believes his hunters are up to the task, and is quite willing to let the party speak to the Miyen Kai. The Thought remains hostile to the request, but his primary reason seems to be because it is made by humans.  He may be willing to allowing Reyu alone to speak to the Miyen Kai, which is not an acceptable outcome to the party; many of them have been sent by their Churches to personally evaluate these archmagi, and they cannot do that if they are not there.

_Two votes against, one vote for_, Reyu thinks.  _But the Breath is still undecided.  Since her vote breaks ties, hers will be the crucial decision_.  Reyu focuses her attention on the young Breath.

“If I may inquire, honored mother,” Reyu says to the Breath, “how did you come to hold a position of such high prestige at such a young age?”

The Breath sits up a tad straighter.  “The prior Voice of the Miyen was slain by the creatures of shadow when they first appeared.  She had recently asked me to succeed her, though it was though that there would be many years before that need would arise…”  She trails off.

_She is only barely holding herself together_, Reyu thinks.  “Clearly, these are difficult times to be thrust into.”

“They have been, yes.”

“My grandmother is the Voice of my tribe,” Reyu says, carefully.  “She told me once that, even at her advanced age, there were questions that she could not answer.  She has told me of many times when all looked to her, and she did not know the best course of action.  But she has also said that there is no shame in admitting that one does not know what to do.  If you are torn on this matter, why not let the Miyen Kai himself decide?  It is, in the end, his decision.  And there is no shame in allowing him to make it.”

The Breath considers these words very carefully.  “There is wisdom in what you say.” Reyu looks hopeful.  She meets the Breath’s eyes.  She can see her leaning in the party’s favor… 

…but she can also see the uncertainty.  

“I must consider this matter further.”

At which point, Anvil finally loses it.

“You are all cowards,” he says.


----------



## Captain Claymore

(At which point, Anvil finally loses it.

“You are all cowards,” he says.)

Ahhhh, the honeyed tongue of a true diplomat! I have a player in my campaign with similar tact and diplomatic smoothness. It just recently earned him ten lashes  Let us hope that Myen elves are more forgiving than Giants.


----------



## Capellan

spyscribe said:
			
		

> At which point, Anvil finally loses it.
> 
> “You are all cowards,” he says.




You know, Anvil, if things don't work out with this Halmae thing, we may have a place for you in Saltmarsh  

I'm pleased to see this is going as well as I expected


----------



## thatdarncat

ouch... lashes from Giants? that's gonna hurt.

I'm suprised the rest of the party hasn't sat Anvil down and explained how things work to him yet.


----------



## spyscribe

thatdarncat said:
			
		

> ouch... lashes from Giants? that's gonna hurt.
> 
> I'm suprised the rest of the party hasn't sat Anvil down and explained how things work to him yet.




Anvil is very canny actually.  He's usually only shockingly rude to people who have already throughly pissed off the rest of the party.    I mean, even Reyu was getting fed-up with the negotiations at that point.  We had been trying to be as polite as possible to one elf or another for *hours* (real time).  And they just got angry whenever someone without pointy ears talked, no matter how diplomatic we were.  It was an act of restraint to wait until we were out of ear-shot to say "thank you."

Honestly, I think the elves didn't want us in their lands for as long as it would have taken to have Anvil flogged.  Either that or Fajitas had not yet acquired a taste for whipping PCs.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Fifty-First*
_In which: Anvil gets tired of all the talking._

It’s hard to really blame Anvil.  He has been incredibly frustrated up until now, being largely ignored or looked down on by the hostile members of the Council, who seem to think that even a simple conversation with the Miyen Kai is too dangerous to be allowed.  He has traveled far, and been made to ride blindfolded through thick woods for a full day and a half to get here.  And he has never quite been the most diplomatic member of the party.

Even so…

“You are all cowards,” he says to the Council.  “If it is Kettenek’s will that the Miyen Kai come with us to Dar Pykos, then it shall be done, and you have no power to prevent it.  And if you,” he says to the Breath, “have not the wisdom to see that, then you are surely not worth of the office you hold.” 

Eva’s jaw drops. Dennis winces.

The Breath’s eyes flash.  She sits up tall.  “Then let my decision be heard, human.  I rule against you.  You shall not speak to the Miyen Kai.  You shall not walk on holy ground.  You shall be taken from here, and escorted off Miyen lands.  And if you are ever found here again, you shall be put to death.  This Council adjourns.”

Reyu opens her mouth, attempting one last desperate effort to reason with the Breath.  But the Breath rises and leaves the tent.  The rest of the Council follows. 

Reyu closes her eyes.

“Wow,” says Hue.  “Even *I* knew that was dumb.”

**********

The party is escorted back to the teepee they had originally been put in.  Their weapons are returned, and they make preparations to leave.

“Now, what?”  Lira asks, glumly.

“Um, maybe we should contact Professor Alexandra.  Maybe she can use some magic to get us there or something,” Thatch suggests.

However, before they get any farther with this line of reasoning, they have a visitor.  The Finger of the Miyen Nation enters their teepee.  He looks around at all of them.

Reyu greets him.  “Honored father.  How may we be of service?”

The Finger eyes her carefully.  “As the war-leader of the Nation, I am bound to warn you against ignoring the ruling of the Council and taking matters into your own hands.  The holy lands are regularly guarded by the best hunters of the Miyen.  They patrol in bands of four, which move in a circular pattern, surrounding the home of the Miyen Kai, which is located near the rocky outcroppings a day and a half north-northwest of here. Do you understand my… warning?”

Reyu blinks at this seemingly horrid on-rush of needless exposition. But, deep in the eyes of the Finger of the Tribe, she thinks she detects just the faintest glimmer of a smile.

“Indeed,” Reyu says.  “I believe we do.”

********

A plan is quickly hatched.  The Finger has given them directions relative to their current location.  Unfortunately, none of them know exactly where they are, having been blindfolded on the way in.  Hue, after what appears to be a little prompting from the Ferret, suggests that if the Ferret were to nibble a hole in his bag to look out, Hue could cast an illusion on the bag so that none of the elves would notice.  There is a brief discussion as to whether or not Hue and the Ferret have the attention span for the difficult hours of concentration this will take (it is quickly decided that the Ferret probably does, and Hue will be okay if the Ferret keeps him focused).

Seeing few other options, this plan is enacted.  The elves escort the party back out of Miyen lands, and the Ferret keeps careful track of their route.

“Look,” Benedic says quietly in Common, while they have stopped for the night, “I should be able to figure out where the Miyen Kai is.  But getting there may be a problem.  I don’t think the Finger’s gonna be able to tell his hunters to let us cross their holy lands.”

“We may have to fight our way there,” Thatch notes.

“I would… prefer not to fight our way through against my sistren.  We may end up with the entire Miyen nation chasing us, and that is not likely to… facilitate our mission,” Reyu adds.

“What about the dwarves?” Lira suddenly pipes up.

“What about the dwarves?” Anvil demands.

“Well, didn’t Zrod say that the dwarven caves ran all through the foothills?  Even as far as the Ketkath?”

“Yes.”

“So.  I bet the elves don’t patrol underground.”

***********

“Hmmmmm,” says Zrod, looking carefully over his map.

The journey out of Miyen lands proved uneventful, and after a day and half on horseback the party was finally allowed to remove their blindfolds, once again in unclaimed forest.  Within a few days, they made their way back to the dwarven caves, where they met with Zrod Cavebreaker.  They explained their request, and provided him with the directions they had gathered from the Finger and the Ferret’s watchful vigil.

“Can it be done?” Anvil demands.  “Can we reach this place underground?”

Zrod scratches his beard. “Well, the good news is that it isn’t in goblin territory…. The bad news is that it’s *beyond* goblin territory.”  

Benedic’s eyes narrow, and Lira thinks she hears a small hiss escape his mouth.  Thatch smiles as he fingers his sword, and reflects on the similarities between fighting goblins and reaping wheat.

“So it can be done,” Anvil notes.

“Yeah.”

“Then Kettenek’s will demands we—"

“Yeah, yeah.  We know,” Eva cuts in.  She seems, if possible, even less pleased at the notion of travelling through caves then she did of travelling through forest.

 “Gonna be rough travel.  Hopefully, we can avoid any goblins we come across, but if they notice we’re there, we may have to fight out way through,” Zrod continues.

“We?” Reyu asks.

“Well, yeah.  You’re going to need a guide.  These tunnels go on for miles, and they’re full of all kinds of critters.  Cave snakes, ropers, stirges, goblins, wild lizards--”

“Goblins.  Wild lizards,” Eva repeats, looking slightly sick.

“Yup.  Good eating, them.”

“The lizards or the goblins?” Lira asks, unable to help herself.

“Lizards,” Zrod says, looking surprised.  “You eat goblins?”

“Well, no, but then I’ve never eaten lizard before, either.”

“Here,” Zrod says, and produces a piece of what appears to be gray leather.  Lira looks at it skeptically.  “Lizard jerky.  Try some.”

It takes her quite some time to tear a chunk off with her teeth.  It takes longer to chew and swallow it.

Zrod looks at her expectantly.

“Mmmmm,” she says.  “Hearty.”

_(“Make your Con check, please,” says the DM)_


----------



## spyscribe

_Editor’s note: for those waiting with baited breath to see if Lira suffers any unfortunate consequences from her experimentation with dwarven cuisine, be rest assured that all requisites were met.  The same cannot be said for Thatch, however, who blew his strength check to bite off a piece of jerky and wound up having to hack it up with his sword.

And now…_

*Part the Fifty-Second*
_In which: Euro gets very, very quiet._

The next day, the party—minus their horses and carrying only what they think they will need, sets out through the tunnels.  Thatch is saddened by the need to leave Bob behind, and gives the dwarves explicit instructions towards his care and feeding.  “Don’t worry,” Zrod says.  “I’m sure he’ll be fine.  As long as the pack lizards don’t get too hungry, that is.”

Eventually, the others manage to convince Thatch that this is just a joke.

The first leg of the journey is through caves controlled by the dwarves.  It passes uneventfully.  Finally, Zrod leads them to what appears to be a dead end… guarded by two well-armed dwarves.

“Tell me,” Reyu says, “is it usually your custom to post… sentries at dead ends?”

Zrod grins in reply.  He speaks a password to the guards.  One of them then pulls on a stone lever, so cleverly concealed that no one in the party even noticed it was there.  A tiny seam appears in the rock face before them, growing larger and larger until two stone doors have swung silently open, revealing a long, dark tunnel.  The tunnel is eerily silent, an effect only heightened by the hundreds of goblin heads—in various states of decay—hanging on both walls of the passage.

“Well, this is it,” Zrod says.  “Beyond this is no-man’s land, and then the goblin controlled territory.”

Anvil speaks up.  “We do not know that all of us will return from this mission. Can you tell us the password for the gate, that we may reenter dwarven territories if you are not with us?”

Zrod considers.  “How many of you speak Dwarven?”  

Lira and Reyu nod that they do.  

“Well, yelling ‘help!’ will probably do it.”

And, that established, the party enters the tunnel, leaving the safety of dwarven territory behind them.

*******

The tunnel eventually widens, and the travelers take the opportunity to spread out a bit.  Zrod and Eva take the front.  It takes some convincing to get Benedic to allow this.  He seems frighteningly eager to be the first one to spot goblins on this trip.  However, it is pointed out that Eva’s eyes are sharper.

“Besides,” Zrod notes, “goblins aren’t the biggest worry in this part of the caves.  I’m more worried about booby traps.  Area’s full of ‘em.”

“As our guide, surely you should know where they… may be found,” Reyu says.

“I know where the dwarven traps are,” Zrod says.  “Goblin traps, we’ll have to keep an eye out for.”

“Great,” Eva mumbles, wondering how she let herself be nominated to take the lead instead of Benedic.

Benedic grumbles, but he relents.  He does, however, keep an arrow nocked in his bow as they walk.  Lira notices how tightly he grips the bow itself.

“Not much of a goblin fan, are you?” she notes dryly.

“Not if they’re breathing,” he replies.

Euro travels up ahead, riding on Eva’s shoulder rather than Lira’s.  His sense of smell is keen enough that, it is hoped, he’ll be able to smell any goblins long before they know the party is there.

They travel for some time.  Zrod or Eva pointing out the occasional pit trap, cleverly (or not so cleverly) hidden from view.  Everyone is careful to avoid the traps.

For a while.

The quiet of the tunnels is suddenly shattered as Eva lets out a short sharp yell, and abruptly she and Euro drop out of sight.  Even more chilling is the silence that follows.

“Euro!” Lira yells. Her mental link to her familiar is gone, silent for the first time in years.

The party springs into action around the edge of the pit. Eva is unconscious and bleeding profusely, impaled on three spikes some twenty feet down.  Thatch, Benedic, Dennis, and Zrod anchor a rope, which Anvil uses to climb down towards Eva. He moves slowly, encumbered as he is by his heavy armor.  Anvil can tell just by glancing at Eva that every second may count. 

“Let go of the rope!” Hue shouts to Anvil, and Anvil can hear him casting some sort of spell.  Suddenly, Anvil feels much lighter.  He considers following Hue’s advice, but looks down at the sharp spikes below him.  He declines to let go.  Instead, he uses the rope to guide his now speedy descent.  

Lira casts too, using _mage hand_ to lift Euro, barely conscious, out of the pit and into her arms.  Reyu casts _cure minor wounds_ and the weasel perks up noticeably.

“Are you alright?” Lira asks him.

You know me Boss… his mental voice slurs slightly.  … I’m always ready to go…

Meanwhile, Anvil reaches the bottom of the pit.  Carefully, he lifts Eva off the spikes.  She is not breathing, and he can tell that her soul is about to slip away to Kettenek’s realm.  Quickly, he beseeches Kettenek’s blessings, and casts his most powerful healing prayer, hoping it is in time.

_(to be continued… Monday!)_


----------



## doghead

Tease.


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*Great update - as always*

Been away on vacation and just started reading again today, happy to see several updates waiting for my appreciative eyes and mind.
Looks like Eva is really in trouble, sure hope she makes it.
Will be very hard to wait untill monday for the rest of the story, but I will somehow manage.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Fifty-Third*
_In which: tunnels are the pits._

For a moment, Eva remains utterly still.  Then, she takes a sudden deep and painful breath.  Her eyes snap open in shock.  The last thing she remembers is the sickening sensation of sharp spikes piercing her body…

“Wha-- What happened…?” she begins, but then, upon reflection, decides she probably doesn’t want to know.

Hue calls from above.  “If you hold onto her, I can lift you both out.”

Still groggy, Eva awkwardly puts her arms around Anvil’s neck, and Hue’s _levitation_ spell lifts them out of the pit.  The bulk of the group takes up defensive positions, while Anvil and Reyu attend to Eva’s injuries.  Eva looks at the holes the spikes have torn through her clothing, and tries not to think about the fact that they must have done the same to her flesh.  _This was my favorite tunic, too,_ she thinks.  _Gods, I hate adventuring._

Soon enough, Eva is ready to take her place near the head of the line again, and the party resumes their forward progress.  This time however, Lira refuses to allow Euro back to the front.  

I can do it, boss, I’m telling you.  I’m fine.  You know me; I got the best nose in this outfit.  You want to leave the goblin sniffing up to that Ferret? 

_But what if something happens back here?  I need you here to protect me…_

Euro thinks it over.  Good point, boss.

**********

The party continues in silence, avoiding several more pit traps until they are suddenly aware of the sound of footsteps… lots of footsteps.  

“Sounds like goblins on the march.” 

“How many are there?”

“Maybe 30?”

“Are they getting closer?”

“I can’t tell.”

“They *seem* closer.”

“Let’s move in,” Benedic suggests, a slightly wild look in his eyes. 

The rest of the party ignores that suggestion.  There is nowhere to hide in the tunnel, so they prepare for a confrontation.  Lira casts _shield_.  Reyu casts _barkskin_.  The others wait...  

And then, the sound begins to fade until the tunnel is silent once more.

The party waits until the sounds have faded to nothing, and then quite some time longer.  Finally, cautiously, they press on, keeping a careful watch for surprise ambushes.

They do not find any.  Instead, they find a large cross-tunnel.  Zrod takes a look up and down.  “Goblins must’ve been moving this way,” he says.  “Probably safe to follow along after them.  We’ll travel faster in the bigger tunnel, for now.”

 The party concurs, and along they go.  This tunnel is littered with debris, stones, and scattered pieces of armor.  Anvil narrowly avoids tripping over a Dwarven shoulder-plate.  

Eventually, the tunnel opens up into a large cavern.  The narrower dimension is easily sixty-feet across, the longer dimension and the ceiling are hidden in shadows.  Scattered bits of arrowheads, discarded pieces of leather, and the occasional piece of broken bone are strewn about the floor.  Two rows of cairn-like mounds lie in the center of the cavern.

Thatch puts it together first.  “Um, this was the site of a battle, wasn’t it?”

Zrod grunts.  “Several.”

Dennis nods towards the cairns.  “Whose dead are those?  Yours or theirs?”

Zrod snorts.  “Goblins don’t honor their dead.  And we don’t leave ours out in the open where goblins could desecrate them.”

“Um, oh.  Then what are--?”

“Surprises left behind for those who would *try* to desecrate our dead.”

It is then that they notice one of the cairns is missing, and a ring of blackened debris outlines where it once was.

Despite assurances that they would have to really try to set them off, the party gives the mounds a wide berth, then prepares to press on.  Zrod nods approvingly.  “Didn’t know humans had the stamina to travel this long.  I’d’ve thought you’d want to rest, given the hour.”

“What time is it?”

Zrod tells them.  The party is quite stunned to see just how much they’ve lost track of time down here in the dark.

“Y’know, on second thought…”

“I’ll drink to that,” Eva says, and finds herself a comfortable seat against the rocky cavern wall.

Zrod shrugs and starts to remove his pack.  He slings it off one shoulder, then suddenly stops, listening intently.  “Anyone else hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“No, wait.  I hear it,” Reyu says.  “A kind of… buzzing noise?”

Zrod has just enough time to utters a dwarven word that Lira has never heard before (though she can roughly guess the meaning), before nine bat-like creatures, with long, sharp stingers fly at them from the ceiling.

“Stirges!” shouts Zrod.


----------



## doghead

Stirges! The little bu .. beasties are everywhere these days.

I suppose that I should be grateful. In a year of adventuring (kinda) in LEW, stirges are the only monster my character has managed to encounter. Got 300 xp out of it. Yeah!

Anyway, enough about Jaan, the eternal first level paladin. Back to the Halmae.


----------



## Angcuru

They are all heroes!  Anvil and Euro and Hue, weasles and clerics everywhere, rejoice!


----------



## jonrog1

Damn, sitting in the hotel room, I was so TICKED I couldn't get to this SH for a few days.  Hope all is well with the gang -- and I have to say, a frikkin' pit trap and stirges?  How ... Gygaxian of you.

Oh, and one of our lads has started an SH based on the world where I actually get to play.  Go drink in his prose befor eyou have to pay 4.50 for it in paperback.


The Scinterlands: Sibling Rivalry


----------



## Fajitas

jonrog1 said:
			
		

> Hope all is well with the gang -- and I have to say, a frikkin' pit trap and stirges?  How ... Gygaxian of you.




>sigh<  Well, it was my first *actual* dungeon crawl (not counting sewers).  Besides, I find stirges to be at least moderately ecologically plausible, unlike, say, a gelatinous cube, which only makes sense if it evolved on a battlemat.

And yes, the gang's all fine.  Hope yours is, too.


----------



## Angcuru

I like the way Fajitas has been running it, monster-wise, myself.  Never see anything that wouldn't reasonably have evolved in the region, barring summons.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Fifty-Fourth*
_In which: Stirge, stirge, stirge.  Stirge is the word._

Thatch winces as a stirge sinks its sharp stinger into his flesh.  The creature’s several claws sink into his skin, and it begins to drink deep of his blood.  Thatch begins feeling a trifle light-headed.  

Unable to swing his sword properly, he uses the hilt as a club, squashing the creature and sending blood spurting everywhere.  He wastes no time but cleaves into the one next to him, which is still hovering, trying to get a shot at Benedic.

The creatures have taken them from above.  Several have their stinger sunk into various members of the party, and are feasting away on their blood.

Zrod makes short work of the stirge attached to his arm and Anvil is equally successful at destroying his attacker.  Once the stirge is dead, he takes a minute to pick its stinger out of his flesh.  He pockets the narrow tube in case it might come in handy later.

Stubbornly ignoring the pain in her shoulder and the wings flapping in her face, Lira casts.  She brings her hands up on either side of the stirge’s expanding abdomen, speaks the final words of the spell and lets fly with two glowing _magic missiles_.  >Bomph!< The only thing left of the stirge is a fine red mist.

Hue is not so fortunate, and is unable to concentrate well enough to complete his spell.  Luckily, Benedic—having had the stirge in front of him split in two by Thatch’s sword—is able to come to the small man’s aid and the stirge is quickly dispatched.  Dennis puts a dagger into another one which pops with an audible >sploosh<.  Neither Eva nor Reyu can hit the last two remaining creatures, but fortunately, the stirges can’t hit them either.  At last, Dennis and Eva get one between them and together carve it to bits, Eva striking with the viciousness that only a city-girl under attack by nature can muster.

The last stirge sinks its stinger into Reyu, and the elf then uses its relative stillness while attached to land the killing blow.

After ascertaining no more aerial invaders are on the way, the adventurers take stock and mop up some of the blood spatters.  Thatch grits his teeth as Anvil probes for the stinger still embedded in his flesh.  Reyu is equally unsuccessful trying to remove the one from Lira’s shoulder, though she does manage to produce several loud “ow!”s from the sorceress.  Reyu stops her ministrations.  Euro squints at her.

“Anvil, why don’t we try switching?” she suggests.

Anvil shrugs, “Fine.”  He comes over to Lira and has the stinger out in one smooth pull.  Thatch kneels so that Reyu can easily see his injury, and in equally short work that stinger is also removed.

“Right.  Where were we then?” Dennis mutters.

“Stopping for the night,” Eva says firmly, and sits down against the wall.  She glares around at the cave, as if daring it to attack her again.

They make camp in a corner of the cavern, lanterns lit but shuttered.  The night passes uneventfully and everyone wakes much refreshed.  Eva is not quite fully recovered from her brush with death in the pit-trap, but even she seems less stiff as they prepare to move out.

**********

It is some hours later.  Zrod has warned the others that they will soon reach goblin territory proper, and they should stay vigilant.  But first, they have one more natural obstacle to overcome.  For several hundred yards, the passage they have been traveling through has become more and more tilted to one side.  Zrod keeps them to the high ground, but now the passage has become nothing more than a narrow ledge dropping off sharply into a dark chasm.

Reyu attempts to cross first.  She walks carefully, holding onto the sheer wall for support, but only gets a few yards before losing her footing and tumbling roughly to the bottom of the crevasse.

“Are you alright?” Thatch calls.

Reyu casts _cure light wounds_ on herself.  “Yes,” she replies.

That starts out onto the ledge.  “Stay where you are.  I’ll throw down a rope.”

Reyu’s voice floats back upward.  “Actually, I think I’ll see how far I can get down here.”

Thatch, who spent most of his young life climbing trees, follows on the ledge without difficulty as Reyu makes her way below.  The way is narrow, she finds, but fairly flat and for someone like Reyu, narrow is not much of a problem.  She moves forward cautiously and soon comes to a perfectly round hole in the ground, seemingly the top of some kind of shaft.  The lip is perfectly round and smooth.  Looking down it she can see nothing but blackness, and she senses a faint cool breeze flowing through.

Steeling herself for a hand or tentacle reaching up to snare her ankle, Reyu jumps across the 5’ gap.  Her foot kicks a loose pebble that she can hear bouncing downward, but nothing happens.

Soon, the sides of the crevasse come together at a point in front of her, making further progress impossible.  Thatch throws down a rope and hauls her back up to floor level.  He then ties off the rope and crosses back to the others, leaving the rope stretched against the wall as a hand-hold.  With this in place, most of the rest of the party crosses without incident.  Lira nearly loses her footing a couple of times, but her white-knuckle grip on the rope keeps her from going down.  Zrod and Hue are not so lucky and both take a tumble.  Thatch, gathering up the rope behind the last crossers rappels down the crevasse to help the others across the hole.

When everyone has safely reached the far side, they continue quietly on their way.

*********

After less than an hour, Zrod stops them.  The tunnel turns ahead and the faint glow of a torch can be seen around the corner.  

“Goblins,” he whispers.  “Here we are.”

“Good,” Benedic murmurs, tightening his grip on his bow.

“How many are there ahead?” Anvil asks.

Zrod shrugs.  “It’s just a guard post.  Probably not many.”

“We could take a closer look,” Hue suggests.

Despite Euro’s protests that he is the better mustelid for the job, the Ferret is sent ahead to investigate.  He relates through Hue that there are five goblins playing some kind of card game at the intersection of four tunnels up ahead.  The goblins are armed with javelins and morningstars, and some kind of horn hangs on the wall behind them.  Zrod confirms the horn is there to sound the alarm, should the goblins have a chance to do so.

Quickly, the party plans their strategy.  First, Anvil comes around the corner and casts _silence_ on a point above the middle of the card table.  Then, the melee fighters charge in, leaving the archers to take positions along the 20’ passage.  Between those first two waves, by the time the spell-casters round the corner, carefully staying out of the area of the magical _silence_, only one goblin is left alive.  A _magic missile_ spell from Lira remedies that situation quickly.  The goblins didn’t even have time to get up from their game; only one had time to be surprised that he couldn’t hear himself scream.

“Right.  We’re in it now.  Let’s move fast,” Zrod says.


----------



## spyscribe

The update so good, we knew you'd want to read it twice!  Sigh.

I will take the opportunity of the double-post to put forward the alternate "in which" for the previous installment, which was:

_In which: the party learns that the best thing about stirges is the popping sounds they make._

Sploosh!


----------



## thatdarncat

It's good to see a fighter's skills used to help the party - so often fighters tend to be just front line fighters. 

I've actually started playing a fighter based on Thatch.  He's a big strong farmboy out to see the world, loaded down with all sorts of wisdom from back home - "always wear clean underwear" (Mother) "Don't start a fight - but always finish it" (Uncle) "Take it one level at a time, kill everything, and move on!" (2nd Cousin Heydricus of Tenh)

It's been a blast so far


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Fifty-Fifth*
_In which: Goblin territory ain’t all it’s cracked up to be._

Zrod pushes the party on at a grueling pace, alternating short runs with even shorter breaks.  After a few hours, many members of the group are starting to feel the strain.  No breath is being wasted now for talking. Lira even finds it difficult to summon the energy to mentally communicate with Euro.  Thatch is doing fine, much to Lira’s consternation.  _It’s not fair_, Lira thinks.  _I can drink him under the table.  You’d think I could keep up with him in a run…_

Eventually, Zrod stops them.  They can all hear the hundreds of goblin voices coming from a chamber up ahead.  

“We’re passing outside one of their main markets,” Zrod whispers.  “With any luck, they won’t notice us.  It’s about 40 feet to get past the entrance.  Be fast and be quiet.”

Lira watches as Zrod goes first, creeping along quickly and quietly, hugging the wall of the tunnel farthest from the market.  Anvil follows, using the same route as Zrod.  Then comes Eva, moving as comfortably as if she were in a back alley in Dar Darine.  Reyu is equally stealthy.  Lira is up next.  She shoots a nervous look at Thatch.  Stealth is not her strong point.

Don’t worry, boss.  Just follow me.

_I’ll be sure to_, Lira thinks.  And, with a deep breath, she runs. 

She glances to her side as she quickly scrambles past the entrance. Dozens of goblins swarm about. The walls and ceiling seem to be full of small holes, probably leading to other caves.  A nightmarish scaffolding of ladders connects these entrances together, giving the impression of nothing quite so much as a beehive full of goblins.

Fortunately, these goblins seem occupied by their business, and no one is looking carefully at the dark passage the party is crossing through.

Before she knows it, she’s past.  The sound of goblin alarms she had been dreading never come.

Thatch crosses next, making it safely as well.  Hue runs by with no incident, and the *party* doesn’t even notice when Benedic crosses.  Dennis takes a deep breath, runs… 

…and trips over a stone that send him tumbling. 

Dennis scrambles to his feet and scampers to safety on the far side of the passage.  He slams himself against the wall, cursing at himself quietly enough that the others barely notice.  They listen intently, waiting to hear if their cover has been blown.

There is no reaction from the goblins.  

The party lets out a collective sigh of relief.  Zrod takes the lead again and the pace resumes.

**********

Lira has no idea how long they’ve been running.  She has completely lost track of time down here in the dark of the goblin caves.  They had a quick bite to eat three… no, four stops ago.  Or was it three?  And what did they eat again?  Should she be hungry now?  Or would she rather sleep?  

Lira’s not the only member of the group flagging.  Despite Euro’s hearty, Come on Boss, you can do it! she knows she can’t keep up the pace much longer.  If she could just catch her breath, she could ask if they could stop to catch their breath.  Perhaps if the terrible stitch in her side would go away, she could manage to ask.  Yes, that seems best.  Wait for the stitch to go away, then ask if they can—

Suddenly, she hears Zrod let out a war-cry followed by the unmistakable sound of axe meeting goblin.  Forcing her head up, she realizes that they are in a small chamber, with passages leading out in four directions.  It looks just like the guard-post they attacked when they entered goblin territory.  _We’ve been going in a circle_, she thinks, momentarily panicked, before she realizes that this isn’t the same guard-post.  It’s a different one.  They must be at the far end of goblin territory.  Once they get past this point, they’re free.  

Energy renewed, she joins the fray.

Thatch, Anvil, and Benedic have their swords out and swing with vicious accuracy.  Eva leaps, twists, and tumbles past the goblin guards, avoiding their attacks and placing herself in front of the alarm horn, darning anyone to get by her to use it.  The chamber is too choked with bodies to give Lira a clear line of sight to any of the goblins, and so draws her dagger, ready to cut down anyone who comes near.  Assuming she can manage to stay on her feet.

Three of the goblins are dead before they realize what hit them.  The remaining two take stock of the situation and run for their lives, shrieking the alarm.  One flees down a side tunnel, the other runs ahead of the party, out of goblin territory.  Thatch starts to head down the side-tunnel, in pursuit of the fleeing goblin.

“Where are you going?” Zrod shouts. “This way is out!”

“If he gets back to sound the alarm, we’ll be up to our necks in goblins,” Thatch replies.

“No, we won’t,” Hue declares.  He turns and casts.  A small white ball appears, floating in the air in the center of the chamber.  As Hue finishes casting, the ball abruptly explodes into hundreds of sticky strands, filling the room and blocking off all four tunnels that lead to it.

Thatch considers the tangled _web_.  “Or not.”

Without wasting time on further chit-chat, the group barrels on.  They quickly pass the fleeing goblin and Zrod takes its head off without even slowing down.  And they keep running, hoping to find a safe place to rest.

_That’s funny_, Lira thinks.  _The cave is getting longer_.  That really doesn’t make any sense to her, but it’s the only explanation she can think of for why her steps don’t seem to be taking her as far as they ought to.  She’s pushing herself to the limit, but she doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere.  Everyone else is still moving normally.  Even Euro.  He’s jumped off her shoulder, and is running pretty fast now.  Towards Benedic.  And now he’s jumped on Benedic’s shoulder, and is pulling at his hair.  _Euro_, she thinks, _leave Benedic alone.  He’s trying to run and has to concentrate. It’s very hard to concentrate while running.  Very, very, very, very…_

But Euro ignores Lira, and continues tugging on Benedic’s hair until Benedic turns around and looks at Lira.  And suddenly Lira must be running very fast, because the next thing she knows, Benedic is right beside her.

“I think we’d better call a halt,” he says to the others, concern on his face.

_Okay_, Lira thinks.  Then, she collapses from exhaustion.


----------



## doghead

We were in a situation where we had to push ourselves recently. It was a quite an interesting 'encounter'. Without even a hint of a monster.

I think that the dramatic potential of physically demanding siutuations are too often overlooked.

What did you guys think about the session?


----------



## spyscribe

Hmm... Well, if I remember correctly, we always had the option of slowing down, the trade-off being that the longer we spent in goblin territory, the greater the chance that we would find ourselves up to our knees in goblins.

Thatch probably wouldn't have objected to that (Greatsword:Goblins::Weedwhacker: _______ ), but he was making his con checks.  Also, it's worth noting that he probably could have continued to do so even if he he'd had to carry Lira and all of her gear the whole way.

I do remember another situation that comes a bit later where we were not only pushing ourselves as fast as we could, but doing so in the mountains in the middle of winter.  Then, there was serious debate over whether is was better to arrive at our destination sooner, but too exhaused to fight, or later, and possibly better rested.  Fajitas is good at reminding us that just because it is easy to _say_ "We'll hustle through these caves," doesn't mean it's easy to do.  Thankfully, he doesn't make us get up and run laps around the block.

**********

Unrelated Announcement:

The story hour will be going on a brief hiatus from weekly updates for the next couple of weeks.  I'm going out of town both for a much-needed vacation and to attend Fajitas and WisdomLikeSilence's wedding.  (Yay!)  There might be an update or two from the road, but there might not be.

The good news is that once things settle down again, it looks like we're going to be in shape for a mini-update binge!


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Thankfully, he doesn't make us get up and run laps around the block.




Well, I haven't *yet*.

Mua-ha-ha-ha-ha!


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*Congratulations*

Just read about upcoming wedding of Fajitas and WisdomLikeSilence and I wanted to congratulate the both of you and wish you a long, happy and fruitful marriage.


----------



## Piratecat

Bwah ha ha! Not only do I see Fajitas and WLS at their wedding this month, I get to have Spyscribe as a NPC in my game this week!

My cup runneth over.


----------



## jonrog1

Do they have a wedding registry at RPGNow or anything?


----------



## Angcuru

Yay!  Congrats to the two of 'em, and all that.


----------



## spyscribe

Back at home at last.  It was a lovely wedding, marred only by the invasion of rival gangs disrupting the reception and culminating in a final battle in a warehouse filled with hardware and althetic equipment...  No wait, that was the Feng Shui game Pirate Cat was running in the hospitality suite.

Seriously, congratulations to the happy couple, and thank you to PC, Kid Cuthulhu and the rest of the gang for generally being great folks, and for letting me sit in with the Defenders while I was visiting Boston.

Oh, and...



			
				jonrog1 said:
			
		

> Do they have a wedding registry at RPGNow or anything?




Not that I was informed of, although they were probably one of the few couples on Amazon to register for china, cookware, and the Expanded Psionics Handbook.

Update tomorrow!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Fifty-Sixth*
_In which: The party runs aground._

“I believe she is coming around…”

_Who is?_ Lira wonders.

You are, boss.

_Oh.  Right._

Lira slowly opens her eyes.  She is in a cave, which surprises her until she remembers that she was in a cave before she passed out, so yes, this fits.  The party appears to have made camp in a small side tunnel.  There is a tiny fire, carefully shielded from view.

“How long was I out?” she asks.

“Two hours,” Reyu replies. “We have seen no signs of… pursuit since we left their territories.”

Benedic glances over at Lira.  “Well.  I see you’re up and about again.”

She smiles.  “I’m up at least.”

“Excellent,” Anvil cuts in.  “Then we should press on with all haste.  Our objective is near, and we must not dawdle.”

“Because Kettenek demands it?” Lira asks, wryly.

“Of course.  Does not Ehkt demand no less of you?”

“Somehow, I don’t think Ehkt would mind if we rested a little longer before facing this particular challenge.”

_Hmph,_ Anvil thinks.  _Some god._  But he says nothing, and the party rests for several more hours. 

Finally, they break camp.  Zrod leads them on.  After several hours, he slows his pace, periodically thumping at the ceiling with his axe.  Eva flinches at the occasional hail of dirt and stone that fall as he does so.  Eventually, he stops.  “Well, this is probably the best place to start excavating.”

“Excavating?” Eva asks.

“Yup.  I figure we’re pretty close, and we’re only twenty, maybe thirty feet down.  Dirt’s pretty soft here, so it’s the best place to start heading up.  We could keep looking around for a natural tunnel or chimney or something, but there’s no guarantee there’s any around for miles.”

“Right,” Thatch says.  “Excavating it is then.”  Dennis steps back to let Thatch forward. 

“Would you like some…aid?” Reyu asks.

“Sure.  Grab a shovel.”

“That is not… precisely what I meant,” she responds with a smile.  “Stand back.”

Everyone makes room, as Reyu casts.  The rock and dirt ceiling of the tunnel suddenly loosens, transforming into dirt and sand.  A huge quantity of material falls from the ceiling, partially filling the floor of the cavern.

“Neat!” Hue exclaims.

“There,” Reyu says.  “That should get you on your way.”

**********

Zrod oversees the excavation, making sure it is handled as safely as possible.  Nonetheless, it takes several hours of coordinated efforts before Thatch breaks through to grass and sweet, fresh air.  It is midafternoon.  The sun shines, and the air has a crisp, November chill to it.  He breathes deep.

“Hey, everyone.  Come on up!”

The members of the party all climb up, leaving the caves behind.  They are in a grassy plain, a short way from the edge of a forest.  About a quarter of a mile northwest of them is expanse of exposed bedrock, rising up above the plain.  From the midst of it, they see a small column of smoke.

“That must be it,” Lira says.  “The home of the Miyen Kai.”

Benedic and Reyu fan out, quickly scouting the nearby area.  They find elf tracks indicative of a patrol, but they are a few days old.  Nevertheless, the party stays low, hoping to avoid detection.  They go to some effort to conceal the hole.

“I’d say our best bet is to make a dash for the rocks.  Less time out in the open,” Benedic suggests.

Lira blanches at the thought of more running, but it does not seem too far.

“Out of curiosity, what exactly do we plan to do when we *reach* the Miyen Kai?” Eva asks.

“We shall present him with his invitation, and attempt to evaluate his suitability as a potential Chancellor,” Anvil responds.

“And hope he doesn’t destroy us for violating his people’s holy lands?”

“Indeed.”

“Great.”

The group runs for the rocks.  _(Editor’s Note: The party *runs* aground.  Get it?  ‘Cause they’re running.  While they’re on… ground…. Oh, I don’t know why I bother.)_

They reach the rocks without incident, taking a moment to catch their breath once they reach shelter.  Then, they make for the curl of smoke. 

It is a difficult trek.  There is no obvious path through the rocks, and neither Benedic nor Reyu can see any tracks.  The group is forced to climb, first up and then down, then up again.  Euro and the Ferret have the least difficulty of anyone, scouting ahead for paths of least resistance.

_(DM: Give me Climb checks.
Bad Monkey Jeff: Can we just take 10?
DM: Yeah, I guess so.
Spyscribe: That’s good. Considering my taking 10 is a 9.)_

Thus, it is Euro who first notices the elves. (It _is_ possible that the Ferret actually noticed them first, but chose to keep silent for reasons of his own).

Uh, boss.  Looks like we maybe got a problem here.

_What is it?_ Lira asks, and suddenly realizes that an answer is moot.

Looking down on her from above are ten elven warriors.  All with bows drawn.

_Ah,_ Lira thinks.  _Here we go again._

An unarmed, middle-aged elf steps forward.  Her braids name her as TodoTinkeni, servant of the Miyen Kai.  She cocks her head and looks at the party.  “You trespass on holy ground, strangers,” she says in Elven.  Her tone is more matter-of-fact than accusing.  “How have you come to this place?”

The party looks to Reyu.  She sighs and steps forward.  “With much difficulty, honored sister,” she says.  “We have traveled many long leagues to speak to the Miyen Kai.  Please, we ask only to meet with him, and then we shall leave your lands for all time.”

TodoTinkeni contemplates this.  “In days past,” she finally says, “you would be slain on the spot for violating our holy lands.  However, since the coming of the Miyen Kai, much has changed for our people.  This many trespassers in the heart of Miyen lands is not the strangest thing I have seen in the three seasons past.  I shall take you to the Miyen Kai.  He shall decide your fate.”

She signals to the other elves, who put up their bows.  “Follow me,” she says.

The party does.

TodoTinkeni leads them through the rocks.  The travel becomes easier, as she takes them through practiced routes.  If there is an actual path, only she can see it, but it is clear that she knows the easiest way to reach their destination.

Finally, the party crests a large ridge.  Above them, on a higher ridge, they can see a few more elves, standing like sentries.  Lira notes it odd that these sentries do not seem to be looking in the party’s direction.  In fact, of the four sentries she can see, they seem to be looking inward, not outward, but at what she can’t tell.

However, most of the party’s attention is drawn to what is below them, not above.  And that is a small, elven village built on a rocky flat.  There is a large, communal fire-pit, with several benches built around it.  To one side are a series of smaller teepees, to the other side there is one large one.  There are thirty or so elves to be seen, in addition to the ten escorting the PCs.  Most of them are female and, unlike their escorts, do not seem to be terribly well armed.  They go about typical village work.

Stairs carved in the stone lead down to the village.  TodoTinkeni leads them down.  She brings the party to the benches.  “Wait here.  And remember, you are being watched.  If you touch your weapons or attempt to cast a spell, you will be dealt with, and there will be no further warnings.”  Then she heads to the large teepee.  She speaks through the entrance flap for a moment, then enters.

The party waits.  They try not to make any threatening motions.  Really, they try not to move at all.

Finally, the entrance flap to the large teepee opens, and an elf emerges.  He is of indeterminate age, and dressed in long, fine robes.  His hair is long and midnight black, and he bears many beads, extolling his virtues and powers.  He approaches the party and sits on one of the benches near them.

“I am the Miyen Kai,” he says in perfect Common.  “I believe you wished to see me?”


----------



## aros

*noooooo*

why oh why did you have to stop there????  sooo gooood.  but really, i think its a really well written story hour so mad props to everyone involved and please keep it coming.


----------



## spyscribe

_(Well, aros, looks like you picked the right day to start reading.  )_

*Part the Fifty-Seventh*
_In which: An archmage is found._

The party looks at each other, no one quite sure where to begin.  Naturally, it is Anvil who speaks up.  “We have come from Dar Pykos, a city-state in the Darine Confederacy--"

“I am aware of Dar Pykos,” the Miyen Kai replies.  His voice is cool and melodious.  He speaks in serene tones, which would be soothing were they not quite so odd.

“Are you also aware of the Mages Academy in Dar Pykos?” Anvil asks.

“I am aware such a place exists,” says the Miyen Kai, “but I know little beyond that.”

“The Mages’ Academy is in search of a new Chancellor.  They have asked us to present invitations to the four most powerful wizards in the Halmae, to come to Dar Pykos to perhaps become the new Chancellor.”  Anvil holds forth one of their invitations.

The Miyen Kai holds out his hand for it.  But to Anvil’s surprise, before he can pass the invitation on, it rises out of his hand, and moves through the air to the Miyen Kai’s.  The Miyen Kai breaks the seal and inspects the invitation.  

Thatch’s eyebrows raise, impressed by this casual display of magic.  Lira is less easily impressed.  _A still, silent_ mage hand, she thinks.  _Show off._

The Miyen Kai opens the scroll and silently reads it.  “Interesting,” he muses.  “Very interesting.  I thank you for this.”

“Then you will come?” Anvil asks.

“That is hard to say,” the Miyen Kai responds.  “Right now, my calling must keep me here with my people.”

“Do you expect that to change?”

“It may.  It would be my hope to banish this blight from the Miyen lands, but whether or not that goal may be attained, I cannot foresee.”

“Um, yeah, about that blight…” Thatch says.  Everyone looks at him.  “Well, um, I was just wondering if we could, you know, see it?”

“That can be arranged,” the Miyen Kai says.  “But perhaps it should wait until later.  I can see from your faces that you have many questions about me.”

That is, perhaps, the greatest understatement the party has ever heard.

“Tell us of yourself,” Anvil says.  “Where you are from.  How you came here.  Where you learned this proficiency with the arcane arts.”

The Miyen Kai smiles.  “Perhaps you should tell me what you have heard, that I may know what gaps must be filled in.”

The party tells the Miyen Kai what they have heard of him, from the rumors of a powerful force among the elves heard as far away as Dar Pykos, to the specific tales of the Miyen themselves, of the prophecy and the pit of darkness that spawned the shadow creatures.

The Miyen Kai nods as he listens.  Finally, he gets a faraway look.  “It is difficult to say where I was before I was called here.  I have no… memories.  Only an awareness of places, people.  I do not know how I knew what I was, or how I knew *that* I was, or how I knew that the Miyen were in danger.  But I did know, and I came here.  As prophesied.”

No one knows what to say to that.

“So… where exactly were you before you came here?” Eva asks.

“I do not know.  But I begin to suspect that I have always been here.  At one with the Weave.”

“The Weave?” Lira asks.

“The Weave.  What you call ‘arcane’ power.  The tapestry of reality, whose threads may be moved about by those with the power.”

“Wow!” Hue says.  “I never thought of it like that.”

_Neither had I,_ Lira thinks.  She doesn’t usually bother to distinguish between abilities granted by Ehkt divinely or arcanely.  After all, if the gods did not create arcane magic, surely it would not exist?  The Miyen Kai’s phraseology makes her wonder.

“We have heard of this prophecy,” Anvil continues, clearly uninterested in what the Miyen Kai has to say about the nature of arcane magic.  “What is its exact nature?  May we see it?”

“Of course.”  The Miyen Kai turns to TodoTinkeni.  “Bring me the Speakings of the Voice.”  She hurries off and returns quickly, carrying a short stick. Lengths of knotted rope hang from the stick, like a beaded curtain.  This is the elven equivalent of a book.

The Miyen Kai presents the stick to Reyu.  She scans it quickly.  It is largely a series of aphorisms, ranging from one topic to the next.  Suddenly, however, the tone changes.  Reyu reads aloud, doing her best to translate from the elven: 

“I see a day/time shall arise/appear that is darkest to Miyen, and the health of the Miyen shall wane.  And in this day/time, a figure/entity shall arise/appear, and she/it shall bring/create salvation to Miyen.  She/it shall restore the health of Miyen, for through/from her/it shall be brought/created new hope/life.”

Anvil nods.  “Indeed.”

Thatch looks at the Miyen Kai, dubious.  “Um, aren’t there a lot of references to ‘she’ in there for a prophecy about you?  No offense,” he adds, noting everyone’s horrified glances at him.

“It is the nature of the language,” Reyu explains.  “The non-gendered pronoun is the same as the female pronoun, and the female pronoun is the general form.”

“Oh,” says Thatch, not really understanding.

“So, what are these shadow creatures, exactly?” Lira asks.  “We have faced creatures that may be similar…”  She describes their encounter at the Mages’ Academy.

The Miyen Kai shakes his head.  “I do not know if they are related creatures, but they do not sound similar.  These creatures are more like beasts.  Like wild boars. The wounds they inflict, though grievous, do heal.  And they are certainly susceptible to the Weave.  At least, they are susceptible to my power.  Perhaps, if you stay long enough, you will get a chance to see them yourself.”

“Really?” Thatch says, with perhaps a trifle too much eagerness in his voice.

“When will they next appear?” Anvil asks.

“I do not know.  It can be days, even weeks between appearances.  But I know when they are coming.  I can feel it.”

Again, no one is sure what to say.  The Miyen Kai remains, smiling serenely at them in silence.

“Well,” he says, finally, “if you have no further questions, I must return to my meditation.  Join us for dinner this evening.  Then I shall take you to see the darkness, and you may decide if you wish to wait and see these shadow creatures for yourselves.”

The party agrees.  The Miyen Kai has TodoTinkeni see to teepees for the party, that they may rest and refresh themselves.  He then excuses himself, and retires to his tent.  The party, with much to discuss, retires to theirs.


----------



## aros

*keeping current*

this is the one problem with being a current story hour reader.  the story always takes a break before i want it to.  but its still so worth it.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Fifty-Eighth*
_In which: The party discusses, dines, and sees a big, nasty pit._

“Is it just me,” Lira whispers, “or do you feel like every elf here has been staring at us?”

The party sits huddled on the benches near the firepit, speaking together in Common in low tones, hoping they will not be overheard.  Eva, Thatch, and Dennis play cards.

“Figure we’d be used to that by now,” Dennis mutters.

“That is not what I find most… disturbing,” Reyu says.

“Me neither,” Zrod cuts in.  “It’s the rumbling that bothers me.”

Everyone stares at Zrod.  “What is this rumbling of which you speak?” Anvil demands.

“You guys don’t hear it?  Kind of a low grade rumbling.  Like a cave-in, somewhere far away.  I’ve been hearing it since we got here.”

“Like thunder?” Thatch asks.

“Like what now?” Zrod responds, puzzled.

“Never mind.”

“It is not the rumbling that concerns me either,” Reyu says, though she is not sure what Zrod is talking about.  “What concerns me is the… mood.  This village is… subdued.  There is no chatter.  There is no singing.  All does not seem right here.”

The party mulls this over.  Finally, Anvil speaks.  “Right or wrong, it is no concern of ours.  Our mission was to deliver our invitation and be on our way. We should stay for dinner, see this pit, and then continue on.”

“Um, maybe we ought to stay,” Thatch says.  “We could see these shadow creatures.  See for ourselves if there is any connection between them and the creatures from the Academy.  Maybe we could help the Miyen Kai deal with this challenge.”

 “What can we do when the Miyen Kai is here?” Lira says.  If it’s a challenge he can’t meet, what can we possibly do about it?”

“You’re assuming he’s actually as powerful as we’ve heard,” Dennis mutters.

“Hey, yeah,” Thatch says.  “Shouldn’t we stay and see what he can do?  Part of our mission is to evaluate the archmagi.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Lira retorts.  “Those shadow things weren’t *hunting* you.  If there are more of them around, I don’t want to be anywhere near them.”  She shudders at the memory.

“I thought you Questors were supposed to seek out challenges.” 

“There is a fine line between challenge and suicide,” Lira snaps back.  The two stare at each other for a long, quiet moment.

Finally, Benedic speaks up.  “Look, I’m not trying to make your minds up for you.  I’m just your guide.  But I ought to point out that it may be days, or weeks before any of those beasties crops up.  Winter’s nearly here already. We wait here another week, the weather ain’t gonna get any better as we get closer to the Ketkath mountains.” 

The party mulls that over.  Finally Reyu speaks.  “Let us see this pit tonight.  Then, perhaps, we can decide what we shall do next.”

“Fine.  Whatever,” Eva says.  And, to Thatch and Dennis’s irritation, she lays down a full house.

************

Night falls.  Apart from some minor redistribution of wealth between Dennis, Thatch, and Eva, not much happens.  As the sky darkens, the party does begin to notice occasional flashes of light coming from the high ridge above the elven camp.  None of the elves seem to comment, and the party remains silent.

After dusk, the elves gather for their evening meal.  The Miyen Kai emerges from his tent to join them.  He bids the party to sit near him, and questions them about Dar Pykos and the Mages Academy.  An elven woman tends to him during the meal.  It escapes no one’s notice that this woman is many months pregnant.  And it escapes few of the party members’ notice that the other elves give her something of a wide berth.  It seems to be equal parts deference and wariness.

“Who is that woman?” Reyu quietly asks TodoTinkeni during the meal.

“That is NitaMatten,” Todo responds. 

“Why do the others treat her so?  She is with child.  Is that not a blessing from Alirria?”

“It is the heir of the Miyen Kai she bears,” is the simple response, and no amount of questioning gives a more complete answer.

After the meal, the Miyen Kai rises and addresses the party.  “Please come with me.”

He leads them up the short stair by which they came down into the camp, and then up a rocky path to the top of the high ridge.  As the reach the top, they see the ridge is circular.  Five elven warriors stand guard atop it, watching carefully towards the center.  

As they approach, Lira suddenly realizes that she hears some kind of rumbling noise.  “Zrod,” she whispers.  “Is that the rumbling you’ve been hearing?”

“Yeah.  I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to hear it.”

Lira is not entirely surprised.  It’s not so much a noise as a feeling, a subtle shaking of her insides.  It’s a low vibration, deep in the rocks around them, and it is most disquieting.

Finally, they reach the top of the ridge.  The Miyen Kai gestures before him.  “Behold,” he says.

The middle of the ridge is some kind of depression, and it is filled with roiling, bubbling clouds of smoke.  Sudden flashes of light, like lightning deep within the smoke, periodically flare up from within the depths.  It looks like pulsating shadows come to life, angry at their long sleep.

Anvil immediately begins an invocation, requesting Kettenek’s intervention to remove this pit of darkness from the Earth, should He see fit to do so.  Eva tries not to lean too far over it.

Lira’s curiosity overcomes her.  She casts _detect magic_ and looks down into the pit.

Thatch rolls his eyes. “Even _I_ can tell it’s magical.”

Lira is just about to shrug and let it go when she notices something. 

“Except it isn’t.”  She turns to the Miyen Kai.  “It’s…it’s not magical?  How can it not be magical?” she stammers.

The Miyen Kai smiles.  “Fascinating, is it not?”  Lira notices that he himself is emanating a faint aura, but, given who and what he is, she finds that hardly surprising.

“Have any ventured into this pit?” Anvil asks.

“Some have tried.  But those who touch the smoke are struck by lightning from within.  I do not advise the attempt.”

Eva takes yet another step backwards from the pit.  “Okay,” she says.  “I think I’ve seen enough.”

***********

It is later that night.  Despite (or perhaps due to) the number of elven warriors around them, the party has posted their own guards.  They now discuss what, if anything, they shall do next.  All are uneasy about what they have seen here.  Things are clearly not right, though they are not sure what exactly is wrong.  Thatch still wishes to stay to learn more.  Anvil believes they have learned enough and should press on with their mission.  Seeing the pit has not increased Lira’s desire to stay and face those creatures again.

In the end, it comes down to a vote.  The party’s decision? 

To move on.

Thatch is quite disappointed, and spends the rest of the evening not-quite-sulking.  Lira is relieved to be leaving.  Still, she can’t quite make herself forget Thatch’s stinging words.  Questors are supposed to seek out challenges, and here she is, running from one.

What does that say about her?

 If we stick around, I bet I could take those shadow thingees for you, boss.

_Yeah, Euro.  You’ve got my back._

***********

In the morning, the group informs the Miyen Kai of their decision.  He nods with acceptance.  

“If it is not too much to ask, would you be willing to arrange escort out of Miyen lands?” Anvil asks.  “Our way in was difficult and we would prefer not to have to retrace the route.”

The Miyen Kai is quite willing to do this.  He asks TodoTinkeni provide guards to escort the party to the first group of sentries they meet in the holy lands, and then to instruct those sentries to safely escort them from there.  “Perhaps, I shall see you all again in Dar Pykos, if my situation permits,” he says.  And he returns to his tent to meditate.

The party travels back through the rocks and across the grassy plains of the Miyen holy lands.  They travel for roughly half a day before they meet a group of sentries.  The guards pass on their instructions and return to the Miyen Kai.

The sentries glare darkly at the party, either outraged that strangers have set foot in the holy lands or outraged that they made it this far undetected.  But they do obey the orders passed to them from the Miyen Kai.  And they do escort the party out of Miyen lands.

From there, they return to the dwarven encampment, thanking Zrod for his aid and retrieving their horses.  Bob, to Thatch’s relief, does not seem to have had any unfortunate encounters with pack lizards, and seems as happy to see Thatch as Thatch is to see him.  The party spends the night with the dwarves, drinking and singing to the extent their Con checks will allow.

And, in the morning, they make their good-byes, and head off to the northwest, towards the Sovereignty of Kettenek and the Ketkath Mountains.

“Three to go,” Thatch murmurs.  “I wonder what the next one will be like…”


----------



## KidCthulhu

Don't worry about them.  Fajitas has told me all about the next three candidates, and they're all friendly, harmless and just itching to give away treasure to visiting adventurers.

Really.


----------



## Piratecat

It's true. She's right. And they all wear pink bunny slippers to show how innocuous they are.

Hee hee.


----------



## Angcuru

Ok, Wild Guess here.  The other three candidates have each been replaced by a head of a giant three-headed hydra whose body rests far beneath the earth?  I hear they're doing wonderful things with illusions these days.


----------



## spyscribe

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Ok, Wild Guess here.  The other three candidates have each been replaced by a head of a giant three-headed hydra whose body rests far beneath the earth?  I hear they're doing wonderful things with illusions these days.




A giant three-headed hydra with pink bunny slippers... shudder.

Of course, we never *did* figure out what the magical aura around the Miyen Kai was.

I haven't totally finked on this week's update... yet, but it might be a little while before I can finish the polish on the next installment.  It's coming though.


----------



## spyscribe

The Ketkath Mountains are said to be filled with all manner of strange creatures unknown in more civilized lands.  Some of them seem to be creatures of legend and fairy tale.  Some are so bizarre as to defy description. The vast majority are very dangerous.  Travelling along paths and roads through the Ketkath is risky enough.  Blazing a trail on your own can be downright suicidal. 

The party however, making their way north-west towards the Halmae, is only skirting the foothills.

*Part the Fifty-Ninth:*
_An interlude, in which: Fajitas gets what’s coming to him._

The party is a few days out of Miyen lands, and the terrain has begun to grow rougher and steeper.  One crisp, cool morning, as the party breaks camp, Reyu notices Hue and Benedic standing by the banks of a nearby creek, engaged in a rather heated discussion: 

“But don’t you think that’s what it looks like?”  Hue asks.

Benedic lets out an exasperated sigh.  “Like I said, it’s not impossible.  But I’ve never heard of them, or seen them, and you’re not going to find *anyone* whose spent more time in the Ketkath than I have.”

“But we’re not in the Ketkath,” Hue points out.  “Have you ever been here before?”

Reyu approaches.

“What… have you found?” she asks.

“Giant squirrels!” Hue cheerfully informs her.

Benedic steps in with more information.  “Tracks.  He found some strange tracks that *he* thinks belong to a giant squirrel.”

Reyu bends down to examine the tracks for herself.  They *do* look like squirrel tracks, only… much bigger.

She straightens, puzzled, and turns from Benedic to Hue, and back again.  “I understand your confusion… but I do not see what else they could be.”

By this point, the rest of the party has gathered to find out what is going on.  And Hue, having been given a shred of support for his stance, is determined to study this new, possibly heretofore undiscovered, species.

Benedic, for his part, is merely frustrated.  “Look, you hired me to be your guide, and as your guide, I’m telling you that the Ketkath is full of half-a-dozen things that could have left tracks like that, and giants squirrels are *by far* the friendliest option.”  He looks down at Hue.  “I know you've got this... thing... about squirrels, but listen: these mountains grow *predators*.  Things like dire wolverines, blink dogs, owl bears… not ‘giant squirrels.’  I mean, what would a giant squirrel eat?  A million acorns a day?  *One* would wipe out an entire mountain and still starve over the winter.”

“See,” says Hue—clearly not bothered by Benedic’s logic, “that’s the kind of thing I would be researching... You guys go on.  I’ll catch up.”

The rest of the party exchanges dubious glances.

_(Meta note:  for more than a month now, Hue had been played as an NPC, as his player had essentially dropped off the face of the earth.  Having decided to go ahead and write Hue out of the story, Fajitas probably figured that we would just take him at his word and let it go at that.  The incidents which follow are what he gets for grousing about our meta-gaming last time Hue took a leave of absence, when he did have a cute little mystery for us to discover, which we stubbornly refused to pursue.)_

Thatch leans down to Dennis and whispers, “I’m not sure we should leave him here in the middle of the woods, chasing ‘giant squirrels’.”

“We are not in a hurry,” Reyu points out.  “We could investigate these tracks… for a little while at least.”

Benedic throws up his hands.  “Fine.”

###

The tracks lead into the woods, and soon vanish, but Reyu notices tree branches with broken twigs, possibly signs that an animal has passed this way. 

Thatch quickly shimmies up the trunk.  But, as skilled as he is at climbing, 200-plus pounds of fighter are bound to shake the tree a bit and he barely ducks out of the way in time when a large object comes clattering down the tree, falling by just inches from his head.

“Umm… was that really a—?”

“Giant acorn,” Lira confirms.

Hue’s eyes are practically glowing with excitement.  He tugs on Benedic’s sleeve, pointing to the acorn.  “See, I bet the giant squirrels eat those!”  

On Hue's shoulder, the Ferret is clearly thinking overtime.

Thatch looks down at Benedic, Lira, and Reyu, all standing in a circle around the large seed, staring up at him.

“Umm...  Could someone toss me my helmet?”

Before anyone can move, a large blur of brownish-red fur goes zooming by the branch where Thatch is crouched.  Without taking time to think about what he is doing, he reaches out a hand and _grabs_, managing to wrap his fingers in the end of a large, bushy tail.

He is holding what can only be described as a giant squirrel.  

On the ground, Hue turns to Benedic, “I told you so.”

“I uh… guess you did.”

“Lira,” Reyu whispers, “slowly, give me the acorn.”

Silently, Lira does.  And Reyu, armed with a bit of food she is pretty sure that the squirrel will like, begins to cast _animal friendship_.

_(Fajitas slowly bangs his head against the table.)_

###

The party stays in the area for a few more hours.  Reyu introduces Hue to the squirrel and attempts to convince the squirrel that Hue is no one to be afraid of.

Euro is not convinced that the same could be said of Hue’s familiar.  I don’t trust that ferret, Boss.  He’s up to something.

_Up to what?_ Lira thinks back, _I don’t disagree, but do you really think that someday we’ll be back in Dar Pykos and suddenly a herd of giant squirrels led by the Ferret will come cresting over the horizon?_

Boss… I wouldn’t think that too loudly if I were you, you know?

Despite some token protests from the party, Hue is determined to stay and study the giant squirrels.  “I’ll just stay here for a few weeks, and then I’ll catch up with you!” he assures them.  

And so, the rest of the party (skeptically) moves on.

**********

Travel progresses apace.  The weather has turned decidedly cold, but the days are sunny and the skies are clear.  And then, one afternoon, just as they come around the bend of a small river, the party members get their first look at the Ketkath Mountains.  

Craggy peaks form a long grey wall of forbidding granite, their sharp fingers reaching to the clouds.  

A short time later, Benedic informs the party members that they have reached the southern border of the Kettenek Sovereignty.

_to be continued..._


----------



## Harp

Great story, engaging and fun writing style, and regular updates.  Hands down my favorite story hour.


----------



## doghead

What exactly has Hue's ferret been doing to raise people's suspicions?


----------



## Fajitas

doghead said:
			
		

> What exactly has Hue's ferret been doing to raise people's suspicions?




Well, it's not exactly anything it's *done*, it's more just the way it is.  It's the demanding looks it often throws at Hue.  It's the way it occasionally rubs its little ferret paws together, for no apparent reason. It's the creepy way it looks at you, like it's plotting your demise.  Just ferret nature?  Maybe.  But it is far more eerily focused than any ferret ought to be.

And it's probably also the way that, when it mentally speaks to Hue, it says things like Excellent, Hue.  You may yet prove to be of value to me or Yes, yes! Soon, all my plans will come to fruition!

Yes, that might have something to do with it.  

(What it really boils down to is that I really enjoyed voicing the Ferret, who clearly thought he was the dominent partner in his master/familiar relationship.  Thus I would frequently give voice to his thoughts, 'cause it amused me.  However, since 1) Hue's player had pretty much left us by the time the Ferret developed it's personality, and 2) master/familiar communications are private, none of the PCs have ever actually overheard or been told what the Ferret was saying. Thus there is no actual, meaningful in-game evidence of the Ferret's perfidy.  It is only suspected.)

(So far, at least )

Had a heckuva game last night.  One of these days we'll tell y'all about it...


----------



## Angcuru

The ferret rules!    

I think that is a really neat idea.  Once they return to Dar Pykos, they should hear a trumpet, turn around to see a horde of giant squirrels with the Ferret riding Hue, and then a battle (albiet a hilarious one) ensues.


----------



## weiknarf

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Well, it's not exactly anything it's *done*, it's more just the way it is.  It's the demanding looks it often throws at Hue.  It's the way it occasionally rubs its little ferret paws together, for no apparent reason. It's the creepy way it looks at you, like it's plotting your demise.  Just ferret nature?  Maybe.  But it is far more eerily focused than any ferret ought to be.
> 
> And it's probably also the way that, when it mentally speaks to Hue, it says things like Excellent, Hue.  You may yet prove to be of value to me or Yes, yes! Soon, all my plans will come to fruition!




Ah, like Stewie.  With more hair.  And a smaller head.


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> What it really boils down to is that I really enjoyed voicing the Ferret, who clearly thought he was the dominent partner in his master/familiar relationship.  Thus I would frequently give voice to his thoughts, 'cause it amused me.




One of the great joys of having the familiars around is pretending *not* to have heard what they just said.

It didn't make it into the write-up , but I remember once, right just before the party reached Noran when Euro had heard something in the woods, and Reyu didn't believe him.  Well, since there *were* a bunch of people in the woods, and Reyu is a stand-up sort of elf, she later apologized to Euro for doubting him.  At this point, Fajitas goes off for about two minutes in the vein of "Yeah Boss, she's sorry now.  Maybe next time you listen to me, hey?..."  As we are all dying of laughter at the size of this weasel's ego.  

And then, WisdomLikeSilence pulls herself together, puts on her most placid "Reyu" expression, looks at me, and asks, "What did he say?"

And I nod and reply, "He ah... accepts your apology."

At some point we actually calmed down enough to finish the scene.

It's worth noting that, for whatever reason (possibly his super mustelid sense), Euro has *never* trusted the Ferret.

And thanks Harp.  That's a comment to warm any storyhour author's heart.  (And Lira's could use a little warming these days.)


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

All the various small furry critters(or not so small furry critters) reduce me to helpless laughter, just so you know.


----------



## jonrog1

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Well, it's not exactly anything it's *done*, it's more just the way it is.  It's the demanding looks it often throws at Hue.  It's the way it occasionally rubs its little ferret paws together, for no apparent reason. It's the creepy way it looks at you, like it's plotting your demise.  Just ferret nature?  Maybe.  But it is far more eerily focused than any ferret ought to be.
> 
> And it's probably also the way that, when it mentally speaks to Hue, it says things like Excellent, Hue.  You may yet prove to be of value to me or Yes, yes! Soon, all my plans will come to fruition!
> 
> Yes, that might have something to do with it.




Oh, no, not Stewie.  It was a ferret INVADER ZIM.  And, by the way, Zim is now out on DVD.  You must all go buy it. * OBEY THE FIST!*


----------



## Melvar Kae'thal

Been reasing ur stuff since last week.. kool, wonderful! kept me nicely occupied. Funny you had to tail off when the story was getting High Adventured... hope to read from y'all sooon. You make a great team, spyscribe... fujista... WLS... keep havin' fun!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Sixtieth*
_In which: the adventurers get a taste of the wonders, and dangers, to come._

Thatch and Dennis are on third watch, just after midnight

>click.  click-click<

“You hear that?”

>c-click<

Thatch nods.  He raises a torch in the direction of the sound, revealing three large, bluish lizards, clustered around the base of a tree where the party has strung up their food for the night.  As he watches, blue sparks shoot between two of the lizards, crackling, and leaving glowing streaks across Thatch’s night-vision.

“What are they?” he asks.

“I don’t know.  Keep an eye on them, I’ll wake the others.”

Once awake, Benedic quickly identifies the creatures: “Shocker lizards.  They’ll give you a right jolt if you get close enough.”

“How close is that?” Eva asks.

“I’ve never really wanted to find out.”

“Perhaps we can… convince them to leave.” Reyu suggests.

“You want to talk to them?” Dennis is incredulous.

“I am sure it would be fascinating, but in this case it might be more prudent to simply scare them off,” she replies.

“How?”

“We could throw rocks at them,” Thatch suggests.  “Works for squirrels.”

“_You_ can throw rocks at them.”

Benedic hefts a hand-sized stone.  “Not _at_ them.  Into the tree.  That’ll probably spook ‘em without making them mad enough to attack.”

“Probably?”

“This is the Ketkath.  ‘Probably’ is as good as you’re going to get.”  He hands stones to Thatch and Dennis.  Reyu picks up one as well.  “Okay everyone, aim high.  On three.  One…  Two…  Three!”

Stones clatter off the naked branches of the tree or thud harmlessly into the snow, but the party manages to avoid actually hitting any of the lizards.  They stand for a moment on hind legs, alert and scanning, but another volley sends them skittering away from the camp.

“Well everyone, welcome to the Ketkath.”

###

Although these lands may be claimed by the Sovereignty, there is—initially—little evidence of human habitation.  By Anvil’s calculations, it is less than a week until Kettenek Rising: the official beginning of Winter and the second-holiest day of the Kettenite calendar.  He is a little sorry that he will not be able to observe the holy day with his brothers in Dar Pykos.  However, he is aware that the Sovereignty is not called the Sovereignty of _Kettenek_ for no reason.

One night, as the party finishes dinner around their campfire he asks Benedic what he knows of the Sovereigns.

Benedic scratches his beard thoughtfully and stretches his feet out towards the fire.  “Well, I have to admit, generally when I’m in Sovereign lands, I try to have as little to do with the Sovereigns as possible.”

“Why is that?” Anvil demands.

“You’ve all seen their missionaries, right?”

Heads nod all around, except for Reyu.

“Ever try to talk to one of them?”

Thatch ducks his head.  “Umm… I did once.  He cornered me in the market in Dar Pykos.  He was… kind of a fanatic.”

Reyu frowns.  “I do not understand.”

Benedic shifts slightly to find a more comfortable position on the hard ground.  “Well, here’s what I _can_ tell you…”



> Sidebar: The Sovereignty of Kettenek
> 
> Of the major nation states of the Halmae, perhaps the strangest is the Sovereignty of Kettenek.  The Sovereignty is a theocracy.  Most of their lands, or at least most of their known lands, lie in the Ketkath Mountains, the great, jagged range to the west of the Halmae.  Sovereign missionaries claim that their domain extends far to the west, deep into the mountains, where their capital, the Most Exalted City at the Heart of the Lord’s Holy Sovereignty (or Lord’s Exalted Heart, for short), can be found.
> 
> What really makes the Sovereigns stand out among all other nations in the Halmae are their bizarre religious beliefs.  Sovereign Orthodoxy holds Kettenek above all other gods, viewing him as the stern and unmovable God of Law and Justice.  In fact, they believe that the other gods are merely offshoots of Kettenek, aspects of his divine might that splintered off when the world was made.  When all peoples are joined in the worship of Kettenek, they believe, the splinter “godlings” will rejoin with him, and the world will be a utopia.
> 
> Needless to say, this view is not generally well received outside the Sovereignty, or by most of the party members.
> 
> Sovereign missionaries can be found throughout the Halmae, attempting to carry their message to the “unbelievers” and “heretics” who worship the other gods.  The Sovereignty prefers voluntary conversion to military conquest, but they are well aware that sometimes the latter must precede the former.  This outlook has led to more than a few tensions where Sovereign lands border the Empire of Ebis to the north.  In the grasslands to the south, the Sovereigns have been expanding without incident, as there are few neighbors there to oppose them.  However, it cannot please Sovereign leaders that the farther one gets from the interior, the more tolerant Sovereigns tend to be of the practices of the neighbors.
> 
> As the party will learn in their travels, Sovereign culture is Oriental in nature, a rigid code of honor and duty being holy in the eyes of Kettenek.  They do not practice slavery per se, but rather serfdom.  People’s names are Japanese in origin, with the family name first and the given name second.  Place names tend to be descriptive.  Outsiders call them the Ketkath Mountains.  Sovereigns call them the Mountains of the Illustrious Lord’s Teeth.




A sober silence greets Benedic’s conclusion, punctuated only by the crackling fire as Thatch banks it with a couple of large logs to keep the embers going through the night.

Reyu shakes her head, but says nothing.  She does not understand how people can hold beliefs that are so obviously untrue.

Finally, Lira breaks the silence.  “Great,” she says, taking the holy symbol of Ehkt she wears around her neck and dropping it down her blouse.  “People with two reasons to burn me at the stake.”


----------



## doghead

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Part the Sixtieth*
> _In which: the adventurers get a taste of the wonders, and dangers, to come._
> 
> <snip>
> 
> Reyu shakes her head, but says nothing.  She does not understand how people can hold beliefs that are so obviously untrue.
> 
> <snip>




How indeed.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Sixty-First*
_In which: the party enjoys the hospitality of the Sovereignty, and seeks to recompense their hosts._

After a few more days of riding, the party comes across signs of human habitation.  First Eva spots a hill, terraced into farmland.  Then, the party notices human peasants, working the fields.  They’re oddly dressed to the eyes of the travelers, wearing wide-brimmed hats in the shape of a shallow cone.  As they approach, they can also see that these workers are also obviously very poor.

Anvil rides at the head of the party, and he signals to one of the peasants.  Tentatively, the man approaches, bowing deeply.

“What is your name?”  Anvil demands.

“I am Kooni, Honored Justicar,” he says, almost too softly to hear, and further muffled by another deep bow.

“Whose lands are these?  And speak up this time.”  Anvil is completely unruffled by the man’s excessive deference.

Kooni visibly flinches, and steals a glance up towards Anvil’s face before bowing again even more deeply and replying, with a bit more volume, “My master is His Honored Lord Agasha Yosomotu, long may Kettenek preserve him in good health, and yourself and your honored companions as well, Honored Justicar.”

Anvil nods.  “And you as well.  Tell me, where can find Lord Yosomotu?”

Kooni looks up again and blinks rapidly in confusion before bowing this time.  “Lord _Agasha’s_ manor is to the north.  If you continue on this road you cannot miss it, Honored Justicar.”

“Thank you, you may return to your duties.”

The man bows and makes his thanks before practically sprinting back to his place in the fields.  The party watches him go.

“That human was terrified,” Reyu observes.

Thatch looks over at her.  “Even _I_ could tell that.”

“I wonder what kind of man this Lord Agasha is?”  Eva asks.

“Well,” says Anvil, “there is only one way to find out.”  He turns his horse back to the road, and begins walking north again.  A somewhat subdued party follows him.

###

A few hours later, the party is met on the road by two mounted men riding south.  They wear leather armor with a symbol of Kettenek as a crest.  Both are armed with exotic-looking swords and small shields.  They announce that they have been sent to escort the party to the household of Lord Agasha Yosomotu.

“Excellent,” Anvil replies.

Eva, Dennis, and Lira exchange more wary glances, but have little choice but to follow the guards.

Lord Agasha’s manor is a low, timber-frame building built on stone foundations.  It is surrounded by rock gardens with sparsely planted ornamental trees laid out with an aesthetic very different than what one would find in the Confederacy.

The party dismounts in a courtyard, where they are met by Lord Agasha Yosomotu.  Lord Agasha is remarkably spry for a man of his apparent age, but when he steps forward, the party can see that the years have conspired to slow him somewhat.  His son, Agasha Hiru, probably in his forties himself, stands behind him, hovering at his father’s elbow.

“Greetings,” Lord Agasha nods to the party, “you are far from your home.  May I ask what brings you to my lands?”

The party, per previous agreement, lets Anvil take point.  He explains their mission to seek out the archmage of the Kuio Valley, and asks if Lord Agasha has any information on where they could find such a place.

“Ah, I regret that I cannot help you, but I would be honored if you would accept my hospitality for the evening.”

Anvil takes a quick glance over his shoulder to the rest of the group.  The prospect of sleeping in a bed for the first time since they left Noran is evidently a popular one.  He turns back to Lord Agasha.  “The honor would be ours.”

Before they enter the house, Lord Agasha and his son stop to remove their shoes.  The party does as well, although they find traveling boots take a little more effort to shed than the sandals worn by the locals.  Anvil takes the opportunity of waiting for Thatch to unlace his boots to asks Lord Hiru if the household has a shrine to Kettenek, that he might make his prayers there that night.

“Of course, Justicar,” he replies.  “The rest of your companions are certainly welcome to make use of it as well.”

Anvil nods.  “I will tell them.  Although, they usually make their own observances in their own ways.”

Hiru blinks for a moment, and casts a careful eye over the rest of the party.  However, all he says is, “I see.  Dinner is at seven.  There will be a gong announcing it is time to gather at the table.  Please be punctual.”

###

Dinner, when it comes, is a pleasant affair, although the party finds the food unfamiliar and has a little bit of difficulty learning to use chopsticks.  Anvil eventually gives up entirely and eats with his fingers.

It seems that Lord Agasha was, in his day, quite the hunter, and the house is filled with mounted trophies of his various kills.  Thatch is entranced.

“A few days ago, we saw these lizards,” he explains, “they were blue with these sparks that came off their heads…”

“Ah yes, shocker lizards… very dangerous prey.”  Lord Agasha points to a corner where a stuffed shocker lizard crouches, as though ready to pounce.  “You are lucky you were not harmed.  If you could stay longer, I would take you to hunt them.”

Reyu, trying not to look at all the dead animals stuck to the walls, notices that Hiru shifts a bit when his father mentions going hunting.  Thatch however, continues the conversation, oblivious.  “Have you ever seen a giant squirrel?…”

###

The party is quartered that night in their own wing of the house.  It is actually one great room, subdivided with sliding paper screens into two chambers with a hallway between.  By the exterior door, there’s a communal washstand; the only other furnishings are the futons laid out for the party to sleep on.

Eva puts down her shoes by her bed, and surveys the chamber she shares with Lira and Reyu.  Lira is already out for the night, Euro curled beside her on the pillow.  Reyu is outside watching the stars. 

Eva tests the bed.  It’s hard.  But compared to sleeping on the ground, it’s heavenly.  Soon, she too is asleep and dreaming…

…dreaming that she’s home, in Dar Darine, walking along the city boulevards by the Senator’s Park, but Reyu is there, and suddenly, the ground begins to shake, and…

No, it’s not the ground that’s shaking, it’s her.  It’s just before dawn, and in the grey light filtering through the walls she can see Reyu leaning over her, shaking her by the shoulder.  Eva blinks groggily.

“What is it?”

“Lord Hiru wishes to speak to us.”

“Are we in trouble?”  Eva asks, but Reyu is already gone.

She splashes a little cold water on her face as she emerges to join the others.  Lord Hiru is there, and looks to be in a bit of a state.

“…Apparently, this bear has been killing Lord Fau Meen’s peasants for weeks, but he will do nothing.  Finally, one of them came here, seeking aid, and now my father is determined to hunt the animal down himself.”

“Is he not a mighty hunter?” Anvil asks.

Hiru sighs.  “My father _was_ the greatest hunter of his generation, even before the rest of his generation admitted they were old men and left the hunting to their children.  He will not admit weakness, but if he goes after this bear alone, it will surely kill him.”

“What do you wish of us?” Reyu wants to know.

“Ask him for the honor of accompanying him.  Do not tell him it was my idea, and do not let him deny you.”  Hiru sighs, but his eyes shine with something akin to desperation.  “He will not be pleased if he senses you are an escort, but… an entourage might be acceptable.”

The party exchanges glances.

“I know you are already on a mission, but I will compensate you for your trouble.  And,” he adds, “you will have my gratitude.”

Thatch looks at Hiru seriously.  “I would be honored to hunt with such a warrior.”  Dennis shoots him a look.  “What?  I really would.”

Dennis just shakes his head.  “You’ve been hanging around the Justicars too long, kid.”

“You—You will go then?” Hiru asks.

Anvil nods.  “We shall.”

Hiru bows.  “Thank you.  Quickly, you must gather your things and be ready to go before he departs.  Mount your horses and we will meet you in the courtyard.”  Then, as he goes he adds, “Do not let him think you are watching over him!”

Minutes later the party is mounted and waiting in the courtyard as Lord Agasha is coming out to mount his own horse.  Seeing the party, he stops cold.

“What are you all doing here?” he demands.  He turns back to his son, “Hiru, what is the meaning of this?”

“They wish to accompany you on the hunt, Father.” Hiru bows.

Thatch quickly adds, “A mighty hunter such as yourself, I’m sure we could all learn much from your example.”  Behind him, Benedic and Reyu nod.

Lord Agasha does not seem flattered.  “Could you now?”  He surveys the group, eyes settling on Lira.  “You don’t look like much of a hunter.”

She ducks her head.  “Appearances can be deceiving.” 

“They did ward off three shocker lizards,” Hiru reminds his father.

“Dealing with this bear is going to require more than throwing a few rocks,” Agasha replies acidly.

“We are certainly capable of more, if it is required.” Anvil states.

Agasha sighs darkly.  “Oh, it will.  Do not be mistaken.”  He swings up to his horse and turns to face the party once more.  “I ride hard.  If you cannot keep up, I will not slow for you.”

And with that, he kicks off to a gallop.  The party follows close behind.


----------



## Angcuru

I really really hate to be a critic of this story hour but...isn't janking and entire(mostly) culture a little...lazy?


----------



## doghead

I really really should just ignore this and move on, but don't you think that calling someone lazy is a little ... rude?


----------



## Capellan

Angcuru said:
			
		

> I really really hate to be a critic of this story hour but...isn't janking and entire(mostly) culture a little...lazy?





Nope.  It's smart DMing.  Saying "It's Oriental in nature." gives your PCs an instant handle on the kind of culture they are going to meet, without bombarding them with lots of specific detail they will need to be reminded of several times during the game.

Besides, "It's Oriental in nature" doesn't need to mean a _specific_ culture has been lifted in its entirety.  I think that any Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Thai or Vietnamese readers would probably bridle at the idea that their cultures were all interchangeable!


----------



## Carpe DM

In order to avoid all cultural reference, one would have to play a different game.  Presumably in a made-up language.

Cultural reference is useful shorthand; this adaptation is, as always, very well done, Fajitas.

best,

Carpe


----------



## Len

Angcuru said:
			
		

> I really really hate to be a critic of this story hour but...isn't janking and entire(mostly) culture a little...lazy?



Were Gygax and Arneson lazy when they did it?

I liked this bit:


			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> Anvil nods. “And you as well. Tell me, where can find Lord Yosomotu?”
> 
> Kooni looks up again and blinks rapidly in confusion before bowing this time. “Lord _Agasha’s_ manor is to the north.



Monsters are too easy. Give the PCs an unfamiliar culture to deal with too.


----------



## Fajitas

Carpe DM said:
			
		

> Cultural reference is useful shorthand; this adaptation is, as always, very well done, Fajitas.




Thanks for the kind words, Carpe.  And my I just say that your handle keeps getting funnier every time I think about it.

The Sovereignty was, more than anything, inspired by the 3E Oriental Adventures Handbook, which I had recently picked up.  I found that book incredibly inspiring; so much so, that had it been out when I first started the game, it probably would have been an Oriental Adventures campaign.

And, for anyone keeping score, we're about to segue into the first pre-published module I ran for the group: an adapted version of Dungeon 92's "The Last Hunt".

Now *that's* lazy.


----------



## Dust

Fajitas said:
			
		

> And, for anyone keeping score, we're about to segue into the first pre-published module I ran for the group: an adapted version of Dungeon 92's "The Last Hunt".
> 
> Now *that's* lazy.




I just figured you'd been reading a lot of Faulkner at the time.


----------



## spyscribe

Len said:
			
		

> Monsters are too easy. Give the PCs an unfamiliar culture to deal with too.



I must admit, worries about being burned at the stake aside, traveling through the Sovereignty was pretty cool.  Anvil natrually refused to be intimidated by the customs of a strange land, even  in the face of unheard-of obsequiousness.  

And now, in honor of the Red Sox, another update.

*Part the Sixty-Second*
_In which: Dennis says, “Oh yeah, why don’t *you* stay here to guard the horses _by yourself_ when there’s a GIANT MAN-EATING BEAR ON THE LOOSE!”_

The party is stopped at the edge of a small game trail, where Lord Agasha indicates that the bear has moved off into the woods.  Euro sniffs around the bear tracks, which are now accompanied (or followed by, or following, none of the trackers in the group can be sure) several sets of small, bipedal footprints.

The tracks have led them progressively deeper into the forest, through rougher and rougher terrain, to the point that the party briefly considers leaving their horses behind with Dennis and proceeding on foot.

Dennis has a few objections to that particular plan.  Which, when he points them out, are fairly persuasive.

“Okay,” Thatch says sheepishly.  “Dumb idea.  Forget it.”

From his horse, Lord Agasha does not bother to conceal his impatience as the party remounts and prepares to continue.  Euro looks up from his sniffing.

Hey Boss, those other tracks, they kind of smell like goblins.

_What do you mean, “kind of?”_

Well, the little tracks, they *do* smell like goblins, but then there’s something else, that smells like a goblin, but not, you know?

_Actually, I have no idea, but I’ll take your word for it…  And I’ll tell Reyu._

“Is your _weasel_ ready to continue?” Lord Agasha asks, with more than a touch of sarcasm.

Lira ignores his tone.  “Yes, thank you.”

That guy says “weasel” like it’s an insult.  What’s with that?

Mentally, Lira shrugs.

###

Lord Agasha rides at the front of the column.  Anvil and Thatch are near behind, followed by Reyu and Dennis with Eva, Lira and Benedic bringing up the rear.

The group travels for some time without incident and has just come to a fork in the road, when Lord Agasha’s horse suddenly whinnies and—with great bucking and scrambling—falls into a hidden pit lying across the path.

Almost immediately following, there is an inhuman scream of “Flesh!” from somewhere in the woods. 

The party members—having gained some experience with sudden ambushes—immediately readies for combat.  Without need for coordination, hands go to swords, arrows are drawn, and sharp eyes scan the woods for any sign of their attackers.

The horses however—with the lone exception of Thatch’s faithful steed, Bob—go into a blind panic.

As she scrambles off her horse, Reyu spots something in the woods.  A barely bipedal creature, hopping about madly and shrieking. It has pale skin, short stubby legs and long, spindly arms.  It has many, multifaceted eyes, and slavering mandibles clacking in anticipation. 

“Ettercaps!” Benedic shouts, as he draws back an arrow and takes aim.

Reyu’s about to let loose with an arrow of her own when suddenly a giant spider the size of a large goat descends from a tree not five feet away and *bites* her on the leg.  Reyu yells in pain and her shot goes far wide, lost among the trees.  Then, before she can get a bead on the spider, it leaps back up into the branches overhead.

It soon becomes apparent that there are two giant spiders near the pit trap where Lord Agasha fell at the front of the column, and several ettercaps on either side of the path behind.  

	Anvil charges into the woods, closing to melee range with one of the creatures.  He is only a few feet away when its mandibles suddenly open and a stream of fluid squirts out towards him.  The liquid hardens into sticky filaments, binding his arms to his sides.  Anvil struggles, but to no avail.

	The creature hisses and clicks, shrieking in delight as it anchors one end of the web against a tree.  It jumps up and down on its short legs, and skitters off towards the path and the rest of the party.

Eva sees and shouts to direct the others’ attention.  “There!  Hit *that* one!” Eva lets an arrow fly to indicate which one she means.

Lira shakes her head.  “I can’t *see* it.  I can’t hit it if I can’t see it… Ehkt’s balls,” she adds, with vehemence.

Benedic curses as his next shot misses.  “I *can* see it, and I can’t bloody hit it.”

“That’s what you get for using arrows.”  As the words come out of her mouth, Lira gets her line of sight and lets fly with a pair of _magic missiles_, both swerving dizzily through the trees to hit their target.

Benedic and Eva exchange a look.  “Hells,” the ranger mutters, grabs his sword and goes running off into the woods after the ettercaps.

Eva sees another one of the ettercaps attempting to make a break for it.  She pursues, drawing her rapier as she goes.

At the front of the column, Thatch is hacking at one of two giant spiders every time it drops out of its tree and into range.  He’s cut off two legs so far, but is unable to land a killing blow.  Reyu has helped Lord Agasha out of the pit trap, and he too has joined the fray.

Thatch times the spider’s drop… and *there*. His sword slides into the spider’s abdomen, up to the hilt.  The giant hairy legs twitch for a few seconds, then go still.

Meanwhile, back in the woods, Benedic comes skidding to a sudden stop.  “Eva, watch out!” he yells.  

A few yards to his right, Eva freezes.  “What?”

“Look at the air two two inches in front of you.”

She does, and to her surprise and horror, Eva finds herself inches from a giant spider web, stretched taught between the trees.  She pokes at it experimentally, and nearly gets her rapier stuck in the heavy, sticky strands.  

“I suggest we go around,” says Benedic.

Eva wrinkles her nose.  “How was it even a question?”

More cautiously, the two continue through the woods.  They pass the fallen body of one ettercap, and finish off another one they had wounded from the road.  The last however, has too much of a head-start on them, and they are reluctantly forced to give up the chase.

On the way back to the party, they find Anvil, still bound and stuck to a tree.  He has managed to get one arm free, and is struggling mightily to extricate himself the rest of the way.

“Need a hand?” Eva asks him.

“Those creatures are an affront to Kettenek’s Justice.  Free me immediately so that I may smite them.”

Eva rolls her eyes.  “Whatever.”  But she does cut him free.

Back at the road, they find the rest of the party gathered around the pit where Lord Agasha’s horse has fallen.  Although the animal appears uninjured, no one is sure how they are going to get it out of the hole.

Lord Agasha flatly refuses to leave the animal behind.  “It is a fine creature; I have hunted with it for many years.”

“Can it swim?” Thatch asks.

Everyone turns to stare at Thatch.

“Yes,” Lord Agasha replies.  “Why on earth do you ask?”

Thatch reaches down and unhooks the pitcher that hangs on one side of Bob’s saddle.  “Because we can float him out.”

A demonstration of the _decanter of endless water_ alleviates Lord Agasha’s confusion, and the horse is floated out of the trap in short order.

Understandably, even though it is starting to grow dark, the party decides to press on a bit farther before making camp for the night.  However, before they move on, Reyu notices something odd in the failing light.

“Look at the bear tracks.”  She points to the trail right before the pit trap which claimed Lord Agasha and his horse.  “The tracks deliberately… turn to skirt the pit.  The goblin tracks do likewise.”

Anvil shrugs.  “Obviously, the goblins spotted the trap, or knew of its existence, and avoided it.”

“Yes,” Reyu agrees, “but how did the *bear* know it was there?  It didn’t test the edge, or explore to see how wide it was, it just _walked right around it_, like it was a tree.”

Lord Agasha frowns.  “What are you suggesting?”

“I suggest that this bear is traveling _with_ the other creatures… that perhaps it has joined them in attacking Lord Fau Meen’s peasants.  Perhaps when we find it, we will be able to reason with it.”

Thatch taps Reyu on the shoulder.  “Um… it’s a *bear*.”

“Exactly.  It is not the practice of bears to randomly attack other creatures, especially humans.”

“Are you forgetting how we met?  That bear didn’t seem to have a problem attacking humans.”

“That bear was injured and enraged,” Reyu points out.  “If that were the case here, it certainly would not have been able to detect and avoid the pit.  And we would have seen blood on the trail.”

And with that not-entirely-comforting theory and its implications to puzzle over, the party presses on into the twilight.


----------



## Angcuru

Oooohhhh...... bear-controlling goblin action ahead, I see.    

Very nicely done.


----------



## KidCthulhu

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “Those creatures are an affront to Kettenek’s Justice.  Free me immediately so that I may smite them.”
> 
> Eva rolls her eyes.  “Whatever.”




Have I mentioned lately how much I love this group and this story hour?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Sixty-Third*
_In which: Reyu does good work, but Lira is on _fire_!_

The party finds a suitable clearing about an hour before sunset.  As they set about pitching tents, picketing the horses and the other business of making camp, Reyu and Thatch both notice Lord Agasha walking off on his own into the woods.

Thatch calls after him, “Lord Agasha, would you like me to come with you?”

Agasha’s face darkens.  “I’m getting firewood.  I’m sure you can do that without following my _exalted_ example.”  Even Thatch does not mistake the sarcasm is his tone.

Reyu says nothing, but she discretely follows Agasha into the woods.  She quickly notices that he shows no interest in gathering any of the plentiful dried wood in the forest, and is instead deliberately making his way away from the camp site.  Finally she calls out to him.

“Lord Agasha, you aren’t finding much firewood.”

Agasha turns to face the elf.  “Checking up on me?”

Reyu considers several responses, and finally settles on the simplest.  “Yes.”

“Well, you’re honest.  Did my son put you up to it?”

“He… informed us of the situation with the bear.  But we are honored to accompany you.”

Agasha snorts skeptically.  “Flattery doesn’t suit you.”

“That is why I do not engage in it.”

The two stare at each other for a moment.  Finally, Lord Agasha breaks the stalemate.  “You understand nothing.”

“Why don’t you attempt to… explain it to me?”

He squints at her.  “How old are you?”

“One-hundred nine.”

“You elves… you don’t understand anything.  You don’t have your families—your children—putting you out to pasture, telling you you’re useless.”

“I hardly think your son considers you useless.”

“No, merely in the way.”

It’s Reyu’s turn to sigh.  “My life might be longer than yours, but is it not true that we all change through the seasons?”

“When do you become old, when you reach one-thousand?”

Reyu smiles.  “Long before then.”

Lord Agasha shakes his head, but before he can say anything, Reyu speaks again.  “Consider this.  We have already seen that it is no ordinary bear that we are pursuing.  You might yet be glad of our presence.”

“You’re not going to give this up, are you?”

“As you have pointed out, I have much time in which to be stubborn.”

Lord Agasha lets out a short bark, which might have been mistaken for a laugh.  Then, he sighs.  “Well, I suppose we’d better gather some wood then.”

###

Lord Agasha sits first watch with Lira, who passes the time by asking him for stories about his hunting expeditions of the past.

During a pause he turns to her, “When I said you didn’t look like much of a hunter, why didn’t you just say you were a sorcerer?”

Lira is a bit surprised at the question.  “I don’t always get a good response to that information,” she replies cautiously.

“Ah.  Here, our Church teaches that if Kettenek did not want your kind to exist, he would not have created you.”

“That’s a more open-minded attitude than I’m used to.”

He pats her knee in a grandfatherly sort of way.  “Word of advice though, watch your language, that will get you in more trouble than your magic.”

Lira rolls her eyes, but she’s blushing nonetheless.

###

All is quiet until well into the second watch.  So quiet, in fact, that the first sign of attack is three flasks of alchemist’s fire exploding in the middle of camp.  Two break harmlessly on the bare ground.  The third sets Lira’s bedroll on fire.

Anvil and Reyu, who were on watch, immediately scan the forest for their assailants, casting _light_ on arrows and shooting them into the woods to expand the range of their night-vision.  Anvil’s embeds in a tree some 20 feet off.  Reyu’s hits a goblin taking aim from behind a shrub.

Thatch, Dennis, Benedic, and Lord Agasha are also soon up and taking defensive positions against the hail of arrows now raining down on the camp.  Only Eva, who cannot see a thing in the woods, picks up her bedroll instead of weapon, and uses it to help Lira smother the flames that have now caught on her clothes.

Despite the initial confusion of the attack, it soon becomes apparent that there are only five or six goblins on the offensive.  They attempt to rattle the party by throwing in another round of alchemist’s fire, but as luck would have it, only Lira catches.  By the time she’s put out the flames for the second time, the party’s archers have killed all but two of the attacking goblins, who run off into the woods where the darkness and rough terrain combine to make pursuit impossible.

Searching the bodies provides little information about their mission or objectives, although Reyu determines that two skin flasks filled with a noxious liquid which radiates a faint _transmutation_ aura are likely healing potions.  Lira and Thatch each pocket one, Lira on the theory that it doesn’t smell much worse than dwarven ale, and Thatch on the theory that if Lira can drink it, so can he.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully.


----------



## Angcuru

Well, I don't see a stake, but the burning, she was right about that.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Sixty Fourth*
_In which: Lord Agasha is afraid, and Anvil gets his Justice on._

The party breaks camp the next morning and continues along the trail.  Benedic examines the goblin tracks and confirms that—together or not—the goblins and the bear are certainly heading in the same direction.  

At about midday, there is a sound of horses approaching at a steady walk.  Anvil—who is riding at the head of the column next to Lord Agasha—notices the older man suddenly stiffen in his saddle, and then mutter under his breath, “I was afraid of this.”

Anvil turns to face him. “Tell me more, so that I too might be afraid.”

_(Direct quote, I swear.  We all lost it.)_

Lord Agasha does a brief double-take, but then merely nods to the road ahead of them.  “Look, and see for yourself.”

Anvil does, and sees that just around a bend in the trail seven men are approaching on horseback.  The one in the lead wears full plate mail and has a long, thin mustache.  The other six behind him appear to be servants or bodyguards of some type.

The seven draw up, and then stop in the middle of the trail, forcing the party to halt in front of them.

“Lord Agasha,” the mustached man says coldly.

Lord Agasha’s response barely avoids being a sneer.  “Lord Fau Meen.”

“I have warned you about poaching on my lands.” Lord Fau Meen’s guards subtly shift in their saddles, ready for action.

Lord Agasha does not even flinch.  “If you took proper stewardship of your lands, your peasants would not have to appeal to _me_ for aid when they are attacked by wild bears.”

Lord Fau Meen’s eyes narrow to mean slits, and the temperature between the two men seems to drop by at least ten degrees.  Behind them both, Lord Fau Meen’s men, and the party members wait, nervously.

Reyu leans over to Anvil, whispering, “What is… poaching?”

“I will elaborate on the concept at a later time,” the Justicar replies.

“I demand compensation for the theft which you and these… companions of yours… continue to perpetrate against me through this flagrant act of trespassing!”

“I would not have to trespass if you performed your duties in the first place!”

Before the argument can escalate any further, Anvil clears his throat.  “My honored Lords, perhaps I can be of assistance.”  As he speaks, Anvil readjusts his cloak, so that his holy symbol—identifying him as a Justicar—lies prominently in the center of his breastplate.

### 

Twenty mintues later, Reyu has acquired a through technical definition of poaching (although the concept of owning animals that freely roam the land is still a mystery to her), and Anvil has worked out an agreement in which Lord Fau Meen agrees to grant Lord Agasha and the party permission to hunt the bear on his lands in return for 100 gold pieces and first cut of the bear meat—although Lord Agasha retains all claims on the pelt and the remainder of the carcass.

The party asks Lord Fau Meen if there are many goblin attacks on his lands.

“No,” he replies, “it’s unusual for them to come down from the hills, but they’ve been getting bolder this year.”

“Why?” asks Reyu.

“What do you mean, ‘why?’ They’re goblins, who knows why they do anything?”

Reyu cannot help but think that behind Lord Fau Meen’s bluster, he seems vaguely guilty about something.

“Have your people been moving into their territories, perhaps?” she suggests.  “Many creatures will act to defend their homes.”

Lord Fau Meen snorts.  “They have no territories.  My lands cover the foothills into the Ketkath, and we need those areas for farming.”

“Areas in which the goblins are accustomed to making their homes?” Reyu asks.

Lord Fau Meen wheels his horse around in exasperation.  “I have no time for these… impudent questions.  Lord Agasha, if you have come to hunt a bear on my lands, I suggest you get to it.”

And with that, he and his men ride off the way they came.

Anvil leans down to Reyu.  “Do you think he is hiding something?”

Reyu shakes her head.  “He purports to own the creatures that freely wander the land which is given to the care of us all.  His entire world-view is… foreign to me.”

“I could explain if you wish.”

“No, that will not be necessary.”

And with that, the party rides on. 

###

For her part, Eva does not really care about internal Sovereign politics.  However, she does keep her eyes sharp for their quarry.  It’s not that she wants to find the bear.  Truth be told, she would happily let the bear go its own way, along with the biting insects, the poison ivy, and all the other wonderful “accoutrements” of outdoor living.  But if they are going after a bear, she wants to see it before it sees her.  Despite Reyu’s insistence that the bear will mostly likely be reasonable if they can just talk to it, she is taking no chances.  _A reasonable bear.  Just what we need._ 

Plus, as a Fortune Rider, Eva cannot help but think that the fact that today is the last day of Fall, the day before Kettenek Rising, when Sedellus wanes from her position of power does *not* bode particularly well.  Then again, given her goddess’s particular sense of humor, it might not be the worst thing either.

But, all that being said, the sharp-eyed Eva is not the only member of the party who is more than a bit surprised when the party emerges into a clearing to find the *giant* bear they have been tracking sitting there, as if waiting for them.  

Reyu, who has prepared _speak with animals_ for just this moment, quickly casts and addresses the bear.

_Greetings._

The bear blinks at her, obviously nonplussed to be addressed.

_Why have you come hunting the humans?_ she asks.

Reyu can see the muscles in the bear’s forelegs tightening, as though it is an act of will to stay seated in the clearing.  After a moment, his deep, growly voice grinds out, _I am sorry… Forced… I cannot—_

_Cannot what?_ Reyu asks.

But the bear can hold back no longer.  With a last, helpless look to Reyu it lunges forward, slashing right for Lord Agasha.

Then, a considerable chunk of hell breaks loose.


----------



## KidCthulhu

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Reyu cannot help but think that behind Lord Fau Meen’s bluster, he seems vaguely guilty about something.




When a guy's name is Meen, you've got to wonder.


----------



## doghead

A compulsive bear. I mean a bear suffering from compulsion. Ah, ... you know what I mean. 

Very nasty.


----------



## Zog

Ah, splendid, splendid.  Now I can read about the adventures of some friends on the far coast.    Tsk, spyscribe, you should have mentioned this story hour during the wedding.   An entertaining read, especially since I know some of those involved.  

Keep up the good work - Justice Demands It!


----------



## dpdx

This story hour is much like the Red Sox: self-effacing, entertaining, and unstoppable.

Ahem - carry on.


----------



## Darmatage

Hell's bells. I've been reading bits and pieces since the wedding, thinking I had at least a month more of casual reading before I caught up. Then a deadlne came due this week, and I could not think of a better way to avoid getting it done until the last minute. Now I have to wait with everyone else.

How far behind the actual game is this most excellent storyhour? A year? More?

Update, please. Kettenek's procrastination demands it.

--Jason

P.S.-- Having read this thread over the last month, and loving every bit, my favorite line has got to be BMJ's "We suspect it was Amelia. Has she been studying evil things?" 

Oh, yeah. Them's the good stuff.


----------



## spyscribe

Zog said:
			
		

> Tsk, spyscribe, you should have mentioned this story hour during the wedding.




Well, if you had introduced yourself as Zog, I probably would have thought to mention it.    (I *told* Fajitas and WLS there needed to be a space for known aliases on the nametags at the rehearsal dinner...)  Glad you found us though.



			
				Darmatage said:
			
		

> How far behind the actual game is this most excellent storyhour? A year? More?




Well, the next two updates bring the story hour to the end of our last session of 2002, played December 8th.  As folks might have noticed from the pace of updates over the last two weeks, I'm trying to make up some ground.  (While Fajitas was writing up the section on the Miyen Kai this summer, it let me get a little bit ahead.)  My goal is to have posted two years' worth of sessions by the time the story hour is two years old.  That's ten months of gaming by the end of February.

In short, you picked the right time to get caught up with this story.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Sixty-Fifth*
_In which: things get bad._

As a rain of goblin arrows begins pouring in from all sides, Reyu realizes that she has made a critical misjudgment of the situation.  The bear is acting contrary to its nature not in reaction to provocation by the humans, but because it is being dominated by someone else who wishes the humans ill.

However, willing or not, the bear is doing considerable damage to Lord Agasha’s horse, and more than a little to the rider.  Clearly, the it will have to be dealt with, but in one last hope for the already abused animal, Reyu calls out to her companions, “Try to knock the bear out!  Don’t kill him!”

If anyone has any witty rejoinders to make to that entreaty, they are soon cut off by the sound of a huge hunting horn, bellowing in the near distance.

“What was that?” Lira yells over the noise.

Benedic jumps off his horse, draws his sword and prepares to face down whatever comes next.   He shoots a look to the sorcerer, indicating for her to stay back towards the center of the path.  “Nothing good, I’ll wager.”

Reyu gives the bear a sound rap on the head with the butt of her spear, but the animal is not even fazed.  He does turn from Lord Agasha however, and—clearly struggling—lifts his paw above his head.  _You… must flee…_ he tells her through gritted teeth, pointed and razor sharp.

Reyu draws back for another blow.  _I cannot allow you to attack these humans._

The bear look at her with mournful eyes, _I am… sorry…_ and his claws swipe down, catching Reyu full in the chest, and knocking her to the ground, unconscious and bleeding.

It’s right about then, as Anvil and Lord Agasha battle the bear (Anvil attempting to strike with the flat of his blade, in deference to Reyu’s wishes, Lord Agasha having no such compunctions), that three dire badgers come bursting out of the woods to the right of the party’s flank.

Eva and Benedic are in the best position to act.  With the lead badger closing in quickly, Eva strikes forward suddenly, sticking it in the shoulder and drawing blood.  Almost immediately, the badges flies into a frothing rage, snapping its jaws and bearing down full speed on the thing that caused it pain.  Eva does her best to fend it off, but the badger causes quite a bit of pain of its own.  Eva strikes back, aided by two _magic missles_ that go streaking by her to strike the badger right in the face.

Meanwhile, Thatch, in the midst of readying Bob for a charge, realizes that his armor is growing uncomfortably hot.  Unnaturally hot, given the ambient temperature.  Still, he has ways of dealing with both the armor and the badgers.  Taking out Professor Alexandra’s magic pitcher, he points it straight up and says, “Fresh geyser.”

A stream of water bursts forth from the pitcher, and Thatch in the middle of his own rainstorm, which does provide a bit of relief from his _heated_ armor.  He tips the pitcher forward towards the badgers in front of him, hitting one right in the face as it’s about to take a chunk out of Eva’s leg.

Lord Agasha wheels his horse around for another charge at the bear.  But the bear strikes back, and the old man’s horse falls from under him.  Anvil, meanwhile, quickly casts _cure light wounds_ on Reyu, but although that get Reyu back on her feet, the bear takes down Anvil for his trouble.  Eva slays one badger, but she is bleeding profusely, and she and Benedic have barely managed to wound the other two.

Dennis has been trying to dispatch the goblin arches in the woods, but he has also been keeping his eyes peeled who whoever, or _whatever_ has been orchestrating this attack.  Because, he thinks as he manages to take out a goblin with a well-place arrow to the eye, something tells him that is isn’t one of these flunkies.   He keeps scanning the woods.

And then, maybe 50’ off, he spots it.  _Goblin-like my ass_ he thinks, as he finds himself looking up at some kind of huge ogre.  A hunting horn hangs at its side, and in its right hand, the creature wields a club thicker than a man’s head.  _Probably harder too,_ Dennis thinks grimly.  With a quick prayer to Alirria to keep him above the grasses for just a bit longer, he draws his sword, yells for Thatch to follow, and charges ahead.

Eva is starting to feel the loss of blood.  Benedic is beside her and Lira keeps throwing _magic missles_ but these last two badgers are two more than she can handle.  In a distant way she notices the hollow >clunk< of a spear butt cracking against the bear’s skull, followed by the muffled >thud< of its collapse.  _Oh good_ she thinks, _another one down.  Looks like the tide is turning in our fav--_.  

And in that split second, the badger attacks.  This time it leaps straight for her, and its claws strike deep, opening the twin arteries in her neck.

Eva just has time to realize that she can’t even scream.  Her soul has gone to join her goddess before her body hits the ground.


----------



## Capellan

I gotta ask, because I'm a geek ... what level were you all here?


----------



## Fajitas

Capellan said:
			
		

> I gotta ask, because I'm a geek ...



Unlike the rest of us... 



> what level were you all here?



The party was third level at this point.  There are seven party members (Reyu, Thatch, Eva, Anvil, and Lira as PCs, plus Dennis and Benedic as NPCs), and Lord Agasha (who is something like Ftr 3/Aristocrat 4).

The adventure was written for four 4th level PCs.  I adjusted the balance slightly because of the numbers, with very interesting results, as you'll see shortly.


----------



## Darmatage

So here's me showing my general ignorance of D&D minutiae.

Are all animals in the Halmae sentient, or do elves, in communicating with them, tap into primal urges that they interpret as communications with the appearance of full sentience?

If a person were attacking the party and saying things like "Please, I can't control myself, run away so I can't hurt you" and someone killed that person, I have to imagine a Justicar would find that troubling. Hearing this coming from a bear, the normal animal-rights argument of "ok, it can't reason, and it can't talk, but it can suffer, and therefore it is sentient" appears to be moot. This bear appears to be able to distinguish between its actions and its desires, thus exhibiting an ability to reason, and is quite clearly able to express this in speech, at least to elves.

How do animals fit into D&D worlds, rights-wise?

--Jason


----------



## dpdx

Spyscribe said:
			
		

> Her soul has gone to join her goddess before her body hits the ground.



Let me be the first, then, to express my regret that somebody's PC had to die.

I hope that the next update includes a painstakingly long death for that nasty ogre mage.


----------



## Fajitas

Darmatage said:
			
		

> How do animals fit into D&D worlds, rights-wise?



Well, that pretty much depends on whether you ask a Justicar or a Druid... 

Reyu was able to understand the bear because she cast a spell, _speak with animals_, which... well it, pretty much does what it says.  This doesn't have any effect on an animal's intelligence, it just lets you understand them and vice versa.

So, it's basically like imagining that your dog could talk.  He's probably going to say "Food?  Food?  Scratches?  Scratches?  Ooooh, I know!  Stick!  Stick!  Can I? Can I?"  Is that actually sentience?  I leave that question to the philosophers among us.  Sufficed to say, in the Halmae, it isn't. 

Tho' I am reminded of something a wise man once said: "I wonder, if the trees could scream, would we still be so cavalier about cutting them down?  We might be, if they screamed all the time.  And for no good reason." 



			
				dpdx said:
			
		

> I hope that the next update includes a painstakingly long death for that nasty ogre mage.



Stay tuned, gentle readers.  Stay tuned...

Oh, and for anyone keeping score, it's actually an ogre *druid*. _Heat metal_ (which Thatch got hit with and very cleverly mitigated) isn't an ogre mage spell.  Or, indeed, a wizard spell at all.


----------



## Pyske

Poor Eva.  I hope you buried her in a city, insead of the wilderness.  She was never too fond of the wilderness...


----------



## Angcuru

Aww...  I wonder if there will be another crazy PC or an out of the blue resurrection.  Or they could reincarnate her as a...I dunno.  A cat, maybe?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Sixty-Sixth*
_In which: things get even worse._

With a shout, Benedic lunges forward and skewers the badger that has just killed Eva through the heart.   

_(Benedic was, at the time, being run by Eva’s player.  Quite satisfying.)_

Then, he notices Lira darting forward beside him.  He quickly steps between the sorcerer and the remaining badger.  Shouting to her, “Get back!”

Lira shakes her head, and Benedic can see she’s just a little shell-shocked.  “Can’t…  Anvil’s down… she’s got the wand.”

Benedic nods, and feints at the badger, causing it to take just a step back as he slashes at its shoulder.  “Hurry.”

Lira tries, but her hands are shaking just a bit, and it’s hard to find the wand in Eva’s belt-pouch, and it seems like everything is covered in blood.  “I’m sorry,” Lira whispers to her friend as she gives up on being gentle and just thrusts her hand in, digging around until she finds what she’s looking for.

Hoping against hope, once she has the wand in her grasp, Lira points it at Eva and activates the magic stored within.  The spell discharges, and Eva just lies there, unblinking eyes turned towards the autumn sky.  Lira offers a quick prayer to whoever might be listening: “Take care of her.”

Meanwhile, Dennis has reached the ogre.  He whips out a knife and hurls it… completely missing.   The ogre turns to him and growls.  “These lands are ours, humans.  This is the price of your trespass….  the ogre’s club swings around and hits Dennis with such force that it lifts him off his feet.  He flies backwards, head cracking against the ground as he lands.  He doesn’t get up.

Thatch is right behind him, charging in on Bob.  Thatch manages to dodge the backswing of the club, barely, but instead it comes crashing down on his faithful steed.  The horse crumples underneath him.  Thatch’s eyes *blaze*.  He lifts his greatsword in both hands, swings… and misses.

Farther back, Lira has just used the wand to get Anvil back on his feet, when her attention is suddenly drawn by Reyu letting out a shriek as she raises her short spear and runs towards the ogre.

And it’s then when she realizes just how bad things have gotten.  The bear is down and the abrupt end of the snarling behind her says that Benedic has dispatched the final the dire badger.  But the massive ogre is very much alive, along with an unknown number of goblin allies still peppering them with arrows from the cover of the woods.  

Eva is dead, Dennis is unconscious, Anvil and Reyu are both barely on their feet and none of them are uninjured.  Despite their wounds, Reyu and Lord Agasha have begun a last charge against the orgre, figuring this is their only chance to end this fight, even if they die doing it.  And since _Thatch_ can’t hit it, Lira is not optimistic.  _Magic missiles_ never miss, but Lira is out of first-level spells.  She hasn’t asked, but Anvil must be near the end of his healing for the day.

They’ve got the wand, but—

And that’s when Lira remembers that they have one, last option.  The white globe Professor Alexandra gave them before they left Dar Pykos. _“This is an emergency escape device.  If you need a quick retreat, break this globe.  It will teleport all of you here to me.”_

Of course, “you” means everyone who was attuned to the device.  That includes Hue and Moira, but not Lord Agasha… or Benedic.

But as Lira’s hand closes around the white glass sphere, she remembers something the Professor told her about how the spell works.  _“Break the glass, and it will transport all of you and whatever you’re carrying to wherever I am.”_

Lira wonders just how far they can push the definition of “carrying.”

“Reyu!”  Lira yells.  “Grab Lord Agasha!”

Reyu has no idea what Lira is thinking, but she does as she’s told.  Lord Agasha, reeling back from a blow from the ogre’s club, is too startled to object.

Thatch sees Lira running, white glass ball in hand, and realizes what she must be planning.  She’s going to use the Professor’s device to get them out of here.  The device which is not attuned to Bob.  Thatch dives to the ground beside his fallen horse.  He grabs Bob’s mane with one hand and his tail with the other.  “It’s okay boy,” he tell him, “I’ve got you.”

As soon as Lira sees that Reyu has Lord Agasha she dashes back towards Benedic and leaps into his arms.  The ranger is too surprised to do anything but catch her.

“What the—?”

Lira wraps her arms around his neck.  “Hold on tight.” 

Feeling Benedic’s arms tighten around her waist, Lira reaches around and smashes the glass ball against his back.

The world goes white.


----------



## doghead

Damn. Back to square one. I wonder where the professor is exactly.


----------



## Pyske

Well, as it turns out, the city has been attacked by a three-headed Ettin wearing bunny slippers...


----------



## Angcuru

I KNEW IT!    

Too bad about Eva.  I notice that no one attempted to bring her along with them for a proper burial.


----------



## Darmatage

Eva was there for the attuning. Does that not work once they're dead?


----------



## Angcuru

Heck, why ask me?  I HAVE NO IDEA! >_<


----------



## doghead

Pyske said:
			
		

> Well, as it turns out, the city has been attacked by a three-headed Ettin wearing bunny slippers...




... who has the professor in an oversized cooking pot.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Fajitas said:
			
		

> So, it's basically like imagining that your dog could talk.  He's probably going to say "Food?  Food?  Scratches?  Scratches?  Ooooh, I know!  Stick!  Stick!  Can I? Can I?"




Glad to see all that time spent with Argo is paying off for you.


----------



## Fajitas

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Glad to see all that time spent with Argo is paying off for you.



Don't be ridiculous.  Argo would be thinking "Stick? Stick? Stick? Stick? Stick? Stick? Stick? Stick? Stick?"

As for everyone else's other questions... well, unfortunately this is where the campaign ended, so I'm afraid you'll never find out.

Nah, I'm just funning with you.  Answers forthcoming, and that right fast, given the way Spyscribe's been posting.


----------



## Blacklamb

> "I wonder, if the trees could scream, would we still be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might be, if they screamed all the time. And for no good reason."




Ahhh Jack Handy, i love it!
(Ohhh please let me be right, otherwise im just left hanging out here with my ignrance plain for everyone to see!)

BTW i just caught up with the Story Hour, thank you very much for sharing, its been a GREAT read so far, you have 1 more fan to count.

Blacklamb


----------



## Fajitas

Blacklamb said:
			
		

> Ohhh please let me be right, otherwise im just left hanging out here with my ignrance plain for everyone to see!



Sorry, nope.  It's actually Socrates.

Nah, I'm just funning with you.  It is, indeed, Jack Handy.  Well done.

Welcome aboard, Blacklamb.

_(Sorry about all the "funning" lately.  I'm not sure what that is.  Something in the water, I think.  Probably best to just not trust anything I say for a while...)_


----------



## spyscribe

_Note for context: because of holiday schedules and the like, it actually took us more than a month to find out the resoution of the cliffhanger at the end of the last update.  Five weeks where casual conversations would periodically feature lines like: "I wonder if that worked?" or: "I hope we don't catch Professor Alexandra in the bath."  I point this out because if you really want the *true* Halmae experience, you shouldn't read what comes next until Thanksgiving. _

*Part the Sixty-Seventh*
_An Abrupt Return_

Professor Alexandra looks out over the Mages’ Academy dining hall from her place with the rest of the remaining faculty at the head table.  Meals have become a more somber affair in the last month and a half.  The room seems too large, a student population devastated by the fire and accompanying attack further shrunk as parents withdrew their children, or students themselves resigned their studies.

There are a few new faces, but not many.

And then, in a giant burst of white light, there are eight more.

###

For an instant, the room is silent.  Every student and faculty member has leapt to their feet.  From over Benedic’s shoulder, Lira can see that several are poised to cast.  _Oh no_ Lira thinks, _it’s enough _magic missiles_ to finish off everyone else, and I’ll die of irony._

She looks around.  She’s still holding on to Benedic, so he must have made it.  Reyu and Lord Agasha are a few feet away, each leaning on the other and dripping blood onto the stone floor.  Thatch is sitting on the floor, clutching at nothing.  Anvil is already in motion, crouching by Dennis and casting a _cure_ spell.  

Lira cranes her neck to look behind her.  _Did Eva’s body—?_  One of the students at the front table lets out a short, sharp scream.  _Yes._

The sound propels Professor Alexandra into motion.  “No one casts!”  She points at an older student towards the front.  “You.  Go to the Temple of Justice.  Get Tenacious the Just, and tell him to come here *now*.”

The student takes off at a dead run.  A few more look like they’d like to follow.  Professor Alexandra notices, indicates two more upper-classmen.  “You, get everyone back to the dormitory.”

The Professor turns to the adventurers.  “Where are the others?  What happened?  Are you alright?”

The party exchanges glances.  Finally, Lira says, “It… _was_ an emergency.”

Professor Alexandra surveys the group.  “I can see.”  She considers another moment.  “I’m glad the item worked.”

“As are we,” Anvil replies.

“Where are Moira and Hue?” Reyu asks.

Professor Alexandra frowns.  “They weren’t with you, were they?”

“No, but you said distance was not a factor for the spell.”

“Well… you did bring along two other people who weren’t attuned to the device.  That’s quite a load.  It’s possible the spell just didn’t have enough… oomph… to bring Moira and Hue—who were both miles away from you and each other—as well.”

Thatch has finally picked himself up from the floor.  He sees Lord Agasha and Benedic. 

“But… what about Bob?”

Professor Alexandra looks stricken.  “Bob?”

“My horse!  I was holding onto _him_.”

“Well…  A horse is very big…” she begins.

Benedic listens dumbly to the conversation going on around him.  He was in the middle of the woods, fighting a very nasty ogre, then Lira jumped into his arms, thwacked him on the back, there was as flash, and now he’s… here.

“Lira?”

Her voice is right next to his ear.  “Yes?”

“Where are we?”

“Oh.  Right.”  Lira shifts in his arms, leaning back a bit so he can see her face.  “Welcome to Dar Pykos.”

Benedic nods.  _Of course_.  “Thanks.”

Lira smiles, and her arms loosen from their death-grip around his neck.  She’s blushing just a bit as she says, “You uh… can probably put me down now.”

**********

Tenacious arrives quickly, with several acolytes in tow.  Anvil has already lifted Eva’s body and has started to carry it back to the Temple.  The acolytes attempt to intercept him, “Justicar… we can— you’re *injured*” but Anvil doesn’t bother to stop.  Eventually they’re forced to give up, and load Dennis on the stretcher they had brought for Eva, following along behind.

“Where are you taking her?” Thatch asks.

Tenacious is sober.  “We will see if there is anything we can do to help.”

“Umm… she’s dead.”  The rest of the party silently echoes Thatch’s confusion.

It is not often that Tenacious is lost for words.  “It is… possible… under certain circumstances… if there is work here that remains for her, if Kettenek will let her go…  We might be able to guide her spirit back.”

The party stares, open-mouthed.

“You can *do* that?”

###

Eventually, _everyone_ gets back to the Temple of Justice where they find Dennis conscious, and Eva being cared for in the Temple morgue.  Once the party gets a chance to be healed and eat, they are met by representatives of the four temples.

There is Tenacious, of course.  From the Temple of Ehkt is Lira’s Questor friend and sponsor, Devon.  The Sedellan representative is a Harbinger whom the party first met when they were visiting every sect in the city in an attempt to warn them of the imminent attack on the Mages’ Academy.  The Temple of Alirria has sent a priestess of the Tenders.  Also present are Professor Alexandra, Lord Agasha, and the King’s Chamberlain, Sir Collingswood.

Quickly, the party gets everyone up to speed on their adventures since making contact with the Miyen Kai.  They finally reach the reason for their hasty retreat.

“We were just overwhelmed.” Reyu admits.  The bear, even though it couldn’t help it, the badgers, the ogre—“

“Bit—” Benedic begins, then looks over at Lira sitting beside him.  “Nasty bit of a she-ogre,” he concludes.

“—it was just too much.”  Reyu pauses.  “It also seems likely she is a druid.”  The others nod agreement.

Thatch, although mostly thinking about Bob, wrinkles his brow at Benedic’s interjection.  He’s generally very clear on the difference between men and women.  He also trusts Benedic to know what he’s talking about, but he *never* would have thought…  But still, *she* killed Bob.

Dennis looks over at his young friend.  Although he would like nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a week, he gets the sneaking suspicion he’s going to spend the evening raising a glass to Thatch’s fallen steed.

Lord Agasha clears his throat.  “May I ask what you plan to do now?”

“How so?” Anvil asks.

“Now that she has been discovered, it is obvious that this creature is a menace to my lands and my people.  She is also responsible for the death of one of your own.  I would not prevent you from taking part in her extermination, and,” he adds, “I would… appreciate your expertise.”

The party members look at each other, then to their superiors.

Tenacious clears his throat.  “Obviously, the mission King Orin charged you with is your primary responsibility.  However, you must return to the Ketkath to seek out the archmage who dwells there in any event.  If you are confident of your abilities, this is certainly a Just endeavor, and I do not think any of us would object to you undertaking it.”

Professor Alexandra looks a little concerned, but no one raises any objections.

“What else would we do?” Thatch asks.  “Besides, she killed Bob.”

Lira pats him on the shoulder.  “The only thing is, Winter is about to set in.  It might make more sense to look for the wizard in Ebis now, and then go into the Ketkath in Spring.”

Lord Agasha nods, conceding the point.  “It will take me a little time to return home and make the necessary preparations.  And I will also have to share what we have learned with my _esteemed_ neighbor.”

“It seems you need not make your decision immediately,” Professor Alexandra reassures the party.  “And I am sure everyone here has much to do this evening.”  She nods to Lord Agasha.  “As for your travel, if you will accompany me, I believe someone can send you home tonight.”

He accepts the gesture graciously; then, he turns to the party.  “Let me know your intentions as soon as you can, I the sooner this is dealt with, the better.”

###

Professor Alexandra was not wrong about the preparations to be made.  Anvil especially is anxious to join his brethren.  Tonight is Kettenek Rising, the official beginning of winter and—for Anvil and his brothers—the second-holiest day of the year.

While Reyu goes with some of the local elves to celebrate the change of seasons outside the city proper, and Lira returns with Devon to the Temple of Ehkt, most of the party stays at the Temple of Justice for their services.

That night, the chapel is filled with the faithful.  The entire hall is lit dozens of _light_ spells, leaving a dim glow, but producing no heat.  The doors and windows of the chapel are all left open, and the chill winter air permeates everything.  Thatch shivers.

“Do not fight the cold,” Anvil tells him.  “Welcome it, as you welcome Justice, and you shall draw strength from it.”

Whatever Thatch might think of that, he keeps to himself; it seems impious to speak it aloud here and now.

At precisely midnight, all across the city, bells begin to toll.

Bastion the Just, head of the Temple of Justice in Dar Pykos, steps to the altar, and begins to lead the traditional prayers.  To Thatch, the words are new.  To Anvil, they are as familiar as his own name.  They are words of strength.  Words of resolve.  Words that speak of the promise of the season to come, a time to lay new foundations upon which all future endeavors may rest.  A time of order.  A time for the keeping of vows.  And, above all, a time for Justice to be done. 

Anvil closes his eyes as the reverence for his Lord sweeps over him.

_Whatever trials Kettenek holds in store for me this season_, he thinks, _bring them on_.

_(DM’s note: For anyone wanting to listen along at home, the Hymn to Kettenk is “Non nobis, domine” from the soundtrack to Kenneth Branaugh’s_ Henry V._)_


----------



## Len

spyscribe said:
			
		

> _I point this out because if you really want the *true* Halmae experience, you shouldn't read what comes next until Thanksgiving. _



But..but...that's not until next _October!_ (where I live)


----------



## spyscribe

Len said:
			
		

> But..but...that's not until next _October!_ (where I live)




Shrug.  Well, you've got universal health care, maple leaves... there had to be *some* downside to living in Canada.


----------



## Angcuru

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Shrug.  Well, you've got universal health care, maple leaves... there had to be *some* downside to living in Canada.



Celine Dion.


----------



## Len

Bah. I went ahead and read the update. And I'm _glad_ I did it.



			
				Angcuru said:
			
		

> Celine Dion.



We exiled her to Las Vegas.


----------



## spyscribe

_Happy Birthday to me!  And since I can't get Fajitas to put up a celebratory update, I'll just have to do it myself._

*Part the Sixty-Eighth*
_A Series of _Interesting_ Conversations_

Ever since the party’s discussion as to whether or not they should return to the Sovereignty to take on the druid ogre, Lira has been feeling unsettled.

Mostly because she doesn’t really want to go back.

In the original battle, her great contribution was effecting the party’s retreat.  Whenever the party is under attack, she stays at the back of the action and does what she can without getting too far into harm’s way herself.  Lira knows she has very rational reasons for doing these things.  A hit that Thatch can shrug off without a second thought would easily kill her.  

But as rational and logical as all these thoughts might be, she can’t help feeling that they aren’t the thoughts of a good Questor, who is supposed to not only face the challenges that Ehkt sends his way, but actively seek them out.

And so, realizing she is in a bit of a spiritual crisis, she goes looking for some spiritual advice.

She catches Devon as they leave midnight services, “Devon?  Do you have a minute?”

He smiles warmly.  “For you?  Of course.” 

Devon invites Lira into his office and she settles into her usual chair.  After a bit of small talk, she tells him about the doubts she has been having.  “I seem to be really good at running away, which doesn’t seem like what Ehkt would want, but at the same time, it seems hard to believe that he really wants me to die either.”

Devon thinks for a few seconds, then addresses the young sorcerer.  “Well then, should I find someone else to send on this mission?”

Lira is a bit taken aback.  This isn’t the sort of response she was expecting.  Devon however, does not give her time to answer.

“Because there are many of your brethren who would leap at the chance to face the challenges you have encountered, and will no doubt continue to face.”

Lira considers her words carefully, realizing she has just lost a considerable amount of Devon’s confidence, although not sure exactly how.  “No… No, I don’t want you to do that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.  I think it’s important that there be someone… like me… on this mission.  An arcanist.”

Watching closely, Lira notices that Devon’s face darkens ever so slightly as she says the word, “arcanist.”  But all he says is, “I see.”

Lira is abruptly reminded of something Devon said to her the night he first tapped her for this mission.  “I don’t blame people like you for being as you are.”  The night after the Academy fire, it felt like acceptance… now, she is not so sure.

Lira rises from her chair.  “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Devon smiles as he rises and shakes her hand, but the smile does not quite reach his eyes the way it used to.  “Not at all.  You’ll be in touch?”

Lira’s smile is not as free as it once was either.  “Of course.”

**********

Anvil the Just is on his way to his cell, when Tenacious stops him.  “Anvil, there’s someone here I think you should speak to.”

“If Kettenek demands it.”

“He doesn’t, but I suggest it.”

“Very well.”

Anvil is led to a small, non-descript meeting room, where there waits a man.  His dark hair and skin mark him as an Ebisite.  “Good day,” the Ebisite says.  “My name is Haman al Harad.  I am to understand that you are one of those who fought the creatures of shadow at your Wizard School?”

Anvil regards the man carefully.  “I am,” he replies.

“Excellent.  What can you tell me of them?”

Anvil debates answering, but concludes that none of what occurred that night is truly secret.  He carefully describes the beasts, their abilities and their seeming imperviousness to any kind of magic.  “Now that I have told you this,” Anvil demands, “you will tell me of yourself.  Who are you and why do you wish to know about these creatures?”

“Ah, of course,” Haman says.   “I am the… proprietor of a gladiatorial arena.  I am always on the lookout for new creatures that may be brought to fight.  I seek one of these shadow creatures.  I would be willing to pay handsomely if you knew where I could find one.”

Anvil regards Haman again.  He does not much fit Anvil’s idea of someone associated with gladiators.  He doesn’t quite have the showmanship.  His bearing is a little too stiff.  A little too military.

“I do not know where such creatures can be found.  If I did, I would see to it that they were hunted down and destroyed.”

“I am willing to pay quite a—“

 “Their refusal to submit themselves to the power of Kettenek marks them as abominations in his sight.  For no amount of money would I suffer one to live.  And even were I willing, I do not have the information you seek.  I do not know where they came from or where they can be found.”

Haman purses his lips and nods.  “I see.  Then I shall have to pursue this matter elsewhere.  Thank you for your time.”

“May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you.”

**********

Eva is cold.

She wishes she knew where she was or why.  She remembers there was a fight and then… then there was darkness, a darkness she wasn’t even aware she wasn’t aware of until she felt the cold and saw the light.

It is a tiny flame, like a candle flame, and it flickers in the cold breeze that surrounds her.  It is all she knows.  All she sees.  All there may be.

Until the voice speaks.

Low and throaty, yet distinctly feminine, it whispers in her ears, as if the speaker is standing right behind her.  A chill runs down her spine, as if unseen hands were running their icy fingers along her body.

Well,  the voice says, almost a harsh laugh. Here you are.

“Where am I?” Eva asks, certain she should know but unable to recall.

In that place to which you have always been headed, the voice responds, as if taking pleasure from her confusion.   Where all creatures have always gone, where all journeys end.  That familiar place you visit ever so briefly, every time you blink your eyes.  You’re there.  With me.  Clutched tight to my bosom.  The icy fingers caress her shoulders, and the voice whispers sweetly, seductively, singing a song desired yet feared.

“Who are you?” Eva asks, certain she should know this as well.

The voice laughs, a cold exhale that tingles Eva’s ears.  I am the shadow of the hollow tree at night.  The cold air that tingles your spine when something is amiss and you don’t know what.  The breeze that tips the dice from a six to a one.  The quirk of fate that means your number is up.

“Oh,” Eva says.  She feels she should be more concerned about her predicament, but all cares of the present and future are gone.  She finds herself dwelling strangely on the past, remembering choices made and opportunities missed.  She has never been one to dwell.  It seems odd that she should do so now.

The voice chuckles again, mirth and malice in equal parts.  Poor little leaf, caught in the wind, blown all out of her control.  You never thought it would happen to you, did you?

“No,” Eva says, sadly.

All the stories, all the songs.  Things that happened to other people.  Not to you.  You knew better.  Never a thought for the unthinkable, the inevitable.  Do as you will, choose what you like.  Roll the dice and take your chances.  It will all work out in the end.

Now it is the end.

How did it work out?

“It probably could have worked better,” Eva admits.  Her eyes are transfixed by the tiny, flickering flame, dancing in the darkness.

The icy fingers encircle her shoulders, run through her hair.

What if you had another chance? the voice asks.

“Another chance?” Eva asks.

The voice laughs again.  Nothing is permanent.  Life to death is the simplest change of all.  Death to life is hardly more difficult.  Not for me.

But if I offer this change for you, what change do you offer me?

Eva’s brow furrows.  The flame flickers, as if it might suddenly go out.

“I don’t know.  What do you want?”

You.

“M-me?”

There’s work to be done.  My winds are always blowing, and they hold a place for you.  Give yourself to me, and I’ll give you back to you.

The cold breeze surges about her.  The flame gets dimmer, whipped about helplessly.

“I…I don’t know…” she says, watching the flame with eyes wide.

You know things now you did not know before.  You have heard my breath in your ear, felt my touch on your skin.  Can your world ever be the same?  Is it so difficult to accept that?  Is it so difficult a promise to make? 

Is it such a desperate chance to take, to feel the wind in your hair once more?

The flame flickers, nearly going out.

“What… what would I have to do?” Eva asks.

The voice chuckles.  All in good time…

And with that, the icy fingers recede from Eva’s shoulders.  The cold breeze dies and the flame grows stronger.  Stronger.  Bigger and bigger, almost blinding until—

***************

Eva slowly opens her eyes.  She convulses as it all comes back to her: the dire badgers, the pain in her side, the horrid rending sound she knew was the flesh of her own neck—

And the cold, harsh voice.

But all these thoughts fly from her mind as she sees the man standing over her.  A man she has met only once before, shortly before she met the rest of the party.

He smiles his wolfish smile at her.

“Well,” he says, “it seems we have a lot to talk about.”


----------



## KidCthulhu

Happy, Happy Birthday!  Many joyous returns of the day.

Now who's this guy talking to Eva?  Remind me.


----------



## Fajitas

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Now who's this guy talking to Eva?  Remind me.



Who the guy is talking to Eva is a very, very good question.  There's no reminding to be done, because he hasn't been mentioned before.  

Eva's got some stuff going on that the rest of the party doesn't know about yet.  At present, in game, they know there's something going on, but they don't know much about it.  

Consider yourself in the same boat.


----------



## Angcuru

Whatever it be, don't tell Anvil about it.  It won't be too pleased that some disembodied voice (Sedellus?) was able to shimmy around Kettenek's "Make sure you stay dead." rule.   

Personally, I think this voice would be nicely done by Gary Sinise.


----------



## orsal

spyscribe said:
			
		

> _Happy Birthday to me!  And since I can't get Fajitas to put up a celebratory update, I'll just have to do it myself._




Happy Birthday indeed! May you spend a wonderful day not encountering any hostile ogre druids, sinister shadowy creatures, or Celine Dion.


----------



## Harp

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Eva's got some stuff going on that the rest of the party doesn't know about yet.  At present, in game, they know there's something going on, but they don't know much about it.
> 
> Consider yourself in the same boat.



Oh, what an intractable tease.  Well, at least we're in good company.

But the Happiest of Birthdays to you, spyscribe.  As they say, "May the most you wish for be the least you get."  Thanks again for the terrific Story Hour.


----------



## Darmatage

Happy Birthday! Thank you for the story gift.


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*HB&T (Happy Birthday & Thanks)*

[/lurk mode]
Happy birthday Spyscribe, and indeed thank you for the gift of another great, souol-moving, update.
May you receive what you wish for and everything else nice.
[lurk mode]


----------



## Pyske

Congrats on a another year of accumulated wisdom.

Stop laughing!


----------



## spyscribe

Thank you everybody for the birthday wishes.  What I didn't realize until last night--I was a bit frazzled in the morning, trying to post before I had to leave for work--is that actually, Fajitas very nearly _did_ give me an update for my birthday.  Since Lira's scene was the only conversation in that update I was present for, I had to get him to write the other two.  



			
				KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Now who's this guy talking to Eva? Remind me.




As Fajitas said, Eva is the only one who knows him.  In fact, what's in the update is more than her character has ever said about her death and raising in-game.  Is the guy at the end of the update the guy who _raised_ her?  We all assumed this was purely a Kettenite operation.  Maybe that was wrong.  Maybe not.  The waters get deeper, I assure you.

I wouldn't call ours a particularly secret-heavy campaign, but it's interesting the issues that have come up with the story hour as we move into a period of the game where there start to be more instances of players with differing levels of knowledge about their situation and each other.  There are a couple of moments that I'm not sure how we're going to handle.  It should be fun though.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> I wouldn't call ours a particularly secret-heavy campaign...



That's just 'cause you don't know any of them...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Sixty-Ninth*
_A welcome return_

“We have to go back to and meet Lord Agasha to defeat Sheesak...  She’s got Bob!”

The following day, the party has gathered in their usual meeting room at the Temple of Justice to debate their next move.  Thatch’s opinion of their options is quite clear.  

“Thatch…” Lira says gently, “Bob wasn’t in very good shape when we had to leave him.”

“He wasn’t dead!”  The fighter retorts.  “He’d find a way to get away from her.  I know he would.  He’s a good horse.”

Reyu nods sagely.  “He was.”

“And he had Professor Alexandra’s pitcher tied to his saddle.”

A pause.  Thatch looks around the group triumphantly.  Nice to know they care about _something_. 

“Dennis agrees with me, right Dennis?”  Thatch turns to his best friend, but instead of the friendly shake of the head and rueful chuckle he is used to, the other man clears his throat, and shifts awkwardly from foot to foot.  “Dennis?”

Dennis coughs one more time.  “Look, I’m… I was waiting for a good time to talk to you guys about this, but… I guess this is as good a time as any.”

Another pause.  

“I came really close to buying it back there.  I mean, really close.  And it made me realize that I’ve done some things in my life, you know… before I met you guys and… There’s just things I want to have taken care of, for me, before I meet the goddess for real.”

Thatch finally breaks the stunned silence.  “Umm…?”

Dennis looks genuinely regretful.  “I’m sorry kid, but there’s just some things I’ve got to take care of on my own.”  He claps Thatch on the back and tries to smile.  “You’ll be okay without me, hey?” 

Dennis ducks his head and backs awkwardly towards the door.  Before he leaves though, he stops.  “Though, you want to know what I think…  I think you all should go back and show that ogre what-for.”

The door closes behind him.  The party members sit in stunned silence.  Anvil is just about to offer the wisdom of Kettenek on the matter when there is a knock.

Thatch leaps up immediately.  “Dennis?”

The door opens, and there on the threshold, rather pale, but very much alive… is Eva.

“Hey, guys,” she says.

Lira’s face breaks into a grin as she goes flying past the stunned Thatch to wrap Eva in a fierce hug.  The rogue returns it, a little more carefully.  “You’re back,” Lira whispers in her ear.  The others soon gather round with nearly equal enthusiasm, even Thatch.

As the general welcome eventually subsides, Anvil signals for everyone’s attention.

“The matter of what we will undertake next is still to be resolved,” he reminds them.  “Should we return to Lord Fau Meen’s lands, or go into Ebis for the winter months?  Whatever we choose, we should inform Lord Agasha soon.”

“Do we know Lord Agasha will be able to provide aid if we go back to deal with the ogre?” Lira asks.

“We have no reason to doubt his word,” Anvil replies.

“What about _Bob_?”

As the room threatens to descend once again into old debates, Reyu asks quietly, “What do you think, Eva?” 

Everyone falls silent.  Eva shifts uncomfortably under so many eyes, even if they are friendly ones.  “Do you think we can win this time?”

“With the might of Kettenek behind us, we cannot fail.”

Eva shrugs.  It’s the most natural gesture she’s made since her return.  “Then why not do it?”

The party members exchange glances.  “Why not?”

###

Anvil goes to make arrangements to contact Lord Agasha with their decision.  Reyu, the decision made, excuses herself to join some of her friends among the local elves.  Another elven druid is passing through, and she hopes to study with her while she is here.  Gradually, the other members of the party go off to attend their own business.  Thatch wants to practice with his sword a bit before they head out again, determined that Sheesak will not so easily avoid his blows at their next encounter.

Eventually, only Eva and Lira are left behind in the party’s meeting room.  Eva is still a bit shaken from her return from the dead, and doesn’t remember much of what happened to her.  The two fall into conversation, talking a bit about their respective families and their lives before they came to Dar Pykos.  They find they have a surprising amount in common.

Lira eventually tells Eva about her recent conversation with Devon.

“I don’t think he’s really comfortable with my being a sorcerer.”

“Not blaming you for being one is hardly a ringing endorsement.”

“I know…  It seemed like he was trying at the time, but now…”

“He’s being a bigot?”  Anvil suggests.

Both women look up in surprise.  They had not noticed Anvil’s return.

Lira blinks in surprise.  “Yeah, I guess that’s it.”

Anvil nods.  “It’s getting late.”  He turns to Eva.  “Do you have lodgings?”

“I’m… not sure.  I guess I can’t sleep where I have been, can I?”

“There is always a place for you at the Temple of Justice.”

“Or,” Lira offers, “you could stay at Mrs. Blackburn’s.  I think she said she had an extra room.”

Eva looks back and forth between the two, weighing her options.  “I ah… think I’ll take you up on that.”  She apologizes to Anvil.  “No offense.”

Anvil shrugs.  “Suit yourself.”

###

Mrs. Blackburn does have an extra room, and after eyeing Eva—and her Sedellan holy symbol—with some initial suspicion, eventually accepts Lira’s assurances that her friend is of acceptable moral character.

The next morning, Lira wakes up and performs her usual focusing exercises, she discovers a sudden understanding of two new spells.  She looks up at the rising sun visible through her window, and is grateful.

Eva, for her part, wakes up… and is grateful.


----------



## Angcuru

spyscribe said:
			
		

> The next morning, Lira wakes up and performs her usual focusing exercises, she discovers a sudden understanding of two new spells.



Is it safe to assume that the Orgress Druid will face a reckoning of _Great Balls of Fire_?


----------



## spyscribe

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Is it safe to assume that the Orgress Druid will face a reckoning of _Great Balls of Fire_?




Well, not from Lira's quarter.  Remember, in the Halmae arcane casters can't create fire effects with their spells.  It's Ehkt's element, and only divine spells can produce it.  (At least, as far as anyone knows.)

Also, the party has just hit fourth level, and so for Lira third level-spells of any sort are but a distant dream.  The two spells Lira has learned are _prestidigitation_ and _cat's grace_.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Seventieth*
_One more surprise… for the road._

After about a week, the party is nearly ready to go.  They have booked passage on a ship called the _Alirria’s Star_ which will take them to Seaward, the Easternmost town in the Sovereignty.  According to Anvil, the city’s full name is, “The City Farthest Seaward Within the Lord’s Domain.” 

“Umm… So ‘Seaward’ then,” says Thatch.  The rest of the party agrees.

Word has been sent to Lord Agasha, who has promised to send his son, Hiru, to meet them there with horses for their journey.

The party also plans to make a brief stop-over on their way to Seaward in Dar Karo.  Dar Karo is renowned for its marketplace and craftspeople, and many party members are hoping to pick up some last minute supplies there.  Weapons by the Karonian smiths are said to be the best in the Halmae.

However, before the group departs, they have one last unexpected meeting, this time, with Professor Alexandra.

“I’m sure you can understand,” the Professor begins, “that although you all have my implicit confidence, I would like to send an emissary of my own on this mission.  Someone who knows the Academy and its needs more intimately than any of you could.”

“Who do you propose to send as your agent?” Anvil demands, perhaps not the only party member fearing that Edmund has been _raised_ from the dead purely to torment them.

“I don’t know if you know her,” Alexandra replies.  “She’s a third-year, one of my top students.  Her name is Annika.”

The party members shake their heads; the name means nothing to them.

_(Super Trivia Bonus!  Annika has appeared in this story hour before.  Points if you can name when she first appeared—bonus if anyone remembers the first time she was mentioned…  And you thought there was no planning in this narrative.)_

“There is ah… one thing you should know.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing bad,” Alexandra hastens to reassure a skeptical party.  “But she has a younger sister who’ll have to travel with her.”

Before anyone in the party can respond, Alexandra opens the door behind her and ushers in two girls.  “This is Annika,” she says, indicating a tall, solid blonde girl, with the fair skin and blue eyes of a Karonian.  “And this, is Kiara.” Standing beside and little behind is a younger girl, who looks, on the one hand, nothing like her “sister,” and on the other, like she is barely 14 years old.

The party doesn’t bother to hide their skepticism.  “Are you sure this is wise?” Anvil asks.

“She’s a kid!” exclaims Thatch with all the indignance of his own seventeen years.

As Professor Alexandra attempts to reassure the party, Reyu turns her attention to the two individuals in question.  Even she can tell that there is little family resemblance between the two girls.  Kiara is barely taller than she is, with an almost olive completion, and dark hair cropped short… except for two braids that hang behind her right ear.  The braids are beaded, almost like an elf’s would be…

Professor Alexandra is in the middle of a very well-chosen sentence when Reyu suddenly bursts out, “Like *hell* those two are sisters.” 

A silence falls over the room.

“Ummm?”  Thatch ventures.

Reyu points to Kiara, “Her braids say that she is a ‘foundling child of the Eeli Tribe of the Gobai Nation.’  They aren’t sisters.”

Thatch scratches his head.  “But… she’s not an elf.”

“She doesn’t appear to be an elf,” Lira corrects him.  At his confused look she elaborates, “After the Miyen Kai, I’m not assuming things.”

“Are you an elf?”  Anvil demands.

Kiara shakes her head.  “No.”

“But you’re not blood sisters,” Reyu presses.

They pair admits that they aren’t. 

“Then why did you tell us that you were?”

Annika shifts uncomfortably.  “I’m sorry about that, but she has to come with me, and it seemed… reasonable?”

Kiara pipes up.  “I’m no trouble.  I promise.  You won’t even know that I’m here.  I’ll just stick with Annika, but you can’t leave me behind, okay?”

Reyu, not remembering fondly the last time a young wizard with a secret was placed in her charge, questions them, and Professor Alexandra, relentlessly.  The girls maintain they are not blood relations, nor are they lovers, but they refuse to explain *why* Annika cannot travel without Kiara.  The Professor, for her part, does her best to reassure the party that Kiara is more than capable of taking care of herself, and that Annika is the best person for the job of accompanying the party.  “I promise you,” she assures the elf, “they are no danger to you.”

Lira is a bit puzzled by the sudden inquisition herself.  Sure, it’s odd, but, “You didn’t ask half so many questions when you met me,” she points out.

Reyu turns a look to her that says perhaps she should have, but all she says is, “I just wish to be sure she does not have zombies in the basement.”

Anvil turns from where he was talking to Benedic about travel through the Ketkath.  “Zombies in the basement?” he says, having only caught half of the conversation. “Is that crazy elf talk for lesbians?”

_(And so, in-jokes are born.)_

Lira smothers a laugh, and is about to think something snide to Euro when she realizes that the weasel is not on his accustomed perch on her left shoulder.  She reaches out mentally, and realizes that he’s crawling through Kiara’s hair.  The girl reaches up to pet him, and giggles.

_Euro… what are you doing?_

Oh, I like this one, boss!  Look at her…  She’s so cute, and she smells good.

_She smells good?_

Oh yeah, and she’s got these cute little braids.  Euro takes one in his teeth and tugs it back and forth to demonstrate, practically bouncing in excitement.

Lira blinks.  She’s never seen Euro so excited about a stranger.  Hells, she’s never seen him that excited about her.

Kiara giggles.  “What his name?” she asks.

“Umm… Euro.”  _Unless you’ve been replaced by some crazed pod-weasel._ she thinks at him.

What are you taking about, boss?  You feeling okay?

Lira distracts herself by turning to Annika, who is watching the interaction with a touch of nervousness.  “So,” Lira tries, “was it like this when she met your familiar?”

Annika swallows quickly.  “I ah… she…  My cat, Mai, was killed by the shadow-creatures.”

“Oh,” Lira flushes, “I’m sorry.”

Euro, perhaps picking up on Lira’s abrupt shift of mood, looks up from Kiara’s ear.  He looks a little guilty as he leaps off Kiara’s shoulder and takes his more usual place curled around Lira’s neck.  Hey boss, you know I’d never leave you… right?

Lira pets him.  _Of course.  But what is it about her?  I’ve never seen you like that._

Euro shrugs.  I don’t know, boss.  She smells good…  Not like you, but…  Lira pats him on the head to show that there are no hard feelings.

Lira realizes that the rest of the group has gotten quiet, watching her.  She shrugs.  “Euro likes her.  It’s good enough for me.”

Although the weasel’s recommendation is not enough on its own to sway the rest of the company, Professor Alexandra remains firm, and eventually, the pair is accepted into the group.

The next day, they all depart for Dar Karo.


----------



## GPEKO

What is this? Kiara is Annika's polymorphed female weasel familiar  ?

Oh, and great story spyscribe & Fajitas


----------



## weiknarf

GPEKO said:
			
		

> What is this? Kiara is Annika's polymorphed female weasel familiar  ?
> 
> Oh, and great story spyscribe & Fajitas




I had that same thought!


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Part the Seventieth*Anvil turns from where he was talking to Benedic about travel through the Ketkath.  “Zombies in the basement?” he says, having only caught half of the conversation. “Is that crazy elf talk for lesbians?”
> 
> _(And so, in-jokes are born.)_




Very careless of you- if I had been drinking anything when I read that, a keyboard might have been ruined.


----------



## Fajitas

Thomas Hobbes said:
			
		

> Very careless of you- if I had been drinking anything when I read that, a keyboard might have been ruined.



I know the feeling.  If I'd been drinking anything when Bad Monkey Jeff said that, my GM screen might have been ruined.


----------



## Darmatage

Annika = Wizard from whose POV we got to feel the terror of a burning building from the inside. It seemed like a lot of development for someone we would never see again. Is the 14 year old the "ripped out piece," inquiring readers everywhere want to know?

<snippitysnip threadpage=13>
Annika coughs hard on the black smoke that fills her small bedroom. Even lying flat against the floor it's getting hard to find good air. She can hear her classmates farther down the hall, screaming as the walls of their rooms catch fire.

The gap between door and floor allows for a little circulation. Annika stays as close as she dares, creeping forward for a breath and then scooting back as quickly as possible so that the thing outside can't smell her.

She tries hard not to vomit as the image rises unbidden of Mai, her cat familiar, rent by horrible black claws. It's as though a piece of her has been ripped out.

As if the beast outside could hear her thoughts, suddenly, inches from her face, the misty black nose is back snuffling at the gap under her door. Claws gouge at the wood, and Annika scrambles madly back. She's choking on the heat and the flames, and as the door splinters, she just has time to register the thought that this is going to be the last thing she ever sees.
</snippitysnip>


----------



## KidCthulhu

I think it's time for a Mouskiteer Role Call.  Who's playing who, what level and class?  We've had some personnel shifts of late in the party, and I need to update my score card.


----------



## Fajitas

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> I think it's time for a Mouskiteer Role Call.  Who's playing who, what level and class?  We've had some personnel shifts of late in the party, and I need to update my score card.



Fair enough.  The party has just leveled up to 4th.  The current roster is:

Anvil the Just- Cleric 4, played by Bad Monkey Jeff
Reyu- Druid 4, played by Wisdom Like Silence
Lira- Sorcerer 4, played by Spyscribe
Thatch- Fighter 4, played by Sir Not Appearing On These Boards
Eva- Rogue 3 (having just been raised), played by Bad Monkey Jeff's Wife (who I don't think has posted here but keeps swearing she's gonna)
Kiara- ?????, played by Snipet (who doesn't come around the boards much)
Annika- Wizard 4, NPC
Benedic- Ranger 4, NPC

That line-up stays pretty consistent for a while.


----------



## Angcuru

Anvil continues to kick ass with his "so straight-forward he makes an arrow look like a slinky" personality.


----------



## spyscribe

Darmatage said:
			
		

> Is the 14 year old the "ripped out piece," inquiring readers everywhere want to know?
> 
> <snippitysnip threadpage=13>
> She tries hard not to vomit as the image rises unbidden of Mai, her cat familiar, rent by horrible black claws. It's as though a piece of her has been ripped out.
> </snippitysnip>




Actually, no, that was meant to be a bit poetic, but nothing so obscure.  The literal-minded version reads: 

"She tries hard not to vomit as the image rises unbidden of Mai, her cat familiar, rent by horrifble black claws. She feels like she's just lost a big chunk of XP."

Update hopefully tomorrow.  I've got some fine-tuning to do before it goes up, and I don't see getting to it tonight.


----------



## Dust

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Anvil continues to kick ass with his "so straight-forward he makes an arrow look like a slinky" personality.




You know, I've got to be honest: the story is great and the writing is always quality, the world is imaginative and engaging, but when it comes down to it... Anvil is the reason I check for an update to this story hour.  I sort of think of him as the paladin-stereotype done right, without ruining everyone else's fun.  That, and I really want to be able to start saying "Justice demands it" in everyday conversation.


----------



## Snipet

_Kiara- ?????, played by Snipet (who doesn't come around the boards much)_

I'm here!  I'm here!  I've been trying to get caught up on the stuff that happened before Kiara appears.  (Things will never be the same...)   
See y'all Saturday!


----------



## Pyske

I shall now commit heresy in admitting that Anvil is not my favorite character in the story hour.  I like him OK, but I think Reyu or Lira are my favorites.


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Pyske said:
			
		

> I shall now commit heresy in admitting that Anvil is not my favorite character in the story hour.  I like him OK, but I think Reyu or Lira are my favorites.




Yay!  Clearly I play Reyu 'cuz I enjoy it, but it's nice to know other people like her too.  I feel like she often ends up the straightman (so to speak), but she also has some good stuff coming up...

-WLS


----------



## dpdx

I like 'em all. The way spyscribe writes the Story Hour, everybody gets their moment(s) in the sun, and every combat looks like a total team effort.


----------



## spyscribe

Pyske said:
			
		

> I shall now commit heresy in admitting that Anvil is not my favorite character in the story hour.  I like him OK, but I think Reyu or Lira are my favorites.




For the record, the following update has _nothing to do_ with the above post.  

*Part the Seventy-First*
_In which: Thatch makes a discovery, Lira makes a “friend,” and Anvil misplaces his sea-legs._

Anvil looks out over the railing at the undulating sea.  It is not a far journey to Dar Karo, home of the Confederacy’s great craftspeople, but the ship is far enough from shore that the only thing to be seen from horizon to horizon is water. It is an odd feeling, he reflects, to be out of sight of land.  Constantly moving, churning…  

Anvil interrupts his reverie to retch over the side of the ship.

… some might say, it is an unholy feeling.  

Had he expressed these views aloud, most of the crew of the ship, _Alirria’s Star_, most of whom wear holy symbols devoted to the goddess of the sea and travelers, would have strongly disagreed.  But for once, Anvil does not feel like engaging in a lusty theological debate.

The rest of the party more easily find their sea legs, and enjoy the two day journey to Dar Karo, which also happens to be Annika’s home city.  She and Kiara will pay a visit to her parents while the rest of the party shops for supplies.

“Anything we should be sure to see while we’re in the city?” Lira asks her.

Annika sighs, perhaps not as excited about this family visit as Kiara is.  “Well, there’s the great market.  Anything you want is on sale there, and the best quality goods anywhere in the Halmae.  Plus, it’s the only place you can find Karonian weapons and armor without paying five times over fair price.”

_(As magic items are very rare in the Halmae, Karonian crafts go a ways towards taking their place.  They aren’t magic per se, but they function like they have +1 enhancement bonuses:  Karonian weapons give +1 to hit and to damage, Karonian armor gives an extra +1 to AC.  They are ineffective against */magic DR.  When purchased in Dar Karo, they cost only slightly less than DMG prices for equivalent magic items.)_

The ship docks the morning of December 7 (six days after Kettenek Rising, for you sticklers).  Dar Karo is an island.  From their approach, the near shore is dominated by a huge harbor, filled with ships from all over the Halmae—not only every city-state of the Darine Confederacy, but many of the independent city states as well as the Kettenek Sovereignty and the Empire of Ebis. 

The captain of the _Alirria’s Star_, a woman named Sommersby, advises her passengers to return by the next morning, when she plans to make an early departure.  The party agrees, and then sets off to explore the city.

For Anvil, “exploring the city” consists of asking the first passerby he meets for directions to the city’s Temple of Justice, and spending the rest of the day and most of the evening ensconced in the library there.

Annika and Kiara quickly go their own way, Annika keeping Kiara under close watch to keep her from lifting trinkets off of passing vendors.

Reyu, Thatch, Lira, Eva, and Benedic all walk together as far as the main market.  From there, Lira and Eva split off to go browse the stalls, while Thatch accompanies Reyu on a more directed shopping expedition.

“Would you like to come along with us?” Reyu asks Benedic. 

“Yeah,” Thatch puts in, obviously sounding out a replacement for his lost drinking buddy. 

“Oh…  well, that’s a very kind offer, but…” Reyu notices that Benedic keeps cutting his glance over towards Lira and Eva’s retreating figures.  “I was thinking I better tag along and keep an eye on the girls.  You know… in case anyone tries to give them any trouble.”

Reyu squints, puzzled.  It looks like the ranger is blushing.  But, since there is nothing in his words that he could possibly be embarrassed about, she decides she must be misreading his expression.  All she says is, “Very well.”

“Right.  I better be on then…  Catch up with you later Thatch, right?” and with barely a backward glance, Benedic jogs to catch up with Lira and Eva.

###

He finds them at the stall of a food-vendor, picking up savory pies for lunch.  Benedic purchases one as well, and finds that the cooks of Dar Karo live up to the reputation of the city’s other craftspeople.  And so, he has a mouthful of pie when the trio is approached by a lone man in the garb of a Sovereign missionary.

The man is fairly young, and greets the travelers with a low bow.  “Good-day.”

Lira and Eva exchange looks.  Lira doesn’t think talking to him can be in any way a good idea, but none of her previous experience has given her a means to politely extricate herself from a direct greeting… well, not without faking a sudden fainting spell.  For her part, Eva seems to be waiting to follow her lead.

“Good-day,” Lira replies and quickly paying the vendor attempts to simply walk away when the man says: 

“My name is Komatsu.”

Lira blinks.  “That’s nice.”

“Forgive me, but… am I correct in assuming you are travelers here?”

Lira frowns, tugging at Benedic’s sleeve in an effort to dissuade him from buying a second savory pie.  “Why do you want to know?” she asks.

“I am returning to my home monastery,” the man explains, “and seek passage on a ship that will take me home.  Do you know of a ship that will be traveling in that direction?”

Lira looks from Komatsu, to Eva (who seems equally at a loss as to what to say), to Benedic (who is busy stuffing his face with savory pie).  She sighs.  “Well… I guess ours is.”

“Do you think I might be able to book passage?”

Lira sighs.  “Well, it’s not really our decision.  You’d have to talk to the captain.”

The man bows, courteously, although not obsequiously.  “I certainly shall.  And the name of your vessel?”

A pause.

“The _Alirria’s Star_.”

“Ah.  Many thanks.”

“If you’ll excuse us, we really must be going,” Lira puts in before the monk can follow up with another question.  She grabs Benedic by the arm and, along with Eva, they quickly walk away.

As they do so, Eva whispers, “Are you sure that was a good idea?”

Lira sighs.  “He wasn’t asking anything unreasonable.  If the captain doesn’t think he can be trusted, she won’t let him on the ship.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

Another sigh.  “No, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t.”

###

Reyu admires the smooth draw on the Karonian bow.  She always been a bit skeptical of human handicrafts, but this is good work.  She looks over at the craftsman, who looks on, passively, confident in his work to speak for itself.

Reyu nods.  “Yes.”

The merchant turns to Thatch who had been looking on as the transaction takes place.  “Anything for you, young man?”

Thatch shakes his head.  “I’ve got a sword.  It was my uncle’s.  He used it to fight in the great war.”

The merchant actually seems interested.  “Really?”  He holds out a hand.  “May I?”

Thatch produces the blade.  He hands it over cautiously, but the man is very careful as he brings the greatsword over to his workbench.  He takes out a loupe and examines the join between the hilt and blade minutely.  He takes out a rag and cleans out of bit of grime.  His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.  “This is a Karonian sword.”

“It’s what?”  Thatch asks.

“Well, it’s old, not in the best repair… but I can fix it for you.”

Thatch’s eyes go wide.  “Really?”

###

That evening, Thatch and Reyu return together to the _Alirria’s Star_.  They find a Sovereign missionary standing on deck near the bow.  Eva and Lira watch him uneasily from the stern.  Thatch wanders over.

“Umm… who’s he?”

Lira sighs.  “His name is Komatsu.  The captain let him aboard.  It’s not my fault.” 

Thatch looks over at Eva.  “Umm?”

“Long story.”


----------



## Len

spyscribe said:
			
		

> ... and Anvil misplaces his sea-legs.



Yeah, my DM makes us roll fort saves for seasickness too.

The first time, I just barely made the save. So one character started talking about how the waves were making the ship go up and down and up and down... And another guy kept rocking from side to side in front of me.

The DM gave me a circumstance penalty, and it made me fail the save. BLEARGHH.


----------



## doghead

**wag*wag**

Been busy so I've got two pages of storyhour to look forwards to. *wag*wag*

But I just had to jump in after this:



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> _A Series of _Interesting_ Conversations_




The conversation with Eva was beautiful. The ending stunning.

And a great big Happy Birthday Spyscribe.


----------



## dpdx

I henceforth swear, given Annika's early cameo, and Anvil's performance across the bounding main, never to refer derisively to this last update as "Halmae: Days of Chunder." Cross my heart. And no, Tom Cruise does not play Anvil in the movie. 

Seriously, good update. Fajitas, on Thatch's 'discovery' of the sword's origin, had you been adding the bonus to his rolls already, or is the repair a way of saying, once it's fixed, it gives the bonus?


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> Fajitas, on Thatch's 'discovery' of the sword's origin, had you been adding the bonus to his rolls already, or is the repair a way of saying, once it's fixed, it gives the bonus?



The latter.  Thatch has a lot of personal background built into his equipment: his sword, his horse.  It never seemed right to make him get rid of those old things just so he can keep his equipment in line with his level.  Seemed better to declare that Bob had *always* been a warhorse, you just didn't notice 'til he bulked up a little.  And the same with the sword.

Of course, there may be a lot more stories connected to that sword than anyone knows yet.  We've only made one discovery about it so far, but that doesn't mean there aren't more to come.  Just what wars did Thatch's Uncle fight in, anyway?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Seventy-Second: *
_In which: the Sovereignty provides a chilly welcome._

Eva stands on the deck of the _Alirria’s Star_, watching the smooth roll of the Halmae below.  A brisk sea breeze plays in the rigging, and several gulls cluster around the mast.  Annika seems to be engaged in an eternal struggle to keep Kiara from climbing up to join them.

By the deck rail on the other side, Lira is engaged in a surprisingly undramatic struggle to blow-off Komatsu.  Eva approaches just in time to hear the end of the exchange.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Lira is saying, “but you really don’t talk much for a missionary.”

Komatsu does not appear terribly offended.  “Would you prefer I try to convert you?’

“No, that’s okay,” Lira quickly assures him.  Then, noticing Eva’s approach adds, “If you’ll excuse me?”

“Certainly.”  Komatsu gives a small bow, and departs.

“What did he want?”  Eva asks.

“Oddly enough,” Lira replies, “he wanted to talk about how I became a Questor.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Not much.” Lira shrugs, and elaborates, “Since my religiousness is closely tied to my being an unholy freak of nature, I usually figure that it isn’t anyone else’s business…  There’s something odd about him.”

Eva nods.  “He’s been talking to everyone on the ship with a holy symbol, well… everyone except Anvil.”

“What did he want to talk to you about?”  Lira asks.

“Anvil,” Eva replies.  Then explains, “How much of a hard-ass he is, or isn’t.  And he wanted to know how I became a Fortune Rider.  I told him some, and he said that if we ever needed help while we were in the Sovereignty we could get in touch with his brothers at the Monastery of the Sharpstone Pass.”

“Well, that’s good to know… I guess.  Hopefully we can just get rid of this ogre, find the wizard of the Kuio Valley, and then get out of the Sovereignty as quickly as possible.”

Eva sighs.  “I’ll drink to that.”

Benedic joins them at the rail.  Lira notices that, speaking of holy symbols, he isn’t wearing his.  “Are we close?” she asks.

Benedic nods, leans down to point over her shoulder to a grey smudge on the horizon.  “The Captain says that’s Seaward.”

Eva squints.  “Is it fogged in?”

“Hard to tell at this distance, but it looks like we’re certainly in for some weather.”  He slides a finger around the cord where Lira’s holy symbol hangs around her neck.  “Better pack that up.”

Lira slips the medallion under her collar, and buttons her cloak, blushing slightly.  Benedic winks.  “Well, I’d best tell the others.”

Eva watches him go.  Then, she takes off her only holy symbol, wrapping the cord around it.  She lets out a long sigh.  “Great, just what we need… weather.”

###

The seas grow choppy early the next morning as the ship approaches the shore.  At least, Thatch guesses that they’re approaching shore.  Really, all they seem to be heading for is a thick grey soup on the horizon.  He snags the attention of a passing sailor.  “Umm… is that normal?”

The sailor shakes his head, “Not for this time of year, no.” and hurries on.

A few hours later, the ship pulls into dock at Seaward.  The city looks as though it has had all the color leached out of it.  The buildings have all been weathered to a uniform grey, which perfectly matches the overcast sky and the waters of the harbor.  The fog the party saw from shore hovers inland like a wall, and here at water’s edge, everything is soaked by a cold, persistent drizzle.  

The party, in their matching cloaks, are no exception.  Anvil still wears his holy symbol openly.  Lira’s is under her blouse.  Eva’s is rolled up in an old pair of socks at the bottom of her pack.  Their preparations were well-taken, as the ship is met at dock by a Sovereign official, who introduces himself as Bokuru, a customs inspector.

“What brings you to our lands?” he asks.

Anvil answers for the party according to their pre-arranged plan.  “We are here to travel to the lands of Lord Fau Meen to rid them of a troublesome ogre.”

The inspector nods.  “Do you carry with you any contraband?”

Anvil blinks.  “I know not what you would consider such.  Tell me, and I will answer.”

“Few things.  Do you have illegal drugs?”

“Such as?”

“Blackroot distillate?”

Anvil shakes his head.  “Nothing of that sort.”

Bokuru looks to the rest of the party, and Komatsu.  “What about the rest of you?”

Everyone shakes their head.

“Any artifacts or literature of the lesser gods, or that contradicts the Sovereign and Supreme nature of Kettenek?”

The party denies that they carry any such things, and Bokuru seems to believe them.  Then, he turns to Komatsu.

“What about him?” he asks Anvil.

“What about him?”

“Why do you travel with one of our citizens?”

“We met him in Dar Karo, he was seeking passage home which our captain granted.”

“Is he part of your group?”

“No.”

Bokuru considers for a moment, then waves them down the gangplank.  “That will be all then.  May Kettenek’s Blessings be with you.”

“And with you,” Anvil replies.  The rest of the party files past silently.

Walking last, Eva just hears Bokuru pulling Komatsu aside as he leaves the ship.   She dares to glace back once, and sees that two guards have joined Bokuru and are systematically searching the monk’s luggage.  They pass out of sight before she can tell if they find anything.

Once the party reaches the quay they are met by Lord Agasha’s son, Hiru, who has brought horses for their journey inland.  He reports that they’ve had quite a bit of snow for this early in the winter, but that it should only take them two days to reach the manor of Lord Fau Meen, where they will meet his father and men-at-arms.

“If there is not anything you need to attend to here,” he concludes, “I suggest we begin our journey as quickly as possible.”

No one has any objections to departing immediately, and the party soon leaves Seaward behind them.

###

The first day is uneventful.  There is some light snow on the ground, but nothing to impede their progress.  Kiara, they find, has a habit of wandering away from the group to go on scouting missions of her own.  Anvil attempts to organize shifts to keep an eye on her, but is met with little enthusiasm for the task.

“She’s okay,” Annika tries to reassure him, “she never goes far, and if she gets into trouble, she’ll let me know.”

Anvil resolves to watch the girl himself.

###

The next day, Hiru leads the group off of the main roads.  It’s unclear whether weather patterns are changing farther from the coast, or if lack of travelers have allowed the snow to accumulate, but the drifts become much deeper very quickly.  It is cold, and the sky is an unrelenting grey.

The party is just regrouping to continue after a brief break for a noon meal, when Reyu and Benedic almost simultaneously turn their faces to the sky.

“The air—” Reyu begins…

Just as Benedic barks, “Snow.”

Sure enough, flakes are soon falling from the sky, thick and fast.  Within two minutes, the party finds itself in the middle of a full-blown blizzard.


----------



## Dortmunder

Thanks for the update, always a pleasure to read it 

Now....why do I have that sinking feeling in my stomach?


----------



## spyscribe

Dortmunder said:
			
		

> Now....why do I have that sinking feeling in my stomach?




"Maybe it was something you ate?" the author innocently suggests.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Seventy-Third*
_In which: Eva shows off her survival knowledge and Anvil has nothing to say._

In the dark of a makeshift snow cave, Eva’s voice squeaks out, “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Something brushed across the back of my neck.”

A pause.

“Sorry.  That was Euro.”

“Oh.”

“Can we get some light in here?”

There is a shuffle in the darkness followed by Anvil’s incantation as he casts _light_ on the end of his staff, and soon the dim hovel is lit with the bright, cool glow.  The shelter from the blizzard is makeshift at best, dug into a snow-drift with barely enough room for the entire group.  

It only takes the members of the party a few seconds to realize that being stuck in a snow cave is not made more interesting by being able to see whose elbow is jammed in your face.

But then, exactly an hour after it began—and just as suddenly—the blizzard stops.

The party wastes no time in digging their way out of their cave.  The good news is that the horses have neither run off nor frozen to death.  The bad news is that the already deep snow has become even deeper.

Eva brushes snow out of her hair.  “Okay, I know I’m a city girl who doesn’t know anything about this stuff, but that blizzard wasn’t natural.”

Reyu nods.  “You are correct.”

“So what caused it?”

“I do not know.”

Lord Hiru clears his throat.  “There’s a peasant village not too far from here where we should be able to take shelter overnight, but we’ll have to make good time if we’re going to reach it by nightfall.  We’d best press on.”

The party does.

A few hours later, another flash blizzard hits.  Again, it lasts for an hour and then stops as abruptly as it started.  Knowing what to expect, the group is able to capitalize on what little warning they have, everyone moving quickly to secure the horses or dig the shelter from the moment Reyu and Benedic notice the change in the air that heralds the sudden snow.

**********

Several hours after sunset, the party comes to the peasant village on Lord Fau Meen’s land.  

Some dozen mud huts, without windows and only rough curtains for doors sit in a wide circle around a central patch of dirt, currently covered in several feet of icy snow.  At the north side of the circle are two larger wooden buildings.  

“What are those?” Anvil asks.  

“One,” Hiru explains, “is the house of the village Chaplain, the serfs’ community leader and spiritual guide.  The other is the tool shed.”

Eva leans over to Lira, trying to keep her voice down, “Is it just me, or is the tool shed better built?”

“It’s not you,” Thatch answers her.

Reyu’s eyes narrow, and not because of the biting winds.  “Do all peasants live in this manner?” she asks Hiru.

Hiru shakes his head.  “They live in the manner that their Lord allows them too.  Lord Fau Meen is not known for his generosity… but I’ve heard of worse.”

“He must not be doing too well,” Lira comments.

“What makes you say that?”

“What does it say to your neighbors that you can only afford to keep your workers in mud huts?”

Anvil decides to ignore the socio-political debate and, striding up to the door of the Chaplain’s house, knocks on the door.  He can’t help but notice that the door is noticeably smaller than its frame, and that snow has been deliberately piled against the exterior walls, in a last-ditch effort to provide added insulation to the plank walls.

The door swings open to reveal a young peasant, he cowers in the doorway, whether out or respect or the cold it’s hard to tell for sure.  Behind him, about fifty villagers are huddled together, crammed into a space that can’t be larger than fifteen by twenty feet.  “Yes, my Lord?” the peasant asks.  “What do you require of us?”

Anvil is actually at a loss for words.


----------



## Capellan

You know, spyscribe, if you keep up this rate of posting, you're going to make the rest of us look bad 

It's always fun to see PCs run into a 'wrong' they can't just beat up until it's 'right'.  I'll be interested to see what soul-searching the party does.


----------



## spyscribe

Capellan said:
			
		

> You know, spyscribe, if you keep up this rate of posting, you're going to make the rest of us look bad




Hey, this is just a desperate effort to cover how far behind the game I am.  The session currently being posted was played 21 months ago today.   

_The author points frantically off in another direction, shouting, "Anyone coming out to Gen Con SoCal this year?"_


----------



## Angcuru

Hmm.....sudden Blizzards lasting exactly 1 hour.....Ogress Druid....

Sorry, don't see the connection.


----------



## Tremere

*Thanks!*

For the great story updates!

And to Fajitas et. al. for a great time - I had a blast sitting in on Saturday!!!


----------



## Len

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Hmm.....sudden Blizzards lasting exactly 1 hour.....Ogress Druid....
> 
> Sorry, don't see the connection.



Maybe this will help explain it.


----------



## LostSoul

Another faithful reader chimes in.

Good story, great world.  Very interesting stuff.


----------



## Dakkareth

After spending two afternoons reading through this SH I figure it's only fair to show up and tell you, that I enjoyed it. Hell, Anvil made me laugh out loud several times (attracting unwanted attention)


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Seventy-Fourth*
_In which: Reyu shocks the Sovereign peasantry, and Anvil is not pleased to be proved correct._

Reyu steps forward.  “The question is:  what can we do for you?”

“For… for us?”

“Do you have injured?”

The peasant stands, blinking.  “A few, Lady…  But they can still work,” he hastens to add.  Then, “We have… lost three.  They froze in the last blizzard—” he steadfastly refuses to meet Reyu’s eyes, “If you would like to lodge here, we will return to our huts—”

“No, that’s fine,” Eva says hurridly.  The rest of the party nods in agreement.  “We can sleep in the toolshed.”

The peasant is bowed so low he’s nearly bent double.  “As you wish.”

Anvil nods sharply.  “Good.  Now, show us your wounded.”

*********

Much to the amazement of the peasants, Anvil and Reyu heal the injured villagers, and then Reyu proceeds to _wood shape_ the door so that it actually fits snugly into it’s jamb.  It’s not much, but at least the building has some small chance of holding heat.

A survey of the mud huts finds an older man and two children huddled together, frozen.

Thatch looks over the villagers.  He notices that almost none of them appear to be over 35.  There are children, but the bulk of the workers don’t seem much older than he is.  He shudders; this isn’t a place that allows many to grow old.

The party sets up camp in the tool shed.  They sit their usual watches, and sometime just before midnight, another of the mysterious blizzards hits.  Since protecting the tools seems to be a higher priority than protecting his serfs for Lord Fau Meen, they pass the night in relative comfort.  

************

The next day the party sets out again, traveling through progressively deeper and deeper snow, but no flash blizzards.  Around mid-day, Lord Fau Meen’s manor house finally comes into view.

The party is met by a nervous servant who takes their horses and bring ill news.  Lord Agasha has not yet arrived with his men-at-arms to accompany the party.

“Send a runner to see what has detained them then,” says Hiru.

The man shakes his head.  “Sir, with respect, you must make that demand of Lord Fau Meen himself.”

“Why has he not already done so?” Anvil wants to know.

“It is not my place to say.”

###

The party is quickly escorted into Lord Fau Meen’s reception hall.  Fau Meen is there, sitting on an ornately carved wooden throne, surrounded by two administrators and a knight.  Off to one side, a peasant huddles against the wall.  He seems completely preoccupied with making himself as invisible as possible.

Seeing the party, Lord Fau Meen grimaces.  “Well, it took you long enough.”

Hiru gives a token bow.  “We were caught in several blizzards on the way.  My father was expected several days ago.  Why has no one been sent after him?”

“Because,” Fau Meen replies, “there are no runners to spare.”  He allows the implications of this to sink in.  “In the past week four of my villages have been attacked.  Not to mention this plague of infernal blizzards, which are no doubt responsible for your father’s delay as they were for your own.”

Anvil addresses Fau Meen directly.  “What are these storms?  Is it in the nature of your lands to have such changeable weather?”

Fau Meen scowls.  “No, it is not.  Neither is it natural for my settlements to be attacked by goblin raiding parties.  Something has emboldened them.”  

“The ogre?” Thatch suggests.

Fau Meen indicates the peasant by the wall.  “He is a survivor of the latest attack.  Tell them what has transpired.”

The peasant comes forward.  Although he bows nearly to the floor, when he speaks, he is calm and deliberate.  “Our village was struck in the middle of the night.  The goblins came, some of them riding bests, like huge wolves.”  (Eva blanches a bit at this.) 

“Did you see an ogre with them?” Anvil asks.

“No, Honored Justicar.”

Lord Fau Meen waves the man off, who returns to his place by the wall.  “What he did see was the kidnapping of three clerics.”

“What need has a peasant village of three clerics?” Anvil asks.

“None.  But the priest who had been stationed there was… growing feeble.  He was taken, as well as his successor, and the Father who was there to conduct the rites of installation.”

“You said other villages had been attacked, have their chaplains been taken?”  Lira asks.

Lord Fau Meen nods.  “Yes.  Although so have two laborers and the daughter of one of the priests.”

Anvil strokes his beard.  An unpleasant theory has begun to grow in his relentlessly logical mind.  Three abductions two nights ago.  Three blizzards the following day.  If this is not a coincidence, the implications are… disturbing.

“Lord Fau Meen,” he breaks in.  “When were these clerics taken, and when have the blizzards occurred?”

“You believe there is a… connection?” Reyu asks.

“I hope there is not.”

Lord Fau Meen summons a clerk who brings forth the records of the latest goblin attacks.



> The party learns that the first attack took place on December 4th.  The village was one of the larger ones, and two chaplains were taken.  The second attack was on December 5th, when the chaplain and his daughter were abducted.  The following day, December 6th saw two of the sudden “flash” blizzards, followed by another one on the morning of December 7th.  The third attack, on December 8th, was the one related by the survivor at court, resulting in three hostages.  There was another attack on December 9th, when two laborers were kidnapped.  Yesterday was December 10th, with the three blizzards experienced first hand by the party.




Anvil scowls.  “So in all cases, two days after a number of clerics are kidnapped, an equal number of blizzards occur.”

“Which means there shouldn’t be any blizzards today,” Eva reasons.

Reyu nods.  “But,” she points out, “the pattern also… suggests… that the goblins will make their next raid tomorrow night.”

There is only one village on the border of Lord Fau Meen’s lands that has not yet been attacked by goblins.  It is two full day’s ride away, and the sun is already slipping low in the sky.

Anvil is undaunted.  “We must be there to defend it.”

“I would be in your debt,” Lord Fau Meen replies. “Unfortunately, the force which I would have sent to accompany you in your battle against the ogre has been necessarily depleted, as my men are needed to defend these lands.  I can spare only five men-at-arms. And,” he adds, “Agasha has not yet arrived.”

“We have no time to wait for him,” Anvil decides.  “When Lord Agasha comes here, tell him where we have gone.  We will wait for him at the village.”

And so, only a few hours after arriving at Fau Meen’s estate, the party sets out again.  Although Hiru stays behind to wait for his father, Lord Fau Meen’s men are able to depart immediately.  The group presses on as far as they can before making camp for the night.  

They ride hard the following day, but do not arrive at the village until several hours after sunset.


----------



## spyscribe

Dakkareth said:
			
		

> After spending two afternoons reading through this SH I figure it's only fair to show up and tell you, that I enjoyed it. Hell, Anvil made me laugh out loud several times (attracting unwanted attention)




Hey Dakkereth, thanks for dropping in to read and to post.  You too LostSoul!

And Termere, it was great to have you.  Too bad you couldn't come back for the conclusion of the big >mumble mumble<...


----------



## dpdx

Not to be annoying, but in this passage:



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> “You said other villages had been attacked, have their chaplains been taken?” Lira asks.
> 
> *Lord Agasha* nods. “Yes. Although so have two laborers and the daughter of one of the priests.”
> 
> Anvil strokes his beard. An unpleasant theory has begun to grow in his relentlessly logical mind. Three abductions two nights ago. Three blizzards the following day. If this is not a coincidence, the implications are… disturbing.



Is Hiru also referred to as "Lord Agasha?"

Great update, and nice cliffhanger.


----------



## spyscribe

Err. No, that should be Lord Fau Meen.

I have to run now, but I'll fix it when I get home from work.

Good catch!


----------



## Darmatage

Yay! A Cliffhanger for my birthday!
--Darm


----------



## Fajitas

Darmatage said:
			
		

> Yay! A Cliffhanger for my birthday!




Happy birthday!

_Welcome to the Halmae_: The story hour with an extra something for everyone's birthday...


----------



## spyscribe

*Bumper Weekend Update!*

*Part the Seventy-Fifth*
_In which: the party prepares defenses, and Eva finds a mystery._

_The strangers arrive in the village after dark has already fallen.  Five of them wear the livery of Lord Fau Meen, but the others are foreigners.  Once they dismount, the one who wears the symbol like that of a Justicar calls for everyone to gather in the center of the village.  Mikaro has lived in the village his entire life, and never have so many strangers come at once.  He hurries to see what is happening._

“The goblins are coming to attack your village,” Anvil announces, “you must join with us to defend it.”

The village chaplain comes forward, “Justicar, we have no means of defending ourselves.  We are not warriors.  We have no weapons.”

“You have your tools,” he replies.

A low murmur of disbelief greets Anvil’s words.  Some of the assembled villagers gasp. 

One of Lord Fau Meen’s men clears his throat, and the peasants fall silent.  “That would not be acceptable, Justicar.”

“Why not?”  Anvil demands.

“The tools are not for fighting.  If they were to be damaged, the peasants would not be able to tend to their crops.”

“If they’re all dead, it’s going to be really hard to tend to their crops,” Lira points out.

The guardsman gives a small shrug.

Reyu speaks very slowly and clearly, to make sure she will not be misunderstood.  “Are you saying that the tools are more valuable to Lord Fau Meen than the people who wield them?”

The guard’s expression is completely neutral as he replies, “Yes.”

It’s hard to decide which is more disturbing, the fact that the guard comes out and says such a thing, or that the peasants are utterly unsurprised to hear it.  The party soon realizes that despite the logic of their arguments, they are not going to be able to convince these people to take up their master’s tools to defend their lives.

“Fine,” says Anvil, “we will find other ways to ward off your enemies.”

Anvil sets to work organizing several groups of villagers setting up snow-earthworks around the village.  With the ground frozen, they cannot build actual earthen walls, but there is abundant snow to pile, and once it has been packed and smoothed, it freezes quite hard in the cold of the night.

Thatch is sorely missing his pitcher, but works with another group of peasants hauling water from their well and pouring it on the ground to create strategically-placed ice-slicks, just where the goblins will be headed, assuming that Anvil’s snow-walls hold.

Meanwhile, Reyu and Benedic teach some of the villagers how to cut makeshift spears from tree limbs, sharpening one end into a vicious point.  The finished weapons are rather crude, but it is still a better option than asking the peasants to pummel the attacking goblins with their fists.

Eva, piling snow, notices Kiara sneaking into the tool shed.  Suspecting that the girl might have taken it upon herself to “liberate” the tools for defensive purposes, Eva follows her.   When several minutes pass without Kiara emerging, Eva enters the shed. 

Kiara is not there.

Eva checks for tracks.

Kiara did not _leave_ the shed.

###

Eva finds Annika hauling water for ice-slicks.  “Er… I think Kiara’s gone missing.”

Annika blinks.  “No.  She’s fine.  She just went out scouting to see if there are any signs of goblins nearby.”

“No,” says Eva. “I saw her go into the tool shed, but when I followed her she wasn’t there.”

“She probably snuck out.”

“She didn’t leave any tracks.  I mean, she couldn’t have flown off, right?”  As Eva finishes the sentence, she notices that Annika flushes a bit.  It’s hard to tell because the wizard is suddenly overcome by a fit of coughing.

When she gets her breath back, Annika laughs weakly.  “No… of course not.”

“Right.”

Eva goes to find Lira.

###

Eva finds her helping to pile snow in one of two semi-circular mounds around the village.  She pulls her aside where they won’t be overheard.

“Could someone like you make someone fly?”

Lira considers.  “Sure, there’s a spell… it’s called _fly_, but I can’t cast it.”

“Could Annika?”

Lira frowns.  “I don’t think so, not unless she’s more powerful than she’s let on.  Why?”

Eva catches her up on the mysterious disappearing Kiara.  “… And I was just kind of joking and said, ‘well, she couldn’t have flown off?’ and that’s when Annika looked kind of funny.  She tried to laugh it off, but…”

Lira knits her brows.  “Let me take a look.”

Lira follows Eva back to the shed where she casts _detect magic_.  Nothing.

“We should talk to the others.”

Lira and Eva find Annika and the rest of the party gathered at the center of the village.  Eva begins.  “Has anyone seen—“

Annika suddenly looks towards the forest and points.  “They’re coming.”

“How could you tell that?!?”  Eva demands in a loud whisper.

Anvil motions for silence.  “Everyone, get to your positions.”

###

The goblins come streaming out of the darkness, shrieking as they come.  Two are mounted on giant worgs, wolf-like creatures with red eyes and snapping jaws.  Adding to the confusion and cacophony, two horses lead the charge, hooves echoing on the packed snow.

This is an experienced raiding party.  They know the lay-out of the village.  They know where to find their quarry.  They know how to quickly create abject terror in the weak-minded humans who have invaded their lands.  And they brandish the torches they carry to burn the humans’ wretched homes to the ground.

They are in for quite a surprise.

Anvil’s snow earthworks do their job, and the goblins are funneled into the center of the village via only two routes, both of which put their lines in perfect position for the party members and Lord Fau Meen’s men to divide and exterminate them.

It also means the attackers are running _right by_ the positions where the villagers have gathered in two clusters, ready to defend their homes.  As the shrieking invaders charge forward, every single villager stands their ground.  

And within inches of the peasants’ position, the first wave of goblins hits Thatch’s ice-slicks and falls flat on their faces.  The peasants descend on them.

Thatch and Anvil wade into the center of the goblin swarm, swinging their swords with deadly accuracy.  Thatch finds that he can almost always dispatch two of the creatures with a single stroke, and allows himself a grim smile of satisfaction.  _This_ is what he is really good at.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees two villagers who have managed to get a goblin between them, and are beating it senseless with the butt ends of their spears.

_That’s not bad,_ Thatch thinks.

The spellcasters and archers have taken the high ground and have concentrated their fire on the two worg-mounted goblins, or—as it quickly becomes apparent that the worgs are a much greater threat than their riders—the mounts themselves.

From her vantage point, Eva draws a bead on one of the goblins as it runs out of the woods, waiting for it to come into optimal range.  Then, just as she is about to cut it down it its tracks, the goblin stumbles and falls face-forward into the snow.  The arrow that felled it still quivers… _in its back_.

Eva does not allow herself to dwell on what she has just seen.  Instead, she finds a new target and promptly puts an arrow through the goblin’s squinting little eye.  But still, a little voice in her head nags at her.  _That goblin was shot from behind.  There’s someone in the woods, helping us.  But the only person it could be is Kiara.  How the _hells_ did she wind up back there?_

_Magic missiles_ zing through the air.  Reyu summons a badger and sets it on one of the worgs, but the animal is unable to sink its teeth into its prey.  Then, she sees one of the peasants she worked with earlier in the day.

Mikaru remembers the words of the elf:  _“Do not attempt to throw them,” she said.  “They are not well-balanced, and are difficult to aim.  Wait until the goblins are close and then use the spear to stab.  That way, if you miss, you are still armed.  If you hit, pull the spear back out and do it again.”_

There, in the midst of the pitched battle, silhouetted in the flickering light of the goblin torches, Mikaru lifts his spear, and with a great shout, stabs downwards, right into one of the worgs’ hairy flank.  Then, he pulls the spear out and does it again.  And again.  The worg howls in pain, but he takes no notice, yelling and stabbing at the animal as if he were possessed.

The worg snaps futilely, but, buoyed by their comrade’s bravery, the other villagers jab at its face.  None of them actually wound the creature, but they are able to keep it from harming any of them either.

Watching in amazement, Lira sends a pair of _magic missiles_ into the fray, but they are merely a footnote to the villagers’ melee efforts.  A blow to the chest fells the worg, but the peasant keeps stabbing at the corpse until one of his companions finally pulls him away.

The goblins, clearly expecting to raze the village as easily as they had the previous four, are quickly thrown into confusion.  Less than a minute after the raid began, only a half-dozen are still standing.  Those that are able throw their torches to the ground and take off, back into the woods.  Thatch, Reyu, Annika and Lord Fau Meen’s men all pursue.  They do not intend to leave any survivors.


----------



## dpdx

Yeah! Rise up, villagers! Woohoo!


----------



## Tremere

spyscribe said:
			
		

> And Termere, it was great to have you.  Too bad you couldn't come back for the conclusion of the big >mumble mumble<...




Missing the conclusion was a source of frustration only exceeded by the fact that I've caught up on the SH!   

Over a week of reading on and off and its still almost 2 years in arrears?


----------



## Harp

_The Magnificent Seven_, Halmae style.  Excellent update.  I particularly liked the point of view of the peasant, Mikaro.


----------



## Len

Or rather _The Seven Samurai_, which is the same story but with Japanese names.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Seventy-Sixth*
_In which: what we have, is a failure to communicate._

As the sun comes up over the horizon, and the rest of the party waits for news of the pursuit of the surviving goblins, some of the villagers set about building a pair of huge bonfires.  In one, they quickly deposit the goblin dead for cremation.  However, the other is left simply to burn.

Lira is just about to ask what they needed two fires for when another group of peasants appears, dragging in the bodies of two horses that attacked with the goblins and were killed in the fighting.  As they wait for the second fire to burn down to embers, the villagers set about butchering the carcasses.

One of Lord Fau Meen’s men notices Lira watching.  “They’ll eat well tonight,” he remarks with a snort, and spits into the snow at his feet.

Lira approaches the fire to see if she can be of any help, when something about the horses catches her eye.  She motions for the butchers to stop.  “Wait a second, let me see something.”

The villagers in charge of the upcoming feast draw back so hurriedly they nearly trip over their own heels.  Lira, however, is too focused on the dead horse to notice.

“Eva, come here.”

“What?”  Eva comes over, wondering what could be the matter.

Lira points to the dead horse.  “That’s Frank.”  Seeing that Eva is not following, she clarifies.  “My horse.”

Eva looks a little closer.  “Are you sure?”

“Positive.  Look.”  She points to a spot, just behind the horses’ ears where the mane has been slightly thinned-out.  “That’s where Euro used to ride.”

Euro comes forward to take a close look himself.  I think you’re right, Boss.  It kind of smells like Frank too… though also like goblin, and ogre… little bit of worg maybe?

“If that’s Frank, and the other horse is one of ours…”  Eva lets the thought trail off.

“We should tell Thatch as soon as he gets back.”

###

Thatch and the others (including Kiara, Eva notes) soon return, and although they were not able to track down all of the fleeing goblins, they have captured one and brought him back to the village to be questioned.

The problem, once they have captured the goblin, bound his hands behind his back, and are ready to question him, is that they find that the goblin does not speak Common.  And, unsurprisingly, none of the party members speak goblin.

“Well,” says Eva, “this is a problem.”

“Do not worry,” Anvil reassures her.  “Kettenek has granted me the power to comprehend languages.”  

“Oh, well that was nice of him.”

Anvil ignores her and casts _comprehend languages_.  Immediately, the stream of nonsense syllables coming from the mouth of the goblin is transformed—for Anvil—into understandable speech.

“Don’t kill me.  Don’t kill me.  Don’t kill me.  Don’t kill me.  Don’t kill me.  Don’t kill—”

“What’s he saying?”  Thatch asks.

“Nothing of import.”

Of course, the problem being that although Anvil can understand the goblin, the goblin can’t understand what anyone says to him.  They try speaking very loudly and slowly, but it doesn’t seem to help.

Finally, Reyu claps her hands to get the goblin’s attention.  She lifts her short-spear, and then turning the point down, begins to draw in the snow.

First, she draws a figure with pointed ears.  She points to the drawing, then points to herself.

“Okay, right, that’s you.  Don’t kill me.  Don’t kill me.  Don’t kill me.”

Reyu claps for attention again.  Beside the pointy-eared figure, she draws a much larger figure, with a hunched back.  She points to the drawing, then shrugs her shoulders.

“Huh?”

Anvil translates:  “He is simple-minded.  He does not understand.”

Reyu points to the drawing again, then puts on a fierce expression and growls, pantomiming waving a club.

“Oh… you mean Sheesak.  Does she mean Sheesak?  The ogre, with the club.  She made me do everything.  She’s got all kinds of monsters working for her.  They say she can even control the weather.”

As Anvil translates the goblin’s response, Reyu grins.

Through a combination of drawing and pantomime, Reyu manages to ascertain that Sheesak is encamped (or headquartered, it isn’t clear) two days west of their present position, and that she has worgs and other creatures under her command.

Anvil draws a spiderweb in the snow.  He turns to the goblin.  “Spiders?”

The goblin nods vigorously.  Yes, spiders.  Lots of spiders.  Don’t kill me.

“What about horses?” Thatch asks.  “Ask if she has more horses.”

But instead of waiting for Anvil to make a drawing, Thatch waves to get the goblin’s attention and—pantomiming riding a horse—gallops up and down whinnying.

The goblin nods enthusiastically.  “Yes, horses.  Like that.”

“How many?... Ask him how many!”  Thatch practically shouts, while starting in on a new round of pantomimed questions.  Unbelievably, he manages to get his question across.

“She had five, but you killed two, so now she has… less than five!”

_(Fajitas: >shrug< His hands are tied… he can’t do math.)_

Thatch’s eyes light up.  If Sheesak has more of their horses, maybe Bob is among them.

Eva shakes her head.  “I do not believe that we’re playing charades with a goblin.”

###

When the party members decide they have learned all they can from the goblin, Anvil takes him into the woods out of sight and sound of the village to “let him go.”  Since they were up for all of the previous night, both Lira and Annika take late morning naps through lunch in order to rest and recover their spells.

Reyu, meanwhile, makes inquiries among the peasants until someone directs her to the peasant who slew the worg with his homemade spear.  She finds him repairing a worn sandal, which he immediately puts aside, bowing at her approach.

Reyu shakes her head.  “It is not necessary to… honor me with such a gesture.”

“Of course not, Lady,” he says, bowing again, even more deeply this time.

“What is your name?”

The peasant blanches.  “Mikaro, Lady.”

“Mikaro,” Reyu addresses him solemnly, “you acted with much bravery last night.  Your deeds have made you a great man among your people.”

It is clear that the peasant has no idea what to say to this.  “Yes, Lady.”

Reyu had hoped that Mikaro might be less fearful than the other peasants she had met in the Sovereignty.  She had thought perhaps that a man willing to defend his home with his life against attacking goblins and worgs might be open to thinking about a different way of living, that he would not be so easily cowed once again.  Instead, it seems that he—like so many others she has tried to talk to—would rather she just beat him and have it over with.  At least then, she reflects, he would know what was expected of him.

Instead, Reyu takes out her spare short-spear, and hands it to Mikaro.  “Here.  In case your village is in danger again, you should be equipped to defend it.”

Mikaro glances around warily. 

“It is all right,” Reyu assures him.  “It is my gift to give, and yours to receive… And Lord Fau Meen’s men are occupied elsewhere.”

Mikaro bows low, and accepts the gift.  “Th—Thank you, Lady.”

She smiles back.  “My name is Reyu.”

Mikaro merely bows silently and hastily departs back to his hut, spear clutched in his hands.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Kill a goblin for a villager, he's safe for a day.  _Teach_ a villager to kill goblins, and he's safe for the rest of his life....


----------



## jonrog1

My. God. You defended a village ... and actually _ left it standing?_.  My players would have begin by burning it to the ground, thereby throwing off the goblins who were expecting things like houses and such.

As always, a lovely job.  And if you don't mind a thread hijack, you should take a look at Roquesdoodle's Scinterlands thread.  He's a fine writer, and I'm actually harassing him on a weekly basis for pages from his novel.

Give a call to the office, sometime, too, Scribe. Love to hear what's up.

John


----------



## dpdx

Hopefully, Mikaro doesn't get beaten for it when the guards _do_ find out about it. I'm pulling for him, though, which means Fajitas/Fau Meen will probably kill him off or have him whipped for insubordination. It always happens that way...


----------



## GPEKO

Len said:
			
		

> Or rather _The Seven Samurai_, which is the same story but with Japanese names.



I was thinking the same thing! Now, all we need is a romantic adventure between Thatch and one of the farmer's daughter and we'll be all set.


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Thomas Hobbes said:
			
		

> Kill a goblin for a villager, he's safe for a day.  _Teach_ a villager to kill goblins, and he's safe for the rest of his life....




Exactly.  And now the villagers have a decent spear.  Which means that if they ever want to make new ones they have a bit of a model.... 

Incidentally, Mikaro is a character created entirely by accident.  During the fight Fajitas was rolling for the villagers, and one of them pulled off a couple of twenties and a dramatic worg killing.  After that he deserved a name and a personality, and a new NPC was born.

-WLS


----------



## Fajitas

jonrog1 said:
			
		

> My players would have begin by burning it to the ground, thereby throwing off the goblins who were expecting things like houses and such.



And, in fact, burning it to the ground was precisely what your players were advocating when they sat in with us.  And that's a story we should be getting to in the not-too-distant-future.


----------



## Seonaid

It's been a while, so I've had to get caught up, but I just wanted to say that I really really enjoyed the last three updates. Maybe it's just because I haven't played anything in what feels like forever, but I can imagine the play, not just the fantasy, and it was masterfully done. The "two nights from now, two days' ride from here" was beautiful. I miss having a great group and a terrific DM. Thanks for all the updates, and now I'm back in the "gotta wait" boat. Thanks also for letting me game vicariously!


----------



## Capellan

WisdomLikeSilence said:
			
		

> Incidentally, Mikaro is a character created entirely by accident.  During the fight Fajitas was rolling for the villagers, and one of them pulled off a couple of twenties and a dramatic worg killing.  After that he deserved a name and a personality, and a new NPC was born.




A similar thing happened to us in a 2e campaign.  The DM was running a Seven Samurai type sessions, and there was this one particular villager he just couldn't seem to hit.  It seemed like half the attacking orcs had taken a shot at this guy and missed.

He became an NPC henchman named Buir Kellan - the name was modelled after Buster Keaton, since he seemed to have the charmed life of one of Keaton's characters


----------



## Len

GPEKO said:
			
		

> Now, all we need is a romantic adventure between Thatch and one of the farmer's daughter and we'll be all set.



That'll never happen as long as Bob might still be alive.


----------



## spyscribe

Len said:
			
		

> That'll never happen as long as Bob might still be alive.




Outright prolonged laughter, my friend.  Outright *and* prolonged.

Thatch's player sometimes gets teased a bit around the table due to his character's "special" relationship to his steed.  Note, however, that this only takes place out-of-game.   Because, well, *in* game Thatch carries a very large sword. 

Update tomorrow!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Seventy-Seventh*
_In which: we take a brief pause to settle a nagging question._

Kiara waits, mostly patiently, while Annika finishes preparing her spells.  She actually kind of likes watching her as she slowly turns the pages of her spell-book, occasionally pausing to trace a gesture in the air, or remind herself of an arcane turn of phrase.  Even here in a tool shed in the middle of the Sovereignty, her concentration is absolute.  Kiara is sure this is Annika’s favorite time of day.  A time when she can be completely focused, thinking only of her spells.  

At last, Annika closes the cover of the leather-bound book and looks up at Kiara.  Almost immediately her tranquil expression is replaced by a concerned frown.  “Is something wrong?” she asks.

Kiara shifts from one foot to the other, hopping slightly.  “I think Eva is suspicious.”

“Well, she did see you go into the shed and not come out.”  Annika rubs the side of her forehead.  “I told you, you have to be careful.”

“I think she told Lira.  Those two tell each other everything.”

Annika puts a hand on Kiara’s shoulder.  “It’s okay.  I keep telling them it’s nothing to worry about, and it isn’t.  Professor Alexandra vouched for you, they’ll let it go.”

“No they won’t!” Kiara protests, stomping her foot in frustration.

“Well, what do you want to do about it?” Annika asks.  “Go back to Dar Pykos?”

Kiara has spent a lot of time thinking about this, but in all that time she’s been unable to come up with a way to presenting the idea in a way that Annika is going to like.  She takes a deep breath, and says, “I’mgoingtotellReyushe’sanelfshe’llunderstandandshe’llknowifitsokaytotelltheothers.”

And before Annika can say another word, she flies from the room.

###

Reyu listens, soberly, as Kiara tells her story.  She patiently waits for her finish, and then asks.

“Why didn’t you tell us this sooner?  We would have been much less suspicious.”

Kiara bites her lip.  It’s not a natural gesture for her, and Reyu can’t help but think it seems odd on her face.  “We just didn’t know how you’d react. I knew _you’d_ understand, though” she adds hastily, twirling her own name braid around one finger.  “The elves have always been really nice to me.”

Reyu smiles.  “It pleases me to hear that my sisteren have treated you well.  But you should tell the others.”

Kiara is still hesitant.  “Are you sure?  What will they think of me?”

“I do not know their minds, although I suspect Lira will certainly not… fault you for your unique talents.  She has encountered difficulties herself.”

Kiara nods, she hadn’t thought of that.  “And Euro likes me,” she points out.

“And I am certain she will be glad to know why.”  Reyu becomes serious once again.  “But no matter how they react, all of your companions deserve to know.  We can be stronger as a group than we would be alone, but only if we know each other’s strengths.”

###
Reyu gathers the party in a small copse of trees where they can converse without being overheard by the villagers, or Lord Fau Meen’s men.

Eva is scowling.  Lira still looks groggy from her postponed sleep and slightly confused.  Annika keeps stealing nervous glances at Reyu and Kiara.  When Thatch and Anvil have at last arrived, Eva can hold her patience no longer:

“Okay, will someone please tell me what is going on here?  How did Annika know that the goblins were coming?  How did Kiara sneak out of that tool shed?  And can she fly or not?”

“Annika or Kiara?”

“I don’t care!”

Reyu looks over to Annika and Kiara.  Kiara realizes that this is her cue.

“Well, it’s… we haven’t been completely honest you,” she begins.

“No, really?”  Thatch mutters.  Reyu shushes him.

“Well, I’m… I don’t know how to describe it…  You should probably just see for yourselves, just… promise not to shoot me, okay?”

Before the rest of the party can parse these rather oblique instructions, Kiara leaps into the air and begins to… change.

As she jumps, she draws her knees up close to her body, but as she compacts into a ball she begins, literally, to shrink.  Her body spins, head-over-heels, somersaulting in midair and takes on a shimmering golden glow.

As the party watches, agape, Kiara’s shrinking fingers spread, splaying out against the sky like pinions, and then, Eva realizes, they _are_ feathers, and the little girl’s arms have turned to wings, her little pointed nose has become a beak, and a few seconds later, she is looking not at a girl at all, but a perfectly ordinary-looking swallow.

The swallow flies down and settles on Reyu’s shoulder for a moment, before taking to the air and shifting form back to the one the rest of the party has come to know as Kiara.

Thatch sums up what much of the party is thinking in his usual, succinct manner.  “Ummm….”

###

Kiara explains her story in brief.  “I don’ t know where I came from.  I don’t even know if I’m a bird who is sometimes a human, a human who is sometimes a bird, or something else entirely.”

“What forms can you assume?” Anvil asks.

“Only one other.  A sort of hybrid, where I can fly, but I can still talk, and have hands that can manipulate objects, like I do now.  I don’ t know how long I was on my own—I don’t remember my parents at all—but one day, I was flying through the woods and I found an elven teepee, just set up by itself in the middle of nowhere.

“There was an old elf there, he lived alone, and… well, he knew that I wasn’t a normal bird.  He called out to me and talked to me, and he was real nice and stuff.  He called me Kiara, and he gave me these braids, so that other elves would know to help me.  And I stayed with him for, I don’t know, a while, I guess, but then I left and kinda traveled around until I came to Dar Pykos and met Annika.”

Once the initial flurry of questions and exclamations have died down, Lira waves a hand for attention.  “Okay, what I still don’t understand is why Euro likes you so much.  I mean, I’ve never heard of weasels and swallows having any particular affinity.”

Yeah, but their eggs are pretty good, Boss.  (Lira decides not to relay that tidbit to the group at large.)

Annika clears her throat nervously, blushing as she looks at the ground.  “Well… um…  Kiara and Euro kind of have something in common.”

“What--?” Lira begins, then stops as the realization dawns.  “But, she can’t…  I mean… Annika said she didn’t have one!” she finally manages to blurt out.

“It’s true what I told you,” Annika explains.  “I did have a familiar, a cat named Mai who was killed by the shadowbeasts in the attack on the Academy.  Afterwards… I knew that I wasn’t supposed to be able to summon another familiar yet, not so soon after I had lost Mai, but… I did the ritual anyway.

“At first I didn’t think it had worked, but then this swallow came flying in the window.  It was just like when Mai came to me.  She perched on the sill and we bonded, just like that.  And then she suddenly turned into a little girl.”  She puts an arm around Kiara protectively.  “We’ve been together ever since.”

“Does anyone else know?” Lira asks.

“I told Professor Alexandra first thing, but we decided to keep it quiet around the Academy.  I don’t know if everyone believes that she’s my sister, but they’re willing to let it go at that.”

Euro, whose eyes have been growing wider and wider as the conversation has progressed—bounces excitedly on Lira’s shoulder.  Boss!  Boss!  Do you think I could do that?  Do you think?

He runs down off her shoulder to a clear patch of ground and tries, through sheer force of will, to turn into a person.  Hey Boss, is it working?

Lira really hates to discourage him, he seems so excited.  _Umm… not that I can see,_ she admits.

That’s okay, Boss, I’ll keep working on it.

Eva looks down at the weasel alternatively tying itself into knots on the snow-covered ground, and then pausing to stand stock-still with the oddest look of concentration on his face.  “What is he doing?” she asks Lira.

“You don’t want to know.”

_(I so wish I could describe to you all Fajitas’ magnificent impression of a weasel attempting to change shape through sheer mental effort.  It was priceless.)_

Anvil clears his throat.  “If we are, as we have, to accept Kiara as a full member of our group, this revelation raises a question of Justice.”

“Huh?” asks Kiara.

“If we are to treat Kiara as an equal member of the party, and to give her a vote as to what course of action we are to pursue in a given circumstance, are we not required to give similar voice and input to Euro?”

There is a pause.

“You know,” says Lira, “you might have a point there.”

Reyu raises an eyebrow.  “I am… not certain that would be necessary.”

“You want to tell _him_ that?”  Lira asks, pointing to Euro, still writhing on the ground.  “That is a weasel who demands a voice!”

Euro, realizing someone is talking about him, looks up.  What was that Boss?

_Nevermind._


----------



## Angcuru

. . . . awesome.


----------



## GPEKO

Go Euro, fight for your rights!

And, on another note, I was right! OK, I got a few details wrong but ...


----------



## Spatzimaus

Power to the weasel.


----------



## LostSoul

Very cool.  A very nice twist on the familiar-mage relationship.  The rules lawyer in me wonders about the mechanics, but then I hit him with an injunction and he shuts up.


----------



## Thatch

*Walk Softly*



			
				Len said:
			
		

> That'll never happen as long as Bob might still be alive.




Now I've been lurking around here for quite some.  I find it best to leave the talking to those who's better at it, but when you impugn both my honor and that of my horse, well, it's time we have some words.  

It's been implied here that I've got an eye for the fillies.  Though it's true in the metaphorical sense, it ain't literal.  There's a fair number of handmaidens what can attest to that.  

Anyone who says otherwise needs to come over here and say it to my face.

As for Bob, well he's turning into a fine stud, and any _HORSE_-breeders interested in his services should contact us through the temple of Kettenek next time we're in Dar Pykos.
          By Alirria's Blessings,
         -Thatch


----------



## Len

I was jesting, of course. I didn't mean to impugn your honour (and I'd _never_ insult Bob). Everyone knows that Thatch is just a big, dumb, friendly ex-farmboy who is loyal to his friends, be they man or beast.

Hey, but I got you to post!


----------



## Capellan

For what's it's worth, Thatch is my favourite humanoid character in the Halmae.  I dig that 'ordinary man turned hero' story of his, and I like the way spyscribe shows us his wide-eyed wonder at the things he sees.  'tis cool.

My absolute favourite sharacter of any kind, of course, is the incomparable Euro


----------



## spyscribe

LostSoul said:
			
		

> Very cool.  A very nice twist on the familiar-mage relationship.  The rules lawyer in me wonders about the mechanics, but then I hit him with an injunction and he shuts up.




The coolest part about Annika and Kiara is that *Kiara* is the PC.  Annika is just along for the ride.   

(And hey!  Good to see you posting, Thatch!)


----------



## Fajitas

LostSoul said:
			
		

> The rules lawyer in me wonders about the mechanics, but then I hit him with an injunction and he shuts up.



For anyone else who might be curious, Kiara is a Hengeyokai, a shape-changing race from Oriental Adventures with a +1 ECL modifier.  As far as the familiar aspects go, Kiara uses her own stats instead of any familiar stats.  Neither her AC nor her Int increase ith Annika's level (tho' Kiara's own level does increase with the party).  

As for other familiar abilities, they do share an empathic link, and while they are technically capable of using the _Share Spells_ and _Deliver Touch Spells_ abilities, they rarely do; Kiara usually has much more interesting things to do than stay right next to Annika during combat.  

Kiara does not have the improved evasion granted to a familiar, but since she's a rogue she has evasion anyone and, one assumes, will someday have improved evasion.  She doesn't need either Speak with master or Speak with animals of its kind abilities, 'cause, well, she can do that on her own.  When we get to 11th level, we'll see if the spell resistance kicks in.

All told, ruleswise it works pretty well.  I suppose there are ways in which this could become abusive, but it's never been a problem for us.  We don't really powergame much, and, since I play Annika, I get to keep something of a reign on things.  Honestly, the biggest problem that arises from this for me is that I keep forgetting that the party has a scout that can fly a few miles ahead and see anything.

And, in case this wasn't perfecly clear, Kiara is a complete and utter mystery to everyone.  She shouldn't exist, no one has every heard of anything like her, and, since it had only been a few months since Annika's last familiar died, it should have been impossible for her to bond to a new familiar.  It's all very strange...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Seventy-Eighth*
_In which: our adventures in a winter wonderland continue._

The party returns to the village to find that Lord Agasha, along with twelve of his men, have arrived.

Agasha, astride his warhorse, grins to see the adventurers.  “There you are!”

Anvil comes forward and takes Agasha’s horse’s bridle.  “As are you.  We feared you might have been beset by the ogre or her minions.”

Agasha shakes his head.  “No… just these damnable blizzards.”

Anvil nods.  “Hopefully, we have seen the last of them.”

“Really?” 

As Anvil fills Lord Agasha in on their conjecture surrounding the cause of the region’s strange weather patterns as of late, the rest of the party prepares their horses and makes ready to depart.  They are pleased to find that Lord Agasha’s complement includes six soldiers, three trained scouts, and three clerics to lend healing and spell support.

Seeing that the peasants have been thrown into a frenzy in an attempt to billet nearly twenty visitors, Reyu suggests that the group move out as soon as possible in order to make whatever progress they can before nightfall.

###

Tracking in the general direction indicated by the goblin prisoner, the party eventually finds and follows the tracks of a few of the goblins they were not able to track down the previous night.  The following day, just after the group has resumed following lunch, Reyu—who walks towards the front of the marching order—notices that a set of enormous bear tracks have begun weaving in and out of the sets left behind by the goblins.  Wanting to confirm her suspicions, she brings the tracks to Benedic’s attention.

“Yep,” the ranger agrees, “it sure looks like he’s following ‘em.  Not like last time either, you’re right.  He’s moseying through on his own time, not keeping pace with them.

“Do you think it could be the same bear Sheesak had _dominated_ in our last encounter?”  Reyu asks.

“I suppose it’s possible,” Benedic allows.  “I’ve never heard of a bear holding a grudge like that, but she must’ve kept him under her thumb for days… weeks.  That’s bound to leave an impression.”

Reyu considers.  “I think…  I would like to contact this bear… If we continue to follow its path.”

Benedic, for his part, does not seem sure that this is the most prudent plan he’s ever heard, but he also recognizes that Reyu has always—for whatever reason—had strong feelings where this bear is concerned.

And so, that night, the party (and Lord Agasha, _and_ all of his men) make camp a little early.  Then Reyu, Thatch, Benedic, Kiara and Lira go to seek out a giant man-eating bear.

###

“You don’t have to come along, you know,” Benedic whispers to Lira as they quietly make their way through the snow.

“Yeah,” she replies, “but… you know… challenge.”

“Your enthusiasm is inspiring.”

Lira swats him on the arm.  “Don’t you start.”

Reyu turns back to the whispering pair and frowns for silence.  “This bear has reason to be wary of us. I do not wish to alarm it.”

Benedic and Lira take their cue, and fall back with Thatch and Kiara into a rough semi-circle approximately twenty feet from where the bear has bedded down for the night.

Very cautiously, Reyu approaches alone.  Unfortunately, she did not prepare _speak with animals_ that morning, so instead she keeps up a low running commentary in Sylvan, hoping that although the bear may not understand the meaning of her words, he will comprehend the friendly intentions behind them.

The bear soon catches wind of Reyu’s approach, and stirs.  He stands, and Reyu is reminded once again of just _how big_ the creature is.  Each massive forepaw is nearly as large as her head, and she is sure that if one met the other, it would not be the bear’s paw that would come out the worse for it.

Senses sharpened to catch the slightest reaction of the bear, Reyu also hears the quiet rasp of Thatch’s sword being drawn from its sheath, and the low murmur of Lira readying a spell, just in case things go horribly wrong.  Reyu takes another step forward, putting all of her concentration towards reassuring the bear, blocking from her mind the knowledge that if the bear decides she is an enemy, the quick actions of her friends will probably not be enough to save her life.

_“Yes friend, it is all right.  Do you remember me?  Do you remember that you tried to save me once before, despite the ogress?  You were so strong and brave then.  You are strong and brave now…”_

Gradually, the bear settles back on his haunches, eyes still fixed on Reyu, but making no move towards her.

_“Good… good… strong, brave bear…”_

Reyu sits down in the snow, not ten feet from where the bear sits watching, nearly in range of his razor sharp claws, should he choose to use them.

_“I am going to cast a spell now… Do not be afraid.  I am your friend…”_

Reyu has been saving back parts of her trail rations since they returned to the Sovereignty, hoping she might find an animal companion on her journey through the woods.  She takes out a handful of cured meat, and offering it out to the bear, begins to cast…

###

Meanwhile, back at camp…

Eva looks up from the fire she has been trying to light.  There’s something… almost like music, floating on the wind.

“Anvil?” she asks.  “Did you hear that?”

No response.  

Eva looks over her shoulder to where Anvil was standing to provide unsolicited advice just moments earlier.

Anvil is sound asleep.  So are about three quarters of the others at the camp.

Eva runs over to Anvil, trying to shake him awake.

###

Reyu finishes casting _animal friendship_.  Now, all that remains to be seen is whether or not the bear is interested in being friends.

Slowly, Reyu reaches down to the pile of cured meat in front of her, and picks up a single piece.  She holds it out, offering it to the bear.

The bear rises to his feet.  It doesn’t even have to step forward to reach Reyu.  It merely _leans_—its great head coming within inches of her outstretched arm.  It opens its massive jaws… and picks the food off her hand with its great, rough tongue.  Finishing the small offering, it licks her palm, looking for more.  Piece by piece, Reyu feeds all of her saved rations to the bear.  Once they are gone, the bear comes forward, walks a slow circle around the still-seated elf, and then curls around her, settling in to sleep.

Lira lets her readied _magic missile_ drop.  Thatch returns his sword to its sheath.  Reyu lets out the breath she had been holding.

The rest of the group is just withdrawing when Kiara suddenly lets out a startled squeak.  She also immediately begins shifting into hybrid form.

Thatch reaches up and grabs her by the ankle before she can fly off.  Kiara thwacks at him with one wing.  “Let me go!” she protests.

Lira tries to get her attention.  “Kirara, what’s the matter?”

“Annika!  She’s not in my head!  She must be in trouble, and I’ve got to go *now*!”

“Okay.” Lira takes a deep breath.  “I know it’s scary, but all the more reason not to go flying off on your own.  We’ll all head back.”

Kiara is barely mollified and continues to hover impatiently as Reyu rouses the bear and the rest of the party follows behind her on foot.  _None of them understand… Well, Lira might have some little inkling, but how can she be so *calm*?_  Suddenly, Annika’s voice is back in her mind.

_Huh?  What’s—  Oh…_ What follows is a strong feeling of calm… then nothing.

Kiara is so startled she almost drops out of the air mid wing-beat.  This can mean *nothing* good.  She looks down at the others.  “We’ve got to *hurry*!”

Hurry they do.  Only moments later the party arrives back in the clearing where they had left Anvil, Eva, and Annika, along with Lord Agasha and his men to make camp.

They find Lord Agasha lying, unconscious, in the snow.  He has been stripped of his arms and armor, along with his cold-weather gear.  The group’s tents and equipment are also gone.

Anvil, Eva, and Annika, and six of Lord Agasha’s men have vanished without a trace.


----------



## dpdx

Uh-oh. I thought for sure that scene with Eva was the aftermath of a _sleep_ spell...


----------



## doghead

Damn. Thats good. I can't wait to see whats going on here. Guess I am just going to have to though. *sigh*

Judging by the size, I assume that the bear is a brown one. I love bears. Ruyu has just got herself a kick ass animal companion.

thotd.


----------



## Fajitas

doghead said:
			
		

> Judging by the size, I assume that the bear is a brown one. I love bears. Ruyu has just got herself a kick ass animal companion.



The bear is, in fact, an 8 HD _advanced_ brown bear.  This happened because I am very very bad about checking errata, and, according to my first printing 3.0 PHB (which we were using at the time), druids may have up to twice their level of HD worth of animal companions.  I thought this sounded like a lot, but I reread the rule fourteen times, and that's sure enough what it said.

Oh well.  Nothing got messed up because of it, and he's a great animal companion.


----------



## Angcuru

Bears rule.  Hostile sleep spells do not.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Seventy-Ninth*
_In which: Reyu is glad to be a fourth level druid._

As Lira and Euro attempt to keep Kiara in some mental condition remotely resembling calm, Reyu and Benedic scour the scene for any clues as to what might have happened to their friends.

The most confusing part of the whole situation is that there really are no signs that anything has happened at all… except for the pile of unconscious Sovereign soldiers in the middle of the snow with no winter clothing or gear.

Lira sums it up.  “How did someone incapacitate an entire camp, kidnap our people, and take all of their gear without leaving footprints in fresh snow?”

“Maybe they flew!” Kiara suggests.  “Giant flying things with mind-control came in while we were gone, kidnapped Annika, and now they’re going to make her their slave, and…” 

Euro attempts to distract Kiara from future dire predictions by crawling through her hair.

Reyu decides that an exhaustive survey of the campsite can wait for another time, and sets about attempting to rouse Lord Agasha.  She shakes him firmly by the shoulder and he starts awake.

“Hold fast!” he shouts, eyes flying open to sudden and complete wakefulness.  Reyu puts a steadying hand on his shoulder, and Agasha relaxes a bit.  He blinks for a second, disoriented at no longer being under attack.

“What happened?”  Reyu asks him.

“I don’t know… exactly.  Eva woke me up, said we were under some kind of attack.  Then… the next thing I remember was you bringing me around again.”  He shakes his head, evidently disgusted.

“What is this?” asks Reyu she points to a sliver of wood stuck into Lord Agasha’s leg.  Carefully removing the piece of wood, she finds it is actually a tiny arrow.  She holds it out for Benedic to examine.  “Have you… seen anything like this before?”

Benedic takes the tiny projectile and scrutinizes it closely.  It certainly wasn’t intended to cause grievous wounds, but…  “I think… I mean, I’ve never seen myself… but it looks like it could be a pixie arrow.”

“Umm…” Thatch puts in, “what’s a pixie?”

“Tiny-like little creatures,” Benedic explains.  “They fly around, sometimes shoot people with arrows that make them fall asleep.”

“Tiny?”  Thatch asks, looking at the scene.

“It does seem… doubtful that pixies alone could have accomplished all of this on their own.  Even in great numbers,” Reyu allows.

“Did I mention they can turn invisible?” Benedic adds.

Reyu and Thatch exchange skeptical looks.

By this time, the remaining members of Lord Agasha’s guard have been roused, and—although they are probably all a bit cold, they are ready to move out.  If only the party had a direction.

Much to Kiara’s frustration, there is nothing for anyone to do except wait until Reyu, Benedic, and the scouts attached to the guard until can pick up some kind of trail.

It takes about twenty minutes, but Reyu finally notices something.

They group had been traveling through more or less untracked woods, making their own trail through the woods as they went.  That trail is still visible, and does not appear to have been backtracked or followed.  However, there is a slight differentiation in the _un_tracked snow around the site.

It’s almost as though a group of people had passed by, leaving their tracks in the fresh snow, and then, somehow obscured their tracks by causing a fresh snow-fall with low-swirling winds to follow them.

With the extensive natural knowledge of a Druid, Reyu knows one thing definitively: such things are not natural.  Unfortunately, her vast stores of knowledge do not give her any hints as to what could cause such an unnatural phenomenon.  

“Yeah,” Benedic agrees, “probably not pixies.”

And so, with no idea what awaits them further down the non-trail, Reyu leads the (remaining) party into the woods.

###

She doesn’t have her winter cloak, and even though she is sitting on a snow-covered log in the middle of the woods in the middle of winter, Eva doesn’t feel cold.  There are lights dancing everywhere, through the tree branches, and occasionally around her head.  Anvil is there too, for once, not talking about Justice.  Actually Honeyoak is telling him that trees don’t have laws, they just get along by all being nice to each other.  But really, Eva is far more interested in Elmsweet telling them what it’s like to stand in a sacred grove and grow leaves in springtime.

It is _fascinating_.

And then Reyu is standing there, at the edge of the grove, beside a giant bear, and the man with the goat-legs starts to play his pipes again, and maybe that means that Reyu will come listen with them.  Eva doesn’t give her much more than a passing glance though.  Elmsweet is talking again, and—now that it has been brought to her attention—Eva is absolutely shocked at all the hours and years of her life she has not spent thinking about rising sap.

###

Reyu rests one hand casually on the bear’s back, and stands for a few moments, listening to the satyr’s music.  It’s a pleasant enough melody, but she is glad that her training has taught her how to resist its lure.  Given the look of things, the others are quite distracted enough.

It does, however, give her time to observe the scene before her.  Although the sun has set, the grove is brightly lit by what appears to be a combination of _dancing lights_ and flying pixies, while the sound of their chattering and laughter fills the air.  Anvil, Eva, and Annika are sitting on some fallen logs beside three women, dryads she guesses—with flowing white hair, brown skin, wearing what appear to be simple shifts of unbleached cotton.  A few of Lord Agasha’s guards are gathered here too, all listening with intense focus to what the three women are describing in rapturous tones.

Nearby, the satyr plays his pipes, much to the fascination of one of the few female members of Agasha’s guard.  

A little off to one side, a woman with the palest skin Reyu has ever seen, nearly as pallid as her white gown and cloak, stands alone.  Her jet-black hair hangs in a solid curtain, occasionally lifted—along with her cloak—by a gentle wind, except… there is no wind.  She looks over the others, a faint curl of disdain on her lips her only expression.  Finally, her gaze comes to rest on Reyu.

“Good evening,” Reyu says.

The woman does not reply.

At that moment however, a swallow flies down from the trees to perch on the satyr’s shoulder.  The satyr seems surprised, then amused as the sparrow attempts to whistle along with his playing.

Reyu sighs to herself.  She had warned Kiara to stay behind with the others.  Somehow, she had had a feeling something like this might happen.

The satyr turns to Reyu, grinning broadly.  “Don’t you like my music?”

“It is pleasant enough,” Reyu allows.

“It clearly didn’t work,” one of the dryads informs him.

“Go back to talking about your trees,” the satyr grouses, throwing an arm around the guardswoman at his side.

Reyu allows herself an inward smile of satisfaction at her correct identification.  Outwardly, she drops a short bow to the three women on the fallen logs.  “I hope your groves are well.”

The women pause in their narrative and exchange uneasy looks.  “Well enough,” says one.

“Would you like to hear about growing leaves?” asks another.

“I would,” Reyu replies (quite sincerely), “but first I would appreciate the return of my friends, and their belongings.”

The dryads all turn to look at the dark-haired woman, but before she can say anything the satyr interrupts with, “Hey!  Another one!”

Reyu glances back and sees Lira doing her usual poor job of hiding in the woods.  The others can't be far behind.  

For his part, the satyr picks up his pipes and begins to play...


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Now _this_ is an unexpected interlude.  Hadn't really thought about fey in this world, and the last place I thought we'd see them is Kettenek's crib (so to speak).


----------



## Fajitas

Thomas Hobbes said:
			
		

> Hadn't really thought about fey in this world, and the last place I thought we'd see them is Kettenek's crib (so to speak).



All kinds of strange beasties can be found in the Ketkath.  It's basically the part of the gameworld where I get to actually use my Monster Manual.

If you notice, prior to the party's arrival in the wild lands near the Ketkath, the party almost never fought anything non-human (the shadow creatures at the Mages' Academy and Amelia's zombies being the only exceptions that come to my mind. I don't count the bear Reyu and Thatch fought, 'cause, while it's not human, it's still a natural creature and thus not exactly what you call high fantasy).

For a land consumed with the worship of the god of law, there's an awful lot of chaos in the Ketkath.  In fact, some have speculated that the chaos of the Ketkath may be the reason that Kettenek worship is so popular.  We'll learn a little more about the history of this area as we go on.

Oh, and I love the term "Kettenek's Crib".  It's where all his righteous homies hang.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Oh, and I love the term "Kettenek's Crib".  It's where all his righteous homies hang.




Like M.C Anvil.

... what?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Eightieth*
_In which: I apologize to Fajitas for not finding a clever way to work in “Birchbraid,” the name of the third dryad._

Lira promptly freezes and puts her hands over her ears.

The satyr gives Reyu a very put-upon look.  “Oh, come on.”

Reyu shakes her head.  The satyr tries playing for a while, but Lira is either sufficiently deafened or sufficiently strong-willed that it doesn’t seem to have an effect.  Eventually he gives up, and Lira cautiously removes her hands from her ears.

Reyu turns to address the woman with the swirling cloak.

“Whom do I have the honor of addressing?” she asks.

Her voice hisses like wind over dry snow.  “I am… the winter.”

Reyu bows, not entirely sure what that means.  “You travel with a large company.”

“It is… necessary.”

Reyu forges ahead.  Hoping she is not digging herself into a hole from which she cannot emerge she asks, “Are you… allied with the ogre Sheesak?”

The woman’s fury is palpable, although her voice never rises.  “The humans must be stopped.  They encroach upon our lands.”

“_These_ humans have not encroached upon your lands,” Reyu points out.

“That is why they are not dead.”

One of the dryads speaks.  “You don’t understand,” she says, “for many hundred years we have lived adjacent to the humans.  We in our part of the forest, and they in theirs.  There has been no need contact or incident between us.  But they have begun encroaching into our woods.  They are cutting down _our_ trees.”  He voice is heartbroken as she says this.  Eva and Anvil shudder in sympathy.

“And so you joined with Sheesak,” Reyu concludes.

The dryad exchange discomfited looks, and one steals a glance over at Winter.  The satyr shrugs.

“It seemed to be the only way,” Honeyoak offers finally. Winter fixes Reyu with an icy glare.

_So,_ thinks Reyu, _perhaps not all of them are entirely comfortable with what they are doing here._ Aloud she says:

“Perhaps they trespass in ignorance.  They may not see that your lands are occupied, or that your trees are sacred.”

The cold voice again.  “Why do they trespass at all?”

Then, much to the surprise of everyone, Anvil clears his throat.  “There should be a line.”

“What?”

“You should establish a border, to keep different things apart from each other.  It is pleasing to Kettenek,” he concludes.

Winter eyes Anvil with sudden interest.  “You revere the Lord of Winter, human?”

Anvil is a bit annoyed to be distracted from Honeyoak’s lecture, but recognizes in his bones that his duties are paramount.  “Yes.”

She continues to stare at him, eyes nearly penetrating in their intensity.  “But you… you worship the Law, not the Cold.”

“I do.”

“Will you swear an oath, human follower of Kettenek?”

Anvil frowns, puzzled.  “What kind of oath?”

“If we make this… line… will you be responsible if the humans cross it?”

Anvil speaks slowly and carefully, but more for his own benefit than for anyone else’s.  “Those who cross the border should be held responsible for their own violation.”  He turns to the dryads.  “That is the nature of the Law.”

The dryads nod, although it is hard to read from their expressions whether this has any meaning to them.

Winter remains aloof.  “Who here can create this line you speak of, human?”

In the background, Lira drops a quick curtsey, saying, “I’ll get Lord Agasha,” before taking to her heels.

While waiting for Lord Agasha to return, Kiara (still in swallow form), pokes the satyr’s shoulder with her beak.  He looks over at her.  She whistles a few notes of his tune, as though asking why he has stopped playing.  

Reyu reflects that Kiara always was a very direct individual, and this seems unaffected by whether she has arms, wings, or both.

Soon enough, Lira returns with Lord Agasha, who is quickly brought up to speed.

“It is a worthy endeavor,” Lord Agasha agrees, “but I cannot speak for Lord Fau Meen.  It is his villages which continue to expand into the mountains.”

Winter gives a low hiss of displeasure.  “This is useless.”

“I will certainly attempt to convince him,” Lord Agasha adds, “but I have no authority over his actions, and he is a stubborn man.”

The dryads, who had seemed so hopeful that an end was going to be reached, virtually wilt with disappointment.

And so Reyu steps forward and addresses Winter.  “Will you have my oath?”

“You will swear that if these humans return, _you_ will appear to answer for them?”
Reyu speaks very slowly and carefully.  “You may have my oath.  If the humans return in force to violate the dryads’ groves, I will return.”

“You swear this?” she asks.

“I do.”

The woman comes forward, not so much walking as gliding.  Reyu notices, in a distant sort of way, that she also leaves no trail in the snow behind her.  Winter stands before Reyu for a moment, then leans down and places an icy kiss on the center of her forehead.

Winter rises and backs away again, and the sensation of cold gradually fades from Reyu's forehead.  "Come then," Winter says to Lord Agasha, "let us make this... line."

Anvil turns rather sadly to Elmsweet and the other dryads.  “I must go..." he says, full of regret, "or they will make Law without me.”

Regretfully, Eva, Annika and the dryads watch him depart, following Winter.  Reyu however, sits down to take his place.  “You were saying?” she prompts Honeyoak.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

So.  Very.  Cool.


----------



## spyscribe

_(Pfew!  Got my brain back from GenCon SoCal, mostly, and so... time for an update.)_

*Part the Eighty-First*
_In which: the party begins to suspect that someone doesn’t want them in the woods._

“You were _so_ stoned,” Lira giggles.  “I can’t even describe it.”

“Do you think you could stop trying, then?” Eva asks, not finding the situation of having been put in the thrall of a tree spirit nearly as amusing as her friend seems to.

“Right.  Sorry.”  Lira turns her eyes to the path in front of her horse, but can’t stop the occasional giggle from sneaking out unbidden.

Having granted the dryads, Winter and the others in agreement what Sheesak insisted they would have to fight for, the pixies lead the group to a large pile of snow under which is found the party’s cold weather clothing and the rest of their gear.

The group camped overnight, and now, are once again following the goblin tracks, track which they hope will lead them straight to Sheesak.

Lord Agasha has brought with him six regular guardsmen, as well as six more specialized operatives.  Three of these are scouts in wing and tail positions surrounding the column as it makes its way through the woods.  The other three are clerics of Kettenek, who keep to themselves for the most part, and hang towards the back of the party.

Thatch rides towards the front with Anvil, Reyu, and Lord Agasha.  Although the group has managed to skirt an owlbear den earlier in the day without rousing the inhabitants, he is under no delusions that they are traveling quietly.

“So…  Ummm… do you think Sheesak knows we’re coming?” he asks Anvil.

“It matters not,” the Justicar replies.  “We will find her in her lair and smite her no matter what preparations she makes.”

“Uh…. Yeah.”

“We were not able to track down all of the goblins attacking Lord Fau Meen’s village,” Reyu points out, “we must assume she has some knowledge of our approach.”

And as though on cue, the trees the group is marching through are suddenly transformed into a snare of reaching, tearing branches.  As a branch comes swinging down at her head, Eva’s eyes go wide.  She’s seen Reyu cast _entangle_ more than once, but now, not only is every piece of vegetation in the area attempting to snare her, the trees and shrubs are growing vicious spines.

She hears Benedic cursing not far away as a tree puts a long scratch down one arm.  “What the—?”

“It’s a _briar web_,” Reyu calls over the noise of shouting goblins and panicking horses.  “Watch out for the thorns!”

“Yeah!”  Yells Thatch, hacking at a tree near him.  “Thanks!”

As the party, Lord Agasha, and the soldiers attempt to avoid the ensnaring woods, a cry goes up from the left flank of their formation.  “Archers!” Benedic shouts, just seconds before a hail of goblin arrows comes raining down on the group.

Lira whirls just in time to see an arrow flying straight at her head.  She’s got no place to dodge and is just bracing herself against the impact which she is sure is about to follow… when a thorny branch suddenly whips in front of her face, knocking the arrow aside harlessly.  Lira just has time to reflect that the bright side of being under attack by a bunch of arches while caught in a magically enhanced thorn bush before the branch whips back and scratches her across the face.

What becomes evident however is that, despite of the damage they are doing, the archers are only a distraction from the actual object of the raid.  From behind the party, three goblins on worgs come riding up towards the party’s flank.  Each one whirls a large net overhead.  Closing in, they send them flying towards Lord Agasha’s three clerics.

Two of the clerics had just managed to avoid the effects of the briars that stymies most of the group, only to now find themselves trapped in a pair of goblin nets.  One already bleeds from an arrow lodged in his thigh while the other struggles vainly against his bindings.

No one is under any illusions about what will happen if the goblins are allowed to escape with living hostages.

The third cleric is so twisted in the grasping trees that the goblin attempting to snare finds it impossible to get him in his net.  Seeing that objective is not going to be achieved, the goblin takes out his javelin and launches it at his target, skewering him through the gut.

The party and Lord Agasha’s men are caught between trying to deal with the goblin archers to one side, the goblin raiders behind, and simply trying to extract themselves from the effects of the _briar web_ spell.  Anvil hacks his way back through the trees, attempting to reach the entangled cleric before he bleeds to death.

Mindful that he is making himself even more of a target if the goblins realize what he is, Anvil pulls out his holy symbol, ready to cast a _cure light wounds_ as soon as he is within reach of the Sovereign cleric.  He just hopes that the writhing trees will continue to give him sufficient cover.

The worg-riding goblins chatter among each other wildly when they catch sight of his holy symbol, but the trees prevent the one with the free net from snaring him, and the others are unable to launch ranged attacks.

Which is when a _flaming sphere_ suddenly blooms in front of Anvil, right on top of the wounded cleric.

Reyu quickly appraises the situation, but realizes that she will not be able to move quickly enough to the clerics to be of any aid.  Instead, she nocks an arrow, and placing a hand on the bear’s back whispers, “Go.” 

The bear wheels around in his tracks, crashing through the twisting trees towards the goblin riders.  His massive bulk makes short work of the enchanted trees trying to halt his progress, and in one smooth motion he comes out of the effect and lunges for one of the worgs, jaws gaping.

As his mount goes out from under him, that goblin turns on his captive, stabbing with his javelin over and over, before finally turning to flee into the woods.

The last goblin rider eventually abandons his wounded mount entirely, and—dragging his victim behind him with super-goblin effort—follows his compatriot as fast as he can.

Almost immediately thereafter, the arrows from the woods stop.  The flaming sphere vanishes.

(“Of course it’s right after I get _shield_ up,” Lira grumbles.)

“Do not let them get away!”  Anvil calls. A few seconds later, he finally reaches the wounded cleric entangled in the thorny branches, but it is too late to save him.

As the troops and party members that can run back into the woods in pursuit of the captured cleric, Reyu stays where she is and _summons_ a celestial eagle.  The giant bird appears above the trees, and immediately dives into the canopy, prey within its sight.

###

A few minutes later, the rescuers emerge from the woods.  They lead the cleric, and carry the head of the goblin with them.  Reyu notes with satisfaction that it appears to have had one eye ripped out by a giant talon.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Eighty-Second*
_In which: the party either makes a brilliant tactical ploy, or a really big mistake._

Some hours later, as the party passes out of the woods and into one of the grassier areas of Ketkath foothills, Reyu notices a lone raven high up against the sky.

An hour later, it is still there.  Reyu brings her horse up beside Lord Agasha’s.  “Do not look back. I believe we are being spied upon.”

“More goblins?”

“A raven.”

Lord Agasha is skeptical.  “A raven?”

“The worgs who just attacked us did not leave tracks in the snow.  There are many other signs that Shesak is a powerful druid.  I believe this to be one of her companions.”

“If she is so powerful, why does she have a raven while you have a bear?”

“I said _one_ of her companions.”

Agasha nods.

“I will inform my friends,” Reyu continues.  “When I give the word, we will all attack in concert.  Hopefully we can kill it before it can report back to its mistress.”

“In this instance, my bow is at your command.”

“Thank you.”

Reyu gradually works her way to the other members of the party, informing them of her suspicions and her plan.  Soon, all are in readiness.

Reyu stealthily lets an arrow fall into her hand, still hanging easily at her side.  She catches Eva’s eye and nods, following the silent sign with a shout of, “Now!”

Reyu, Eva, Thatch, Anvil, Kiara and Lord Agasha all turn and fire their bows at once.  At the same moment, Lira and Annika each loose a pair of _magic missiles_.  Naturally, the _magic missiles_ hit and when the bird hits the ground it has been skewered no fewer than four times with various arrows and a bolt from Anvil’s cross-bow. 

“Well,” Eva comments, “that bird is really, really dead.”

Lira casts _detect magic_ to see if the creature is under any kind of enchantment.  What she sees makes her heart skip a beat, regardless of the circumstances.  

“What’s the matter?” Eva asks.

Lira swallows.  “I think we just killed someone’s familiar.”

“I thought only witches and those of their ilk had familiars,” Anvil announces.

“The proper term,” Annika informs him, “is _wizard_ or _sorcerer_.”

Anvil barely acknowledges the correction.  “But they are the only ones who have familiars.”  He addresses Reyu, “Those of your kind do not have them.”

“That is true,” Reyu is forced to allow.  

“Umm…” says Thatch.  “I hope that bird didn’t belong to the archmage we’re supposed to find.”

The party eventually puts that thought aside—quite rightly deciding that if they have murdered the near companion of one of the four most powerful wizards of the Halmae, there’s not a lot they can do about it _now_—and concentrates on what else is implied by the raven’s presence.

If the bird was someone’s familiar (someone _else’s_ familiar), and it _was_ acting as a spy, then it seems likely that they are very close to Sheesak’s lair.

The party decides to stop and make camp while Kiara goes on a scouting mission.

She tries to behave as much like a swallow as she can under the circumstances (circumstances being that it’s the middle of winter and any self-respecting swallow would have migrated north or at least headed for the valleys in search of warmer climes).  So in the end, she splits her time between being swallow-like and being stealthy.

Stealthy, when you are a very small bird, isn’t much of a problem.

Skimming along the tops of the trees she soon comes to a cliff, looming overhead.  At the base of the cliff, a mound—almost a bulge of earth—rises nearly twenty feet up the cliff-face, creating a half-dome plateau outside what looks like the entrance of a cave.  Outside the cave entrance is a large stone alter, ringed by four immense standing stones, laid out in a semi-circle.

Growing on the sides of the slope up to the plateau are four concentric hedges, Kiara looks, but she doesn’t see any obvious route through them.  She is about to fly in for a closer look when she notices a shadow gliding along the ground in front of her own.

She glances back and sees a raven, circling above her.  She can’t be sure if it’s following her or not, but she takes cover in a small cranny of the cliff-face until the other bird flies on.  Then, she quickly wings her way back to where the rest of the group is encamped, to let them know what she has seen.  As far as she can tell, she isn’t followed.


----------



## PhoenixAsh

Wonderful storyhour, one of the few I can read and reread and enjoy just as much each time I read it.

Great world, great PCs, and truly inspiring insight into familiars.


----------



## spyscribe

_(Hey PhoenixAsh, glad you're enjoying the story hour, and thanks for posting!)_

*Interlude:*
_A map, and some explanation thereof_

Given their prior experience, the party decides to attempt to draw out and attack Sheesak herself as quickly as possible without wasting their resources on her minions.

The party devises a three-pronged attack plan:

Group 1 (I) is made up of Lira, Anvil, Eva, Benedic, three of Lord Agasha’s fighters, the three scouts, and one cleric.  They will circle up behind Sheesak’s lair, stationing themselves at the top of the cliff, above the cave entrance.  Lira will be in position to cast _magic missile_ at Sheesak—on the theory that she’s one of the few party members for whom _hitting_ Sheesak won’t be a problem.  Anvil, Eva, and Benedic are also in good sniper range.  Lira also casts _cat’s grace_ on Eva, Anvil, Reyu and herself.  _(Note: this is still 3rd ed., so the spell lasts for hours, not minutes, making the plan feasible, even though Reyu won’t be in the same group.)_

The group’s other main task is to drop a series of ropes down the cliff-face between the rows of hedges, allowing the main ground group (II) to advance past the hedges and up the slope. 

That group is consists of Reyu, the bear, Annika, Kiara, Thatch, Lord Agasha, four of Lord Agasha’s men, and one of his clerics.

As soon as the ropes are dropped, Thatch, the bear, Lord Agasha, and his men will advance forward towards the plateau, climbing the ropes to the top of the hedges and then jumping across them to reach the plateau.  Reyu will cast _entangle_ on the hedges to the left of the advancing party in order to provide some cover for the advancing melee fighters.  She, along with Annika, and Kiara (in hybrid form), will stay by the tree-line with ranged weapons and spells.

The third group (III) is purely a distraction: four more of Lord Agasha’s men and one cleric.  They will be positioned on the other side of the hedges as the second group, equipped with torches (one with a flask of alchemist’s fire), and charged with setting fire to the hedges in order to draw Sheesak’s minions.

It’s late, just before the group’s spell-casters will have to turn in for the night in order to have all their spells ready.  The strike will come just after dawn.  Lira worries that there are variables the group still hasn’t taken into account.

“What about the standing stones?” she asks.  “I mean, I suppose the purpose of the altar is evident, but are those something we need to worry about?”

“I can’t be sure,” Reyu says, “but powerful druids have been known to use large standing stones to store spells in.  We should try to keep Sheesak away from them.”

“I’ll prepare _web_,” Annika offers.  “If she leaves that cave, I can pin her to her own alter.”

“That’s good,” Eva points out, “it’ll make it easier for the archers to hit her.”

“What if she doesn’t leave the cave?”

Thatch pats the hilt of his sword.  “Then, leave her to me.”

And with that, the party settles in for the rest of the night.


----------



## Pyske

spyscribe said:
			
		

> As soon as the ropes are dropped, [...] the bear, [...] will advance forward towards the plateau, climbing the ropes to the top of the hedges and then jumping across them to reach the plateau.




Methinks I have spotted a small... oversight... in the plan. 

Sorry I didn't get to see y'all at SoCal.  We were delivering a build to a client on that Friday, so I couldn't get off work.


----------



## kidzero2525

Love this story/account. I hope your DM gives you extra pts for such eggsalad note taking. Great meeting you at GenCon.


----------



## Len

Pyske said:
			
		

> Methinks I have spotted a small... oversight... in the plan.



I'm sure Reyu thought of that.  The bear's got a pretty good climb check on his own. Hopefully he won't need the ropes. Or maybe he can rip through the hedges.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Eighty-Third*
_In which: the best laid plans…_

The first group heads up to the top of the cliff an hour before dawn.  They move with all possible stealth, but do run into one goblin sentry.  Anvil quickly casts _silence_ before the goblin can sound the alarm, and Benedic takes him out.  

Boss!  I smell another one.

“Benedic—”

“I’ve got ‘im.”

An arrow through the throat takes out the second goblin sentry.  The group drags the bodies back into the high grasses and waits.

###

It was dark when Reyu began her prayers, but when she opens her eyes, the first rays of dawn are just filtering down through the trees.  Glistening on the dew.  That hangs on the threads of the ettercap web six-inches in front of her face.

Reyu waves for Lord Agasha’s attention.  She points out the web, and their group repositions themselves on the other side of it.  There are no signs of ettercaps or giant spiders in evidence.

When everyone is ready, Reyu gives the signal.  

The clerics positioned with each party cast _bless_ on their allies and _bane_ on the area surrounding Sheesak’s encampment.  

And then, the attack is on.

The diversionary group runs forward first, hampered by two of the men getting stuck in ettercap webs strung between the trees.  The others however, make it to the first hedge and put their torches to it.

The hedge refuses to catch, even when the torches are thrust directly into them; although, the one man armed with a flask of alchemist’s fire is successful in lighting a small section.

They are quickly distracted from their unsuccessful diversion however by an inhuman cry of “Flesh!” from the woods behind them.  One fighter reflexively turns, and is greeted by an ettercap web in the face. 

Meanwhile…

##

Reyu casts _entangle_ on the hedges first thing, centering the effect where she hopes it will give the goblin defenders the most difficulty.  The thick hedges are soon twisting against each other, and Reyu is pretty sure she sees a few goblin limbs flailing wildly amidst the surging vegetation.  Kiara shoots and wounds one of the goblins who managed to avoid being caught in the effect of Reyu’s spell, and Annika readies _web_ to cast as soon as Sheesak emerges.

Right on schedule, the group at the top of the cliff runs forward and drops their ropes down the cliff face for the ground team to begin their assault.  Lord Agasha goes first, grabbing the rope and quickly climbing over the first hedge.  The bear does not concern itself with such niceties and plunges directly into the hedge, ripping it, and the goblin behind it, to shreds as it goes.

Lira runs right up the edge of the cliff and drops to prone.  She’s ready to hit Sheesak with a _magic missile_ as soon as she can see her, but she wants to present as small a target as possible to anyone below who might have a missile weapon.  She’s just gotten herself into perfect sniper position when a growling noise off to her right makes her blood run cold.

Lira turns to look.

There, running straight for the cliff-top group, are *two* ogres and five goblins.  Neither one of the ogres is Sheesak.

Oh crap.


----------



## spyscribe

Pyske said:
			
		

> Sorry I didn't get to see y'all at SoCal.  We were delivering a build to a client on that Friday, so I couldn't get off work.




Ah, too bad, maybe next year.  

As Len points out, don't worry too much about the bear.  As he is a) HUGE, and b) very motivated where Sheesak is concerned.

And hey KidZero, glad you stopped by.      Thatch's player, ellinor (who sometimes  posts here), and I really enjoyed that Delta Green module, even if it was 8am on Sunday morning.

Mmmm... Zombies before breakfast.  Yum.


----------



## Capellan

spyscribe said:
			
		

> There, running straight for the cliff-top group, are *two* ogres and five goblins.  Neither one of the ogres is Sheesak.





You know, I've met Fajitas (at Anonycon this year).  He seemed like a nice chap.

Goes to show how deceiving first impressions can be


----------



## Angcuru

I sense a coven.


----------



## Dr. NRG

What an excellent tale!  My compliments to the editor as well as the writer, it's very smoothly told, error free, and maintains a very even tone even when switching writers.

Unfortunately I've caught up and now get to join the ranks of those who are left waiting for an update, although I would've been disappointed if it weren't a cliffhanger.   

NRG


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Eighty-Fourth*
_In which: vengeance is served… with a side order of Justice._

As the ogres advance on the cliff-top group, Lira quickly scrambles back to her feet and back up out of range of their swinging clubs.  Lord Agasha’s scouts open fire, peppering the trailing ogre with several arrows.  Benedic pulls out his sword and takes on the first one himself.

He lands a solid blow, but the ogre merely roars in anger, attempting to pulverize Benedic with his club.  The ranger avoids the worst of the strike, but even the glancing blow leaves his head spinning.  _Okay, let’s not let that happen again,_ he decides, and grits his teeth with renewed determination.

Anvil also turns his attention to the ogres immediately at hand, and at that moment, Sheesak emerges from her cave.

The foot soldiers, led by Thatch are still making their way over the hedges to get to her, and the bear is hell-bent on destroying any goblin he can get his paws on, but Annika is unhampered by distance or minor distractions.  The instant she sees the Druid ogre she casts, her _web_ ensnaring Sheesak in a hundred thick, sticky strands.

Sheesak stops, snarles, and then… steps forward through the _web_, and up onto the alter, out of the area of effect.

“It didn’t work!” Annika calls.  “She’s not caught!”

From behind Sheesak in the mouth of the cave there is a flash of fire, and the _web_ nearest the cave entrance burns away.

“_Burning hands!_” Annika identifies.

Reyu nods in agreement.  She had intended to cast immediately, but with Sheesak not necessarily out of the fight, she instead stays ready, waiting to attempt to counter-spell.

Kiara takes aim at Sheesak and fires, hitting her with an arrow just above the knee.  From above, Eva sends another arrow singing down through the air and lodges a hit in the back of Sheesak’s left shoulder.  

Up on the cliff-top, the goblins minions have tried to put themselves between the assailants and their ogre bosses, but for Benedic and Lord Agasha’s trained men, they are only a minor distraction.  The scouts ignore the goblins completely and continue to fire at the rear ogre, who drops under the continued assault.  Below, the bear is ripping through goblin defenders as though they were just another part of the hedge.  In fact, the bear is nearly through and up to the plateau.

Sheesak sees this, snarls, and begins to cast.  Reyu recognizes _dominate animal_.  If Sheesak can put the bear back under her sway, the battle could turn ugly for the party very quickly.  Unfortunately, although she is prepared to counter, that spell is beyond her ability to cast.

Annika however, has no such difficulty.  She too had readied a spell.  However, knowing that she would be unlikely to be able to counter-spell effectively against a druid, she elected for a more blunt-force approach.  The instant Sheesak starts casting Annika does too, and an instant before the druid finishes, Annika nails her with a set of _magic missiles_.

Sheesak lets out the briefest yowl of pain, but it’s enough to disrupt her concentration, and ruin her spell.

_Alright,_ thinks Annika, _try that again.  I’m ready for you._

An instant later, Thatch and Lord Agasha vault over the last of the four hedges and land on the plateau in front of the cave entrance.  Thatch has lifted his sword and is just about to charge for the ogress when three horses come charging out of the cave—the _web_ there having now been burned away—heading straight for him and Lord Agasha.

Thatch’s jaw drops.  “Bob?!”

Bob charges straight for his former master and sends a hoof crashing into his chest.  Although Thatch is not badly wounded, he has never been so hurt in his life.

Kiara, Eva, and Lira continue to pepper Sheesak with missile fire, both magical and mundane, but most of the cliff-top group has their hands full trying to deal with the ogre and three goblins in their laps.

Benedic thinks he might finally be getting the upper hand on the ogre though.  _Just a few more hits…_  Benedic’s line of thought is abruptly cut-off as one of the goblins reaches over and casts and healing spell on the ogre.  _Oh, for the love of Alirria…_

“Anvil, can you do something about that little—”  What probably would have been a very choice invective is cut off as Benedic takes another blow from the ogre’s club.  He slashes back with his sword, opening a bleeding gash on his attacker’s arm.  As the ogre catches its breath, Lord Agasha’s cleric is able to run forward and heal Benedic of some of the punishment _he’s_ taken.  The fight between ranger and ogre has quickly devolved into a slugfest, and it’s anyone’s guess which of them will be the last one standing.

Anvil attempts to help tip the tide by _holding_ the goblin cleric, but does not have any noticeable effect.

Below, Lord Agasha’s men have started reaching the plateau and the bear has crawled over the final hedge—pausing briefly to rip apart a goblin who was unlucky enough to stumble into his swathe of destruction.

Lord Agasha, tries to come to Thatch’s aide by taking a swing at Bob, but at the last second, Thatch knocks the other man’s blow aside.  “No!  Don’t hurt him!  He doesn’t know what he’s doing!”

“He might not, but he’s doing it really well!” Lord Agasha shouts back.

As Bob comes at him again, biting this time, Thatch is forced to recognize the wisdom of the old hunter’s words.  Turning his sword so that he will strike with the flat of the blade, Thatch whacks his childhood companion on the side of the head, attempting to knock him unconscious.

Bob shows no sign of appreciating the consideration, and with an outraged whinny kicks him again.

Sheesak is no happier.  Once again she casts, but this time along with triggering a set of _magic missiles_ from Annika, Reyu is also ready with a _flaming sphere_. Needless to say, in the middle of the sudden inferno, Sheesak does not manage to get her spell off.

As the battle rages below, Kiara turns her attention to the group on the cliff-top.  She tries to take out the goblin cleric with a well-placed arrow, but misses.

Lira pumps two _magic missiles_ into the ogre attacking Benedic and does about as much damage as she is capable of doing.  The ogre by turn does almost as much damage as _he_ is capable of to Benedic, which—it must be admitted—is a considerably larger amount.

Benedic, battered and bloodied, barely able to keep his feet, raises his sword and unleashes two attacks on the ogre.  Only one of them hits, but it strikes deep.

Anvil surveys the battle in a matter of seconds.  Benedic is not the only member of the party who has taken heavy damage; however, Sheesak has as well.  The ogress is pieced with multiple arrows, her hair is on fire, and he knows she must be hurting from Annika and Lira’s _magic missiles_.  Anvil decides that the time has come to end this fight.  Now.  He intones a brief prayer to Kettenek, requesting the strength to carry out his will, and instantly feels the power of his god surging through him.

Anvil casts _inflict moderate wounds_.  A dark aura, looking almost like a cloud of black, oily smoke forms around his right hand.  He then _runs_ for the edge of the cliff, shouting “Kettenek’s Justice!” as he hurls himself into the air.

For an instant, it is as though the entire battle has frozen, watching as Anvil plummets through the air, straight for Sheesak’s head.  

The ogress looks up and sees him falling towards her.  She brings up her club, and smashes him in the abdomen, knocking the wind out of his lungs.  Anvil can feel his ribs cracking, but grits his teeth against the pain and reaches forward to grab her arm with his outstretched right hand.

Sheesak screams as the black energy leaves Anvi and courses down her arm, lodging in her chest.  They both hang there for a moment.  Then Anvil loses his grip on Sheesak’s arm, falling to the ground below.  An instant later, Sheesak collapses on top of him.

Eva, who had been drawing a bead on Sheesak, shoots wildly yelling at Anvil, “You pig-headed bastard!”

Lira takes a move-equivalent action to pick her jaw up off the ground.

Reyu follows up on Anvil’s momentum by pushing her flaming sphere into the mouth of the cave where the goblin caster is still crouching.  Horribly burned, the goblin shrieks and runs into the cave.  The ones outside on the plateau and up on the cliff also immediately turn and flee as fast as their legs will take them.

However, the last ogre on the cliff-top has a score to settle first.  Benedic stares at it, determined to stand his ground despite the clear knowledge that another blow will kill him.

The ogre is more than happy to oblige.  He raises his club to pound the troublesome human into the ground once and for all—

And two _magic missiles_ come streaking in, hitting the ogre right in the chest.  The briefest expression of surprise has time to cross the ogre’s features before he collapses, stone dead.

“You okay?” 

Benedic turns behind him where Lira is standing, finger still pointed accusingly at where the ogre used to stand.  “Yeah… Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Down below, Thatch brings the pommel of his sword crashing down, right between Bob’s ears.  The faithful steed crumples to the ground, unconscious.  Thatch immediately puts his head to the animal’s chest.  The horse’s heaving ribs reassure him, and he soon locates the quick strong beat of Bob’s heart.

The soldiers left on their own to create a diversion at the beginning of the battle manage to untangle themselves from the ettercap webs they’ve spent most of the battle ensnared in.  The ettercaps themselves fled when Sheesak fell.

To the party it scarcely seems credible.  They’ve won.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Anvil casts _inflict moderate wounds_.  A dark aura, looking almost like a cloud of black, oily smoke forms around his right hand.  He then _runs_ for the edge of the cliff, shouting “Kettenek’s Justice!” as he hurls himself into the air.




Dude.  _Dude._


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## Dolza

*A birthday post!*

Allright!  Who doesn't love a post to one of their favorite story hours on their birthday!  I love they way you guys make the lower level adventures feel.  I hope Bob recovers, then he and Thatch can talk things over and make nice and be a team again.  

Keep up the good work guys you make the holidays even better!

Oh, and hats off to Anvil, it's rare when one of my players will pull something like that but i love it every time they do!

dolza


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## jerichothebard

In the early days of my campaign I had a monk - third level, before slow fall - dive down a three story stairwell, make his tumble check, roll to his feet, and beat the snot out of a villian who was otherwise homefree on his escape.  

DM's LIVE for moments like that.  

Great moments!

(And thanks to spyscribe and Fajitas for one of the best and most frequently updated story hours on Enworld!)


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## dpdx

Hear, hear. I love this Story Hour.

Although I still don't understand what Eva's problem is with Anvil, who at this point, is my choice for MVPC.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Eighty-Fifth*
_In which: we have combat!  Discoveries!  Mysteries!  And a really stinky pit._

As the last flames lick down the remnants of Annika’s _web_ spell, Benedic creeps into the mouth of the cave.  It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, but when they do, he can just make out a small figure dashing across the floor in front of him and then disappearing into a side passage.

He turns to call over his shoulder.  “We’ve got a runner!”

Thatch leaps up from where he was kneeling beside his unconscious horse.  “Where?”

“In, and to the left.  I think—” 

But Thatch does not care what Benedic thinks.  He barrels past the ranger and then charges down the indicated side tunnel.  Sheesak turned his horse against him.  She may be dead already, but he is going to make sure that all of her little minions join her.

The passage is dark as Thatch pounds down it, sword drawn and ready.  However, soon it begins to grow lighter, and then, as he rounds a gentle corner Thatch sees that it is actually an alternate exit from the cave.  And there, silhouetted against the daylight is one little minion, one littler minion, and one… not so little minion.

The goblin shaman, his raven familiar, and a last ogre were trying to make good their escape when Thatch comes bearing down on them.  Thatch raises his sword, takes careful aim and swings, slicing through the air so quickly at first it seems that he hasn’t hit anything.  Which is when the goblin shaman starts shrieking.

The ogre scowls in confusion.  The goblin is not hurt.  Why is it making so much noise?  Then, in its dim ogre way, he notices the black feathers floating through the air.  Thatch has sliced the raven cleanly in half.

_(Thatch’s player: Can I cleave through to the goblin?
Fajitas:  Umm… sure.)_

Without pause Thatch spins back around, slashing at the goblin shaman like fury itself.  The shaman and the ogre try to counter attack, but Thatch is not to be resisted, and, with strength and determination born of fury, he hacks and slashes his way into the light. 

###

Meanwhile…

“Come on men!  He might still be alive under there!  Get one of the clerics over!”

“Can you reach him?”

“No, we’ve got to move her body…”

“Everyone over here!  On three.  One… Two…”

With a mighty heave Lord Agasha’s men roll Sheesak’s body from where it rests, pinning Anvil to the ground.

The Justicar does not look good.  He’s unconscious, and a trickle of blood runs down his forehead.

“Is he alive?” Lira asks.

One of Lord Agasha’s clerics is already checking the body.  “He’s alive…” He checks again, “He’s stable!”

Everyone exhales, relieved.  Some even laugh, stunned by the sheer luck awarded to Anvil for his audacity.

Everyone, that is, except Eva, who shakes her head as she takes out the party’s wand of _cure light wounds_.  “You incalculable jackass.”

_(Behind the scenes flashback!

BadMonkeyJeff pulls out his dice and prepares to make his first stabilization roll after Anvil has been crushed under Sheesak.  In a very Anvil-like way he announces: “I will stabilize on a 3!”  He throws a die straight up; it lands, rolls, and comes up “3.”  We are all marveling at this stroke of luck when Fajitas clears his throat.

“BMJ, that was a d20.  You could have called two numbers, you know.”)_

Overall, the party’s casualties are light.  Many of Lord Agasha’s and Lord Fau Meen’s men were severely wounded, but none died.  Although for Anvil and Benedic especially the battle was a near thing, no one should be much the worse for wear after some healing and a good night’s rest.

Reyu experimentally tries directing her _flaming sphere_ towards the hedges on the mound before the spell expires.  The magical flames *do* ignite the plants, leading Reyu to guess that they were produced through some sort of modified _wall of thorns_.

However, what is even more interesting to her is the altar and surrounding standing stones.  The stones are not—as she had guessed earlier—repositories for spells such as she has seen others of her kind employ.  Instead, the stones and the crudely shaped alter all seem almost to be protrusions of one *huge* stone whose mass is buried in the mound below.  Lira casts _detect magic_ and frowns.

“What is it?” Annika asks.

“I don’t know.  The stones show some kind of powerful transmutation, and… something else.”

“Like what?”

Lira gestures helplessly.  “Like nothing I’ve ever seen.  It’s not arcane, it’s not divine, it’s just… kind of weird.”

Anvil, always prepared, casts _detect evil_.  “It is evil,” he announces.

“Why am I not surprised?” Eva asks of no one in particular.

(Lira leans over and whispers, “Dare me to suggest we sacrifice a Kettenite priest on it and see what happens?”

Eva giggles.  “No.”)

The inside of Sheesak’s lair proves to be not just a single cave, but a small network of interconnected caverns.  The main space is largely empty, except for a fire-pit towards the middle of the room.  On the right side from the entrance and at the back are two smaller side caves, and to the left is the tunnel leading to the alternate exit, where Thatch lately mopped up the last remaining ogre and goblin shaman.  

The two side caves each contain several piles of stinking furs which Benedic theorizes were probably bedding for the cave’s former occupants.  (Lord Agasha and his men, as well as the party, decide that they will continue to camp outside.)  However, as Eva pokes through one particularly large pile of bedding, she suddenly lets out a triumphant shout.  “Thatch!  Take a look at this!”  She emerges into the main cavern a moment later, brandishing Professor Alexandra’s pitcher.

“There’s a bunch more stuff too,” she tells the others as everyone gathers to watch Thatch put the pitcher through its paces.

“Get everything together in a pile,” Annika tells her.  “If anything reads as magical I can _identify_ it tomorrow.”

“Do you know what that stinky pit in the other room is?” Kiara asks her, nose wrinkled elaborately for effect.

“The loo?” someone suggests.

“That _I_ can identify,” Kiara retorts.

“Here,” Annika says.  “Show it to me.”  Annika spends a few minutes inspecting the viscous liquid in the pit, sniffing, watching how it reacts to being stirred, and in a few moments returns with her analysis.

“I think someone had started brewing a batch of healing potions.  It’s most of the way done actually.  If you want, I can see if I can finish it off.”

“What would we want a bunch of goblin healing potions for?”  Benedic asks.

“Well, it’s not as though they only heal goblins,” Lira points out.

“Do you know how to do such a thing?” Reyu asks Annika.

Annika shrugs.  “Obviously I’ve never tried to _make_ one before, but the underlying principles are the same as any other potion.   I think I should be able to do it.”

“How long will it take?”  Anvil asks.

“Not too long.  Maybe a day?”  Annika shrugs.  “We don’t really stand to loose much.  We might need the potions, and if we don’t, I’m sure we can find an alchemist who’d be interested in buying them to study.”

The party agrees that it is worth a try, and Annika spends the rest of the day sprinkling odd herbs into the bubbling, smelly pit.  

###

_(It's not much of a cliff-hanger, so sue me.)_


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx said:
			
		

> Although I still don't understand what Eva's problem is with Anvil, who at this point, is my choice for MVPC.




Well, you know, he can be kind of... _demanding_...

Although Eva's player should feel free to contradict me, I don't think it's that Eva has a problem with Anvil, per se, aside from the whole "stick up his rear" quality that he tends to exude.  Actually, after the "pig headed idiot" line, some of us suspected for a while that Eva had some kind of thing for Anvil.  (Turned out, not so much.)

You have to keep in mind, we're the party that dithers in front of doors where we've scried everyone on the other side of it and we _know_ what's going to happen.  Anvil throwing himself off the cliff was... surprising.  Really cool, but not what we'd come to expect from our Justicar friend.  Also, it was the first time BadMonkeyJeff had ever invoked Anvil's "Feat of Strength" domain-granted ability.  After the session that night, Fajitas remarked that he had thought BMJ had forgotten Anvil even _had_ it.  The rest of us were just sitting around going, "Your feet of what?"


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Eighty-Sixth*
_In which: the party embarks on several projects, with varying degrees of success._

However, Eva has already made another, potentially even more exciting, discovery.  Back in the corner of the side-cave farthest from the main entrance is a sloping passage, almost like a set of stairs leading down through the cliff.

“Where does it lead?”  Reyu asks.

Eva raises an eyebrow so high it nearly disappears under her hair.  “A tunnel.  In what used to be an ogre’s lair, in the dark, by myself.  I don’t think so.”

Reyu looks over at Benedic.  

He picks up a torch and lights it.  “After you.”

They find that the passage eventually flattens and turns, leading—they believe—under the mound with the standing stones and altar in front of the caves.  They also find that as the tunnel descends, the walls, ceiling and floor are all covered with a thicker and thicker layer of noxious mold.  The entire place smells of rot, and decay, with a noxious metallic, or almost sulphurous undertaste that lingers at the back of the throat.

Reyu and Benedic press on until they discover that the passage eventually opens out into an immense, domed cavern.  Reyu estimates that it must be at least fifty feet across, and the ceiling rises a good thirty-feet above the floor at its highest point in the center of the cavern.  The ceiling itself seems to be a mixture of rock and packed earth, with roots that have grown down from the surface hanging free in the air, or twining along the numerous stalactites.  Everything in the cavern is covered in at least three inches of the strange mold… with one exception.

From the apex of the cavern ceiling, a huge stalactite descends.  It is covered in the mold… all except for the very tip.  It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but Reyu does not think the end of the stalactite is made of the same sort of rock as the rest of the caves.  It is as though someone has cut off the end of the stalactite and replaced it with some kind of capstone, made of a black, shiny material that Reyu has never seen before.  She is about to cast _detect magic_, wondering if this is the source of the “weird” aura Lira noticed in the stones above, when Benedic taps her on the shoulder.  

“Look there, on the ground.”

Reyu does.  Scattered on the floor of the cavern are nine, mold-covered mounds.  “Bodies.”

“Nine of ‘em.  Wasn’t that the number of hostages the goblins kidnapped?”

Reyu nods.  They both still stand at the mouth of the tunnel, just before it opens up into the cavern before them.

“You want to go in?” Benedic asks her.

Reyu shakes her head.  “It’s late.  We should return tomorrow with the others.”

###

They return to the surface to find the caverns above reeking to new levels and everyone in the raiding party clustered outside the entrance.

“What happened?”  Benedic asks Lira, who is off to one side coughing and wiping her eyes.

“Guess what smells worse than a goblin healing potion.”

“I don’t know, what?”

“A goblin healing potion that’s gone-off during brewing.”

###
A short distance away, Thatch is busy with a task of his own, with equally mixed results.  

“Okay, boy.  Good boy.  It’s just me, Bob.  Just your old friend, Thatch.”

As Thatch reaches out towards Bob, the horse whinnies and tries to bite him.

Thatch hides his pain behind determination and tries again.  “Shhhhhhh,” he whispers, as soothing as he can.  “It’s okay, boy.  It’s just me, boy.  Remember me?”

He reaches out again.  This time Bob shies away, but does not try to bite him.

“That’s right.  Attaboy,” Thatch says, and gently places his hand on Bob’s mane.

Bob does not react.

“Good boy,” Thatch says, as he slowly approaches his steed.  “Good boy…”

Thatch takes a handful of mane.  Bob allows him.  Smiling, Thatch leaps up onto Bob’s back.

Bob goes insane.

He kicks, he bucks, he rears.  Thatch, taken by surprise, loses his grip and falls to the ground.  Seeing him down, Bob rears back and brings his hooves down towards his former master.  Only a quick roll and the tether holding Bob to a tree save Thatch from being trampled.

Thatch catches his breath as Bob calms down.  He stands there, waiting for Thatch’s next move. 

Reyu comes over; she tries to prepare Thatch for the worst.  “Sheesak made Bob one of her animal companions.  He was bonded to her.  This will not be undone in a day.”

“I don’t care,” Thatch replies.  “I raised him since he was a foal.  He’ll remember that… eventually.  Besides,” he adds, “he’d do the same for me.  I know it.”

###

The party makes camp that night in the woods, not far from the cave—tripling their watches in case Sheesak has allies in search of revenge.  However, the night passes uneventfully, and the next morning, prepared and well-rested, the party leaves Lord Agasha and his men to sweep the woods, and descends en-mass to the mold-filled cavern.

Well, everyone except Thatch, who cannot be convinced to leave Bob’s side even for a moment.  

He looks over to where Bob stands at the edge of camp, scanning the trees, waiting for Sheesak to return.  Thatch’s eyes narrow, and a singularity of purpose fills his body.  This is *his* horse, and whatever that foul she-ogre did to him, Thatch *will* undo it.  Missions and archmages be damned.

###

As the party descends into the caves, Reyu walks near the front of the column.  Although her eyes are far more sensitive than those of her human colleagues, even she is grateful for the flickering torches carried by several of her companions.  She stops to cast _detect magic_, and suddenly the flickering firelight is dancing in harmony with a rippling aura that permeates all of the mold that coats every rock surface around her.

Another few steps brings her to the mouth of the cavern.  Here, the walls are practically _alive_ with magic.  A sharp intake of breath behind her says that Lira has seen it too.  

The aura in stalactite, Lira notices, is just like the one in the altar and standing stones aboveground, transmutation, tainted with… something else.  Not only that, the roots, mold, even the bodies all carry a similar taint.  And the source of it is the capstone on the stalactite that Reyu noticed the night before.  Whatever the black, un-worked stone is, it is very powerful and very magical, but now Lira is absolutely sure that it is neither arcane _nor_ divine.  She can’t even begin to guess what sort of effect or school of magic it might be producing.

Anvil casts _detect evil_ and _detect chaos_.  The latter does not reveal auras of any note, but the rock, like the altar and standing stones above, pulses with an abiding evilness.  Strangely enough, thought, the capstone does not.  

Reyu and Anvil move forward into the cavern, Reyu going straight for the mysterious capstone, Anvil stopping to inspect the fallen bodies.  As they had suspected, the one he first examines is wearing the torn but recognizable vestments of a Sovereign cleric.  Benedic and Eva follow and take up positions flanking either side of the mouth of the passage back to the surface.  Annika, Lira, and Kiara stay back, ready.

As she steps onto the thick carpet of mold, Eva coughs and wipes her eyes.  Every movement she makes sends up clouds of spores.  She looks over at Benedic, knee-deep in his own greenish haze.  “Breathing this stuff cannot be a good idea,” she mutters.

Benedic just shrugs and coughs.

Reyu looks over from where she has been inspecting the capstone.  “We will not linger long,” she tells Eva.  “I believe this stone is the source of power in the altar and standing stones above.  It would not be wise for us to leave it here.”

Anvil nods.  “Agreed.”

“How are you going to get it down?” Eva asks.  “We don’t have anything to hack through that much rock.”

Reyu however, has been examining the stalactite with an eye to just that question.  “It is a distinct piece of stone,” she says.  “I believe we may be able to, with sufficient force… dislodge it.”   Reyu wraps her hands around the rock.  It is quite large, and unshaped.  However, there is a tiny seam between the capstone and the stalactite which she can just force the tips of her fingers into.  Reyu carefully puts all of her weight onto her arms and pulls down on the capstone with all her might.

“Should someone go get Thatch?”  Lira asks.

However, just at that moment, the cavern suddenly springs to life.

The roots growing down from the ceiling begin twisting, grasping like macabre tentacles.  One reaches down to slap at Reyu, but it does not succeed in loosening her grip on the stone.  Meanwhile, the rest of the party is distracted by the nine mold-covered bodies which have all simultaneously risen from their repose and are now coming to attack the adventurers.


----------



## kidzero2525

Oh no, not more zombies! Finally got sometime to Catsup with my reading. great stuff.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Eighty-Seventh*
_In which: at least the zombies do not appear to be anyone’s friends._

In later days, Lira will turn to Anvil and ask him, “When the bodies in the cave started coming at you, why didn’t you just _turn_ them like you did Amelia’s zombies?  I mean, they were pretty obviously undead.”

To which Anvil could only reply, “I felt like hitting something with my sword.”

###

And hit them he does.  As soon as Anvil sees the mold-covered zombie shuffling towards him, he draws his blade and sinks it right into the creature’s shoulder.  The strike sends up a grout of slime and spores, but does not otherwise seem to have much of an effect.

Eva stabs at the zombie closest to her, slicing into it with her rapier, then flinching involuntarily as two _magic missiles_ go streaking by her sword arm to strike the zombie full in the chest.  The _missiles_ do their work, spraying mold and rotting flesh from the creature’s chest… right onto Eva.

“Lira!” Eva protests, coughing on a lung-full of spores as the zombie crumples at her feet.

“Sorry!” Lira calls, then lets out a small yelp as for once _magic missiles_ (Annika’s this time) go streaking by _her_ head.  Despite the chaos of the fight she has a second to register how _strange_ the sensation is.  First the light appears in her peripheral vision, then a split second later it’s followed by a rush of air, but with _no_ heat at all.  It’s bizarre.

She is just about to share the weirdness by casting at the zombie currently attacking Benedic when she sees one of the giant roots reach down from the ceiling and wrap itself around Anvil’s throat.  The cleric struggles, but the root only tightens its grip, lifting Anvil off the ground by his neck.  Reyu, still clinging to the capstone, watches the melee breaking out around her in horror.  Still, no one is attacking _her_ yet, and hoping that it will make a difference, Reyu lifts her feet from the ground, putting her entire weight onto the capstone.

Unfortunately, Reyu doesn’t weigh all that much.

Benedic skewers the zombie in front of him and runs through the resulting cloud of spores and flying goo straight for the root throttling Anvil, sword raised.  He is just about to strike when all of a sudden, the room… hiccups.

Just for a second, the zombies freeze in their tracks, the roots stop their twisting in the air and then… they start right up again.  The pause is just enough to send Benedic’s swing awry, and he slashes inches from the root.  It is also, fortunately, enough to allow Anvil a quick gasp of air, before the root regains its choking grip.

“What was that?” Eva yells.

Reyu, still clinging to the end of the stalactite, answers.  “The capstone.  It gave for just a second.  If we can get it down—” The rest of her words are lost as a zombie fist connects with her kidneys.  As the air flies out of her lungs, Reyu looses her grip on the stone.  She gets her feet back under her, and turns to deal with the more immediate concern.

As Lira continues to cast _magic missiles_ at the root throttling Anvil, and Kiara shifts into hybrid form, allowing her to hover in the passage and shoot arrows over the heads of her allies, Annika suddenly gets an idea.  She doesn’t have any more offensive spells prepared for the day, but has memorized _levitate_.  And it would stand to reason, she theorizes, that if the spell would allow her to lift 400 pounds straight up and then down again, there is no reason why she can’t use it to pull something down _without_ lifting it up first.

And if a slight move from the capstone caused the vines and zombies to stutter…  Annika concentrates, then casts _levitate_ on the capstone and pulls down with as much force as she can channel through the spell.  

At first, she’s afraid that it isn’t working.  Then, she feels the tiniest bit of give.  The zombies shudder, and the rest of the party redoubles their efforts.  

Lira sends another set of _magic missiles_ into the root choking Anvil.  Benedic and Eva position themselves back to back to avoid being surrounded by the remaining zombies.   Reyu realizes what Annika is doing, and—finding a relatively secure bit of ground—casts _soften earth and stone_ on the stalactite above the capstone.  “Try now!” she calls.

Annika concentrates again, and with a mighty >crack< the capstone separates from the rock above.

The zombies abruptly drop in their tracks, like marionettes with cut strings.  The roots go slack, dropping Anvil to the ground, senseless.  Reyu quickly goes over to him and casts _cure light wounds_ which is enough to get him back on his feet.

Lira casts _detect magic_ again, checking the cave.  Although the capstone itself is unaffected by its change in location, the rest of the cave has ceased radiating magic, although the mold and roots still show signs of taint.

“So,” says Lira, “we’ve got ourselves a big, magical rock.”

“A big *evil*, magical rock,” Kiara adds.

“I thought Anvil said it wasn’t evil.”

“Okay, a big *not*-evil magical rock.”

“Well what are we going to do with it now?”

Anvil shrugs.  “I’ll carry it.”

Eva looks at him incredulously.  “It must weigh fifty pounds.”

Anvil merely shrugs again and shoulders the stone.  He’s not particularly forward about it, but the fact is, that strength is one of the domains of Kettenek’s power in which Anvil is particularly versed, and he is actually almost as strong as Thatch is.  Fifty pounds is by no means a crippling burden.

That settled, the party turns and heads back to the surface.

###

It took some searching among Lord Agasha’s men, but eventually Thatch found what he needed.

He spent the morning talking to Bob.  Just talking, reassuringly.  Speaking soothing words and calling him by name.  After a while, he offered Bob an apple. 

>snap<!  Bob bit at him to get it.

Thatch let him have it.  And, as Bob ate the apple, Thatch talked soothingly to him.  After a few more hours, he gave him another apple.  This time, Bob took it gently from Thatch’s hand.

Now, Thatch keeps up a quiet running monologue as Bob allows him to curry the hair underneath his mane.  _It’s slow, but it’s progress_, Thatch reassures himself, _I can take as much time as I need.  After all, it’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to go._

Then, he hears the sound of footsteps at the cave’s entrance.  _Oh, that must be the others returning from the cavern._

“Hey guys!” he calls.  “Did you find anything interest--?”

The rest of the question dies, unasked.  His friends emerge, blinking into the fading rays of the afternoon sunlight.  Eva, Benedic, Reyu, and Anvil are all covered in moldy zombie goo.  Anvil is also carrying a very large hunk of rock.  None of them look particularly happy.

“Umm… What happened down there?”


----------



## Angcuru

Seems like Thatch is on latrine duty tonight.


----------



## Thatch

"Angcuru  	Seems like Thatch is on latrine duty tonight. "

Why would that be?  I killed everything dead that needed killing yesterday.  There are far more pressing matters than mucking about with moldy roots and rocks.  Matters such as nursing a vital member of the party back to health.  
         -Thatch


----------



## spyscribe

*The Sidebar that had to be posted on Christmas: Loot!*

The next day, Annika does prepare and cast _identify_.  Lira watches, dumbfounded, as Annika spends hours tracing arcane symbols on the ground, sprinkling gold dust over the lines, and chanting constantly.

_There is a good reason_, she thinks, _why I have never met a sorcerer who knows this spell… Why doesn’t she just *do* it already?_

Although Annika began her preparations almost as soon as she arose that morning, it is late afternoon when she settles herself in the center of the diagram she has prepared, and picks up the first of the magic items the party uncovered in their search of Sheesak’s hoard.

The symbol she has traced on the ground begins to give off a golden glow, then, the glow rises off the ground and with an almost audible >snap< coalesces around her eyes.  Annika stops chanting, and slowly picks up the hunting horn Sheesak wore at her belt.  

She speaks, almost as though she were in a trance.  “_summon nature’s ally 4_ once per day, sound the horn to activate.”

She picks up the next object, a withered and desiccated hand.  “_mage hand_, at will…” 

She repeats the process with the big not-evil rock, (no reading), and one of several seemingly magical sticks the party found, (“_Barkskin_, cast as scroll.”)

The golden glow fades from her eyes, and Annika blinks rapidly, refocusing back to the more mundane realm.

“What about the other items?” Lira asks her.

Annika shakes her head.  “I can only identify four things off one casting.  I’ll have to do it again tomorrow.”

Lira just nods and walks away without saying anything.  To Euro she thinks: _There is a _very_ good reason I don’t know any sorcerers who can cast that spell._

Got that right, Boss.

The following day Annika casts _identify_ two more times, and is able to discover the purposes and properties of the remaining eight magical sticks in Sheesak’s hoard.  She finds three more of _barkskin_, four of _bull’s strength_, and one of _dominate animal_.


----------



## Trahnesi

Lurker and reader here, coming out of lurking to say that I'm really enjoying the story hour.  (I'm just upset that I'm caught up... now I have to wait for updates like everyone else.)

Fajitas, I was wondering if you could answer a question regarding the religions in Halmae.  You've said in the past:



			
				Fajitas said:
			
		

> There is general agreement, especially among those learned in religion, that the gods are abstract and unknowable.  Thus, while you can quibble philosophy between orders, there's very little fundamentalism.  The heads of the Churches all know that there are many correct interpretations.  It's usually only the young and impetuous that consider other orders heretical.  Especially since they can clearly cast _holy smite_ at you.
> 
> Naturally, there are exceptions to this.  No one but the Crossers really think that they're doing Kettenek's will.




Does anyone ever "fall from grace"?  Normally games state that if you do things that "your god doesn't like", you lose your divine spellcasting abilities.  Here, it looks like the Crossers are doing things that would be against Kettenek's desires, yet presumably they are able to cast _animate dead_.

I'm interested, because I'd like to yank this pantheon for a campaign I'm planning, and I like the lack of certainty that exists here.  I'm just trying to figure out the boundries of knowledge about the gods and their desires.

Hm... I guess that also raises the question about _commune_ - has anyone ever _communed_ with Kettenek and asked him what he's like and what he wants?

Great story hour, and a fun campaign to read!  Thanks!


----------



## spyscribe

Trahnesi said:
			
		

> Lurker and reader here, coming out of lurking to say that I'm really enjoying the story hour.  (I'm just upset that I'm caught up... now I have to wait for updates like everyone else.)




Hey Trahnesi, welcome aboard, glad you're enjoying the story hour.  You will apparently have to keep waiting for Fajitas to answer your question, but at least the update is here.

*Part the Eighty-Eighth*
_In which: we conduct some final business._

The party, along with Lord Agasha, his men, and Lord Fau Meen’s men spend a good week at the cave site in order to heal their wounds, make friends with Bob, and distribute magic items.

###

"Why me?" Eva asks, giving the desiccated hand Reyu holds out to her a very skeptical look.

Reyu is completely unruffled to be holding someone's hand without the rest of them in evidence.  "It seems it would be most useful for one of your... trade."

Eva raises an eyebrow.

"If she doesn't want it, I do!"  Kiara bounces over to see Annika and finds the discussion in progress.  '_Mage hand_ is neat.  You can use it to pick up rocks, or open doors across the room, or lift apples while the shopkeeper isn't looking or-"

Annika gives her "sister" a sharp look.  "But you wouldn't.  Would you?"  It's not exactly a question.

Kiara stops bouncing.  "Well..."

Lira saves her from having to answer.  "Is it just me, or does that hand look elven?"

Reyu examines the object more closely.  It's not just Lira.  The druid's normally unimpeachable facade cracks just a hair.

Eva finally relents.  "I'll try it."  Speaking the command word Annika gives her, Eva uses the hand to lift a small rock.  She's not sure which is more unnerving: that she is controlling the magical effect, or that as she concentrates, the fingers of the dead hand slowly curl until the index finger points accusingly.

Anvil walks over.  "That thing is evil.  Give it to me that I might destroy it."

Lira looks over in surprise.  "It can't be _that_ evil."

Anvil checks the aura again.  She's right.  It's not.

"Probably, using someone's hand to create something like that is an evil act, but the thing itself is isn’t inherently evil."  Annika points out.

"Is it going to affect me?"  Eva asks.

Annika considers carefully.  "It shouldn't."

Anvil shrugs.  "Fine then."  He goes to confer with Lord Agasha about the horses.  As he leaves, he notices the hem of his cloak slowly rising to shoulder height, and then returning to its normal position.  It begins to rise again.

Anvil turns around to see Eva looking at him appraisingly.  "Stop it," he says.

She considers a moment, and then slowly lets his cloak fall to rest on his shoulders.

Anvil turns to go on his way, ignoring the sound of smothered giggles behind him.

Less easy to ignore is the horn blast that comes a few moments later.

Anvil turns and stares in shock with the rest of the party at the creature which has suddenly appeared, standing in the snow.

The animal is larger than a horse, covered in a gray, tough skin, with four stumpy little legs.  It has a large broad head and on the end of its nose is a short, but very sharp-looking horn.

Kiara slowly lowers the hollowed sheep's horn from her lips.  "Wow," she whispers.

“Why did you do that?” Annika hisses.

“I wanted to see what we could summon,” Kiara tries to explain.

The creature paws the frozen ground a bit and snorts in the cold air.  Everyone freezes.

Eva swallows and whispers to Reyu, "What is it?"

Although Reyu has never seen one before, she can make a good guess.  "I believe it is called a rhinoceros.  But they are normally found in much hotter climates."

Kiara can't take her eyes off the creature.  "A rhino-saurus," she whispers.  "Can I ride him?" 

Reyu takes a very deliberate pause.  "You can try."

Annika quickly adds, "But you're not going to."

Kiara tries whistling at the creature in bird, but it doesn't seem to speak Sylvan.  Before any further experiments can be tried, the creature abruptly vanishes back to wherever it came from.

Despite repeated attempts, the horn does not summon any more strange monsters to the woodland glade.  Finally Lord Agasha points out that despite Sheesak's death, the woods are still potentially filled with hostile creatures and perhaps advertising their position so blatantly is not the wisest course of action.

Lira takes custody of the horn for the time being at least.

Anvil wanders over.  "Do you think you could use that to summon dire badgers?" he asks.

It probably wasn't an accident that Eva was within earshot of his question.

"Not funny," she calls back over her shoulder, glaring.

Anvil goes back to his business, smiling only a little.

###

As he walks away, Lord Agasha motions Anvil aside.

“Justicar,” he begins, “I was wondering if I might inquire about your travel plans.”

“We still need to seek out the archmage of the Kuio Valley.  Although,” Anvil allows, “we have little idea where exactly the Kuio Valley is.”

Lord Agasha nods.  “I am not familiar with a location by that name, however, from what you have told me of it, I think I know where you might be looking for.  If you and your party accompany me back to Lord Fau Meen’s lands, I can obtain a map for your use.”

“That would be most helpful.  I thank you.”

Lord Agasha acknowledges the thanks graciously.  “It is small compensation for the debt we owe you.”  He looks away for a moment, and Anvil is about to excuse himself, when Lord Agasha speaks again.  “Justicar…  If you are going to travel extensively in our lands, I wonder if I might offer you some advice that you and your companions might profit by it.”

Anvil nods.  “Certainly.”

“Walk with me.”

###

Finally, the day of departure has arrived, and the party comes to their final task before leaving the site of Sheesak’s former stronghold for good.  Although the removal of the strange magical capstone appears to have left the altar and standing stones ordinary and inert rock, the group has decided to take no chances.  The bodies of the nine Sovereign peasants have been removed from their tomb and burned to prevent any chance of them rising once again.  Out of respect for their beliefs, the ashes were then buried.  

_(Burial of the dead is a widespread custom throughout the Halmae, as Kettenek is revered as the lord of the dead, and earth is his element.)_ 

After that, Reyu has been making daily trips into the caves, examining their structure, and using _soften earth and stone_ to strategically weaken the roof of the cavern below the altar and standing stones.  Thatch has assisted with liberal use of the pitcher on its “fresh geyser” setting, saturating the exposed earth of the caverns with as much water as it can hold.  Eventually, Thatch simply stands at the mouth of passage leading down from the higher caves and floods the entire cavern.

On the morning of their departure, Eva does a final sweep through Sheesak’s lair to be sure they have left nothing behind worth taking.  Satisfied, she exits the cave and runs down the mound, through the remnants of the hedges.  She can feel the earth squelching and starting to give under her feet and wastes no time getting back to the spot in the woods where rest of the group is waiting.

The party hangs back while Lord Agasha and his men go on ahead, and so once Eva reaches them, Reyu steps forward and casts one last _soften earth and stone_ just at the point she calculates will bring down the entire dome.  At first, it seems like nothing is going to happen.  Then, the top of the mound sinks, just a little bit.

“Is that—?”  Thatch starts.

Reyu holds up a hand for silence.  A low rumble begins, then grows louder, then a rush of dirt and rock-choked water gushes out from the cliff face.  An instant later, the mound crumbles in on itself.  The hedges collapse into the rising muck.  The altar and standing stones remain in place for a few moments; then they all simultaneously lurch to one side.  Reyu notices that as they tilt and sink, the four stones and alter keep their relative positions to each other.  She must have been right, they _were_ all part of one large piece of rock.  

The party is eventually forced to draw back to higher ground as the flood waters surge forwards into the woods.  When they subside, the party returns to survey the damage.  

The entrance to Sheesak’s lair is now nearly twenty feet above ground level.  The old altar and standing stones are stuck, half-buried in dirt and tipped close to fifty degrees to one side.  The hedges are gone, all buried in viscous mud. 

Satisfied, the group does not linger long and turns their horses to catch up with Lord Agasha and the others.


----------



## Fajitas

Trahnesi said:
			
		

> Does anyone ever "fall from grace"?  Normally games state that if you do things that "your god doesn't like", you lose your divine spellcasting abilities.  Here, it looks like the Crossers are doing things that would be against Kettenek's desires, yet presumably they are able to cast _animate dead_.




Sorry it's taken me so long to answer this.  I've been off and about on holiday travels, with limited internet access and an excess of baby half-brother-in-laws!

The short answer appears to be no.  The gods of the Halmae, much like the gods of Earth, are remarkably closed-mouthed when it comes to answering questions about what exactly it is they expect of their followers.  This is for two reasons: 1) The Halmae gods are not, generally, quite as anthropomorphic as most fantasy world gods.  They're forces of nature, more than intelligent, personality based beings.  They don't necessarily like or dislike the actions of their followers, any more than gravity likes or dislikes skydivers.  And 2) I find religion to be much more interesting when there aren't clearly defined answers.  Two people, worshipping the same god, holding diametrically opposed  and mutually exclusive ideals... well, as a DM, I just don't think it gets much better than that.

Glad to hear from you, and glad to see so many new posters showing up.


----------



## Piratecat

Good answer, and I like that approach.


----------



## doghead

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Good answer, and I like that approach.




I do as well. Its better than stepping into a globe of ... what was it Piratecat? Was it a globe or something else?

*doghead stuggles (unsuccessfully) to stop chortling like an idiot*

That really was the funniest post in the whole thead. Thanks for sharing.

thotd.


----------



## Trahnesi

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Sorry it's taken me so long to answer this.  I've been off and about on holiday travels, with limited internet access and an excess of baby half-brother-in-laws!




No need to apologize - I never expect anyone to read things online during the holiday vacation season.  There are so many other fun things to be doing.

I like the approach you've got with gods - the "in your face" style of many fantasy world gods hasn't ever worked for me.  I'm probably going to grab this and slap it into my proto-campaign.  I had been trying to figure out what to do with religion, and this is perfect - it gives the building blocks for a ton of plot arcs, while not overpowering the other elements of the game.  It makes it reasonable for there to be non-believers, while not diminishing the power of the faithful.  And it gives players a chance to add on additional sects for their characters without messing up the cosmology.

All in all, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.  I applaud you with the highest praise - yoinking.


----------



## spyscribe

_Sorry for the delay, I've been travelling and off-line for a while.  Hope everyone had a happy New Year!_

*Part the Eighty-Ninth: *
_In which: one journey ends and another resumes._

The three days on the road are punctuated by a distinct lack of sudden blizzards or goblin attacks.

As they approach Lord Fau Meen's manor, Reyu begins to consider what she should do about her new ursine companion.

She asks advice from Lord Agasha.  "I would ask him to wait in the forest outside the estate, but I would be quite... upset if someone were to try and hunt him now.  Do you think Lord Fau Meen might be able to accommodate him?" 

Lord Agasha chuckles to himself.  "Oh, I'm sure he can come up with something." He chuckles a bit more.  "Oh yes.  You should bring him.  Lord Fau Meen will be most... most pleased." The elderly hunter coughs a bit, perhaps not due to the cold.  "This did all start with a bear hunt, after all."

Reyu considers.  Humans can be quite strange sometimes.  It is possible that Lord Agasha is being insincere.  Still, she decides it will not trouble her rest to incommode Lord Fau Meen with the sudden arrival of her animal companion.

Lord Fau Meen is somewhat nonplussed to find the bear that was lately terrorizing his peasants now seeking lodging in one of his outbuildings, but a combination of assurances from Reyu that the bear presents no danger and a desire not to appear rattled in front of Lord Agasha conspire to find a place for the bear to sleep.

The bear settled, the adventurers all get the opportunity to bathe and rest before being summoned to a banquet in their honor that evening.

Lord Fau Meen's central hall has been decorated for the occasion and a very long low table laid out to accommodate all of the party as well as Lord Fau Meen, Lord Agasha, and a few important guests.

Most of the party finds eating with chopsticks easier to get the hang of this time, and to everyone's surprise Kiara digs in as though she has been eating with them all her life, showing even more grace than she does with traditional utensils.

At last though, the dishes are cleared, and following a toast and fine words from Lord Fau Meen, Lord Agasha rises to speak.

"We are indebted to you all," he begins.  "This mission to drive the ogre from our lands was a great and honorable one, and it does not shame me to say it would not have been a success without your help."

He makes a motion and servants come forward, each standing behind one of the adventurers.  For Lira, already on edge since their return to settled Sovereign lands, it is an act of will to remain placid.  _They're just servants_, she tells herself, _if they were going to arrest us all, there would be guards._  A few of the others shift slightly in their seats as Lord Agasha continues.

A scroll case is placed in his open palm.  "With these letters," he continues, "anyone in the Sovereignty may know and recognize you for your valorous deeds, and you will be allowed safe passage through our lands."

He closes the case and gives it to Anvil, who accepts with a bow.  _Hmm,_ thinks Thatch, _One of us has been getting etiquette lessons._

Lord Agasha reaches back again and is handed a small sack, which he places on the table with a distinct clinking sound.  Eva recognizes the sound immediately, and the gold is also handed over to Anvil for safekeeping before it is divided by the party.

Reyu speaks up.  "You are most generous.  But surely, little payment is required.  It was an honor to travel and hunt with someone of your stature."

Lord Agasha clears his throat modestly.  "You may consider that another part of my payment to you," he replies, much to the relief of other party members who were not feeling so sanguine about refusing 1,000 gold pieces.

However, Lord Agasha is not finished.  "Also, allow me to present you each with a token of thanks and esteem."

At Agasha's gesture the servants who were standing behind the party members each produce a sheathed blade, about eighteen inches long.  The handles are wrapped with ornately designed knots and finished with tassels hanging off the ends.  The adventurers graciously accept, and find the blades as well-made as they are beautiful.

"These are wakazashi," Lord Agasha explains.  "They show all who see them that you are honored warriors among our people."

The meal is soon concluded, and most of the party members solemnly belt on their new daggers.  All thank Lord Agasha and their host as graciously as they are able.

###

That night, Reyu watches from her sleeping mat as Lira takes her wakazashi and carefully slides it into her backpack.  Although the sorcerer prefers to stay away from close-rage combat, Reyu knows she must appreciate the higher quality of Lord Agasha's gift compared to her usual dagger.

When she mentions this, Lira shrugs and sighs.  "I know.  And it's lovely, but...  I can't give up my old one."  Reyu assumes that Lira is going to leave it at that but she continues.  "It was a gift from my parents, for my sixteenth birthday."

Reyu watches with a quiet nod of understanding as the young human checks to make sure her holy symbol is securely tucked down her nightshirt, crawls into bed, and falls asleep.

###

The party takes some time to consider their next move.  Now that the business with the ogre and Lord Agasha has been resolved, they are once again free to resume their primary mission of seeking out the archmage of the Kuio valley.

Lord Agasha has provided them with a map and although there is no valley so named in the Sovereignty, he suspects they may be looking for a place name known as "The Valley at the Center of the Storm."  On their map it is still called, "The Valley of Untamed Fury."

"Those don't sound like the same place," Thatch points out when Lord Agasha explains.

"What changed?" Lira asks.

"The valley, apparently," replies Lord Agasha dryly, and that is the only illumination on the matter he provides.

The party resolves that they will ride to Seaward, the port through which they lately arrived in the sovereignty, and from there take a ship a small way along the coast to Port at the Mouth of the River of Great Descent (or Descentport), where they can take a barge up the River of Great Descent to the Lake of Exalted Heights.  

This plan has two advantages over overland travel.  First, from the Lake it appears that the party will be able to follow another river down to the valley in question.  And second, the Lake is also not far from the Ironroot mines, where the party will be able to redeem the promissory notes issued to them by Gurn Stoneshaper in the mines near Dar Und. 

Just in case it becomes necessary later, the party also locates the Sharpstone Pass on the map, where Komatsu's monastery is located.  Although they have no plans to pay a visit to the odd missionary, they figure it is good to know where they can find a place to seek shelter in case of emergency. 

Lord Agasha's son, Lord Hiru agrees to accompany the party to the mouth of the river and help facilitate arrangements for their travel.

And so, after resting another day at Lord Fau Meen's estate, they prepare to depart.


----------



## spyscribe

But, before our party continues their journey:

_A Prepatory Interlude: _

Reyu is somewhat concerned for her new animal companion.  While she has been able to introduce him to the members of the party and he seems in all ways agreeable to remaining with her, she has her doubts about prolonged river travel.

So, the morning after the banquet, Reyu rises with the sun and as she prays for nature's blessing to be upon her, she makes a special request.

Reyu goes directly to see the bear after breakfast.  The large beast ambles over to her, and she pats its great head as she says in perfect bear, "Hello, my friend."

The bear blinks.  "You can talk," he says, a bit of surprise showing in his slow, ponderous bear voice.

"For a little while," she allows.  "I hope we can speak much in the coming days."

The bear gives a big, slow nod.  "I'd like that."

"What do you call yourself, friend?"

The bear's reply is long and rumbling.  "I was called, 'He Whose Paws Can Rip Up Mighty Trees.'  But now I think I will be called, 'He Whose Friend Walks On Two Legs.'"

Reyu can't help smiling.  She scratches the bear around his great, furry ears.  He bats at her gently with a paw.  "Paws," she says, a rich solid word in her native elven.  "I am about to go on a long journey to the sea and then up a great river.  Would you like to accompany me?"

"Sea..." the bear rumbles.  "I do not know the sea."

"It is a great body of water."

"Like a river?" the bear asks.

"It is like a river, as a tree is like grass," she explains.

Paws considers.  "Grass is not much like a tree," he muses. "But... they are both green."  He thinks some more, "I think, I would like to go with you to see this... sea."

The bear nuzzles against Reyu, and she pets his head, and the conversation turns to other things.


----------



## dpdx

"People let me tell you 'bout my _best_ friend..."

(I liked the interlude.)

So they all get nice wakizashi - are any of the party proficient in its use? Wouldn't want to see someone hurt themselves on the followthrough...


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx said:
			
		

> So they all get nice wakizashi - are any of the party proficient in its use? Wouldn't want to see someone hurt themselves on the followthrough...




Yeah...  I think the ruling was that if you were proficient with a short sword you were proficient with a wakizashi, which in our party translates to: Thatch.

Maybe Benedic, but he's an NPC.

Fortunately, most of the effectiveness of these particular wakizashis (wakizashii?) is in the stopping-fights-before-they-start department.  As in, "Oh, you think I am some ignorant foreigner?  Well, that's _honored_ ignorant foreigner to you, Loser-san."

Shrug.  It was a nice idea.


----------



## spyscribe

Meanwhile...

_Interlude the Second_

Benedic walks with Lira as she leaves the main house after breakfast.  Although normally gregarious enough, the ranger is strangely quiet as they walk, kicking a stone ahead of him down the path.  Finally, he breaks the silence.  

"You know, I've been thinking.  You're about to go heading farther into the Ketkath than I've ever been.  You brought me on to be a guide, and we're about at the end of my guiding."

Lira stops walking.  "You're going to go back to Noran?  I thought you were going to see us through the mountains."

Benedic kicks a clump of snow, still frozen on the ground.  "You don't need me for that."

"But… you've got better wood sense than most of us put together."

He shakes his head, "Ah no, that Reyu... she's got a good head on her shoulders.  She'll get you though."

"But you found that shelter in the blizzards."

Benedic smiles as though pleased at the memory, but shakes his head.  "She would have found it.  You'll be fine."

He looks up and, for the first time that morning, makes eye contact with Lira.

"Do you want to go home?" she asks.

"Seems like I should."

Lira licks her lips, nervously.  "I'd miss you... If you went."

There is a long pause.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Well, ah…”  Another pause.  Lira blushes.  Benedic clears his throat.  “Maybe I could stick around a bit longer.  Always another mountain to climb, right?"

"Right," Lira agrees.  "And we could always use a good sword-arm."

"Guess so.  You're not too bad yourself, with those fingers of yours."

Lira smiles and blushes again.  So does Benedic, although in a much manlier sort of way.

There is an awkward silence.

Lira breaks it, tentatively.  "So... do you... want to take a walk or something?"

Benedic is about to agree when Euro suddenly pops out of Lira's pocket and begins running back and forth excitedly across her shoulders.  Lira shoots him a look, and after a moment of silent conversation, Euro hops over to Benedic's shoulder, pauses for a second, and then runs down his leg and away back to the manor.

Benedic is not skilled reading facial expressions of mustelidae, but he is almost positive that the weasel winked at him before running off.

Lira laughs awkwardly.  "Weasels... crazy huh?"

Benedic forces a chuckle.  "Yeah."

And the two walk off together, into the woods of the Fau Meen estate.


----------



## Capellan

Lira and Benedict, walkin' through the trees ...

Kay-Eye-Ess-Ess-Eye-En-Gee!


----------



## doghead

Hey spyscribe,

Just wanted to say another nice update. Keep up the great work please.

another faithful Halmae reader.


----------



## spyscribe

Capellan said:
			
		

> Lira and Benedict, walkin' through the trees ...
> 
> Kay-Eye-Ess-Ess-Eye-En-Gee!



Oh, and the awkward-yet-hillarious conversations that came in the aftermath...



> Me:  Um... do we assume that the Halmae has some reasonably effective form of birth control?
> Fajitas:  No.  Could you please roll me a d28?  =)




This was part of a longer email exchange that I was carrying on the following day at work.  It was possibly the hardest time I have ever had trying not to laugh out loud at my desk.  (In Fajitas' defense, the message did go on to clarify that yes, there were steps that could be taken to avoid pregnancy, and we'd assume that Lira and Benedic were taking them.)

Update coming almost immediately, and doghead, thanks for posting!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Ninetieth: *
_In which, the party becomes acquainted with the beliefs and customs of a strange land._

The party rides uneventfully to Seaward, although most of the horses still need a bit of reassurance to travel happily in the company of a large bear.

Thatch has made great strides with Bob, and is able to ride him comfortably on the main road.   He is confident that soon his trusty steed will be ready to carry him into combat once again.

The party re-supplies at Seaward, picking up a few items Lord Fau Meen was not able to provide.  Lira buys a few flasks of acid and Annika obtains a scroll of _rope trick_ which she uses to copy the spell into her spell-book.

Anvil bides his time.  Before leaving Sheesak’s lair, Lord Agasha pulled him aside for a somewhat delicate conversation.   Once they are underway from Seaward, the looming peaks of the Ketkath to port plunging into the vast waters of the Halmae that stretch as far as the eye can see to starboard, Anvil assembles the rest of the group.

"Lord Agasha has spoken to me about what we can expect as we journey farther into the Sovereignty," Anvil informs them, "and more importantly, what will be expected of us."

"What do you mean, expected of us?" Eva wants to know.

"Specifically," Anvil replies, "in matters of respect for authority and religion."

Lira slouches and lets out a long sigh.  As she does, Anvil has a sudden flash of understanding regarding the sorts of things Lord Agasha had wished to bring to his attention.  Anvil fixes her with a hard stare.  "That would be a bad reaction to have if someone in the Sovereignty broaches the topic."

Lira straightens, protesting, but Anvil ignores her.

"Being on the border, Lord Agasha is more relaxed about such things than people will be where we are going."

His lecture boils down to several salient points: 


 With their equivalent of "visiting dignitary" status, the party has a bit of leeway.  If they forget to bow to a superior, they probably won't be summarily beheaded.  Probably.

 The most feared people in the Sovereignty are known as Inquisitors. The party should avoid interaction with them if at all possible.

 Being a cleric who casts divine spells while invoking a god other than Kettenek is a good way to get in trouble very quickly.  Lucky for the party, their only cleric is Anvil—who might be a heretical worshipper, but at least he's a worshipper.

 For Reyu, the case is a bit ambiguous.  She's not invoking the might of Kettenek, but she's not invoking the might of someone else either. She probably wants to be as discreet as possible with her spellcasting.

 In a contrast to the Darine Confederacy, arcane magic is viewed with little suspicion.  It follows rigid laws, and if it exists, it must be as Kettenek wills it to be. 

 Attempting to preach a religion other than Sovereign orthodoxy is punishable by death.  Four members of the party carry contraband in the form of holy symbols of other deities.  (Lira and Annika - Ehkt, Eva - Sedellus, and Benedic - Alirria).  From what Lord Agasha told him, Anvil doesn't think that is enough in and of itself to warrant execution, although it certainly won’t be looked on kindly.

Eva, Annika, and Benedic have already removed their holy symbols and hidden them away in their packs.  Lira, on the theory that someone is more likely to search her luggage than her person, has continued to wear hers under her blouse.

"So," she asks Anvil, "if my holy symbol falls out of my shirt, how much trouble am I in?"

Anvil considers, "It would depend on what you did next.  In any case, more than a little."

"So, ripping it off my neck and spitting on it would be a good option, then?"

Anvil nods, "Much better than asking the Master Inquisitor if he would like one."

Lira snorts.  "Good thing I'm not the one who keeps telling people they should be acolytes at my temple."

Thatch begins laughing so hard he almost falls of his chair.  Finally, in between gasped breaths he manages to explain.  "You could claim someone slipped it into your pack in the marketplace.  We've had good luck with that one!"

_(Yep, you can tell what part of the story was being posted when this game was played!)_


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Ninety-First*
_In which: Eva chats up sailors in a bar._

The party's ship arrives at Descentport.  The harbor is on the small side, but packed with a forest of masts bearing the colors of settlements from all over the Halmae.

The town itself is the most elaborate shantytown they have ever laid eyes on.  Apparently, a small settlement grew up at the mouth of the river, and as it became a great port for ship-to-ship transfers the buildings were shored-up to make it through the winter.  Most of the buildings look solid enough, but it's clear that the settlement was thrown together rather than planned. 

The party bids Lord Hiru goodbye and are taken ashore with their gear and horses in a smaller boat.  All of the sailors on their ship heave a sigh of relief to see the bear lumbering onto someone else's craft.

At the mouth of the river, the party comes ashore and finds a huge barge, crewed—curiously enough—entirely by dwarves.  Lira, Reyu and Anvil go aboard and the captain, Gripp Ironroot, quickly agrees to have them as passengers for the journey up the river to the Lake of Exalted Heights.

He is even willing to make arrangements for Paws, the bear, provided he travels for the price of a person, not a horse, which the party happily agrees to pay.

Business concluded, Gripp rubs his hands together happily, "The ship leaves at dawn, so we'll expect you before first light tomorrow.  Yes, this is going to be a good trip."

"Why particularly good this time?" Lira wants to know.

The dwarf shrugs elaborately.  "Plenty of cargo, plenty of passengers.  What's not to be pleased about?"

"Are there passengers besides us?" Reyu asks.

Despite his professed happiness, Gripp seems less and less inclined to talk.  "Some."

"I hope they will not be troubled by the bear," Reyu ventures.

Gripp stokes his beard, suddenly thoughtful.  "Me too."  With that, he quickly makes his excuses and hurries on his way.

Back with the others, everyone is glad arrangements have been so easily made, but somewhat curious as to who their new traveling companions will be.  Eva decides to use the evening they have before departure to see if she can gather more information.

###

The dockside tavern Eva and Thatch locate is truly the most minimal establishment which could be fairly called by that name.  It consists of a large room with a bar in it and several tables, populated with large burly men, and the occasional large burly woman.

Eva surveys the room and finds a likely looking table of men playing cards.  She watches for a few hands, then throws a few coins on the table and asks to be dealt in.

Being neither particularly large nor burly, Eva gets more than a few odd looks.  So does the wakazashi.  Still, her gold is good and they give her a spot.

Eva plays with enough concentration to keep from fleecing the men she's playing with, but doesn't let them rob her blind either.  After a few hands, she begins making discrete inquiries.

She learns that the town is mainly filled by dockworkers and professional sailors, but they do get the odd traveler through now and again.

"Anyone interesting around these days?" she asks, taking a miniscule sip of the ale that has been sitting by her right hand all evening.

An uneasy silence falls on the table.  Eva looks around and flashes a self-deprecating smile.  "Aside from me and my friends of course."

The suddenly quiet man to Eva's left asks, "Why'd you want to know?"

Eva lays out her cards, realizing too late she has the strongest hand at the table by a long shot.  "No reason.  I'm new to these parts.  Just want to know who's around."

The man clears his throat and folding, cashes out of the game.  Muttering something about early departures and angry captains, the others quickly follow suit.  Eva departs the suddenly empty table and goes to collect Thatch, who has been steadily loosing at arm-wrestling all night.

His fist hits the table as Eva appears at his elbow.  "I think it's time we left.  Now."

Given their prior experiences with encounters in taverns, Thatch in not inclined to linger.  He pays the winner and the two quickly make their departure.

As they make their way back to the group's base for the night, Thatch turns to Eva.  "What did you find out?" he asks.

Eva shakes her head and discretely checks to be sure they are not being followed.  "Not a lot.  But there's someone around here that no one wants to talk about."

It isn't long before the party finds out whom.  As they board the dwarven barge the next morning in the gray of the pre-dawn, they find five fellow travelers gathered in a circle on deck.

Three are obviously guards carrying both wakazashis and katanas.  The fourth wears a wakazashi, but does not carry himself as though it is his chief weapon.  All of them stand flanking a woman, who turns and stares at the party as they board.  As the party draws closer, they notice she wears well-crafted armor that has been equally well decorated and carries both a wakazashi and katana.  The woman stares at the party as though she is looking not only at them, but through them. Around her neck is a large holy symbol that looks like a variant of Anvil's.  The whole effect is of a Justicar, only slightly more stiff.

She can only be an Inquisitor.


----------



## Dortmunder

*gulp*


----------



## dpdx

Dortmunder said:
			
		

> *gulp*



Word.

That makes three people in the last three episodes who could out-Anvil Anvil at the drop of a hat.


----------



## Pyske

dpdx said:
			
		

> Word.
> 
> That makes three people in the last three episodes who could out-Anvil Anvil at the drop of a hat.



 Huh?  In the last three?  I'm not seeing it in the last one, let alone three.  Perhaps you could point out the instances you're thinking of?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Ninety-Second:*
_In which: Anvil does not win friends and influence people_

At over fifty feet in length, lake waders are truly remarkable creatures.  The dwarves have harnessed two of the giant reptiles to the prow of the barge, who with slow and steady strokes of their tails draw the craft up the river.  Most of the party stands, watching in fascination the spectacle of the animals’ lean muscles bunching and relaxing under slick, blue-gray skins—dappled by shadows beneath the water, and glistening in the winter sunlight when the beasts lift their heads and long, graceful necks to the surface to breathe.

Kiara stares, open-mouthed.  “That is _so_ cool.”

Thatch nods wordlessly.  Forget cool.  These are the most remarkable creatures he has ever seen.  He catches the arm of a passing dwarf.

“Excuse me.”  Thatch points to the lake waders.  “Can you ride them?”

The dwarf looks at Thatch as though he is just a little dim. “Well… I wouldn’t.”

“But is it possible?”

The dwarf squints up at Thatch’s hopeful face.  “How long can you hold your breath, son?”

Thatch’s expression falls.  “Oh.”

##

Anvil looks up from the churning water and takes a gulp of fresh air.  As fascinating as it is to watch a massive barge hauled _up_river, through frothing, choppy water… Well, Anvil decides he would prefer to retain his breakfast.

Tearing his eyes off the bright surface of the water, Anvil scans the deck instead.  The dwarves are busy at their work, and most of his companions are gathered at the bow to watch the lake waders.  The five Sovereignite passengers have broken their circle on the deck, and gradually, Anvil notices that the Inquisitor has fixed him in her gaze.

He makes a respectful nod, and seeing that she has his attention, the woman signals that he should approach.

Anvil does.  "Greetings, I am Anvil the Just," he introduces himself, finishing with a deep bow.  

The woman returns neither the greeting, nor the bow.

"What are you doing in our lands, Justicar?"

Although this lack of courtesy would normally be considered quite rude, Anvil wisely decides not to make an issue of it.

"We are on a mission of King Orin of Dar Pykos, seeking powerful wizards who might serve as Chancellor of the Mage's Academy.  Might I ask what mission you travel on?"

The woman raises an eyebrow. "You may not.  Do you carry any proof of this 'mission?'"

"Certainly."  Anvil takes his staff, and opens the compartment within, removing letters from King Orin, Bastion the Just, as well as the ones recently received from Lord Agasha.  He does _not_ offer the letters from the temples of Alirria Ehkt and Sedellus.  The guards flinch as Anvil reaches for the staff, but the woman motions for them to stand down.

She examines the letters carefully.

"And are you merely passing through on this quest, or do you believe one of these archmages whom you seek is within our lands?"

Anvil deliberates for the barest second before answering, "We believe one of these individuals may be found in the place you call The Valley at the Center of the Storm.  Once we have delivered our invitation, we will depart."

The woman considers Anvil for a few moments more before handing back the letters.

Anvil takes them with a bow.  "If you will excuse me?"

She dismisses him with a gesture.  Anvil withdraws having the distinct feeling of having been appraised and found not only wanting, but so far from what is wanted so as to be unmentionable.  It isn't a sensation he likes much.

##

In late afternoon, the barge reaches the first of two massive cascades it will have to traverse before reaching the lake that is the party’s ultimate destination.  The River of Great Descent, it turns out, is not so named for nothing, as its source, the Lake of Exalted Heights is several thousand feet above sea level, deep in the Ketkath Mountains.  In a marvel of engineering, the dwarves have constructed a series of lifts, powered by the waterfall itself to move cargo (along with passengers and crew) from the barge below to the one waiting above and vice versa.  In other places, they have actually re-routed the riverbed in order to more easily facilitate travel.

As they rise up beside the waterfall, Eva finds herself swallowing rapidly to clear her ears as they adjust to the new altitude.  However, she has to admit that the views down river are absolutely stunning.  Once to the top, the find a second barge, nearly identical to the first, waiting for them to board.

Once they are settled again, and after taking the evening meal, Reyu descends to the hold to makes sure Paws is comfortable in his new lodgings.  Finding it warm, quiet, and away from prying eyes, she lies down next to his shaggy bulk and settles in for the night.

The rest of the party camps beneath a makeshift tent on deck.  Although the wind off the river is cold and they do set their usual watches, the slow motion of the boat helps everyone to sleep soundly.

At midnight, a bell begins to toll.

Those party members not on watch pull themselves out of bed fearing the worst: the ship has run aground, someone has fallen overboard, the lake-waders have broken their harnesses and have turned to demolish the barge.

In the opinion of some of the adventurers, what they find is even worse.

The Lady Inquisitor stands on deck near the stern, flanked by two of her guards, her other companions in attendance.  All the dwarves not absolutely necessary for the running of the boat are appearing on deck and forming neat rows in front of her.  

The bell is calling a worship service.

Lira bites back her usual oath of "Ehkt's balls."  She knows that Anvil prays at midnight, but this looks like more than clerical attendance is expected.

"What should we do?"  Benedic whispers in the dark.

Thatch surveys the scene.  "The dwarves are going, we probably should too."

Anvil strides confidently to the front of the congregation where he is grudgingly shown a place by the Inquisitor's attendants, while the rest of the party slips as discretely as possible into the last row.  Though most of them are putting all of their attention into watching the person in front of them and copying their actions, they can all feel the Inquisitor staring at them.

Thatch, having lived for a time at the Temple of the Justicars in Dar Pykos, has a bit more than a passing familiarity with the rituals of worship.  (He may have been Anvil's prisoner at the time, but he certainly had good reason to fervently pray that Ketenek's Justice would be done.) He recognizes similarities to the current service, but the language is much more severe.

Most of the party has some idea what to do, or is skilled at faking their way through things that they don't, but Annika always feels like she is a step behind where she is supposed to be.  Eva and Kiara try to help her, but their whispered instructions only make her more confused.  If she could just stop and _think_ for a second, she's sure she could get the responses in where they're supposed to be.

She looks up, hoping for some kind of divine guidance, whatever the source.  All her eyes find is the disapproving glare of the Inquisitor.

Once the service is finally concluded, the party quickly returns to their beds, but Anvil is waylaid by one of the Inquisitor's guards and brought before the lady herself.

"One of your people was missing tonight."  Her tone is even colder than usual.

Anvil realizes for the first time that Reyu did not emerge from the hold, and must still be with Paws below.  Anvil makes a perfectly accurate reply. "Yes."

The Inquisitor's eyes narrow.  "The elf, she does not honor Kettenek?"

Although he is not frequently called upon to be diplomatic, Anvil is capable in a pinch. "I am sure she does, but she is an elf.  Her rituals are her own."

The woman's voice drops another ten degrees. "You will tell your elf that while she is in our lands, she will observe our customs."  

"I will tell her."  Although Anvil makes the mental note to leave out the "your elf" part of the message.

The Inquisitor does not seem particularly satisfied.  "What is your business here?" she demands again.

"I have told you-" Anvil begins.

"I know what you have told me.  I wish to know what you have not."

Anvil grits his teeth.  "We are on a mission from King Orin and our Temple leaders.  We come seeking a powerful wizard."

"Are you going to the Sharpstone Pass?" she abruptly demands.

Anvil blinks.  "We have no plans to do so."  When pressed further, Anvil gives the Inquisitor a rough itinerary: the group plans to visit the Ironroot mines to redeem promissory notes from the dwarves and then, backtracking to the lake, follow the riverbanks to the Valley at the Center of the Storm.

"If I find you have been less than candid with me, it will go very badly for you."  The Inquisitor informs him archly.

"Of that," says Anvil, "I have no doubt."

She turns abruptly away, leaving Anvil alone on deck, dismissed.

###

Although no light penetrates the cargo hold, Reyu instinctively rises at first light and conducts her prayers in seclusion.  When she reaches the deck, she finds Anvil waiting for her. 

“Greetings Anvil, did you sleep well?”

“We need to talk.”

###

Lira and Benedic have been watching the lake waders all morning, interspersed with Benedic pointing out interesting plants and animals glimpsed on the banks on either side of the barge, in between sneaking glances at each other.  Conversation has been pretty thin for a while.

Benedic is just about to make another observation about the local plant life when he is interrupted by a young dwarf.

“Sir.  Lady.”  The sailor is out of breath, whether from nerves or exhaustion is unclear.  “I’m sorry.  Madame Inquisitor requests you attend her.  Immediately.”  With a quick nod over his shoulder in the direction of the Inquisitors’ tent, he is on his way, hurrying over to where Eva is attempting to teach Thatch the finer points of poker.

“Well, guess we’d better attend then,” Benedic observes.

Lira nods.

Soon, the entire party is gathered before the Inquisitor outside her tent (Lira and Benedic arriving a few steps behind following a detour by their packs where Euro hid himself and Lira’s holy symbol in her bedroll).

The Inquisitor looks down at them all and says simply.  “You will not resist.”

And the man beside her begins to cast.


----------



## dpdx

Pyske said:
			
		

> Huh?  In the last three?  I'm not seeing it in the last one, let alone three.  Perhaps you could point out the instances you're thinking of?



Fau Meen, Agasha, and now the Inquisitor; by Anvil in the verb form I mean, 'be a hardass for Kettenek.'


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> Fau Meen, Agasha, and now the Inquisitor; by Anvil in the verb form I mean, 'be a hardass for Kettenek.'




While they are bigger hardasses for Kettenek than your average Confederate Kettenite, Lords Fau Meen and Agasha, I'm not sure I'd say they out-Anvil Anvil, or were really trying to.  They're both relatively secular Sovereigns, living pretty far out on the Sovereign frontier.  And Anvil is, after all, pretty... well, Anvil.  

Steadfast the Just, the Justicar in Noran, was definitely trying to out-Anvil Anvil.  But, alas, Steadfast couldn't quite get his Justice up.

The Madame Inquisitor, on the other hand... well, we'll see how it turns out.


----------



## Fajitas

Spyscribe is about to update, but I needed to say a brief word before she does.

The following spoiler block is for NON-PLAYERS ONLY.  Repeat, those of you who play in my game, DO NOT CLICK THE BUTTON.  Those of you who do not play in my game, ABSOLUTELY CLICK THE BUTTON.  

If anyone's worried about having the plot ruined for them, I promise that what lurks below is not a huge-giveawayish spoiler.  It's something important I need to say to everyone who doesn't play in my game.

[sblock]Non players only?  

Promise?

Okay.  

Something important gets said in the update below.  It was said in-game, and is recorded here, but none of the players picked up on it at the time.  It's nothing that will be relevant in the immediate future of the Story Hour, and in fact has yet to become relevant in the game at all.  But, nonetheless, there is material here that, if added up properly, equals something pretty interesting.

The reason I'm posting this is to request that people not speculate too heavily in this thread about the things said in this update.  I'd rather not have one of you put it together for my players; I'm really looking forward to watching this bomb explode on them in-game.  

As soon as the New Thread Posting Bug is fixed, I'll start up a Non-Players Only thread in the Rogue's Gallery Forum, where y'all can speculate to your hearts' content.  

But till then, please don't speculate in this thread.

Thanks.[/sblock]


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Ninety-Third*
_In which: resistance is futile.  (In a few cases anyhow)._

The spell-casters in the group quickly realize he is casting a _zone of truth_, and all the party members decide that resisting might not be such a bad idea, although some are more successful than others.

Once the Inquisitor lowers her hands, she begins to ask her questions.  She aims each question at a specific individual.

“What is your business in the Sovereignty?”

Anvil: “We are on a mission from our King and our Temples.”

“Do you know a man by the name of Komatsu?”

Lira: “I believe I may have met him.”

“You will describe your relationship to this man.”

Eva: “We traveled with him by ship from Dar Karo.”

“And beyond that?”

Kiara: “No, we didn’t travel with him beyond that.”

“I _meant_, your relationship to him beyond that.”

Kiara: “Oh.  Nothing.”

“What was your impression of him?”

Thatch: “Don’t like him.  Don’t trust him.  Don’t want to see him again.”

“Have any of you ever been to the Sharp Stone Monastary?”

Annika: “No. Not as far as I know.”

“Do any of you have any intention of traveling to the Sharp Stone Monastery?”

Reyu: “As I believe my colleague has already told you, no, we do not.”

The questioning continues for some time.  The Inquisitor asks many questions, confirming what Anvil has told her about the party’s mission, but mostly focusing on what they know of Komatsu and the Sharp Stone monks.  She asks different questions of different people, changing the phrasing but always searching for the same basic information.  Fortunately, the party is truthfully able to give the same answers: they have no relationship with Komatsu, and they have no intention of going to the Sharp Stone Pass.

Yet.

That night, as they all bed down on deck for a few hours sleep before the now expected midnight bell, they finally all get a chance to discuss the matter together.  Of course, they hadn’t been planning on going to the Sharp Stone Pass, but…

Lira bites her lip.  “I don’t know.  She seemed *so* adamant that we not go there--”

Anvil breaks in, “--that now you *want* to go.”

Small shrug.  “Kinda.”

Reyu sighs.  “I confess, you are not the only one feeling a… perverse desire to annoy the Inquisitors.”

But Thatch, to everyone’s surprise, speaks up firmly.  “No.  We find the archmage, we leave.  We have no reason to go to this monastery.”

 “Look, there’s clearly something wonky going on there,” Lira says.  “Why else would they want us to stay away?”

Thatch shrugs.  “Not our problem.  We’ve got other things to worry about.  Why risk getting ourselves in trouble and endangering our mission?”

Reyu blinks.  When she first met the young fighter he seemed much less… cynical.

The argument goes on.  Thatch is adamant that they not go looking for trouble that does not concern them.  But Lira’s curiosity has been piqued.  Reyu is also inclined to swing by eventually—perhaps after they visit the dwarves and the Archmage of the Valley—theorizing that anyone who can annoy the inquisitors that much cannot be all bad.  Anvil, on the other hand, tends to agree with Thatch; this could be trouble they don’t need.  He and the young fighter’s arguments begin to take sway.

Eva had been hoping to stay out of the argument.  She had been hoping not to have to say anything, to count on the group’s natural curiosity and do-gooding tendencies to get the result she wanted without tipping her hand.  But now it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.

“Everyone,” she breaks in, “I sort of think… that I need to go to the monastery.”

The silence that follows is punctuated only by the lapping of the water against the boat, the background rumble of the dwarves at work, and the sound of the Inquisitor’s tent canvass flapping in the breeze.


Then, in a rush:

“What do you mean _need_ to?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Huh?”

Eva waves them all down, and continues in a whisper.  “I’ve been told I have to go.  It’s important and… and I think it relates to our mission.”

She looks around at her companions, expressions ranging from outright skepticism to confused support.

“Told by whom?” Anvil demands.

“Kemmer,” Eva says.

“Who is Kemmer?”

Eva squirms, uncomfortable with all this direct questioning.  There are things she’s not supposed to talk about, but the party clearly won’t be comfortable until they get some kind of answers…

“Look, he’s someone I… answer to, okay?  He contacted me and told me to get in touch with the Sharp Stone monks, see if they needed aid, and help them if I could.”

“How did he contact you?”

“Magically. It was some spell.  Like the one the headband uses.”

Reyu pauses, studing Eva.  “Why did you not tell us when he first contacted you?”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to,” Eva admits.  

Thatch speaks up.  “Look, we don’t know for sure that these monks need any aid, right?  If they don’t need aid, then you don’t need to go there, do you?”

“I… I guess not,” Eva says.

“So can we use the headband to contact the monks and see if they need aid?”

Everyone looks to Annika to answer this.  They’ve never used the headband to contact anyone but Professor Alexandra before.

Annika winces slightly.  “Well, I’m fairly certain, if I understand the spell involved, that we can use it to contact anyone we want.  However…”

“However…?” Eva prompts her.

“We can only use it to contact someone we’ve met.  We’ve never met any of the monks.”

“As the Inquisitor has taken great pains to remind us, we’ve met Komatsu,” Anvil observes wryly.

A plan is hatched.  Anvil gives Eva the headband and shows her how to use it.  She’ll use it to contact Komatsu and see if he needs help.  If he doesn’t, they’re free and clear.  If he does… they’ll have to find a way to get to the monastery without arousing the ire of the Inquisitors.

Carefully, Eva composes her twenty-five words.  When she’s ready, she activates the headband and speaks through the _sending.  Komatsu, it’s Eva, from Alirria’s Star.  I’ve been asked to assist you.  Where are you? Inquisitors are coming. Do you or your monastery need help?_

There is a brief pause.  And then a voice speaks in her mind.

_What? Huh? Oh, praise the Goddess! I had lost all hope.  I’ve been taken by the Inquisitors.  Warn my Abbey.  The relics must be safely—_

That’s it.  Twenty-five words.

Eva relays the response to the others.

“Well then,” Anvil says.

“’Praise the *Goddess*’?” Lira repeats.  “Which Goddess?  I thought they were Sovereign monks.”

“I did, too,” Eva says.

“You probably should have warned him he only had twenty-five words to respond,” Annika says, meekly.

“I thought it was more important to warn him that the Inquisitors were on their way,” Eva replies, though inwardly she’s been thinking the same thing.

“Regardless, it does appear that this settles the matter,” Reyu points out.  “If he has been taken by the Inquisitors, he is clearly in trouble.  And he has asked us to carry a message of warning to the monks.”

“Indeed,” Anvil agrees.  “It appears that we must now go to the Monastery, and that we must arrive before the Inquisitors, without letting them know that we are involved.”

The party sits back, trying to figure out how they’re going to pull that off.

“Polished,” Thatch says, out of the blue.

“What?”

“What Komatsu was going to say.  Polished.  ‘The relics must be safely polished.’”

“Do you really think that’s it?”

Thatch puts a hand on the hilt of his greatsword.  “I can hope.”


----------



## doghead

> "Polished."




That made me laugh. Nice try.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Ninety-Fourth* 
_In which: Kiara is shocked, simply shocked!  (and the rest of the party is rather surprised as well)_

Kiara doesn’t care a whole lot about whether they go to the monastery or not.  She’s still not sure why so much of the rest of the party seems so nervous all the time.  Sure, they don’t want to get arrested and executed by the Inquisitors, but they’d have to get caught first, right?  In her years on her own, Kiara has become an expert in not getting caught.

Instead, Kiara is spending her time trying to become an expert on barges.  The low flat boat is very different from the sailing vessel they took from Dar Pykos, and even the smaller schooner that slipped up the coast from Seaward.  Besides, one of the dwarves is… different.

She first noticed him because Eva and Anvil were noticing him.  He’s a younger dwarf, and he seems kind of, well, jumpy.  He keeps glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone is looking at him.  Once, Kiara caught a glimpse of him tying off a line, which wouldn’t have been unusual except he was using both hands at the time to keep the rope from slipping overboard.

She follows him around, *trying* to stay out of the way, but also keeping up a running list of questions, and helping as much as he’ll let her.  She finds his name is Evor, and he proves to be friendly, if nervous and not particularly chatty.

She can’t help but notice that he gets more and more nervous the closer they get to the Inquisitors’ tent.  They’re at the edge of the deck, only about ten feet away from the sentry standing guard at the tent’s entrance.  For the last few minutes, Evor’s usually tolerant replies to her questions have been getting more and more terse.

There’s a line, coiled on deck.  He and Kiara reach for it at the same moment, accidentally brushing hands.

At the instant of contact a shower of blue sparks shoot from Evor’s hand, burning Kiara’s palm, and starting the rope smoldering.  Kiara leaps back with a short shriek before she can stop herself.  Evor goes suddenly pale.

“Are… are you okay… I… I…” Evor is the picture of panic and confusion.  Kiara though, risks a glance at the Inquisitor.  The guard seems concerned, but not sure what just happened.  Kiara however, has no such doubts.

She smiles though gritted teeth and says loudly to all who might be listening, “Shoot!  I hate rope burns.”

Annika is on deck like a shot, dashing towards Kiara.  “Are you okay?  What happened?  Let me see…”

Kiara tries to calm her down, simultaneously elbowing Evor to keep him from ruining the cover story she’s giving him.  “I’m sorry, Annika, it’s all my fault.  I know I’m supposed to be more careful, but I was trying to help…”  At last, Annika is able to get enough of an impression through their empathic link to figure out what happened.  She fusses over Kiara’s hand, but no longer tries to raise a general alarm.

The alarm that has ensued has been enough to attract the attention of most of the rest of the ship however: chief among them, a burly dwarf who is quickly making his way to their position.

Thatch walks casually over to the area, keeping his distance but staying close enough to keep an ear on the proceedings.  _Don’t mind me,_ he thinks as loudly as he can, _I’m just looking at the lake-waders…_

The older dwarf is glaring down at the younger.  “What happened?”

Kiara leaps in before he can answer.  “Oh, it’s all my fault.  I was trying to help and I know I should be more careful.  I was an accident, honest.  Really.”  

The dwarf remains dubious.  He continues to stare at Evor.  “I thought we had a little discussion about ‘accidents’ and how they shouldn’t happen.”

Evor stares at the deck, miserable.  “I know.”

Kiara tugs on the older Dwarf’s sleeve.  “Please, it really was my fault.  I wanted to learn about barges.”

He looks at the little girl beside him.  “If you really want to learn barge-craft, you should ask someone more experienced.”

Kiara’s eyes light up.  “Would you teach me?” she asks.

The dwarf blinks for a moment.  “Umm… Sure.”  With a quick backward glance to Annika, Kiara happily follows him for the rest of the afternoon, until the ship docks for the evening.

###

Evor spends the rest of the evening below decks, away from the Inquisitors, away from the passengers, and most importantly, away from his father. 

So, he is a bit startled when Lira interrupts his work with a soft, “Hello.”

_Lira had missed the excitement on deck at midday.  She had been on the other side of the boat.  With Benedic.  Admiring the scenery on shore. Also, making some really horrible rolls for her spot-checks, a trend that was to continue for the rest of the session.  However, upon hearing the story from Eva, she had gone looking for Evor._

He looks up and watches in something close to panic as a flower appears in her open palm.  “I hear we might have something in common,” she says.

Evor quickly goes back to his work.  “I doubt it.”

“There was an… accident earlier today?”

Evor mutters back something non-committal. 

“I once blew up the asparagus entree in the middle of dinner.”

For the first time since she appeared, Evor looks the human in the face.  “Really?”

Lira nods.  “Spattered all over my older brother.”

Evor cracks a smile, and to Lira’s surprise, she finds herself smiling too.

The young dwarf ducks his head and quickly checks to be sure they are alone.  “I lit the end of my father’s beard on fire.”

“No!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow…  I used to tell my parents it was candle-wax to explain why the windows were frosty in the middle of summer.”

“And they believed it?”

Lira shrugs a half-smile.  “Apparently, their powers of denial are not to be trifled with.”

Evor deflates a bit.  “My dad doesn’t think magic is a proper dwarven thing to do.”

“Really?  I’m—Well, I’m not surprised, I mean, you should meet my parents.  But I thought here people were more accepting of arcane magic.”

“The humans maybe, but he just doesn’t see how it would be useful.”

Lira wracks her brain trying to come up with a spell she knows that might be considered “useful” by a dwarf.  It’s not a long list.  “Well, there are some spells, that let you shape stone, or _fabricate_, I know there are others.”

“Can you teach them to me?”

“It’s not something I can teach.  I mean, I could start to show you how to focus, but…” she trails off.  Unfortunately, the only metaphors that she can think of for how she learns new spells involve constipation or orgasm, not subjects she really wants to broach in present company.  “It’s something that takes practice, and I have to leave when we dock this evening,” she finishes, only slightly lamely.

Evor considers.  “Isn’t there anything you can show me now?”

Lira thinks hard for a few moments.  “Well… Are you averse to travel?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know anyone here, but there are people in the Confederacy, who taught me how to control my talents.”  She smiles a bit.  “And they are talents, believe it or not.”

Evor considers.  “I’d have to talk to my father.”

“Would a word from me help?”

“It might.”

The two set off in search of the Evor’s Father, Brant.  On the way, a thought occurs to Lira.  “Does you father like cold ale?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Lira grins.  “I think I’ve got a spell your father is going to appreciate.”


----------



## Mavnn

Just passing through now that email notification is back up.

And to say: great story, love it .

Michael


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## PhoenixAsh

I think if I've learned nothing else from this storyhour its never to underestimate a handy ray of frost.

Great stuff as usual!


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## Len

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Lira wracks her brain trying to come up with a spell she knows that might be considered “useful” by a dwarf.



Don't tell me she _forgot..._


> On the way, a thought occurs to Lira.  “Does you father like cold ale?”



Ah, good, she remembered by the end of the update. Otherwise I'd have to send that girl an email.


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## Snipet

Notification is back up?  Hey Spyscribe, Fajitas;  Can you add me again?  Or is that something I'm supposed to be able to do myself?  I haven't been getting notifications since last summer!  And thanks for all this wonderful writing.  I miss you guys and the story hour gives me a nice dose of y'all... though not nearly enough.


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## orsal

Snipet said:
			
		

> Notification is back up?  Hey Spyscribe, Fajitas;  Can you add me again?  Or is that something I'm supposed to be able to do myself?  I haven't been getting notifications since last summer!  And thanks for all this wonderful writing.  I miss you guys and the story hour gives me a nice dose of y'all... though not nearly enough.




Snipet -- while you have this thread open, click on "Thread Tools", then on "Subscribe to this thread", and the rest should be self-explanatory.


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## spyscribe

PhoenixAsh said:
			
		

> I think if I've learned nothing else from this storyhour its never to underestimate a handy ray of frost.




Shortly after the fire at the Mages Academy I figured out that Lira had cast more rays of frost in her adventuring career than magic missiles.  Needless to say, that didn't remain true for long.  

Update momentarily.


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## spyscribe

*Part the Ninety-Fifth*
_In which: someone in the Sovereignty is pleased to see the party._

Evor’s father is the same bargeman who was up on deck before at the time of the “accident.”  (And Lira does notice, when she really looks, that his beard is just a bit shorter than she would expect on a dwarf of his apparent age.) After freshly chilled ale, and a demonstration of Evor’s use of _animate rope_ he eventually allows that this could be useful for a dwarf to know.  

When Lira mentions a spell that allows a person to breathe underwater, Evor becomes entranced at the prospect of becoming perhaps the greatest lake-wader trainer of all time.  Also, it turns out Evor and his father are both Stoneshapers, and have distant relations in the mines near Dar Und.

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly, interrupted only when the barge approaches shore and the dwarves are called to attend their duties, and Lira to finish her packing to disembark.

Once the barge has been unloaded, it’s a two day journey for the passengers and goods up the mountain road to the Ironroot mines.  By the second midnight on the road, most of the party members could follow the Sovereign service in their sleep, and a couple of them do.

###

Thatch watches eagerly as they approach the entrance to the mines.  From what he’s seen of dwarven building so far, he’s hopeful that this will be something to see. 

He isn’t disappointed.

The road becomes a narrow trail, twisting between walls of rock, which, as they approach the mines, Thatch sees have been carved into immense statues of dwarves standing guard, watching over the passage into the mine itself.

Upon arrival, the party and the rest of the passengers from the barge pitch their tents in a flat clearing outside the entrance to the mines, while their horses are all corralled in a small paddock the dwarves have constructed for visitors’ use.  Reyu—after making arrangements for a space for Paws in a small side-cave—asks the foreman if he knows an Olek Stoneshaper, cousin to Gurn Stoneshaper from the mines near Dar Und.

“Olek?  Sure.”  The dwarf leads Reyu and the rest of the party into a tunnel where several dwarves are clustered around a series of maps spread on a trestle table.

“Olek!” shouts the foreman, “visitors to see you.”  

A stout, very dwarven looking dwarf comes forward, eyeing the party.  “Oh?”

Anvil steps forward.  “Olek Stoneshaper, your cousin—“

“Gurn Stoneshaper” Lira whispers discretely in his ear.

“Gurn, has given us letters of deposit he said we could redeem with you.”

He produces said letters and gives them to Olek to examine.  After a few moments the dwarf is satisfied.  “Shouldn’t be a problem.”  He shrugs and continues, speaking as though to convince himself as much as to explain to the party.  “Any friend of Gurn’s is a friend of mine.  You want that all in gold, or some gems too?  Easier to carry…”  Olek trails off then, distracted by something behind Anvil.

Just at that moment, Thatch comes forward, bearing the half-keg of dwarven ale which the party got at the same time they obtained the letters of deposit, on the chance that it might help smooth relations.  Anvil turns to see what Olek is staring at.  “We have brought this as well,” he says.

Olek’s eyes go wide for a moment, as he eyes the keg.  “Is that… the family label?”

The party, as one, nods.

Olek takes his pickaxe hanging at his belt and swings it with a mighty THUNK! burying the tip in the table-top.  “STONESHAPERS!”  he bellows.  He turns back to the party, grinning wide.  “Welcome!  Any friend of Gurn’s is a friend of mine!”

Every Stoneshaper in the mines is soon gathered, and after Lira chills the keg, the ale begins to flow on a very convivial evening.

Well, mostly convivial anyway.  Kiara gulps down half a mug of ale before Annika can stop her, and both women are soon feeling the effects.  Perhaps fortunately, Kiara passes out in Thatch’s lap before the night is too advanced.

Reyu sits quietly by as Lira—the party’s unofficial goodwill ambassador in all dwarven matters—confers with Olek about routes into the mountains.

“So,” says Lira, after a mug of ale slipping into Dwarven almost by reflex, “I hear there are great tunnels in these mines.”

“Of course there are,” replies Olek with gusto.  “Dwarves are the best tunnelers in the world.  Tunnels!” he shouts, which is quickly echoed around the room, punctuated with a great slamming of mugs upon various tables, walls, and heads.  

Lira joins in, draining her mug of ale.  Reyu uses the commotion to discretely pass her own, nearly full mug, to the other woman who accepts it without looking.  Once Olek is no longer the center of attention, Lira resumes her conversation.  “Do you know if there’s an underground route to the Lord’s Spine?” she asks.

Olek thinks.  “Yeah, we’ve charted that.  Get you a guide and you could be there in six days.” 

“Is that a quick pace?”

Olek shakes his head, “Nah.  Hurry, and you can shave a couple off that.”

“Come up anywhere near the Sharpstone Pass?”

“Puts you a little past the ridge.  Maybe two more days to the monastery.”

Lira nods, and asks about other places tunnels might go, including the Valley at the Center of the Storm, and various random locales with seemingly equal interest, but Reyu can see her eyes brighten at the news.

Benedic’s estimate is that over-land, the trail to the Sharpstone Pass and the monastery would take seven days travel.  If they pushed themselves they _might_ be able to pass the Inquisitors undetected, but it would be a punishing pace to gain even one full day on the officials.  Underground, it seems they stand a good chance of gaining at least a day, perhaps two with significantly lower chances of being detected.  And given that the Inquisitor has implied a painful death awaits them if they have lied about their intentions to visit the monks, avoiding her scrutiny is a high priority.

Lira quickly makes arrangements for a guide and boarding for their horses while they journey underground.

“Are the tunnels dangerous?” Lira asks as negotiations wind down.

Olek scoffs, “It’s not like the surface is safe, lass.  Yeah, you got your wild lizards, your stirges, derro--”

“Derro?” Lira asks.

“Deep dwarves.” Okeck takes a sip of ale, then expands, “Sort of.  Not proper dwarves, they don’t even have beards.  Plenty of those lot never see the surface in their lives.”

“What kind of a dwarf doesn’t have a beard?”

“That’s what we say, lass.”  He raises his voice to address the room in general.  “Don’t we lads?”

This is greeted with loud and lusty agreement, accompanied by more mugs being drained and slammed, although what exactly the room is agreeing to is plainly rather murky to most of its inhabitants.

Arrangements taken care of, Lira goes off with a fresh mug of ale to find one of the dwarven wizards to compare notes.  Reyu takes the opportunity to ask Olek about other travelers in the area.

“Hmm… not a whole lot from your part the world.  Well… I guess, there was one fellow, came through a couple of months ago, back in September I think, looking to buy onyx.”

If Reyu had been drinking, that comment would have caused her to stop.  “Did you sell it to him?”

_(Note: remember way back, when the party found that Jelliana had been to the Stoneshaper mines before them, convincing Gurn not to sell a diamond to Professor Alexandra?  One of the things she had been looking to buy from him was a large onyx.  Gurn informed the party he didn’t have any, but suggested two mines that would be a more likely source.  One of those was the Ironroot mines.)_

Olek nods, “Sure.  Great large hunk of it.” The dwarf holds his hands apart to demonstrate.

Reyu chooses her worlds carefully.  “That’s… odd.  A friend of mine was looking for onyx a while ago…  What did this human look like?”

Olek describes a tall bearded human, who wore a non-sectarian holy symbol of Kettenek.

“Do you remember his name?” Reyu presses gently.

“Don’t think so,” he scratches his own beard in thought.  “Human names all sound alike…” he trails off, then sits up with a triumphant smile.  “Cyrus he said his name was.  Yep, that’s it.  Cyrus.”

_(Note 2: When Guardians of the Barrier are ordained they take one of several names.  Cyrus is one of them, so having the same name is not necessarily an indication that this was the party’s former companion.  Also, that Cyrus was still traveling with the party at the time.)_

Near midnight, Thatch heaves Kiara over one shoulder and carries her out to the tent to let her sleep the rest of the night.  On the way back inside, he is met by the Madame Inquisitor.  Although she is shorter than the fighter by a good head, she still manages to look down at him.

“Are your… companions enjoying their stay?” she asks archly.

Thatch ducks his head a bit.  “We have some mutual friends.” 

She sniffs his breath as he rises again.  “I see.”

That night, Anvil is the only party member who rises at midnight, and he conducts his prayers alone.


----------



## dpdx

Oh God, _she's_ there, too? Holy buzzkill, Batman. Someone strap her down and get the surgical tubing.


----------



## spyscribe

On his way back to his tent following midnight prayers, Anvil notices a light burning in the tent shared by Eva, Lira, and Reyu.

Low voices fall silent at his approach, but a moment later, Reyu lifts the door flap to let him in.

"How did you know it was me?" Anvil asks as he sits beside them.

"I looked," Eva replies.

"I didn't notice."

"Good."

Eva and Reyu are examing a document, which Anvil quickly sees is the map of the Sovereignty given to the party by Lord Agasha.  Off to one side, Lira sleeps soundly.

"I couldn't sleep," Eva explains.  "I wanted to be sure the only place you could be going if you were on this road beyond the mines was the Monastery."

"What about the Vale?" Reyu points out, indicating a spot even farther into the mountains along the same trail.

"From my understanding," says Anvil, "the Vale of the Holy Spring is the reason why the monastery was built.  Even if she is going there, she will pass the monastery."

"Do you know what the Vale is?" Eva asks.

"A holy site of some sort.  Lord Agasha--"

Anvil stops talking as Lira murmurs something and rolls over in her bedroll.  A few seconds later, her breathing resumes the steady rhythm of deep sleep.

Reyu spares a glance at the sorcerer.  "I am not certain it is a good thing she can sleep through our discussion."

"That is true," Anvil agrees, adding, "Kettenek's Justice demands vigilance at all times."

Eva flashes a small smile.  "Look closer."

Reyu does, and notices Euro quickly closing one eye under her attention.  

"If we were something to worry about," Eva continues, "he'd wake her up."

Anvil shrugs, and returns to the prior topic of discussion.  "Komatsu's concerns were clear.  As we have decided he is trustworthy, we must assume the Inquisitors share our destination. And if that is the case," he adds, "we will not want to be delayed more than necessary in our departure."

With that he rises and taking his leave, returns to his tent.  Reyu, having no need of sleep, also excuses herself.  Alone, Eva puts out her small lamp, and crawls into her own bedroll.  But it is a long time before sleep claims her, and when it does, her dreams are troubled.


----------



## dpdx

See, this is why I thought it would be a good idea to force-feed the Inquistor some beer. Tough to get up early to inflict damage at the Monastery when you're nursing a hangover...


----------



## spyscribe

Actually, since we had sworn that we had no plans to go to the monastery, and in fact, that we were going in the _opposite direction_, we definitely wanted the Inquisitor and her party to be on the road before we were.  Otherwise, the Inquisitor might noticed the giant bear tracks on the trail and figure that we had lied to her.

So, the kegger was all part of a well-orchestrated and long-laid plan... or something.

And speaking of other well-orchestrated and long-laid plans, I'm hoping to get an update up later today.  Fingers crossed!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Ninety-Sixth*
_In which: the bear goes under the mountain, and this is what he sees._

Understandably, the party is _not_ up and moving the next morning at the crack of dawn.  And between sleeping in and striking camp, by the time the party is ready to depart, the Inquisitors have already left.

Lira oversees the horses, who will be boarding with the dwarves while the party is traveling underground, and checks to make sure that the party is bringing or storing any identifying equipment, hoping to prevent anyone from asking pointed questions about the party’s destination.

Olek watches these preparations slightly askance.  “Are you guys in some kind of trouble?”

“No.” Lira replies sweetly.

Thatch, in the middle of slipping the groom a few extra gold to take especially good care of Bob, elbows Kiara to keep her from adding, “Not yet.”

Lira continues, smile firmly in place.  “We’re foreigners here.  Some would take advantage of that, counting on us being far from our resources.”

Olek shrugs and goes on his way muttering, “Any friend of Gurn’s…”

Soon enough, the party does get going, following their guide—Groff Stoneshaper—deep under the mountains.  Soon, they pass from carved tunnels into what appears to be a largely untouched natural cave system which Groff confirms runs throughout the region.

Although Groff leading them over punishing terrain which includes many steep climbs and drops, the party keeps to a brisk pace, or rather, ask brisk as they can under the circumstances.  Thatch often finds himself having to go back over ground he’s already covered,  to help boost and lift less able companions.  No one—except possibly Groff—is having an easy time of it.

Still, the first day passes without major incident.  There have been a couple slips and falls, but Lira suffered the only major injury.  Fortunately, a major injury to Lira is almost completely healed by a good _cure light wounds_.

_(Player note: in a shining moment during a night of low rolls, Lira managed to get a zero on her climb check for that day.  Ouch!)_

The next day, the party wakes in darkness, told it is time to rise only by Groff’s internal clock.

The going is easier on the second day and the party makes good time through the tunnels.  Kiara realizes the trip is _much_ easier if she just shifts into swallow form, allowing her to fly or ride on someone’s shoulder instead of climbing.  Annika also prepares several _reduce_ spells to help Paws through tight spots.

###

Thatch walks near the head of the column, right behind Groff, scanning the tunnels as best he can by the flickering torchlight.  Olek’s warning about the dangers of cave travel is still fresh in his mind, and although he is not frightened, he keeps his sword out and ready.  Behind him, he hears his companions whispering: 

“Did you see that?”  

“All I can see is your head.”

“I thought I saw something in the shadows.”  

“Where?”

Distracted, what Thatch _doesn’t_ hear is the quick >snick< of a hidden device, triggered and springing free.  

But even though he doesn’t _hear_ anything, some instinct kicks in and he leaps to one side just as a net lying on the floor of the passage suddenly tightens and flies upward.  Groff is not so lucky and goes flying up with it.  And before he even has time to register what has happened, two volleys of crossbow bolts come flying at the party… from _both_ sides of the tunnel.

Thatch steps forward, shrugging off a crossbow bolt that wings his arm and sawing with his sword at the net above him while simultaneously trying not to stab the dwarf inside it. _If we lose our guide._ he thinks, _we’ll never get out of here, and Bob is going to think I abandoned him again_.

The rest of the party scrambles to react.  They have found themselves in a relatively flat stretch of tunnel with three side tunnels branching off to their left.  From each of these, crossbow bolts come flying.  Additionally, there are _also_ bolts coming from high up on the solid rock wall to the right.  The party’s flickering torches show the outline of several hollows in the rock above them.  Perfect nesting spots for snipers.

At the rear of the party, Reyu hears more noise coming from a passage behind her and off to the right.  With a quick word and gesture, Paws is off roaring down after it while Reyu takes a shot down another corridor.  The bear takes a bolt in the flank followed quickly by a second, but he doesn’t even seem to notice.

Lira is startled by a very loud “ffffff—thump!” noise quite close by.  About three seconds later she realizes it must be the crossbow bolt buried in her stomach.  Lira’s never been shot before, and she wonders if the burning sensation in the wound is normal.  She starts to feel light-headed and vaguely nauseated.  _Nope, definitely not normal._ 

About the same time, a muffled yelp comes from one of the rock-shelves above the party.  _(DM’s note: don’t roll a 1 when using poisoned arrows.)_

A bolt nicks Benedic’s shoulder, leaving a bloody gash and a burning sensation in its wake.  He shrugs off the sudden wave of dizziness and lifts his torch, heaving it down a side passage towards their unseen attackers.  He catches a glimpse down one of the tunnels of a humanoid, about the size of a dwarf, but deathly pale, and instead of the usual dwarven beard it wears a thin, limp mustache.

“Derro!” Benedic shouts, following up with a silent, _crap_.

Fighting back the urge to vomit, Lira raises her hands and casts.  From her position next to the right-hand wall of the tunnel she’s too close for the snipers ambushing them from their hollows above to aim effective, but there is scant cover from the bowman hiding in the side tunnels.  Another bolt flies out of the darkness to her left, and Lira manages to get her _shield_ spell up just in time.  The bolt hits the transparent disk of force with an audible >thunk< and slides to her feet.  

_Well,_ she thinks, _that’s better._

Meanwhile, Kiara shifts to hybrid form, and draws her own bow.  Eva has an arrow at the ready as well, while Annika casts _mage armor_ on herself and falls back to a defensive position against the tunnel wall.  For his part, Anvil holds out his holy symbol, invoking the _blessing_ of Kettenek upon the party, who soon feel its effects.  

At the rear of the column, Reyu is busy calling upon divine favors of her own.  As the derro launch another volley, she finishes summoning a dire rat who—with a charge—flings itself at the nearest derro.  Reyu cannot resist a smile of satisfaction as she hears a gruff voice yelling in bad dwarven, “What in the gods’ names?” as the four-foot long rodent bears down on him.

A few seconds later Reyu hears Paws bringing _something_ to a very sudden end.

Eva curses as he hears her spent arrow clatter against stone.  She can tell where the attacks are coming from, but their attackers stay stubbornly out of range of the party’s torches.  And as good as she is, it’s nearly impossible to hit what she can’t see.

She spares a glance over at Lira who is rummaging in her pack.

“What happened to ‘_magic missiles_ never miss?’” she asks sarcastically.

Lira rolls her eyes, “And what do you suggest I aim them at,” she asks, “the darkness?”

With that, Lira finds what she was searching for and pulls a sunrod out of her pack.  She quickly strikes one end against the tunnel wall, and with a flare of sparks the passage is suddenly filled with light.  

Down the side-passages, the derro shriek in pain and cringe backwards.  

“Excellent!” Anvil calls, “you should do more of that!”

Kiara whoops as she sends an arrow whizzing after one of the cringing derro.  Eva doesn’t say anything, but commences a steady rain of missile fire back at their attackers.

Thatch has hold of the net and is sawing hard with his sword.  Finally, the strands give way, freeing Groff and giving Thatch a chance to put his sword to the use it was meant for.

With a lusty war-cry Thatch turns and hacks at the two derro nearest him, dealing the damage for which he is so justly known.  Lira takes advantage of the light to cast _magic missile_ at the derro who has been shooting at her, while Annika does the same, taking out one of the snipers.  He crumbles, dropping his cross-bow inches from Lira’s head.

 “Little warning?” Lira yelps, as she hops quickly to one side.

Annika ducks her head.  “Sorry.”

While a rain of arrows from Benedic, Kiara and Eva  keep the derro effectively pinned-down, Anvil casts _light_ on a small rock, which he then heaves forward down the main passage.  Sure enough, there is another crossbowman in front of them.  Groff wastes no time and with a mighty bellow charges ahead to engage, axe raised.

Quickly adopting an effective tactic, Reyu casts _flare_ in combination with her dire rat’s next attack, sending two derro cringing back with cries of pain.  However, that sound is soon lost in the sudden >blast< of a hunting horn.  

Lira lowers Sheesak’s horn from her lips.  _A rhinoceros would be too big,_ she thinks, _but maybe something like a badger, or a wolverine, but nastier…_  However, at first it doesn’t appear that she had manages to summon anything at all.

Then there is a high “yip” at Lira’s feet, and she looks down.  A very small, flat-faced dog looks up at her, little tail wagging so fast its whole rear-end vibrates.  Lira looks at the dog skeptically, then points to the two derro still being harassed by the dire rat.  “Uh… Sic ‘em?”

With a small growl, the dog bounds away down the passage.

Despite the lack of dire wolverines in the offing, the tide of the battle has clearly turned in the party’s favor.  Eva and Annika with arrow and _magic missile_ respectively, shoot and kill the last remaining snipers.  Thatch charges after two derro in a side passage, and with a mighty swing sends two heads flying from shoulders in a single blow.

Anvil advances down the main passage, brandishing a new _light_ ahead of him.  The derro there shoots, misses and then takes to his heels.  Groff, cursing the effects of the poisoned crossbow bolt in his thigh, lets him go.

Reyu adds a _flaming sphere_ to the derro/rat/pug melee, and a last set of _magic missiles_ from Lira finish the job.  A few moments later, the rat and puppy vanish simultaneously.

At Groff’s urging, the party does not spend a lot of time searching the bodies of the fallen derro.  They don’t carry much that is of interest to the party anyway, as none of them are proficient with the exotic repeating crossbows the derro carry.  And although Kiara protests that she would be “very extra super careful” not to stick herself with them, the poisoned bolts themselves are deemed too risky to be worth carrying.

Benedic does take one from the body of one of the snipers and very cautiously tastes the sticky substance coating one end.  He quickly spits it out, then takes a swig of water and spits _it_ out for good measure.  

“Green blood oil,” Benedic informs the party.

Annika nods, “That makes sense.”  

(Kiara wrinkles her nose.  “Eeew.  Green blood of what?”  Annika shushes her.)

“Is it lethal?” Lira asks.  Although she and Groff were not the only ones hit during the attack, everyone else seems to have been unaffected by the poison.

“Not usually,” Annika reassures her, “and we’ve got the wounds clean now.  A full day’s rest and you should both be fine.”

Lira rolls her eyes.  “A day’s rest.  Yeah, we’re likely to see _that_ in the near future.”


----------



## ellinor

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Lira rolls her eyes, “And what do you suggest I aim them at,” she asks, “the darkness?”



hee!  
lovely.


----------



## Piratecat

That was funny.  Great update!

I liked the map in the previous update, too. Mind you, I'm now thinking of the "Valley of Untamed Fury" as the "Valley of Untamed Furry." One man, one fur suit, and a whole lot of misplaced aggression. . .

Ahem. Please excuse me. I haven't had my coffee.


----------



## Fajitas

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Mind you, I'm now thinking of the "Valley of Untamed Fury" as the "Valley of Untamed Furry." One man, one fur suit, and a whole lot of misplaced aggression. . .



Just promise me you won't start offering updates in exchange for pictures of *that*...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Ninety-Seventh*
_An unexpected arrival_

As predicted, underground travel—although free of further ambushes—does not get any easier.  However, the next day, the caves begin to slope distinctly upwards, and the following morning, Groff leads the group, blinking, once again into the sun.

Kiara, who has been traveling in swallow form for the past two days, flies loops above the party, thrilled to be in open air again.  Although her relief is shared by many, no one else has the energy to share in her show of exuberance.

Groff bids the adventurers farewell once they leave the caves, pointing them towards the trail and estimating it will be another two to three days to the monastery.  

Eva surveys their new surroundings with resigned dismay.  The mountains are rugged.  The rocks are sharp, the peaks are high, and the valleys are precipitous.  It’s as if someone had taken a more even mountain range and scrunched it together.  It is also _much_ colder than it was underground.  Snow covers the rocky terrain, but the trail is fairly well maintained.

She shoots a look over to Lira, who shrugs, as if to say, _You were the one who _had_ to come here_.  With a sigh, Eva shoulders her pack, and falls into line with the others.

Soon, everyone settles into the rhythm of another grinding climb.  At least now there is a trail to follow, even if it is a narrow winding track through mountain passes and across rope bridges over narrow gorges.

###

On their second morning in the mountains, Kiara flies upward to get a view of the trail ahead, and to check for signs of pursuit.  Yesterday there was nothing to see, but today, she spots five travelers on horseback, maybe two days behind them.

“I can’t be sure it’s the Inquisitors, of course,” she tells the party as she returns to earth and resumes her bipedal form, “but who else could they be?”

Who else indeed?  The party redoubles their pace, pushing themselves nearly to exhausition in hopes of expanding on the lead they have gained so far.

###

The next day, Kiara’s scouting reveals two rather worrying facts.  The first is that, while the Inquisitors have not gained on them, neither has the party increased their lead by an appreciable margin.  The second is a bank of storm-clouds blowing in from the East.

But there is also a gap in the horizon.  Everywhere they are surrounded by mountain peaks, seemingly razor-sharp ridges that slice the line between earth and sky, but there, ahead, are two mountains with a bit of space between, and for once that space is not filled by other mountains.  

It must be the Pass.

The party debates their options over a hurried breakfast.  They are on their seventh day of a forced march and no one is fully rested.  If they push themselves to get as far as they can before the storm hits, then dig in for the duration, they might gain a chance to get their wind back.

“On the other hand,” Reyu points out, “if we push on through the storm, then the show should obscure our tracks from the Inquisitor and her party behind us.”

“And they’ll stop and wait for the storm to blow past, which would be good for us.  ‘Cause, you know, we’d get father ahead of them,” Thatch adds.

Annika does not seem convinced.  “That’s assuming we can _make_ it through the snow ourselves.  We’ve been pushing hard already.”

Reyu is not worried about the blizzard.  “It should not be as bad as the ones we encountered on the way to Lord Fau Meen’s estates,” she points out.  “And, as many of us can cast _endure elements_, those who are most… susceptible… to the cold can be protected.”

Lira, still not up to full speed after being poisoned in the derro attack, pulls her cloak tighter around her as Euro slips down her collar.  “We might as well push as hard as we can today and just get there.  Even if we slowed to a crawl it wouldn’t be easy for any of us, so we might as well get there exhausted tonight as tomorrow.  If things start looking really bad, we can always hide out in a _rope trick_.”

Annika nods agreement, silently hoping that the sign to stop walking doesn’t turn out to be her fainting into the snow.

The party presses on.

About noon, the winds pick up and the first snowflakes begin to fall.  Benedic leads the group off the main path, following a route that is rougher, but more sheltered from the wind and snow.  

Lira finds the effects of _endure elements_ a bit strange.  Although she can tell that it must be cold in an academic sense, at a practical level she finds it suddenly doesn’t seem to matter.  Euro appears to have no qualms about the situation, and resumes his fair-weather perch on her shoulders, periodically dashing around her neck, trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue.

Behind them, Thatch—braving the storm without magical assistance—pulls his coat tighter, and shivers.

After some hours of walking through the blowing snow, Benedic and Reyu inform the rest of the party that the sun has set.  No one wastes energy asking how they can tell—Eva would have sworn it was down hours ago.

Some hours after _that_—just as the storm is beginning to blow itself out—the freezing, exhausted party turns off the main trail leading through the pass, and climbs the last leg to the gates of the Monastery of the Sharpstone Pass.

There are seven buildings on the monastery grounds, bounded by walls on three sides and a sheer rock-face at the back.  A light burns in a central dwelling, but as the party approaches, they see no one. 

They cluster at the gates—featureless except for two huge symbols of Kettenek—unsure what to do.

“Is anyone there?” Anvil demands.  His voice echoes in the dark.

At first it seems that no one has noted their arrival, and then, a small figure emerges from the lit dwelling and hurries across the snow to the gates.  As the figure draws near the adventurers can see it is a young boy, barely twelve years old.

He reaches the group and bows.  “Our apologies that there is no one here to great you.”  His voice is low and has a quick, whispery quality.  “The others have already left.  Perhaps, tomorrow, you can join them—“ 

Eva cuts him off.  “What others?”

The boy blinks at her, then tries to cover it with a bow, obviously out of his script.  “The other pilgrims,” he explains.

The party exchanges glances.  Somehow, from the tenor of Komatsu’s sending they had expected to find the monastery more… panicked.

“Is your Abbot here?” Anvil finally asks.

The boy bows again.  “Yes, milord.”

“We would like to speak with him.”

The boy bows again.  “Of course, milord.  If you would follow me.”  

The boy steps lightly on the new-fallen snow as he turns to lead the way back towards the low stone building from which he came.  After a few seconds silent delay, the party follows.


----------



## doghead

Ack. I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight for wondering what happened next.

Once again thanks for bringing us this great story spyscribe.

thotd.


----------



## spyscribe

doghead said:
			
		

> Ack. I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight for wondering what happened next.




Well _that's_ one to take to the bank.    Thanks doghead.

Update hopefully by the end of the day.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Ninty-Eighth:*
_In which: the squeaky weasel gets the grease._

Master Genichi is by no measure a young man.  Thin and a bit frail looking, the years have left him with only a fringe of wispy white hair around the edges of his skull.  Although he compensates for that lack by cultivating a long mustache, whose ends blend into the body of his long, thin beard.

He greets the party courteously, but with a touch of confusion when he learns they are not pilgrims come to travel to the Vale of the Holy Spring in honor of Kettenek’s Ascendance in a few days time.   

“I am certainly curious to hear of the purpose of your journey, then,” he says with a bow.  He turns to a girl—slightly older than the boy who met the group—sitting on her heels behind him.  “Satsuki, fetch refreshments for our guests.”

The girl does not move.  “Let Hatsumi do it,” she says, gaze flicking to the boy and then quickly returning to glare at the party.

“Satsuki… go.”

Grudgingly, she does.

While she is gone, the party attempts to explain their errand.  First, they tell Master Genichi that Inquisitors are on their way.

Master Genichi’s eye give the barest flicker, but all he does is expresses the hope that they will arrive in time to make the pilgrimage.

“Is Komatsu one of your followers?” Lira tries.

A pause. “He is.”

“Have you wondered why he isn’t back yet?”  Eva mutters.

“I have sent him on an errand.  I had not yet expected his return.”

Lira decides that the indirect route is getting them nowhere.  “Master Genichi, we have it on good authority he’s been taken by the Inquisitors!”

The Abbot’s bland gaze becomes gently puzzled.  “What cause would they have to detain a member of the faithful?  If what you say is so, I am sure he will be released soon.”

After having spent half an hour thoroughly failing to convey to Master Genichi the urgency of their mission, the party finally allows Hatsumi to escort them to a long, low bunkhouse where they can spend the night.

###

Once alone, Eva finds herself the reluctant center of attention.  She shrugs.  “I don’t know.  There must be something going on here, but I guess I can’t blame him for not trusting us.”

Kiara is practically vibrating with the need to say something.  “I can shift into swallow form, then I can go back and listen.  Maybe he’ll say something when we’re not there.  Come on… Please?”  She looks around desperately at the others.  “You never let me do anything.”

Reyu looks up from where she sits, leaning against Paws’ back.  It’s actually not a terrible plan.  No one else has any objections, and Euro quickly offers to go too.  Since the residents of the monastery have already seen Euro, Annika casts _invisibility_ on the weasel and soon a swallow and a faint set of tracks are leaving the lodge.  Over their empathic link, Lira reminds Euro to use his tail to brush out his footprints.

###

Master Genichi sits in his chair, staring at the fire.  There is a faint scratching sound near the eaves, and he looks up at it for a moment before continuing his contemplation of the flames.

He pays no notice to the silent, invisible weasel listening under the door.

From her hiding place, Kiara watches as Satsuki enters with a cup of tea, which she gives to Master Genichi before settling once again on the floor.  Only then does she speak, apparently continuing a previous discussion.

“They’re obviously lying.”

Genichi responds not so much to her as to the fire.  “It seems that it must be a trick of the Inquisitors.  But if they truly have Komatsu, then they have no need of tricks, and if they do not, how do they know all that they know?”

Satsuki stares sourly.  “They come _now_, when everyone else is on the pilgrimage to the Spring.  Just at the moment when we are most vulnerable.  It is an Inquisitor trick, Grandfather.  You _must_ send them away.”

The old man smiles, with just a hint of indulgence.  “You are young…  I will think on this matter.”

The girl rises.  “You should go to bed.”

He waves her off.  “I will be fine.”

Eventually, the girl leaves.  Kiara waits, but after a half-hour passes marked only by the slow breathing of the old man and the beating of her own heart, she gives up.  Quietly, she backs out of her hidey-hole and— after signaling Euro—flies back to the others.

###

In the bunkhouse, two things happen nearly simultaneously.

The first, is that Kiara swoops into the room in a burst of feathers that quickly spins, stretches, and… _somethings_… until the little bird has been replaced by a little girl.

The second, is that Lira suddenly sits bolt upright squealing.  “Eeeee!  Cold weasel feet!”

(Oops!  Sorry ‘bout that, Boss)

Benedic watches with amusement at what he can only assume is an invisible familiar climbing up to settle on top of Lira’s head.

Kirara is already telling her news as quickly as she can get the words out of her mouth.  “… So we need to go talk to him right now, and tell him about the relics, and how we contacted Komatsu, and everything, so he can protect them.”

“Polish!” That interjects.  Kiara stares at him like he’s nuts.  So does most of the rest of the party.  “Komatsu _could_ have been about to say, ‘the relics must be safely polished.’  I’m still hoping,” he concludes, a bit petulant as he goes back to polishing his armor.

“It is true,” Anvil allows, “we do not know what Komatsu wished to tell the Abbot to do.”

“Well whatever he has to do,” Kiara retorts, “he _does_ have the relics and the inquisitors are coming and we have to let him know that we know, so he can do it.” 

“If we tell him right now, it will only let him know that you were spying on him,” Annika points out.

Lira finishes getting Euro’s run-down of the exchange.  “It sounds like he’d like to believe us.  Maybe we should give him the night to think it over.  Talk to him in the morning and see if anything has changed.”

“We’ll still have more than a full day before the Inquisitors arrive.” Reyu points out.

Kiara is most of the way to a full-blown fit.  “But what if what he has to do to the relics takes two days to do?  Then it will be too late!”

There is no response.

Kiara looks around the room.  When she arrived, most of the party had been preparing for bed.  None of them seem to be changing that strategy anytime soon.  “You never listen to me!” she finally shouts, turning on her heel and heading for the door.

Annika goes after Kiara in an attempt to forestall any drastic action and mollify her sister, while the rest of the party tucks in, and for the first time in nearly a week, takes a full-night’s rest.

###

The next morning, while Reyu, Paws and Benedic leave the monastery to attempt to obscure their tracks from the previous night not wiped out by the snow, the rest of the party meets Master Genichi for breakfast.  Contrary to any optimism they might have had the night before, it seems that the light of a new day has done little to decrease the Abbot’s wariness towards the party.

Satsuki hardly bothers to conceal from the newcomers her earnest wish that they be gone as soon as possible.

As they eat, Eva explains to Master Genichi how the party met Komatsu in Dar Karo, his mention of his monastery, and the means of her communication with him since their encounter with the Inquisitors on their way to the Lake of Exalted Heights.  Master Genichi listens politely, then says, “I do not know what business the Inquisitors may have here, but I am sure we have done nothing to invite their wrath.”

“With all due respect,” Eva points out, “_we_ already have.  Whatever you’re doing, the inquisitor already suspects that we’re involved with it, and has as much as promised to kill us if she finds out we’ve been here.  We want to help you.”

“Well,” Master Genichi replies dryly, “I thank you for troubling yourselves on our behalf.”

Eva sighs, and looks over at Anvil, who removes Professor Alexandra’s headband of _sending_ and offers it to the Abbot.

“We’re not spies.  You can use this to contact Komatsu yourself and ask him.”

Master Genichi makes no move to take the headband from Anvil’s outstretched hand.  A silence falls over the group as they realize, almost as one, that “put this magic thing on your head and think of Komatsu” is probably not a terribly attractive proposal from his perspective.

Running low on other tactics, Lira tries blatantly stating the obvious.  “Look, we’re not from the Sovereignty.  We don’t care about these relics, whatever they are.  We don’t want them, we don’t care that you have them.”

“Then why don’t you just go?” Satsuki mutters.

Eva tries again.  “Look when I spoke with Komatsu, he mentioned the goddess—”  Master Genichi, Satsuki, and Hatsumi all make a ritual warding sign against heresy.  Eva trails off, puts her hands in the air.  “Look, you can worship dwarves for all I care, but don’t die because you wouldn’t believe us.”

“You can cast a _zone of truth_ on me,” Thatch offers.  “Or Anvil can, and I’ll answer anything you want to know.  That kind of magic _always_ works on me.”

“Alas,” says Master Genichi, “Those are not within my abilities, and I am afraid there is no means you can offer which will persuade me you are telling the truth.”

The party visibly deflates, but Master Genichi continues.  “_I_, however, do have a means by which you might prove your sincerity.”

“Well, what _is_ it?” Kiara demands.

“One of you must undergo a test.  If you are truthful, you have nothing to fear.  If you are lying, it means your death.”


----------



## Capellan

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “Polish!” Thatch interjects.“You can cast a _zone of truth_ on me,”
> 
> Thatch offers.  “Or Anvil can, and I’ll answer anything you want to know.  That kind of magic _always_ works on me.”




I've mentioned Thatch is my favourite character, right? 

Very happy to be online again and reading this SH.


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## doghead

spyscribe said:
			
		

> That kind of magic _always_ works on me.




So good it had to be quoted twice.


----------



## Blacklamb

Your silly cliff hangers have me SOOOO hooked!


I'm loving it(but NOT in the McDonalds way).
Blacklamb


----------



## spyscribe

_Hey Blacklamb, welcome aboard, and enjoy the cliff.  _

*Part the Ninety-Ninth*
_In which: Eva takes a ...leap?... of faith._

Kiara, naturally, is first to volunteer.

Annika is the first to quash that plan.  

_(Annika: “How would you feel if I wanted to do it?” 
Kiara, pouting:  “You wouldn’t!”
Annika: “Exactly!”)_

Eva bites her lip.  She’s died once before, and she’s not really eager to repeat the experience, but she feels in a certain way that this _is_ “her” mission.  And Master Genichi seems sincere.  

She takes a deep breath, steps forward, and says, “If it’s the only way… I’ll do it.”

Master Genichi bows in acknowledgement.  Satsuki looks at him, incredulous.

###

Master Genichi takes an hour to prepare for the test.  The party takes an hour to keep Eva from going into a full-on panic.  Well, most of the party does.  Anvil asks her if she has a will written.

When the hour is up, Hatsumi appears and leads the group up to the tower at the rear of the abbey built against the cliff-face.

The party members remove their shoes and are led by Hatsumi into a large room, surrounded by columns on all sides.  At the rear of the room stand Master Genichi and Satsuki.  On the wall behind them hangs a huge symbol of Kettenek.  

In the center of the room stands a waist-high tank of water.

Anvil, who has been surreptitiously working his way through the various detection spells, scans the room and—as Satsuki comes forward to take Eva by the arm—leans down to whisper in Eva’s ear.

“It’s all good.”

Eva looks only vaguely reassured.  

In only a few steps, Eva is standing before the pool, Satsuki standing just a little too close on her right side.  Eva steals a look at Master Genichi, but his face reveals no more than it ever has.  She is about to glance left, back to her friends when her attention is abruptly recalled by Satsuki’s hand closing around her wrist.

Eva’s heart starts to pound as Satsuki twists her right arm up behind her back, not far enough to hurt, but securely pinned.  Satsuki’s other hand comes down on the back of her neck, and before Eva can fully get her mind around what is about to happen… her head is forced under the water. 

Master Genichi looks on, impassive.

At the instant Eva’s head goes under, Lira takes a breath, and holds it.

Reyu keeps her eyes glued on the scene, watching Eva for signs of distress.  Given her circumstances, the woman seems remarkably calm.

A minute passes.

Eva’s left arm makes a vague shrugging motion, then returns to rest by her side.  Aside from the rustle of her clothing, the room is silent.

Two minutes pass.

Thatch shifts uncomfortably.

Anvil takes turns staring at Master Genichi, Satsuki, and Eva.  None of them return his gaze.

It’s been nearly three minutes.

The party members all jump as Eva’s left arm suddenly waves frantically in the air.  They turn to each other, not sure what to do.

Lira, lungs burning, lets out her breath.

“If you need help, stomp!” Reyu calls out, hoping that Eva can hear her.

Eva’s body tenses, back arching as though she is trying to stand up.  Satsuki responds by _wrenching_ Eva’s arm up her back and forcing her head deeper under the water.

In an instant, someone might have run forward to pull her out.

In an instant, Eva’s body goes limp.

Five seconds pass… then ten…

Kiara starts to cry.

Suddnely, Master Genichi steps forward, grabs Eva by the back of her shirt and with a mighty pull, hauls her out of the water.  She falls back, lying full-out on the floor, soaking and inert.  Master Genichi kneels beside her, lifts one fist, and with all his strength strikes her in the middle of the chest.

A gout of water _erupts_ from Eva’s mouth… and she begins to cough, rolling to one side as she clears her lungs.

The party comes running.  Anvil casts _cure light wounds_.  Lira yells for a towel, quickly produced by Hatsumi.  Eva seems quite shaken, but as the burning subsides in her throat, she starts breathing more easily and is soon sitting up.

Master Genichi allows them a few moments, and then approaches the party.

He bows.  “Please, accept my apologies for doubting you,” he says.  “The Goddess’s blessing is upon you, as it is upon your endeavor.  She has decreed that you are the ones to take the relics to her daughters in Cauldron.”

It is hard to tell who is more surprised by the pronouncement: the party, or Satsuki.

Finally, Thatch breaks the crushing silence.  “Umm…. Goddess?”


----------



## thatdarncat

Cool


----------



## dpdx

The Story We All Love said:
			
		

> He bows. “Please, accept my apologies for doubting you,” he says. “The Goddess’s blessing is upon you, as it is upon your endeavor. She has decreed that you are the ones to take the relics to her daughters in Cauldron.”



Alirria? Or someone outside the Halmaean pantheon?


----------



## Pyske

Alirria never struck me as a goddess who'd approve of killing people to prove their loyalty.  On the other hand: 

"Sedellus is a creeping, hiding figure, crouched and lurking, the *Mistress* of Autumn, the Wind of Change, the Whisper of Death. Things wither at her touch."


----------



## spyscribe

*Two years already?*

Happy Birthday Fajitas! May this year be a happy one for you, and be followed by many more. 

And to all of our readers over the last two years, Happy Anniversary!  Thank you for all of the wonderful comments, questions, and quibbles.  Your feedback and this thread truly adds another dimension to the game.  

And now...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundredth*
_In which: The Goddess Speaks._

It isn’t Master Genichi who answers Thatch’s question.  It’s Eva.  “Alirria.  She spoke to me.”

Eva blinks the clear the last drops of water from her eyes, and in the instant they close, the memories come flooding back.  It felt like she was floating on her back.  Enveloped by a warm sensation…

###

_Above her, a light shimmers, as if seen through the surface of water.  She isn’t sure what happened. There was a burning in her lungs, the horrid sensation of breathing in water, and then… everything went black. All she feels now is a horrible sense of disappointment.  She was just trying to help.  Just trying to help, and now… 

Suddenly, a voice speaks, warm and kind.  It reminds her of another voice that spoke to her once somewhere, so far away it feels like a dream.  

“What brings you here, child?” the voice asks.

	“I’m not sure,” she responds.  “I was just trying to help, but they didn’t believe me.”

“What tale did you tell that they did not believe?” the voice asks. 

	Eva relates as best she can what has brought her to the monastery.

“Do not fear.  They will believe you now, for you speak truly.  The question is whether you will accept the task that will be laid before you.”

	“What task?”

“My servant will ask you to take the sacred relics that he guards from his keeping to the City of the Cauldron of the Lord’s Fury.  I have other children there who will see to their safekeeping.”

	“Where is this city?” 

“It is on your way.  You will come there in the course of the quest to which you are already committed.”

	“How will I know your children?” 

“You will know them.  And they will know you, for you bear my touch upon you.”  A warm feeling spreads upon Eva’s forehead.  And as it does so, she suddenly feels cold behind her, as if icy fingers from the darkness were gripping her.

“Back off, bitch.  This one is mine,” says a new voice, a harsh whisper. Eva shudders. She has heard that voice before.

“For now,” the first voice says, “but it is within her to be the river that flows in two channels at once.”

“No,” hisses the second.  “She will be the wind, which blows only in one direction.”

“But the wind is fickle,” the first replies, and Eva feels as if its eyes are upon her, “and may change its course at any time.  However, for the moment, do not the goals of her sistren and my children here align?”

	The second voice does not reply.  Eva feels the icy fingers pull back from her body, and all is warm again.

	The first voice continues.  “Do you swear then to fulfill the task my servant will set before you?”

	“I will try my best,” Eva responds.

“That is all anyone can ask,” the voice says.  “You and your companions should know this task is but a birthing pain for your greatest trial, which is still far off.  For it has not yet begun to begin.”

	With that, the light grows brighter and brighter…

	…and she was back in the shrine at the monastery, water heaving out of her lungs._

###

As Eva dries off, Master Genichi explains the monk’s secret to the party.  “—since long before the days of the Sovereignty, the Vale of the Holy Spring has been a holy site for the goddess Alirria.  When the Sovereigns came, long ago, the residents of the Abbey outwardly conformed to the state orthodoxy that the site was now holy to Kettenek, but, in secret, they maintained their true faith, passing down traditions from generation to generation.”  He looks over at Hatsumi and Satsuki.  “As we have to this day.

“When they broke Komatsu, the Inquisitors must have discovered our secret, and thank the goddess you have come to our aid.  She believes that your mission is important, and you must take her relics away from here, to her followers in The City of Cauldron of the Lord’s Sleeping Fury.”

“But what about you?” Kiara asks.

“I will send the children ahead to warn the other monks not to return here after the pilgrimage.  They will be able to make their escape through the mountains.”

“What about _you_?”  Reyu is gentle, but insistent.

Master Genichi smiles and shakes his head.  “I am an old man, I would only slow you down.”

Satsuki runs to her grandfather.  “No!”  The old man draws her into his arms, gently shushing her.

Lira is confused.  “Surely with the relics safe and the others warned, you have no reason to stay?”

The old man’s gaze never wavers.  “I am an old man.  I will be here, to meet the Inquisitors.”


----------



## Piratecat

Happy birthday, Fajitas!!!


----------



## thatdarncat

Happy Birthday!


----------



## doghead

I say stay with old man and cut the Inquisitor down. Or at least give it a try. But that would put everything else they have promised to do at risk. Another delicious delemma.

I wonder how the party are going to call it. I wonder how Anvil feels about all this?


----------



## dpdx

Happy Birthday, Fajitas!

For your birthday, I give you my thanks for helping spyscribe relate this excellent story hour to us, those less fortunate for not being able to play in this game.

And before I go, did anybody else have Alirria in the "which goddess is the goddess" pool?

{_crickets_}

I see. I'll have another update for winning the pool, then.


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx said:
			
		

> I see. I'll have another update for winning the pool, then.




Well... I _am_ working on the next update (for whatever reason one would like to apply to it), but I had to go out of town suddenly this past weekend, so I'll need a little bit of time.  Shouldn't be too long though.


----------



## Fajitas

Heya, folks.

Just wanted to let anyone that's not one of my players know: I now have a Thread That Must Not Be Named.  Secrets of the Halmae is now up in the Rogues' Gallery forum.  It's full of spoilery goodness, request for help in design, and whatever other stuff I feel like putting there where my players can't see.

And, right now, to start things off, a request for aid and ideas for an upcoming session.

So, if you're one of my players, move along.  Nothing to see here.  

Anyone else, I'll see you in the Rogues' Gallery.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred-First*
_In which: we examine many relics, and polish none of them._

Although the party is not particularly eager to leave Master Genichi alone to face the coming Inquisitors, they also find that swaying him from that course of action is not going to be an easy task.  Reluctantly, the party agrees that protecting the relics must be their first priority.

Besides, the shrine is open to the elements, and Eva—even in Benedic’s borrowed cloak—is starting to turn slightly blue.

Sending Hatsumi and Satsuki to prepare for their journey to the Vale, Master Genichi leads the party to a small, square building adjacent to the shrine.  The structure has only one room, adorned with a large holy symbol of Kettenek on the wall opposite the door, and furnished with two pedestals.  On one is a flat, rounded stone, almost like a skipping stone.  The other holds a rock which is vaguely cubical, but covered in sharp crags and angles.

“Great, more rocks,” Lira mutters to Eva as she casts a quick _detect magic_ and scans the stones.  Eva manages not to giggle.

Master Genichi explains that the two items are known as the _Coin of Rikitaru_ and the _Infinite Mountains_. When they look closely at the Infinite Mountains, the party finds that it’s actually a sort of map.  They can make out the monastery, the path that leads to the Lake of Exalted Heights, and the Vale of the Holy Spring almost as though they are using a crystal ball.  They try to see if they can make out individual people—wondering if leaving the relic behind would allow the Inquisitors to track them through the mountains—but if such a level of detail is possible to discern, no one in the party is skilled enough to see it.

Anvil is busy examining the other rock.  “What does this do?” he demands.

Lira shrugs, “I’m not going to touch something that radiates abjuration like that, but go ahead.”  

Anvil ignores her.  “Master Genichi--” he begins…

But Master Genichi has turned away from the party and is standing by the holy symbol on the back wall.  The party falls silent as he chants softly under his breath and traces a figure on the wall with his finger.

Before him, the holy symbol parts down the middle and slides away to reveal a set of stone stairs descending into the rock below.  Master Genichi turns to the party and gestures down the stairs.  “If you would follow me.”

The party does.

_(Note: Don’t we sound nice and obedient?  In truth, I have to admit we spent about twenty minutes *after Master Genichi had revealed the door* dithering around the magic items, trying to see people in the mountains—hey, it’s not often we get to use our scry skills—debating whether we should take these obviously decoy Kettenite relics with us, ultimately deciding not to, and then finally following Master Genichi down the stairs.  However, since none of this has turned out to have any relevance to anything, imagine that we did the sensible thing, and just followed the plot.)_

###

The stairs lead down a narrow stone passage and into another chamber.   This one has three pedestals against the far wall—separated from the foot of the stairs by a shallow pool of water.  The water covers the entire floor, except for a dry dais near the entrance, where the party clusters.

Lira and Anvil still have _detect magic_ spells active and quickly notice strong magical auras of multiple types radiating from a goblet, vial, and… Lira blinks… yes, a stick resting on the podiums.  Also, the water in the pool radiates strongly of abjuration.  Lira eyes it warily.  “Master Genichi…”

The old monk anticipates her question.  “Only Alirrians and those who worship no god above any other should cross the pool.”

Lira and Eva both carefully step back from the edge of the dais.

Reyu smirks a bit as she, Thatch, and Kiara step cautiously out into the shin-deep water and approach the pedestals with Master Genichi.  

Master Genichi removes a stone goblet from the first pedestal.  “This is the Goblet of Oo’gha-li.”

“What’s it do?” Thatch cannot stop himself from asking.

Master Genichi smiles.  “Holy water drunk from the goblet is infused with the healing essence of our Lady.  This here,” he says, reaching for a small glass vial on the second pedestal containing a small amount of liquid, “is the Vial of Infinite Blessings.  It contains water from the Vale of the Holy Spring.  It is quite precious; though in times of need it can bring foresight and knowledge to Our Lady’s chosen Daughters.  I placed but a small drop in the tub upstairs…”

Eva, still on the far side of the room swallows.  “Powerful stuff,” she mutters to Lira.

Master Genichi, meanwhile, has moved on to the last of the three relics, a simple, dead stick.  “This is the Finger of Bai’li-gul.  It is attuned to our Lady’s love of green and growing things.  It grants any priest who bears it access to that aspect of her power.”

The party members carefully pack up the relics and retreat back up the stairs where they find Satsumi at Hatsuki have not yet left.

Master Genichi sighs.  “Satsumi…”

“I made you lunch, grandfather,” she interrupts him.  “You need me here with you—”

Master Genichi is gentle, but firm.  “I _need_ you to go with Hatsumi and warn the others that the Inquisitors are coming, and that they have discovered our secret.”

Satsumi’s chin juts out stubbornly.  “You should not be here alone.”

He gives her a gentle squeeze around the shoulders.  “I will not be alone.  Alirria will be with me.”  Master Genichi beckons to Hatsuki, who receives a final embrace as well, and then walks them both to the main gates of the monastery.  The party stands behind as he watches the two children go, waiting in silence until they disappear up the path to the Vale of the Holy Spring.

At last, Master Genichi closes the gates and turns to the party.  His expression is hard to read, a mixture of sadness and determination, resignation and regret.  But all he says is,  “We should not let Satsumi’s preparations go to waste.  There are preparations you should make before your departure.  Let us discuss them over lunch.”


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred-Second*
_In which: bridges are burned (figuratively) and cut (literally)._

Over lunch, the party members attempt to brainstorm how they can depart the monastery without being detected by the Inquisitors.  They also try to convince Master Genichi to go with them. 

Master Genichi steadfastly maintains that he would only slow the party down, and that speed is of the essence in their situation.

“I have a spell that might help,” Annika suggests.  “_Floating disk_.  It’s on scroll now, but if I take today to scribe it in my spell-book I’ll be able to memorize it every day for however long it takes us to get to the Vale.”

_(This genius insight was brought to you by Jo, from jonrog1’s story hour, who we were lucky enough to have guest-starring as Annika this session.)_

Reyu quickly calculates in her head.  “If your spell carried Master Genichi, he wouldn’t leave tracks, but… there are still more of us than whose tracks I can conceal behind us.”

“Except,” Annika points out, “you don’t have to cover Kiara, because she can fly, and Benedic can help too, so that’s one, two…”

“What I want to know,” announces Benedic loudly after several minutes of discussion of the merits of _pass without trace_ and whether Reyu can ask Paws to follow the rest of the group off the trail and thereby not reveal who exactly is leaving a lot of tracks away from the monastery, “is why we’re spending all this time worrying about sneaking out of here, and not letting the Inquisitors know we’re involved in the first place.  There’s a really simple solution.”

Lira turns to the ranger.  “What?  Are you saying we should stay here, wait until the Inquisitors show up, and then kill them all?”

_(In case you were wondering, that would be Ross, also of _Drunk Southern Girls…_ fame playing Benedic. Score!)_

“It’s not that hard.” Benedic responds.  He pushes aside several plates and begins laying out chopsticks by way of illustration.  “We dig a trench in the snow here, and put some people with flaming arrows on top of the main house _there_, and then, we can get a bunch of sharpened stakes, sink ‘em in the ground, and piss on them…”

Euro takes a flying leap off of Lira’s shoulder and begins nosing around the table, checking out the preparations.  His voice filters back into Lira’s head, Oh yeah, we can take ‘em Boss.

But Master Genichi shakes his head.  “We have maintained this place since long before the Sovereignty.  We have kept whatever…” he gestures to the holy symbols of Kettenek scattered about the dining room, “trappings… have been necessary to maintain our faith.  The stewardship of this site has been in my family for generations.  I will not abandon my post, and I cannot ask that you aid me in its defense.”

“But surely,” Reyu points out, “the important site is the Vale itself.  The monastery is… secondary to the spring.”

“Besides,” Lira adds, “not that I doubt your resolve, but it is quite likely the Inquisitors will have access to magics that could force you to betray us.”

Master Genichi is unruffled.  “My will is strong… and they will have to take me alive.”

There is a respectful pause until Annika looks up and says, “Umm… not necessarily.”

Anvil quickly realizes what Annika refers to.  “She’s right. _Speak with dead_ is beyond my abilities, but not greatly so.”

“Is Evil the Wench that powerful?” Thatch asks.

_(Player Note: if NPCs refuse to give us their name, we _will_ come up with one for them.)_

“There’s no way of telling,” Annika allows, “but if she isn’t, they would only have to bring his head to someone who was.”

“So we would have a head start.”

_(There’s a groan from the other end of the table, followed by the unmistakable clink, clink of a nickel finding its way into the Hutt…)_

“You could try…” Annika turns to Master Genichi, “before you went down… there’s a way to cut off your own tongue and lower jaw, so your corpse can’t tell them anything.”

“Well, if that’s the issue, why wait until the Inquisitors get here to take his tongue out?”

Master Genichi looks vaguely uncomfortable at the direction the conversation is taking.

Perhaps sensing an opportune moment, Lira leans across the table to the Abbot.  “Master Genichi,” she says softly, “Your goddess’ season is one of life.  Surely she would not wish for you to sacrifice yours now.”

The table falls silent.

“Think of your granddaughter,” says Reyu.  “Surely she is more in need of you than,” she gestures to the walls around them, “these… stones.”

Everyone holds a collective breath, waiting for Master Genichi’s response.  At last, he sighs.  “If I will not slow your progress in the mountains, and by remaining here I do not aid, but in fact could hinder your cause… then I will assent to your request, and accompany you to the Vale.”

The party springs into action.

###

Annika immediately sets about scribing _floating disk_ into her spellbook, which takes her the rest of the day.

Benedic, denied his plans for setting an ambush, does work with Thatch and the party’s _decanter of endless water_ to create ice-slicks around the monastery.  Reyu consults with Master Genichi and then sets two _fire traps_:  one on the building that used to contain the relics, and the other on Master Genichi’s residence. 

The others busy themselves as best they can for an early start the next morning, and try to avoid leaving too many footprints in the snow.

###

Anvil and Kiara are on the last watch before dawn when a lone figure arrives at the monastery and quietly slips in through the main gate.  Anvil starts, then recognizes Satsuki.

There is a brief flash around his eyes and he calls out to her in his most _commanding_ tone, “Come here.”

Satsuki stops, shakes her head a bit, as though to clear it, but does walk over to the fire where Anvil and Kiara are keeping watch.

“I am not leaving my grandfather behind,” she announces flatly.

“Fine,” Anvil replies.  “He is coming with us to the Vale.”

Satsuki looks at him with barely disguised shock.

“Sit down,” Anvil continues.  “You must be cold.”

“_You_ convinced him to leave?”

“Yes.  It was not easy.  He is a stubborn man.”

For an instant, Satsuki looks amused.

Kiara grins and whispers, “I knew you would come back.”

Satsuki blinks, but says nothing.

###

Master Genichi is not pleased to find that Satsuki back at the monastery.  “I told you to go to the Vale,” he chides her.

Satsuki refuses to give an inch.  “Hatsumi knows the way.  I wasn’t going to leave you alone here.”

However, since no one will be remaining behind at the monastery to make a noble stand to the death against the Inquisitors, the question has been rendered moot, and—dispatching Kiara in swallow form to catch up with Hatsumi—the party quickly gets underway.

At Lira’s suggestion, Master Genichi takes a moment as they leave to paint a sign on the door, telling anyone approaching that the monastery has been decimated by plague.  No one expects the Inquisitors to be fooled by the device, but to the passing observer, it does present a credible reason for the site to have been deserted.

###

Although the party does cover their tracks as they press on into the mountains, any pretense of concealing their motives has been abandoned.  They keep up a grueling pace to make good time and stay ahead of the Inquisitors, but do frequently pause to slick the path behind them using Thatch’s _decanter and endless water_, or to trigger rock-falls across the path, and any rope bridges they use to traverse mountain crevasses are severed as soon as the party crosses.

Master Genichi watches all of this with an air of silent resignation, knowing that it must be done, but saddened by what it means: that he and his sistren will never pass this way to the Vale of the Holy Spring again.

Sometime on the second day of travel, the party reaches a very put-out looking Hatsumi waiting for them in the center of the path.  He falls in quickly with the rest of the travelers, but continues to glare at Satsuki for some time.


----------



## Len

I still think that they will have to polish the relics at some point.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Third*
_In which: a trap is sprung._

Around noon on the second day of travel, as the party pauses to rest and eat a hurried lunch, Kiara (in swallow form) flies up above the tree line to see if the Inquisitors are behind them on the path.

When she looks back to the monastery… she sees two thick plumes of black smoke.  Reyu’s fire traps have been triggered, and the compound is burning.

She can see one figure lying in the snow inside the walls of the monastery.  Three more are making their way up the path towards the Vale.  The fifth member of the Inquisitor’s group is nowhere to be seen.

When Kiara relays her findings back to the rest of the group, the party is forced to consider their next move.

Everyone has been pushing to get as far ahead of the Inquisitors as possible.  However, they have only managed to gain a little bit of time, and fatigue is setting in.  After some debate, it is decided that with only three Inquisitors to contend with, their best course of action is to set an ambush—recover their wind while waiting—and when the remaining Inquisitors arrive, take them out once and for all.

Not only will this protect the monks at the Vale from being followed as they make their escape, it will also help the party’s alibi in case they need to deny that they have been to the monastery.  After all, the Inquisitors can hardly inform on them if they are dead.

The decision made, Benedic rolls his eyes.  “Finally.”

It takes another day for the party to find an ambush spot that meets Benedic’s ideal criteria.  Then, they set their traps, dig into the snow, and wait.

**********

Guardsman, First Class Kiyoshi of the Lord’s Just and Righteous Inquisitorial Guard lets out a silent sigh as the trail opens up before him.  The sigh is because even though the path is bounded by a sharp slope leading to a plateau on one side and a narrow gorge on the other, it is at least—Kettenek be praised—flat.  The silent is because Kettenek’s unending wrath on the non-believers would be nothing compared to the wrath of the Lady Inquisitor Doroshi-san if she thought he was complaining about their pace.

Doroshi-san is moving forward on pure fury, and while Kiyoshi is not lacking in the fury department himself, he is also sick of slipping on ice-slicks and falling on his ass.

It looks like they’ve just hit another one.  He can see Doroshi-san put her foot forward, catch herself, and proceed forward with small, mincing steps so as not to slip on the ice.  Kiyoshi has just a second to wonder where the monks managed to get all of this water from when an arrow comes whistling out of the snow bank to his left. 

It skewers Doroshi-san in the kidney, and he can see her yell… except that no sound comes out of her mouth.  It’s then that Kiyoshi realizes he can’t hear _anything_ from the area immediately in front of him.  He just has time to think _A _silence_ spell?—_ before he whirls to see a pile of boulders falling down to cover the trail behind him.

**********

The mountain pass is a slaughter.  

Even before the head Inquisitor has time to recover from the arrow lodged in her back, two _magic missiles_ whoosh in from the other side of the chasm.  Master Genichi, defying his age and apparent frailty, vaults over the snow-bank where he had been lying in wait, and lands on the path in front of the Inquisitors to unleash a flurry of blows on their leader.

Her guards begin to panic, but any thought of running is cut off by Annika casting _web_ on the boulders that Satsumi and Hatsuki have sent crashing back across the path.

Benedic strikes the head Inquisitor with two more arrows as Thatch comes charging down the path, sword readied.  With a mighty blow—which is eerily silent thanks to Anvil’s spell—Thatch punches forward with his blade, sending it _through_ the head inquisitor and gutting the guard immediately behind her.

Anvil jumps down behind the small group, striking the last guard with his long sword.

Eva’s arrow through his throat drops the guard Thatch previously wounded, and the party’s attentions focus on the last member of the column.  Reyu and Lira both unleash ranged attacks, and Satsuki leaps into the fray with a series of stunning kicks to his head and back.  As Master Genichi comes forward to finish the job Annika suddenly yells, “Don’t kill him!”

The party checks themselves, abruptly realizing that they will want to keep one member of the group alive for questioning.  However, Master Genichi, still inside the effect of the _silence_ spell, hears nothing, and as the party frantically looks on, pummels the last Inquisitor into unconsciousness.


----------



## Blacklamb

I love a well executed Ambush =)


Question: How does Anvil feel about killing fellow followers of Ketenek?

I am curious how this was justifyed in his mind? 


Blacklamb


----------



## Capellan

Blacklamb said:
			
		

> I am curious how this was justifyed in his mind?




Extenuating circumstances*.








* specifically, the fact that the Inquisitor was an ass


----------



## spyscribe

Blacklamb said:
			
		

> Question: How does Anvil feel about killing fellow followers of Ketenek?
> 
> I am curious how this was justifyed in his mind?




Man, just wait until you see what he does next update!  

(The fact that Madame Doroshi-san had pretty well threatened to have us all arrested and tortured did not win her any points with the group.  Even for Anvil, it seems being a follower of Kettenek only gets you so far.)

I'll see if I can get BadMonkeyJeff to pop in here and elaborate.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Fourth*
_In which: the party gains unexpected information from unexpected sources._

Searches of the bodies yield several minor potions and scrolls, along with a mirror, wrapped in a leather bundle, which radiates divination and a hint of evocation magic.

Fearing it is a communications device, Lira keeps it wrapped and stowed away in her pack for safekeeping.

Meanwhile, Benedic drags the two dead bodies off the trail and into a copse of evergreens.  Hatsumi—who has been tagging along after Benedic every chance he’s had throughout trip—tries to follow.  Benedic notices and gently informs the youngster that “not everything is something you need to learn right now.”

Lira, observing the exchange, whispers to Reyu, “What is he _doing_ back there anyway?”

“I believe,” Reyu replies, “he intends to dismember the bodies, burn the pieces, and then scatter the ashes down a mountain crevasse.”

Lira swallows.  “Oh.”

The one remaining Inquisitor lies, bound and unconscious, on the side of the trail.  “Why is it that you wished this one alive?” Master Genechi asks.

“Because,” says Annika as she begins to cast _charm person_ at the survivor, “he can tell us how much they know.”

Having stabilized their captive, Anvil stations himself behind the prisoner, close at hand, but out of the Inquisitor’s sight. 

Everyone else hides, weapons at the ready.

Gently, Annika slaps the Inquisitor awake.  He blinks rapidly, disoriented.  

“Thank God,” Annika says, holding his attention on her, “I thought you were dead.  What happened?”

The guard seems unsteady at first, but he realizes that although he has no idea who this woman is, he somehow trusts her implicitly.  “We… we were attacked,” he says.  “The monks…”

“What monks?”

“From the Sharpstone Pass.  Heretical traitors worshipping one of the godlings.  Somehow, they must have been warned.  Set traps for us.  One killed, the other, he was injured, we had to leave him behind.”

“Heretics!” Exclaims Annika, “What are you going to do?”

“We have… notified our superiors, but it will be at least a week before they can reach us.  Please, can you help untie me?”

Annika nods, leaving him for a moment and returning with the dullest knife she can find among their things.  She saws ineffectively at his bindings.

“Were you carrying anything valuable, anything that needs to be protected?” she asks.

“The Lady Inquisitor Doroshi-san… she has a mirror.  We use it to speak to the others.”  He pulls futilely at the ropes around his wrists, but he’s held fast.

Annika shakes her head.  “I’m sorry, this knife is no good.  I’m going to try something else.  Close your eyes.”

“Close my—What?...  Who are you?”

“Just for a second, close them.”  As the prisoner blinks Annika shoots a beseeching look over his head to Anvil.  It’s a look that says, “strike _quickly_.”

Anvil reaches forward, right hand cloaked in an almost oily-looking black mist.  He touches the prisoner’s shoulder.  The Inquisitor just has time to jerk around, eyes wide, before he crumbles to the ground, dead.

Benedic comes forward, and drags away the body.

###

The next night at midnight, Anvil rouses the party to celebrate the feast of Kettenek Ascendant, or Mid-Winter.

A few days later, the party encounters the monks and pilgrims on their way back from the Vale.  Master Genichi confers with his sistren and then they inform the pilgrims that, due to unfortunate circumstances, the monastery has been closed.  A few of the monks continue on to escort the travelers back to civilization.

Alone again, Master Genichi turns to the party.  “I cannot thank you enough for what you have done.  My sistren and I will take the relics to our fellows in Cauldron.  You are, of course, free to go on your way, but I would be honored if you would accompany me to the Vale before we part.”

Reyu bows politely.  “The honor… would be ours.”

###

For another day the trail winds upwards.  At last, near the top of a great mountain, Master Genichi leads the party to a small valley, sheltered within the peaks.  Here, despite the incredible altitude, they find a bowl of green grasses, surrounded by dizzying vistas, and in the center, a perfectly round pool, its border broken only by a small gurgling spring.

Master Genichi kneels at the edge of the water, accompanied by the other monks, and the members of the party.  After a moment of silent meditation, he turns to the party.  “I cannot pay you for the aid you have rendered, but I can offer you some recompense.”

He gestures to one of the monks, who comes forward, and placing his hands in the water, begins to chant.

As the monk’s voice continues to drone, the surface of the water begins to bubble.  Within moments, the water is churning, roiling from within.  Foam and froth begin to rise from the surface, slowly at first, but soon a column of water rises out of the pool.  As it grows, it begins to take on a shape—the shape of a woman.

She is beautiful.  The water that makes up her face is clear and calm.  It ripples as she moves, causing her features to shift continuously, leaving one with the impression that she has a face, yet no sense of what it actually looks like.  Her body is covered with froth, as if forming a dress around her.  Her hair flows, quite literally, down her back, melding seamlessly back into her body.

Thatch’s eyes go wide at the sight.  It takes Eva a moment to realize that she has been unconsciously holding her breath.

The figure speaks: 

“I thank you for this task that you have done for my children.  You should consider it a birthing pain for your greatest trial, which is still far off, for it has not yet begun to begin...”

She then addresses each of the party members in turn.

To Thatch.  _“…though the seeds of your part in it have been laid, and their fruit is far riper than its season.”_

To Eva.  _“You have already heard my words, child. Remember that you have the choice between flowing in two channels or blowing in one.”_ 

To Lira.  _“The stream before you splits, child.  The rough rapids shall leave you the weed whose seedlings overrun the garden.  The stagnant pool shall leave you the flower whose seedlings are doomed to death.”_ 

To Anvil.  _“Mind your fields well, for you know not all the crops that grow there, and you are fast becoming their hybrid.”_ 

To Reyu.  _“Your roots have taken well to their new soil, but they must dig deeper yet.  Still once more you will be uprooted and planted anew, ere the trial comes to pass.” _

To Annika.  _“I see how deeply you have been wounded, child.  Know that the blight of those who cut you so deep has not been fully cured.  They fester until their next outbreak, in my brother’s scar, which is not yet healed.”_ 

To Kiara.  _“I weep for you, my twisted child.  For your road home has been long, and the road before you is even longer, and though you walk a thousand thousand miles more, nature’s way shall never find you.”_ 

To Benedic.  _“A choice will come upon you, between your heart and your love.  Choose your love, and witness the breaking of your heart.  Choose your heart, and your love will be lost to you forever.” _

The figure smiles—or at least appears to—and then, slowly, sinks back down, the form dissolving in the water below.  Within moments, the pool is calm, clear, and tranquil once again.

Preoccupied with what they have just learned, the party quietly makes ready to depart.  Master Genichi has inspected their maps and indicated a route by which they can reach the Valley of the Center of the Storm overland.  Although this route will shorten the distance for the next stage of their journey considerably, it does mean that they will be traveling through the wilds of the Ketkath mountains for some weeks.

While Eva is not relishing the prospect, Benedic seems positively eager to be off.  “Don’t worry,” he assures her, then corrects himself.  “Well, you’d be a fool if you weren’t worried a bit… but I’ll get all of you through.”

Just as they are about to depart, Reyu notices Master Genichi standing at the edge of the Vale, looking wistfully back towards the spring.  Reyu approaches him, and they stand for a few moments in silence.  

Master Genichi speaks:  “It pains me, to think that I will never see it again.”

Reyu replies in measured tones.  “But it will be here, regardless of whether you see it or not.”

Master Genichi looks at her a moment, almost surprised, then nods.

Soon, the monks depart one way, and the party follows their own, and the Vale is deserted once again.

**

As the party disappears over the ridgeline, Benedic’s voice can barely be heard.  “My heart, my love…  My love, my heart…  Feh!  Gods.”


----------



## Pyske

Goodness, all those prophesies sound so... depressing. 

And I was surprised by the death of the guard, as well.  But hadn't he met the group (and Annika) during the ferry trip?


----------



## Fajitas

Pyske said:
			
		

> Goodness, all those prophesies sound so... depressing.



Didn't I mention in her portfolio?  Alirria is the goddess of downers. 

Seriously, I didn't mean for all the prophesies to come out so doom and gloomish.  I didn't really realize that they had until we were actually in the middle of them.  But then, I suppose, if the prophecies were that everything was going to be sunshine and kittens for the PCs, it wouldn't be much of a campaign, would it?



			
				Pyske said:
			
		

> And I was surprised by the death of the guard, as well.  But hadn't he met the group (and Annika) during the ferry trip?



One of the oddities of this session was that we had guest players of Ross and Jo of Drunk Southern Girls fame playing Benedic and Annika respectively.  As a result, the two characters were a tad more... ruthless than they usually are.  Questioning and executing the Inquisitor was pretty much their plan.  Not that it's clear there was much of a choice, really.  Leaving him behind would be a de facto death sentence, and setting him free is just asking for trouble.

I confess, I had forgotten that the guard had already met Annika before when we played this scene, but frankly Jo so utterly controlled and manipulated the conversation, that the poor guard probably would have told her everything *without* the aid of the _charm person_.  It was really one of the most magnificent fast-talks I'd ever seen.


----------



## Cerebral Paladin

Great stories as always, Spyscribe.

I'm curious about the use of the term "sistren" for the Allirians.  Is that linked to their religion or just a general style choice?


----------



## Fajitas

Cerebral Paladin said:
			
		

> I'm curious about the use of the term "sistren" for the Allirians.  Is that linked to their religion or just a general style choice?



It's religious.  Alirrian and Sedellan sects tend to take the feminine terms to describe all their members, while Kettenite and Ehktian sects tend to take the masculine ones.  Thus, Alirrian monks are all Sister So-and-so, Kettenite monks are all Brother So-and-So.  Sedellan knights are all Dames, Ehktian knights are all Sirs.

This, in general, keeps me amused.


----------



## spyscribe

The session that plays out over the next few updates was a bit different than our usual games.   Figuring that one innovation deserved another, I’ve played with our usual format a little bit, hoping to better capture the feel of the evening.  Look for short, frequent posts over the next week.

This game also continued our tradition of guest stars, this time with Thatch’s player’s mother playing Annika.  Hence, the character intros at the opening.

And now, have a seat, enjoy the previews, and get ready for…


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Fifth*

or

[size=+1]*Twenty-One Days in the Ketkath*[/size]

*Fade up Title Card: Day One*

Dissolve to:

It’s a clear and sunny day in the Ketkath Mountains.  On a ridge above camp, Benedic stands, cloak blowing in the wind.  Silhouetted against the sky he cuts quite the dashing figure.

At least, Lira thinks so.  Benedic reaches down and gives her a hand up, and the two of them take a moment to enjoy the view before returning to the others.

Back at camp, Anvil is reapportioning pack-loads for their long journey across the mountains.  He catches Thatch staring at him as he takes Lira’s bedroll and puts it in the young fighter’s load.  “Kettenek’s Justice demands it,” he says, and goes off to make sure the fire has been thoroughly smothered.

Thatch shoulders his pack, muttering about having to go all this way on foot.  They have horses, but no, better to just go on foot and return to Bob and the others later…

Annika stifles a yawn and returns to her packing.

Eva watches all of this impassively, hands tucked in her pockets, compulsively shuffling a deck of cards.  She notices Reyu returning from her morning prayers.  The elf takes in the business of camp with only a small sigh.

Kiara is in swallow form, zipping around in a complex set of aerial maneuvers which culminate in a loop around Thatch’s head before turning into a girl once again.  She grabs Thatch by the arm, “Come on!  There are fish in the stream over here.  Do you think you can catch them?  Huh?”

Before Thatch can try his arm at angling, Benedic and Lira return.  Benedic, obviously enjoying being back in guide mode, claps his hands and calls for the party’s attention.

“Alright,” he begins, “I’ve got the lay of the land, and things are going to be a bit different from here on.  There’s no trail, and no settlements for miles around.  Of course, that doesn’t mean we’re alone.  All kinds of beasties live in these mountains.  Our best bet, keep to ourselves.  Don’t make too much noise.  We’ll keep a small fire at night, but we don’t want too much light either.  Most things ‘round here, we don’t bother them, hopefully, they won’t bother us.”

The party nods their understanding.  Quickly, they finish breaking camp and head out into the wilderness.



*Day 2*

Anvil watches the ground ahead of him very carefully.  Kettenek’s Justice demands they take proper precautions in a strange land, and he has taken it upon himself to make sure that Thatch steps in the same places that Benedic did before him.

Most of the time, Thatch is a little bit off.  Which causes him to nearly step on something that lies glinting on the ground.

Anvil pauses to pick it up.  It’s a stone arrowhead.

Benedic takes a look.  “Looks like something from the Old Ones, the natives that lived in the Ketkath before the Sovereigns came.  Not surprising, the Vale was a holy site for them too.  Probably a couple hundred years old.”

Anvil pockets the object, and readjusts his pack straps.  He is still carrying the capstone the party found in Sheesak’s cave—dubbed by the rest of the party as “the big not-evil rock.”  After several weeks, the party still has no idea what to do with it, and Anvil has to admit that carrying around a fifty-pound stone does get a bit wearing, even if it is Kettenek’s element.

“Look there!”  Reyu calls from the back of the marching order where she walks with Paws.

Over the next ridge, an eagle soars across the sky.  Then, as the party watches, the bird suddenly dives down, targeting some unseen prey below.   But, as the bird dips below the horizon, the party members see that it was not beyond the next ridge, but beyond the next _several_ ridges.  

Thatch gapes.  “That bird must have been the size of a house!”

Kirara, in swallow form, tucks into the side of Annika’s hood.

Eva swallows, throat suddenly dry.

“Well,” says Lira, “at least it’s far away.”

The march resumes.


----------



## spyscribe

*Day 3*

Near a waterfall, Lira once again tries to blow the horn that the party took from Sheesak the Druid ogre.  Annika had identified it as casting _summon nature’s ally IV_.  Kiara sounded it, and a rhinoceros appeared.  Lira hopes that her summoned puppy was merely a fluke.

The noise of the horn is barely heard above the roaring of the water.  As Lira lowers the horn from her lips she sees that a grey wolf has appeared before her.

“Hello,” she says.

The wolf looks at her a bit quizzically, and after about 20 seconds, disappears.

“Well, I guess that’s an improvement.”

Eva pats her friend on the back.  “Maybe you just get dogs.”


*Day 4*

Benedic freezes in his tracks, hand going to his sword.  The rest of the group, arrayed around a small fire eating lunch, looks up.

About forty feet away stands a large dog-like creature.  It growls angrily, eyes wild, and a thin trail of foam drips from its mouth.

Lira whispers to Eva, “I didn’t have anything to do with that one.”

Benedic takes a step back, cautiously.  “Everyone, get ready just in case it – ” 

Before Benedic can finish speaking the animal leaps at him…

And vanishes.

Faster than anyone can react, the dog reappears right beside Benedic, bites him viscously on the arm, and then rapidly backs away.

Thatch comes charging forward, raises his sword in a mighty swing, and brings it crashing down… straight _through_ the animal… and onto the frozen ground.  Thatch’s eyes go wide as he sees the dog is _flickering_, there one instant, and gone the next.  He realizes it must have _blinked_ out of existence just as he was about to hit it with his sword.

Benedic swears quietly, and shouts to warn the others, “Blink dog!” 

“What?” Eva shouts back as she draws an arrow.

Benedic fires off an arrow that passes harmlessly through the animal’s flickering body by way of demonstration.  “It blinks.”

_Well, forget this_ Lira thinks grimly, and she casts _magic missile_.  Two bolts fly from her finger tips straight towards the animal.  Just as they are about to impact, the dog flickers out of phase… and with a shimmer, the bolts vanish as well.  A fraction of a second later, the dog is back, limping.

_Facinating_ thinks Annika, _the force effect of the missile must be able to follow it through into the ethereal plane_.  She begins to cast.  _I could write a paper on that when I get back to the Academy_.

Reyu just has time to fire at the dog before it vanishes again.  This time it reappears next to Lira and tears a chunk out of her thigh.

Fortunately, the party’s luck is turning.  Kiara and Benedic both hit the creature with their next arrow volleys.  Lira and Annika fire more _magic missiles_ and Anvil charges forward, landing a solid blow with his sword.

Although the animal is clearly in pain, its anger is even stronger than its injuries.  The dog vanishes again, this time reappearing right behind Anvil, who was the last one to cause him pain.  

The dog rises as if to attack… and then falls to the ground.

Not taking any chances, Thatch plunges his sword down towards the fallen carcass, gritting his teeth against the reverberations of steel hitting stone.  He holds his sword in place, and watches with grim satisfaction as the creature eventually stops blinking and solidifies around the blade.

Anvil wipes his own blade, and as he sheathes his sword, notices Lira bleeding freely from a bite on her leg.

“Here.”  He beckons, and Lira limps over.  Anvil begins casting a _cure_ spell and is just about to seal the wound when a shout comes from Benedic: 

“Stop!”

Everyone turns to stare at the ranger, who has tied off his arm above the bite and appears to be in the middle of dousing the wound with water from his canteen.

“You want to have to slice her back open?”

“What do you speak of?” Anvil demands.  “This is the healing power of Kettenek.”

Benedic rolls his eyes in exasperation.  “Will it cure disease?  That is a rabid animal, and the bite could be infected.  You’ve got to clean the wound out before you _cure_ it.”

Anvil, although dubious, agrees to hold off as Reyu tends to Lira’s leg.

Thatch looks on, grotesquely fascinated.  “How do you know when you’ve got it clean enough?”

“We will know,” Reyu replies mildly, “when they do not develop the disease.”

“Oh.”

Lira grits her teeth as the bite is looked to.  “I _hate_ blinking, misty, ethereal _things_.”

Meanwhile, Kiara, being very careful (she assures Annika numerous times), pokes the dead blink dog with a large stick, getting a good look at it so she’ll be able to recognize it if she sees one again.

Indeed, she finds, it looks almost exactly like the three animals cresting the hill coming towards them.

“Guys…” she begins.

Everyone stares.  The three animals come to a stop some forty feet away.  The one in front lets out a low, mournful howl.  The other two join it, and for half a minute their cries echo amid the mountains.  Then, they lower their heads and vanish.


----------



## spyscribe

*Day 6*

It’s times like this, when he’s in the middle of the mountains, in the middle of the night, standing guard with a fourteen-year-old, that Thatch really misses Dennis.

He swats at a fly buzzing around his ear.  Funny, to have flies out at night.  Even funnier, he realizes, when it sounds like there’s a cloud of them buzzing around _inside your head_.

“Hey Kiara, do you hear anything?”

“Like what?”

“Nevermind.”

Kiara scans their camp.  Rock, rock, Anvil, Reyu, Benedic, rock with a bump--  Wait a second…

“Hey Thatch, there’s a bump on that rock.”

Thatch looks.  He wouldn’t have though anything of it, but now that she mentions it, he’s pretty sure that bump didn’t used to be there.

“Who goes there?” he calls out, experimentally.

There’s a skittering sound and the bump vanishes.  Dimly in the shadows, it almost seems like a humanoid creature is running off.

By the time they get to the rock, there’s nothing there but a strange smell, something like sulphur or hot metal.  Reyu, once awake, notices a scrape on the rock, but she can’t track the creature, whatever it was.

“Well,” says Kiara, “at least it’s gone now.”


----------



## spyscribe

*Day 7*

It’s growing dark.  Benedic has gone ahead to scout, as is his custom, while the rest of the group makes camp.

As Eva prepares to unroll her bedding for yet another night onto yet another hard and rocky bit of ground, she hears a faint grinding noise.  She looks over at Lira.  “Did you hear that?”

Lira nods. 

“Shhh!  Everybody listen.”

Now, the rest of the party can hear it too.  Following the noise to its source they find a perfectly round hole, sunk into the ground near a small group of boulders.

Anvil finds the hole glows slightly under _detect magic_, and when Benedic is brought to investigate, he theorizes it might be a xorn.

“What’s that?” everyone wants to know.

“Err…” Benedic finds himself on the spot.  “It’s a burrowing creature, eats rocks.”

“Will it eat us?”

“Are you a rock?”

After some discussion, the group decides not to move camp, but triples up on the watches.

At sunrise, the hole is gone.


----------



## spyscribe

*Day 9*

As their ninth day in the Ketkath progresses, some of the party notice Benedic periodically dropping back to consult with Reyu, at the back of their column with Paws.

By mid-afternoon, it’s obvious even to Eva that a thick bank of clouds is blowing in fast and it’s darker than it should be at that hour.  Benedic signals for a halt.

“We’ve got a blizzard blowing in.  Hopefully it will be quick, but we should dig in somewhere we can ride it out.”

The group makes a hasty camp, sheltered by a cliff-wall at their back, finishing their preparations just as the snows hit.  It’s not nearly as strong as the unnatural blizzards created by Sheesak, but still, the snow is coming down thick and fast.

After two hours, almost everyone is thoroughly chilled.

“Do you want me to cast a _rope trick_?” Annika asks.

Benedic and Reyu shake their heads.  “Nah, this should be blowing through in a couple of hours.”

Eight hours after it started, the storm finally lets up.  The party emerges from their snow cave, blue and shivering.

Eva is heard to mutter under her breath, “If that’s a quick storm I’d hate to be caught in a long one.”


*Day 10*

The next day dawns bright and clear.  Benedic wakes up to full sinuses and a pounding headache.  

As he sets about his morning duties breaking camp, he notices Kiara flitting around him  _Amazing,_ he thinks, _how she can flit even when she’s in human form._  He finally realizes she appears to be staring intently at the corners of his mouth.

“Noh,” he tells her thickly, “I don’ thing i’th rabies.”


----------



## spyscribe

*vectors of infection*

*Day 11*

Lira is awakened in a manner that has become her routine since she started sitting the last watch before dawn.  By tiny teeth tugging at her ear and Euro in her head thinking,  Come on, Boss.  Time to get up.  You’re on watch, Boss.  Come on!

“Okay, okay,” she whispers back, sleepily.  “I’m coming.  I’m com—ah-chooo!”

Euro hastily backs off, blinking rapidly.

“Crap.”

*****

That afternoon, Reyu, at the back of the column, is the first to notice something following behind them as they march.  For maybe half an hour she hears a faint sound of footsteps and sometimes catches a glimpse of something green out of the corner of her eye.

She sends a discrete signal up the line for the party to halt and whirls around.

Behind them, a tiny green head pokes up over a rock, sees her looking, and vanishes.  Then, a few feet away, another head appears and ducks back down.  In a minute, Reyu counts four or five, but it’s hard to know if any of the heads are the same ones.

“Hello,” Reyu calls out in Sylvan.  “We are not here to harm you.”

There is a bustle of activity, with heads popping up and down very rapidly, accompanied by a squeaking, twittering noise, which then ceases as abruptly as it began.

The party continues on their way, and after a few minutes realizes they are still being followed.

Kiara turns to swallow form to spy on their pursuers and gets a glimpse of a small green scaled creature clutching a short spear.

She tries talking to them in Sylvan again, which causes another burst of activity and chatter, but no comprehensible response.*  It seems plain that while the creatures recognize they are being spoken to, they are unable or unwilling to respond in kind.

_*(Several members of the party suspect the creatures were saying, “Holy crap, a talking bird!”)_

Whatever they are, they follow the party for the rest of the day and into the dusk.

The party posts extra watches overnight, and by morning, their followers are gone.


*Day 13*

Benedic and Lira both wake up feeling better than they have in days.

Annika however, is now distinctly under the weather.  Anvil watches as Kiara flutters around her, making sure she drinks plenty of tea when they make stops, and that she doesn’t exert herself too much.

_It is a pity_, he thinks, _to see those not gifted with the blessings of Kettenek’s strength to overcome such adversities._

He glances around to see that no one is watching, and surreptitiously wipes his nose on his sleeve.


----------



## Angcuru

Enjoying this immensely, as always.

BTW, what happened to Day 5?


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## spyscribe

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Enjoying this immensely, as always.
> 
> BTW, what happened to Day 5?




Well, my guess is that it was probably cold, and involved a lot of walking through the mountains, and nothing terribly interesting happened.

When we played through this game, we were never quite sure where we were going to come up again after the "fade out."  Sometimes it was the next day.  Sometimes it was a couple days later.  On day 11, it was later the same day.

Ironically, although the session collapsed a lot of time into one session of play, this write-up is probably one of the most comprehensive I've done.  There isn't much that happened in-game that doesn't get at least a nod.

Which has got to be the longest method ever for saying, "I don't know.  If you want more, you'll have to ask Fajitas."


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## Angcuru

I just had it in my mind that maybe after those blink dogs vanished, they circled around the camp and attacked.  Me and my self-induced delusion.


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## jonrog1

Hey -- enough with the party, blah blah get to the bitchin' guest stars!

Oh, and DRUNK SOUTHERN GIRLS gets a re-start this week, to finish it off.  Thought you'd want to know.  And Ross is publishing comics.  And I have your DVD of ... you know what.

Pimp the blog, so I don't have to.


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## spyscribe

Pimp your blog?  http://kfmonkey.blogspot.com?  That blog?

The one where you put articles on screenwriting that get linked in today's issue of CS Weekly?

The one with the link to Ladigo Flint?

The one with a preview of your comic and the occasional hint and whisper about the Transformers movie?

Ha.  If you think I'm going to plug that in this story hour, you are sadly mistaken, my friend.

(Oh, my kingdom for the  smiley!)


----------



## spyscribe

*Day 14*

Eva and Anvil are sitting second watch, when suddenly the entire sky is illuminated by a massive flash of light to the North.

Although it made no noise, the flash was bright enough to wake nearly everyone, and the others are soon roused by the rest of the party.

Anvil estimates that it came from over the next ridge at least, possibly over the next two.

“What was it?” asks Kiara.

Benedic shakes his head.  “I have no idea.  Seemed to be far enough away, though.  If it happens again, we’ll worry about it.”

Annika is obviously intrigued.  “It might have been some kind of augmented _flare_ spell.  I’ve never heard of one, but it’s theoretically possible…  Or maybe a will-o-wisp exploded.”

Anvil, for his part, theorizes that it is either Kettenek smiting the extremely wicked, or a flash of divine inspiration.  After all, he points out to Thatch, “Did not Master Genichi tell us the story of Rikitaru, who it is said descended bodily into heaven in a great flash of divine light?”

Although he does not say anything, Thatch privately suspects that Rikitaru probably fell into a sinkhole, or was eaten by a xorn.

In case the flash marks a newly formed holy site to which he should make pilgrimage, Anvil casts an _augury_ asking if traveling to the source of the flash will bring them weal or woe.

A slight trembling beneath his feet replies, “Woe.”

And there the matter rests.


*Day 15*

As the party sets about making camp, Lira suddenly notices that Benedic is not back from his usual evening scouting mission.

It’s getting dark, and having been told by Benedic that they should keep light to a minimum, Kiara, Reyu and Paws—who are the least troubled by the dimness—resolve to go out and look for him.  Since Lira can’t see in the dark, she sends Euro with the others.

Don’t worry, Boss.  I’ll find him, no problem.

Euro begins sniffing around at the ground, and almost immediately picks up a scent.

To Reyu’s keen eyes, Euro’s white paws stand out clearly amid the surrounding gloom.  He leads them for a time through the woods until they come to the top of a scree slope down into a narrow and rocky ravine.

Unable to see to the bottom of the ravine, Reyu casts _light_ on the end of her spear.  There, at the bottom of the slope, pinned under a boulder, lies Benedic.

He spots Reyu and the others and frantically gestures for them to be quiet and hide the light. Reyu does so, although she notes that there does not appear to be anything immediately threatening to hide from.

She hands a coil of rope to Kiara who silently glides with it to the bottom of the ravine.

All pretense of stealth is quickly lost however, when Anvil, Lira, and Annika come charging through the underbrush, bearing a lighted staff.

“How did you know--?” Reyu begins to ask, then catches Euro and Kiara’s sheepish glances.

Lira lies down and looks over the ledge.  “Are you okay?” she calls, softly.

Benedic gestures to his leg with some agitation and puts a finger to his lips.

Anvil ignores the cautions and, letting himself down a rope, half-climbs, half-slides to the bottom of the ravine, where he frees Benedic and heals his mangled leg.

Back at the top, Benedic thanks the others for the rescue as he hurries them all back towards camp.

“Why did you want us to be so quiet?”

“I didn’t want to wake anything up.”

“What kind of anything?”

Benedic sighs as he answers Kiara, “Look, when I’ve got a broken leg, trapped under a rock at the bottom of a ravine, I don’t care what it is.  I just don’t want to bother it.”

Benedic’s concerns aside, the group makes it back to camp, and the night passes without incident.


----------



## spyscribe

*Day 17*

Evening is falling when Benedic abruptly signals for a halt.

Faintly on a breeze comes a distinctive clicking noise.  Click.  C-click.  Click click.  Click.

It sounds vaguely familiar.

Click.  Click Click.

Yep.  They’ve definitely heard that sound before.  “Shocker lizards?” Lira asks.

Benedic grins and gives her a squeeze on the shoulder.  “Good girl.” He whispers.  “They don’t sound too close, but there must be a hell of a lot of them.”

“Should we go around, or try to scare them off?” Annika asks.

“Do I get a vote?” Eva mutters, eying Thatch who is already gripping his sword.

Much to Thatch’s disappointment, Kiara flies ahead in swallow form to scout a safe path.  Anvil, meanwhile, asks Kettenek if weal or woe will befall them if they continue on their present path.

Again, the ground answers, “Woe.”

Annika watches anxiously, eyes glued to the small dark spot of Kiara’s silhouette against the darkening sky.  The young girl’s voice is in her head, keeping up the low-grade background noise she has grown accustomed to since the two of them were bonded.

Then, Kiara’s voice pops out of the background.  “Huh?...  Eeeww!... Cool...”

Kiara arcs in a large circle, designating a safe path around the lizards.

###

As the clicking noise fades behind them, Kiara rejoins the party, morphing back into her humanoid form.

“Oh my gods, it was so cool!” she enthuses.  Benedic gestures for her to hold her voice down and she quickly complies, dropping into an excited whisper.  “There must have been at least fifty of them, all glowing blue and sparking at each other.  And they were all over this _huge_ carcass.  It looked like a giant crab, but almost as big as a lakewader.”

“That big?” Reyu asks.

“Well,” Kiara considers, “maybe not.  But huge.  Oh, you should have seen it…”


----------



## spyscribe

*Day 18*

Kiara wakes up the next morning, with the feeling that there’s something in the air.  At first, she thinks it’s leftover excitement from the night before, but as the day wears on, the feeling doesn’t go away.

She talks to Annika about it.  “It’s like… It’s almost like someone is baking bread, and I can just get a hint of it.  It’s not quite the same as the feeling that brought me to the Academy, but it’s a little similar.”

Annika tries not to show her worry.  “Maybe there’s something in the valley.  We must be getting close now.”

By the time they make camp that night, the whiff has become a faint pull.  Faint, but comfortable.


*Day 20*

Kiara’s feeling only grows warmer and stronger as time goes on, although not at all urgent.  Since it appears to lead in their direction anyway, Reyu advises the young girl to be patient and deal with the source when she comes to it.

Anvil trudges along.  His cold has been better for several days, but he is forced to admit that taking a fifty pound rock with him everywhere he goes is getting just the littlest bit wearing.

And at mid-morning, he suddenly feels a sharp pricking in the middle of his back.

Immediately he stops in his tracks, throwing his pack down on the ground with a shout.

Eva stops short to avoid tripping over the not-evil rock.  “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been wounded.” Anvil replies sharply.

He hears Lira casting _detect magic_ behind him followed by a stifled gasp.  “I can’t see anything sticking you, but… your back is… tainted.  With the same aura as the not-evil rock,” she clarifies.  “Take off your shirt.”

Anvil lifts the back of his tunic.  He is bleeding and seems to have been stuck by some kind of splinter.  A white spine is still poking out of the skin.

Reyu grasps the white spine to pull it out, but when she tugs, meets firm resistance.  With a shock she realizes the object isn’t poking in from outside, but is growing out of Anvil’s backbone.  Carefully, she runs a hand over his back.  Every vertebra is growing a pronounced lump.

Informed of the situation, Anvil immediately casts _cure moderate wounds_ on himself.  He stops bleeding and skin heals around the protrusion, but the spine itself, and the rest of the growing lumps, remain.

“Well,” says Thatch, “we’ll have to find a new way to carry the rock.”

They finally hit upon the idea to sling it in the middle of a long stick carried between two bearers.

However, when Thatch goes to lift it, he finds Anvil’s pack is stuck to the ground.  Upon closer examination, he notices that the leather has become unnaturally stiff and the material itself seems to have grown tiny thorns, which dig tightly into the ground beneath.

Anvil reflects.  Now that he thinks about it, the damned thing _has_ seemed heavier for the last few days.  At the time, he had simply assumed he was tired of lifting it.

Although the pack isn’t going anywhere, experimentation finds that the rock moves freely.  Thatch levers it onto a blanket, ties the corners of the blanket to the pole, and then he and Anvil lift the entire assembly off the ground.

With the pack still refusing to be budged, Anvil burns it—and his shirt for good measure—until nothing remains but a pile of ash.  The ash is still slightly tainted, but the party decides there is little they can do about it.

Thatch and Anvil hoist the rock between them (Anvil walking behind so he can keep an eye on the rock), and the march resumes.

*****

That night, Anvil casts another augury to see if weal or woe will befall him if he attempts to remove the bone spine growing out of his back.

Kettenek remains silent.

Deciding that the lack of response means it is up to him to find the course of Justice in this matter, Anvil decides that he would rather _not_ have a tainted bit of bone growing out of his back, if it is all the same to Kettenek.

###

It’s a relatively simple operation.  Reyu cuts open the skin surrounding the abnormal bone growth and then proceeds to cut it off, using the bone saw from her masterwork healer’s kit.  

_(Note: And they thought we'd never use that masterwork healer’s kit!)_ 

Benedic stands by to assist, and Thatch is on hand, literally, holding down Anvil’s shoulders.

By now, Thatch has gotten used to a certain amount of blood in his day to day life, and doesn’t find the proceedings themselves all that off-putting.  The disturbing part is that his role isn’t really necessary.  Anvil seems to be—through sheer force of will—holding himself still.  His fists periodically clench and relax, but aside from that, the Justicar remains perfectly immobile.

Thatch figures if it came to it, he could probably do the same.  He glances back to see how the operation is going.

Swallows.

He sort of hopes he doesn’t have to find out.


----------



## spyscribe

*Day 21*

Three weeks after setting out from the Vale of the Holy Spring, Benedic climbs to the peak of a ridge, and pauses to look down at what lies ahead in satisfaction.

As the others join him, they see a valley spreading out before them, carpeted everywhere in rich greens, and divided down the middle by a sapphire blue river.

Scarred, battered, tainted, and possibly infected with rabies, they have reached The Valley at the Center of the Storm.

Fade Out.

*Fade up Title Card:  To Be Continued... in Part the One-Hundred Sixth*


----------



## Arkhandus

.....The Stone What Makes Things Grow Prickly......  I should hope that's all it does, though it wouldn't explain why the ogre druid kept it before.  Not really sure what it's really meant to do, but it's certainly wierd....

Did the group try Detect Chaos, Detect Law, or Detect Good to see if the not-evil rock was any of those?  Did Anvil ever Augury to see if taking the not-evil rock would bring woe?

......and in retrospect, I think it might have been wise for the party to have gone back to see if anyone at the Academy, or one of the religious leaders in the city, or perhaps that first Archmage they found, could've identified any properties of the not-evil rock.  Hindsight is always 20/20, isn't it?  ....except when it isn't.

/ends aimless rambling and waits to see if Anvil the Just becomes Anvil the Just Porcupine


----------



## spyscribe

Hey Arkhandus!  Good questions.

Weird is certainly the key adjective as far as the Big Not-Evil Rock is concerned.   

(I don't know if it got mentioned earlier, but that particular item got its name when BadMonkeyJeff announced that he was going to carry it with us.  He added it to his character sheet and we asked if what he was writing, "Big Rock?"

"Big Evil Rock," he replied, "so I don't look at it months later and go, 'why am I carrying around a big rock?' and chuck it down a well."

"But you said it wasn't Evil."

"Fine, the Big Not-Evil Rock.")

According to my notes, Anvil confirmed that the rock was both non-evil and non-chaotic, which I suppose were the top things he was worried about.

As for checking in with the experts, it was certainly planned to let Professor Alexandra take a look at it as soon as we were back in Dar Pykos, but I don't think anyone was interested in schlepping all the way there, and then all the way back to the Sovereignty, just for a consult.  

Also, the magical aura coming off that rock was _so_ weird, we really weren't that confident anyone back in Dar Pykos would have a better idea what it was than we did.  And going back to talk to the Miyen Kai wasn't exactly a practical option either.


----------



## Angcuru

I think it's a Big Rock of Turning The Guy Who Carries It Into A Briar Patch.  Which while not evil, is still undesirable!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Sixth*
_In which: the party talks with the animals, walks with the animals…_

It’s four days travel to the bottom of the valley.  Well, four days travel if you travel with people who have to move on foot.

Kirara, in swallow form, soars.  

The conifers are green, the other birds are friendly, and every moment she’s filled with…  a sense of well-being that she can’t quite explain, not even to Annika.  Is it her fault if she sometimes goes out of range of their empathic link?  No.  Besides…

“Nothing’s going to happen!  It’s safe here…”

“You don’t know that, the other birds—”

“Are friendly.  I told you.”

“But they could be *big* birds, and you’re small.  We talked about this.  I want you to tell me when you’re going far away…”

Lira listens to Kiara and Annika having another one of their “discussions” and absently pats Euro on the head.

Heh, birds.  You know why they call them “bird brains,” right Boss?

However, in spite of Kiara’s extensive aerial reconnaissance, she is unable to locate any sign of human habitation anywhere in the Valley.

After the party’s third day tamping aimlessly down towards the river, Anvil decides to ask one of the locals they _have_ encountered.

###

“Good squirrel,” Anvil begins, having just finished casting _speak with animals_, “do you know where we can find the archmage of this valley?”

The squirrel he finds—lately in the midst of scampering up a tree—seems rather surprised to be addressed.

It blinks several times.  “Me?” it asks.

“No,” says Anvil, “not you.  It would be a person, like one of us, but who lives in this valley.”

“People animals,” the squirrel says, perhaps for clarification.

“If you like,” Anvil agrees, rather magnanimously.

“I’ve seen people animals near my tree.”

“When?” Anvil asks, “recently?”

The squirrel stops to think about it for a minute.  “It was during nut season.”

“Is it nut season now?”

Squirrel facial expressions are very difficult to read, if one is not a squirrel, but it seems pretty clear that this squirrel is wondering if Anvil is a little dense.  “No.”

Anvil shrugs.  “Can you take us to your tree anyway?”

The squirrel squints at him.  “How do I know you won’t steal my nuts?”

“I have no interest in your nuts,” Anvil assures the squirrel solemnly.

The squirrel does not seem completely satisfied.  “I will take you _near_ my tree,” he agrees finally.

“Thank you.”

It is several more hours of walking to reach the vicinity of the squirrel’s tree, during which time (naturally) the duration on Anvil’s spell expires.  When the squirrel stops and chitters at them, Anvil takes it to mean that they have arrived.  Unable to thank the squirrel properly, Anvil attempts to explain slowly and loudly in common that the squirrel should return the following day, when he will be able to speak to it again.

The squirrel goes off.  Although Eva is still by no means a wilderness expert, she somehow doesn’t think it will take Anvil up on his offer.

After looking around the grove of oak trees and finding no signs of recent human presence, Lira asks the obvious question: 

“So, what do we do now?”

“We must wait until tomorrow, at which time I will again consult with the squirrel,” Anvil replies.

Kiara tugs urgently on Annika’s sleeve.  “…but it’s a good idea.  I’ll find a bird, and ask it where the people animals are.”

Annika rolls her eyes, “I thought we talked about this—“

“I won’t have to go far.  Look, there’s a sparrow _right there_.”  Kiara points to a small bird perched far above their heads.  “See? And it’s _little_.”

Annika eventually relents, and Kiara shifts to swallow form and takes wing.

Once in the air, Kiara sees that there are in fact several birds that easily fall into even Annika’s definition of “close by.”  However, the sparrow does seem the most gregarious-looking, and Kiara flutters down beside him.  “Hello,” she says in bird.

“Hello,” the sparrow twitters back.

“Are there any people in this valley?” she asks.

“Sure,” the sparrow replies, nodding to the party.

“Yeah… I mean, besides them.  A squirrel told Anvil that there were people animals that lived here, but it only knew it had seen them around his tree during nut season, and this isn’t nut season, so we kind of need to know where they are now.”

“Squirrels are dumb,” the sparrow opines.

“Yeah,” Kiara sighs in the way that only a swallow who is sometimes a human can.  “Can you help me?”

The sparrow hops a bit, “Oh sure.  I can take you to where the people animals live right now.”  And he flies off.

With a quick thought to Annika, Kiara takes to the air and follows, a shouted, “Be careful!” floating behind her on the breeze.

###

After flying for a bit, and crossing the river that runs through the center of the valley, the sparrow stops on the top of a tall tree.  Kiara settles beside him.  “Why are we stopping?” she asks,  “There are no people animals here.”

“Wait here,” he tells her.  “I need to ask if the people animals want me to bring you the rest of the way.”

“Okay,” Kiara replies.  “Tell them that it’s really important and we need to talk to them.”

The sparrow nods and takes off again.  Kiara stays in swallow form, eating a few mosquitoes while she waits.  Presently, the sparrow returns.

“You need to go back to your people animals now.  The Mistress of the Valley doesn’t want to see them.”

“But she has to!” Kiara protests, her words nearly tumbling over each other in their rush to get out of her beak.  “We’ve come a long way to see her, and we have an invitation to deliver, and a big rock, and even though Anvil says it’s not evil, it’s magic and weird and Annika has never seen anything like it and she knows about all kinds of magic stuff, and it’s dangerous because it made spines grow out of Anvil’s back, so she has to see us.  Go back and tell her that!”

The sparrow blinks rapidly.

“I will tell her about your dangerous rock,” he says at last, slowly.

“The invitation too!” she calls after him.  “The invitation is really the important part…”

###

Near sunset, the party is pitching their tents when Kiara and a sparrow come swooping into camp.  Kiara twitters at the sparrow for a few moments, and then, once he has left, shifts back into her human form.

“We don’t have to look anymore!  The sparrow said someone would find us.”

However, by morning, nothing has happened.

Following discussion over breakfast, the party decides to find a ford and cross the river to wait by the tree where Kiara waited the day before, to save time on the journey and in case there has been any confusion.

The morning is spent backtracking upstream to a passable ford, then heading back downstream to the tree.  They make camp again in the afternoon, and settle in to wait.

The day passes uneventfully.  So does the night.  So does the next morning.

###

Lira is just _prestidigitating_ the last of the breakfast dishes when a woman emerges from the woods.

She is tall, with long, curling dark hair that falls around her shoulders, and she walks with a sensuous grace.  Her dress is clearly not of the Sovereign style, nor of any other style the party members are familiar with.  Although Thatch notes that he wouldn’t mind traveling someplace where all the women dressed like _that_.

She takes in the group with an ironic smile and the barest disapproving click of her tongue.

“You were told to stay where you were, and someone would come to escort you.  It really isn’t polite to intrude where you’re not wanted.”


----------



## doghead

No, not polite at all ...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Seventh*
_In which: we find that our mission may have changed._

“We meant no offense,” Lira offers politely.  “We were told merely that someone would come find us, not that we should stay where we were.”

The woman sighs and makes a vague gesture of dismissal with one hand.  “None taken.  Birds make _terrible_ messengers.”

Kiara is so indignant she hops from Annika’s shoulder and shifts back into human form right in front of the stranger.  “Not all of us are,” she replies hotly.

The stranger’s cool façade cracks just a bit as she cannot help staring at the transformation of a seemingly ordinary swallow into seemingly ordinary girl.  She takes a few moments to collect herself, but her only comment is, “Perhaps not.”

She wrests her gaze from Kiara and turns to the others.  “You have a dangerous magical rock in your possession, then?”

Kiara rolls her eyes, “I told him the invitation was the important part, but all he could remember was the rock so I told him to tell you about the rock, but really—”

Anvil interrupts her to address their visitor.  “Are you the archmage of this valley?”

“No.”

“Then we would speak with she who is learned in such matters.”

The woman quirks an eyebrow.  “Very well, Justicar.  I will take you to her.”

The party quickly finishes packing their gear and follows the woman into the woods.

###

The woman, who informs the party that her name is Kiko, leads them through the woods for a day and half.  Although she is very polite, she declines to answer any questions about herself, her life in the Valley, or the archmage.

Reyu walks silently through the undergrowth, one hand resting absently on Paws’ back.  In contrast to the wild lands through which they have been traveling for the last three weeks, the Valley seems temperate, fertile and peaceful.  

Occasionally however, through the trees alongside them, she catches glimpses of dark animal forms making their way through the forest.  She suspects they are being escorted by more than the lone human. And so, at the same time as she enjoys the feeling of the ground beneath her feet and the scent of pine on the air, Reyu remains watchful.

###

Midafternoon of the second day of walking, Kiko leads the party into a small clearing.  On the other side, tucked into the edge of the woods, is a house.

Despite its size, it is easy to see how Kiara missed the building during her aerial reconnaissance of the Valley.  The house is made of rough timbers and the roof is interwoven with living pine boughs, letting it blend almost perfectly with the surrounding trees.

As they have apparently arrived at their destination, several very large animals—who Reyu earlier glimpsed escorting the party—enter the clearing a few steps behind the party.  As far as Reyu can tell they are natural creatures, but she has never seen anything like them before.  A huge lumbering beast, like a rhinoceros, except covered in heavy bone plates, and two creatures she would have called albino gorillas, except that each has an extra set of arms.

Kiko gestures her thanks to the animals and dismisses them.  Then, she leads the party forward into the house.

###

Kiko leaves the party in a small sitting room at the end of one wing, and withdraws.  Anvil and Lira both just have time to cast a quick _detect magic_ before the doors open again and another woman enters.

She is middle-aged, and actually rather unremarkable in appearance.  Her face is well weathered with sun.  Her hair is up in an unkempt bun, clearly more for practical purposes than aesthetic ones.  She wears a simple robe.

She also radiates more than a little bit of magic.  If they have come looking for an archmage, it would seem that they have found her.

“Welcome,” she says.  “My name is Chi’i.  I hear you have a very dangerous rock.”

She listens politely while the party explains that the “dangerous rock” is not actually their main reason for coming to the Valley.  They tell Chi’i about the fire at the Mages’ Academy, the need for a new chancellor, and of their mission to seek out the four most powerful wizards in the Halmae and offer them invitations to interview for the position.

She nods in recognition when they mention four wizards.  “Ah, yes… And how many have you spoken with?”

“So far, only two,” Lira explains.  “You, and the Miyen Kai.”

Chi’i’s brows furrow.  “The Miyen Kai…” she pauses to roll the elven syllables around her tongue.  “The health of the Miyen?”

Reyu nods.

“Odd…  I’ve never heard of this individual.”

“Do you know most of the most powerful wizards in the Halmae?” Anvil asks her.

“I thought I knew them all.  There are indeed four very powerful wizards in the Halmae, but if what you say is correct, perhaps there are five.”


----------



## Capellan

And thus did the players display the Look of "OH @#$%".  And the GM looked on this, and it was good.


----------



## Fajitas

Capellan said:
			
		

> And thus did the players display the Look of "OH @#$%".  And the GM looked on this, and it was good.




I was quite positive that, at some point in the year plus between when this mission started and when the PCs got to Chi'i, I was going to inadvertantly refer to the five archmagi in front of at least one of the players, 'cause that's how I'd always been thinking of them in my head.

I'm inordinately pleased that I didn't.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Eigth*
_In which: Chi’i demonstrates her spell-casting prowess, Anvil goes around with his shirt off, and Lira is posed with an interesting question._

There is a stunned pause.

“Tell us what you know of these wizards you have met,” Anvil says.  Then, at a sharp look from Reyu, he adds “If it is not too much trouble.”

Chi’i quirks an eyebrow at Anvil’s tone, but she answers the question.  “Well, there is Petros Menelaeus Korious.  He’s very talented, very powerful.  He lives in a moving tower.”

“Just like we’d heard,” Lira murmurs to Eva.

“He was visiting here just a few months ago, actually,” she continues.  “He’s something of a… crusader.”

“In what way?”  asks Anvil.

Chi’i considers.  “He sought me out because he had heard of some great evil in the Village of the Bountiful Fields Between Two Mountains.  He wanted my advice before he went there to deal with it.”

“And what did you advise him?”

“To stay away.  That place was once the site of terrible actions by the Sovereigns.  I would not be saddened nor surprised to learn that something evil had befallen them.  He went anyway.”

Chi’i shrugs, closing the topic.

“We were also told of a wizard living somewhere in Ebis,” Anvil informs her.

“Ah… that would be Manaal al Amani.”

“Do you know where in Ebis she can be found?”

“No.  I’ve only met her once.  I believe she has a residence of some kind in the desert.”

“We didn’t think there _were_ any wizards in Ebis,” Lira puts in.

“It’s my impression,” says Chi’i, “that Manaal has very little to do with most Ebisites.”

“You do not sound confident in her abilities,” Anvil says with typical bluntness.

“Oh, do not misunderstand.  Manaal is quite capable.  But… she is also very religious, and that colors her worldview."

“Religious?”

“She is an Ehktian.”

Lira’s eyes light up at this revelation.  _An Ehktian wizard._ she thinks.  _That should be interesting._

Hey Boss, you think she’ll know where magic comes from?  You know, why you are… the way you are?

_I don’t know, but I bet she’ll have some interesting ideas._

“Who is the fourth wizard you would have put on the list?” Anvil asks Chi’i.

“I would have chosen Barnabus.  Although, I’m not surprised no one you knew had heard of him.  He lives on an island in the middle of the Halmae.  Absolutely obsessed with his work, he seldom sees anyone.”  Although Chi’i is able to give a vague description of where his island can be found, she does not have a map.  “As far as I know, it doesn’t appear on any map.”

The party exchanges a look that clearly says, “Well, _that_ will be simple to find.”

Finally, the party produces the object commonly referred to as “the big not-evil rock” for Chi’i’s inspection.  Her eyes widen briefly as Thatch unties the now-leathery blanket that it was bound up in.

“That’s amazing,” she says.  “I’ve never seen such a large piece of it before.”

Suddenly, Chi’i is not the only person in the room who is surprised.

“You know this… substance?”  Lira asks.

Chi’i nods.  “Yes.  As I said, never so large a piece of it in one place, but small chunks and shards can be found throughout the mountains.”

“What is it?”  Eva asks.

“The Go’nah-li called it Gods’ Breath.”

“Yes, but what _is_ it?” Lira presses.

Chi’i smiles enigmatically.

(Thatch looks over at Anvil and whispers, “Go’nah-li?”  Anvil shrugs.)

“Well that rock has got some kind of weird taint all over his back, and now it’s making spines grow out of his backbone!”  Kiara protests, pointing at Anvil.

Chi’i raises an eyebrow.  “May I?”

Anvil turns around and allows her to examine his back.  She casts _detect magic_, and inspects the aura she finds there.

She “hmms,” stops.  Then “hmms” some more.

“Well,” she concludes, “I believe I can remove the ‘taint’ as you call it.  If you would come with me?”

Anvil is initially reluctant.  “I am not harmed.  I can wait until we return to the healers at the Temple of Justice to attend to it.”

“Are they familiar with the effects of Gods’ Breath?”

Anvil has to admit that they aren’t.  

“This will not be affected by even the most potent healing magic,” Chi’i warns him.  Seeing that no one else in the group has a better way for Anvil to remove the taint staining his back, he eventually agrees.  Lira, Eva and Kiara accompany him to Chi’i’s workshop.

_(Note: no, not because the girls wanted to see what Anvil looks like without his shirt on.  Sheesh!)_

Chi’i’s workroom is on the second floor of the house, tucked underneath the rafters, many of which still bear green needles from their boughs.  She directs Anvil to remove his shirt and lie facedown on a large table.

Before she begins, Lira asks, “Do you mind if I cast _detect magic_?  I’d like to see.”

 “Not at all.” Chi’i observes as Lira casts, then asks, “Do you study at this Mages’ Academy?”

Lira shakes her head.  “No, but Annika does.” 

“What about you?”

Lira ducks her head.  “I don’t exactly study magic.  I was born to it.”

“A sorcerer?”

Lira nods.

A small smile flits across Chi’i’s face, but she turns to Anvil saying, “I’m going to begin now.  You might feel a slight warming sensation, but there shouldn’t be any pain.”  And, taking a step back from the table, Chi’i casts.

Looking through _detect magic_ Lira can clearly see the taint remaining on Anvil’s back and the spell forming in the air as Chi’i casts.  She doesn’t recognize the spell, except that it’s some kind of abjuration… and very powerful.  The magic oozes down from Chi’i’s hands, settling along Anvil’s back until it has completely covered the area affected by the strange taint.  Then, in a bright flash—visible only to Lira’s magically enhanced vision—the spell is gone.  Unfortunately, the taint remains.

Chi’i frowns.  “Interesting.”

She takes a breath and casts again.  This time when the spell vanishes, the taint has gone as well.  Lira reports as much to Anvil, who nods curly.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Chi’i replies.  She runs a hand down Anvil’s spine.  The lumps growing out of his backbone are still there, pressing upwards from underneath his skin.

“Can you do anything about that?”  Eva asks.

“I could,” Chi’i allows, “but I don’t have the necessary spells prepared today.”  She addresses Anvil directly.  “It would also mean placing a permanent enchantment on your back.”

Anvil shakes his head.  “That will not be necessary.”  Apparently, having a lumpy spine does not stand in the way of Kettenek’s Justice.

“Very well.”  As Anvil gets off the table and puts his shirt back on, and Kiara pokes her nose around Chi’i’s workshop, Chi’i turns back to Lira.

“Tell me,” she says, conversationally.  “If you had the chance not to be a sorcerer anymore, would you take it?”

The room falls absolutely silent.


----------



## weiknarf

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “Tell me,” she says, conversationally.  “If you had the chance not to be a sorcerer anymore, would you take it?”
> 
> The room falls absolutely silent.


----------



## Angcuru

> “Tell me,” she says, conversationally. “If you had the chance not to be a sorcerer anymore, would you take it?”
> 
> The room falls absolutely silent.



"How about being...A CLOWN!"  Chi'i casts, and Lira is now wearing a full-blown clown suit, complete with makeup and red spongy nose.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Ninth*
_In which: Lira’s head spins for one reason, and Euro’s does for quite another._

Lira chooses her words carefully as she formulates her answer to Chi’i’s question.

“There was a time not long ago when the answer to that question would have been very different,” Lira says slowly, “but no, I wouldn’t choose to change who I am.”

“I see.”

The silence settles on the room again, until Kiara burst out, “Wait a second!  You can make her not a sorcerer anymore?”

Chi’i nods, not breaking eye contact with Lira.  “It is possible.”

“But…” Lira searches for the right words.  “If I wasn’t a sorcerer, what would I be?”

Chi’i merely smiles.  “This could be your chance to find out.”

###

Lira is too shell-shocked by Chi’i’s offer to notice much about dinner, but the rest of the party has a perfectly pleasant meal.

_(SpyScribe: Don’t mind me; I’m just over here having a head-trip.)_

Naturally, everyone wants to know more about what Chi’i meant by making someone “no longer a sorcerer,” but her explanations remain general.

“Sorcerers tap into the source of arcane magic.  Sever that connection, and an individual can no longer cast spells.”

“Do you know a lot of sorcerers?” Annika asks.

“I am one,” Chi’i replies.

A pause falls over the table.  Anvil frowns.  “We are looking for a wizard.”

Chi’i clarifies.  “I was born with a talent for magic, and there are spells that I can cast because I _know_ them the way that Lira does.  However, that is not how I chose to develop my talents.  I devoted myself to the arcane arts as a matter of study instead.”

“Oh, I see.”  Anvil nods, as if to signal that this is acceptable.

At the conclusion of the meal, Kiko brings out a strange-looking stringed instrument which she places on the floor in front of her.  She plays it beautifully, singing in a strange language none of the adventurers have ever heard before.

Reyu asks her about it when she finishes.  “It is the language of the Go’nah-li.  The Old Ones, as the Sovereigns call them,” she explains.

“The Go’nah-li,” Reyu repeats.  She turns to Chi’i.  “That was who you said called the substance we found Gods’ Breath.”

Chi’i nods.  “They are the people who used to live in these mountains many hundreds of years ago, before the Sovereigns came.”

“What happened to them?”  Thatch asks.

Chi’i’s eyes darken.  “What happens to anyone who stands in the way of the Sovereignty?  Those who would not convert to Sovereign beliefs were exterminated.  And there were not many who chose to convert.”

A pall falls over the small gathering.

Chi’i puts a hand on Kiko’s arm.  “Why don’t you play another song for us?”

Kiko does, another lilting haunting melody, and although none of the party members can understand the words, the sadness behind them is all too clear.

###

The next day, Lira seeks out Chi’i in her private study. 

It’s a small room, with bookshelves filled with ancient tomes, loose papers, and scrolls of blank vellum lining opposite walls.  Chi’i sits at a wooden desk placed against the wall below the room’s only window.  Sunlight, filtered through the pine-boughs outside, speckles her work-surface.  Chi’i turns her chair to face Lira and offers her a spot on a small settee. 

As Lira settles in, she notices Euro suddenly going to alert from his post on her shoulder.

Hey Boss.  I think that cat is lookin’ at me.

Lira follows his gaze to where a large orange cat is perched at the top of one of the bookcases.  She cuts her eyes over to Chi’i.  “Is that…?”

Chi’i nods.  “Your weasel can introduce himself if he likes.”

_You want to say hello, Euro?_

As Lira watches, the cat extends one of its forepaws, pad up, and beckons, eyes narrowed.

Oh you better believe it, Boss.  You know… I think that cat is messing with me.

_Go ahead then._

Euro takes off, hitting the floor and scampering up the face of the Chi’i’s bookshelves.  The cat waits until he’s just within reach of the top shelf… and then languidly leaps across the room to settle on the top of the shelves opposite.

Oh… now I know she’s messing with me!

Eruo tears down the shelves again and crosses the floor to scale the other side.  The cat affects a yawn.

“So, what’s on your mind?”  Chi’i asks.

Lira forces herself to tear her eyes away from the mustelid vs. feline smack-down and focuses on what has brought her to see Chi’i in the first place.

“Um… I don’t mean to be rude, but… When you talked about making me not a sorcerer… Is this something you’ve actually done, or it is just a theory?”

“Well, I have more than _just_ theory to support my research, but no.  You would be the first,” she allows.  “Have you changed your mind?”

Lira shakes her head.  “I really think Ehkt made me as I am for a reason, even if I don’t know what that reason is.”

“I certainly respect your choice in this matter.  I wouldn’t wish to force you to do something which you do not truly desire.”

Lira nods, and allows herself to be distracted by Euro and the cat again.  Chi’i follows her glance and smiles indulgently.  They sit for a few moments in silence.

“Could I ask you another question?” Lira ventures.

“By all means.”

“Why does Kiara like this place so much?  She said she could feel it, tugging at her, when we were still days away.  I don’t think it’s a familiar thing.  I mean, Euro doesn’t seem particularly affected.”

There is a small pause before Chi’i answers.  “Kiara is a very special little girl.  Very magically attuned.  I’m not surprised she’s sensitive to this place.”

“The Sovereigns used to call this valley the ‘Valley of Untamed Fury’, Now it’s ‘The Valley at the Center of the Storm.’  Was it you that changed it?”

“What the Sovereigns call this Valley is not my concern.  They leave me alone and I return the favor.  However, my… presence… here probably has something to do with it.”

Lira is pretty sure that Chi’i is not telling her everything, but at the same time, she doesn’t know what the other woman might be holding back.  She also doesn’t get the impression that she’s being maliciously lied to.

A sudden crash brings Lira out of her thoughts.  

Ouch.

She looks over at Euro.  He lies on his back, blinking rapidly, and slightly stunned.  _Euro!_

S’okay Boss.  I slipped.

Lira looks helplessly at Chi’i.  “We should probably be going.  I’m sure you have work to do.”

The wizard waves aside her excuses and rises to see Lira out.  Lira scoops up her familiar, and takes her leave.

As it has been nearly since the moment she met Chi’i, Lira’s mind is racing.  _Can she do what she says she can?  What _is_ the source of arcane magic?…  What would people like Devon do if they found out that being a sorcerer had become, in effect, a choice?  What would people like the people who blew up the Mages’ Academy do if they found out?  Is this where my path splits, like Alirria said in the prophecy?  But which way is the stagnant pool, and which one is the rough rapids?  What am I supposed to do?_

Unfortunately, no matter how hard she thinks, she can’t come up with any useful answers.


----------



## Seonaid

Ahhh . . . ::contented sigh::

It's been a long time since I've been able to frequent the boards, but now that I'm back, it's good to be caught up with this SH once again. I've missed you all! Long live cliffhangers.


----------



## spyscribe

Hey Seonaid, welcome back!

I'm working on the next post nearly as we speak and hope to have it up by the end of the day.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Tenth*
_In which: we relate some other incidents that transpire before our heroes continue on their mission—some, but not all of which—are related to the fact that they level._

The party camps near Chi’i's home for several days, resting and getting ready for the next stage of their journey.  One morning, Lira and Benedic are sitting on the grass, just finishing the last of their breakfast, when Anvil walks up to them says, “In case you have rabies” and begins to cast.

“What the--?”

“Anvil--!”

But before either one can form a cogent response to what has happened Anvil reaches forward and touches Lira on the top of the head.

Lira feels a sudden wash of the spell through her body and then… nothing happens.

“What was that?” she asks, a bit indignant.

“_Remove disease_,” Anvil replies calmly.

Lira blinks.  “Hey, that’s a new spell for you!”

Anvil nods soberly.  “I have been blessed with new insights into the ways of Kettenck.”

“Well, good for you.”

“A little warning would be nice next time,” Benedic points out.

Anvil shrugs.  “Do you wish me to not cast the spell on you?”

Benedic looks around, as though considering pressing the argument, but ultimately lets it go.  “No, no.  Go ahead.  Better safe than foaming at the mouth, right?”

Anvil casts again, this time on the ranger.  However, as soon as the spell takes effect, Benedic is wracked with a sudden coughing fit.  It’s so severe that it’s several minutes before he manages to breathe normally again, and even then he’s looking pale and a bit shaken.

“Are you okay?” Lira asks, eyes wide with concern.

Benedic takes a second to clear his throat before answering.  “Guess I am now.”

Reyu who, along with the rest of the group, has come to investigate the sudden disturbance, knits her brows in concern.  “I do not believe that is a normal reaction to a _remove disease_ spell.”

“Guess the disease didn’t want to be removed,” Thatch suggests.

“That is… strange.”

Lira shrugs, “Well, whatever it was, we know it isn’t catching.”

_(“Oh, don’t think I wasn’t making those fort saves for you,” says the DM.)_

###

As Reyu finishes her morning prayers, she is filled with gratitude to the world for granting her a new level of harmony with nature.  The feeling almost matches the sorrow she feels at what she must do next.

Reyu has reached the conclusion that she cannot ask Paws to travel with her any farther.  Their travels will soon take them to the Ebisite desert, and likely on a long sea voyage after that, and who can say where they will be forced to travel to find the mage Petros in his moving tower?  

None of these climates are likely to be comfortable or suitable for a large bear.  The Valley however, is.

She explains the bear’s history to Kiko and broaches the possibility of Paws remaining behind when the party leaves the valley.  Kiko carefully considers the question.  “We have several bears living in the valley already, but I don’t believe they are over-crowded.  We should see if we can find him an acceptable den.”

The two women go out one morning with Paws to investigate, and eventually find a warm, dry cave of appropriate size that Kiko confirms is not intruding on the territory of one of the Valley’s other resident ursines.  Paws sniffs about, and finds it to his liking.

Reyu casts _speak with animals_.

_Do you think you will be happy here?_ she asks Paws.

He rumbles, deep in his chest.  _I think so._

_I’ll miss you._

Paws bumps her in the stomach gently with the top of his great head.  Reyu scratches him hard behind his ears one last time, then watches as he turns and crawls into his new den, ready to sleep at last for the winter.

Reyu walks back with Kiko.  The weather is chilly, but not cold, and the ground remains free of snow.  Reyu notices a myriad a different plants and animals, but not a single sign of human habitation other than the main house.

“Do you ever get lonely?” she asks Kiko.

“Not really,” replies Kiko.  

Reyu nods.  “There are many animals and creatures here.”

Kiko just smiles.

_(Fajitas: She ah… doesn’t smile like a woman who appreciates the local fauna.

Pause

WisdomLikeSilence: Does she smile like a woman who has zombies in the basement?

Fajitas: Uh… Yeah.

Everyone else: raucous laughter.)_


----------



## doghead

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Fajitas: She ah… doesn’t smile like a woman who appreciates the local fauna.
> 
> Pause
> 
> WisdomLikeSilence: Does she smile like a woman who has zombies in the basement?
> 
> Fajitas: Uh… Yeah.




LSHTHTHRS




Laughs So Hard That He Thinks He's Ruptured Something


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Reyu who, along with the rest of the group, has come to investigate the sudden disturbance, knits her brows in concern.  “I do not believe that is a normal reaction to a _remove disease_ spell.”
> 
> “Guess the disease didn’t want to be removed,” Thatch suggests.
> 
> “That is… strange.”
> 
> Lira shrugs, “Well, whatever it was, we know it isn’t catching.”



Anyone else remember when they found the big not-evil rock and had to fight those weird zombies that puffed clouds of spores at them whenever they got hit?

Mmmmmm. Zombie spores.

>sigh<

I was very, very disappointed that they cast _remove disease_ on Benedic.  Stupid rabies.


----------



## KidCthulhu

> I was very, very disappointed that they cast _remove disease_ on Benedic.  Stupid rabies.




Yeah, 'cuz that worked out so well for Old Yeller.

Does Benedic get a little tag now?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Eleventh*
_In which: for Lira, one path ends, and another begins._

Lira has found herself increasingly preoccupied with Alirria’s prophesies for the party.  Not so much with hers; whatever her path and its ramifications for her seedlings, Lira has come to the conclusion that the only thing she can do is keep her eyes open and hope for the best.  No, the prophecy Lira finds herself concerned with is Benedic’s.

_A choice will come upon you, between your heart and your love.  Choose your love, and witness the breaking of your heart.  Choose your heart, and your love will be lost to you forever._

Watching him while he guided the party through the Ketkath, she’s pretty sure she knows where Benedic's heart is, and she’s not sure if she’s more frightened by the prospect of him choosing it over his love, or by the idea of him going the other way.

She finds him, late in the afternoon, sitting apart from the others, staring out at the horizon.

“If I had any sense, I’d tell you to choose your heart in a second.”

Benedic turns to where Lira is standing.  “What?” 

Lira gestures to their surroundings. “It’s here. It will always be here for you. I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know the difference between the rough rapids and the stagnant pool.”

She sits down beside him. “I don’t know why you have to choose. And I’d never ask you to make a choice that would break your heart. I don’t even know that I _am_ that choice. But if that’s the way it is… I only have one thing that I can offer you.”

Lira reaches into a pocket and hands Benedic a lock of her hair braided into a ring.

“I’m not saying you have to decide anything now,” she begins quickly, before Benedic can speak. “And before you do, you should know that I do have four older brothers, and there’s a good chance they still consider me to be engaged to someone else.  But… I love you.  If you give up your heart, you can have mine.”

Benedick stares at Lira, clearly at a loss for words.

Then he reaches out, takes her hand… and closes it over the ring.

“Nah.  Y’don’t love me,” he says.  “Don’t get me wrong, I know y’think you do,” he adds quickly, before she can protest, “but it’s not love.  Not real love.  You’ll just have to trust me on that, ‘cause I’ve been around a few more times than you.”  He cracks a wry smile.  “Anyway, it’s my Lady’s bailiwick, so which of us oughta know better?” 

Lira doesn’t smile back, and Benedic looks away.  It isn’t that funny to him either.

“Look, what we have… I like it.  I like you.  A lot.  And if things keep going the way they have been… yeah.  I could fall in love with you, no doubt about it.  That’s why I think we need to end things.”

Lira shakes her head, not sure she heard what she heard.  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Look, I’m not in love with you yet,” Benedick says, trying to explain.  “That makes choosing between you and my heart a hell of a lot easier.  On both of us.  You don’t want to stay out here in the Ketkath forever, so if I’m gonna have to choose, I might as well choose now and get it over with, before I do fall in love with you and things gets _really_ hard.”

Lira look at him, the hurt on her face warring with anger.  She gets to her feet. “You…  you’re trying to head a prophecy off at the pass?  If you don’t love me, then I’m _not_ your love, and your heart and I can get along just fine.  And if you do love me, then don’t try to pretend that this makes anything easy.”

“Hang on,” he says.  “Just ‘cause I’m not in love with you right now, doesn’t mean you’re not my Love.  The gods don’t see the world like we do.  Past and present and future, it’s all the same to them.  I was told I had a choice t’make, between my love and my heart.  I think I know what those two things are, and if I gotta choose between them, I’ve got to make that choice now.  Because if we stay together much longer, I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it.”

He steps back towards Lira, gingerly putting one hand on the side of her face.

“I’m not sayin’ it’s not gonna hurt.  But it’ll only hurt worse later.  And I don’t want to do that to you.” 

Lira blinks rapidly, _inches_ away from tears.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers.  “Why tell us if it doesn’t make a difference?  Why not just let us live our lives?”

Benedic shakes his head.  “I don’t know.”

Lira takes a deep breath, pulls herself together.  She’d argue with him, but her heart tells her that it wouldn’t matter.  Instead, she offers the braided lock of hair again.  “Keep it,” she says.  “Not as a promise, but… Who knows?  You might need someone to scry me someday.”

Benedick looks at the ring for a moment.  Slowly, gently, he takes it from her, closing his fingers to clench it tightly in his fist.

There’s a funny expression on his face… as if he’s about to say something.  But whatever it might be, he decides not to.  He just nods instead.  “Yeah…” he says quietly.

Lira manages a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I never thought I’d be anyone’s love.  Not for real.”

With a last look at Lira’s face, Benedic mumbles awkwardly, “I gotta go… y’know…”

He jogs off, and leaves Lira standing there.

###

Lira stands, alone in a clearing, not far from where the others are camped.  The surrounding trees close off any view of the rest of the Valley or of the mountains beyond.  It is an act of will to stop there, to keep herself from running as far and as fast as she can.  

She knows that she’s not supposed to go off by herself.  She knows that although the Valley is much safer than the Ketkath, it is not devoid of danger.  She knows that everything Benedic has told her is only sensible.  She just doesn’t care.  

It feels like there’s something trapped inside of her, a giant explosion of tears, or frustration, or _something_.

If only they hadn’t heard that stupid prophecy.  If only Benedic’s hadn’t been the only one to make any damn sense.  If only someone would give her a _sign_—

That’s when her hands catch fire.

The flames soon take to her tunic, which burns merrily.  And when the skin underneath begins to blister, it really starts to hurt.  A small part of Lira’s brain registers that her hands aren’t burning, they’re shooting out a cone of flames.  Most of her brain is busy yelling.

Lira’s shouts soon draw the rest of her friends who come running.

When they get there, Lira has just managed to put herself out.

“What happened?”

“My…  My hands just burst into flame.”

“Um… why?”  Thatch asks.

“I don’t know!  It just happened.”

Annika looks puzzled.  “Was it a new spell?”

“It was _fire_, actual flame.”

Annika is dumbfounded.  “But only divine magic can make fire.”

In the back of Lira’s mind the bud of an idea begins to blossom.  _It’s impossible_ she tells herself.  But at the same time a little voice inside her says, _except if it isn’t._  Lira swallows.  “Hang on a second,” she tells the others.  “Let me try something.”  

Lira closes her eyes, and speaks.  He voice is barely audible, but she reasons that the one she is talking to shouldn’t have trouble hearing.  “Ehkt,” she whispers, “grant me healing of the body, that I might grow strong enough to face the challenges that the next noon will surely bring me.”

Slowly, a blue glow grows around her hands.  Dim and flickering at first, it slowly increases in strength.  Lira brings her hands down to her burned stomach.  The glow around her hands fades, and when she removes them, the burned swath across her belly has been healed.

“You’re a… She’s a…”  Kiara is having difficulty finding a beginning to her sentence, let alone an ending.

Anvil frowns.  “How has this happened?”

Lira is just as befuddled as anyone else in the group.  “Don’t ask me.”

Anvil considers a moment.  Nods.  “Come with me.”

Lira follows as Anvil draws her aside.  “You have received a very important gift,” he informs her, “but there is more to being an agent of your god than the ability to perform his miracles.”

Lira, still a bit dazed, just nods.

“Are you worthy to receive this gift?”

“I don’t know… Anvil, how could this happen?  I’m a sorcerer.  I mean, has this ever happened before?”

Anvil pauses, shakes his head.  “I do not know.”  He takes a second to gather his thoughts.  “You need doctrine.  When we return to the Confederacy, you should immediately seek out a Temple of Ehkt, that you might learn the doctrine of your god…  unless we should happen to arrive back in the Confederacy in Dar Aego.  Then, you should wait.”

Lira just blinks.  “Right.”


----------



## Pyske

Fascinating.  I'm curious to see what comes of this.  Mystic Theurge?  Is Lira still a sorcerer, or have her previous levels somehow been "traded in"?


----------



## spyscribe

Lira's sorcerousness is certainly intact--offers from helpful archmagi not withstanding--and yes, she's building towards mystic theurge.  That's still a ways off though.



			
				KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Does Benedic get a little tag now?


----------



## Porcus the Wombat

Pyske said:
			
		

> Fascinating. I'm curious to see what comes of this. Mystic Theurge? Is Lira still a sorcerer, or have her previous levels somehow been "traded in"?




Favored Soul levels? that'd be my guess.

And ('cause I need to fit in with everyone else) great SH, just finished reading all the old stuff. *goes to subscribe*


----------



## KidCthulhu

spyscribe said:
			
		

>




Sorry, dog thing.  When dogs get innoculated for rabies, they get a little tag for their collar, so that if they get picked up on the street or they bite someone, you know they've had their rabies shot.  I guess the joke kinda falls flat if you don't know that.  D'oh.


----------



## spyscribe

Porcus the Wombat said:
			
		

> Favored Soul levels? that'd be my guess.




Hey, Porcus!  Thanks for dropping in.  Fajitas mentioned Favored Soul to me when he got the Miniatures Handbook, right around this time.  It was a tough call.  Flavor-wise, the class is a great fit, unfortunately, part of the reason I wanted to multi-class was that I was tired of casting the same three spells over and over and over again.  Sor/FS seemed a lot like being two sorcerers at once.

There are features of the cleric class that don't make a lot of sense (Heavy Armor Proficiency?  Where'd she pick _that_ up?), but for casting mechanics it addressed my biggest frustration with being a slow-leveling sorcerer.  Lira is now a Sor 4 Clr 1 with the Fire and Knowledge domains.



			
				KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Sorry, dog thing. When dogs get innoculated for rabies, they get a little tag for their collar, so that if they get picked up on the street or they bite someone, you know they've had their rabies shot. I guess the joke kinda falls flat if you don't know that. D'oh.




Oh!  The only thing I could think of was toe-tags, which didn't make much sense.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Twelfth*
_In which: two archmages down, three to go._

All in all, the party spends nearly a week in Chi’i’s valley, refining their skills, learning new spells, or going through major personal upheavals.

Among other business, Anvil has used the _headband of sending_ to communicate with Professor Alexandra regarding the fifth archmage of the Halmae.  The response comes back, “Excellent.  Attempt to invite additional wizard.  Unclear if invitation can be sent.  Establish contact.  Use your own judgement.”

At last, however, the time has come to go.  Anvil approaches Chi’i as the party prepares to make their departure.

“This wizard with the moving tower, Petros.  You said you saw him recently?”

“Yes,” she replies.

“Given his mobility, he is the archmage we are most concerned about being able to locate, as he can presumably move faster in his tower than we can on foot.  Do you know if he is still in Bountiful?”

Chi’i shakes her head.  “I haven’t heard anything from him for about three months.”

Although they realize there is no guarantee that Petros will still be in the area, the party members decide that a cold lead is better than no lead at all.

“Where is Bountiful located?” they ask.

Chi’i brings out a map and shows them.  It’s several weeks travel, through very rugged terrain.

“I don’t suppose you could... help us get there?”  Thatch ventures.  Eva elbows him, hard.  Thatch whispers back to her, “She can’t say yes if we don’t ask.”

Chi’i does not appear offended.  “I will not take you into Bountiful itself.  That entire valley is built on the blood of those who once lived there.  I _can_ bring you to the crossroads outside it.  However, I would request a favor from you in return.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I would like the Gods’ Breath.  It will be very useful to me in my research.”

The party conducts a brief huddle.  While they are sure that Professor Alexandra would be equally interested in the substance, they are also not sure how long it will be until they next see the Professor, and they do not have a good way of transporting the substance without risking their bones.  While they are pretty sure that Chi’i is getting the much better end of this deal, they also don’t have anything else to offer her.

Anvil comes forward to speak for the party.  “You may consider that we have an agreement.”

As soon as the party has gathered their things, they assemble in the clearing outside of Chi’i’s home.  She eyes them and their gear critically.

“I’ll have to bring you in two groups,” she decides.

The party members divide themselves into groups of roughly equal weight, and Kiara shifts into swallow form to further lighten the load.  Benedic, Lira, Eva, Annika and Kiara go first.  Chi’i instructs them to all gather around, casts… and then in a flash of white, they vanish.

###

The site where Chi’i transports the party is a deserted stretch of dirt road passing through a flat and grassy meadow.  They appear to be in a valley or plateau, surrounded by mountains on all sides.  The sun shines brightly, and the sky overhead is blue and clear.

Chi’i indicates the road.  “That way and over the hill lies the village.  I wish you luck in your journey.”

Anvil nods.  “Thank you.  We will see you again in Dar Pykos.”

Chi’i walks a few steps away from the party and prepares to teleport back to her valley.  She takes one last look at Lira.  “If you change your mind,” she offers, “let me know.”

“Sure… Right.”

Chi’i smiles enigmatically, and vanishes in a flash of light.

For a few seconds, the party members continue to stare at the spot where the wizard used to be.  Thatch finally breaks the silence.  “Um… I guess we should get going?”

“Indeed.”  Anvil agrees, and with that he turns and leads the party away down the road.

###

Although it is well into winter, the sun is bright and the party makes good time down the road.  The dirt thoroughfare is deeply rutted by wagon tracks, although Reyu notices that the most recent traffic seems to have passed this way several months ago.

 “If they got the harvest out early, there might not have been any reason for anyone to be traveling,” Thatch suggests.

“No one at all?”  Eva asks.

Thatch shrugs.

“Packed dirt doesn’t show light traffic very well,” Benedic points out.  Reyu has to allow that this is true, and as no one else has any other explanations to offer, they let the matter drop.

###

The party walks another hour or so in silence. Kiara has been scanning the sky, debating whether or not to shift into swallow form while they seem to be out in the middle of nowhere and she can do so safely unobserved.

She leans over to whisper in Annika’s ear.  Reyu, walking close behind, can only hear Annika’s reply.

“It _is_ the middle of winter.”

“I know, I’m just saying… it’s a little weird.  You’d think we’d have seen something by now.  Sparrows, tufted titmice, chickadees… _Some_ birds must stay here during the winter.”

Reyu joins the conversation.  “It is… quiet.”

“At least nothing’s trying to eat us,” Eva interjects.  Lira nods in agreement.

“Still—”

“Up ahead!”  Thatch calls.

The front of the party’s marching order has come around a bend in the road, and ahead they can see a cultivated field.  Some distance away a small group of peasants are toiling away under their wide-brimmed hats.

The party stops and watches for a few moments—Kiara shifting into swallow form while still out of view—and although they can’t put their fingers on anything that seems really _wrong_…  there is something about the scene that isn’t quite right, either.

The party has just begun walking again when one of the farmers, looking up from his work for a moment, spots them.  He raises one arm and waves in greeting, but something about the way he does it seems… off.

A bit at a loss for what to do, Thatch eventually waves back.  The farmer lowers his arm and returns his attentions to his duties.

“Is it just me, or…” Eva begins.

“I’ll go look!”  Kiara interrupts.  And before Annika has time to object Kiara has left her shoulder and is winging her way across the field.

_Be careful!_ she thinks after her.

Kiara can feel Annika’s worry trailing behind her as she flies.  Annika is always worrying.  _Really,_ she thinks to herself.  _What’s the worst it could—?_

Which is the instant Kiara gets close enough to see the man who waved to them.  Except “man” wouldn’t quite be the right term.  Because she can now clearly see that as he stands there, working the soil, the hand wrapped around the shaft of his hoe is naked bone, and underneath his hood are the staring empty eye sockets of a human skull.


----------



## Capellan

Ah, that's nothing to be alarmed about.  The commercial advantages of undead as labour have been advocated by visionary spellcasters for some time now.  Farm workers, road-builders, hatstands ... they can do it all!


----------



## Fajitas

And here we are, at long last, at the second of the two Dungeon adventures I've run thus far.

Ladies and gentlemen... welcome to "Totentanz"* **



_* A highly modified "Totentanz", but "Totentanz" nonetheless.

** Dungeon 90 for those who want to play along at home._


----------



## Pyske

So, Fajitas, if it's not too much of a spoiler at this point... what did you have in mind for if Lira took Chi'i up on her offer?


----------



## Fajitas

Pyske said:
			
		

> So, Fajitas, if it's not too much of a spoiler at this point... what did you have in mind for if Lira took Chi'i up on her offer?



I can tell you what I told Spyscribe-- I would take away her levels in sorcerer.  I would replace them with levels in something else (I'm not about to turn a 4th level character back into a 1st level character).  What exactly they would be replaced with would be based largely on a conversation I would have had with Spyscribe.

However, she chose to go another way.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Thirteenth*
_In which: we most humbly beg the reader to make note of the chickens._

“They’re what?!?!” Anvil asks, voice filled with outrage and indignation at this affront to Kettenek.

“Skeletons,” Kiara pants.  “All of them, skeletons.  Why are skeletons farming?  They don’t need any food!”

“They will not be doing anything for long.” Anvil mutters.  Pulling out his holy symbol, he turns and strides across the field towards the workers.  Thatch follows. 

The rest of the party hangs back.  “Anvil, are you sure this is the best plan?” Eva ventures.

Anvil merely calls back over his shoulder.  “Lira!  You should practice this!”

Lira shouts back.  “Do you _want_ to get me killed?”

_(Note: Needless to say, I hadn’t planned on Lira becoming a cleric of Ehkt in the middle of the Kettenek Sovereignty.  Fajitas worked out a mechanic that would allow Lira to attempt to bluff her way past untrained observers if she had to cast divinely in front of a Sovereign witness.  However, pulling out her holy symbol would pretty much give away the game to even the most yokel of locals.  Attempting to _turn undead_ without excessive brandishing of said holy symbol?  Not going to happen.)_

Anvil breaks into a run.  The skeletons have, by this time, noticed his approach, and have paused in their work, staring at him with their empty, undead eye sockets.

One of the skeletons opens its mouth and clacks its teeth at Anvil, as though he’s trying to talk, unaware that he lacks the vocal apparatus necessary for speech.  

As Anvil draws nearer, it holds up a hand, teeth clacking faster and faster, desperate.  The other workers drop their tools and look at each other, confused.

Anvil raises his holy symbol.  “Kettenek!  Use me as a vessel of your holy might to cleanse this undead abomination, banishing these unlawfully animated remains back to your earth from which they came!… Begone!  Kettenek’s Justice Demands It!”

There were about fifteen skeletons working in the field.  All but five of them immediately burst apart into dust.  Those that remain, turn and run.

Anvil frowns.  They resist the might of Kettenek.  Motioning for Thatch to follow, he takes off running after them.  

Behind, the rest of the party has approached at a more cautious pace, but whether for good or ill, they’re committed now.  Breaking into a sprint, they follow.

###

It does not take long for Anvil to discover the goal of the skeletons’ flight.  Coming up over a small rise he finds a collection of mud huts.  Gathered in the midst of the huts are a group of peasants.  All skeletons.

A few stand, facing him, tools gripped in their bony hands.  Behind, skeletons who in life were older men or women cluster.  Anvil even catches a glimpse of a small child’s bones peeking out from behind its mother’s ragged skirts.  Outside one house, a few skeletal chickens look up from where they had been scratching in the dirt.

Anvil stops and stares.  The rest of the party comes skidding up behind him, equally dumbfounded.

The peasant in front clacks its teeth at them, clearly desperate.  It gestures, trembling, to the women and children behind.  It waves its hands frantically, as though pleading for their unlives.

In three _turnings_, Anvil reduces them all to dust.

When the air clears, the party realizes that aside from their own breathing, the valley is completely silent.

**********

The party silently walks back to the road and continues on towards town.  They pass a few more groups of skeletal workers in the fields.  Most of them wave as the party passes.  The adventurers grimly wave back, and continue on.  Outnumbered more than a hundred times over, even Anvil is forced to accede that turning every skeleton in sight is not the most prudent plan.  

If he even _could_ turn them all.

The skeletons are everywhere, and they’re not just the people.  The party watches skeletal cows being driven in from the pastures, and skeletal birds madly flapping their wings in an attempt to fly.  Thatch notices a few field-walls or outbuildings that have been weathered and poorly repaired.  From the looks of it, nothing has been _properly_ maintained for a while. 

Lira tries casting _detect magic_.  The skeletons are, unsurprisingly, magical.  However, she also notes a faint evocation in the land, and even the air, of the valley.  Anvil confirms that it seems as though there was some force that was dampening his turning attempts.  He’s not sure if it could be related or not.

Finally, the group finds an isolated spot of ground and sits down to assess their options.

“What the hells is going on here?”

“Did you see the chickens?”

“Do you think everything in this valley is a skeleton?”

“Did you _see_ the chickens?”

“The peasants were acting like they didn’t even realize they weren’t alive.”

“Maybe nobody told them.”

“Are _we_ going to turn into skeletons?”

“Did you see the chickens?!?!”

“Yes, Thatch, we saw the chickens!”  Eva rubs her forehead, trying to fight the headache growing there.  “Okay, the skeletons are creepy, but they don’t seem to be bothering us as long as we leave them alone.  They’re the Sovereignty’s problem, why should we solve it for them?”

“Is there any way to talk to them?”  Lira asks.

“Why do you wish to speak with them?” Anvil wants to know.

“These are skeletons who are going about their daily lives as if no one gave them the note that they are all undead.  You _don’t_ want to know what they have to say?”  Lira asks, incredulous.

Anvil shrugs.  “I can _speak with dead_, but it won’t help.  They have no voices.”

“I believe Eva is right,” Reyu interjects.  “If the entire population of this valley has been reduced to animated skeletons, then we cannot hope to _turn_ or destroy them all, even if Lira helps.  Our mission is to find the wizard Petros.”

Lira shrugs.  “Also, serves the Sovereigns right to have a valley full of skeletons in the middle of the country.”

“Why haven’t the Sovereigns done anything?” Thatch asks.  “I mean, they must have noticed, right?”

“Never can tell with the Sovereigns,” Eva mutters.

“Their religion could not lead them to… approve of this?”

Anvil shakes his head.

_(DM quote: “The only sect you know of that *doesn’t* regard the undead as abominations to be destroyed on sight are the Crossers of the Barrier… and they’re generally regarded as necromantic yahoos.”)_

“You don’t think… Petros did this, do you?”  Kiara suggests hesitantly.

“Let’s hope not.”

Anvil stands, and dusts himself off.  “To know that, we must first find him.  That is our primary mission, and must remain our chief goal.  Then we can cleanse the valley of this abominable blight.”

No one really has anything to add to that.  And so, everyone gets up and they continue on their way.

###

Kiara wings her way across the valley, looking for any signs of Petros’ tower.  There are several small clusters of houses scattered amid the fields of the valley, more like homesteads than the villages where Lord Fau Meen’s people lived.  Following the main road, she eventually finds the town of Bountiful.

It’s certainly smaller than Dar Pykos, but still moderately sized.  The town is surrounded by high walls, and divided on the inside by a river running east to west across the valley.  Most of the residences appear to be on the south side of the river, while the north is dominated by a large, walled keep.  None of the buildings really look like a giant moving tower.

However, as she passes over the city, she does spy something off in the distance.  A lone spire, some distance from the walled city, tucked away near the foot of one of the high mountains surrounding the valley.

She flies closer to investigate…

###

“It was square, but kind of slant-y, so it’s skinnier at the top than it is at the bottom.”  Kiara demonstrates the shape with her hands.  “All the windows are on the second level, but they had shutters so I couldn’t see inside.”

“Did it look like anyone was there?”

Kiara shakes her head.  “There was no smoke from the chimney.  I tried to sneak in that way, but there was a grate over the top.”  She steals a look over at Annika, and adds hastily.  “And I knew you wouldn’t want me to do anything dangerous so I came right back.”

“I wonder why no one was there?”  Eva asks.

“Chi’i did say that she hadn’t heard anything from Petros in about three months,” Lira points out.  “Maybe something happened to him.”

The party continues towards the tower on foot into the late afternoon.  Reyu and Benedic split off from the party as they pass one of the clusters of farm huts, hoping to learn more about what might have happened in the valley by observing the skeletons.  

_(In other words, Benedic is an NPC and Reyu’s player couldn’t make the game that night.)_ 

By the time evening falls, they are within sight of the main town.  Rather than venture inside, the party elects to make camp in an empty field.  They pass an uneventful evening, and eventually set watches and turn in for the night.

Eva and Anvil are on watch when, at precisely midnight, the unnatural silence of the valley is abruptly broken.


----------



## Trahnesi

spyscribe said:
			
		

> A few stand, facing him, tools gripped in their bony hands. Behind, skeletons who in life were older men or women cluster. Anvil even catches a glimpse of a small child’s bones peeking out from behind its mother’s ragged skirts. Outside one house, a few skeletal chickens look up from where they had been scratching in the dirt.




Have I mentioned how much I like this story hour?  How the story grips me, the writing draws me in, the characters are all compelling, and the world itself is fascinating?

'Cause if I haven't, I just thought I would.

-Trahnesi


----------



## Cannibal_Kender

One of my favorite story hours!


----------



## spyscribe

_(Hey all, this is likely the last update until next week, so another long one.  Hope no one minds too much.  )_

*Part the One Hundred Fourteenth*
_In which: a little night music goes a long way._

“Do you hear that?” Eva whispers.

In the darkness, she can just make out Anvil’s nod.  “Riders approaching?”

“No,” Eva’s voice barely carries over the rhythmic throb floating through the darkness, “it’s…” and then, Eva realizes what the sound is.  “Holy crap, they’re drumming.”

Anvil’s voice rumbles in the dark.  “Where is it coming from?”

###

Kiara jerks awake with a start.  Someone has a hand across her mouth.  Someone is whispering for her to be quiet.  She is about to call out to Annika over their empathic link when she realizes that “someone” is Eva.

“What is it?” she whispers.

“Shh… I’ll tell you outside.”

Outside the tent Kiara’s keen ears easily pick up the faint sound of drumming in the otherwise silent valley.  

“How long has it been going on?” she asks.

“About twenty minutes,” Anvil replies.

“Is it getting closer?”

Eva shakes her head.  “It doesn’t seem to be.  We think it’s coming from the town.  Can you fly over and check it out?”

Kiara’s eyes light up almost visibly in the darkness.  “Sure!”

“Whatever’s going on, keep your distance,” Eva cautions her.  “And don’t let anyone see you.”

Kiara nods.  “Don’t worry.  I’m really good at not letting anyone see me.  This one time, I was in Noran and—”

“Perhaps,” Anvil breaks in, “this story would be better left for another time.”

Kiara ducks her head guiltily.  “Right.  I better go before Annika wakes up.”  She flashes a quick grin and then leaps into the air, shifting into swallow form on the way up and then flying off into the darkness.

Eva and Anvil sit, watching for Kiara’s return and listening to the drums in the distance.

###

Kiara swoops in towards the town, the sound of the drumming growing louder in her ears, filling the air around her until it seems as thought she is flying through the sound itself.  It is a strange and powerful rhythm, ulike any other she has heard before.  *Boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba-*boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba…

As Kiara gets closer, she spots movement below: groups of people bearing torches, moving through the streets of Bountiful.  There are four or five bands of thirty or forty people each, and they wander, seemingly at random, about the town.  Two groups make their way through the fields outside the walls.  Fortunately, neither moves in the direction of the party.  

Kiara observes them for a moment.  She knows she should probably turn back.  But darn it, she hasn’t really learned anything new yet.  Are these drummers really people, or are they skeletons?  Or are they the people that *made* the skeletons.  And why are they drumming?

So many unanswered questions…

Kiara swoops in closer.

*Boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba-*boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba…

She flies low, over the wall and into the town.  Careful to flit from shadow to shadow, she follows the sound of the drumming, *boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba. As the sound gets louder, she finds a secluded windowsill to perch on ahead of one of the groups and waits, watching.

The group turns the corner.

They are skeletons, one and all.  Some carry torches.  Others carry drums and pound out the driving beat, as they and their fellows… dance.  It is a capering dance, jumping, stomping, and waving hands, and it is made all the more eerie by the utter silence with which the dancers perform it.  The only sound is the stomp of feet, the clack of bones, and the pulse of the beat.  *Boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba-*boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba…

The beat pounds in Kiara’s head.  Despite herself, she finds one of her feet tapping the rhythm.  So powerful.  So beautiful.  She begins hopping back and forth, from one leg to the next, her best imitation of the skeletal dance she suddenly wishes she could join.

*Boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba-*boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba…

Without even thinking, Kiara flits off the windowsill and down towards the dancing skeletons.  She bobs and wheels and dives with abandon, performing in the air what these skeletons can only do on the ground. 

The skeletons continue their dance.  And Kiara dances with them.

*Boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba-*boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba…

They make their way through the streets, through the town, dancing, stomping, waving.  Soon, they are crossing the bridge over the river.  Other groups of skeletons join with theirs, all the dancers converging on the Keep as the drumming pounds harder and harder.  

The gates of the Keep are wide open, and the skeletons dance their way into the darkness beyond.

_Oh, goody!_ Kiara thinks.  _Now I’ll get to see what’s in the Keep.  Won’t Annika be proud!_

And the tiny swallow flies forward, flitting to the beat of the drums.

*Boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba-*boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba…

###

Annika sleeps fitfully.  She is not sure how long her dreams have been filled with dancing and drumming and a strange urge to give into the pulsing *boom*-ba-boom-boom-ba-boom-ba of the beat.  She wants to resist, and she wants to dance, and she is resisting, but she is dancing, and she’s worried, but she’s serene…

And then she wakes up, a horrible feeling in her head.  

And she screams.

###

Anvil and Eva had just begun to wonder if Kiara was all right when a shout from Annika’s tent abruptly answers their questions.

 “NOOOOOOO!”

Quickly followed by a slightly disoriented remainder of the party, they burst into Annika’s tent to find the wizard sitting up in her bed-roll, clutching her own arms in a white-knuckle grip.  Her terrified eyes look past the party, focused on something far away.

“Kiara, no!… don’t listen to it… please don’t listen!  Focus on my voice.  Focus on my voice!  Come back, sweetie!  Come back!”

###

Kiara dances and whirls, caught up in beat, no other thoughts in her mind as she nears the gates of the Keep.

And then, ever so faintly, there is a tugging on her mind.  

She tries to shrug it off, but it is persistent.  Insistent.  A small voice, whispering quietly against the lure of the drums.  There is something familiar about it.  Something she should know.  Something she should recognize.

She stops flitting about and listens.  She focuses, trying to figure out why that voice is so familiar…

And all of a sudden the whispers become screams.

With a jolt, Kiara blinks and looks around.  She’s scant feet away from the entrance to the Keep.  Dozens of hideous skeletons caper to their insidious beat around her, passing through the dark gates that she herself had nearly entered.

Kiara looks down.  The skeleton beneath her rattles and clacks his way into the keep.  As he disappears into the shadows, she notes that she appears to have pooped on his head.

_Holy crap._

###

Annika releases her death grip on her own arms.  Her frantic cries turn gentle.  “Okay.  It’s okay sweetie… you did well.  Come on back.  Come on, it’s okay… It’s okay…”

Annika’s breathing slowly returns to normal.  She blinks several times and eventually seems to register that the rest of the party has crowded into the tent.

Lira slips an arm around her shoulders.  Although Annika is outwardly much calmer, Lira can feel her trembling.  “What happened?” she asks gently.

“I’m not sure…  I just know that she wasn’t… I almost lost her.”  She takes another deep breath.  “It’s okay now.  She’s on her way back.”

A few minutes later, Kiara arrives.  She flies straight into Annika’s arms and snuggles there for a good twenty minutes, refusing even to change out of swallow form.  Finally, she calms down enough to shift and to tell the others what happened.

###

“They didn’t seem to mind that I was there, they didn’t even seem to notice.  And so I went with them, going from house to house, all through the town until finally we started going over one of the bridges to the other side of the city, where the keep is.”

Kiara bites her lip, wraps her arms more tightly around Annika’s waist.  Annika smoothes her hair reassuringly.

“I was able to jolt her out of whatever it was, and then she came back,” the wizard finishes.

Lira has used a _prestidigitation_ to heat water for tea, and the adventurers sit quietly, sipping from their tin mugs.  Eva avoids looking over at Annika, sure that the other woman is not pleased with her.  Fortunately, Annika is more relieved that Kiara is safe than upset that she was in danger in the first place. 

Benedic and Reyu come back from their scouting mission about then and relate what they have found.  “There’s no sign of actual living humans or livestock anywhere in the valley,” Reyu reports.  

Benedic adds, “It’s eerie.  They’re all going out their daily lives, right?  Just as though they were still living.  Skeletal milkmaids milk skeletal cows, then bring empty pails to their skeletal mothers who pour nothing into their churns and proceeded to *not* churn it into butter.”

“I think it would have been eerier if they *had* made it into butter,” Eva puts in.

Reyu is also clearly quite troubled.  “As it started getting dark, all the skeleton people got into their beds, pulled up the covers, and just… lay there.”

“Did they sleep?”  Thatch asks.

“I… do not know.  There was no way to tell.”

Kiara shudders.  “At least they weren’t dancing.”

“It’s okay,” Annika reassures her.  “We don’t have to go back to the town.  We’ll just go directly to the tower.”

Unfortunately, the next morning the party is forced to reassess their options.


----------



## Pyske

spyscribe said:
			
		

> _(Hey all, this is likely the last update until next week, so another long one.  Hope no one minds too much.  )
> [...]
> Unfortunately, the next morning the party is forced to reassess their options._



_

*Auugghh!!*  Evil, cliffhangery, bad... evilness!_


----------



## KidCthulhu

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Benedic adds, “It’s eerie.  They’re all going out their daily lives, right?  Just as though they were still living.  Skeletal milkmaids milk skeletal cows, then bring empty pails to their skeletal mothers who pour nothing into their churns and proceeded to *not* churn it into butter.”




Aren't they churning into NOT butter?  As in "Boy, I Sure Can Believe it's Not Butter TM"?


----------



## Angcuru

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Aren't they churning into NOT butter?  As in "Boy, I Sure Can Believe it's Not Butter TM"?



Also known as Thin Air TM.


----------



## doghead

Fajitas. Some time ago I yanked your gods for my pbp game. One of the characters, a devote follower of Kettenek (although not part of any sect per say, he was closest to the Pillars, or Justicars in thinking) has died. The players have asked what the appropriate rites are. I told them I would get back to them on that.

Have you dealt with this area? I reread the descriptions of the four gods and the sects, but nothing sprung out at me. I'm tending to lean towards cremation rather than burial, but haven't really had time to think it through. I thought I would ask you.

BTW, we had a cleric of the Lady (a Handmaiden) at one time. But only for about half a dozen posts however. Pity, I though it would have been very interesting.

thotd


----------



## Trahnesi

I'm not Fajitas, but I do remember one aspect of Kettenek burial customs we have been informed of.  I remember them at one point needing to burn the bodies of the people they were traveling with in order to ensure that they did not rise again (I don't remember where this happened, but I'm somehow remembering it associated with the time they spent fighting the ogre druidess.)  When they cremated the bodies, they then burried them out of respect for the local beliefs which held burial to be very important.  It makes sense that followers of Kettenek would be in favor of burial - Kettenek's element is earth, after all.


----------



## Fajitas

doghead said:
			
		

> Fajitas. Some time ago I yanked your gods for my pbp game. One of the characters, a devote follower of Kettenek (although not part of any sect per say, he was closest to the Pillars, or Justicars in thinking) has died. The players have asked what the appropriate rites are. I told them I would get back to them on that.



In general, I believe that burial is the proper custom, not just for Kettenites, but for everyone.  Kettenek is, after all, the Lord of the Dead.  Bodies should properly be interred in his element.

Burning of bodies has been known to happen, particularly if there's reason to worry that they might rise again.  But, as Trahnesi says, it would then be appropriate to bury the ashes.

In an interesting development note, I did briefly consider the idea that the means of disposing of a body varied by the various religious orders: Kettenites were buried, Alirrians were disposed of at sea, Ehktians were cremated, and Sedellans were... um... put in a high place and left to either decompose. Or be eaten by buzzards. Or something.  

This last one is largely why the idea fell apart, tho' it has since come to my attention that there are, in fact, cultures (Native American, I think, but don't quote me on that) that dispose of bodies by placing them in trees to decompose or be eaten.  This led to some discussion that elven burial rituals might vary with the season, but I don't believe this has ever come up canonically.

Is your pbp archived somewhere?   I'd love to see what you've done with my gods.  I'm so thrilled they're working out for you.


----------



## doghead

So burial seems to be the final element. It makes sense, with Kettenek's element being earth. However, in a world where it is possible for the dead to be brought back, I would think something to prevent that eventuallity would be part of the funeral rites. Does burial in consecrated ground prevent the bodies from being raised? I wonder how small villages manage. Not all would have a cleric of Kettenek (a Guardian?) to hand. Perhaps they would have to call upon one to come from the nearest town large enough to have one.

The pbp is being played out on ENWorld. Its called 'nameless', and there are links to it the character thread in my sig. I reworked to game to convert it to a classless system, and at the same time, incorporated your gods. So the v2 OOC thread and the third ic threads are the relevent ones.

To be honest, I haven't done anything particularly interesting with the gods so far. Appart from the brief appearance of the cleric of the Lady, we had only one religious character (who died), and the group has been away from civilisation for most of the time. I'm not a great forward planner. I have a rough outline of what is going on, but I tend to just make things up as I go, and hope no one notices (Seonaid, you didn't hear that from me OK?).

Anyway, please feel free to read through the the game. If you have some thoughts, I would more than love to hear them. On thing I miss with pbp is having people to bounce ideas off.

thotd.


----------



## Fajitas

doghead said:
			
		

> So burial seems to be the final element. It makes sense, with Kettenek's element being earth. However, in a world where it is possible for the dead to be brought back, I would think something to prevent that eventuallity would be part of the funeral rites.




It is worth noting that raising the dead is not an abomination to Kettenek (not according to any of the mainstream Churches, anyway).  The thinking is that if someone comes back from the dead, it's because Kettenek was willing to let them return (even if the raising is done by a cleric of one of the other gods, it's assumed that it can only be done with Kettenek's blessing).

In most places in the Halmae, this isn't a big issue.  In a low magic world, most people don't have access to spells that can raise people.

The only problem with people coming back from the dead is when they do it as undead.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Fifteenth*
_In which: the party plays d20 frogger._

“There are no other bridges, at all?  Anywhere?”

Kiara shakes her head.  “There’s a spot not far from here where the river gets narrow though.  You can swim across there.”

Lira and Eva exchange skeptical glances.  “Swim?”

###

The party arrives at the banks of the river, and discovers that Kiara is obviously using “narrow” as a relative term.  The river is at least fifteen feet wide, with a quick current flowing quickly between steep banks.

Lira shakes her head.  “No.”

Thatch, down the bank and testing the water with one leg, calls back up.  “It’s okay.  You can make it.”

“I really can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t swim.”

“You can’t swim?”

Lira shakes her head.  “I don’t need to.”

“But,” the young fighter is understandably a bit confused, “you travel on boats, what if you fell off?”

“Someone would jump in and get me.”

“What if they didn’t?”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t?”

“Umm…”

“See?”

As it happens, Lira is not the only non-swimmer among the party.  In fact, with the exception of Thatch, and Reyu, _no one_ in the party has any swimming skills to speak of.  There is a brief discussion of rope bridges, or jumping, or the carrying capacity of a fully-laden swallow, but eventually the party is forced to admit that with all of them, plus their armor and equipment, they are going to have to find a more substantial bridge than anything they can construct.  And that means going through the skeleton-filled town.

###

The party’s plan is relatively simple.  Although the skeletons have never shows signs of hostility (except when under threat of imminent _turning_ or other attack), the party would rather not take chances while passing through a walled city filled with undead.  Anvil and Lira each prepare as many _hide from undead_ spells as they can, although as Lira’s will only cover one person for ten minutes and Anvil’s will cover up to five for fifty, Lira is standing by largely for emergency measures.

Since there are eight members of the party, Anvil casts on the party in two groups, knowing that if any party member so much as brushes one of the skeletons on their trip through the town, the spell will fail for everyone else covered under the same casting.  This way, if that happens, half of the party should remain invisible to the town’s residents.

“Remember,” Anvil tells the others, “to the skeletons we will be completely invisible.  That means that they won’t be able to see to get our of our way.”

“But, we’ll still be able to see each other, right?” Eva asks.

“Unless you are secretly undead, yes.”

The rest of the party members stoop and stare at him.

“Umm… right.”

###

The other choice to be made concerns the party’s travel route.  

The most direct path through the town and across the river also takes the party through the town’s the most densely populated areas, increasing the party’s risk of coming into contact with one of the skeletons, which would cause their _hide from undead_ spell to fail.  

However, if the party sticks to the perimeter of the town where fewer skeletons seem to travel, the spell’s duration will almost certainly expire before they can safely reach the exit on the far side of the walls—negating the advantage of the longer route.

Also, Eva points out that the faster they try to move through any given section of the city, the more likely they are to bump into someone and lose their spell.  Although hurrying along a longer path is probably a bit less risky than moving carefully through a densely populated area, it’s by no means risk-free.  No one in the party is in a particular hurry to find out what a town full of skeletons will do when a group of living travelers suddenly appears in their midst.

In the end, the party elects to split the difference.  They go a bit out of their way in order to skirt the main marketplace, but do decide to risk traveling through the thick of one of the residential areas, hoping that the time saved will not be negated by losing their spell prematurely.

###

The party approaches along the main road into town.  About five minutes before they reach the gates, Anvil stops to cast _hide from undead_.

The party members walk down the center of the road, single-file.  Kiara sticks to Annika’s side like glue, clearly not pleased with their travel plans.  Lira takes the opportunity to cast _cat’s grace_ on some of the less… reflexively skilled party members.

Eva realizes she is holding her breath as they approach the main entrance to the town.  She is good at sneaking, at getting into places she shouldn’t be.  It runs contrary to every stealthy instinct she has to sneak into a town by walking in through the main gate in the middle of the day.

The party passes between the two skeletons dressed in Sovereign style armor standing watch on either side of the road.  The guards don’t move.

_Well,_ Eva thinks, _that’s two down_.

The party quickly sees that they have arrived in one of the more affluent areas of the town.  The skeletons walking here wear tattered clothing—as have all the others—but it is clear that these clothes were once of good quality.

What’s strangest is how _normal_ everything is… except for the fact that the town is populated entirely by animated skeletons.  Lira is forced to make a quick stop as a small child’s skeleton dashes across the street.  It stops a few feet past her, and turns to look back at where a mother skeleton is standing on her front stoop, holding a yellow scarf.  She clacks her teeth rapidly, and the child reluctantly returns, allowing its neck to be wrapped in the bright—albeit dingy—cloth, and the mother skeleton sends the child off on its way again with an affectionate pat on the back.

Quickly, the party has reached the edge of the city’s main square.  The market-place bustles with activity, all overseen by samurai skeletons standing guard around the perimeter.

On the near side of the market the party watches as a skeleton merchant stands behind a display of battered, oblong pieces of leather.  A customer examines the “merchandise” for sale, and after some good natured teeth-clacking, selects two pieces sitting side-by-side.

“What are those… things?”  Reyu asks.

Eva shrugs.  “Shoes?  They’re almost the right shape, and he’s selling them in pairs.”

The customer pulls a few coins from a misshapen belt-pouch and drops them into the waiting palm of the merchant.  The coins ring briefly against the bleached bones of the merchant’s hand before slipping through, and joining the carpet of coins that covers the entire area.

The merchant takes no notice of the loss and merely proceeds to tuck his hand into his own purse, as though depositing the coins there.

As the party stands watching the market transaction, Anvil does not notice the skeleton heading right for him until it brushes his shoulder.  The skeleton stops, as though startled not to have noticed Anvil, Benedic, Kiara, and Annika standing there earlier.  Then, he tips his hat to Anvil, and clacks his teeth briefly.

Anvil blinks.  “May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you,” he replies.

The skeleton clacks his teeth again, and goes on about his business.

“Did you understand him?” Kiara demands.

Anvil shakes his head.  “No.”

Anvil quickly re-casts _hide from undead_ on the four visible party members.  The skeletons pay little attention.

“We’ve got to be careful,” Lira points out.  “There’s a lot of the city to get through yet.”

“The problem with being _hidden_,” Eva remarks, “is that the skeletons can’t see to avoid us.”  Kiara giggles.

Thatch points in the direction of the town’s temple.  “There seem to be fewer of them over there.”  

It’s true.  The skeletons do seem to be steering clear of the city’s temple, which is odd given that they are Sovereigns and in all other respects appear to be going about their daily business.

The temple spire dominates this side of the city, and as the party draws closer to the building, they see that in contrast to the rest of the town which has merely fallen into disrepair, the temple has been deliberately vandalized.  Windows have been smashed and then boarded up, and Lira notices that all Kettenite symbols on the exterior have been scratched out.

“It’s more than vandalism,” she tells the group, “This building has been defiled.”

“Why?”  Kiara asks.

Lira just shrugs.  “Maybe—”

But whatever it might be is abruptly interrupted by the clatter of a swarm of skeleton children running _straight for_ the party.


----------



## Seonaid

This story hour never fails to make me giggle. Just wanted to put in -yet another- note of appreciation.

As for doghead, he is the _best_, most _prepared_, non-_BSing_ GM I have ever, ever met.


----------



## Angcuru

Why am I having flashbacks to _Drunk Southern Girls With Guns_...?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Sixteenth*
_In which: the party occasionally stumbles, but they do not fall._

As the group scatters, Eva is forced to leap over the head of one of the children then dodge and whirl out of the way of a second in hot pursuit.  With a shock, she realizes that the children are playing tag.  Just at that moment though, Annika steps back to avoid one child and gets clipped on the back of her calf by another.  Again, the skeleton children quickly detour around the visible party members, but seem utterly unconcerned by their presence.

As the children pass on, Anvil stands for a few moments, waiting to see if there will be any reaction from the town’s residents.  A few nod to him in a friendly way as they pass, but other than that, the party members get no discernable reaction.

“Are you going to recast?”  Annika asks him.

“Let’s see what happens if I don’t.”

After that, the party makes quick progress, the still _hidden_ party members following close behind the visible ones.  This is especially helpful as the party reaches the main road that runs parallel to the river just in front of the western bridge, which is heavily trafficked.  However, the party is able to negotiate crossing the street without incident, where they find five samurai skeletons guarding the bridge.

Anvil, still visible, walks straight up to them as though he crosses bridges guarded by undead samurai every day.  The skeleton however, is unswayed by Anvil’s show of confidence.  He puts out a bony hand as Anvil approaches and clacks his teeth officiously.  When Anvil advances again, he slowly moves his hand towards his sword.

Anvil bows, and withdraws.  As the party retreats to a respectful distance, the skeleton returns to his post.

The party regroups at the nearest point out of direct sight of the bridge, where Anvil quickly recasts on himself and the second half of the group.  There are some near misses and the party once again makes their way across the busy thoroughfare, but they do all make it to the bridge.

Eva has to remind herself to breathe as they once again approach the skeleton sentries.  Anvil, naturally, walks right up the center of the bridge as though he owns it.  Closer, closer…

It’s hard to read skeletal facial expressions.  They all look either impassive or manic, somehow at the same time.  But whatever thoughts are floating through their empty skulls, the sentries do not react.

###

The North side of the city is clearly where the _truly_ well-off make their homes.  Anvil notes that here most of the skeletons wear side-arms or wakazashi, and those that do not are obviously servants.  Their clothes are no better kept than anyone else’s they have seen in the town, but they are definitely of the highest quality.  The houses too, while currently in disrepair, were once obviously very fine.

This side of the city is dominated by a large keep.  The building itself can only be glimpsed behind a high stone wall, but it is surrounded by what was once extensive gardens, and a cemetery and shrine.  At least, that is what the party is forced to assume.  

There does seem to at one time to have been a sort of park around the keep, but now the area is filled with uprooted plants—now long dead—and poking up from the dirt everywhere are dug-up graves.

A small round building, barely more than a colonnade with a domed roof has been heavily vandalized; Lira notes signs of defilement similar to those on the temple.  The party passes by quickly, helped by the light foot-traffic in this part of town. 

They are on their last leg of their trip, in sight of the gate, and Benedic has just turned to make sure that everyone is following behind him, when he is suddenly—and with no warning—tackled from behind by Anvil.

“What the—”

“Dog,” Anvil replies. Pointing to where the rest of the group is scrambling out of the way of a small dog that had just entered the city’s back gate and was running straight for them.  “You should keep your eyes on the road,” Anvil adds.

Benedic shakes his head and turns to continue out of the city.  _Has he never heard of shouting, “watch out”?_ he wonders, then nearly jumps out of his skin as Anvil brushes a hand across his shoulder.

“What now?” he practically shouts.

Anvil is unruffled.  “You had a bit of dirt there.”

Benedic grits his teeth and says nothing as he leads the party the remaining twenty feet to the gate, and out of town.

**********

The tower is only a half an hour farther on.  Despite its impressive dimensions, Petros—if indeed it is his tower—appears to have taken some care to locate his tower out of sight of the casual passer-by.  Luckily, the party is able to rely on Kiara’s earlier reconnaissance.

Thatch estimates the tower to be about forty or fifty feet high and it is “slant-y” as Kiara had described, with a gradual taper making the top approximately 10’ narrower than the base.  There are two chimneys visible, and a row of four square windows about 15 feet up from the ground level.  The base of the tower is dominated by large wooden doors.

When the party gets closer, they can see that the doors show signs of damage.

“It doesn’t look very… inhabited,” Annika finally ventures.

Lira casts _detect magic_.

“Any hits?”

Lira nods.  “Oh yeah.”

“Anything on the doors?”  Anvil asks.

“Not that I can see.”

Anvil nods once, then strides up the doors, and knocks firmly.  The door swings inward by about a foot under his assault.

Anvil reaches forward for the door handle, closes the door, and holds it closed while he knocks again.

There is no response.

The party waits for two full minutes before Thatch finally says:  

“Umm… should we go in?’

##

The doors open onto a stone-tiled foyer, which would have been stately if not for the stained floor and scorched walls. 

“What happened here?” Eva asks.

“Some kind of fight,” Benedic offers.

“I wonder who won?”

Although the foyer might have been the site of a pitched battle some time before, there are also signs that someone has been through the area since.  An end table by the stairs has one broken leg that has been crudely, but solidly, repaired.  A grand central staircase rises up before the party, presumably leading to the second level of the tower.  Two open doorways are also visible, one to the party’s left and one to their right.

Lira calls out experimentally, “Hello?”

No response.

By unspoken agreement, the party decides to investigate the ground floor before moving up the stairs.  The doorway to the left leads into a large rectangular sitting room with comfortable chairs and dominated by a large hearth.  Reyu checks for embers, but the ashes have long ago gone cold.

Eva finds herself morbidly fascinated by the assortment of macabre tapestries covering most of the walls.   She calls out to Anvil, “Hey, what do you think?”

Anvil turns his attention to the décor, not usually his first area of interest when entering a room.  He notes that although the tapestries vary in specific subject and to a certain degree in style, each one contains grisly scenes of undead being messily vanquished by warriors bearing holy symbols of Kettenek.

“So?” Eva prods.

Anvil shrugs.  “I’m going to check the room on the other side of the foyer.”

Eva rolls her eyes as she watches him go. 

Anvil strides across the foyer.  From what he can see through the doorway, the other room is some kind of dining area.  Probably nothing interesting to be found, but Kettenek’s Justice demands thoroughness in all endeavors.

And so Anvil steps into dining room, to be greeted by two _massive_ fists driving into his stomach.


----------



## dpdx

No secret I enjoy this Story Hour, but it has never made me _nervous_ for the Party until these last two episodes. An entire town full of undead... that's... just... not something you would hope for.


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> No secret I enjoy this Story Hour, but it has never made me _nervous_ for the Party until these last two episodes. An entire town full of undead... that's... just... not something you would hope for.



Thanks, dp.  This was pretty much my first stab at running something like a horror adventure, and I'm fairly pleased with the results.  Glad to see it's working for you, too (and props to spyscribe for capturing the feel).

I *so* wish I could claim credit for the overall idea behind this adventure, but alas, that has to go to Bernard Mees, who wrote the Dungeon module I adapted (and can't you just see why?).  And hey, at least it's a town full of waving, nodding, tip-your-hat-to-the-lady undead, as opposed to snarling, clawing, eat-the-brains-of-the-lady undead.

I mean, so far, anyway.


----------



## Arkhandus

We all love Anvil.    



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> Anvil, still visible, walks straight up to them as though he crosses bridges guarded by undead samurai every day.
> 
> ...
> 
> Anvil, naturally, walks right up the center of the bridge as though he owns it.  Closer, closer…
> 
> ...
> 
> They are on their last leg of their trip, in sight of the gate, and Benedic has just turned to make sure that everyone is following behind him, when he is suddenly—and with no warning—tackled from behind by Anvil.
> 
> “What the—”
> 
> “Dog,” Anvil replies. Pointing to where the rest of the group is scrambling out of the way of a small dog that had just entered the city’s back gate and was running straight for them.
> 
> Benedic shakes his head and turns to continue out of the city.  _Has he never heard of shouting, “watch out”?_ he wonders, then nearly jumps out of his skin as Anvil brushes a hand across his shoulder.
> 
> “What now?” he practically shouts.
> 
> Anvil is unruffled.  “You had a bit of dirt there.”
> 
> ...
> 
> Anvil nods once, then strides up the doors, and knocks firmly.  The door swings inward by about a foot under his assault.
> 
> Anvil reaches forward for the door handle, closes the door, and holds it closed while he knocks again.
> 
> ...
> 
> Eva finds herself morbidly fascinated by the assortment of macabre tapestries covering most of the walls.   She calls out to Anvil, “Hey, what do you think?”
> 
> Anvil turns his attention to the décor, not usually his first area of interest when entering a room.
> 
> “So?” Eva prods.
> 
> Anvil shrugs.  “I’m going to check the room on the other side of the foyer.”
> 
> ...
> 
> And so Anvil steps into dining room, to be greeted by two _massive_ fists driving into his stomach.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Seventeenth*
_In which: the bigger they come… the harder they hit._

With the wind knocked out of him, Anvil does not really have any breath left to raise a general alarm.  Fortunately, his “oophf” of surprise is enough to draw the attention of the rest of the party.  And although they quickly charge in to engage, most of the melee fighters are severely hampered by the fact that the battle is taking place inside a doorway.

Eva charges in, slashing with her rapier to find Anvil being pummeled by a _huge_ man with appropriately large fists.  She hits the man’s arm but manages only to piece the fabric of his sleeve.  

Annika casts _magic missile_, sending off three bolts at once, but they all dissipate harmlessly as soon as they touch the giant creature.

“Oh crap,” Lira mutters, and instead of following up with _magic missiles_ of her own as she had planned, elects to cast _shield_ instead.  Not that it would have done her much good the last time she encountered creatures impervious to _magic missiles_, but it makes her feel a little bit better nonetheless. 

Benedic and Kiara both jog partway up the stairs so as to get a line of sight to fire at the man through the doorway without the melee fighters getting in their way.  Kiara tries calling out, “Petros!  Is that you?”

This however only enrages their adversary who retaliates by hitting Anvil again.  Kiara tries shooting, but her arrow goes wide.  Benedic’s arrow does hit, but only does glancing damage before sheering off to one side.

Thatch finally manages to get across the foyer and into the fight where he dodges the enormous fists and takes a mighty swing.  He does hit, but not as hard as he had hoped.   “What is with this guy?” he yells.

Eva does not have a good answer.  She does, however, have a good strategy, which she puts into practice by tumbling past the giant man and taking up a position behind him, allowing her allies more room to maneuver.  Reyu quickly sees what the rogue is up to and moves into flanking position.

Meanwhile, Annika dashes up two steps until she can get a good view of the strange (and strangely silent, she notes) man.  Getting a good look at him, there seems to be something… off about him, even beyond his large size.  Professor Alexandra had once theorized that it would be possible to magically animate a construct of some kind.  Although this man appears to be flesh and bone, it would seem to be worth a try…

Doing her best to concentrate all of her energies, Annika casts _dispel magic_ centered on the giant man.  As the spell goes off there is a sudden flash of golden light around the figure, but for a second it doesn’t seem as though there has been any other effect.  Then, a large bulge suddenly juts out from his middle before being abruptly sucked back in again.  It almost looks as though _something_ is trapped inside and is trying to get out.

Anvil tries to follow up with an _inflict moderate wounds_, but the spell fizzles as soon as it touches its target.  Lira tries _magic missile_ again just in case, but is no more effective than Annika’s earlier attempt.

Arrows from Kiara and Benedic pepper the doorway or catch in the giant’s clothes, but none manage to do any damage.

“Whatever you just did,” Anvil calls out to Annika, “do it again!”

Meanwhile, Reyu and Eva both attack simultaneously from their places on either side of the giant man.  As they both hit, Eva notices distinct resistance as she drives her blade forward.  She brings her weapon back, still not sure how hard she managed to hit the thing.  There is some… substance adhering to her rapier, but, whatever it is, it isn’t blood.

She watches the man’s face as Thatch’s sword sinks into his side.  He doesn’t react at all.

As the party continues to shoot, stab and slash as best as they can (in Lira’s case, this means liberally peppering the ceiling with crossbow bolts), Annika tries another _dispel magic_.  This time the roiling is even more pronounced, and the thing staggers for a second before resuming his attack.

“One more ought to do it!”  Thatch yells.

“Except I don’t _have_ one more!” Annika calls back.  She takes out her crossbow, and—fearing as always that Kiara is about to do something foolhardy—casts _mage armor_ on her familiar before taking aim at the giant man.  The bolt hits, but doesn’t seem to do any damage.

It’s a bit of a letdown.

Eva and Thatch however, have found their rhythm.  Thatch has managed to batter away at it sufficiently that the thing has apparently decided to leave Anvil alone in favor of beating-up the fighter.  Eva however, is busy doing damage of her own.  As the giant turns to swing at Thatch she stabs hard with her rapier, right above where its kidney ought to be.  This time, there is no ambiguity about whether or not the thing bleeds as a spurt of clear, viscous liquid spatters her across the face.

She follows up immediately with another strike, this one even deeper, right through the spine, which sends a gout of the clear liquid… right at Thatch.

Thatch’s sword swings wide as he misses the thing completely.  He turns aside for just a second to spit and glare at Eva.  “Thanks a lot.”

Eva however is more concerned with the fact that the giant has apparently decided that it is she, and not Thatch that presents the greatest immediate threat, and is lurching around to face her.  In the face of his giant fists, Eva’s rapier suddenly feels very, very small.  She holds it ready and prepares to dodge as best she can when the blow inevitably comes, but then, just as the thing is raising its fists to bring down upon her… a sword-point appears on its head.

When the thing turned its back on him, Anvil readied himself for one last strike, and lifting his sword brought it down on the huge man’s skull with all his strength.

The thing’s head cracks open like a melon, clean down to his neck.  There is a great roar of wind, and the air feels suddenly like a sandstorm.  The body contracts, tensing up as still as a board, then, it topples.  The air clears and it lies there, motionless.

“Is it dead?”  Lira asks.

Annika shakes her head.  “Who could say if it was ever really alive?”

Anvil kicks the motionless corpse.  No reaction.  “It’s dead.”


----------



## Phynex23

I started reading this SH about 2 weeks ago to kill time at work.  Every lunch break and all the down time since I started has been put toward reading this and now I've caught up =(. I had to register so I could offer my praises on this piece. 
     Excellent writing Spyscribe, the story really brings the reader in.  Fajitas, you've done an amazing job creating the storyline.  And all the other players have really shown a lot of creativity in giving a character personality.  Nicely done everyone.  
  Looking forward to seeing more in the future!


----------



## spyscribe

Phynex23 said:
			
		

> I started reading this SH about 2 weeks ago to kill time at work.  Every lunch break and all the down time since I started has been put toward reading this and now I've caught up =(. I had to register so I could offer my praises on this piece.




Now what more could a story hour author wish for?  Thanks for delurking.  

My own work has been short of downtime lately, and so the update schedule has slowed a bit from months past.  I'm still trying to at least get one in weekly though.


----------



## dpdx

Lemme guess... construct of some kind... probably evil cheese calzone golem.


----------



## spyscribe

*At last!*

*Part the One-Hundred Eighteenth*
_In which: a fifth-level party explores their first constructed dungeon.  Oh, the memories!_

Casting _detect magic_ *again* (as she is nothing if not an unending source of _detect magic_), Lira finds no particular auras associated with the constructed man, but she does notice a lingering one in all of the walls.

“What do you think it could be?” Eva asks.

“Probably part of whatever he does to move the tower.”

Thatch meanwhile finds a door at the back of the dining room, and—with some caution—opens it.  He discovers an empty kitchen, with a half-prepared meal on a large wooden table in the center of the room.  A large stone hearth takes up most of one exterior wall where a fire is made-up and ready to be lit.

The first rush of exploration over, the party takes the time to note four holy symbols—one for each of the four gods—hanging in the foyer, along with a large oil portrait of a scowling man with dark hair and a black goatee. 

“Do you think that could be Petros?”  Annika asks.

Kiara frowns.  “He doesn’t look very friendly.”

“Friendliness,” Anvil reminds her, “is not required.  Merely rectitude.”

Kiara looks at him blankly.  “Huh?”

“Hey guys!” Thatch calls.  “Over here!”

Thatch has ventured behind the main staircase and discovered a door tucked back on the left side.  He is obviously quite pleased with himself.  “I _thought_ the sitting room looked a little short.”

The door shows signs of damage, but opens easily when Thatch turns the knob. Beyond, a wooden staircase descends into the darkness.

“Well,” says Eva, “that’s odd.”

“I would have said ‘staircase,’ but we can call it ‘odd’ if you want to,” Lira offers, ever the diplomat.  Eva gives her friend a withering look.

Reyu clears her throat.  “I believe Eva is referring to the fact that it would seem impossible for a moving tower which we entered at ground level to have a basement.”
“Oh,” says Thatch.  “That.”

Lira does not seem disturbed by the revelation.  “I point out that we are in a magical moving tower made of stone… and you are bothered by it having a basement?”

###

Wisely, the party decides to take some rudimentary precautions before tromping down the steps into a wizard’s basement without an escort.  First, Lira casts _message_ so that the party members descending the stairs can easily communicate with those still above.

Anvil casts _light_ on his staff.  In the bright, cool glow the party can see that the stairs are coated in a thick level of dust, with no tracks leading up or down.  Thatch hefts his sword.  “Let’s go.”

Thatch descends.  Followed by Anvil.  Followed by Eva.  Benedic stands at the top of the steps as a _message_ relay between the three of them and the rest of the party who are waiting in the foyer near the main doors.

_(Note: Yes, we really sent our rogue down the stairs third.  Some parties detect traps by searching for them.  We take an alternate method.)_

The steps descend straight down before curving away to the left when they reach the back wall.  Thatch has just reached the turn when he puts his weight down on a step that goes >click<.

 “Umm…”  

Bolts of electricity are suddenly shooting up and down the stairs.  Eva manages to dodge the worst of them, but Anvil and Thatch are not so lucky.  Fortunately, although they are a bit singed by the experience, neither is grievously wounded.  They pause on the steps while Anvil heals Thatch and himself.  He also lights a candle, and drips a small pile of wax on the offending step so that they can avoid treading on it again.

As he bends to drip the wax on the step, Anvil notices it, and several others, have mounds of dust that do not look like the result of natural accumulation.  He files this observation away with the not-alive man in the dining room, the basement, and other things to ask Petros about when they eventually locate him.

At last, they are ready to begin their descent again.  Turning the corner, Thatch finds that the basement itself is pitch black.  Fortunately there is enough light from Anvil’s staff that he can see the last few steps in front of him.  Cautiously, he descends the last three, and, with a small sigh of relief that no more electrical bolts seem to be forthcoming, puts a foot down on the flagstone floor.

The instant he does so, Thatch feels a sudden >whoosh< of energy rush past him.  It almost feels like it does standing next to Anvil when he’s turning undead.  For not the first time, Thatch is happy that he is not undead.  

Happily, none of the party members are either, and so they are unaffected by this countermeasure.

Thatch immediately makes his way over to a door that stands ajar on the other side of the room.  By the time the rest of the party has made the descent (without triggering the trapped step again), he is already emerging.

 “It looks like some kind of study,” he reports.

“We should probably be careful before we just go around just opening up doors,” Eva suggests.  “You know, in case there are more traps or something.”

Thatch ducks his head.  “Oh.  Yeah.”

Anvil takes the opportunity to look around.  The stairs let out into a large open space with four closed doors leading—presumably—to other rooms.  The walls here are bare gray stone, adorned only by a large mirror that hangs on one wall.  Curious, Anvil walks towards it, wondering if it perhaps conceals a safe or secret panel behind.  At several steps away he catches sight of his reflection in the glass.  He suddenly feels _something_ reach out and grab him, and then… nothing.

###

Eva is startled by the sudden >whoosh< filling the basement room, followed by a loud clanging clatter.  She whirls, just as Annika, standing nearby, gasps.  “Don’t look at the mirror!  Something tried to grab me!”

Eva feels no urge to look at the mirror.  She’s too busy staring at the pile of Anvil’s clothes and equipment lying on the floor in front of it.


----------



## weiknarf

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Part the One-Hundred Eighteenth*
> 
> 
> 
> “Friendliness,” Anvil reminds her, “is not required.  Merely rectitude.”




Heh.  He said 'rectitude'.  Heh heh heh


----------



## dpdx

Man, I hope he's just magic jarred or something else at least reversible. I'd actually be distraught if Anvil was _gone_ gone.


----------



## KidCthulhu

If there's an Anvil in the mirror with a) a horrified expression or b) a goatee - Run!


----------



## Len

dpdx said:
			
		

> Man, I hope he's just magic jarred or something else at least reversible. I'd actually be distraught if Anvil was _gone_ gone.



It sounds like a Mirror of Life Trapping, which is reversible. There's no goatee in that case, but Anvil would be naked.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Nineteenth*
_In which: some questions about the mirror are answered._

“Everyone!  Cover your eyes!” Reyu barks.

The party members immediately comply, turning their eyes to the floor and shading them to avoid inadvertently looking at the mirror.

“What happened to Anvil?”

“I don’t know!”

“I felt something… reaching for me, when I looked at the mirror, but I fought it off.  Maybe he’s inside it.”

“_Inside_, the mirror?”

“I point out again, we’re in the basement of a moving tower; it’s not that far a stretch.”

“Well what are we going to do about it?”

Thatch, who was standing not ten feet from Anvil when he suddenly vanished, has an idea about one thing they should do.  Being careful not to actually look at what he is doing, or to touch the surface of the mirror more than he can help, Thatch takes off his cloak and drapes it over the face of the mirror.  Tucking it in behind the frame, he cautiously cracks an eye to examine his work.

“It’s covered up,” he tells the others. 

The other adventures cautiously open their eyes and look in the direction of the mirror.  Since none of them abruptly vanish, they relax a little bit.

Eva does a quick look through Anvil’s things.  Sword, armor, even his holy symbol has been left behind.

Lira looks over her shoulder.  “So, wherever he is, he’s unarmed, unarmored, and completely naked.”

Eva nods.  “Looks like it.”

“That probably isn’t a good thing.”

“We’ve got to get him out of there,” Thatch declares.

Eva rolls her eyes, “Well, of course we do, but how?”

“Breaking the mirror might do it—” Annika begins.

“Fine!” says Thatch, raising his sword pommel first—

“Or it might kill him!” 

Thatch lowers his sword.  “Oh.”

Annika is becoming agitated, wracking her brain for anything she might have ever learned about magic items of this nature.  “Objects like this would probably have a command word.  I mean, you’d want a way of getting people in and out of it… right?”

Lira takes charge.  “Okay, let’s assume that there _is_ a command word, and let’s also assume that he wrote it down someplace because if he memorized it, we’re back to breaking the mirror.”

Annika nods.

“Great.  So, where would he write it?”

Annika shrugs helplessly, “I don’t know.  His spell-book?  If he kept some kind of notes…?”

“Thatch, didn’t you say that room looked like a study?  Let’s check and see if there’s anything that looks relevant.”

Eva offers to help, and she and Lira follow Annika into the study.

Once they are gone, Kiara taps Reyu on the shoulder.  Bending a little to whisper in the elf’s ear she whispers, “I have an idea, but Annika isn’t going to like it.”

###

In the study, Annika sets about pouring through the many volumes as quickly as she can, looking for any reference to magic mirrors, while Eva searches for any sign of hidden drawer or other hiding place.  

Lira isn’t quite sure what good her looking is going to do.  Although she is comfortable with the theories behind arcane magic and can identify most common spells by sight, she is almost entirely self-taught, and not as familiar with the actual texts as Annika is.

However, perhaps because she’s not distracted by the _contents_ of the books, Lira does notice one section where the _type_ of books does not match the rest of the collection.  One shelf, just to the left of the door as one is entering the study, is filled with thin, cardboard-bound volumes.  She takes one down on impulse and opens it.  She finds it’s a notebook, filled with pages and pages of regular, neat script.

Jackpot.

###

“But if I went through in swallow form” Kiara is explaining as quickly as she can to Reyu, Thatch and Benedic, “and then shifted _back_ once I was inside the mirror, I should have all of my things still with me.”

Reyu and Thatch exchange glances.  “You know,” says Thatch, “that’s really not a bad plan.”

“But what if she still couldn’t get out?”  Reyu asks.

“I’ve got it!”  The triumphant shout is quickly followed by Lira, emerging from the study, waving a small notebook.  “Look here,” she says and begins to read aloud: 



			
				Petros said:
			
		

> The mirror is at last complete, and it is a masterpiece.  Regrettably, it is fragile, and any fracture in the surface will release its contents.  This may be a flaw in the design, but there is no way to fix it.




“So, if we break the mirror, it should free Anvil,” Thatch translates.

Lira nods.  “Exactly.  But look at this.”  She turns the page so that everyone can see it and points out two columns of 16 words each.  

_(The page from Petros’ Notebook is attached at the bottom of this post.)_

“Why would he need so many command words?” Kiara asks.

“Maybe Anvil isn’t the only thing in that mirror,” Annika suggests.

“So, if we break it, we’ll release _everything_ in there.”

“Not to mention we will have destroyed the ‘masterpiece’ of an archmage.  That’s not going to make him happy,” Eva adds.

“Hang on.  Hang on,” Lira interrupts.  “Look at this.  All of the word pairs share a common root and two different endings… except for the top two.  What if those aren’t command words, but column headings.  ‘Indigium’ would be words used to send someone into the mirror and ‘Anterium’ to bring them back out.”

“But you don’t know that,” Annika points out.  “It could be that ‘Indigium’ are words that are used from inside the mirror and ‘Anterium’ are words used from the outside.”

“Since we are outside, and we want to bring Anvil outside, that should not matter,” Reyu points out. 

The party agrees that they ought to do something, and sooner rather than later, as Anvil has already been inside the mirror for at least five minutes.

Cautiously, Lira positions herself so that she is in front of the mirror without (hopefully) being in its direct line of effect.  She turns her head and Thatch raises the edge of his cloak from where it hangs over the glass. 

Lira takes a deep breath...

_to be continued._


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Twentieth*
_Meanwhile, through the looking-glass_

Anvil feels an awful wrenching in the pit of his stomach and then… he is somewhere else.

His clothing, his equipment is all gone, and he stands completely naked inside some kind of dodecahedral room.  The walls are mirrors, and everywhere he looks is his own image reflected endlessly upon itself.  The dizzyingly infinite sight provokes waves of nausea every time he moves, and he decides he had best sit down with his eyes closed.

And that is when he notices the voices.  Many of them, speaking aloud.

“Not real, not real.  Can’t hear you, can’t hear you…”

“My Lord, hear my prayer. Hear your humble servant…”

_”…and suck it out through your nose and feast on it, like a fine dessert…”_

“Didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.  Please, let me out. I’m innocent…”

“You SON OF A DOG! How dare you talk to me that way! DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!”

“Oh, I know who you are.  I just don’t care.”

“WHAT!!!”

“Gods and every spirit alive, why must you bait him, fool human?”

“If I were free, I would HAVE YOUR WHIPPED for your IMPUDENCE!”

_”…drown you in a bucket of your own blood…”_

“Shouldn’t be here.  Didn’t do it.  Please…”

“Have me whipped?  What’s wrong?  Too fat to do it yourself?”

“WHY YOU--!”

At this, Anvil interrupts.  “Greetings,” he says.

The voices go silent.

“WHO IS THAT?” demands a stern and booming voice.

“Isn’t it obvious?” quips a biting, sardonic one. “It’s a new loyal subject for your kingdom.”

“INSOLENT CUR!” the booming voice responds.

“I am Anvil the Just, follower of Kettenek,” Anvil replies.

At this, there is a babble of voices.

“Rock and stone, I knew it!  My prayers have been answered!  All hail our Lord, who hears his faithful’s prayers!” cries out one voice.

“Nope, nope, nope.  No more.  Not any more.  Not listening…” another voice repeats, over and over and over.

“Help me, help me please,” whimpers a terrified young woman’s voice.  “I shouldn’t be here.  I didn’t do anything…”

“Ah. Another human. Perfect,” drolls a female voice.

_”A new one?  Fresh meat?  Fresh blood? I’ll drink it straight from your veins, as a chaser for your entrails…”_ hisses one.

“Hmph,” grunts a rough voice, that has not yet spoken.

The voices echo oddly in Anvil’s mirrored room, as if the sound reflects off the walls just as the light does.  Shaking his head to clear it, he silences the others.  “Who is in charge here?” he asks.

At this, several voices burst out laughing.  

“Well, I know who thinks he’s in charge,” the sardonic voice says.

“QUIET!” booms the loud one.  “I outrank EVERY ONE OF YOU!”

“Fat lot of good it does you, and when I say fat--"

_”…swallow your eyeballs whole, like little bird eggs…”_

“WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU--"

Anvil again interrupts the tirade.  “You, sir.  You claim to be in charge?”

“I am DAKLOD KRAKOTH, General of DAR THANE.”

The name means nothing to Anvil.  He says as much.

“WHAT!  My name is known across the plains of Ebis, spoken always with AWE AND FEAR.”

“Oh, get over yourself.”

“WHY YOU--"

“Can’t hear.  Quiet now.  Quiet now…”

The rough voice that has mostly stayed silent now speaks.  His Common is twinged with a dwarven accent.  “If anyone is in charge here, it is Petros.”

“Yes, yes!” cries the Kettenite voice.  “The man is insane.  He has overstepped his bounds, taking upon himself our Lord’s duties.  He has declared himself judge, jury, and executioner, and imprisoned us here.”

“Didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.  Please…” the young woman sobs.

_”…peel the skin from your body and force you to feast upon your flesh…”_

“Are you saying then that you people do not belong here?” Anvil demands of the Kettenite.

“Oh, some of them do.  But I am innocent.  My name is Cyrus Vaaldershen.”

“A Guardian of the Barrier,” Anvil notes, recognizing the name Cyrus, which all Guardians take.

“And servant of the Lord of the Dead.  Long have I prayed for deliverance, and now, at last, my prayers are answered.  You are here to free us, Justicar.”

“Yes, and wonderful job so far,” the sardonic voice quips.

“Fear not,” Anvil says.  “I have no doubt that my companions will work to free us.”

Exclamations of joy burst out all around him, echoing strangely in the mirrored cell.

“After all this time, your words bring me comfort you cannot know, Justicar.  Come, brother.  Join me in prayer for our Lord’s Justice.”

”Oh, thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you…”

“HA! FREEDOM!  I’ll see my enemies DRIVEN BEFORE ME!”

“Leaving? Leaving? Everyone leaving!  Soon we’ll be all alone!  Ah, the peace.  The peace.”

_”…carve my name upon your chest, and dot the i's and cross the t’s…”_

_Those of us who deserve freedom_, Anvil adds, silently.

**********

_Meanwhile, back in the basement of the moving tower…_

Lira takes a deep breath and, picking the first word from the ‘Anterium’ column, she speaks it.  “Colrees.”

The surface of the mirror briefly bows outward, extending a giant silver tongue down to the floor before quickly retreating back to its frame.  It leaves behind a naked man, hunched and shivering.


----------



## KidCthulhu

And this is why magic is cool.  Naked people delivery!


----------



## Fajitas

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> And this is why magic is cool.  Naked people delivery!



Heck, KC, if you want naked people delivered to you, you don't have to resort to magic, IYKWIMAITYD...


----------



## KidCthulhu

Yeah, but you're not coming to PegCon now, are you?  So I don't want to hear it.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Twenty-First*
_In which: we finally put an end to the longest tease in the history of this thread._

The man raises his head.  He is not Anvil.  His eyes widen when he sees the party.  “You…  You must be the friends of the Justicar.  He said you would save us!  Bless you.  Bless you all, in Kettenek’s name!”

“Who are you?”  Lira asks.

“I am Cyrus Vaaldershen.”

“Save you from what?” Thatch puts in as he helps Cyrus into Anvil’s discarded cloak.

“From that prison.  The mirror.”

“How did you happen to be in the mirror?” Eva wants to know.

“It was Petros,” Cyrus shudders, “he forced me to look into the glass, and I’ve been trapped there ever since.”

“Why would Petros do something like that?’ the party members want to know.

“He’s power mad!  He will crush anyone who stands in his way!”

Eva and Thatch exchange a look of concern.  Chi’i didn’t say anything about “power mad” when she mentioned Petros.  Of course, she might not have known about the prison mirror in his basement.

“How long have you been in the mirror?”  Lira demands, stopping Cyrus before he goes into a full-fledged rant.

“More than two years.” He shudders. 

“Has anyone been there longer than you have?”  Lira waits intently for Cryus’ answer.

“I… I am not certain.  But there are others in that mirror.  Individuals of terrible darkness, that must not be freed.”

###

Satisfied that Anvil is in no _immediate_ peril, the party conducts a more thorough search of Petros’ study, hoping to find some method to how the prisoners are connected to specific command words.  Cyrus makes himself decent for mixed company.

The party is able to locate an amulet that radiates a faint abjuration aura and a number of scrolls, but nothing immediately useful.  Eventually, the party members are forced to conclude that the only thing to do is start reading off command words and hope that they find Anvil sooner rather than later.  At least, they reason, they will be able to deal with whatever Petros has captured in his mirror one at a time.

Since it seems as good a logic as any that prisoners are linked to command words in the order in which they were imprisoned, Lira starts reading the “anterium” command words one at a time starting from the bottom of the list.  

“Fultees,” she pronounces in a strong, clear voice.

Nothing happens.

“Zeenees…. Sarees…  Yeldees…  Voltees.”  None of them have any effect.

Lira takes a deep breath.  Cyrus had mentioned that there were eight prisoners, plus Anvil.  The next command word is the ninth one down on the list.  Whether or not Anvil appears, _something_ should happen.  Thatch stands, sword ready.  The rest of the party is also prepared to strike on a moment’s notice.

“Potees.”

The time, the mirror once again extrudes out of its frame.  When it returns to its position, Anvil stands before it.  Stark naked.

Annika covers her eyes.  So does Eva, though she peeks.  Reyu stares at them, unclear as to why the humans are bothered.

Anvil stands tall.

Cyrus who had been on his knees in the corner, thanking Kettenek effusively for his sudden deliverance from captivity, leaps up, clasping Anvil on the shoulder.

“You have been saved!  I knew you would rescue us!”

(Says Lira, “Hey!”)

He attempts to pull Anvil off to one side, “Pray with me brother!”  

Anvil, gently but firmly, puts the man off.  “In a moment.”

As Anvil dresses he tells the other party members about his experiences in the mirror.  “…I do not know that everything trapped in that mirror is evil.  Some merely seemed mad.  But one was certainly a demon.”

“Sorry we didn’t break the mirror now?”  Eva asks Thatch.  The fighter has the grace to look embarrassed.

Meanwhile, Kiara starts trying other doors.  Finding the one next to Petros’ study locked, she tries the next one.

This one opens.   Kiara looks for a second, then calls out, “Guys!  You should come see this.”

###

The rest of the party—except for Anvil, who is still getting dressed—crowds into the doorway behind Kiara.  

The room could not look more like a wizard’s workshop if it tried.  There’s a desk covered in candle stumps and discarded pieces of vellum, a workbench cluttered with various arcane-looking odds and ends, even a skeleton shackled to one wall.

Lira starts.  Although it’s hard to tell for sure, since the skeleton doesn’t have eyes, she’d swear it was looking at her.

Lira turns back to the skeleton.  It’s most certainly is looking at her.  And as soon as it sees that it has her attention it pulls away from the wall, shaking its chains with violent intensity, and clacking its teeth with enough intensity to make its entire skull vibrate.  

It takes her a second to realize that it is pleading to be released.

“It must be from the town,” Kiara is saying.  “Or the farms.  I mean, I hope it is, ‘cause if it isn’t, then it means there’s _another_ bunch of animated skeletons around somewhere.”

Thatch’s eyes are wide as saucers.  “What are we going to do?”

Lira looks back over her shoulder to Anvil.

“Err… do you want to turn this thing or should I?”  she asks.

Anvil waves her on.  “Do it.  You should practice.”

Apparently liking her odds of not getting arrested or killed for turning a chained skeleton in a locked basement—even if that basement _is_ technically in the Sovereignty—Lira holds out her holy symbol and attempts to direct the divine energy of Ehkt.

“Go!” she says.  “Foul… er… thing.  Back to the ground…” the golden light which had begun to coalesce around her holy symbol starts to sputter and she concludes rather lamely: “from whence you came?”

The skeleton, unturned, clacks its teeth desperately, tugging at the chains in an attempt to get free.

Everyone looks at Lira.

“It’s my first time,” she says, a trifle defensively.  “And I figured out the whole command word thing, didn’t I?”

But Cyrus roughly pushes past the gathered party members.  “In the Lord’s name…” he says, outraged.  “What abomination is this?  A creature of undeath, shackled in captivity?”

“Um,” Thatch says, “looks like.”

“This must not be!” Cyrus declares.  Then, oddly, he addresses the skeleton directly.  “Calm yourself.  We will free you, that we may follow together in the footsteps of your Lord and ours—” And he moves to unfasten the shackles that bind the undead abomination to the wall.

_(And on that note: have a great holiday weekend everyone!)_


----------



## Angcuru

You're evil, you know that?


----------



## doghead

Strangely, I feel sorry for the skeletons.


----------



## Capellan

Hurrah for negative energy channeling


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Twenty-Second*
_In which: the party finds that all Guardians are named Cyrus, but not all named Cyrus are Guardians of the Barrier._

“What in all hells are you doing!?!”  Eva yells after him.

“The infidel Petros will be made to suffer for this!” Cyrus declares, reaching for the chains.

Thatch tries to grab him as he goes by, but, unable to keep hold, settles for thumping him on the head with his fists instead.

Cyrus turns, genuinely surprised.  “We must free him.”

Thatch gapes, with absolutely no idea what to say to that.  _Screw it_, he concludes, and simply reaches for his sword.

But Cyrus reaches faster and makes a grab for the sword himself.  Fortunately, he is unable to pull it from its sheath.  Thatch punches him again, but (surprise, surprise) Cyrus proves to be more than a little thick-skulled. 

Hearing the commotion, Anvil—still half-dressed—comes striding into the room.  “Stop it!” he demands.

For a moment, Cryus does.  “Brother!  We must free him.  Don’t you see?  As he follows in our Lord’s footsteps he will lead us in His true glory!”

_(Anvil’s player shoots a look over at Fajitas, who nods.  “Yeah, that’s crazy Crosser talk.”)  

(Note: The Crossers of the Barrier are a group that splintered off from the Guardians of the Barrier.  The Crossers are the Kettenite Sect who seek to emulate their god by raising the dead.)  

(Note 2: This would be one of those cases where “splintered off” means “completely inverted the purpose of.”)_

Anvil takes another measured step forwards.  “No.  He.  Won’t.”

Cyrus watches him, eyes narrowed.  “Brother—” he begins, and then reaches forward and snatches Anvil’s sword out of his hand.

Thatch immediately brings his own sword around to bear, but Cyrus is able to use his stolen blade to ward off the blow.  Cyrus then turns and strikes Anvil _with his own sword_, calling out as he does so, “Kettenek!  Help me _smite_ this pretender of Your faith!”

The sword blow hurts.  The spell has no effect.  

_(Note 3: That’s what happens when you try to _smite good_ on someone who is lawful neutral.)_

Anvil retaliates by calling upon Kettenek to strike Cryus blind.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t work, so Cyrus gets the pleasure of watching as Lira’s two _magic missiles_ slam into the side of his head.

Thatch, for his part gives up on trying to knock Cryus out and just tries to take him out of the fight by any means necessary.  He hits full-on with the blade, his entire strength behind his weapon.

Cyrus staggers.  Then, just before he falls, he brings Anvil’s sword up one more time, stabbing forward right through Anvil’s heart.  Anvil falls, Cyrus’ insensate body on top of him.

###

Anvil groggily returns to consciousness, feeling the familiar warmth of Kettenek’s healing spreading through his chest.  Except… it’s not.

He opens his eyes to find Lira crouching over him.  She lifts her hands from where they rested over his heart and tucks her holy symbol back into her tunic.  “Welcome back.”

The others help Anvil to stand again.  Cyrus lies at his feet.

“Is he dead?”

Thatch shakes his head.  “Neither were you.”

“Although it was close,” Eva adds.

Anvil nods, then picks up his sword, still lying by Cyrus’s side.  He stands over the unconscious body for a moment, murmuring a quick prayer to Kettenek.  Then, he slits the fallen Crosser’s throat.

“Well…” comes a creaky voice from one corner of the room.  “That’s more excitement than we usually get around here.”

The party whirls, but in the direction from which the voice seemed to be coming from, all they can see is a plain wooden desk, piled with assorted papers, boxes, and various arcane supplies.

“Who said that?” Anvil asks of the room in general.

“My my.  You are a demanding one, aren’t you?” the voice replies.

Annika, standing closest to the desk, jumps back with a small shriek.  Pointing, she indicates a severed human hand and forearm inside an iron cage.  The arm has been surgically opened, with the skin flaps pinned back to reveal the musculature beneath.  As the party watches, the hand reaches forward with its fingers and pulls itself forward by a fraction of an inch.

The voice laughs, and that’s when the party sees for the first time, half covered by a piece of burlap, a golden skull, staring at them with glowing ruby eyes.

Anvil raises his holy symbol and _turns undead_.  The skeleton and partially dissected hand are both instantly blown to dust.

The skull merely seems to grin a little wider.  “Now, that’s not very polite is it?”


----------



## Arkhandus

Wonderful, Petros is a demilich and Anvil just blew away his prisoner..... Oi.

_*waits anxiously to find out what happens next*_


----------



## Angcuru

Oi indeed.  *imagines Petros as Headmaster of Mage Academy*

First Year - "But headmaster, I had _no idea_ that would happen!"

Petros - "NO EXCUSE!  Into the box you go!"

First Year - "Noooooooo!"


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Twenty-Third*
_In which: Alas!  Poor Gemil… we didn’t know him at all, but that changes._

Lira is the one who finally clears her throat and asks, “Who… who are you?”

“Me?” the skull replies.  “Gemil al Zaheed, at your service.”

“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you an Ebisite?”

“I suppose I _was_.  Not sure I’d qualify for citizenship these days.”

“So you weren’t always a golden skull?”

“Oh my, no.”

“How did you…?”

“Petros.  He trapped me in here.”

“How long have you been like this?”

The skull considers Lira.  “Probably not as long as you’ve been alive.”  He looks over at Kiara.  “Possibly as long as she has.”

“Fourteen years?”

“That sounds about right.”

“Why would Petros trap you in a golden skull?”

“Well, I *say* he trapped me, but really it’s my own fault.  I allowed him to take advantage of a moment of weakness.  I thought we had an agreement, but Petros… He doesn’t approve of me.”

Lira gives the skull an appraising look.  “Why not just put you in the mirror then?”

The skull considers.  “I suppose it’s because he still wants to learn my secrets.”

“Such as?”

For a skull with rubies in his eye sockets, Gemil does a surprisingly good job of rolling his eyes.  Lira shrugs.  “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“I suppose not…  I was a great wizard myself.  Petros knows that, and he’d like to know what I know.  He keeps me out here and asks me things.”

“A wizard?  I didn’t think there were wizards in Ebis.”

The skull replies, “We have reason to keep a low profile.”  

“Oh?”  Lira asks.  But Gemil does not elaborate further.

Anvil knits his brow.  “Are you more powerful than Petros?”

Lira shoots him a questioning look, and Anvil beckons the party together for a quick huddle.

“Perhaps we should ask if he wishes to be head of the Mages’ Academy.  We _were_ told to find the most powerful archmages in the Halmae, and not to dismiss anyone out of hand.”

Thatch snickers.  “_Head_ of the Mage’s Academy.”

_(OOC groans from everyone)_

“I don’t think this is what King Orin and the Professor had in mind!”  Annika protests in a high whisper.

“Given that Petros is the one who put Gemil in the skull, and not vice-versa, I think that would argue that the answer to your original question would be ‘no,’” Reyu suggests.

“I don’t think I’d be interested in the position anyway.”

The party looks up.  Gemil is grinning at them.

“Not my cup of tea.”

The party, low on spells and hit points, decides to wait until the next day to investigate the upper levels of the tower.  Lira converses with Gemil through dinner and discovers some interesting information:


Of the two rooms in the basement which the party has not explored, one of them is Petros’ vault where he keeps his most important magical items and supplies.  Gemil admits that he has spent a lot of time in the vault, although he prefers to be out where he can see and speak to others.  Annika casts _detect magic_ and confirms a strong aura radiating from that door and adjoining walls to the room.  The other room is what Petros uses to control the tower’s movement.
Petros brought the shackled skeleton to the room two-and-a-half, possibly three months before his disappearance.  
Gemil hasn’t seen Petros for several months at least, although he admits it is hard for him to keep track of time passing while trapped alone in a locked basement.
Gemil has spent quite a bit of time talking to the shackled skeleton.  The skeleton however, lacking a voice box, never talked back.

Towards the end of their chat, Lira turns the topic back to Gemil himself.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what was your particular area of arcane interest?

She didn’t think it was possible for the skull to grin ever more that he already did.

Lira blinks.  “Oh.  Shall I take a wild stab then and say ‘necromancy?’”

“Why don’t you go out on a limb?” Gemil agrees amiably.

His charming personality aside, the party ignores Gemil’s requests that they take him with them upstairs when they retire for the night.

There is a brief discussion over the evening meal of what should be done about the mirror.  Initially, Anvil had thought that perhaps some of those trapped within did not belong there.  But, upon discovering Cyrus’s true nature, he is no longer so sure that everyone there is what he or she seems.  Everyone agrees that it will be best to wait until they find Petros before taking further action.

At midnight, the drumming starts.  Eva and Anvil are on watch again, and from the doorway of Petros’ tower they can see torches carried from the town moving out through the countryside.  A group of 20 to 40 dancing skeletons moves in the tower’s general direction, but do not make for the tower itself.  After approximately half an hour, the groups of skeletons return to the keep, and the rest of the night passes uneventfully.


----------



## KidCthulhu

To paraphrase Dorothy "Are you a good lich or a bad lich?"


----------



## BlueAnt

Man, gotta love talking skulls.


----------



## dpdx

Gemil's gotta have a voice like Gazoo from the Flintstones, or Paul Lynde. It would only be right.


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> Gemil's gotta have a voice like Gazoo from the Flintstones, or Paul Lynde. It would only be right.



Actually, Gemil's voice was based on that of Brent Spiner.  There's a peculiar tightness about his voice that I took and exaggerated.  Plus, I was always careful to grin cheek to cheek whenever Gemil spoke, and tried to limit my lip and jaw movements to up and down only.

It was an odd, but very fun, voice.


----------



## dpdx

Spiner works, too. As long as Gemil has Epic Snark as a class feature.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Twenty-Fourth*
_In which: any lingering hopes for Thatch’s efficacy as a rogue are well and truly put to rest._

The next morning, the party cautiously ascends the main staircase to explore the upper levels of the tower.  

On the second floor they find six doors arrayed around a “U” shaped mezzanine overlooking the stairs.  In one corner, a spiral staircase leads upwards to a closed trap-door.

The party decides to start on the opposite side from the trap-door and work their way around.  Moving slowly and checking for anything that might be magical along the way, the party discovers a water-closet followed by three empty bedrooms.

Behind the fifth door, they find a corpse lying on a bed.

The figure is a human man, probably in his thirties.  He wears black plate mail adorned with a holy symbol that identifies him as a Guardian of the Barrier, and he holds a sword which radiates slight conjuration magic.  The body has obviously been laid to rest by someone, with care taken to fold his hands over the hilt of his sword.  He appears to have been dead for some months.  He also does not especially resemble the man in the portrait downstairs.

Anvil goes down to the basement to bring Gemil to see the corpse and find out if he knows who this person might be.

“Ah ha!”  Gemil says, cackling slightly when he sees the corpse.  “Sir Cyrus Immodan.”

“Who is this Sir Cyrus?” Anvil demands of the skull.

“He has long been a companion of Petros.  Seems to have a way with dispatching undead with that sword of his.”  Gemil glances around as best as he is able.  “I’m surprised you haven’t run into Appius anywhere around here, now that I think of it.”

“Who is Appius?”

“The butler.”

“Big guy?” Thatch asks, holding a hand above his head to demonstrate.  “Big fists?”

“That would be him.”

“We killed him.”

“Oh… I doubt that.”

Eva quickly looks behind her.  “Why’s that?”

“In order for you to kill him, he would have had to have been alive first.”

Anvil gives Gemil a hard stare.  “If you are going to be snide, you can go back to the basement.”

Gemil sighs.  “Very well.”  But he refrains from further comment.

The party checks the last door which is another empty bedroom, and then heads for the spiral staircase leading to the next level.

Thatch goes first, getting about halfway up before…

_(Yes!  It’s our patented trap-detection system once again!)_

An ear-splitting alarm sounds, followed almost in the same instant by a _web_ enveloping the entire staircase.

“It’s okay!  Thatch shouts over the noise.  “I’m not stuck, just--- What the heck was that?!?”

The “that” in question is a tiny green pellet-like object that comes shooting down from above and >splats< into a chink in Thatch’s armor where the arm piece meets shoulder.

Thatch shakes his arm, trying to dislodge it.  Whatever has hit him burns like acid.

_Forget this_, Thatch thinks to himself, and with a mighty wrench to one side manages to throw himself over the stairs’ railing and out of the _web_.  He lands with an audible >thump< and immediately rips off his armor and starts dousing himself with the _decanter of endless water_.

“Oh!” says Amelia excitedly, “an acid arrow!  That’s a very popular spell at the academy,” she adds.

“Yeah,” replies Thatch, shoulder still smarting, “it’s just great.”

Eventually, the burning sensation in his shoulder fades, and Anvil is able to restore the young fighter to full health.

Reyu lights the web on fire, clearing the staircase once again, and the party stops to consider their next move.

“Well,” Eva suggests, “maybe I should check and see if there are any more traps.  You know, for starters.”

Thatch agrees that this is an excellent plan.

The group waits while Eva makes a through inspection, but she eventually concludes that Thatch has found every trap there is to find on this particular set of stairs.  The trap door, however, is stuck fast.

Thatch climbs up again, carefully avoiding the trapped step this time, and pounds on the door, both with his hand and his sword hilt.

“It’s not moving at all,” he reports.

“Could be _arcane locked_,” Lira suggests.

“What do we do about it?”

“Well,” Lira thinks back to what she knows about the spell.  “At the Mages’ Academy, it’s the same spell they were using to keep the students in the North Dormitory.  So, you can get through it by just breaking the door into pieces.”

“Or,” Annika puts in.  “I could cast _knock_.” She shrugs.  “It seemed like it might be useful today.”

“Oh, well, I guess that would be the other option then.”

That is the option that the party decides to employ, and so Annika climbs up beside Thatch, and _knocks_ open the door.

Thatch then pushes the door up and open, but he does allow Eva to poke her head up through the opening first.

Eva climbs up to the next floor, and a few minutes later calls down with the all-clear.

###

The top level is divided into two rooms, joined by an open doorway and a large stone hearth.  One room is taken up almost completely by a large bed.  The other is lined on all sides—except for the wall taken up by the doorway and hearth—by bookshelves.  In the center of this room is a large desk, and on it a leather journal, still open to its last entry—dated a little more than two months prior.

But most interesting is an object on one of the shelves: A large gem that pulses with an inner, greenish, light.  Under Lira’s _detect magic_, it radiates necromancy.

When Gemil sees it, he lets out a gleeful cackle.  “Ah ha!” he crows.  “I suspect Petros took a page from _my_ book.”


----------



## Pyske

I love this story hour.  More!  More!

(And thanks.)


----------



## KidCthulhu

Would that be the page that says "How to be an evil litch in 10 easy steps"?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Twenty-Fifth*
_In which: the party embarks upon a little light reading._

Lira rounds on Gemil.  “You mean Petros is in there, trapped in the gem?”

“What’s left of him, I suspect.  He put me in there once.  Terribly uncomfortable.  Can’t see.  Can’t talk.  What a shame.”  Gemil does not succeed in sounding particularly sincere.

“How did he get there?”  Eva asks.

“How should I know?  _I_ was trapped in a basement.”

Lira snaps her fingers.  “The basement!  I remember now, when I was looking through Petros’ notebooks, there was one that had a sketch of the gem.  I didn’t read it very carefully at the time, but I think he called it some kind of ‘receptacle.’”

“I’ll go get it,” Annika quickly offers and heads off down the steps.

“I could tell you about the gem…” Gemil offers, “for a price.”

Lira is not biting.  “Can you tell me something I’m not going to learn in ten minutes when Annika gets back?”

Gemil’s jaw snaps shut with an audible >click<, and Anvil has to quickly pull his fingers out of the way to avoid losing them.

In the meantime, as they wait for Annika’s return, the party turns to Petros’ journal.

_(And you, dear readers, can too.  And while I'm stepping out of the narrative, welcome aboard BlueAnt!)_


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Twenty-Sixth*
_In which: let’s make a deal._

Although the journal and notebooks are helpful in shedding light on why Petros came to Bountiful, they do not give the party one crucial piece of information.  If Petros’s soul is in the gem, how are they going to get to his body?

Annika returns presently with the notebook and the information there sets off another round of speculation and strategy.

_(See attachment at the bottom of this post.)_

As the investigation continues, Gemil turns his eyes up towards Anvil.  “Might I have a word… privately?”

“Why?”

“You want to talk to Petros, I can tell you how to make that happen.”

Anvil looks over at the others.  They are still pouring over books, debating various strategies.  However, they seem no closer to coming up with a way to contact Petros than they were an hour ago.   Anvil takes the skull and withdraws to Petros’ bedroom.

“Yes?”  Anvil prompts Gemil when they are out of immediate earshot.

“I would like a favor.  If you are able to restore Petros to his body, or to some body, I will still be trapped in this skull…  helpless.  Subject to his… whims.  I have no desire to spend the rest of my existence like that.”

“What is it you want of me?”

“I want your word, Justicar.  If I tell you how you can communicate with Petros, I want you to promise me you will take back to Ebis.”

“Back to Ebis.” Anvil repeats the phrase carefully, considering it.  _If that is the letter of the agreement—_

“Now now.  Let’s not get tangled up in technicalities,” says Gemil, perhaps anticipating Anvil’s line of thought.  “You will take me to a place I know inside the Empire of Ebis.  I do not demand immediate action, but you will do it in a timely manner.  Likewise, I will not lead you into some kind of trap, or attempt to otherwise engineer your death while you doing me this service.”

“Will you kill us afterwards?”

“I will grant you safe passage away from my abode.  Beyond that, while I have no intention of killing you...  well, one never knows where our future paths might cross.”

Anvil considers carefully.  Unfortunately, no one in the group appears to be on the verge of an insight.

Anvil takes the golden skull, places it on the bed, and casts _detect law_ at it.

Upon seeing the result, he addresses Gemil once more.  

“Very well,” he says, “you have my word.”

###

Gemil explains that, following Petros’ notes, it should be possible to transfer his soul into the gem and Petros’ into the golden skull.  Petros had, in fact, done it previously and detailed the procedure.  Once the transfers have been accomplished, the party will be able to converse directly with Petros and find out what he knows about whatever is going on inside the keep.

Lira scowls at Gemil.  “But if this is successful, what’s to keep us from just leaving you in the gem, trapped?”

Gemil almost manages to look wounded.  “You gave your word.”

“He did,” Eva clarifies, indicating Anvil.  “I didn’t.”

“Ah…” Gemil does not seem overly concerned.  “But you’ll have to move Petros back into the gem if you’re going to put him back into his body.”  

“Assuming he still has a body to go into,” Lira points out.

Gemil’s omnipresent grin twists.  “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Do we know Petros’s soul will only go back into his own body?” Thatch asks.

“What other body did you have in mind?”

“Well…” Thatch shifts, uncomfortable.  “I mean, Sir Cyrus is just _lying_ there…”

Gemil positively howls with laughter.

“Oh, that would be delightfully ironic.  Putting the soul of a wizard into the corpse of his companions, months dead…  I don’t think he’d thank you for that one.”

”No one asked you what you think,” Eva snaps at him.

Gemil does not volunteer any other information, but he does continue to chuckle quietly to himself.

###

Late that evening, Annika is finally ready to attempt the transfer.  With Petros’ notes and Gemil’s consultation, she has rigged up an elaborate apparatus with the gem in a holder at one end and the skull at the other.

“You will remember your promise?” Gemil asks, rolling ruby eyes up suspiciously at the party.

Lira shrugs.  “This was your idea,” she reminds him, and Annika sprinkles some kind of powder over the delicate metal armature and begins to recite an incantation.

The light in the gem pulses and a glow envelops the arcane machinery.  “Umm…” Thatch asks, “Is that supposed to happen?”  Annika ignores him and keeps chanting. Then, for an instant, the light in the gem winks out entirely.  

The party feels a passage, almost like a gust of wind, and as the light returns to the gem the skull cautiously opens its jaw, and a new voice, slightly hoarse and deeper than Gemil’s croaks, “What…?  What has happened?”

“Petros.” Anvil says, in a way that is only partially a question.

“Yes.”

“You are in the golden skull.  We have switched you and Gemil so that we might speak with you.”

“What is the date?”

“February 16th,” Lira supplies.

“The year!” he croaks urgently.  “The year!”

“152.”

The skull seems to relax a bit.  “Only a matter of months then.”

The party nods.

“I hope you will excuse us,” Reyu puts in, “but when we arrived we did read parts of your journal.”

“Ah,” Petros sighs.  “I suppose, under the circumstances, it could not be helped.  If that is so, you already know most of my story.  It is as I said.  I went into the keep at dawn, thinking they would be at their weakest.  That proved to be a fatal miscalculation.  I had to fight my way past hundreds of skeletons.  There were ghouls as well—which I was overcoming—when I was suddenly surrounded by several wights.  My spell resources had already been depleted on the skeletons.  I was overwhelmed.”

The group waits for a moment in respectful silence.  

Finally, Thatch speaks up.  “Umm… What’s a wight?”

The skull’s ruby eyes examine the party members in turn, all of whom shrug uselessly.  

Petros explains.  “They are undead, but, unlike the skeletons, quite intelligent in their fashion.  They kill by draining their victim’s life energy.  When the prey perishes, the body rises to become another wight in thrall of its creator.”

“Well that’s pleasant,” Eva mutters.

“You think that’s what happened to your body?  That it’s still in there, as a wight?”

“I imagine so, unless the ghouls ate it first.  They are flesh-eaters,” Petros explains, in case the party is unfamiliar with ghouls as well, “in this valley they have little sustenance.”

The party excuses themselves to go upstairs for a private consultation as to their next move.

Petros calls after them, “There is a great evil here, if you do not eradicate it, someone else must!”

**********

Upstairs in Petros’ sitting room, Eva is unconvinced of the wizard’s logic.  “I don’t see that this is our problem.  We’ve found Petros, we can take the jewel to a high cleric who can _resurrect_ him without a body, and our job is done.”

Reyu is more pensive.  “We must consider that if we do not deal with what has happened in this valley, more innocents are likely to suffer.”

Kiara does not approve of any plan that involves her going anywhere near the keep again.  “Petros said that the Sovereigns have quarantined the valley.  If they aren’t going to do anything about it, why should we?”

Annika gives Kiara a reassuring squeeze.  “I don’t want you to go there again, but I also don’t think Professor Alexandra would be thrilled if she asked for an archmage and we gave her a glowing gem.”

“Also,” Eva points out, “if we don’t get Petros back to his body, he probably can’t operate the tower, which means _we’re_ going to have to walk all the way back out of the Sovereignty.”

“Don’t worry,” Benedic assures her, “I got you through the Ketkath once, I’ll get you back again.”

“Oh good.”

Lira, who has to this point remained uncharacteristically quiet, finally speaks.  “That keep is certainly a challenge, and Ehkt has just given me the ability to turn undead.  I don’t see how it’s our problem, but I don’t think I’m supposed to walk away from it either.”

As Anvil has already made it clear that the infestation of skeletons is an affront to Kettenek’s Justice, and Thatch has yet to find a place Anvil is going he is not willing to follow, the party—despite some misgivings—agrees to enter the keep and attempt to replace Petros’ soul in its usual home.

###

Everyone takes the time to carefully study Petros’ portrait in the tower’s foyer.  The archmage has sharp features, and a distinctive black goatee.  Petros (in the skull) assures the party that the portrait is a good likeness, and should allow them to recognize his body.

Assuming his body is still in one piece.


----------



## omrob

*Bright Lights...Big Undead City...*

Hey, so anotha caught up reader, and return customer. 

Things I like about this SH are: 

1) Cliffhangers
2) Excellent one liners
3) Out of the box, creative problem solving by all the players.
4) The visual aids, maps, journals etc. 
5) Easy to understand religious establsihments, while preserving uniqueness and deep flavah
6) Easy to understand well-developed, distinct cultures between city states and countries.
7) The Elves!
8) The romantic elements and "drama"
9) The sense of  justice and morals the pcs share
10) The regularity of the updates and their excellent compsition 
11) The birthday posts

Well - nuff said...

Thanks


----------



## spyscribe

*Hey omrob!  And the multi-media extravaganza continues.*

*Part the One-Hundred Twenty-Seventh*
_In which: guess who’s coming to dinner…_

Petros gives the party a rough description of the inside of the keep, and reiterates his advice not to go during daylight hours.  

“The skeletons begin their dance at midnight.  They leave the keep and spend close to an hour wending through the villages and surrounding countryside.  During that time, you can sneak into the keep and destroy their masters.”

“And who are their masters?”

“Several ghouls, and at least three wights.  There would be four now—I suppose—but  I believe their leader to be incorporeal.  Some kind of specter, or ghost.”

“Incorporial?” Eva asks, “As in, it doesn’t have a body?  How are we going to fight something that we can’t touch?”

“Sir Cyrus’s sword has enchantments that allow it to damage such creatures.  You may take it with you if one of your number has the skill to wield it.”

Anvil nods.  “I do.” He indicates Thatch’s greatsword, “I can also enchant your weapon.  It will not be as effective, but it will allow you a chance of hitting your foe.”

The rest of the evening and the next day are spent in preparation.  Eva and Kiara both fashion crude maces, in case they encounter skeletons that do not participate in the nightly dance.  Lira and Reyu both prepare _magic stones_ for Kiara to use in her sling, for added potency against the undead.

Kiara is also given the task of holding the gem containing Petros’ soul.  As she is far and away the most mobile member of the party, they trust that she will be best able to reach Petros’ body once they locate it.  And—in the event that something goes horribly wrong—if Kiara is carrying the gem when she shifts into swallow form, Petros’ soul will be protected.

At last, at midnight on the 17th, they are ready.

###

Midnight finds the party once again inside the city of skeletons.  The hypnotic drumming begins, and despite her knowledge of the danger, Lira finds her foot tapping unconsciously along with the clattering rhythms.   The skeletons dance by within meters of the party, once again _hidden from undead_.

Lira isn’t the only one entranced by the macabre music, but thanks to the _magic circle against evil_ surrounding the party, no one leaves their huddle to join the dance.

The skeletons dance off into the city, and as the drumming fades, the lingering itch to join the procession goes with it.

The main gates from the street to the keep’s courtyard are still open from the skeletons’ exodus, and the party pauses just beyond them to invoke last minute spells and blessings.  Anvil, in addition to _bless_ casts _magic weapon_ on Thatch’s sword and _bull’s strength_ on the fighter himself.  Reyu casts _barkskin_ on herself and Eva.  Lira finishes last, putting her four _cat’s grace_ spells on whoever can best use them, and then casting a _shield_ on herself for good measure.

Finally, she nods to Anvil, who gives the go signal.  The tight knot of adventurers sprints through the gates and across the courtyard, heading not for the main doors of the audience chamber, but for a side door on the East Wing, where Petros fell three months ago.

**********

Above the courtyard, a skeleton on sentry duty remains.  Perhaps he is sad not to join the dance of his fellows.  Perhaps he feels nothing at all.  Perhaps he was, in life, a she.  With the party _hidden from undead_ he cannot see, or hear, or smell their dash across the courtyard.  He does however, notice the East Wing door open of its own volition, and then, equally without assistance, swing closed again.

Skeletons are not, as a rule, intelligent.  However, this one does know that doors do not move without someone or something pushing them.  He clacks his teeth at his partner, who gives a sharp nod in return, and climbs down from his watch-post to check the door.

When he reaches it, the door is locked.

**********

The interior of the East Wing is, like its twin on the west, a large open rectangular building subdivided by paper walls and sliding screens.  The party moves quickly and quietly, checking rooms as they go.

Whatever the rooms’ former functions might have been, they are now in complete disarray.  Tables have been overturned, books scattered from shelves.  However, the party finds all of them empty of occupants, living or undead.

Until, that is, Anvil slides open the door of a dining room at the end of the corridor.  Four ghouls crouch around a low table, as though gathered for a midnight meal.  A fifth ghoul serves as the main course.

Annika swallows back rising bile.  The others pressed in behind him, Anvil raises his holy symbol and cries out, “Back foul things!  Kettenek’s Justice demands it!”  And his holy symbol of Kettenek begins to glow…

One can only imagine the scenario from the ghouls’ perspective.  One minute they are having a comrade for dinner, and the next minute a group of men and women have mysteriously appeared in the doorway.  And although the ghouls may not know where these intruders have come from, they are at least sure that they do not want to be anywhere near the bearded man with the holy symbol.  They flee.

No longer _hidden from undead_ after Anvil’s attack, Thatch draws his sword and cuts down the first cowering ghoul where he stands.  The second ghoul does manage to run past the party, making to escape through the main audience chamber.  The third runs for a side serving room, pursued by Anvil.   The fourth can do nothing but cower uselessly in a corner and Benedic and Thatch close in for the kill.  

Running several steps behind the fleeing ghoul, Anvil just catches a glimpse of the creature leaping into a pit that has been knocked out of the floor in the adjacent serving room.  _That can’t be good_ Anvil thinks, _but best we finish here before going after him._  Decision made, Anvil leaves Benedic and Thatch to the room clean-up, and leads the charge into the main audience chamber.


----------



## spyscribe

_This update is in honor of WisdomLikeSilence on the occasion of her receiving her MBA today. Congratulations!

Incidently, this is the fourth Master's degree earned by a member of the group over the course of this campaign, proving that if even if some of us are underemployed, none are under-credentialed._

*Part the One-Hundred Twenty-Eighth*
_In which: wait until dark._

The party is on the heels of the fleeing ghoul as he and the rest of the party come charging into the main audience chamber.  That ghoul makes a bee-line through the cavernous main room, not even pausing to slam the door behind him.  Certainly, he does not stop to put up any kind of fight.

The two ghouls already in the room, unturned, have no such compunctions.

Eva, Reyu, Annika, Lira and Kiara take up posts in the hall and barrage the two ghouls with magical and mundane missile fire.  Anvil, who believes that Kettenek’s Justice is almost always best done at melee range, charges on ahead, sword raised.

With a mighty stroke he slices into one ghoul, sending a gout of ichor spraying across the stone floor.  The ghoul slashes back ineffectually with its claws, and Anvil easily pulls back to avoid the blow.  Unfortunately, that adjustment places his back in perfect position to meet the second ghoul’s outstretched nails.

The gash across his back is shallow, and Anvil easily shrugs off the pain.  However, as he turns to face his attacker, he feels his muscles locking up under the effects of the undead abomination’s poison.  He soon finds himself trapped between the two ghouls, frozen and helpless.

That is when Eva comes charging in, her rapier out and slashing.  A quick slice to one ghoul’s head sends his ear flying across the room.  Reyu, Annika and Kiara are right behind her.  

Kiara has shifted to hybrid form and swoops above the ghouls in the high-ceilinged room.  Her sling sings as it whirls through the air, sending bullets flying.  

As she pauses to reload, she takes a second to glance out the second-story window, which is just at a level with the top of the wall surrounding the keep.  Through it, she can see the sentries positioned on the wall, and a very startled skeleton staring back at her, teeth clacking.  

Kiara calls down to Annika, “If they didn’t know we were here already, they do now.”

Annika runs for the huge oak doors leading back to the courtyard.  With some strain, she lifts the crossbar propped on the wall beside them and slides it across.  Not a moment later, they shake under an onslaught of skeletal pounding.  

Meanwhile, Reyu has cast _shillelagh_ on her quarterstaff and brings a killing blow down upon the ghoul that Anvil and Eva already wounded.  Lira whips out her crossbow, and—using Anvil’s petrified arm to steady her aim—pins a bolt through the second ghoul’s shoulder.  Reyu and Eva soon make short work of him as well.

Eva pauses to wipe her blade free of ghoul slime and looks over at Anvil.  “What do we do about him?”

“Nothing,” Reyu points to a twitching index finger, “he’s already recovering.”

Sure enough, no sooner have Thatch and Benedic caught up with them than Anvil manages to shake off the last of the ghoul’s paralysis, and the entire party presses on for the final wing.

**********

Thatch takes point and runs out ahead of the rest of the party, following the trail of open doors left by the lone, surviving ghoul from the dining room.  Once again, he finds rooms in disarray, but no sign of animated inhabitants.  The last open door leads to a set of servant’s quarters—a good-sized room divided by thin curtains into individual spaces.  Aside from the drapery, the only furnishing is a ladder attached to the exterior wall, leading down into what must be some kind of basement.  Beside it is a dumbwaiter.

Just to be sure, Thatch sweeps the rest of the rooms beyond.  He finds no one.  “All clear!” he shouts.

Annika makes a beeline down the hall and bolts the side door to the courtyard.  “Got the door!” she calls back to the others.

Eva shuts the door on a tiny bathing chamber on the other side of the hallway.  “There’s a skeleton in there.”

“What is he doing?” Anvil asks

“Looked like he was drawing a bath.”

“Leave it.”  Anvil indicates the ladder to the basement with Sir Cyrus’ drawn sword.  “Let’s go.”

**********

At the bottom of the ladder, the party finds themselves in a narrow stone corridor with branching chambers, almost as if the keep has been built on top of a series of natural caverns.

Torches in the passage and side caves cast the entire place in a dim and flickering glow.  Thatch sweeps a large, unoccupied room that obviously serves as some kind of barracks.  Opposite, Anvil finds a store room equally empty.  They are just moving on to the next set of rooms when every torch in the place suddenly winks out, leaving the party in complete darkness.

From somewhere ahead and to the right comes a faint humming sound, accompanied by a low cackle.


----------



## Len

spyscribe said:
			
		

> This update is in honor of WisdomLikeSilence on the occasion of her receiving her MBA today. Congratulations!



Congratulations on your new wisdom, WisdomLikeSilence!



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> Incidently, this is the fourth Master's degree earned by a member of the group over the course of this campaign, proving that if even if some of us are underemployed, none are under-credentialed.



According to my calculations, what this proves is that your DM is way too stingy with the XP.


----------



## spyscribe

*A map*

The basements of the keep at Bountiful.  Update to follow momentarily.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Twenty-Ninth*
_In which..._

Annika unshrouds her everburning torch.  Lira casts _light_ on Euro, ready to send the glowing mustelid to wherever illumination is needed.  Reyu—keen eyes unhindered by the dimness—dashes forward to where the corridor widens into a central chamber, and casts _light_ on a stalagmite, revealing to the others what she has already seen:

A pale, sallow figure with sunken eyes and claw-like nails.  Although it was clearly once human, now…  From Petros’ description, it can only be a wight. Behind, it is flanked by two ghouls and a squad of skeletons.

Unfortunately, running forward to shed some light on their attackers has left the elf in front of the rest of the party, alone and vulnerable.

As her companions watch, a wight—who bears no resemblance at all to Petros—reaches forward with an emaciated hand, skin drawn tight over bones, nails grown into talons, and slashes down the side of Reyu’s neck.

The elf takes a step back, gasping.  She brings a hand to her neck, and although it comes away bloody, she can tell that the wound is not severe.  Still, she feels… drained.

It doesn’t stop her from swinging back with her shillelagh and cracking the wight in the ribs.  Benedic also comes forward and joins the fray.  He slashes viciously with his sword, but in getting close enough to reach the enemy he is also within reach of its toxic nails.

_Not so good, mate_ Benedic thinks as he struggles against the drain of the wight’s attack.  Whatever he might have thought next is lost as he is entirely distracted by the ear-splitting blast of Lira sounding Sheesak’s hunting horn.

###

Anvil barely glances at the undead approaching the rest of the party.  When the lights went out, he was already halfway into a large adjoining chamber which appears to have once served as the keep’s kitchens.  Now, in the glow of Annika’s torch and Lira’s familiar, he can now clearly see that another wight emerging from the gloom.

A wight with a bone white goatee.

Anvil backs up rapidly, shouting, “The gem!  The gem!”

Kiara is still in hybrid form, but the ceilings of the underground cavern are too low to give her room to maneuver.  Worse yet, even as Anvil shouts, a ghoul moves into the doorway, immediately between her and Petros’ animated body.

Still, Kiara has been given a vital job, and she is not about to let anyone stop her from doing it.

Taking a deep breath, Kiara dashes forward, weaving between Eva and Thatch, past Anvil and runs straight for the gibbering creature.  At the last possible second, she takes a flying leap and _using its head like a stepping stone_ summersaults over the ghoul to land in a crouch at the wight’s feet.

The Petros wight looks down at her and hisses.  He brings a hand back to strike and, at that moment, Kiara slips under his guard, punches forward, and slams the gem holding Petros’ soul right into his body’s chest.

>Boom!<

A sudden gust of wind explodes from the point of contact between the wight and the gem.  Kiara brings her arms up to shield her face from the blast and barely manages to stay on her feet.  When the wind dies, she looks up.  

Petros has been blown across the kitchen.  It lies still for a moment.  Then, gradually struggles to raise its head.  Finally, it manages to focus on the other side of the room, and makes eye-contact with Kiara.

When it does, she can see that its skin is no longer quite so sallow.  Its nails are long and ragged, but no longer the sharpened claws that moments ago menaced her.  And when she looks into its eyes, there is a light that was not there before.

Petros’ familiar voice croaks, “What…?”

Kiara grins.

On the other side of the cavern, Annika gapes—caught between pride and terror.

###

Meanwhile, the echos of Sheesak’s horn die away just as the blast which reunited Petros’ body and soul does and a silvery green vortex appears behind the wight that attacked Reyu and Benedic.

Benedic drops into ready stance, preparing to ward off another blow from this, still very much undead, wight.  But as the wight moves to strike, its back arches, as if in sudden pain.  It shrieks, once… twice, and then, with a small gurgle, falls.

It’s then that the party can finally see that the silver-green vortex has solidified into a very large, very angry, wolverine.

Benedic straightens, momentarily off-balance now that his nearest enemy has been so abruptly eliminated.  Lira barely smirks.

Eva looks at the wolverine and shudders.

###

Anvil dispatches the ghoul in front of him and charges into the kitchens.  He finds that any food preparation in this room is but a distant memory, and the center of the floor is now dominated by an eight-foot arch.  And as approaches, he sees that it appears to have been constructed from human bones.

It is a massive, foreboding presence, thrumming with evil magic.  In the center of the arch, a slight shimmering, like an invisible curtain, ripples.   Anvil draws still closer, and realizes that the vague unease that pervades the lands of Bountiful is no longer vague in any way.  This thing is a foul, black heart, pumping waves of unholy energy that besmirch all that was once good and light in this place.  

Calling upon Kettenek to grant him mighty strength, Anvil plants his feet and attempts to push the arch over, but as he touches the bony surface, a ghostly figure appears before him, and forces its incorporeal hand _into_ Anvil’s face.  

The figure seems to be human, but like no human Anvil has ever seen.  He is a great, seven-foot tall figure, but his shape is indistinct.  He seems to be clad in rotted furs, but they ebb and flow like dark mists around him.  Whatever face he might have had is lost in the dark of a sickly looking headdress of matted fur and feathers.  

In life, the headdress would no doubt have been some badge of distinction—the mark of a chieftan of the Go’nah-li.  Now, it is a cowl of decay, from which two glowing red pinpoints of light shine through, right where his eyes should be.

His touch is deathly cold, so cold it seems to burn.  And as the pain penetrates deeper and deeper into Anvil’s flesh the ancient chieftain roars with a voice like gravel in the wind, “These are *our* lands!”

Anvil can feel the cold pulling at him, trying to drain away his health, his stamina, his very life.  He resists, reaching inside, searching for the rock in his core that is the center of his faith.  He shouts back: “Kettenek cares not whose lands these are!” 

Anvil breaks free, holds his holy symbol out before him, and calls upon his god to banish this abomination.

The wraith laughs with the sound of the dying.

###

The rest of the party has done their work.  Three wights and their ghouls lie in pieces on the stone floor, and the Wolverine crushes the last skeleton between its mighty jaws.  

Thatch holds his sword at the ready; he can almost feel Anvil’s enchantment on the blade, crying out for the chance to strike.  He glances back to the others.  Lira has just cast a _cure_ spell on Reyu to bring the Druid back to something closer to fighting shape.

“Ready?” he asks.

“That was my last _cure light wounds_,” Lira warns him.

“Then we’d better be the ones doing the damage.”

The others nod.  Thatch raises his sword, and the group descends en-mass on the incorporeal ancient chief.


----------



## ellinor

Great update, and great cliffhanger.  Thanks for the afternoon-booster -


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Thirtieth*
_In which: Kiara demonstrates that her dexterity is higher than her diplomacy score._

Thatch lands the first blow, Anvil’s _magic weapon_ spell allowing the sword to connect with reassuring force as the Chieftain attempts to glide through one foot of the arch in an effort to put that bony mass between himself and the party.

The wraith snarls, but does not shift the focus of his attack away from Anvil.  Instead, he casts and scorches the cleric with a _searing light_ spell, sending Anvil staggering backwards and causing his attack with Sir Cyrus’ sword to go wide.

“Your weapons cannot harm me,” he hisses as Anvil struggles to regain his balance.

Anvil grits his teeth.  “Kettenek has other methods,” he says tersely and follows his words with a _searing light_ of his own.

The wraith falls back, crying out in sudden pain.  But not before lashing out one last time with his freezing touch, sending Anvil, unconscious, to the ground.

However, Eva is right there to take his place. She knows her rapier is useless against an enemy with no body, so instead she brandishes the party’s wand of cure light wounds.  She thrusts the tip of it into the air where the wraith’s chest would seem to be, and activates the wand.

He shudders and hisses, dodging through the arch.

_Good,_ Eva thinks, _didn’t like that much, did you?_

Although the party has to be careful not to follow him through the arch, the wraith finds that he is still unable to shield himself from their attacks.  

Benedic picks up Sir Cyrus’ sword from where Anvil dropped it and goes on the offensive.  

Although Thatch does not connect with the wraith every time he brings his sword around, he is hitting with shuddering forced when he connects.

Eva is right there with the wand of _cure light wounds_ and Reyu continues to batter away with her _shillelagh_.  

Lira, seeing Anvil on the ground, takes a moment to convert an orison to _cure minor wounds_.  She sends Euro scurrying over to the fallen cleric to deliver the spell.  _At least it’ll stabilize him_, she comforts herself.  

She forces herself to focus on the task at hand, and prepares to cast _magic missile_ at the wraith as soon as Euro has discharged his spell.

Meanwhile, Annika keeps her eyes glued on the incorporeal foe.  She’s out of _magic missiles_ and she knows her crossbow is useless against him.  She does however, still have a _dispel magic_ prepared.

_There, the wraith is falling back.  It’s hurt badly, looks like… yes, it’s going to cast._  Annika casts as well, finishing her spell just an instant before the Chieftain does.  She realizes with a sinking sensation in her stomach that it was attempting to cast _inflict serious wounds_ on itself, likely enough to negate most, if not all, of the injury that the party has managed to cause it.

But those few seconds prove to be enough.  Annika feels her spell spin out from her hands and crash into the wraith’s nascent magic.  The Chief curses in its ancient tongue as its spell collapses before its glowing, red eyes.

And just at that moment, a stone comes whizzing from Kiara’s sling, striking it square in the torso.

Had Kiara been using an ordinary stone, or even a sling bullet, it would have passed harmlessly through the creature, as though through an illusion or bit of mist.  But this was the last of Kiara’s _magic stones_, and as it strikes its target, the wraith’s form appears to buckle around the impact, leaving a small black hole in the middle of its phantom chest.  

Like ripples in a pond, the blackness spreads outward, the Chieftain’s form collapsing in on itself, until—screaming in incoherent rage—it is no more.

###

For a moment, the room is eerily silent.  Eva uses the wand to return Anvil to consciousness, and he heals himself to closer to his full strength.  

Petros clears his throat in the post-battle quiet.  “I thank you very much for your assistance, but I must point out that our work is not yet done.  The skeletons will be returning soon, unless we can stop them, they will overwhelm us.”

Anvil shakes his head.  “We cannot turn them all.”

Petros agrees.  “But I believe this… arch must be responsible for whatever force is animating the skeletons.  Disabling it should destroy them all.”

“What should we do to… disable… it?” Reyu asks.

“Does any of you have a spell-book?”

Annika produces hers, but offers it with some trepidation.  “How long do you need?”

“Fifteen minutes, perhaps a little more.”

Anvil shakes his head.  “I do not believe we have that long before the skeletons return.  They already know where are here, and have been trying to break into the keep for some minutes.”

Petros looks at Annika.  “Do you have _dispel magic_ prepared?”

“I used the last one to counterspell the wraith.”

Petros sighs, “It was unlikely you could have affected the object in any event.”  He then glances back at her.  “I do not mean to impune your abilities, but…”

Annika nods to show that she takes no offense.

Eva notices Lira casting _detect magic_ and squinting at the arch.  “What do you see?”

“Transmutation…. And a whole lot of necromancy.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Thatch mutters.  “Looks like plan B.”  The fighter takes off his pack and pulls out a coil of rope.  _This would be a whole lot easier,_ he reflects, _if I had Bob_.

###

Cautious never to actually pass through the shimmering archway themselves, the party works to tie several ropes around the top of the arch.  Anvil and Benedic pull as Thatch hews at one leg of the arch with his sword.

Sparks ring from the blade as metal strikes bone.  

One.

Two. 

The structure begins to groan as Benedic and Anvil put all their weight onto the ropes.  Thatch draws back his arm for one last strike….

Three!

With a mighty >CRACK< the bone arch snaps and a huge section breaks free, leaving only two uneven stumps protruding from the floor.  

Thatch stands back, satisfied.

A few seconds later, Lira reaches out to Euro through their shared empathic link.

_Euro?_

Yeah, Boss?

_When the arch broke, did you see a big flash of light?_

No.

_Ah._

There is a brief pause.

_Are you still glowing?_

You bet.

_Annika’s torch still lit?_

Sure.  I think that’s why they call it “everburning,” you know Boss?

_Yeah, probably is._

Hey Boss.  Why, do you ask?

_Oh, it’s just there was a really big aura flare when the arch broke… and I was looking right at it with _detect magic_ when it happened…._

You okay, Boss?

_Actually, I think I’ve gone blind._

###

Fortunately, Lira’s sight begins to return almost immediately, and in the meantime Annika casts _knock_ on the one large locked door in the basement of the keep which was never opened in the course of the battle.

As Annika works, Kiara gets up the courage to ask about something that has been bothering her since she first saw Petros in his wight form.

Trying to be mindful of her manners, she walks up to the archmage and asks, “Excuse me, but what happened to your arm?  Did the ghouls eat it?”

Indeed, Petros’ left arm ends just below the elbow.  The rest of the party turns to look, most of them just as curious, if too wary to ask.

Petros actually looks a bit embarrassed.  “No, it was… like this before.”

Lira is too startled to prevent herself from saying the first thing that pops into her head: “And you didn’t think of mentioning that as a way we might be able to identify you as a wight?”

Whatever Petros might have answered to that is cut-short by a whoop from Eva, who has just gotten a look into the locked room.

Thatch and Benedic both reflexively reach for their swords, but the cause of Eva’s outburst soon becomes clear:

The room is filled to the brim with treasure.


----------



## Trahnesi

spyscribe said:
			
		

> The room is filled to the brim with treasure.




Ah, the joys of divying the treasure.

Did Fajitas allow you to keep any of it?


----------



## dpdx

I'd hope whatever rest could be had would be the first priority, if indeed the keep could be secured to prevent entry.

Second choice would be to see if anything in the room could be used to help ward off the skeletons, if indeed the "search committee" cannot rest.

Finally, Anvil cannot be out of turning attempts. I count two in the last four updates, which I read gleefully all at once in a successful attempt to catch up.

Thanks, Spyscribe, and congratulations, WLS. Any number of gaming companies could use your acumen to help them stay afloat.


----------



## Fajitas

Trahnesi said:
			
		

> Did Fajitas allow you to keep any of it?



Well, in the original module, the Wraith is keeping the Baroness alive in the Keep.  He's confused about whether or not he's alive or dead*, you see, and he intends to marry her to legitimize his claim to the town.  Thus, as written, while the Keep contains all the looted treasure of the town, the Baroness won't let the PCs take any of it.

This whole legitimizing claim thing didn't work for me.  So it went, which meant the Baroness went, which meant that the treasure... well, you'll see in the next update what happens to the treasure. 


_*Which may have something to do with why he casts _searing light_ at the PCs.  It was written in the module as part of the tactics, and I didn't really think about it until it happened, but undead casting _searing light_ at the living?  That's not smart.  It'll just give them ideas, and they get to do a lot more damage back to you.  Ah well._


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Thirty-First*
_In which: Lira and Anvil explore Bountiful at night, and we find out what happens to the treasure._

Aboveground, the streets are deserted, and—aside from the party’s own movements—absolutely still.  The effect would be eerie, except for the memory of what the streets had been like before.  Nothing like a town of animated skeletons to put things in perspective.

Anvil and Lira make their way towards the desecrated temple in the middle of the town.  For the last half-block, they have been stepping carefully through a swathe of fallen skeletons piled nearly to their knees.  They appear to have collapsed where they stood when the arch was broken.  The dry >clack clack< of brittle bones sliding against each other is the only sound in the darkness.

When they reach clear road again, Lira breaks the silence.  “If we burn Bountiful, do you think the Sovereigns will send someone to investigate?”

“It seems likely.”

“Do you think we’ll be gone by then?”

“Probably,” Anvil replies.

Lira stops, choosing her words carefully.  “If it looks like we won’t… would you mind preparing an _undetectable alignment_ for me?”

Anvil considers.  Since her divine revelation, Lira has shown a strong and distinctive aura under a _detect chaos_ spell, not something—like her holy symbol—that she can hide under her tunic.  

On the one hand, Anvil is not sure that church leaders generally condone using Ketennek’s blessings to conceal chaotic priests from the forces of the Law.  On the other, the laws of the Sovereignty state that it is illegal—on pain of death—to _be_ a chaotic priest, and so he would—to whit—be using Ketennek’s blessings to prevent her unjust execution under a miscarriage of Justice.  It is an interesting dilemma, one he will have to record in his Log of Justice.

To Lira he says only, “If it appears likely we will have to deal again with the Sovereigns, it can be done.”

She nods.  “Thank you.”

They continue in silence, past the carpet of bones, to the temple beyond.

###

Thatch uses a large golden tureen to scoop coins off the floor of the royal vault and dump them into a waiting cart which the group has appropriated.  Annika and Kiara have gone to walk with Petros back to his tower, leaving him, Eva, and Benedic to sort through the assorted loot, estimate its value, and decide what will be taken back with them.

Before he and Lira left, Anvil broached the question of whom the treasure in the vault rightfully belonged to.

#

_*Eva looked at Anvil as if he were a little dim.  “I think that would be us,” she replied.

“The former resident of this keep may have heirs,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but umm… how are we going to find them?” Thatch asked.  “You know… if they’re out there.”

The group finally decided that if anyone in the Sovereignty had really been concerned about the contents of the vault, they would have sent their own group of operatives to retrieve them. *_

#

Euro, still _lighted_, trots by.  The ruby in his teeth casts red glowing spots on the surrounding walls and floor.  He drops the gem in the cart and turns back to the pile to get another.

_Yep_, thinks Thatch, _it’s good to have money._

###

The inside of the temple is pitch black.  Since neither she nor Anvil have any _light_ spells left, Lira strikes a sunrod on the stone flags of the entryway and follows close behind Anvil as he proceeds through the desecrated space, sword in hand.

The building has been wrecked: furniture overturned, papers scattered, and anything that might have once been holy to Ketennek has been deliberately defiled.  Lira finds a recently dated decree from the Baroness Teysu Gyoko, who seemed to have been the local noble, in a ransacked office, and pockets it as documentation that they were here.  

Everywhere, the walls and floors are covered in blood.  Anvil and Lira soon they find the bodies--brutally murdered and left where they fell.

“Could this have been some kind of last stand?” Lira asks.

Anvil shakes his head.  “Everything is barricaded from the _outside_.”

“Why would…?”  Lira abruptly stops, realizing the answer to her own question.  “They didn’t want the clergy to be skeletons.  They just wanted them dead.”

Anvil says nothing and steps forward into the main sanctuary.

The huge space swallows the light of Lira’s sunrod.  More wreckage of pews… blood… Anvil approaches the main alter and finds that someone has cut a large square hole in the center of it.  Lira tugs on his sleeve.

“Look.”

His gaze follows her finger.  Pinned to the wall above the altar is a foot.

Anvil takes the sunrod and steps closer to the wall.  Standard temple architecture usually places a large holy symbol of Ketennek on this wall.  It’s still there… behind the disemboweled priest nailed to it.

Behind Anvil, Lira swallows bile and tries not to think about what order death, nailing, and disembowelment might have occurred in.

“Do you want to try and take him down?” she asks.

“Why?” he answers.  “We’re going to burn it all anyway.”

Anvil turns on his heel and walks out, Lira following quickly behind.

###

Eva picks up the last stray gold coin in the corner of the vault.  Euro does a sweep, comes up empty.  Thatch surveys the empty room.

“Umm… I guess there wasn’t much not worth taking then, was there?”


----------



## Arkhandus

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Eva picks up the last stray gold coin in the corner of the vault.  Euro does a sweep, comes up empty.  Thatch surveys the empty room.
> 
> “Umm… I guess there wasn’t much not worth taking then, was there?”




Exactly!


----------



## thatdarncat

So did the party ever figure out exactly WHY there was an intelligent skeliton making arch in the basement of the keep? Or why the priests had been killed?

Or did they just take the loot and run?


----------



## Fajitas

thatdarncat said:
			
		

> So did the party ever figure out exactly WHY there was an intelligent skeliton making arch in the basement of the keep? Or why the priests had been killed?




The bulk of the whys and wherefores were found in Petros's Journal.  The Wraith Chieftan was a leader of the Go'nah-li, the Old Ones, barbarian tribes that lived in the Ketkath mountains before the Sovereigns came.  As the Sovereigns pushed East towards the Halmae, they killed or forcibly converted all the Old Ones that they came across.  As a result, the civilization of the Old Ones died out.

Based on their means of dress and appearance, Petros speculated that the non-skeletal undead, the wights, ghouls, and wraith that were responsible for the tragedy at Bountiful were risen Old Ones, avenging themselves against the Sovereigns and taking  back the lands that were once theirs.  The priests were slaughtered and the temple desecrated because the priests are the symbol and spirit of the Sovereignty (and, well, 'cause these guys were undead).  

The Chieftan's precise motivations for creating skeletons that thought they were still alive were never explicitly determined, and, alas, he is no longer in any position to enlighten the party.  Petros's best speculation is that he sought to create an unliving mockery of Sovereign society, an even worse horror than that which the Sovereigns visited on his people.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Boy, they've got issues.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Thirty-Second*
_In which: loose ends are tied, an invitation is made, and the party boggles at their newfound wealth._

The party members take a couple of days to rest, recover their strength, and periodically stare at the pile of loot in Petros’ living room with stupid grins on their faces.  Despite Anvil’s earlier words, they also spend some time cleaning the city’s temple.  

In the keep’s vault, Eva found a large square of gold, heavily marred, but recognizable as what was once the centerpiece of the altar.  Rather than attempt to replace it, Reyu uses _shape stone_ to close the hole in the altar’s top and carve a holy symbol of Ketennek on the front.

The bodies found there are laid in repose, and the worst of the blood cleaned through judicious use of _prestidigitation_.  Finally, the party stacks dry wood around the walls, ready to burn.

Petros sequesters himself in his private chambers at the top of his tower and the party does not see him at all for nearly two full days.  When he finally descends, his hair is once again the rich black of his portrait, and he appears to have two whole arms.  The party does notice, however, that his hands are both covered in black leather gloves, and his goatee remains bone white.

Petros quirks an eyebrow at the pile of treasure in his living room, then turns to the party.  

“Thank you, once again for the service you have rendered me.”

“We have done only our duty under Ketennek’s Justice.”

“Nevertheless, your aid is much appreciated… Tell me, have any of you examined the artifact?”

There’s a pause.

“You mean, the one we broke that caused all the skeletons to fall apart?” Thatch asks.

“Yes.”

The party shrugs and shakes their heads.  It seemed pretty well broken to them.

********

Petros and the group descend again into the keep’s kitchens.  Everything is as they left it, and Eva, Thatch and Euro confirm once again that no treasure has been left behind.

Petros, meanwhile, turns to the broken remains of the bone arch and casts _detect magic_.  Lira, never one to be left out where detecting magic is concerned, casts too.

What before appeared as a pile of fused human bones, now, under her magical sight is revealed to be… a pile of fused human bones.

“Ah ha!” says Petros triumphantly.  “Fascinating.”

Lira squints.  She really doesn’t see anything of particular interest.

“Look here,” Petros says, picking up a bone fragment and showing Lira its core.  “The bones have been hollowed and filled with some other substance.  It’s an aura like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Now that Lira knows where to look, she can make out a faint magical aura coming from inside the bones.  Although it is neither divine nor arcane in natures, it is also not unfamiliar.

“It’s—” Lira stumbles for words in her excitement.  “It’s like the Big Not-Evil Rock.  What did Chi’i call it?  Gods’ Breath… but in little chunks.  Like cement.”

Petros does not bother to conceal his surprise.  “You have seen this substance before?”

Lira summarizes the group’s experiences with Gods’ Breath.

Petros listens thoughtfully.  “If anyone would have had experience with this, I’m not surprised it was Chi’i.  She has a particular interest in the… essence… of magic.”

“You know her well?”

“Passably.  She sought me out first, to share spells and magical knowledge.  More recently, I went to consult with her when I began to hear rumors of what had happened here in Bountiful.”

The party asks, but Petros has never met Barnabus, Manaal, or the Miyan Kai. 

After some thought, Petros strikes upon a means of separating the Gods’ Breath from the other elements of the (now broken) artifact.  Lira watches through cracked fingers as he casts some kind of very powerful transmutation spell which dissolves the bone covering and leaves a pile of God’s Breath chunks and loose dirt behind.

“Now,” Petros begins, “if someone could locate a broom…”

**********

That night the party shares a meal with Petros.  A meal that perhaps would have been more tasty had the party not killed his butler, but when the chef can cast _prestidigitation_ no dish is unpalatable.

Over dinner, the party members formally present Petros with an invitation to come to Dar Pykos to interview for the post of Chancellor of the Mages Academy.

Petros seems gravely concerned over the attack on the Academy that made necessary the search for a new chancellor.  

“You may tell the search committee that I would be honored to meet with them regarding this post.”

“We shall,” Anvil replies with typical solemnity.

“Now then,” Petros continues as he pushes away his plate.  “Might I ask what your plans are after you leave this valley?  After the aid you have rendered me, the least I can do is help you on your journey.”

“Well,” says Lira, “I think our next step is to find Manaal—”  

“And get rid of Gemil,” Eva reminds her.

“Right,” Lira continues, “But both of those require traveling to Ebis, first to wherever it is Gemil wants to go, and then…” she trails off.   “I can’t remember the name of the city Chi’i mentioned where Manaal lived.”

“I wrote it down,” Annika reassures her.

Lira sighs.  “Good.”  

“But,” Reyu puts in, “Now that we know there are five archmagi, we are short an invitation.  If we can, we should try to get another from Professor Alexandra.”

“It might also be wise to return to Dar Pykos for other reasons,” Anvil points out, looking significantly at Reyu and Benedic.  Neither has fully recovered from the wounds they took at the hands of the wights in the keep, and if they do not get better soon they will require greater healing than he is capable of providing.

Petros considers.  “If you like, I can take you to Dar Pykos, leave you time to procure this invitation, then return and take you on the next leg of your journey.”

“Really?”  Thatch asks, “You don’t mind?”

Petros smiles.  “It is hardly an undue burden.”

That settled, the only thing that remains is to lay the inhabitants of Bountiful to their final rest.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Thirty-Third*
_In which: Bountiful burns, and we regain a missing member of our party._

The winter in Bountiful has been dry.  The party has stacked wood at strategic points and worked out their strategy.  Eva, Anvil, Benedic, Thatch, and Kiara hold torches.

Petros, Annika, Reyu and Lira stand ready to cast.

Petros begins to chant, weaving his arms in the complex gestures of one of the most powerful spells Annika has ever observed.  As he finishes, a single lightning bolt leaps from his hands to the temple.

The bolt hits, and then fragments, branching out to light the surrounding buildings.

The party blinks collectively.  Well, that would help defend the academy from its enemies.

Torches, a single _lightning bolt_ from Annika, Reyu’s _burning sphere_, and Lira’s _burning hands_ soon have the town ablaze.  The group retreats to Petros’ tower.

Petros watches the smoking city with a certain amount of satisfaction.  “I sill owe you a debt.  Can I transport you to the next stop on your journey?”

“We are in need of an additional invitation for an additional wizard.  We would be much obliged if you would transport us back to Dar Pykos, so that we might consult with our superiors,” says Anvil.

“That can certainly be done,” Petros replies.  “It seems the fire is not in danger of spreading unduly.  We can depart at once—“

“Wait!”  Thatch cries out.  All eyes turn to the young fighter.  “What about Bob?”

Cue flashback:

_The party originally left Bob in care of the dwarves of the Ironroot mines, planning to return there for him after the completion of their mission at the monastery at the Sharpstone Pass.  When they decided to travel to Chi’i’s valley overland through the Ketkath instead, Anvil used the headband of sending to ask Olek Stoneshaper to send Bob to the coastal city of Cauldron, where the party planned to depart the Sovereignty.  Of course, after meeting with Chi’i the party did not leave the area as planned, but instead traveled deeper into the Sovereignty in search of Petros.  

All in all, Thatch and Bob have been separated for more than a month, and although Thatch has felt the absence keenly, other members of the party have apparently been preoccupied with other things._

End flashback.

Lira looks at Petros, a bit sheepish.  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could we make a brief stop first?”

###

Inside the tower, Petros descends to the basement control room, while most of the rest of the party clusters around the second-story windows to watch what happens.  Eva is especially determined not to blink.

Then, one moment she is looking out at the smoke rising over Bountiful, and the next there is a massive white flash… and then the window looks out into a stand of pines, boughs still heavy with late snow.  She turns to Lira who had cast _detect magic_ just before their departure.

“What did it look like to you?”

Lira is as eloquent as always:  “Sort of like a teleport… but _really big_.”

The party thanks Petros again for making the stop and reassures him that they do not think their business in the city should take very long. 

Petros waves off their concerns.  “I will not be able to move the tower again until tomorrow in any event.  And I certainly owe you the trip.”

Thatch, for one, is eager to be on the way.  “Are we ready to go _now_?” he asks as the others fasten their coats and make sure holy symbols are safely hidden from view.

“Almost,” Anvil replies.  He stops Lira before she reaches the door and places his hand on her forehead.  “Kettenek,” he intones, “shield your brother’s servant from the eyes of those who would know her soul, and do her ill because of it.”

Lira feels a small pulse of magic followed by the feeling that a second invisible skin has settled over her own.  It is not exactly unpleasant, but vaguely odd.

The party walks quickly and uneventfully to Cauldron.  The city, they find, has been built inside the crater of a dormant volcano.  It was something they could have guessed at, given the city’s full Sovereign name, “The City of the Cauldron of Our Lord’s Sleeping Fury,” but the reality is something to behold.

The gates of the city are positioned just on the crater ridge, and from them all roads lead down into the bowl-shaped depression in which the rest of the city is built.  The party notices that the ground beneath their feet is distinctly warm from the geothermal energy that heats the entire city.

The party easily locates the dwarven quarter, where they find Bob safely being cared for at a smithy.  Bob seems very pleased to see Thatch again, who is overjoyed at the long-awaited reunion.  The dwarves are friendly and helpful, and Lira once again endears herself by chilling the keg they have set up for workday ale breaks.

In fact, the only odd hiccup in the excursion comes as they are leaving Cauldron and heading back to Petros’ tower. 

Eva is walking along, trying to think Sovereignty-appropriate thoughts when a woman passing in the other direction hails her.

Eva stops.  “Excuse me?”

The woman turns.  “I’m sorry?”

“Did you say something?”

The woman quickly shakes her head.  “No.  I’m sure I didn’t,” and then hurries on her way.

Lira falls in beside Eva.  “What happened?”

“I… I just thought she said something to me as she passed.”  Eva rubs the center of her forehead absently, then realizes it feels warm under her fingers.  Her eyes widen.  “Alirria said I would know her children in Cauldron, because her mark was on me, and then she kissed me, right here.”  The realization strikes her then that woman didn’t _say_ anything.  She just heard it, in her head as she passed.

Lira follows Eva’s line of thinking.  “She must have been one of Master Genichi’s people.”

The woman is not yet out of sight, and before she disappears around the bend, Lira manages to discretely cast _detect magic_.  The woman radiates a faint abjuration aura, but nothing else.  Lira shrugs.  With Anvil’s spell in place she also radiates a faint aura of abjuration.  

They decide to let the woman continue on her way.  Once outside the city, Anvil uses the headband to contact Master Genichi and ask if the group can be of any service while they are in the area.

The reply comes back, All is well with us.  You have done more than enough for us already.  Our thanks and blessings are with you.

The party returns to Petros’ tower sometime after dinner.  They cook for themselves outside—and invite Petros to join them—and then return to the tower to sleep.

Well, everyone except for Thatch, who—fearful his horse will think he has been abandoned again—stays with Bob under the stars.


----------



## Fulcan

Such a joy to read.  Thanks for the update.

I am a little worried about Bob and Thatch's relationship.  They seem to be getting closer than the mount/master relationship dictates.


----------



## Len

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “Wait!”  Thatch cries out.  All eyes turn to the young fighter.  “What about Bob?”



I've had the same problem with my ranger's mount in our Eberron game. It seems that all of the published adventures are written to showcase Eberron's magical technology, so there's lots of "Quick! You must jump onto this train/blimp/submarine/mage-bred horse _immediately!_" My horse missed out on three whole adventures that way.


----------



## spyscribe

_Happy Birthday WisdomLikeSilence!  May this year bring even more than you could hope for._

*Part the One-Hundred Thirty-Fourth*
_In which: we bid a not-so-fond farewell to the Sovereignty of Kettenek, and make a welcome return to Dar Pykos._

The next morning, Reyu casts _reduce animal_ on Bob so that he can be more easily transported inside the tower.  Bob seems rather nonplussed to suddenly be shorter than Thatch is.  Euro is _thrilled_.

Hey Boss, you tell her next time, just a little bit smaller, right?  That horse thinks he’s so big.

_Euro, he is that big._

Not now he’s not, Boss!

Petros brings his tower to a forested area a few hours’ walk from Dar Pykos.  Although the party invites him to come with them to the city, he demurs. 

“I am not certain that it would be… appropriate… for me to meet your city representatives without the others present.”

The party accepts his regrets and heads out, promising to return soon to haul away their accumulated loot.  Petros—for his part—has business of his own to attend to elsewhere, but he promises to return in a week and bring the party as far as he is able on their quest to fulfill their obligation to Gemil, and find the next archmage, Manaal.  The party will take the time to re-supply and find out what they can about the Empire of Ebis

The party enjoys their walk over fallow fields on their way to the main road to Dar Pykos.  Alirria Rising is only a few days away, and out of the mountains, it is obvious that spring is nearly here.  The sun is shining, the air is warmer, and as she walks, Lira takes her holy symbol out of her blouse and lets it hang openly around her neck.  Eva digs hers out of her pack and does likewise.

Once they pass the city gates, the party’s first stop is the Temple of Justice where Anvil immediately goes barging into the quartermaster’s office to requisition a cart and mule to help haul their treasure back to the city.

The quartermaster grudgingly accedes to the request, although he cannot resist calling after Anvil’s back:  “Bring them back this time!”   Anvil also presses two young acolytes (Novices David and Howard) into service for help with loading and hauling.  The young men are amply rewarded on the walk out and back with all the stories they would like to hear about the Ketkath, and Sovereignty, and even details about the Mages’ Academy fire, apparently still looming large in the public consciousness.

As Anvil expounds upon the blight of undead that had overrun Bountiful, Lira turns to Eva.  “You know,” she says, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes?”  Eva prompts.

“We’ve got a lot of money—”

Eva completes the thought herself.  “—We should go to Dar Karo and spend some of it.” 

The rest of the group is in hearty agreement.

###

The party returns to the Temple of Justice that evening, just around dusk.  As they approach, they notice that more than a few Justicars have left their studies to see their arrival, and they are soon beset with more offers of help from willing acolytes than they could ever need.

They also find many messages waiting for them.

The one message addressed to the _entire_ party asks them to see Professor Alexandra at the Mages’ Academy to report on their progress.  The next morning, they go to do just that.  

###

As they approach the Academy grounds, the party members cannot help but notice that major construction work has taken place since the fire.  Specifically, the Academy grounds have been surrounded by a high stone wall.

Lira feels her stomach sink.  “So much for being a part of the community.”

The wall is bare stone slapped together with heavy mortar.  Some minor effort has been made to finish the exterior surface, but clearly, whoever constructed it was more concerned with the barrier’s structural properties than its aesthetic ones.

Anvil gives it an approving nod.  “It is a good thing,” he offers.

“What?!?”

He meets Lira’ outraged expression with his usual calm demeanor.  “Things that are different should be kept separate from each other.”

“So we should just put all arcane casters in a box and forget about them?” Lira asks.  

Anvil starts to answer, but thinks better of it.  Lira glowers, but lets it drop.

Inside, the buildings decimated by fire five and half months ago are starting to be rebuilt.  The rubble has all been cleared away, and the grass in the main quad is starting to push up new, light green blades.  

Still, the place has an air of a school under siege.  Students and professors hurry from one building to the next, intent on their business.  Most glance warily at the party as they pass, or whisper among themselves, but no one comes up to greet the newcomers.

Eventually, Annika is able to flag down a friend and ask where they can find Professor Alexandra.

The Professor has a new office, and although she is less harried than she was in the immediate aftermath of the attack, a permanent fatigue has settled itself around her eyes.  The party’s arrival gets a smile though.

“So,” she begins once everyone is settled, “there are five archmages of the Halmae?”

“So we are told,” Reyu replies.

The party tells her what they can of Chi’i and Petros, and also of their adventures in Bountiful.  The mood in the room lightens considerably as Thatch recounts charging across the field after Anvil in rabid pursuit of farming skeletons.

“… and the skeletons are bookin’ it across the field and we’re running after them, and Anvil has got his holy symbol out and yelling, ‘Lira!  You should practice this!’”

The Professor laughs, although she seems a little confused.  “But Lira can’t turn undead,” she points out.

“Sure can’t,” Eva snickers.  

Lira elbows her, blushing.

Professor Alexandra, in her many years of classroom management, has learned to pick up on the subtle signs that indicate she isn’t being told something.  “What’s going on?”

Lira squirms under the collective gaze of the entire room.

“Well… I kind of _can_…  I mean, Eva’s right, I’m no good at it, but…” Lira sighs.  “While we were in Chi’i’s valley, I… I started casting divine spells.”

Professor Alexandra raises an eyebrow.  “Really?”

Everyone nods.  “I set myself on fire,” Lira elaborates.

“Fire fire,” Annika adds.

“It’s okay, though, she healed herself afterwards,” Kiara puts in.

“There are other people who can do that too, right?” Lira asks.  “I mean, I can’t be the only arcanist in the world who casts divine spells.”

Professor Alexandra clears her throat.  “Well, to my knowledge… you are.”

“Oh.”

The group sits in silence for a few moments.  Professor Alexandra tries to change the subject.  “So, any other exciting discoveries on your journey?”

“Well, Chi’i offered to make Lira not a sorcerer anymore.”

Another pause.

“Oh.”


----------



## Capellan

Someone in your party sure likes the taste of their own toes


----------



## Piratecat

Happy birthday, WSL!  

Man, I should have introduced you guys to Capellan while you were in Boston. *smacks hand to forehead*


----------



## Angcuru

Oh, snap.


----------



## Arkhandus

Yeah, happy (belated?) birthday!

It's great reading about you folks' adventures.  Thanks for the stories.


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Arkhandus said:
			
		

> Yeah, happy (belated?) birthday!




Not belated at all.  My birthday was today, I graduated a couple of weeks ago, and I start my new job on the 25th.  Add in our recent trip to Boston and things have been busy.  We still have time to game, though!

PC, we'll just have to meet Capellan next time we visit.  Call it added incentive. 

Thanks for the good wishes everyone.

And double thanks to Spyscribe, who consistently writes wonderful storyhour, even when it isn't anyone's birthday.

-WLS


----------



## Pyske

Well, then, make that a double (triple?) congrats.


----------



## MTR

I discovered this story three days ago and have spent three days wondering why I didn't find it sooner.  Excellent stuff.  

spyscribe, you're a good writer.  How far behind the game are you?

Fajitas, I found your adaptation of Totentaz very interesting because we seem to have had the same reaction to the published adventure: great atmosphere but a weak villian behind it.


----------



## spyscribe

MTR said:
			
		

> I discovered this story three days ago and have spent three days wondering why I didn't find it sooner.  Excellent stuff.
> 
> spyscribe, you're a good writer.  How far behind the game are you?




Pfew!  You've done some serious reading in the last three days.  Glad you're enjoying the story.

The last update began the session that was originally played 2-15-04.  So, we're running a little less than a year and a half (or approximately two levels) behind.  However, when you consider that the gap started at 16 months with the first post and at not too long ago had ballooned up to 23, this feels positively contemporary!


----------



## MTR

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Pfew!  You've done some serious reading in the last three days.  Glad you're enjoying the story.
> 
> The last update began the session that was originally played 2-15-04.  So, we're running a little less than a year and a half (or approximately two levels) behind.  However, when you consider that the gap started at 16 months with the first post and at not too long ago had ballooned up to 23, this feels positively contemporary!




I'm a quick reader.  And my programs have taken longer to compile this week   

I can imagine trying to reconstruct a session from two years ago.  Heck, my group has trouble a month later.


----------



## MTR

Not that I should be nitpicking, but didn't the dwarven sorceror on the barge say he had set his father's beard on fire?


----------



## Fajitas

MTR said:
			
		

> I can imagine trying to reconstruct a session from two years ago.  Heck, my group has trouble a month later.



Spyscribe takes impeccable notes. Also, she has freakishly good mental recall.  Seriously, she quotes me things that I said off-handedly years ago and had no idea I'd ever said with alarming regularity.  It's kinda creepy, but she's pretty durn good at it.



			
				MTR said:
			
		

> Not that I should be nitpicking, but didn't the dwarven sorceror on the barge say he had set his father's beard on fire?



While it's not possible to create fire via arcane magic, arcane electricity can *start* fires if it contacts flammable materials.  Fire doesn't really rain from the sky, but a lightning bolt can set a tree on fire.  That's what happened to Evor's father's beard: it was a _shocking grasp_ accident.

Glad you liked the "Totentanz" adaptation.  Good to have you with us.


----------



## MTR

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Spyscribe takes impeccable notes. Also, she has freakishly good mental recall.  Seriously, she quotes me things that I said off-handedly years ago and had no idea I'd ever said with alarming regularity.  It's kinda creepy, but she's pretty durn good at it.




Of course she could be lying, using her reputation for a great memory to make you believe you said things you didn't!  

Me, paranoid?  No, nobody has suggested I'm paranoid.  Why?


----------



## Fajitas

MTR said:
			
		

> Of course she could be lying, using her reputation for a great memory to make you believe you said things you didn't!



Oh, I've considered that.  But the things she claims I said are, in general, sufficiently clever that if she wants to ascribe them to me, I don't mind.  

We had a pretty big, pretty exciting game last night.  Net result: The Mages' Academy, at long last*, has a new Chancellor.  And I think it'll surprise people to see who it is.  Lord knows, it surprised me.




_*And by "long last" I mean almost three years to the week real time..._


----------



## Len

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Net result: The Mages' Academy, at long last*, has a new Chancellor.  And I think it'll surprise people to see who it is.  Lord knows, it surprised me.



_HUE !!!_


----------



## Applejack

Ooh, this is the beginning of the first session in which I made a guest appearance!  I feel all sorts of special.    Lovely writing as usual, Spyscribe, and lovely story, Fajitas.


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> _*And by "long last" I mean almost three years to the week real time..._



In the interests of laying to rest any doubts about the compulsiveness of my note-taking I will point out that the Academy has actually been without a permanent chancellor for even longer.

Remember, we got the mission to seek out the archmages on the session played 7-14-02.  The former Chancellor was killed in the session played 5-15-02.

Fajitas was not the only one surprised by who the new Chancellor turned out to be--which is not to say that it was necessarily an illogical choice.  But if you had taken a staw-poll of the players at the beginning of the session, I don't think anyone would have seen the final vote going the way that it did.


----------



## MTR

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Fajitas was not the only one surprised by who the new Chancellor turned out to be--which is not to say that it was necessarily an illogical choice.  But if you had taken a staw-poll of the players at the beginning of the session, I don't think anyone would have seen the final vote going the way that it did.




Isn't it great how a game - which is entirely your creation - can still surprise you?  Of the three candidates we've seen in the story hour I guess the sorceress (Cri'i?) would appear to be the best candidate.  The elven fellow might be a little, um, detached from human thinking.  And the fellow with the moving tower (sorry, I'm not good with names!) might find his interest in necromancy poorly received by the citizens.  But it's a dicey call at best.  So if you'll just whip out, oh, 20 updates we'll be able to judge for ourselves.


----------



## spyscribe

MTR said:
			
		

> So if you'll just whip out, oh, 20 updates we'll be able to judge for ourselves.



_Twenty sessions, maybe.  Twenty updates?  Well, it'd be nice if that was all we needed to catch-up.  

And I have no idea if he reads this thread or not, but I hereby dedicate this update in honor of sagiro's birthday._

*Part the One-Hundred Thirty-Fifth*
_In which: upon leaving the Academy, the members of the party split-up to attend to their various bits of business._

Anvil goes directly from Professor Alexandra’s office to report to Tenacious.  The Sixth Order Justicar debriefs his subordinate on all that has transpired since they last met.  Anvil spends most of his time describing Petros and expounding on the abominations in Kettenek’s sight that the party vanquished in Bountiful.

Anvil also spends a great deal of time speaking of the Sovereigns in general, of their devout veneration of Kettenek, but their odd ideas about his Just Ways.  “It will be ironic,” he concludes, “if, when the time comes to spread Universal Law into the Sovereignty, the greatest resistance we face will be from those most devoted to Kettenek.”

Tenacious cannot help but smile at Anvil’s matter-of-fact pronouncement of a goal so far off.  “Indeed,” he says.  “But that will be a matter for the future.  And, speaking of the future…”

Anvil’s ears perk up.

“I’d like to submit your name to be promoted to the Third Order,” Tenacious says.

It is only the rapid blinking of Anvil’s eyes that betrays his surprise.  His promotion to the Second Order occurred a mere six months ago.  To be promoted so quickly is a great honor.  Clearly it is a sign that he has seen Kettenek’s Justice done.

Although…

The Examinations for Third Order are quite grueling.  Second Orders typically spend a year or more studying and hearing cases before they are considered ready for their Examinations. He hasn’t nearly fulfilled the number of hours of casework required for promotion.  Most of Anvil’s time as a Second Order has been spent traveling, and the mission has demanded so much of his attention, he has had little time for studies… 

As if reading his thoughts, Tenacious says, “I know it is a rapid promotion.  And while you may not have logged your hours in traditional casework, none can dispute that you have put in hours beyond the call in the service of the Temple.  You have certainly learned much of Justice in your travels.  You may need to put in a little extra time in the archives while you are still in town, but I wouldn’t put your name forward if I didn’t feel you were up to the task.”

Anvil nods.  “Very well,” Anvil replies. “I shall make myself worthy of the trust you have placed in me.”

“Excellent,” Tenacious responds.  “I’ll have an examination board convened by the end of the week.”

###

Lira, meanwhile, has a message from Devon asking her to check in with him.  _Well,_ she thinks to herself as she makes her way to the Questor chapter house that evening, _this is going to be a status report he wasn’t expecting_.

On her shoulder, Euro practically bounces with excitement.

Lira arrives at the chapter house and is ushered into Devon’s office immediately upon her arrival.  Lira enters with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

Devon greets her with a broad smile.  “So, how have your travels been?  Challenging?”

“You could say that,” Lira allows, then interrupts herself before the meeting descends into the story of her adventures.  “Before I forget, do you know anything about the Empire of Ebis?”

Devon shrugs.  “Some.  I once walked the Old Sea Road, years ago.”

“Do you have a map?”

“I might…  I can find it for you if you like.”

“That would be a big help.”

Devon smiles.  “I assume you’ll be in town for a few days?...  Excellent.  I’ll try to dig it up for you.  Now, tell me what you’ve been up to.”

###

“Twenty-one days in the Ketkath!”

“Completely isolated, no tracks, trails, nothing.”  Lira’s eyes shine—and not just from the dwarven ale—as she tells Devon of the party’s adventures.  “We saw the most enormous bird… I mean, we knew it was big, but then it dove and we realized it was three ridges over.  It must have been the size of a house.”

Devon sighs.  “Ah, it’s been too long.  I should go back there.”

“I tell you, I would rather meet a Xorn than a Sovereign Inquisitor any day of the week.”

Devon laughs.  “You met an Inquisitor?”

“Well, not in the middle of the Ketkath, of course.”  Lira shakes her head.  “It was pretty sticky there for a bit.  At least it happened before…”  Lira trails off.

“Before what?”  Devon prompts her.

“I… I’ve received a special blessing from Ehkt.”  Lira watches Devon closely.  He’s seemed unsure in the past about her sorcery, but surely, _this_ will prove to him that it’s nothing to fear.  Ehkt wouldn’t give his blessing to her if He didn’t approve of the arcane.

Devon seems a bit puzzled.  “You’ve always seen your… talents as…”

“No,” Lira interrupts.  “It’s…  I should just show you…” She trails off, looking about the room.  Eye falling on a small Ebisite carving on Devon’s desk, she picks it up.

Lira closes her eyes, and holding the carving in one hand and her holy symbol in the other, she casts _light_.

When she opens her eyes, the carving glows with a flickering orange radiance, like firelight, but cool to the touch.  Devon stares open-mouthed.  

After a few moments, the silence grows heavy.  Lira’s pulse pounds in her throat.

“Devon?… Say something.”

Lira’s voice jolts him back to the present.

“That’s ah… Well…  This isn’t like… other things you do?”

Lira risks a tiny smile.  “I discovered what had happened when my hands burst into flame.”

“Fire?”

“Yeah.”

Devon sits a little longer.  “Well, you are very blessed indeed.  There are few to whom Ehkt grants such abilities… very few indeed.”  He trails off at the end, almost as though he is talking to himself.

It is in that moment that Lira realizes something about Devon.  In the past, he has been wary of her abilities.  Now, he is envious.  Too late, she wonders if she erred in sharing her revelation.

The silence falls again.  This time Devon breaks it.

“So, you saw a really big bird then?”  

“Yeah, huge.”

They talk for some minutes more, but the joviality is a bit forced, and Lira realizes that while Devon seems willing enough to share war-stories with her, it might only be because he’s unwilling to ask her to leave flat-out.

Lira elects to excuse herself, but before she departs, she unhooks a small pouch from her belt.  Inside it is ten percent of her share of the treasure from the vault in Bountiful.  “When I first arrived in this city I didn’t have anything,” she explains.  “You were here for me, and… I really appreciate that.  I couldn’t repay you then…” she holds out the pouch and—as Devon makes no move to take it from her—leaves it on a small end table.  “Use it to help someone else who needs it.”

Devon nods.  

“I’ll check in before we leave for Ebis to get the map.”

“Of course.”

Devon stares at the carving, which continues to glow for several minutes after Lira leaves the room.

###

Although many of the others have messages waiting for them at the Temple, Eva finds she does not.  With few responsibilities, she does what she does best.  Finds a bar, finds a card game, wins some money, and calls it a night.

She falls asleep without it ever occurring to her that her night might not be over yet.

She notices something is wrong when, as she rolls over in the night, her feet bump into something.  Or rather, someone.  Sitting on the edge of her bed.

She wakes with a start, adrenaline coursing through her system.  She grabs for the dagger she keeps within reach at night, but to her great surprise, it isn’t there.

“Looking for this?” the man sitting at the end of her bed says, dangling a dagger in front of her.

The man is familiar.  It’s someone she hasn’t seen since…

…since the day she was brought back to life.

Kemmer.

“You,” she says.

“Me,” he agrees, as he casually tosses the dagger in the air, catching it easily as it comes down.  His voice is almost cheerful.  Cheerful, but with a malicious edge.  “I was wondering how long you were going to stay asleep.  I was starting to get rather bored.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that you’re not pretty enough to be worth watching while you sleep, but you’re not quite so special that the novelty doesn’t wear off eventually.” And, almost as an afterthought, “You don’t mind that I let myself in, do you?”

“Actually, I kind of do,” Eva says, even as her brain registers that, from his tone of voice, he couldn’t possibly care less whether or not she minds.

He shrugs, all but actually saying “tough.”  What he does say is, “I’m sure you have a lot to report.  So why don’t you start at the beginning... and tell me *everything*.”


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Thirty-Sixth*
_In which: Thatch Attends._

At the Temple of Justice, Thatch was surprised to discover that one of the messages waiting for the party was addressed to him, sent by one Dame Jenna, a Knight Chaplain of the Lady’s Attendants.  

He’s familiar with the Attendants, at least in principle.  They’re an Alirrian group whose principal mission involves providing support and services to the other Alirrian sects.  The message requests an interview with him at his earliest convenience.

As the other members of the party have scattered to their own business, Anvil with the Justicars, Lira with the Questors, and Eva… well, to wherever she goes, Thatch’s earliest convenience comes… rather early.

###

The Temple of the Attendants lies at the very edge of Dar Pykos, adjacent to the parade grounds.  In fact, these grounds are often used by the Attendants in training exercises.  Of the four major branches of the Attendants, two serve martial purposes: the Attendants of the Body, escorts and bodyguards for non-martial Alirrians, and the Attendants of the Field, Alirrian knights who carry out the will of the Church in battle.

The Attendants of the Field execute training maneuvers as Thatch is escorted past them.  He notes their tight formations with approval.  Not that he knows the first thing about fighting in an orderly regiment; he merely thinks they look pretty neat.

Thatch is brought to a small private garden, where Dame Jenna awaits him beneath a large tree.  She is a plain looking woman with short-cropped hair.  Her full plate mail sparkles in the dappled light; her holy symbol indicates that she is an Attendant of the Field.  Thatch notices she has a somewhat harried look about her, as if she has been supremely busy of late.  Indeed, she re-rolls a stack of parchments as the young fighter approaches.

She takes a quick moment to look Thatch up and down before she inclines her head and says, formally, “May I be of service to you.”

Thatch blinks, confused.  “Um, I don’t know.  I thought you asked me to come.”

Dame Jenna smiles.  “No, no,” she says.  “That is the formal greeting of the Lady’s Attendants.  ‘May I be of service to you.’  It is a statement, not a question.  Our Lady’s love is best known when we are all of service to one another.”

Privately, Thatch briefly suspects that some of the ways the Handmaidens have helped him know Alirria’s love might be better, but he politely replies, “Oh. Um, well, then may *I* be of service to *you*.”

“Indeed, I hope so,” she replies, motioning for Thatch to sit.  “You see, with Alirria Rising, I’ve a need for extra swords, and from what I hear from the reports of the other Churches relating to…” her voice takes on a quieter tone “…the mission you are involved in, you have no small degree of skill.”

Thatch swells with momentary pride that Dame Jenna has heard of his exploits.  “I’d be honored,” Thatch says.  “What do you need me to do?”

“As I mentioned, it is nearly Alirria Rising.  One of the key missions of the Attendants is to see to the safety of our less combat oriented sistren, and traditionally this is a time when the Temple of the Handmaidens is… ah…”

“Busy?” Thatch suggests.

“Rather.  We like to have extra security on hand… just in case.”  She smiles.  “We’ll pay, of course, and the Handmaidens are always very appreciative of our aid.”

_Best. Job. Ever._ Thatch thinks to himself.  “Sure.  Sounds great,” he says aloud.  “I’m always happy to do my part for the Lady.”

Dame Jenna grins.  “Well, you should consider taking your Orders, then,” she jokes.

Thatch quite suddenly becomes very thoughtful.  Taking his Orders.  Sure, the others all belong to various religious sects.  Well, except Reyu.  Er, and Annika.  But taking Orders himself?  It’s something he’d never really thought about.  He’d never considered himself all that religious.

Or had he?  

After all, growing up on the farm in Sirrus, his family had regularly venerated Alirria, beseeching the Green Mother for bountiful crops and plentiful rains.  And after leaving home to make his way in the world, he’d certainly muttered his share of prayers to the Goddess of Travelers on his long journey to Dar Pykos.  And, since Dennis had first taken him to the Handmaidens, he’d worshipped more than a few times at the altar of the Lady of Love.

But that’s not really being religious, is it?  Not really?

Unbidden, the memory of the Vale of the Holy Spring in the Ketkath floats to the forefront of his brain.  The shimmering shape rising out of the pool.  The calm words, striking deep in his heart.  The sense of love infusing his being.  That sense of comfort, like being tucked in a warm bed, with your mother stroking your head and singing soft, comforting nothings to you.

Is that what being religious is?

Because if it is… then maybe he always has been religious.

“Um,” he says.  “What exactly would taking my Orders involve?”

Dame Jenna sits up, startled.  “Do you truly ask this?”

“Well… yeah.  Yeah, I guess I do,” Thatch says.  “I guess I’ve always felt a kinship towards Alirria.  Especially lately.  And I guess… I guess that’s something I’d like to explore deeper.”

Dame Jenna breaks into a wide grin.  “You don’t… you can’t know… This is truly a blessing for us.  The Church of Alirria has… well, ever since our representative to your mission was forced to leave, we have been the sole Church without a voice in your party.  To have you as our eyes and ears would be a… assuming you’d be willing, of course.”

“Sure,” Thatch replies.  “So.  Um.  What do we do now?”

“Well, first you’ll have to choose what sect you’d most like to join.”

Thatch considers that.  As a child, he’d known some Tenders, but that was when he was a farmer.  He isn’t really a farmer these days.  He does travel, so the Waterwalkers might be appropriate.  But then, he’s never really been seized by that kind of wanderlust the Waterwalkers are known for.  Of course, there are always the Handmaidens… though there wouldn’t be much of a place for Bob there, would there?  And there’s seldom much call for a sword there, either.  Except in the hands of an escort or a bodyguard...

Which leaves only one choice, really.

“Um.  Well, I guess I’d like to join the Attendants, then,” Thatch says.

Dame Jenna smiles at him.  She rises to her feet and bows.  “In that case, may I be of service to you.  Please, come with me.”

He does.

###

Eva allows herself the luxury of a deep funk as she wanders the streets of Dar Pykos the morning of the group’s scheduled shopping expedition to Dar Karo.  Normally, she would be excited about the excursion, but she hasn’t slept well in the wake of her nocturnal visitor, and that is making her crabby.  

Though, to be fair, the very fact of the visit is making her even crabbier.  That smug, mocking attitude.  The jibes and implied humiliations peppered throughout his conversation.  All the questions, and of course he wouldn’t answer any of hers.  Not even the simple ones.

_”How should I get in touch with you, in the future?” Eva asked.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” he replied.  “We’ll be in touch with you.”

“But what if it’s an emergency?”

“I said don’t worry.  We’ll find you.”_

Really!  By the Wind’s left , what was that supposed to mean?  And all the orders for while they’re in Ebis, things he insisted she do but wouldn’t explain.  Keep an eye out for any information relating to—

Oh, whispers!  Just thinking about it is enough to make her angry.

It’s the way he treats her that she objects to.  Like her opinions doesn’t matter.  Like *she* doesn’t matter.  And maybe, to him, she doesn’t.  After all, she was *dead*.  They brought her back.  She owes them, well, everything, doesn’t she?  

Which is pretty much what he said to her when they brought her back.  But still, that doesn’t mean she can be treated like she’s just some tool, to be used as he sees fit and then… what?  Discarded?  Eliminated?

She suddenly finds that it’s probably best not to think about what he might do if he ever decides that he’s done with her.

And, as if all that weren’t bad enough, Alirria Rising is this week, and she doesn’t even have a date.

Some weeks, the wind really blows against you.


----------



## Angcuru

spyscribe said:
			
		

> _Best. Job. Ever._ Thatch thinks to himself.  “Sure.  Sounds great,” he says aloud.  “I’m always happy to do my part for the Lady.”



Aren't we all?


----------



## Dortmunder

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Of course, there are always the Handmaidens… though there wouldn’t be much of a place for Bob there, would there?




If I was drinking something at the time I read that, it would be all over my screen.


----------



## KidCthulhu

I'm sure there'd be a place for Bob in the Handmaidens.  It would just change the rating of this game from PG-13 (with violence and some adult content) to XXX (look, do you really want to be hanging around in this alley?)


----------



## Pyske

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> I'm sure there'd be a place for Bob in the Handmaidens.  It would just change the rating of this game from PG-13 (with violence and some adult content) to XXX (look, do you really want to be hanging around in this alley?)



 I dunno.  Who else besides the Handmaidens would be responsible for enforcing social mores and norms, in this setting?  They might not look kindly on _that sort of thing_.

 . . . . . . . -- Eric, joke slayer


----------



## Spatzimaus

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “Rather.  We like to have extra security on hand… just in case.”  She smiles.  “We’ll pay, of course, and the Handmaidens are always very appreciative of our aid.”
> 
> _Best. Job. Ever._ Thatch thinks to himself.




Bow chicka BOW bow.

Thatch'll do fine at this job, as long as he can remember not to high-five every guy that comes out of the place.  And if he takes the vows, can you imagine the pick-up lines he could use?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Thirty-Seventh*
_In which: Anvil the Just faces judgment, and the party grows a little smaller._

Reyu arrives at the docks early, and waits for the others to arrive.  Thatch is the first, sporting a brand-new holy symbol of The Attendants.

Thatch seems quite proud of his new status and Reyu notices him frequently giving little adjustments to his medallion to make sure it isn’t turned-around, or to wipe off a smudge.

Thatch’s holy symbol indicates that he is now an Attendant of the Field.  (He had initially thought to become an Attendant of the Body, but upon discovering that they were expected to take a vow of celibacy, quickly changed his mind).  

Thatch notices Reyu looking.  “I’m not a Knight yet,” he informs her.  “Dame Jenna says there’s a lot of training I have to do first, and I don’t really have time for it right now.”

Reyu cannot help but smile at his eagerness.  Humans are always in such a *hurry*.  “I am sure when the season is right you will be a credit to your order and to that honor,” she tells him.  Thatch positively beams.

Lira arrives a few moments later, and spotting Thatch’s new adornment, quirks an eyebrow.  “An Attendant?”

“Yup,” Thatch replies proudly.

Lira claps him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture.  “Welcome to the sisterhood.”

Thatch rolls his eyes, but even Lira’s teasing can’t dampen his good mood much.  “Thank you.  And how are your brother Questors?”

Lira’s smile abruptly dies.  “They’ve been better,” she mutters and goes to board the waiting ship.

Benedic, Annika, Kiara, and Eva arrive in short order; although, none of them are in particularly cheery moods.  Benedic is sociable enough, but Thatch notices as they board that he carefully avoids eye-contact with Lira.  _What ever happened between those two?_ he wonders.

Meanwhile, Annika—whose family lives in Dar Karo—is busily coaching Kiara for any probing questions she might face during their upcoming visit.

“Okay, one more time, you’re my—”

“Sister!  No!  Familiar!  No…  What am I again?”

Annika buries her face in her hands.  Visiting her family has become so much more stressful since she became a teenaged mother of a teenager.

Eva looks around at the group, unable to shake the sensation that Kemmer is about to pop out of a barrel at any moment.  The sailors all seem to be Alirrian, so that should be safe enough.  The party’s all here…  Wait a second.  “Where’s Anvil?” she asks.

“He sent word,” Reyu replies.  “He has business to attend to at the Temple of Justice.”

“What kind of business?” Kiara wants to know.

Reyu shrugs.  “Beyond his wishes that Kettenek’s Justice be upon us, he did not elaborate.”

###

Since learning that Tenacious wished to submit his name for Third Order, Anvil has spent nearly all of his time sequestered in the bowels of the Justicar archives, squeezing what should be months worth of study into a matter of days.  Every conceivable topic of Law, every ruling and precedent and principle that might be of relevance to the Examination, he studies.  “Property Rulings in Inter-City-State Matters.”  “Criminal Proceedings Against Minor Nobility.”  “Contract Law Between Private Citizens and The Royal House of Dar Pykos.”  His mind is ablaze with Law and Justice.

He sleeps only a few hours each night, praying to Kettenek for the strength to continue working.  Justicars, acolytes, monks of the Order of Law… all come and go from the archives in the course of their daily work.  Anvil remains rooted at his table, immovable as stone itself.

As the rest of the party is in Dar Karo spending their well—and, Anvil’s studies have confirmed, legally—gotten gains, Anvil is called to appear before the examination board.

The panel consists of four Justicars, including Tenacious, all of whom are of Fifth Order or above.  For hours, they fire a non-stop series of questions at him, barely giving him time to think before demanding an answer, barely giving him time to answer before firing the next question.  It is a grilling the likes of which Anvil has never known.

Anvil fields each question as best he can.  Some he can answer easily.  Some not.  On several occasions, as he hears his own answers, he realizes how ill thought-out they are.  He inwardly reprimands himself each time he sees the Justicars on the Panel eye each other skeptically at his response.  Gemstone the Just, the head of the Panel, launches into an exhaustive series of questions about Inheritance Law in the First Century Pre-Confederacy, a subject on which he is clearly insufficiently prepared.

At last, Gemstone the Just strikes her stone hammer against the counter before her, and the questioning ceases.  “Anvil the Just,” she intones, “this Examination has come to an end.  You will leave us while we determine the results.”

Anvil glances at their faces, but he is unable to read anything in their expressions.  Even Tenacious’s face is inscrutable.

Anvil bows.  “May Kettenek’s Justice be with you in your deliberations,” he says.  And he exits.

He waits in the hall outside the Examination chamber.  He did well.  Mostly.  He thinks.  Whether or not he has done well enough… that, he cannot yet gauge.  Perhaps he could have done more.  Perhaps he should have spent more time on the road engaged in studies; after all, he knew this day would one day come.  Perhaps he…

But enough of such thoughts.  If it is Kettenek’s Will that he be granted his Third Orders now, it shall be done.

Finally, after nearly an hour of waiting, the door opens.  An acolyte emerges.  “Justicar,” he says to Anvil.  “The Panel is ready to deliver your results.”

Anvil nods.  And he enters the room to hear his fate.

###

Eva and Reyu have very successful shopping trips, both returning to the inn where the party has obtained rooms with new leather armor, and in Reyu’s case, a wooden shield as well.  Thatch steps up to full-plate, himself.  Eva finds that while the diversion has not alleviated her concerns for the future, the feel of good leather armor on her back does help her mood somewhat.

For her part, Lira had already made inquiries at some of the temples in Dar Pykos about buying some scrolls.  She does a lot of window shopping in the central market, but finds that—aside from the odd savory pie—there really isn’t anything she _needs_ to purchase. 

That evening she runs into Annika.

“Hello!” Lira calls out.  “Where’s Kiara?”

Annika bites her lip.  “Actually, I think she’s flirting with one of my brothers.”  

“That must be a little weird.”

“She’s in swallow form.  I think we’re beyond weird.”  Annika shakes herself briefly as though to rid herself of the thought.  “So… finding anything?”

Lira shakes her head.  “Here I am, money to burn, and nothing to spend it on.  I don’t need weapons, or armor, and I can’t really carry more equipment than I am right now.”

Annika considers.  “I was going to take some time when we got back to the city to craft a few magic items.  I don’t have a lot of time, but if you can cover the cost of supplies, I can make you something.”

“What kind of something?”

“Want a hat of disguise?”

“Does that do what it sounds like it does?”

“Pretty much.”

“Definitely, yes.”

###

It’s the last the party plans to spend in Dar Karo.  Lira is just coming down the steps to the common area to join the others for dinner when Benedic catches her by the arm. She starts just a bit; Benedic has been scrupulous about keeping his distance since their “conversation” in Chi’i’s valley.

He bends down so he can speak low into her ear.  Close enough that his breath tickles the side of her face.

“We need to talk.”

She looks back up at him.  “You’re going now, aren’t you?”

He nods.  “It’s time.  I’ve already arranged passage on the next ship heading back towards the Sovereignty.”

Lira takes a deep breath.  She’s had weeks to get used to the idea that this was going to happen.  She still doesn’t want to believe it.

“Let me…  Let me walk you out.”

Benedic nods, and they walk in silence to the door of the inn.  Before he can go, Lira catches his hand.  “Take care of yourself, okay?”

So quickly Lira almost isn’t sure that it happens, Benedic leans down and kisses her on the cheek.  “You too.”

She notices, as he squeezes her hand one last time before letting go, that he’s wearing the ring of her hair that she made for him.

She watches him walk away towards the docks, and just once, right before he’s out of sight, he turns and looks back.  For a second, she thinks she sees him smile.  The next moment, he’s lost in the shifting crowds.


----------



## MTR

Wow, when I said 20 updates I didn't expect them in one week.

What am I saying?  No, write more!  Write more!


----------



## Piratecat

It's worth mentioning that I'm re-reading this from scratch, and (now that I got to hear Fajitas's eeeevil plans in person) enjoying it more than ever.  Fantastic work, Spyscribe.


----------



## Sagiro

Yesterday was a sad day for me:  I finally caught up with this most excellent story, and now have to wait for each new installment like everyone else.  Spyscribe, it was most kind of you to remember my birthday.  I’m old enough, I daresay, to know a good Story Hour when I see it.

Please excuse the excess of effusiveness, but holy crap, spyscribe and Fajitas, this thing is freakin’ awesome!  The story itself is compelling, beautifully written, and wonderfully character-driven.   The individual characters are great fun to read.  And the campaign, in both plot and setting, is utterly exquisite.   Fajitas, you are master of the craft, which is hardly surprising given your profession. 

This Story Hour also makes me weep for the types of adventures I could run before my party could _teleport_, _wind walk_ and _plane shift_.   

So.  Er.  When’s the next update then?

-Sagiro


----------



## spyscribe

Piratecat, Sagiro, thank you both for your kind words.  I actually had to phone Fajitas when I saw Sagiro's post this morning to make sure he had seen it.

It means a lot to know that you both read and enjoy.  Not just because you both write such good story hours yourselves, but because you're great people to boot.   Hopefully, someone will stick a pin in my ear before my head becomes permanently swollen.  

And I know I've said this before, but to everyone who reads, comments, asks questions, or even just bumps.  THANK YOU.  I don't always respond effusively in-thread to every post, but be assured it is always a little thrill to open my inbox and find a message that someone has posted here.

Now, to hold up my end of our little social contract, and to answer Sagiro's question, the next update is just moments away.

So everyone sing together now...

"I see Alirria rising
I see trouble on the way..."


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Thirty-Eighth*
_In which: Alirria rises._ 

The last days of February are always filled with anticipation in the Halmae.  The cold days of winter are coming to a close as Kettenek’s power wanes.  The days are growing longer and warmer as spring approaches, bringing with them the season of Alirria.  The season of life.  The season of love.  

As the party’s ship pulls into Dar Pykos Harbor on the last full day of winter, the air carries a current of excitement.

Anvil is at the docks to meet them.  They cannot help but notice that he is looking quite sharp in his new Third Order Justicar robes.

Reyu is the first to congratulate him.  “It is good to see your contributions recognized.”

“It’s good to see you actually change clothes,” Kiara adds.

Although Anvil generously invites the rest of the party to join him at the Temple of Justice to observe the rituals marking the end of Kettenek’s season, most have made other plans.

“Well, thanks and all,” says Thatch, “but I’m going to be at the Temple of the Handmaidens, working.”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet you are,” Eva says, with a smirk.

“Huh?  No, no.  Really.  I’m gonna be working.  Like actually working,” Thatch protests.

“Yeah.  Uh-huh,” Eva replies.  Lira barely stifles her giggles.  Thatch shoots them both a dirty look before arching ignoring them as he goes to check on Bob.

“Reyu?” Anvil asks.

The elf shakes her head.  “Some of my sisters are holding their celebration outside the city.  I will be joining them.”

“Ooo!  Ooo!”  Kiara bounces in her eagerness.  “Can I come with you?  I loved New Year’s with the elves.”

Annika frowns.  “I thought you wanted to come to the Mages’ Academy with me.”

“That was before I knew there were elves.”

Annika is torn.  It _would_ be nice to have the night to herself, or maybe… not to herself, but… she looks over at Reyu.  “Would she be bothering you?”

“I’m right _here_!” Kiara protests.

Reyu answers, ignoring the interruption.  “Not at all.”  She then answers Annika’s unspoken question, “She will be quite safe with us.”

“I guess you can go then.”

“Yippee!”

Reyu and Kiara have soon gone on their way, and Annika hurries off to get back to the Academy.  Seeing that no one seems eager to take him up on his invitation, Anvil departs as well.

This leaves Eva and Lira standing together on the dock.  The look at each other.  “How are _we_ the only ones without plans?”

Alirria Rising marks not only the first day of spring, but also the start of a new year.  As such, it is one of the most festive days of the calendar.  And by long standing tradition, it is considered bad luck not to have a date.

The two young, attractive, single women stand a moment longer.

“I’m going to go visit some friends of mine,” Lira offers.  “Do you want me to ask for you if anyone—?”

Eva doesn’t let her finish the thought.  “No.”

“Okay.”

The silence lingers.

“So… Meet you at the main square?”

“Four-thirty?”

“See you then.”

They  both hurry off.  Lira goes to find her friends.  Eva goes to find a card game.

###

Today, the wind blows in Eva’s favor.  The Lady’s Luck is with her, and she is easily cleaning out her last remaining opponent, a good looking, chatty fellow named Lyndon.  Too chatty to be a good card player, but—she notes—chatty enough to make a decent companion for an evening.

Eva looks at her hand and raises.  Lyndon looks at his hand and at his dwindling pile of gold.  “I’d like to call,” he says, “but I don’t think I have enough gold left.  You take barter?”

“What have you got?” Eva asks, eyeing him up and down.  He is, indeed, a good looking fellow.

He spreads his hands wide and smiles a self-deprecating smile.  “Not much,” he admits. 

Eva takes another good look at him.  She’s in a winning mood, and the cards are in her favor.  Maybe she’ll roll the dice.  

“You got a date for Alirria Rising?” she asks.

“Er, no,” he says, clearly taken aback.

“Okay.  Put in the rest of your gold.  If I win, you’re my date.”

Lyndon smiles.  “Well, that hardly seems fair.  A date with you is hardly a hardship.  If I’m putting something into the pot, shouldn’t it cost me something?”

“Oh, it will,” Eva says.  “You’ll be paying.”

Lyndon laughs.  “All right.  You’ve got a deal.”  He pushes his remaining coins to the center of the table and shows his cards.

Lyndon’s hand is pretty good.  But it’s not nearly as good as Eva’s Full Gods.

Eva sweeps up the pot with a smile.  “You can pick me up at four.” 

###

After most of the last week spent in a funk, Eva finds herself looking forward to the night out.  The trip to Dar Karo helped clear her head after her late-night visitor.  And while it’s true that not having a date for Alirria Rising isn’t quite as bad as not having a date for Alirria Ascendant, nobody likes to start the New Year alone.  And Lyndon is rather good looking.

But, Eva realizes, it is more than just the prospect of a date that has brightened her spirits.  Much to her surprise, she finds that it is also the coming of the season of Alirria.  Her encounter with the goddess is fresh in her mind, and she can still feel the warm, enveloping touch.  Eva draws comfort from remembering the sensations.

Tonight will be a good night.

As promised, Lyndon picks Eva up at four in the morning.  The Alirria Rising ceremonies are to begin late at night, culminating at dawn.  Afterwards, there will be a great celebration, which lasts until people collapse and return to their homes, usually in pairs, to continue their celebration in a more private setting.

Eva and Lyndon meet up with Lira and her friend, a personable man named Artimus who, as it turns out, is a fellow sorcerer.  _Is it something about sorcerers,_ Eva wonders briefly, _that makes them so… likeable?_ 

Artimus works in Dar Pykos as an exterminator which seems an odd profession until he points out that there is nothing like the combination of _light_ and _magic missile_ for killing rats.  “If I can see ‘em, I can kill ‘em,” he boasts with justifiable professional pride.

The four arrive at the packed city square where a large stage has been erected.  A crowd has gathered before it, and near the front are dozens of couples dressed in green robes.  They are those who hope to conceive new life in this season, seeking blessings of fertility from the Alirrian priestesses.

The priestesses lead the assembled in prayers and songs, as the crowd grows larger and larger.  Finally, as the sky grows lighter, the Benedictress, the head of the Alirrian Church in Dar Pykos, comes to the fore, and begins her Invocation for the New Year.  

She speaks words of hope.  Words of joy, of love, of glad tidings and new beginnings.  Words rich with the promise of renewal, of restoration.  She speaks words of life.

While she speaks, the first rays of the spring sun break the horizon, illuminating the Benedictress.  Eva, Lyndon, Lira, and Artimus each take a long sip from the cups of fresh, cool water passed through the crowd just as the Benedictress raises her hands in final blessing.  As one, the voices of the crowd rise up around them in celebration.  

Spring is here.

The next few hours are a delightful time.  There is dancing, feasting, and drinking.  The two couples soon lose each other in the crowd, and it is nearly noon before Eva finds herself exhausted and ready to call it a night.  Lyndon offers to walk her home, and Eva agrees.  

There is a brief, awkward moment as they stand outside the door to Mrs. Blackburn’s boarding house.  But, although Eva finds Lyndon companionable enough, she has decided that the night will end here.

“Well,” she tells him.  “Good night, and thank you.  I had a good time.”

He nods, receiving the message.  “So did I,” he says with a smile.  He steps in to kiss her gently on the cheek.

And then he whispers four little words in her ear.  Words that make Eva’s blood run cold.

“Kemmer sends his best.”

She can only stand and stare at him in horror as he flashes her a quick, crooked grin, turns around, and disappears into the crowd.


----------



## Len

spyscribe said:
			
		

> I don't always respond effusively in-thread to every post



Yeah well, I don't always say how much I like your updates.
My favourite bit recently:


			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> “Okay, one more time, you’re my—”
> 
> “Sister! No! Familiar! No… What am I again?”





(Did anyone else think of "Chinatown"?)


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Thirty-Ninth*
_In which: Eva finds her situation is even more complicated than she would have guessed._

Eva sits huddled in the corner of her room.  The door is locked and barricaded, and the windows are shuttered and barred.

She has never felt more vulnerable in her life.

And as she sits there, trapped in a cage of her own making, paralyzed with fear of the lurking, mysterious forces that have somehow insinuated their way into her life.  As she sits there at her moment of greatest torment, the words of Alirria float into her mind, unbidden.  _ “Remember that you have the choice between flowing in two channels or blowing in one.”_

_I have a choice_, she thinks.

###

Eva isn’t sure which sect of Alirria would be the best to visit, so she—ironically—decides to roll a die and let fate decide.  The die sends her to the Temple of the Givers of Life, the sect devoted to medicine and healing.  

Eva makes her way as carefully as she can, donning a disguise, and frequently doubling back on her own path.  She is fairly certain that she has not been followed.

Eva is led into a small recovery room and asked to wait.  Eventually, in comes one of the Givers, Sister Alanna.  She wears the plain white robe of her order, with a blue symbol of Alirria stitched into the front.  “Welcome my child,” she says.  “What ails you?”

Eva tells her everything.

Well, not quite everything.  She remains vague about the details of those who are harassing her.  She was sworn to secrecy on that score and… well, she may have a choice, but it’s still not clear which direction she’ll choose.

But she does tell Sister Alanna all about the debriefing and her date, about her death and return, about her visions of Sedellus and of Alirria, about the tingling in her forehead during their brief stopover at Cauldron.  And then she asks her all important question.

“What do I do?”

Sister Alanna contemplates for a moment.  “Truly, you have been blessed.  A vision from one of the gods is a rare give indeed.  A vision from two…” she finally says, “And for you, as a non-Alirrian, to receive a Blessed Kiss from our Mother...  Will you object if I invoke Her blessings to verify your claims?”

Eva does not object, and Sister Alanna casts _detect magic_.  She glances at Eva’s forehead, but her attention is pulled away and instead she stares down at Eva’s chest.  Her gaze rests there for some time.  Long enough to make Eva feel self-conscious.  “Er, is there—”

But Sister Alanna cuts her off.  “Excuse me, my child, but may I borrow that?”  She points at Eva’s holy symbol.

Eva doesn’t have the slightest idea what to make of that.  It seems a truly strange request, but… 

“Okay.  Sure…” she says, and removes the symbol from around her neck.  Sister Alanna takes it from her and, without a word, exits the room.

Eva sits there, wondering what exactly has just transpired.  A minute later, Sister Alanna returns, without the holy symbol.

“Were you aware, my dear, that you are being monitored?” she asks.

“Well, yeah,” she says, mentally adding _Hello! Have you been listening to *anything* I said?_

“No, no,” Sister Alanna clarifies.  “I mean you are being monitored at this very moment.  There is some kind of divination magic active on your holy symbol.  You have probably been monitored since you first put it on…”

Sister Alanna keeps talking after that, but Eva doesn’t hear a word she says.  Somehow, quite suddenly, too much of her concentration is taken up with breathing.

###

A quick application of _calm emotions_ by Sister Alanna brings Eva back to her senses.  Sister Alanna explains that she has had one of the Mother Superiors perform a thorough magical examination of the holy symbol.  It has been enchanted with _clairaudience_.  Everything that Eva has said or that has been said to her since she got that holy symbol has been overheard.

Sister Alanna offers to attempt to dispel the enchantment, but of course, that would only alert whoever is listening that Eva is aware of their eavesdropping.  That is not a step that Eva is willing to take quite yet.  Yes, she is angry, but they’ve already made it abundantly clear that they can find her, and while she is furious about this, she’s not feeling quite reckless enough to risk open war with them.  Not yet.

“We can protect you here at the Temple, if you wish,” Sister Alanna offers.  “I doubt very much that even Sedellans would be foolish enough to come for you if you were under the protection of the Givers.”

Eva considers that.  It is a kind offer, and might well solve her problems.  On the other hand…

“Thank you, but no.  I appreciate the thought, but I’m not so certain they wouldn’t find a way to get me.  Besides, I may not know exactly what the goddess… what *either* goddess meant when She spoke to me, but somehow I don’t think They intended me to find out by staying here.”

“The Lady’s words are as opaque to me as they are to you.  But keep them in your mind and wrap them around your heart.  She would not have offered them to you if they were not needed.”

Eva nods.  Small chance of her forgetting.  Particularly now.

Eva’s holy symbol is returned to her.  She and Sister Alanna stage a quick conversation for the benefit of anyone that might be listening, covering for the short period of time that they would have lost contact.  Sister Alanna babbles a few Alirrian platitudes, and Eva feigns gratitude for the consultation.

And then she is on her way, alone.

It is a very, very, very bad hand she has been dealt.

She’ll just have to see how well she can play it out…

###

Back at the boarding house, Lira finds Eva sitting downstairs in the common dining area, staring at a cold mug of Mrs. Blackburn’s excellent coffee. 

“Eva?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.  Fine.”  As she talks, Eva slowly shakes her head from side to side.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah.”  

Lira frowns.  The fact that Eva sounds as though she’s just been told she’s about to be executed does not exactly lend credence to what she’s saying.  But before Lira can ask another question, Eva puts a finger to her lips, calling for silence.

Lira gestures, “What?”

Very slowly and carefully Eva points at the holy symbol that hangs around her neck.  She beckons Lira closer. 

Lira leans down, and when her ear is less than an inch from Eva’s mouth, the rogue whispers a single word, so low it is almost an exhale. “Spies.”

Lira sits down opposite Eva at the table.  “You know, I was passing by the market today, and I realized, we should go shopping.”

“Shopping?”  Eva asks.

“Sure,” Lira replies, pulling out parchment, quill, and ink from her pack and pushing them across the table to Eva.  “Why don’t we start a list of all the things we need?”

Eva blinks.  “Oh.  Good idea.”  She picks up the quill, and begins to write.


----------



## BlueAnt

Great update as always, Spyscribe. It's nice to see Eva getting the spotlight, too.


----------



## Fajitas

Heh.  Heh, heh.

We played again the week after this session.  When Eva's player showed up to that game, she shot me an incredibly dirty look and said, "I want you to know I had nightmares *in character* every night this week.  In two of them, I threw myself off of a boat to get away from these people."

There was this indescribable glow around me for the next few days...

Thanks for the kind words, folks.  It's glad to see people enjoying the SH.  And, er, Sagiro, er, I am humbled by your words.  And more than a little amused, too, given just how much of my game had its origins in me reading *your* Story Hour and thinking to myself "Gosh, I would love to do something kinda like that..."  Glad you're enjoying.


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*The return of A'vandira*

Finally. I've caught up again. Stupid firewall at the office blocked all EN-World related sites, so I kinda got a little behind in my reading. Network admin finally added EN-World to the allowed sites, so for the last three days my lunchbreaks have been spent catching up to this incredible story hour. As I said before, great writing Spyscribe, absolutely terrific.

Now I'll rejoin "The Legion of Waiters-for-an-Update"


----------



## MTR

Fajitas said:
			
		

> We played again the week after this session.  When Eva's player showed up to that game, she shot me an incredibly dirty look and said, "I want you to know I had nightmares *in character* every night this week.  In two of them, I threw myself off of a boat to get away from these people."
> 
> There was this indescribable glow around me for the next few days...




What higher praise could there be?  You're messing with her mind *all the time*


----------



## spyscribe

_Note: this update is a whopper (1800+ words), nearly twice as long as I like to make an average post, and with a graphic to boot.  So be forewarned that this is more of a lunch break read than a coffee break read.  However, there just wasn't a good place to cut it in half.  I trust you all will forgive me._

*Part the One-Hundred Fortieth*
_In which: our journey resumes._

Lira rereads the piece of parchment containing the “conversation” she had with Eva the day before.



			
				Eva and Lira said:
			
		

> The Fortune Riders have been spying on me through my holy symbol.
> 
> Why?
> 
> I don’t know!
> 
> For how long?
> 
> Since I’ve been on this mission.
> 
> Crap.
> 
> Crap.  CRAP.  CRAP.
> 
> Can you take it off?
> 
> Not for long.  I don’t think they know that I know.
> 
> Do you usually sleep with it on?
> 
> …
> 
> Sneak over to my room tonight.  We can talk then.




Lira takes the paper and burns it to ash.  She then scatters the ashes out her window for good measure.  Her talk with Eva the night before was… illuminating.  Now, Lira just needs to break the news to the others.

The party gathers that morning in the meeting room where they are accustomed to making their headquarters.  

Lira times her arrival so that by the time she enters, everyone except Eva is already there.  She wastes no time getting to her point.  “There’s something we need to talk about, and we need to do it now.”

“Should not we wait for Eva?” Reyu objects.

Lira clears her throat.  “Actually, we really shouldn’t.”

“Why?”  Anvil demands.

“Because the Fortune Riders have been using her to spy on us.”

It takes a while for the general exclamations of shock and disbelief following this announcement to calm down.  When they do, Lira condenses what Eva was able to tell her the night before.  She concludes: 

“Basically, except for the time that Eva had her holy symbol stuffed at the bottom of her backpack while we were traveling in the Sovereignty, none of us has ever had a private conversation with her.”

“Are you sure this is true?” Annika asks.

Lira nods.  “I went out of the room and cast _detect magic_, then came in and checked her holy symbol.  It’s definitely some kind of divination device.”

“Why did we not notice this before?” Anvil asks.

Lira shrugs.  “Have you ever _detected magic_ at Eva before?  I mean sure, she’s around when we’re looking at other things, but did you ever really look to see if her holy symbol radiated magic?”

The party members who can cast such spells try to remember if they ever have, but are forced to conclude that Lira has a point.

“Believe me,” Lira points out, “no one is more annoyed we didn’t notice this before than I am.  I mean, how many times have you seen me _detect_?”

“What should we do?”  Reyu asks, ever practical.

“Here’s the thing.  Eva believes that if the Fortune Riders know that she knows, there will be consequences, probably unpleasant ones.  She wanted me to tell you what was going on so that we could avoid discussing certain things in front of her that we might want to keep private, but we _can’t_ make it seem like that’s what we’re doing.”

“So we have to act like we don’t know what we know because if the Fortune Riders know that we know that they know about stuff, Eva will be in trouble,” Kiara sums up.

Lira blinks, trying desperately to parse what just came out of Kiara’s mouth.  “Umm… yeah.”

“We should be more careful in the future,” Anvil announces.  “We must regularly check each other for new and unexplained magical auras.”  And as he finishes, he casts _detect magic_ and starts to scan the assembled group.

Kiara’s eyes get wide.  “But it would be too late!  If they were listening through one of us then they’ve already heard this conversation and so they’ll know that we know…” 

Annika breaks in and tries to shush her.

“But Annika,” she protests.  “They’ll know all about your fiancé!”

The room gets suddenly quiet.

“Well, they do now.”

Kiara gasps, and her hand flies to her mouth.  “I’m sorry,” she squeaks.

Lira tries to cover her surprise by coughing.  “Your fiancé?”

Annika sighs.  “It’s… It’s an arranged thing.  His father’s a blacksmith, and he’s going to take over the shop pretty soon.  The families have been talking, and they think it’s a good match.  He’s a good craftsman and they figure that I can enchant things that he makes.”

“Do you like him?” Lira asks.

“I barely know him.  I mean, we knew each other as kids, but I haven’t seen him in years.  We had a quick visit while I was at home.  He’s… fine.”

“When would this happen?” Reyu wants to know.

“Not for a while,” Anniks answers quickly.  “Everyone has ‘agreed’ it would be best for me to finish my studies at the Academy first.”

Reyu isn’t sure what to make of all this.  Among her people, marriage is apparently different than it is among humans.  But before the conversation can go any farther, Eva walks into the room.

After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Anvil speaks.  “We were speaking of traveling to Ebis, to return Gemil and to seek out the wizard Manaal.”

Eva looks quickly around at the others.  “Right.”

###

The party decides that it would be best to rid themselves of Gemil before seeking out the archmage Manaal.  Gemil certainly does not object to this plan, and has asked the party to take him to some associates of his in the city of Siunethrit, deep in the Empire’s desert interior.

Lira goes to ask Devon if he has found his map of Ebis, but she finds him unavailable to talk when she stops by.  She eventually leaves word with one of his assistants who promises to pass along her request.

When Lira stops by the next morning, she finds the map is waiting for her, but Devon is still not in evidence.  Lira finds this unusual, as she has never had trouble before getting in to see the man, but stops short of asking the assistant flat-out if Devon is avoiding her.

Even more irksome, the map is clearly incomplete.

_(see map, attached below)_

Lira returns to the group and shows it to them.

“That’s not going to help,” Thatch complains.  “Siunethrit isn’t even on the map.”

“Hopefully Gemil can show us where that is at least,” Lira replies, but she doesn’t seem terribly pleased either.

“However,” Anvil adds, “once we have fulfilled out debt to Gemil, it does us little good to know that Manaal lives in the vicinity of Pesshetaup if we do not know where Pesshetaup is.”

Lira makes a frustrated noise.  “Yeah, well, and if Devon wasn’t avoiding me, I’d ask him about it.”

As usual, Reyu’s voice is one of calm in times of frustration, “Then we will seek another source of information.”

“Such as?” Eva wants to know.

“We have met a citizen of Ebis.  Let us ask her if she knows anything which could be of help to us.”

###

Hadass doesn’t seem particularly thrilled to see the party, perhaps because last time they came around they were quizzing her on the habits of her friend, Amelia.  Hadass has never heard of a wizard named Manaal, or any Ebisite wizard for that matter.  She equally hasn’t heard of a city called Pesshetaup.  However, she is able to explain the incomplete quality of their map.

“Unless you’re in the military, you can’t really _get_ a complete map of the Empire.  They don’t want too much information falling into the wrong hands.”

“Like who?” Kiara wants to know.

Hadass shrugs.  “Whomever.  You can’t move freely through the Empire the way you can here.  Travel between any of the cities requires a passport.”

“How does one obtain a passport?” Anvil asks.

“You apply for one from the military and it’s issued.  They don’t need a lot of information just, name, profession, reason for traveling.  And they do use magic to see if you’re lying.”

Hadass herself is from Nayarii, a coastal city and the Empire’s main international port, but when the party asks if she would like them to take a message to anyone there, she shakes her head.  “Actually,” she says, “I’d rather you didn’t mention my name to anyone if you go there… wizards aren’t exactly welcome in the Empire.”

The party exchanges worried glances.  Travel may take a little… creativity.

###

After conferring with Gemil as to the location of Siunethrit, the party considers their options.  Most foreign travelers arrive in Ebis via the port of Nayarii.  It is by all reports a cosmopolitan city with many foreigners and other travelers.  It is also along the Halmae coast and several weeks travel by road up to Siunethrit.

On the other hand, since Petros has already offered to take them into Ebis, they _can_ arrange to arrive only a day or so from Siunethrit through the desert.  Of course, if they do that, they won’t have the proper travel documents.  Eva, however, comes up with an answer to that dilemma.  By making a few discreet inquiries, she is able to fine someone who—for a fee of 125 gold apiece—will provide them with forged Ebisite passports.  

The party agrees that the travel time saved with be worth the fee for the forged documents.

(There is some amusement coming up with non-threatening and mostly-honest occupations for certain party members.  Lira and Eva both travel as “temple representatives” while Annika calls herself an “apprentice craftsman.”  Luckily, Kiara is not yet 16 and, as a minor, does not need a job title.)

As the rest of the party busies themselves with supplying themselves for desert travel and other odd bits of business, Anvil spends his last few days in Dar Pykos studying in the Temple Archives.  Although he passed his Third Order Examination, Tenacious informed him that it was a close thing.  In particular, he noted, Anvil’s answers on Inheritance Law in the First Century Pre-Confederacy could have been better.

Anvil dedicates special time and effort to improving his knowledge in this area.  The duties of a Third Order Justicar demand no less. 

_(DM’s note: for the record, BadMonkeyJeff used not one but TWO actions points in his various rolls to pass his examination—one to study and one on the exam itself.)_

On their appointed date of departure, Anvil collects Gemil—whom he had left to talk to some of the greatest minds of the Temple of Justice in an effort to encourage him to change from his evil ways.  

“I do not suppose you have changed your mind about where you would like us to take you next?” Anvil asks him as he goes to rejoin the others.

“Hmm…” Gemil pretends to consider.  “No.”

“Have you heard of a city called Pesshataup?”

Gemil can’t really frown, but he seems to grin a little less.  “No.  Why?”

Anvil slides the skull into his pack and fastens the drawstring at the top.  “No reason.”

###

There is not a lot of conversation as the party walks out of the city to meet Petros.  The farmers are out planting their spring crops, and the members of the party all have much to think about.

Petros greets them cordially, and after examining the map, determines an area in the vicinity of Siunethrit where he can place his tower without raising an alarm. 

A moment later, there is a flash of white light, and the adventurers are on their way to Ebis.


----------



## ham2anv

Been lurking for a while, but finally just had to say how much I love this Story Hour. It's the only one I've actually kept up with completely. Engaging narrative, entertaining and round characters, intriguing background, and a wonderful plot. To spyscribe and Fajitas, thank you!


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

What more could anyone want? Just wrote that I was rejoining the legion and the next day the wait is already over again. And with a whopper of an update. Marvellous!


----------



## spyscribe

_Hey Ham2anv, good to have you!  Thanks for delurking to say hello._

*Sidebar: The Empire of Ebis*

_Although not a whole lot about the Empire of Ebis is commonly known outside of it, the party is not completely ignorant of where they are going.  What follows is more or less the information that we (the players) had available to us when we departed Dar Pykos._ 

*General Information*

Ebis is mostly desert.  There is a narrow strip of fertile land along the Nefertegi River.  It is believed that, apart from trade, this land is the Empire’s main source of food.  Ebis has a complex government, with an advanced and many-layered bureaucracy.  Ehkt is the primary diety worshipped in Ebis, as a harsh warrior sun god.  

As has been mentioned in the story hour, the official word is that there are no wizards living in Ebis (although Manaal and Gemil would seem to dispute that), and no one in the Confederacy has ever heard of sorcerers being born there.

*Geography*

*Ehkt-hotep, Forbidden City of Endless Sun* - The capital of Ebis.  Entrance to the city is forbidden to most commoners and travelers.  Entry is forbidden to all but the Imperial Family, high-ranking officials, and those military officers fortunate enough to be assigned there.

*Baseka* - The Gateway to Ebis.  This city is heavily militarized.  Merchant activity is high, as it is the main point of contact between Ebis and the Sovereignty.

*Nayarii* - Occupying the delta at the mouth of the Nefertegi, Nayarii is a major hub of trade.  The military maintains a strong presence, but it is largely a civilian city.  Nayarii is known for its friendly and open attitude towards foreigners.

*Sma-tirra* -  Also a major harbor city, Sma-tirra is a haven for all ships that would pass through the Darine Straits.  

*The Old Sea Road* - The Old Sea Road runs along the coast of the Halmae, stretching from Baseka all the way to Sma-tirra.  It is well maintained and patrolled by the military.  Way-stations are positioned all along its length, to provide for weary travelers. 

*Legal System*

The penalty for most crimes in Ebis is a beating, followed by restitution.  Non-reparable civilian crimes are commonly punished by enslavement.  There are also a number of capital offenses, specifically:


Murder
Robbing the Dead
Treason
Perjury
Failure to obey a superior officer

Note that, in some cases, failure to act to prevent murder can be considered murder.

_So really, what's not to love?_


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Forty-First*
_Welcome to the Empire of Ebis_

Petros’ tower appears in a desolate stretch of sand.  Although by Reyu’s estimation they are only half a day’s walk away from Siunethrit, the city is visible only as a tiny smudge on the horizon.  This is ideal from the standpoint of not alarming the populace, but not so great for those who have to make the trek to Siunethrit on foot.

They arrive in early afternoon, and even though the party takes the time to make their good-byes to Petros, the sun is still high in the sky as they set out across the shifting sands.

It is hot.

Kiara tries to escape the heat by shifting into swallow form and riding in the shade of Annika’s hood, but she quickly discovers that this is no climate for swallows.

_(“African or European?”)_

She gives up and trudges along with the rest of them.  Fortunately for the party, Thatch still carries the _decanter of endless water_ and are able to take frequent breaks to drink and douse their heads.  Euro, who rides in Lira’s pack out of the sun, finds that he can slip into the pitcher for a quick dip whenever he gets too hot.  Thatch thinks about objecting on the ground that they all have to drink from it, then realizes it’s not as if he doesn’t have the resources to wash it out after Euro is done.

Lira makes her new _hat of disguise_ appear to have a wide brim, and walks in her own patch of illusory shade.  It actually seems to help a little… provided she doesn’t think about it too much.

Eventually, the party reaches the main road, and—with Gemil stored safely in Anvil’s pack—they reach the high sandstone walls of Siunethrit just as the sun is dipping below the horizon.

Now, they will find out how good the forged passports they bought were.

Arriving at the main gates, the party is quickly ushered to Customs, built _inside_ the massive walls surrounding the city.  The room is long and narrow, and filled with rows upon rows of desks.  At this hour, most of the officials who would have been manning those desks seem to have gone home, but they are able to get the attention of someone still on duty.

To the travelers’ eyes, he is dressed _very_ strangely.  He wears a light linen skirt and tunic, along with sandals—which make sense given the desert climate.  However, he is also heavily made-up with dark liner around his eyes and a long and pointed false wooden beard strapped to his chin.  The adventurers do their best not to stare, and he returns the favor.

“Why are you traveling to Siunethrit?”

“Business.”

“How long will you be staying here?”

“A couple of days.”

He takes a cursory glance at their passports then waves them through a door in the wall opposite the one where they entered.  And with that, the party has arrived in Siunethrit.  Eva breathes a silent sigh of relief.


Twilight lingers over the city, and the streets are filled with people hurrying about their business.  The party cannot help but notice that there are also soldiers stationed on almost every corner, keeping an eye on the ebb and flow of the populace.  With their fair complexions and strange garb, the party gets more than a few looks from the military and civilians alike.  

Even the architecture is foreign.  Almost every building is made of the same pale sandstone, with irregular angles and oddly sloping ceilings.  Several have no visible means of supporting themselves other than counterweights.  Geometric minarets of every conceivable configuration dominate the skyline; obelisks topped by pyramids, cubes, and other stranger and harder to describe objects rise like angular flowers in a garden of boxes.  Still, the overall effect is more… precise than aesthetic.

The party finds a place to spend the night, and once they are safely ensconced in a private room, Anvil brings Gemil out of his sack.

“Alright,” Lira informs Gemil.  “We’re in Siunethrit.  What now?”

Gemil clacks his teeth together happily, clearly pleased to be back in his home city for the first time in nearly two decades.  “Go to an inn called The Golden Ratio; I’ll give you directions.  A man named Raffee is the innkeeper.  When you find him, ask to see Khalid.  He’ll know what to do from there.”

Seeing no reason to dally over this mission, the party sets out immediately, following Gemil’s directions to The Golden Ratio.

However, when they arrive, they encounter a slight difficulty.

“I’m sorry,” says the man behind the bar, “I don’t know any Raffee.”

“You are not he?” Anvil demands.

“No.” He shakes his head. 

“Do you know anyone by the name of Khalid?”

“Sorry.”

The party quickly returns to their own rooms to consult with Gemil.

Gemil considers.  “Well… that’s very interesting.”

“What are we supposed to do now?” Eva asks him, growing more impatient with this little errand by the moment.

“Don’t get yourself all up into a fuss.  It’s not a problem.  I have another contact.  A man who owns a tailor shop.  We can go find him in the morning.”

“Fine.”  Eva spits the word like a mouthful of sand.  She turns to Thatch, “Quick hand of cards downstairs?”

Thatch shrugs agreeably.  “Sure.”

Eva and Thatch don’t find any card games going downstairs, so they sit down for a quick round or so of two-handed gin.  The only other patrons in the common room are two men at a back table, heads bent over a _very_ intense discussion.

As the evening wears on, their conversation grows louder and more animated, until finally breaking out into a loud and passionate debate.  Eva keeps an ear on it—prepared to break up the game at a moment’s notice if things look like they’re going to get ugly.  Although she has no idea what the specific point of contention is, it gradually dawns on her that these men are arguing about _math_.

She looks over at Thatch and whispers low across the table.  “This city is _so_ weird.”

Thatch nods, mute.


----------



## dpdx

and this Story Hour is _so_ awesome.

This place reminds me of Ancient China meets Ancient Egypt. A forbidden City, fu-manchus (albeit wooden ones), yet the names are all pseudo-Arabic, and there's a desert with a fertile strip running along/through it...


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> This place reminds me of Ancient China meets Ancient Egypt. A forbidden City, fu-manchus (albeit wooden ones), yet the names are all pseudo-Arabic, and there's a desert with a fertile strip running along/through it...



GURPS _Ancient Egypt_ is your friend.  Borrowed a copy from Blackjack.  Though, amusingly enough, the Ancient China thing is kinda coincidental.  The Forbidden City bit, yeah, that's pretty much Ancient China, but the wooden beards are actually Ancient Egypt.

Anyway, glad you like the historical detail.  

Though I do feel compelled to publically apologize to Spyscribe for breaking one of my sacred rules.  I thought it was really cool to give all the places authentic Ancient Egyptian names, and it didn't occur to me until much, much later that they are absolutely impossible to spell phonetically.  Bad DM.  Bad.  Bad.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Forty-Second*
_In which: the party finds that it’s hard to find a good cloak in Siunethrit, despite the cold nights._

“I find the nights are colder than I like.  Can you make a cloak to warm them?”  Lira repeats.

Gemil motions his assent as best he is able without benefit of a neck.  “Yes.  Just say that to Faaris the tailor when you go into his shop.”

Anvil shakes his head.  “If you are deceiving us Gemil…”

Gemil gapes in mock horror.  “Justicar… I’m shocked.  We have an agreement.”

Eva lets out a long sigh.  “Can we just get on with this?”

###

Walking the streets during the daylight hours for the first time, the party finds the composition of the passers-by has changed somewhat, namely that many more upper-class looking people out and about.  The sun is shining fiercely and they cannot help but also notice that by and large the locals seem to get by wearing very little. Some small children run around completely naked.  All clothing is light-colored linen and many men—and women—wear only small skirts as a concession to modesty.  

Thatch gulps and keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the back of Eva’s head.

The party arrives at a small tailor shop in the mercantile district and is heartened to find that the sign overhead reads, “Faaris: Tailor.”

As Reyu stays outside to watch the door, the others enter.

The shop’s interior is dim and cool.  The proprietor quickly comes forward to greet the party.  “Hello, hello.  I am Faaris.  You are travelers here, yes?”

Lira smiles.  “What gave us away?”

The man laughs with an easy grin.  “A tailor can always tell.  So, you are looking for something a little lighter for the heat of the day, yes?”

“Actually,” Lira says, “I find the nights are colder than I like.  Can you make a cloak to warm them?”

Faaris’ smile abruptly vanishes.  He stops talking and his eyes bug slightly.

“I’m… I’m sorry.  I can’t help you.”  He bustles the party towards the door with great haste.

Lira tries to object, “Wh--?”

“I haven’t made cloaks in a very long time.  I’m sure there’s someone else who can help you.  Yes, that’s it.  Sorry.  We’re closed.”

And with that the party finds themselves back on the street in front of Faaris’ shop.  The door closes with a solid thump, followed quickly after by the sound of a bolt turning.

###

Half an hour later, back at the inn:

“There’s one more place you can try… I have a friend at the university, a professor.  Her name is Zariah.  I had hoped not to trouble her directly, but… as we are running short on other options…”

“Are you certain she is still loyal to you?” Anvil demands.

“Oh, I’m sure of it.”

###

The University is almost like a walled city within a city, and beyond the gate can be glimpsed some of the strangest and most striking architecture in Siunethrit: buildings shaped like perfect spheres balanced atop cylinders, and a single cone that stretches over forty feet into the sky.

At the gate however, the party is stopped by a guard.  He seems puzzled when the party tells him the object of their errand.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “Professor Zariah is no longer employed here.”

“Do you know where we can find her?” Lira asks.

“…At the Necropolis,” he says slowly.

“Oh.”  Lira does her best to recover smoothly.  “We were apparently misinformed.”

###

Half an hour later, back at the inn.

“Okay Gemil, we promised to make a good faith effort, and I think we’re reaching the end of ‘good faith.’” 

Lira is not the only member of the party who is quickly approaching the end of her patience.  The deal that Anvil made with Gemil was never particularly savory, but they are willing to uphold it.  The amount of trouble they are willing to go to on behalf of the soul of an evil necromancer trapped in a golden skull is limited.

Gemil seems no more pleased to still be at the mercies of the party.

“Well,” he begins… “there is one more possibility…”

“No!” Lira interrupts.  “No more possibilities.  Give me a good reason why we shouldn’t just dump you in the river right now.”

“It wouldn’t be nice?”

“Try again.” Eva forces out from behind clenched teeth.

Gemil rolls his eyes to look at her.  “I would rather negotiate with the Justicar, if you don’t mind.”

Anvil steps forward.  “Then do so.”

“You wouldn’t really let them throw me in the river, would you?  It would… hardly be in the spirit of our agreement.”

“We have made a good faith effort,” Anvil points out.

“What can I offer you for your continued aid?” Gemil asks.

Anvil shrugs.  “Make an offer.”

“I could give you the opportunity to destroy a very powerful necromancer.”

“So you could take his place?” Eva asks.

Gemil looks thoughtful.  “I suppose that would create a bit of a power vacuum.  And you know how nature abhors that.”

“I didn’t think nature was too keen on necromancy either,” Eva mutters to herself and turns to the other side of the room where the others are huddled in low conversation.

###

“Will destroying the skull kill him?” Thatch asks.

Annika gestures helplessly, whispering back, “I don’t know.  I’m not sure how the skull was made, I don’t know _what_ result destroying it would have.  I’m not even sure if we could.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not _just_ a golden skull.  It’s a magic item.  That makes a difference.  What if we just turned him over to the military?”

“Do you want to explain how we smuggled an evil necromancer trapped in a golden skull into the country under fake passports… Oh and by the way we’ve got two arcanists with us?”  Eva asks.

“I guess not.”

“Okay…” says Lira.  “How about this…?”


----------



## Sagiro

Hey spyscribe,

You know I love your writing, but I have two suggestions that will really take this Story Hour to the next level.

1.  Updates that are twice as long.
2.  Updates that are twice as frequent.

 

-Sagiro


----------



## jerichothebard

Sagiro said:
			
		

> Hey spyscribe,
> 
> You know I love your writing, but I have two suggestions that will really take this Story Hour to the next level.
> 
> 1.  Updates that are twice as long.
> 2.  Updates that are twice as frequent.
> 
> 
> 
> -Sagiro





Dude!  This is one of the most frequently updated story hours on the board!

(It's a good start!)


----------



## Pyske

Sagiro said:
			
		

> Hey spyscribe,
> 
> You know I love your writing, but I have two suggestions that will really take this Story Hour to the next level.
> 
> 1.  Updates that are twice as long.
> 2.  Updates that are twice as frequent.
> 
> 
> 
> -Sagiro




While I would love to see more, as these updates always brighten my day, I am conscious of the need to keep Spyscribe's head from exploding, so that she may continue to give us updates for years to come.

I'm still here, and still thoroughly enjoying this story hour.


----------



## Sagiro

Perhaps the "Big Grin" smiley did not make sufficiently clear how far in my cheek was my tongue.   Spyscribe, you should write to your own comfort level, of course.  But I'm still going to be greedy about it.  

-Sagiro


----------



## spyscribe

Sagiro said:
			
		

> Hey spyscribe,
> 
> You know I love your writing, but I have two suggestions that will really take this Story Hour to the next level.
> 
> 1.  Updates that are twice as long.
> 2.  Updates that are twice as frequent.



I do apologize for the sluggish pace of updates lately.  But I'm trying to give jonrog1 a sporting chance to avoid THE ABJECT SHAME that will soon be upon him.

The day is coming.  Oh yes.  It is very near.


----------



## Groutknoll

Thanks spyscribe, the other day I was trying to remember who you called out and was wondering what had happened. I'm still hoping that you shame him into posting a update.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Forty-Third*
_In which: Lira makes a proposal._

“We will renew our agreement to assist you in finding a contact here in Siunethrit.  We won’t try to end your existence and you won’t try to end ours.”

“And in return?”  Gemil asks suspiciously.

“You will owe us a favor.”

“A favor.  What sort of favor?”

Lira shrugs.  “Whatever.  If you’re right and you do become the big necromantic power player in Ebis, I’m sure you could help us out at some time in the future.”

Gemil considers.  “It would have to be a favor commensurate with the favor you have done me.”

“Agreed.  And naturally for the negotiation of said favor our truce would go back into effect.”

“Natrually…”  The golden skull leers.  “Who would determine the equity of the arrangement?”

“How about Anvil?”  Lira shoots a look over at the man in question who nods.

Gemil muses for a moment.  “Alright.  It is agreed.  You will uncover a contact of mine in Siunethrit willing to take me in, and at some point in the future I will do you a favor equivalent to the service you have done me.”  He gives Lira a sly look.  “Shall we shake on it?”

**********

Gemil has two theories for how the party can best accomplish their goal.  They can return to the tailor shop and attempt to convince Faaris to cooperate, or they can go a “more direct route.”

When pressed, Gemil admits that the more direct route involves breaking into the Necropolis and confronting whoever has taken over in his absence.  Partially out of an unwillingness to deal with Gemil’s enemies for him, and partially due to the knowledge that grave-robbing is a capital crime in Ebis, the party elects to see if they can induce Faaris to help them.

_(DM’s NOTE: >sigh<  And curse their scaly little hides for it.  Woulda been *awesome*.)_

###

The party returns to find that Faaris has reopened his shop.  Deciding that their best chance of cooperation lies in maximum subterfuge, Lira and Annika go in first, alone.  Lira activates her _hat of disguise_ and Annika casts _disguise self_ to appear as two rich matrons, desperately in need of fine clothing.

They enter, and Faaris greets them warmly.

“Ah!  Ladies.  And how can my humble shop cater to your needs this afternoon?”

“Actually,” says Lira archly, “we’re just looking for the moment.  My daughter is getting married and we have many shops to visit.”

“Of course…” Faaris guides them to a rack in the corner where bolts of very fine linen have been laid out for inspection.  “You’ll find no better quality in the city.  And, for a price, I can even arrange for imported Karonian silk, although, of course that would require payment in advance.”

“Naturally,” Lira replies.  As Faaris seems determined to stick by and be as helpful as possible, Lira waves him off.  “Leave us.  I will summon you if we require assistance.”

“Of course,” Faaris smiles sincerely and leaves the ladies to their shopping.  And, as soon as his back is turned, both Lira and Annika cast _charm person_ at him.

Faaris pauses, slowly turns around and looks over his shoulder.  “I’m sorry…” he begins.  “Are you sure that there isn’t anything I can do for you?”

Lira smiles, she’s not sure whose spell went off, but she’s hoping that it doesn’t matter.  “Actually, there is something.”

“Yes?”

“I find the nights are colder than I like.  Can you make a cloak to warm them?”

Faaris’s face falls.  He looks quickly around the shop, but there are no other customers.  Still, when he speaks, his voice is barely audible.

“Are… are you sure?”

Lira nods, and removes her hat, revealing the red-haired young woman who asked him the same question the day before.  “It’s okay,” she tells him.  “But maybe we should go someplace where we can speak privately.  We wouldn’t want someone to overhear us and misunderstand.”

Faaris nods, and turns glumly towards the door, where he finds the rest of the party waiting.  He looks at Lira, quite concerned.  She smiles.  “You can let them in.  They’re friends.”

Faaris reluctantly does, and locks the door behind them.  He shows Lira and the rest of the party into his back room.

###

“You have to understand,” Faaris pleads, as he practically collapses on a low stool in the back of his shop. “I was young, and very foolish.”

Kiara looks at him skeptically.  “I can’t imagine being that foolish.”

He shakes his head.  “I haven’t been involved in any of that for years.  I’m married now, with a son—”

“We don’t care what you used to do,” Lira assures him.  “We didn’t really intend to get stuck with this job either.”

“Job?  What job?”

“Hello, Faaris.”

The tailor’s face goes ashen as he turns to where Anvil has brought Gemil’s skull out of his pack.

“You… You…”

“Yes,” Gemil replies.  “Me.”

“But… no one had heard from you in more than ten years.  Everyone assumed you were dead.”

“Clearly,” Gemil replies acidly.  “And who has taken advantage of my absence?”

“I… I really don’t…”

“Who?”

“Hamidi.”

Gemil grinds his teeth.

“What happened to Nabihah?”

“He’s dead.”

“And Qudsiyah?”

“Dead.”

“Thaquib?”

Faaris gulps.  “Very dead,” he whispers.

“I can see why you got out of this business,” Eva mutters under her breath. 

“What about Shadya?” Gemil demands suddenly.  “Hamidi wouldn’t have dared get rid of her.”

Faaris shakes his head.  “No… no I don’t think so.  I don’t know if I can get a message to her though.  I haven’t been in touch with anyone in the organization in years.” He turns pleading to the party members.  “You have to believe me.”

Gemil’s tone is icy.  “Try.”

Faaris nods.  “I— I will.  Please, return to your inn, I will send word within the day.”

Gemil is safely returned to his sack and Faaris ushers the party out through the front of the shop.  As they pass though, though, something catches Lira’s eye.  She pauses.

“What is it?” Eva asks her.

Lira blushes.  “Well, it _does_ get pretty cold here at night…”

A few moments later the party leaves Faaris’ shop, new cloaks bundled up under their arms.

###

That evening, a message comes back from Shadya.  She has agreed to take Gemil, and indicates a place and time for the exchange.

“Will we meet her?” Anvil wants to know.

Faaris shakes his head, fearfully.  “She said she’ll send someone.”

###

The party arrives at the exchange point under cover of darkness.  At precisely midnight a cloaked figure approaches.   Male or female is impossible to tell under the voluminous robes, but the figure’s slow, shuffling gait is unmistakable.

Eva swears quietly.  “She sent a zombie.”

The figure arrives before the party, and slowly holds out a brown and withered hand.  Anvil brings forth the sack with Gemil’s skull within.  Before handing it over, he opens it one last time.  Gemil’s ruby eyes glint darkly in the moonlight.

“Kettenek’s Justice be upon you, Gemil,” Anvil intones.

Gemil grins up at him.  “Ta ta.”

The rest of the party watches in silence as Anvil hands over the bag, and the messenger slowly shuffles away.


----------



## Sagiro

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Gemil grinds his teeth.
> 
> “What happened to Nabihah?”
> 
> “He’s dead.”
> 
> “And Qudsiyah?”
> 
> “Dead.”
> 
> “Thaquib?”
> 
> Faaris gulps.  “Very dead,” he whispers.
> 
> “I can see why you got out of this business,” Eva mutters under her breath.




Wonderful.  Just wonderful.  

-Sagiro


----------



## jonrog1

Nice try, Spyscribe, but I beat deadlines for a living.  

Now, remember to describe how handsome and charming I was during the session ...


----------



## doghead

Ah, the best thing about being away for a while is being able to come back to a couple of pages of updates.

the way the differents sects have been woven into the game has made me decide to try to do more to weave them into the tapestry of my own game. For a while I had a cleric of the Lady's Handmaidens, but he (the character) dropped off the map fairly quickly.

thotd.


----------



## spyscribe

_Well, here it is, the much-promoted beginning of our saga within a saga, in which John Rogers joins the party for a session, and well… see for yourself._

*Part the One-Hundred Forty-Fourth*
_In which: a good guide is hard to find… and Pesshetaup is even harder to locate._

The next morning, Eva sets out to make the rounds among local inns and taverns to see if she can pick up information about obtaining a guide to take them through the desert.  Although the party does not know exactly where Manaal can be found, Chi’i did mention that she is near the city of Pesshetaup.  Of course, since Pesshetaup is not on the party’s map, knowing that city’s location is going to be high on their list of criteria for prospective guides.

When Eva returns, she has three likely candidates.

“The first is a man by the name of Djamel.  His name came up almost everywhere I asked about possible guides, and he seems to be well-regarded.  A few people also mentioned a woman named Parwin.  She’s one of the Shesher, a desert elf, and they’re said to be the best guides around.”

“You said you had three candidates,” Anvil reminds her when Eva takes a pause for a drink of water.

Eva rolls her eyes at him.  “The last is a guy called Baasim.  Now, I didn’t meet a lot of people who had heard of him, but I talked to one man who had used him as a guide and he was every enthusiastic in his recommendation.”

The party decides to first go and speak with Djamel.  They find him in a café, drinking small cups of very dark coffee.  The coffee is almost as black as his skin, burnt by the desert sun.  He wears the most simple and functional of desert robes, and the twin scimitars across his back appear well used.

He cordially invites the party to sit and offers to share his coffee.  Kiara accepts immediately, and downs the tiny cup in a single gulp.  She sits silently for a few seconds afterwards, blinks rapidly, and then opens her mouth.

“Wow!  That is the best stuff, _ever_.  Where did you get it?  Can I buy some, Annika?  Please?  I’ll use my own money and everything.  I have money now, you know, on account of raiding the keep in Bountiful, that was full of skeletons, but I killed the thing that was making them.  Well, he had a thing that was making the skeletons, and he almost made me a skeleton, and that would have been bad.  But—”

“Kiara!”  Anniaka interrupts her sharply.

“Yes?”

“Maybe you should be quiet now.”

“Oh.  Yeah.  Maybe.”  Kiara snaps her mouth closed immediately and commences vibrating on the seat of her chair.

“I can arrange to get some Anh-ishtala’h for you, little one, but I am not sure it would be a wise idea.”  Djamel chuckles good-naturedly, but when he turns to Anvil his expression is sober.  “So, you are seeking a guide through the desert.”

Anvil nods.  “Yes.”

“The desert is a very dangerous place, Justicar.  A hundred creatures that will kill a man, like that!” he snaps his fingers sharply in Anvil’s face by way of illustration.  “Why would you wish to go there?”

Anvil is unruffled.  “We have business in Pesshetaup.”

Djamel sits back, takes another sip of the coffee-like substance.  “Pesshetaup?”  He shakes his head.  “I am not familiar with it.”

“You’re not?”  Reyu asks.

“The desert has many secrets,” he replies.  “Many deadly secrets.  If you like, I can make some inquiries.  Come back tomorrow.  I will know more.”

The party members briefly consult.  “It is not necessary that you trouble yourself at this time,” Anvil informs Djamel.  “We are speaking to many prospective guides.  But we may be in touch later.”

Djamel nods philosophically.  “It is no bother.  A man cannot know too much about the desert.”

The party rises and takes their leave.

“May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you,” Anvil intones.

Djamel acknowledges the sentiment, “May the desert not claim your bones before your children are married.”

“Well,” says Lira as soon as they are out of earshot, “he’s a cheery one.”

###

The party finds Parwin, crouched in the shade of the Temple of Alirria.  She wears long and heavily beaded braids while one hand rests easily on the shoulder of a large hyena. Her garment is made of coarse linen, colored like the desert sands.  Though crude, (at least by human standards) it appears well-suited to the climate.

She stares with barely concealed contempt at the party as they approach, but her eyes do flicker to Reyu’s braids, and then to Kiara’s.

Reyu steps forward, which brings her close enough to read Parwin’s braids identifying her as a member of the Otees tribe of the Shesher nation.  They also call her “Gina Luen” which Reyu translates as “tearful mother.”

Reyu assimilates this information in an instant, then greets the other woman in Elven.  “Greetings, sister.”

Parwin inclines her chin slightly.  “Sister.”  It’s hard to tell if she means it sincerely or not.  Her eyes stray over to Kiara’s braids and she looks… puzzled. 

“You are Kiara?”

“Yes.” 

“You… are not elven.”

“No,” Kiara agrees.  “But I lived with them for a while.”

Parwin, nods and puts a hand on the hyena’s broad back.  “Ah… This is my Kiaru.”

Kiara blinks.  “Oh!  That’s just like my name.”

Reyu explains.  “Kiara or Kiaru means ‘foundling’ in elven.  It’s not an uncommon name to give animals adopted into the tribe.”

“Foundling?”  Kiara is not sure how she feels about that.

“It means you’re accepted,” Reyu assures her.  “Perhaps, someday, you will find a name that suits you better.”

Kiara frowns, and Annika strokes her hair gently.  Parwin watches the two of them the way someone else might watch rescue efforts at the site of an overturned wagon.

Reyu clears her throat to retake Parwin’s attention.  “My friends and I are looking for a guide to take us through the desert.”

“Why do you wish to travel through the desert?”

“We have someone we wish to meet in Pesshetaup.”

Parwin frowns.  “I am not familiar with this place.”

“It seems to be a common problem,” Lira puts in.

Parwin looks at her askance, but continues to addresses Reyu.  “You are not from here.”

“No,” Reyu agrees.  “We are on a mission from a place called Dar Pykos, across the Halmae.”

Parwin takes that in.  “Are these human lands?”

“Dar Pykos is a human city, but there are elves in the… area.”

Parwin casts an appraising look over the party.  “Are there elven slaves in this… Dar Pykos?”

“We do not condone such things,” Anvil answers immediately.  “And slavery is not legal in the city from which we come.  However, that is not the case in all cities of the Confederacy.  This is something which we seek to change through the doctrine of Universal Law.”

Anvil’s pronouncement is received in silence.

Reyu however, remembers Parwin’s braids.  “Have you lost someone to slavers?” she asks.  “Is that why you are ‘Gina Luen’?’

Parwin nods, then spits contemptuously into the sand by her feet.  “They took my son.”

“When?”

Parwin shakes her head.  “70… maybe 80 years ago.  A man named Assal.”

Reyu, Thatch, Anvil and Lira exchange glances.   Parwin picks up on the shift immediately.  “What is it?  Do you have knowledge of this man?”

Lira clears her throat.  “We once encountered a man.  Adar al-Assal.  But he is far too young to have been the one who took your child.”

_(Wayback machine note: Adar al-Assal is the proprietor of Al-Assal’s House of Pleasure in Dar Aego.  Readers of especially long memory might recall him as the unctuous character who brokered several wrongly-enslaved citizens of Dar Pykos, and introduced Lira to the party.)_

Parwin considers.  “I would like to speak with this man.”

“That would be difficult,” Anvil answers.  “He is in a city called Dar Aego, very far from here.”

“Will you be returning there?”

“We will be returning to the Confederacy of city-states of which Dar Aego is a member eventually, but not immediately.”

Parwin nods.  “If you can find more information on this… Pesshetaup, I will take you there.  I would then ask to go with you to find this Adar al-Assal.  If our paths do not cross in the sands, I will seek him out myself.”

Worried that Parwin might run into trouble traveling alone (or more worrisomely, traveling with *a hyena*) in the Confederacy, Anvil promises to write her a letter which she can take to the Temple of Justice in Dar Pykos, appraising them of her situation.

_(BadMonkeyJeff: I am writing a letter than an injustice has been committed against this elf.
Jonrog1: I have been waiting all night for him to say that!)_

The party informs Parwin they will return the following day if they have any new information on Pesshetaup.  In the meantime, they go in search of the third guide candidate, Baasim.

###

After asking several people in Siunethrit’s central market where they can find Baasim, the party is finally directed to where a large man in opulent robes is engaged in a loud debate with a sandal merchant.

“Are you mad?  Were your sandals made of solid silver you would reap the profits of a general by charging that price!”

The merchant is not to be intimidated by Baasim’s bluster.  “You would have my children begging in the streets, sir.  You will not find a finer sandal in the city, and its second-best would be twice the price!”

“I would rather go into the desert barefoot,” Baasim scoffs, “allow the sand to blast the flesh from my bones, and cross the desert on the remaining stumps than take a single step in one of those abominations that you call a sandal!”

There is a heavy pause.  “I will pay one silver piece more,” Baasim offers.

Baasim stares at the sandal merchant.  The sandal merchant stares back.  There is a brief, tense, silence.

“Agreed!”

“Excellent!”

The merchant claps Baasim on the shoulder.  “You are a prince among men, sir.”

“No… No… It is you who are a prince among shoemakers!”

“You do me too much honor…” 

There is considerable back slapping and exchanging of accolades which follows, but when it seems that the transaction has actually come to some sort of conclusion, Anvil steps forward and clears his throat.

“Excuse me.”

Baasim and the shoe merchant look up.  “Yes?”

“Baasim?”

“I am he.”

“My companions and I are in need of a desert guide.”

Baasim’s attention leaves the sandal merchant entirely.  “Then you have come to the right place, my friend,” he proclaims.  “There is no finer guide in all of Ebis.  I know the desert as I know the intimate geography of my wives.  Come, let us go where we can discuss this matter more comfortably.”

###

Baasim guides the party to a large and luxurious tent pitched not far from the central market.  He has many camels staked outside and as the party members are shown to floor cushions, a servant is almost instantly at each of their elbows, offering hot tea.

Anvil tries to begin detailing their needs, but Baasim will have none of it.  “Business can wait.  We are all friends here and I am honored, honored I tell you, to have a man of such stature… a Justicar… visiting in my tent.”

Eva and Lira exchange skeptical looks.  “And your friends as well!” Baasim continues.  “Such a fine, strong young man, and” he looks over at the ladies, “such beauties!  Princesses all.”  Much to Eva’s embarrassment, Baasim proceeds to take her hand and kisses the back of it.

“Now tell me,” Baasim urges, “where are you staying in our fine city?  I can recommend many excellent inns with worthy accommodations for travelers such as yourselves.”

Before they quite know what has happened, Baasim has sent a servant to pay their bill at the inn, provided them all with new clothes appropriate for the Ebisite climate, and also sent along a basket of nuts and candied fruits.

Eva opens her mouth to object but is met with a swift.  “No, it is no use objecting.  It is already done.”

Finally, Anvil is able to disclose their objective.

“Ahh… Pesshetaup…  I know it well.”

“Really?”  Thatch asks.  “Most other guides haven’t.”

“Which is why they are unworthy to guide you!” Baasim replies hotly.  He shakes his head.  “Ah… what an honest businessman has to deal with in the face of criminal competitors.”

A servant is immediately at Baasim’s side with a cold compress.  “Would you like a foot-wash Saheeb?”

“Ah yes… but later.  Go, attend to our guests.”

The party members decline the offered foot-washing as politely as they are able.

“But yes, as soon as you wish to go to Pesshetaup, Justicar… I, Baasim, will take you.”

“Where is Pesshetaup?” Lira asks.

Baasim rewards her with an indulgent smile.  “I cannot tell you princess, for I have a very real fear.  Perhaps I tell you where the city can be found and you decide you do not need a guide through the desert?  Yes?  Then, you wander off into the shifting sands and are never seen again.  No.  I could not live with such a thing on my conscience.”

“Can you tell us how long it would take to get there?”

Baasim considers.  “Seven… eight days at the very most.”

Anvil clears his throat.  “You have given us much to consider sir.  We will return with our response within a day.”

Baasim shakes his head.  “Do not tarry, Justicar.  As honored as I would be lead you, others of less worth clamor for my skills, and…” He lets the sentence trail off.

“We understand your time is precious,” Anvil intones.  “But Kettenek’s Justice demands we take due care and consideration.”

Baasim does not appear offended.  “Of course.  Of course.  I will see you tomorrow, and we will begin our desert odyssey!”


----------



## Fajitas

jonrog, for anyone wondering, is playing not one, not two, but all three of the guides.  I wanted to let the party choose who was going to lead them into the desert, and didn't want them to feel forced to choose one over the others because someone was actually playing one of them.  John, bless his heart, was more than game to wear all three hats.

This was such an easy session for me to run.  All I had to do was write up the background information on the guides, then sit back and watch the madness...


----------



## Spatzimaus

I was expecting more anal probing.  Although, you HAVE had undead childred in this SH already, so I guess it's okay.


----------



## coyote6

Okay, I stayed up too late a couple of nights, and spent most of the day reading, but I read the whole thing. Very fun; love the pantheon.

If y'all are going to be at GenCon SoCal this year, let me know.


----------



## Capellan

jonrog1 said:
			
		

> Nice try, Spyscribe, but I beat deadlines for a living.




Yep, you sure showed her.

(pssst ... spyscribe .... he fell for it.  Now do it again, with a shorter deadline this time.)


----------



## dpdx

This Story Hour rules, celebrities or no.

I await the introduction of Vin Diesel as Anvil's cohort, Caltrop the Just.


----------



## spyscribe

_coyote6: I am always proud to learn that this story hour has caused loss of sleep.  Welcome.    And if past years are any guide, we'll figure out when, if, and how many of us are going to GenCon SoCal approximately the Wednesday before it begins.

In the meantime:_

*Part the One-Hundred Forty-Fifth*
_In which: Thatch makes an astute observation, Anvil breaks bad news, and Eva rids herself of excess baggage._

“He’s nuts,” Thatch opines once they have left Baasim’s tent.

This is a popular opinion, only strengthened when the party returns to their inn to find that the bill *has* been paid, new outfits have arrived, and not one, but *two* baskets of candied fruits and nuts have been delivered.

No one eats any.

Lira sums up the collective sentiment.  “Anyone who spends that much on total strangers has a plan to recoup it somehow.”

More problematic is the fact that Baasim is the only guide they have met who even claims to have knowledge of the place they wish to travel.

“We could question him under a _zone of truth_,” Anvil suggests, “but I suspect he might object.”

For the meantime, lacking a better plan, the group decides to leave the matter until the next day and hope that Djamel’s sources come through with information on Pesshetaup.

###

The next day, Djamel does indeed have more information for them, however, he is a bit suspicious of why the party wanted it.

“Tell me again,” he begins once the party members have all arrived at the café.  “Why do you wish to travel to Pesshetaup?”

“We told you,” Lira says.  “We wish to visit someone who lives there.”

Djamel lets that rest in silence for a moment before taking a pull on his cigarette and explaining.  “That is strange, as there is no one living in Pesshetaup.”

“Strange sort of city,” Kiara remarks.

“You misunderstand,” Djamel corrects himself.  “Pesshetaup is a dead city.  It was built as a quarry, deep in the desert.  Pesshetaup marble is the finest in all the Halmae, and for some years it produced much of it.  But the city proved too deep in the desert, too far from natural water sources.  They had to import food and water to sustain them, and eventually, it proved too costly.  The city was abandoned and left to be swallowed by the sands.”

“How long to get there?”  Lira asks.

Djamel thinks for just a moment.  “About a week and half.”

“A week and half?” Anvil asks.  “Another guide told us he could take us there in seven days.”

Djamel shrugs.  “Then go with another guide.  Personally… I think that is a bit ambitious.”

“Do you know a man called Baasim?” Eva asks.

He shakes his head.  “That name means nothing to me.”

The party members exchange glances.  “How much?”  Thatch asks.

“Seventy-five gold to take you to Pesshetaup.”

“Each?”  Thatch boggles.

“No, for you all.”

Anvil nods.  It seems like a Just price to him.  “We will let you know our decision shortly.”

###

Although the party has great sympathy for Parwin’s story, the additional information they have been able to glean about Pesshetaup through the other guides is not enough for her to recognize the location.

Before the party goes on their way, Parwin takes two cords from her belt and knots them.   She speaks to Reyu, “If you or your foundling has any… difficulties…  Show these.  The Shesher will help you.”

Reyu nods gratefully and takes the cords.  “Thank you.”

The rest of the group chooses to ignore the fact that they have not been included in this letter of recommendation.

“And you, sister,” Reyu asks.  “Do you intend to travel to the Confederacy seeking your son?”

She nods.  “I must.  Will you be returning there?”

Reyu looks back at her companions.  They had been hoping that once they met Manaal she might be able to help them directly to the next stop on their journey.  On the other hand, they cannot be sure she will prove willing.

“Certainly,” Reyu replies, “but I do not know if we will first be returning here.  If so, you are welcome to travel with us, but I do not wish for you to wait for our return that never comes.”

Parwin considers.  “I will remain here for five weeks more.  If you have not returned, I will begin my journey alone.”

Reyu takes out a cord of her own and knots it for Parwin.  “There are many elves of many kinds in the Cofederacy.  Some will not recognize this, but take it for what it is worth.”

Parwin accepts it with thanks.

“Are you certain you can make this journey?” Reyu asks.

“As long as there are shadows and trees, I shall be fine.”

###

The question now becomes how to tell Baasim that they will not be traveling together through the desert.  Anvil volunteers to go, and Eva walks with him, carrying the large pile of clothing that Baasim had sent to them.

As could have been predicted, Anvil’s news is met with much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

“Justicar, no!”

Anvil nods soberly.  “Yes.”

Baasim turns his eyes to the heavens, “Oh!  If I had a son, on the day he became a man I would have taken him aside, and do you know what I would have told him?  I would have said, ‘My son.  This, the day you have become a man is the proudest day of my life…  Save one.  The day I led the Justicar into the desert.”

He is the very picture of disappointment.

_(Those at the table, meanwhile, are the picture of helpless laughter.)_

A serving-boy appears at Baasim’s elbow.  “Foot-wash, Saheeb?”

“No, no.  There is no point.  We will not be taking the Justicar on his journey.  You may as well prepare me for burial in the shifting sands.”

The boy bows.  “Yes, Saheeb.” And exits.

Eva clears her throat.  “We ah… wanted to return these…” she begins, holding up the bundled clothing.

“No, no, princess.  I would not dream of it.  You will take them.  And you will, perhaps, remember Baasim.”

Eva shurgs.  It would seem that their business is concluded.

Anvil agrees.  “May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you, Baasim.”

“Ah,” the merchant and guide replies, voice filled with sorrow.  “I pray each day that it be so.”

###

As Anvil and Eva are making their way back to the inn, they have to cross the city’s only bridge across the river.  There is quite a bit of foot and cart traffic, and Eva rolls up the clothes she is carrying into a tight bundle that she can hold against her chest.

And if her holy symbol happened to get caught up in the bundle… the holy symbol used to spy on her for the last four months… Well, it was certainly not intentional on her part.

She and Anvil move onto the bridge.  It’s crowded, with quite a bit of jostling from side to side.  And then, right in the middle of the bridge, Eva trips.

Naturally, she puts her hands out to break her fall… which causes the bundle to go flying from her arms and into the river below.

Anvil helps her to her feet.

“Are you all right?”

Eva nods, rubbing a sore spot at the back of her neck.  “Yeah.  I must have tripped.”

Anvil frowns.  “What happened to your holy symbol?”

Eva checks.  Sure enough the weight around her neck is gone.  “Oh no, the cord must have snapped when I fell.”

“That is, unfortunate.”

“Yeah,” Eva agrees.  “I guess I’ll just have to get a new one.”

“Indeed.”

Eva checks the river, but the current is already carrying the bundle out of sight.


----------



## MTR

While I wouldn't have gone with Baasim, I do wonder what would have happened if the party tried....


----------



## BlueAnt

Great update, as always.

Edit: Crazy italics tags, what will I ever do with you?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hudred Forty-Sixth*
_In which: at last, the party’s desert odyssey begins!_

The party reports to Djamel that they would like to employ him as their guide, and the next few days are spent procuring camels and other necessary supplies.

Djamel is *very* skeptical about Thatch’s plan to ride Bob into the desert.  Instead, he offers to find someone who will buy him from the young fighter.

“I can’t do that,” Thatch argues.  “It’s Bob.”

“You are condemning him to death in the desert,” Djamel insists.  “At least this way, you will have a few gold in your pocket, and his death will be quick and painless.”

“What?!?!”  Thatch practically screeches.  “What kind of person do you want me to sell him to?”

Djamel is unruffled by Thatch’s confusion.  “He is a fine horse,” he assures the young fighter.  “He would feed many.”

After that, Thatch makes sure never to leave Djamel and Bob within ten feet of each other unattended.

Djamel informs the party that they will not be able to obtain travel permits to Pesshetaup itself.  “Simply put, according to the military, you have no business being there.”

“Does this bother you?”  Eva asks.

Djamel shrugs.  “What I suggest is that you obtain passports for the town of En Tyai.  It is not far from Pesshetaup, and going there will not arouse suspicion.”

“Can you get these passports for us?” Lira asks.

Djamel shakes his head adamantly.  “No, you must go in person.  The issuing officer will use truth magic to ensure that you are not traveling under false identities.”

Lira sighs.  “Off to the passport office then.”

Their route to the passport office, housed inside the city’s walls, takes the party through the main market once again.  While Eva keeps a sharp eye out towards avoiding Baasim, Lira is intrigued by something else entirely.

“Ooo!” She suddenly exclaims.  “Candies!”

Kiara is on it like a shot.  “Where?”

Lira points, then grabs Kiara’s hand.  “Let’s buy some.”  She turns back to the others.  “We’ll catch up with you in two minutes.”  And they’re off.

The group elects to wait for their return.

“Thee,” Lira replies around a mouthful of sticky candy when they return a few minutes later.  “I lold thoo.”

Anvil and Reyu exchange weary glances, and sigh.

###

There is a short wait before it is their turn to speak with the customs official, but finally they reach the front of the line.  The official is not a tall man, although he seems to be attempting to compensate for _something_ given the size of the false beard strapped to his chin.

He delivers his introduction by rote.  “I will now cast a spell to determine if you are truthful in your answers to my questions.  Do not attempt to resist.  If you lie, I will know.”

He waves his arms, intones a brief chant and begins to ask his questions.  Lira is overcome with a sudden coughing fit.

“Are you alright?” Anvil asks.

“Yes,” she replies once she gets her breath back.  “Tried to swallow too much toffee at once there.”

“It wasn’t the spell, was it?” Eva asks, concerned.

Lira shakes her head.  “No, just got a little down the wrong pipe.”  _It would have been hard to be the spell_, Lira adds silently, _since he didn’t actually cast anything_.

That excitement over with, the party quickly gives their names, occupations, and destination of travel, and for a fee of 5 gold are issued official passports authorizing travel within the Empire of Ebis from Siunethrit to En Tyai.

“Wow” Thatch remarks one the party is safely away from the passport office and out of earshot of any of the city guards.  “Really is cheaper to get the legal ones, huh?”

###

If there is one thing to be said for Djamel as a guide, it is that he is keenly aware of the dangers of the desert.

Reyu rides beside him at the front of their caravan and listens as he points out a patch of sand in front of them.

“Do you see that sand?” 

Reyu nods.

“That sand.  Perfectly safe.  That is why we are walking on it.”  He turns a few degrees to the right and points to another patch of sand.  “Now, *that* sand.  Tread on it and it will kill you in an instant.”  He snaps his fingers by way of illustration.

Reyu blinks and examines the area more closely.

“Now,” he asks her, “can you tell the difference?  Of course not, they are virtually identical…”

“Maybe because they *are* identical,” Lira mutters under her breath to Eva, who hides a smile.

Reyu squints.  Actually, she thinks she actually *can* see a difference.

A few miles farther on, she spots a patch and points it out to Djamel.  “Sand like… that, would kill you in an instant?”

Djamel nods, impressed.  “Very good.  Later, I will teach you all how to drink your own urine.”

###

Several days travel into the desert, the party has made camp for the night.  So far, digressions about urine consumption and deadly sand aside—it has been a quiet crossing.

Anvil and Kiara are on second watch, just before midnight, when the quiet of the night is shattered by a voice outside of the camp saying, “Wha—who are yo--?”

The question is followed by a sharp scream.

The scream wakes the rest of the camp with a start.

Lira sits up in her bedroll.  She can see several figures running out of the darkness towards the camp.  It’s hard to tell in the, but they seem to be carrying poles of some kind.  She scrambles from her bedding and takes cover on the other side of the lean-to.  _Were those javelins?_ she wonders.

Kiara has no time to spend wondering.  A set of bolas come whizzing out of the dark straight for her, and only her natural grace allows her to leap out of the way. 

His night vision dampened by the firelight, Anvil can’t see who their attackers are yet, but at least he knows where his allies are.  He immediately casts _bless_ on the party and Djamel.

Which is when Baasim comes striding out from behind where the camels have been tethered for the night.  He carries a large whip which he cracks menacingly over his head.  He look straight at Anvil as he bellows, “You should have taken me up on my offer, my friend!”


----------



## spyscribe

MTR said:
			
		

> While I wouldn't have gone with Baasim, I do wonder what would have happened if the party tried....




Wonder no longer!


----------



## Orichalcum

spyscribe said:
			
		

> *Part the One-Hudred Forty-Sixth*
> _In which: at last, the party’s dessert odyssey begins!_




Must have been a yummy session. Did WisdomlikeSilence make her cookies?

Now all my players are going to complain, Fajitas. You're a cream puff GM, that's what you are.


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Must have been a yummy session. Did WisdomlikeSilence make her cookies?
> 
> Now all my players are going to complain, Fajitas. You're a cream puff GM, that's what you are.




In fact, I don't think I made any particular desserts that session (although we have had some pretty yummy evenings).  But there may have been some other reasons for mentioning the candy in game...

-WLS


----------



## Len

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Djamel nods, impressed.  “Very good.  Later, I will teach you all how to drink your own urine.”



Not quite anal probing, but it'll do.


----------



## spyscribe

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Must have been a yummy session...



Doh!  That would have been our desert odyssey.  The dessert odyssey might well come this Saturday.  At the very least we'll probably get to the aperitif odyssey.  I'm not betting large sums of money we'll make it to dessert.


----------



## Orichalcum

Gaming or non-gaming aperitif odyssey, ooc? In general I subscribe to Piratecat's Theory of Alcohol and Gaming (which is that they don't mix very well, most of the time) so if you've found a way that works, let me know.


----------



## orsal

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Gaming or non-gaming aperitif odyssey, ooc? In general I subscribe to Piratecat's Theory of Alcohol and Gaming (which is that they don't mix very well, most of the time) so if you've found a way that works, let me know.




Studies show that 74% of fallen paladins acted inconsistent with their alignment while their players had been drinking. Friends don't let friends roleplay drunk! If you host a party at which alcohol is served, please take your guests' dice away at the door.


----------



## Fajitas

Orichalcum said:
			
		

> Gaming or non-gaming aperitif odyssey, ooc?



As far as I'm aware, the aperitifs will be solely in-game.  They are likely to be followed by some combination of dessert, deserts, or a PC's engagement announcement.  I remain vague as to which is most likely to occur in order to avoid spoilers.


----------



## doghead

But first they have to kick Baasim's behind.

thotd.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Forty-Seventh*
_In which: not all dangers of the desert will kill you… like that._

At Baasim’s shout, dark figures come running out of the darkness and into the camp from all directions.  

Baasim himself runs straight for Thatch, striking out with his whip.  The lash wraps around Thatch’s arm and Baasim pulls back hard, wrenching Thatch’s shoulder painfully and jerking him nearly off his feet.

Keeping watch from behind the scant shelter of her tent, Lira watches as one of the figures runs towards her… closer… closer… and then he stops, still nearly ten feet away.  _Fine with me,_ she thinks, _makes it harder for you to stop me from—_

And then he brings around the object Lira had glimpsed in the darkness, and she sees that it is most emphatically _not_ a javelin.

It’s a pole, nearly six feet long, topped by a pair of hooked jaws complete with metal teeth. And before Lira can do anything about it, those jaws are closed and locked around her throat.

Reflexively, she grabs at the metal digging into her flesh, but the jaws are locked fast.  Although Lira tries to keep her feet, the man at the other end of the pole has too much leverage.  He jerks her up by the neck and the next thing Lira knows she is crashing into the ground, pinned down by her neck.

Eva, Reyu and Thatch are soon similarly dispatched, all struggling mightily, but unable to strike back at their attackers.

Lira closes her eyes and tries to concentrate.  Yes, this is not good.  Her neck hurts and she’s afraid to take her hands away from their death-grip on the hinge of the jaws that have her trapped because it’s the only thing that gives her any cushion at all.  But she doesn’t _need_ her hands to cast, and he hasn’t _quite_ choked off her airway.  Lira opens her eyes again, looks straight at the man at the other end of the pole, and casts the first _stilled magic missile_ of her life.

The blue bolts hit him in the face with *very* satisfying force.

Annika, still free, casts _acid arrow_ at one of the attackers not yet engaged with anyone else.  He retaliates, firing a blowgun and hitting Annika with a dart just above her collarbone.  For a moment, Annika feels a wave of dizziness, but she steels herself, and it passes. 

Reyu does not even try to break out of the mechanical jaws locked around her neck.  Instead, she turns her efforts inward, _wildshaping_ into a viper.  Once changed, she easily slips free of the man-catcher’s grip and begins slithering up the pole towards her attacker.

Who promptly drops the pole in a dead panic.

Back at the center of camp, another set of bolas come flying out of the dark, this time catching Kiara and sending her toppling to the ground, hopelessly tangled.  

Seeing that his men appear to be winning, Baasim calls out again.  “This could have been very easy, Justicar!  Something in your drink and you never would have known!  You will all fetch an excellent price at the slave pens at Atentchet!”  Anvil glowers, and turning to face the Baasim he calls upon the powers of Kettenek to strike the other man blind.

There is a flash of light around his eyes and Baasim lets out a yell of pure rage as his pupils suddenly shrink and disappear.  He flounders for a moment, finally shouting, “Kill the Justicar!”  before turning away… and running straight into a camel.  The camel looks down at him, nonplussed, and spits.

The slaver sent to capture Djamel was unsuccessful in his attempt to catch him with his device, but seeing that lethal force now seems to be on the table, he comes charging forward, swinging his scimitar.  He gets in one good strike before Djamel unleashes a flurry of blows that send his attacker reeling back, trying to get out of range.

The battle is short, but brutal.

Reyu the viper reaches the slaver who had captured her faster than he can get away and sinks her poison fangs into the tender flesh of his neck.  From the darkness, more assailants continue to pepper the party with poison darts.  Annika takes hits from three before finally sinking unconscious to the ground.

The man holding Lira attempts to wrench her neck in an effort to stop her from casting again, but Euro comes running up the pole towards his face, chattering wildly.  He curses and Lira yells back at him, finishes the last words of her incantation and nailing him with another set of _magic missiles_.  He drops.

Meanwhile, Eva manages to extract one of her daggers which she keeps near at hand, even in the middle of the night.  She pushes back to her feet and sends the blade flying through the air towards her attacker.  It hits and embeds deep in the slaver’s thigh.  He tries to strike back at her with his sword, but Eva twists at the last second, bringing the pole attached to her neck into his blade instead.

The attackers soon give up on non-lethal means altogether.  Pulling out scimitars, they close in for the kill.  

Of course, the party members are not without surprises of their own.  One slaver takes a swipe at Kiara only to find her suddenly morphing before his eyes.  The stroke goes wide as he gawks at the girl with wings, who flies straight up into the night sky and then sends an arrow streaking into his chest.

Meanwhile, Baasim still gropes, blindly, trying to find his way out of the small herd of camels where he has become lost.  He finds Bob, who kicks him for his trouble.  Baasim is practically frothing with rage.

Eva digs out another dagger and hurls it at the slaver trying to hack her to pieces.  She strikes true and he falls to his knees in the sand.  As his grip goes slack she wrenches the man-catcher from around her neck and pausing only to grab her rapier, closes in to finish him off.

Reyu the viper bites her attacker again and he runs, screaming, off into the night.

Lira, now free, sounds Sheesak’s horn.  Soon, the familiar silvery vortex is forming, however, Lira’s attention is abruptly diverted by the scimitar blade slicing down her arm.  She takes a step back and prepares to cast when the grey wolf that has just formed leaps forward, jaws open and snarling.

Around this time, those of Baasim’s men who are still standing begin to sense that perhaps this fight is not going the way that they intended.

Djamel sunders the man-catcher at his neck.  Another slaver who has been keeping Thatch frustratingly pinned for most of the fight is finally finished off through the combined efforts of Anvil and Bob.  Lira sends another set of _magic missiles_ flying and the rest of the slavers turn to make a disorderly retreat.

The party had made camp on the leeward side of a large sand dune and several of Baasim’s men attempt to flee over its crest.  Kiara rises high in the air, firing arrows after them while Djamel, Eva, and Bob storm in pursuit.

Anvil very deliberately puts himself in Baasim’s way, and sure enough, a few seconds later, Baasim walks right into him. 

“Justicar!  Oh, thank goodness you are all right!  There are thieves and slavers about.  I tried to warn you…”

Anvil snaps his set of masterwork manacles around the other man’s wrists and locks them with a satisfying >click<.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Forty-Eighth*
_In which: Anvil demands an explanation… so does Djamel._

Lira watches as Anvil leads the blinded, shackled Baasim back to the camp.  She nails him with a pair of _magic missiles_.

Baasim turns his head frantically, trying to find the source of the sudden pain.  “Look out, Justicar!” he cries, “More enemies!”

A few minutes later, Eva comes half-walking, half-sliding down the ridge.  She has Bob’s bridle in one hand and drops him with Thatch before reporting in.

“Did any escape?”  Anvil asks her.

She shakes her head.  “Not in that direction.”

“Where’s Djamel?”

“He’s…. ah… taking care of the last one.”  Her voice drops.  “I didn’t look too closely, but he’s not making a quick job of it.”

“Ah.”

Reyu slithers up to the group and then shifts back into her more usual aspect.  “Poison took out that last one going the other direction.  He’s already dead.”

Anvil turns to Baasim.  “What are you doing here?  Why did you attack us?”

“I never attacked you!” he protests.  (Lira nails him with another set of _magic missiles_.)  “Ouch!”

Lira half expects Anvil to tell her to stop attacking his prisoner, but he keeps his attention on Baasim.

_(Note: This was the first time Anvil was able to successfully strike someone blind.  Fajitas asks BMJ how long the effect lasts.  BMJ looks it up. 
BMJ: D’ah ha!  It’s permanent!
Fajitas: Permanent?  Let me see that.  >takes book<  Oh, but it can be dispelled.
BMJ: Yeah, *you* can get with the dispelling.)_

“Why have you done this thing?” Anvil repeats again.

“I was coerced,” Baasim protests.  “They accosted me in my tent.  Threatened my wives.  They demanded I tell them where the Justicar had gone…. OUCH!”

“Why?”

“Who knows how such criminals think?”

Lira decides to try a _charm person_ just for variety.  And hey, she might have successfully charmed the tailor back in Siunethrit.  Unfortunately, as is so often the case with Lira and enchantments, the spell fizzles.  However, it seems to fizzle differently than her _charm person_ spells usually do.  Following a hunch, she tries _detect magic_.

“Eva?”

The rogue turns to where Lira is staring at Baasim with what she thinks of as her friend’s “detecting” expression. 

“Could you take off his amulet?  It’s got some kind of enchantment on it.”

“Yes!  Good!”  Baasim quickly shouts, “That is the device they used, to force me to betray you!”

Lira rolls her eyes.  “If you are going to lie, could you at least lie logically?”  Sadly, a second _charm person_ is no more successful than the first.  However, Lira at least is fairly certain Baasim resisted the spell on his own this time.  Lira goes back to _magic missiles_.

Eventually, it becomes clear that they are going to get no useful information out of Baasim, unless his protestations that he would never willingly betray the party could be considered useful information.

Djamel returns and Anvil takes Baasim out into the desert, away from camp.  His last words are, “Baasim forgives you.”

###

Djamel clears his throat to break the uncomfortable silence that has fallen over the group.  “That was an… interesting… battle.”  No one misses the emphasis on “interesting” or the fact that he is looking at Lira and Annika when he says it.

The sorcerer swallows.  “Indeed,” she says.  “Is that going to be a problem?”

“The desert is dangerous enough without being ignorant of the true nature of ones companions.”

“We were not forthcoming,” Reyu allows, “but this is not a friendly land for those of some of our… talents.”

Djamel considers this.  “So, why do you travel through the desert?”

“It is as we told you,” Anvil answers as he returns to the group, sheathing his sword.  “We seek an individual whom we are told lives in or near Pesshetaup.”

“We don’t want to cause any trouble,” Lira adds.  “And we only attacked to defend ourselves.”

Djamel nods, and nothing more is said.

###

At first light, Kiara goes to investigate the voice she heard crying out just before the attack.  Accompanied by Reyu, she finds the corpse of a human male, dressed similarly to the slavers who attacked them.  He clutches a set of bolas in one hand, and his body is twisted as though he died in horrible agony.

Reyu looks for tracks around the body, or any signs of who might have killed him, and by what means.  Aside from the man’s own footprints, he is surrounded by untracked sand.

The group presses on.  At Djamel’s advice, they do not bother to bury the fallen, trusting the desert to claim their bodies and leave no trace.

Eight days into the desert, Reyu wakes at dawn to conduct her prayers when she makes a troubling discovery.

Djamel is gone.

She quickly wakes the others and soon their fears are realized.  There is no sign of their guide.  Or of the camel which carried their food and water.


----------



## coyote6

Ooh, double-double cross?


----------



## Len

I knew you shouldn't have trusted jonrog. He's devious.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Maybe he just popped out to get bagels and coffee.  Hey, there's got to be a Starbucks around _somewhere_!


----------



## dpdx

And hey, at least we get the guide _we_ wanted, even if the party isn't particularly happy to be stuck with him.


----------



## Fajitas

Len said:
			
		

> I knew you shouldn't have trusted jonrog. He's devious.



Hrmph.  This is what happens when you guest-star a celebrity.  He gets all the credit for your fiendish plans.  

While I'll leave the details vauge to avoid spoilers, suffice it to say that of the three guides, only Parwin would have taken the PCs all the way to Pesshetaup.  She did, in fact, know where it was, she just didn't know it by that name.  Had the PCs given her enough information to connect the place they were looking for with the place she knew, she could have led them there.  Alas.

Baasim, well, his deal is pretty obvious by now.  The full story of Djamel has yet to be told in game, though there are some clues to it in forthcoming updates.


----------



## Lazybones

I'm only about 100 posts into this thread, but I wanted to offer a comment. I DLed this to a text file along with a bunch of other story hours a few months back, and during a slooooow stretch this afternoon at work I finally started reading this one. I'm glad I did, and I'm pleased to see that this SH, unlike so many other promising works, is still being updated. 

I thought that the world and the characters were exceptionally well-realized; I especially liked the sidebars with information about the world, gods, law, etc. Each of the characters is distinct and comes to life in the dialogue. And spyscribe, I love your style, the dry wit and rich description are evocative of SH authors like (contact) (although a bit more... subtle than he  ). Like I said, I'm only a few pages in at this point, but I think that your ability to capture the sense of your game and its players fits perfectly with the light-hearted but fun mood you establish from the start. The DM's "background" chapters are very good as well. I very much look forward to another slow afternoon tomorrow so that I can get caught up on the tale. 

LB


----------



## spyscribe

Hey Lazybones, thanks for posting.  Hope you enjoy the rest!  And "the rest" is about to get just a little bit longer...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One Hundred Forty-Ninth*
_In which: the party finds that there *are* many ways to die in the desert._

The party gathers over breakfast to discuss their situation.  Although, seeing as their supplies have gone off with their guide in the night, it would be more accurate to say that they gather over a some old trail rations and Anvil’s _create food and water_.  

While going back to Siunethrit is a possible option, it is not a very popular one.  Presumably, Djamal is returning to the city, and the party guesses that they are unlikely to get a warm reception upon their return.

“So we press on,” Thatch concludes.

“What are we going to do about food though?” Annika asks, worried.  

Anvil counts the party members and does some quick math.  “Kettenek will provide,” he assures her.  Some members of the party exchange significant glances at this piece of news.  Since Anvil is a cleric of Kettenek, the food created by his _create food and water_ is a large quantity of identical beans.  (When Eva asked him about this, Anvil’s only reply was, “Beans are the food of Kettenek.”)

At least, thanks to Thatch’s pitcher—“It’s not a pitcher; it’s a decanter of endless water,” Annika protests—the party members (and 21 remaining camels!) have plenty of water.

They pack up their things, and press on.

###

…Come on you stupid camels!  Move it.  Yes, you…  Don’t think I didn’t see that…  Oh, you just wait till I get back there.  Just you wait…

The party has been trekking through the desert on their own for more than a day and a half, and Lira is starting to get just a little tired of Euro’s constant harassment of the camels.  

She can only imagine how the camels feel.

Reyu has taken on the role of chief scout, keeping them moving in the direction indicated by Djamel.  She has already steered them around one patch of lightening quicksand, although to be honest, Lira can’t see any difference between that sand and the rest of the sand they have been wading through.  She wonders if quicksand would really kill you instantly anyway.

However, Lira’s reverie is abruptly interrupted by a shout of alarm from the front of the column.  She looks ahead just in time to see a giant mouth burst out of the sand and swallow Reyu in one enormous gulp.

It looks like some kind of giant snake or worm, a toothy, bulbous mouth on a long, twining sand-colored neck.  The creature has no visible eyes, ears, or any other obvious form of sensory input.  It writhes back and forth as its powerful throat muscles attempt to pull Reyu down its gullet, towards whatever stomach the creature might have.

Thatch is immediately riding to the rescue, coming up from the back of the line as quickly as Bob can gallop.  As he charges past Lira, Eva, and Annika, he draws his longbow and fires an arrow at the underside of the massive thing’s jaw.

Lira blinks.  She didn’t even know Thatch *had* a bow.

Still, there is no time to reflect.  Anvil immediately slides off his camel to show the creature the meaning of the wrath of Kettenek.  However, no sooner does he dismount than a _second_ head, nearly the twin of the first, bursts forth from the earth at his feet and downs the cleric in a mighty gulp.  Anvil struggles mightily, but to no avail.  

Lira and Annika both fire off sets of _magic missiles_ which the two snake-like heads do not seem to enjoy in the slightest, but they do not release their prey.

Thatch rides by and slashes at the throat of the creature that swallowed Reyu.  A line of blood spatters on the sand, and—close-up—Thatch can see the creature’s neck stretching and distending as Reyu struggles inside.  He can just see what look like a set of massive claws scraping out from its gullet, and grins with relish.  It would seem that the creature has gotten a bigger mouthful than it intended.

Thatch is just making a tight turn on Bob to make another pass when a _third_ mouth bursts out of the ground, just behind the other two.  It seems to have been caught off-guard by Thatch’s quick maneuver, however, and winds up with a mouthful of Bob’s back legs and hindquarters.  Bob kicks fiercely, unable to get free, but the creature is not able to swallow the horse either.  Thatch leaps from the saddle and prepares to attack the monster trying to eat his mount.

As Eva and Kiara pepper both giant snake heads with missile fire, Annika decides to up the ante and cast _lightening bolt_.  Although there is a chance that she will harm Anvil and Reyu, she has also noticed the heads begin to make movements that could indicate they are getting ready to retreat underground, and if that happens… well, she’s pretty sure that it will only be worse for her friends.

With a >crack< the dazzling ray of electricity shoots from her hands in a wide swathe, catching all three hungry heads in its path.  Two react with piercing shrieks and writhe in pain as their flesh smokes.  The one that had swallowed Reyu flops to the ground, dead.

An instant later, a giant black bear rips out of the creature’s throat.  Kiara grins and whoops, recognizing Reyu in one of her favored _wildshapes_.

Meanwhile, in the gullet of the other sandworm, Anvil saws away determinedly with his dagger.  He is slightly singed by the electricity that just crackled through his foe, but merely grits his teeth and stabs harder at the walls of muscle and sinew surrounding him.  His friends are with him, Kettenek is with him, and he *will* prevail.

On the surface, another worm head has appeared and attempts to snare Thatch in its massive jaws.  However, the fighter is ready and is having none of it.

“How many of these things *are* there?” Thatch yells as he hacks at a massive neck.

“I think there’s only one,” Annika shouts back.  “The question is, how many *heads* does it have?”

Eva fires an arrow, piercing deep into the sandworm’s flesh.  “Too many.”

Lira sees the worm that swallowed Anvil begin to shimmy.  It’s badly injured at this point, and she guesses that it is attempting to retreat below the surface.  She fires off a set of _magic missiles_ and hopes they are enough. 

An instant later the dazzling blue bolts strike the creature and the head flops lifelessly to the sand.

Bob has nearly managed to kick himself free, and the rest of the party closes on the last two living heads.  Under the combined assault, the living heads begin to retreat beneath the sand.  

Lending credence to Annika’s theory, it appears the dead heads are being dragged down as well.  And one of them is taking Anvil down with it.

“Kill it!  Keep it up here!”

“Thatch!  Cut the head off.”

“He’s going under!”

And then, Anvil’s dagger appears, slicing out of the lifeless throat.  Anvil follows, covered in gore, tumbling out onto the sand an instant before the last of the sand creature disappears from sight.


----------



## jonrog1

I warned you.  I _warned _you.  The desert will kill you just like THAT.


----------



## spyscribe

_Yeah, yeah, John.  It's all fun and games until someone loses their guide..._

*Part the One-Hundred Fiftieth*
_In which: What?  Another encounter?  But we haven’t slept yet!_

It’s late afternoon on the same day as the sandworm attack and Reyu is on high alert for signs of anything that might be hostile.

Nothing like being swallowed alive to drive home the dangers of the desert.

Currently, she is crouched on the ground examining a patch of sand.  The rest of the party stands behind, waiting for her pronouncement.  Reyu checks again.  Yes, there is no doubt.

“They’re footprints.”

“What sort of footprints?” Eva asks.

Reyu shakes her head.  “I’m not certain.  They look almost like an elf, or human, but… quite small.”

“Someone like Hue?” Thatch asks.

“Perhaps,” Reyu replies.  “I cannot be sure.”

With little discussion, the party decides to follow the footprints and see where they lead.  After all, they are only guessing that Djamel was leading them in the correct direction to find Pesshetaup, and even if the person whose footprints they are following is lost, at least they can then be lost together.

However, aware that not everyone in the desert is friendly, they send Kiara in swallow form ahead to scout.

Perhaps twenty minutes pass before she comes winging back to the party, flying as though there were a hawk behind her.  Remaining airborne, she shifts just to her hybrid shape and—between halting breaths—tells the party what she has seen.

“I followed the tracks…  There’s a giant scorpion fighting… something invisible in the air.”

Anvil frowns.  “A giant scorpion did not make the tracks we saw,” he informs her.

Kiara shakes her head as she gets her breath back.  “There was as body on the ground.  A child.  I could hear someone else shrieking.  We have to go help.  Now!”

No discussion at all is necessary this time as the party urges their camels to their fastest pace, following behind Kiara who is already flying ahead. 

As they ride hard over the sand dunes, Reyu turns to Anvil.  “How much healing do you have left?”

His expression is grim as he answers.  “Some.  I would advise avoiding close combat if possible.”

Reyu nods.  She does not have many spells left and she is not certain about the others.  This is going to be… difficult.

Soon the party can hear the shrieking sound that Kiara told them about.  As they approach, the shrieking turns to crying.

When they reach the source of the sound, the giant scorpion is snapping at something the party cannot see.  The broken body of the human child lies on the sand a little distance away.

Wary of putting themselves in the path of the scorpion’s giant claws, the party takes what cover they can on top of and behind some scattered boulders in the area, hoping that the scorpion will not be able to easily scale them.

The battle does not start auspiciously for the party.

In the first barrage of arrows and crossbow bolts, only Thatch’s does not bounce harmlessly off the animal’s tough exoskeleton.  However, they *have* succeeded in gaining the monster’s complete attention.

The scorpion skitters forward improbably quickly over the sand on its many-jointed legs, and—to Lira’s dismay—steps easily over the fifteen-foot mound where she had taken cover.  A massive claw plunges down towards her.

Reacting before she has time to think, Lira ducks just as the claw comes snapping at her middle, shoving herself away off its tip as it as it closes on the air in front of her.  She backs up quickly, firing two _magic missiles_ as she does.

Eva takes advantage of the scorpion’s distraction to tumble past the range of its sweeping claws and tail.  She takes a shot as she gets into position, but her arrow cannot penetrate the outer shell.

Kiara flies over to flank as well and—having watched the difficulties of the others—manages to take careful aim and bury her arrow right in the joint of one of the giant arthropod’s knees.  It makes a sound unlike any she has heard before, and the creature is clearly not pleased.

The scorpion scampers off the mound after her and in that instant, Annika casts a _web_ spell.

It was a tactic she chose mostly because she was out of _lightening bolts_ and _magic missiles_, but her choice proves fortuitous.  The _web_ anchors on three of the rocky outcroppings, and the scorpion is soon completely ensnared.

Thatch gets into position and shoots the creature twice, both arrows embedding deeply in a joint in its tail.  Anvil casts _bull’s strength_ on himself and draws his sword, ready to charge at the first opening.

Kiara hits with another arrow, and Reyu finishes summoning a dire wolf.  The wolf launches itself fearlessly into the fray, ignoring the hardening strands of Annika’s _web_ and sinking its teeth into the joint above the scorpion’s right claw.  The scorpion tries to jerk away and succeeds in almost ripping its own limb clean off.

That was the opening Anvil was looking for.  He closes with the scorpion and calling upon the mighty strength of Kettenek to be with him, he slashes down with his sword.  He hits true and severs the creature’s leg.  

The scorpion stiffens and then topples over.  Dead.

Thatch barely has time to get his breath back when he hears the sound of skittering sand behind him.  As Kiara shouts an alarm, he turns just in time to see the giant claw of *another* scorpion swooping down at him.

There’s no time to get away as the claw snaps around his waist and hoists him clean out of his saddle in its painfully crushing grip.

His comrades look on. For a second they are all frozen, aghast.

But in the next moment, the party snaps back into action.

“Do you have another _web_ spell?” Lira yells over to Annika as she pulls Sheesak’s horn from her belt and prepares to sound it.

“No!”

“Okay,” Anvil directs the troops, “We’ve got to get that thing to drop—”

“Something’s coming!”

At Eva’s shout, those not immediately holding off the scorpion turn.  A low rumble trembles in the air, and from the other side of the dune just behind them, a cloud of sand approaches.

“What the—?” 

And then, cresting over the ridge, a group of at least a dozen camel-mounted riders come charging towards the party.

Lira watches and suddenly realizes that they are all casting.  More than that, they are all casting *arcanely*.  She just has time to register this when a barrage of _magic missiles_ along with two _freezing rays_ come flying at the scorpion, hammering it to the ground.

If the monster knew what hit it, it probably wouldn’t have believed it was true.

The camels come to a stop, skidding in the sand only a few yards from the party.  The group is led by a woman, riding a camel who wears an elaborate cloth headdress.  The woman throws a quick look over the party and shouts, “Nobody move!”

When the party seems to be heeding her command the woman calls out again.  “Tia?  Imad?  Are you alright?”

A child’s head suddenly appears, upside-down, in the air approximately ten feet above the ground, the same place previously so interesting to the scorpion.  “I’m okay.  Imad’s hurt.”

“Come down,” the woman instructs the child, “let us see to him.”

The head disappears to be replaced moments later by a rope, somehow anchored in midair.  The child climbs down, and two of the riders quickly dismount and come over, climbing the rope and disappearing.  A few seconds later, they reappear with the bleeding body of another child.

“He’s alive,” one of the riders reports.  “But barely.”

Lira looks over at Anvil, questioning.  He gives the smallest nod, and she clears her throat.

“Excuse me?”

The lead woman turns to Lira.  “Yes.  Who are you?”

“My name is Lira.  And you are?”

The woman ignores the question.  “What are you doing here?”

“We saw tracks in the desert.  We followed them, heard the children in trouble, and came to help.  If the child is in need of healing, we can—”

The woman cuts her off abruptly.  “Are you military?”

“No.”

The woman looks over at her camel for a few seconds, then back to Lira.  “Then what are you doing in the desert?”

Lira debates for a moment, and decides on honest, if not full, disclosure.  “We were abandoned by our guide.”

“And why was that?”

“I don’t know.  He didn’t leave a note.”

While Lira and the woman are talking, Anvil casts _detect magic_ at the group on camels.  He doesn’t see anything.  One of the riders, however, notices him casting, and, giving Anvil a look of annoyance, _detects magic_ back at him.  As he finishes the spell and examines the party, his eyes go wide.

A whispered report makes its way back to the woman in charge.  Lira notices again that she turns to look at her camel before responding, almost as though she is consulting with it.

“If you can stabilize the child, it would be appreciated.”

Anvil nods and goes to see what he can do.

“Might we check on our own wounded?” Lira asks, indicating Thatch, who is tentatively getting back to his feet.

The woman does not appear to have a problem with this.

“I’m sorry…” Lira says, “I hope this isn’t a rude question to ask, but… are you sorcerers?”

There is a tense silence.  “Why do you ask?”

“So am I.”

Lira watches carefully, and this time she is *sure* that the woman is taking cues from the camel.  However, before she can decide what that could possibly mean, the woman addresses her again.  “If you are willing, we will escort you back to our camp where you may sleep and refresh yourselves.”

“Willing?” Lira asks.

“We would ask that you agree to be blindfolded for the journey.”

Lira looks over at her companions, several of whom are clearly *not* enthusiastic about that plan.

Lira turns back to the woman.  “Is that necessary?”

“Yes.  If you do not know where we are, you cannot betray us to those who would harm us.”

Lira sighs.  “With all due respect… we’re already lost.  Knowing how to get to your camp from a patch of desert we could never find again if we tried is hardly useful information.”

“We would,” Reyu adds, “appreciate the gesture.”

The barest pause.  A glance to the camel.  “Very well.”  Then.  “Wadiah.”

Lira is confused.  “I’m sorry?”

“You asked my name.”

Although Anvil is not able to heal all of Imad’s injuries, he is able to stabilize him.  Meanwhile, other riders have wrapped the body of the third child in a blanket to be brought back to camp.  With nothing more to attend to, the party members mount their own camels, and ride off with the strangers from the desert.


----------



## babomb

Spyscribe, I just want to say I'm a big fan of this story hour. Not only is it well-written, but you update frequently! I started reading this because my favorite story hours hadn't been updated in months. You average slightly less than one update every six days. (Yes, I counted.)

So, uh, thanks for being compulsive and poor.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Obey Hypno-Camel!


----------



## spyscribe

babomb said:
			
		

> Spyscribe, I just want to say I'm a big fan of this story hour. Not only is it well-written, but you update frequently! I started reading this because my favorite story hours hadn't been updated in months. You average slightly less than one update every six days. (Yes, I counted.)




Wow!  What a wonderful statistic.  And one that I--for all of my compulsive qualities--never calculated myself.*  Glad to hear you're liking the story, and...  because I am passionately curious, I have to ask... did you actually count up all of the updates, maps, and sidebars?




*Yes, I have calculated others.  Any story hour author who says they have *never* swung by the forum to check their view count is a lying liar.


----------



## Lazybones

665 posts in and the story is still getting better and better. Love the extended campaign quest idea of the embassy to the four wizards. The characters continue to grow deeper. Luckily I'm ahead in my own SH, for I haven't been writing in the 3 days I've been reading _Halmae_.


----------



## Capellan

So I know you guys don't decide usually whether to go to Gencon SoCal or not until the last minute ... but I hope you do, as I plan to be there (Gaming + Disneyland = good) and I would love to organize a pick-up game with you guys!

Let me know if you get your plans sorted out


----------



## Lazybones

Curses!  Just got to the end, and no more updates... well, at least I can come back in a month knowing that there will be at least several new sections to read (unfortunately I cannot access ENWorld at work, so I DL threads to my USB drive to read during... slow spells). Finally a SH author who updates regularly!

Again, great story, thanks to spyscribe and fajitas for your work in sharing the adventures of your group. It sounds like you guys have a great deal of fun. 

LB


----------



## babomb

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Did you actually count up all of the updates, maps, and sidebars?




Ah, you caught me: I did it the lazy way and just did your 150 numbered updates. I didn't mean to make you look like a slacker.   

Age (as of 18 minutes ago when I ran the numbers): *909 days, 21 hours (or 2 years, 178 days, 21 hours)* 
Parts: *150 (1/6.066 days)*
+ 27 "Very" Parts: *177 (1/5.141 days)*
+ 12 interludes: *189 (1/4.814 days)*
+ 9 sidebars (including 3 posted by Fajitas): *198 (1/4.595 days)*
+ 3 maps (including 2 posted by Fajitas): *201 (1/4.527 days)*
+ counting all 10 posts comprising part 105 individually: *210 (1/4.333 days)*
+ 4 sidebars, 4 maps, and 3 writings of Petros that were included in another post: *221 (1/4.117 days)*
+ 1 Interactive Media project (which gives me a 403 Forbidden error, by the way), 1 Gods of Halmae (abridged guide), and 1 protest from al-Assal: *224 (1/4.062 days or 1 update every 4 days, 1 hour, 29 minutes)*

Time since last update: *2 days, 3 hours, 47 minutes*


----------



## Pyske

Capellan said:
			
		

> So I know you guys don't decide usually whether to go to Gencon SoCal or not until the last minute ... but I hope you do, as I plan to be there (Gaming + Disneyland = good) and I would love to organize a pick-up game with you guys!
> 
> Let me know if you get your plans sorted out



 Indeed.  The group, and especially Spyscribe and Fajitas, have my unreserved admiration.

I also hope to be there this year, although I can never manage to plan far in advance because of work.


----------



## Seonaid

More than two years! That's impressive, and wonderfully wonderful!

What level are the characters at this point in the story?


----------



## spyscribe

Pfew!  Let me start with the easy questions.

Regarding character level: the characters in the story right now are 5th level, although 6th is not too far off.  In game, everyone is at 7th.

GenCon SoCal: It seems a fair bet that at least some Halmae-types will make it down for at least part of the convention, probably over the weekend.  Speak up if you're going to be around.  Maybe we can convince Fajitas to run that Pirates of the Halmae one shot.  

babomb's statistical analysis: Wow.  Just... wow.  Honestly, I never meant to impune your thoroughness.  I was just curious where your number had come from.  That is awesome.   

Sorry about the 403 on the interactive media project.  Once the class was over the university just takes down pages associated with that semester.  I've still got the html files, but nowhere to host them.

Hopefully the next real update will be coming soon.


----------



## thatdarncat

> Sorry about the 403 on the interactive media project. Once the class was over the university just takes down pages associated with that semester. I've still got the html files, but nowhere to host them.



 I've got some empty space on my server. If you want, I'll set an account up for you tonight. I'd like to give you something back for the great storyhour


----------



## brellin

OH NO!! I need another update.oh and this sh KICKS @$$


----------



## coyote6

spyscribe said:
			
		

> GenCon SoCal: It seems a fair bet that at least some Halmae-types will make it down for at least part of the convention, probably over the weekend.  Speak up if you're going to be around.




Yo!




			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> Maybe we can convince Fajitas to run that Pirates of the Halmae one shot.




Or perhaps I should say, "Arrr!"?


----------



## brellin

*hello*

Hi 
I'm sorry about my first post on this thread I was rude and I did not introduce myself
My name is brellin (or is it?  ) I am a fledgeling gamer and I'm honored to read this
story hour


----------



## spyscribe

No worries, brellin.  When this game started, I was a fledgling gamer too.  Glad to have another reader.  Take off your coat and stay awhile.



			
				thatdarncat said:
			
		

> I've got some empty space on my server. If you want, I'll set an account up for you tonight. I'd like to give you something back for the great storyhour.




I'm happy to send you the files If people want to see the project, but please, keep in mind that I did not go to graduate school in computer science.    This was a quick and dirty assignment for a required course.  Possibly an amusing way to waste three minutes of your time...  If you're easily amused.

(What I really want to know, thatdarncat, is when you're going to host the next story hour author's chat.)

And now, I don't believe it, but I'm about to make the 1000th post in this thread.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Fifty-First*
_In which: the party learns more of the desert riders… which does not make them less mysterious._

The group rides off to the north, the party surrounded on all sides by desert riders.  Soon, the sun has set, and Lira notices two riders move to the front, cast a spell (she guesses _darkvision_, although in the dim light, it’s hard to be sure), and take over leading the group.

Lira surveys their new companions.  She notes that of the strangers, none of them wear armor, or carry anything but the simplest of weapons.  Most bear visible scars, from both minor and more severe wounds.  

_Euro?_

Yeah boss?

_Do you think anyone here *isn’t* a sorcerer?_

For once, Euro does not have a response.

###

The group rides for several hours, and then, in the middle of the desert, with nothing but sand for miles around, they come upon a group of small cottages scattered amid hemispherical domes.

The strangers all stop and dismount.  The party members follow suit and watch as Wadiah goes into one of the cottages.  She emerges a few minutes later with a man who—after rubbing sleep from his eyes—casts.  A few seconds later another identical cottage appears in the center of the settlement.

“We will speak again in the morning,” Wadiah assures the party as she shows them into their home for the night.

With the exception of Reyu, who elects to spend the night outside, the party members are more than happy to take advantage of Wadiah’s hospitality.   Inside the cottage they find bunks for eight, and quickly fall asleep.

Reyu notices that someone keeps an eye on her and the cottage throughout the night.  But she does not bother them, and they do not bother her.

###

The party breakfasts with Wadiah the next morning in one of the domes. In daylight, they find that the domes are the same flat sandy brown that they appear to be at night, and the insides are equally plain and unfurnished.

Eva notices Wadiah casting a quick spell before dishing up breakfast for the group.

“What was that?” she asks Lira in a low whisper.

“Just _prestidigitation_,” she replies.  “Don’t worry about it.”

Although Eva still has her doubts, she is hungry and eats when her plate is passed to her.  To her surprise, she finds the bland-looking porridge is actually quite tasty.

Reyu inquires about the health of the injured child, and offers to heal his wounds completely in recompense for the hospitality they have received.

Wadiah however, demurs.  “He is resting well, and in time will recover fully.  Perhaps the scars will remind him to be more careful in the future.”

“What were the children doing alone in the desert?” Anvil asks.  “Surely they knew its dangers.”

“Indeed,” Wadiah replies and for a moment, she looks sad.  “We try to warn our children of the dangers to them, both in the desert, and in the settled areas of the Empire.  Still, those three found such risks preferable to their lives here.”
“Why?” Lira asks.

“Because they are young.  Because our lives here in the desert are difficult and, by necessity, isolated.  They ran away hoping to live in the world beyond the Khartshma, our people.  As you saw, they did not get far.”  She shakes her head, clearly affected by the previous day’s tragic loss.  “Hopefully, their experience has taught them the wisdom of listening to their elders.”

“Why do you have to live in isolation?” Eva asks.

“Because if the military knew of our existence, they would have us hunted down and killed.” 

“How many of your people are sorcerers?” Lira asks. 

“All of them.”  Wadiah replies simply.

“All of them?” Thatch repeats.  “Even the children?”

Wadia nods.  “The talent is inherited.”

Lira shakes her head.  “But… no one else in my family is a sorcerer.  Not that I know of anyway.”

“That is certainly not uncommon,” says Wadiah.  “We do not know why the talent occurs spontaneously, but now that it has, you will, most likely, pass it to your children.  Especially if their father also shares your gift.”

“We had been informed,” Anvil puts in, “that there were no arcanists at all in Ebis.  And now you tell me that this entire tribe is made of sorcerers?”

Wadiah gives a rueful snort.  “I am not surprised that is what you were told.  Sorcerers have existed in Ebis for as long as they have anywhere in the Halmae.  At first, it was not a problem.  We lived with the others, and were allowed to go about our lives.”

“What happened?” asks Eva.

“About 100 years ago, people—wizards—began to study arcane magic.  The military decided they could not sanction this force that they did not control, and so they set about destroying all who practiced it.  Even those who had no choice in the matter.”

“Destroy?” Kiara squeaks.

“Some were executed.  Other times they were simply taken into the desert, and… lost.  Much as you were.”

“You believe the military is responsible for what has befallen us?” Anvil demands.

“It’s possible.  They often find it easier to… dispose of unwanted individuals or groups indirectly.  Fortunately for us, they do not venture into the deep desert.”

“But why would the military want to kill us?” Thatch asks.

Their host shrugs.  “For a specific reason, you’d have to ask them.  For a general reason… it’s what they do.”

The party tells Wadiah about their current quest, and the attack on the Mages’ Academy that predicated it.

Wadiah shakes her head when they ask if she has heard of Manaal.  She has equally not heard of a city called Pesshataup.

The party suppresses a sigh of exasperation to once again be trying to reach a city that no one else has heard of.

“Tell me,” says Anvil finally, “who is the most learned man in the desert, that we might seek him out and ask _him_ where we can find Pesshetaup.”

“Oh,” says Wadiah.  “He is among us.”

“May we speak with him?”

Wadiah considers.  “If he chooses to speak with you.  I will ask him.”

The meal concluded, Wadiah excuses herself, and bids the party to remain in the dome until someone is sent to fetch them.

The party does, and less than an hour later, Wadiah herself returns.  “Bahati will speak with you now.”

###

The party follows Wadiah through the settlement.  Thatch smiles and waves to some of the children peeking out of doorways or from around domes, but they duck out of sight as soon as they see he has seen them.  A few adults watch their progress as well, and although they do not appear exactly unfriendly, their expressions are… guarded.

However, Thatch is soon distracted from trying to make friends with the local children when he realizes they are being led *through* the village, and over to the camel pens.

Wadiah takes them to where one camel stands alone from the others.  The camel wears a distinctive headdress, and Reyu recognizes it almost immediately as the one which Wadiah was riding when they first met.

Before anyone in the party can say anything, Wadiah turns to the camel and addresses him, “Bahati, these are our guests.  No doubt you remember them.”


----------



## brellin

I wonder if theres a thread were I can get the stats for the magic items in this sh


----------



## Fajitas

brellin said:
			
		

> I wonder if theres a thread were I can get the stats for the magic items in this sh



By and large, that thread would be called the _Dungeon Master's Guide_.   

Seriously, I don't think there are a whole lot of made up magic items in here.  Thatch's pitcher is a _decanter of endless water_, straight out of the book.  Lira's hat is a _hat of disguise_, also textbook.  The headband is a _headband of sending_, which isn't explicitly listed in the DMG, but simply allows the wearer to cast the spell _sending_ once a week.  Most of the items that aren't explictly listed are things like that.

Any items in particular that you're curious about?  I can try to offer up what they do (he said, slightly concerned that babomb would return with a complete list of every magic item ever to appear in the game...   )


----------



## dpdx

Camel! Reyu time! Hope she had Speak with Animals prepped.


----------



## Zog

A Sage Camel?  Could it be?  Excellent!  I have wanted to use one since I first read about them.  

It's a Sage.  And a genius.  And a Camel.  Watch out they spit.  

More!  More!


----------



## KidCthulhu

The smartest guy around is a camel?  How very Prachett of you, Fajitas.  Is his other name "You Bastard"?  

Zog, love the sig.  "It only rarely adheres to flesh."


----------



## Angcuru

Adding the Wonder Camel to my list of "Things that make you go hmmmm...."


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Zog and KidCthulu, ya'll know that you know each other in real life, right?

Just checking, 

-WLS


----------



## brellin

*list*

off the top of my head the only stats I'd like are for "God's Breath" and the magic box with the magic keys.


----------



## Fajitas

brellin said:
			
		

> off the top of my head the only stats I'd like are for "God's Breath" and the magic box with the magic keys.



Well, the box is pretty easy.  It has four compartments, tied to each of the four keys, which act as normal, trunk sized compartments.  Then it has the fifth one, which is an extra dimensional space that appears under the box.  All five compartments are the same size as the interior of the box.  One presumes it never weighs any more than the box itself.  That's pretty much it.  I never really set specific stats for it, 'cause the PCs were never gonna get their hands on it.

As for Gods' Breath... well, I'm gonna sit on those stats for a little while.  After all, my players do read this.


----------



## brellin

thanks Fajitas. and if it's not to much to ask Spyscribe. please update


----------



## 147

*First Post*

A newbie to EN World, but I've been reading some of the Story Hour's and ....welll....WOW!
I started your story about 10 days ago and I'm now in the same boat as everyone else - I need a Halmae fix.
Fajitas - your world, your plots, your story arcs are compelling
Spyscribe - I can only re-iterate what has already been said, your writing style keeps me coming back for more, and more, and more.
To all the players - hats off and thanks for letting me live vicariously in your adventures.


----------



## KidCthulhu

WisdomLikeSilence said:
			
		

> Zog and KidCthulu, ya'll know that you know each other in real life, right?




Oh yeah!  But I hesitate to use someone's real world name on the boards, 'cuz I know some people are uncomfortable with it.  Especially when your name is Xavier Fountleroy Whiffenpoof, like Zog's is.


----------



## Zog

That's Mr. Whiffenpoof to you young lady!

Kids these days - no respect for their elders!  Or youngers.   

On the bright side, we actually got WLS to post!  A Rare event.  

We now leave the friendly banter to return you to the Story Hour, with a new post due At Any Time!  

(or so I hope)

Mr. X. F. Whittenpoof, Esquire


----------



## Fajitas

Zog said:
			
		

> Kids these days - no respect for their elders!  Or youngers.



Of course, when your handle is KidCthulhu, it's respect for your Elders that I'd worry about most...


----------



## spyscribe

147 said:
			
		

> A newbie to EN World, but I've been reading some of the Story Hour's and ....welll....WOW! <snip>




Welcome to the boards 147!  Thank you for your kind words, and for de-lurking to share them.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Fifty-Second*
_In which: the party becomes both wiser and wetter than they were before._

As the party stands there, dumbfounded, Kiara makes her way to the front of the group and bows.

The camel looks at her for a moment, and then, in a low voice with just a hint of amusement says, “Bowing is… not necessary.”

Kiara straightens.  No one else knows quite what to say.  Bahati breaks the silence, “Wadiah, thank you.  You need not remain.”

Wadiah nods, and takes her leave.

The party stares at Bahati.  Bahati stares back.

Finally, Lira’s instincts for good manners will not allow the silence to linger any longer.  “I’m sorry,” she says, “this comes as a bit of a surprise.”

“What… do you wish to know?”

“Are you… that is, can you…” Lira fumbles, not sure how to ask what she wants to ask.

Bahati watches her patiently, content to let her fumble through her question.

“…well, everyone else here is a sorcerer.  So… does that mean… ?”

“You’re a sorcerer, too?” Kiara finally finishes for her.

Bahati almost looks amused as he says to them, “Did you think the talent only occurred in humans?”

There is a long pause.

_(Completely mirrored by the long pause around the table when Fajitas posed the question to us.)_

“Yes,” says Anvil as other, usually articulate members of the party stand there gaping like stranded fish.  “Indeed we did.  Thank you for pointing out the error of our assumption.”

“But how did they find you?  The Khartshma?”

“The Khartshma did not find me.  I found them.  When the men and women of Ebis turned against them.  Their fathers’ fathers and mothers’ mothers fled into the desert.  I found them.  I gathered them together, and showed them the ways of the deep desert.  I followed the stars to find them, and have followed the stars ever since, keeping them away from those who would do them harm.”

While everyone quickly tries to work out how old that must make Bahati, no one has the courage to actually ask.

“If you know the desert, perhaps you can be of aid to us,” Reyu asks.  “We are looking for a wizard, Manaal.  We have been told she lives somewhere near the city of Pesshataup.”

The camel chews for a moment, thoughtful.  “I remember Pesshataup…  The city of stone.”

“The city of stone?”  Lira asks.

The camel nods.  “The men and women of Ebis came for the stone.  They settled there for it, deep in the desert.  They drew the stone out of the ground and sent it away for their buildings and the buildings of others.”

“Drew?” Annika asks.  “Past tense?”

“Yes.  No one is there now.  Abandoned.”

“For how long?”

Bahati considers again.  “Fifty turns of the stars.”

“That explains why no one’s heard of the place,” Thatch mutters.

“But why did they leave?” Lira wants to know.

“They settled there for the stone, but they could not drink the stone.  Nor eat it.  In the end, they had much stone, but little else.  So the men and women of Ebis left, and the desert reclaimed what they had wrought.”

“Can we get there from here?” Annika asks.

“It is not far, if you can find the way.”  Bahati considers.  “It is a journey of… a week.”

“Can you guide us there?”

Bahati shakes his head, slowly.  “I am… needed here.  I will send a guide with you.  If anyone is willing.”

“Thank you very much,” Reyu replies.  “Can we give you anything in return for your help?”

“What would you offer?”

Reyu gives Thatch a knowing look.  “If you have a way to store it,” she tells Bahati, “we can give you as much water as you would like.”

The camel seems to consider this carefully.  Then, he looks over at a large desert boulder, in whose shade the camels have clustered to take refuge from the heat of the day.  He takes on a look of intense concentration, then walks up to the rock and bumps it with his nose.  As the party members watch, agog, the rock shimmers, and when the effect passes the party sees it has been _stone shaped_ into a cistern, complete with lid.

When he recovers his wits, Thatch takes out the _decanter of endless water_ and uses it to fill the newly-formed basin.  Bahati watches with interest.

Before the party takes their leave, Lira thanks Bahati.  “It is a wonderful thing you have done,” she says, “for all sorcerers.”

The camel looks at her indulgently.  “Not for all of them.”

Lira blushes.  “Still.”

The party walks back to the main part of the sorcerers’ settlement, each privately ruminating over what they have learned.  Annika especially, continues to boggle.  “But…” she mutters, half to herself, “for a *camel* to cast…  Every spell would have to be stilled *and* silent…  It must have been years before he could cast _tongues_ to even *talk* to anyone…”  

###

When the party returns to the main area of the settlement, they find that every child in the camp has come to try to get a look at them.  Lira makes a few tentative friendly gestures, but Thatch has a plan.

He beckons to a cluster of small children, maybe eight years old, all standing together.

“Do you know Alirria?” he asks them.

They nod, not saying anything.

“Let me show you one of her blessings.”  Very slowly, so as not to alarm anyone in the camp, Thatch takes out the pitcher again, and points it straight up at the sky.  The children watch, as Thatch stabilizes the base of the vessel in the sand and then says, “Fresh geyser.”

The children stand frozen in awe and wonder for about two seconds, and then… all the children are running forward to play in the sudden shower.  As their shrieks and laughs fill the air, the adults gather as well.  And although most of them are more concerned with gathering the water than playing in it, Eva notices most are not particularly careful about staying dry either.

Wadiah comes up behind Thatch’s shoulder.  “You’ll spoil them,” she tells him.

Thatch grins.  “Just this once?”

“Just this once.”

Lira watches the children in frank amazement.  “I don’t believe it,” she whispers to Eva.  

Every single child that is old enough to walk is casting spells.  Some shoot _rays of frost_ into the stream at the mouth of the pitcher, catching the icicles they made when they come falling back down.  Others are involved in an endless loop of running under the water, _prestidigitating_ themselves dry, and then running right back in to get soaked again.  A few of the older children—who still only look to be about eleven or twelve—use _levitate_ to lift the smaller ones in the air, letting them splash and shriek at the apex of the fountain.

Finally, Lira can’t stand it any more.  She gets up off of the sand where she had been sitting and goes running into the spray to join them.  She throws her face up to the water, and laughs.

Off to one side, Kiara watches.  Ever since they have found the Khartshma she’s noticed how… excited, even happy Lira has seemed.  Sure, she’s been occasionally worried or stunned, but underneath it all, no matter how different the customs of these people, she realizes that a certain part of Lira feels at home among them.

Kiara has never felt that way in her life.

Quietly, when no one is looking, she sneaks back to the camel pens.  It would be easy for her to recognize Bahati, even if he didn’t wear his distinctive headdress.

“Bahati?” she says cautiously, “can I ask you a question?”

The camel says nothing, but watches her attentively.

“I know… I know that it means a lot to Lira, finding a place full of other people who are… like her, in some way.”  Kiara pauses.  She doesn’t even know of Bahati can understand her anymore.  But the camel is still watching her patiently, and having come this far, she forges ahead.

“I want to show you something.  Don’t be alarmed, it’s nothing dangerous, but…  I have a talent too.”

She takes a step back, and with a deep breath leaps into the air.  As Bahati watches, she shifts form, first into a hybrid human/bird, then into a swallow, and finally back into a human girl.

The camel watches throughout, but says nothing, and makes no sign.

Back on her feet again, Kiara finally asks her question.  “What I wanted to know was… Do you know of any others like me?”

Slowly and deliberately, the camel shakes his head.


----------



## The Grackle

After several hours, I've just read the whole thread.  It's a great story hour.  
I'm looking forward to more of the same.


----------



## MTR

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Back on her feet again, Kiara finally asks her question.  “What I wanted to know was… Do you know of any others like me?”
> 
> Slowly and deliberately, the camel shakes his head.




That must have been a crusher.


----------



## brellin

WOW   a spell casting camal great update


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

Unbelievable. Just been gone for two weeks on vacation and what do I find upon my return? A whole load of updates, forcing me to read like a madman to catch back up again. But I did it and man did I enjoy it. Spyscribe, praises as always for your excellent writing style and Fajitas for the excellent game. I truly wish I was able to sit in on one of your sessions and just watch in awe.


----------



## spyscribe

_(And the new readers keep on coming.  Hello to The Grackle!)_

*Part the One-Hundred Fifty-Third*
_In which: the party once again departs for Pesshetaup, and Reyu reaches out to an old acquaintance._

At nightfall, Wadiah comes to see the party again.  They have gathered their things, and wait for the guide that Bahati has promised them.  In return, Thatch has used the pitcher to fill every water-carrying vessel in the settlement.  The party has also made arrangements to leave all but six of their camels with the tribe.

Anvil, over Thatch’s objections, offered to leave the pitcher itself, but Wadiah turned it down, not wishing her people to become dependent on the object.

The party members wonder, as she approaches, if she will be guiding them to Pesshataup, but instead, Wadiah has come with a request.

“I believe you when you say that you are not affiliated with the military, and I do not think you would consciously do us harm,” she begins.  “But please, I must ask you.  Do not tell anyone about us.  A stray word might be all the military needs to learn of our existence, and if they do, they will come and hunt us down.”

Anvil nods.  “What if we meet those who might wish to join you?” he asks.

Wadiah allows the point.  “If you can, let us know.  We will seek them out ourselves.”

Solemnly, the party pledges to keep the Khartshma’s secret.  Kiara is especially adamant.  “I’d rather eat my foot than tell anyone about you.”

It is full dark now, and a shadowy form approaches them through the settlement.  The party soon sees that it is one of the Khartmsha camels.  Wadiah makes the introductions.  “This is Onika.  She will lead you where you need to go.”

“Can she talk?” Eva asks.

“That is not one of her gifts,” Wadiah allows, “but she knows your destination.  All you need do is follow her.”

The party makes their final good-byes and thanks Wadiah once again.

She smiles.  “May you keep your eyes to the stars.”

Onika does, and starts to walk out into the desert.  

Quickly gathering the last of their bags and mounting their own camels, the party follows.

Reyu cannot help noting that Onika is leading them in an entirely different direction than Djamal had been.  It would seem that if their guide had ever truly known the location of Peshetaup, he had not been leading them towards it.  She pulls her cloak a little tighter.

**********

Each night in the desert is cold.  The stars twinkle overhead and the party members bundle themselves up in their winter cloaks and heavy blankets as they ride. 

Each day in the desert is blisteringly hot, and the adventurers try to sleep beneath their makeshift shelters, glad for _endure elements_ and the relief from the searing sun that it provides.

Every night, just before dawn, Onika stops, sinks to her knees and settles in for the day.  A few days into this routine, Reyu prepares _speak with animals_.

“Why are we stoping?”

Onika says simply, “The stars are gone.”  and then falls silent again, content to wait for nightfall with only the company of her own thoughts.

Without the camel for conversation, Reyu seeks out Anvil.

“Anvil, do you have need of the headband Professor Alexandra gave us?”

The Justicar shakes his head.  “Not at the moment.  I will report to her when we have met this Manaal, but—since we have been sworn to secrecy as to the matter of the Khartshma—there seems no need to contact her before then.”

“Might I borrow it then?”

Anvil knits his brow.  “To what purpose?”

“When we were last in Dar Pykos I received word from my grandmother.  There has been no sign of [post=1484903]Amelia[/i] at her village.  The more time passes, the more this troubles me.”

Anvil hands over the headband.  “Amelia was sentenced only to exile,” Anvil reminds her.  “We cannot dictate where she goes as long as it is outside the bounds of the Confederacy.”

“I know,” Reyu replies as she dons the headband.  “I merely wish her to know that she has friends.”

Reyu’s message is short and simple.



> Amelia, this is Reyu.  Where are you?  I am concerned.  Please respond, 25 words or less.




The response comes back, equally clear and succinct.  



> Leave me alone.




**********

It’s the twentieth day of March, just after midnight by Anvil’s reckoning, when the party reaches the first sign of human habitation in the desert:  an obelisk, half buried in the sand.

Soon the party sees more evidence of a buried city: half-buried spires, walls crumbled into the sand.  Onika leads them until they come to the last set of shadowy ruins visible in the dark.  She stops there for a few moments, as if to make sure that the party understands that they have arrived, then turns around and walks back into the desert.

The party watches her go.

“Good-bye.” Kiara calls after her.  “Thank you.”

Onika makes no response, and Kiara’s words are quickly swallowed by the silence of the desert night.  It is as though they are the last beings in the world.


----------



## 147

Spyscribe, thanks for the update.  Am very much appreciating Fajitas use of non-humanoid character classes.  Will definitely incorporate this into my own game.
I do hope we get to see more snippets of the party's attempt to "save" Amelie from herself - much fun there!


----------



## Trahnesi

Amelia?  The girl with the creepy "undead are my friends" thing going on?  Oh boy.  If I was any of the people who messed with her in Dar Aego, I'd be worried (even though she already wiped most of them out.)  Actually, If I was anybody in Dar Aego, I'd be worried.  I can just see her getting together with the Crossers and unleashing a horde of undead on that city.

I could see that as a tough call for party.  "On the one hand, it's an unspeakable horde of undead abominations.  On the other hand, they are currently wiping Dar Aego from the face of the earth.  Hm... Maybe we'll come back when they're done."


----------



## spyscribe

Trahnesi said:
			
		

> Amelia?  The girl with the creepy "undead are my friends" thing going on?  Oh boy.  If I was any of the people who messed with her in Dar Aego, I'd be worried (even though she already wiped most of them out.)  Actually, If I was anybody in Dar Aego, I'd be worried.  I can just see her getting together with the Crossers and unleashing a horde of undead on that city...




Psst.  Trahnesi.  Keep it down over there.   

I mean, glad you're involved with the story, but that there is a classic rule one violation if I ever saw one.  Fajitas has enough nasty ideas of his own without *help*.  Have a heart.


----------



## Capellan

spyscribe said:
			
		

> there is a classic rule one violation if I ever saw one.  Fajitas has enough nasty ideas of his own without *help*.  Have a heart.




Or do away with that pesky heart thing and post in the "Secrets of the Halmae" thread instead, where the PCs won't be forewarned of any nasty ideas you give Fajitas.

Hey spyscribe!  *waves cheerfully*


----------



## brellin

where is the ¨Sercets of the Halmae¨ thread?


----------



## spyscribe

*waves back* Hi Capellan!



			
				brellin said:
			
		

> where is the ¨Sercets of the Halmae¨ thread?



Not that I know anything about such things, but if you click on a link somewhere in this post it might take you to a thread of that name.  It's in the Rogue's Gallery.

Planning to update sometime tomorrow.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Fifty-Fourth*
_In which: Pesshetaup… it’s a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there._

Not far from where the party has stopped is another half buried-obelisk.  Thatch decides to try to climb it that night and look for any signs of campfires.

Overhead, the sky shimmers, thick with stars.  As Thatch reaches the top of the obelisk, the chill wind of the desert night pelts him tiny grains of sand.  He squints, shielding his face from the constant minor abrasion working inexorably to return Pessetaup to the earth from which it came.  

Aside from the party’s own lights, the darkness of the desert night is complete. 

“So, I guess we wait here, and then see if we can find any sign of Manaal in the morning?” Eva suggests.

The others look around helplessly.  Here they are, finally in the mysterious city of Pesshetaup, and they seem no closer to finding the archmage of Ebis than they were in Dar Pykos.

The party sets their watches, and settles in to sleep for the rest of the night.

###

Thatch falls asleep quickly and soon finds himself dreaming.  He’s walking through tall grass on a vast plain.  The sky is blue and the air is cool.  He can almost feel the grasses moving against his legs as he walks…

Thatch sits up with a start.

Something *is* moving against his leg.  

He kicks off his bedroll as quickly as possible and in the dim light of the campfire he just catches a glimpse of a snake slithering away across the sand.

“Umm… Guys?”

“What is it?” asks Reyu already awake and on watch.

“Does anyone else have a snake in their bedroll?”

That is enough to have the rest of the party scrambling, especially city girls Lira, Eva, and Annika.

“Don’t move!” Reyu tells them, “If there’s a snake you’re just going to scare it.”

Although that directive is enough to make Lira freeze, she’s not going to lie there waiting for any snakes that might be lurking in her blankets.  _Euro?_ she asks.

Yeah Boss?

_Anything in this bedroll that isn’t me and isn’t you?_

Let me check… (There is a brief interlude while Euro burrows down into the bedroll to investigate any interlopers.)  Nope, all clear.

Lira gets up.  As it turns out, no one else has a snake in their bedroll, and Thatch is certainly none the worse for wear for his reptilian visitor.

Although Reyu and Kiara steadfastly insist they have no idea what all the fuss is about, some of the other members of the party are concerned that the snake might come back.  Eva scoots her bedroll over beside Lira’s and the two women sleep back to back, just in case.

Everyone has just settled down again for the night when:

Hey Boss… There’s something here and it’s not me and it’s not you!

This is followed almost immediately by Eva’s cry of, “Ack! A snake!”

Lira abruptly finds herself in the middle of a rogue/weasel tussle.  _Euro, it’s Eva!_  “Eva!  It’s Euro!”

“Oh.”

Sorry ‘bout that.

_(“Never have I see a group get more game-play out of a one hit point non-venomous snake,” says the DM)_

The rest of the night passes quietly.

###

The following morning, Thatch, Kiara, Eva, and Euro all take turns climbing the obelisk again.  In daylight the city seems less tranquil, more obviously ruined.

None of the buildings crumbing into the sand look as though they could be the home of anyone, let alone an archmage.

Looking for a place where they can wait out the heat of the day, Eva finds an open area that appears to have once been the city’s marketplace.  No signs of merchants or their wares remain, but she does find the remnants of a campfire, as well as tracks indicating that a large number of people and wagons recently passed this way.

For a city that’s supposedly been abandoned for more than fifty years—that most citizens of the Empire have never even *heard* of—it’s unusual to say the least.

Eva quickly returns to the others to share her findings.

Reyu confirms that the tracks are only a week or two old at the most, coming from the west and heading north-east.

The party discusses their options for what to do next as they wait for sunset, but in truth their choices are limited.  Chi’i only said that Manaal lived *near* the city of Pesshataup, not within it.  And the tracks are the only indication they have found that people have passed this way in the last half-century.

“If we’re going to pick a random direction,” Lira points out, “it might as well be that one.”

The main question for the party is who the travelers might be, and why they are trekking through the deep desert.  However, since the party is not burdened by heavy wagons that must be dragged through the sand, they anticipate that they will soon catch up to the caravan and find out.

They depart at sunset, following the tracks through the untouched sand.  

###

The party travels deeper into the desert over the next three nights.  Every day is hotter than the last, and—most ominously—the nights grow warmer as well.

Anvil theorizes that this is an indication that they are traveling into Chaotic lands where Ehkt rules over his brother, until Lira points out that the Ketkath—surely the most Chaotic lands in the Halmae—were deadly cold.

No one else has enough energy to muster much of an opinion on the issue.

Then, one evening, just at dusk as the party is preparing to move out, Reyu spots a flash on the horizon, directly ahead on their current path.  It is followed by another, then another more sustained than the first two, and then yet more in quick succession.

The party watches, rapt, and forges ahead, although Reyu estimates the flashes are at least a day another night’s walk distant.  Some minutes after the first flare, the lights on the horizon stop.

Finally, just at sunrise as the party prepares to stop for the day, Kiara spots some sort of structure, a few miles off across the sand.  

The trail of the convoy leads straight for it.


----------



## coyote6

And then . . . ?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Fifty-Fifth*
_In which: shades of the past return._

Instead of waiting for dusk, the party breaks camp late the next afternoon, hoping to arrive at the tower just before the sunset.

When it is still some ways off, they find the first body.

It’s an Ebisite military officer, lying on the leeward side of a sand dune as though cut down in his tracks, the right side of his body horribly burned.  The remains of his face are twisted into an expression of terrible agony.

As the party pauses at this gruesome sight, a hot wind comes over the crest of the dune, carrying with it a horrible, but not unfamiliar stench.

Since the attack on the Mages’ Academy, none of the members of the party could ever mistake the smell of burned human flesh.

The party crests the dune and sees, for the first time, the result of the lights they witnessed the night before.

An enormous tower sits in the middle of a great depression in the endless expanse of sand.  It rises, rosy in the twilight, almost as though it has grown out of the field of battle that surrounds it.

The Ebisties sent a battalion out into the desert.  Little now remains.

Bodies, pieces of wooden battering rams, and twisted metal rods that once formed some  sort of cages litter the ground around the blank walls of the tower.  What isn’t charred has melted into slag.

Many of the corpses lie burnt and twisted in scorch marks that were hot enough to melt the sand beneath them into glass.

“But…” Eva begins, looking over at Lira for confirmation, “I thought that wizards couldn’t create fire with magic.”

Lira nods, staring at the remains of what appears to have been a very one-sided encounter.  “They can’t.”   She shrugs and hazards, “Maybe she created fire through mundane means, and employed some kind of siege engine to attack the Ebisties?”  She doesn’t sound terribly confident of her theory.

“Siege engines are usually employed by those besieging, not those besieged,” Anvil points out.

Lira looks at him as if to say: I didn’t say it made a lot of sense, I just said it was possible.

“Umm…” Thatch begins, “how could she do that without any doors or windows?”

A look confirms that Thatch is correct.

The tower is easily one-hundred fifty feet tall, and—at least from this angle—has no visible doors or windows.

“Well, there must be *some* way in and out,”  Reyu points out, ever logical.  “Perhaps we just cannot see it from this vantage.”

Keeping a respectful distance, the party slowly circles the tower.

They have arrived from the east, and so use the shadow of the tower as their starting point for a deliberate clockwise circuit.

About a third of the way around, Reyu notes an anomaly.

“Look there, it appears there once was a window… but it has been… filled.” 

She’s right.  Once the party knows what to look for, they spot several more bricked-up windows, each at a different height on the tower.  It’s as though the tower has been built, story by story, always with a single window on the top floor, the window on the previous level filled in as the tower grew.

It’s… odd.

The party has almost completed their circuit when two things happen, nearly simultaneously.

The first is Kiara shouting, “Look!  There’s an open window—”

The second is Annika screaming in terror as two perfectly black, mist-covered *creatures* come leaping out of the shadow of the tower, claws out and snarling.  The reason for her abject terror is quickly understood.  The last time she was face to face with one of these beasts, she was trapped in a burning dormitory at the Mages’ Academy, and the creature had just killed her familiar.

Anvil and Reyu are at the front of the group and immediately take their positions as the first line of defense.  Reyu feels the burning of the creature’s claws slicing across her gut and for an instant—between the pain, the shadow beast, and the smell of smoke hanging in the air—it’s as though she’s returned to the site of the Mages’ Academy fire.

For Reyu, the sensation lasts only for an instant.  She is quickly back to the present and preparing to fight the creature on its own terms.  Behind her, Annika screams and falls to the ground, curled into a fetal ball.

The rest of the party quickly falls into action.  Lira immediately steps out of the shadow of the tower and—hoping against hope that it will do her more good than her offensive spells did last time—casts _shield_ on herself before drawing her crossbow.  

Thatch draws his sword without hesitation and charges forward on Bob towards the creature attacking Reyu.  

As he closes in, one of Eva’s arrows buries itself in the shadow beast’s shoulder.  Thatch slashes down with his sword while the creature is still seething at the sudden pain.  Bob kicks out at it as he passes, and the shadow beast boils away into the air.

Thatch nods in satisfaction.  _One down, one to—_

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots movement in the tower’s shadow.  He turns to watch just in time to see two *more* shadow beasts coalesce out of the darkness.  They sniff the air for just a moment, then lower their heads and lope across the sand towards the party.

_Good,_ Thatch thinks to himself, _more to cleave_.

But before Thatch can turn Bob to take another pass, the creatures have run past him… and one has launched itself in the air to land right on top of the cowering Annika.

Reyu—despite still being menaced herself and bleeding freely—tries to club the shadowy figure with her quarterstaff before it can get its claws into the young wizard.  The creature knocks her arm out of the way and leaves a burning trail of pain from elbow to shoulder.

Lira fares better with her crossbow, planting a bolt deep into the shadow beast’s flank.  It turns to look at her and snarls.

Lira snarls back.

The pain and the reality of the shadow creature being on top of her *right then*, along with Kiara’s frenzied screaming in her mind, helps to bring Annika back to her senses.  She reaches for the first thing that feels like it could be a weapon that she can lay hands on, her _everburning torch_.

She shoves it at the underbelly of the shadow beast that has her pressed to the ground, but to her shock, it passes through the creature as though it wasn’t even there.  She gasps and then screams as the claws rake across her again.

And then, just as suddenly as the weight of the creature was upon her, it is gone.  One of Eva’s arrows and a bolt from Lira’s crossbow have hit at nearly the same instant, and with a final snarl of protest to the darkening night, the shadow beast is gone.

Annika picks herself up and fumbles for her own crossbow, hoping to still be able to help if needed.

A few feet away, Reyu grits her teeth as she once again fends off the creature’s claws with her own arm.  Anvil brings his sword around—ignoring the other remaining shadow beast which is trying to get through his armor.  Anvil’s blade strikes true and the creature lets out a snarling howl.

Eva reloads and quickly shoots again, following up on Anvil’s strike.  Meanwhile, behind Anvil, Thatch and Bob have teamed-up on the shadow beast attacking the cleric.  Thatch unleashes a full attack from horseback, and then allows Bob the honor of trampling the thing into the sand until it melts beneath his hooves.

Free of all distractions, Anvil calls upon his _feat of strength_.  He feels the power of Kettenek surging up from the ground beneath his feet, and he channels all of that force into the abomination between him and Reyu.

The critical hit nearly slices it in half, and it dissolves, snarling.

A quiet falls over the pitched battlefield and the shadows are empty once more.

The sun slides below the horizon, casting the desert into purple twilight.  At that precise moment, at the top of the tower—in its only open window—a light flares.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Yay, Null Shadows.  Everyone's favorite monster.  Sagiro, you're a rat bastard and a genius.


----------



## Pyske

spyscribe said:
			
		

> The sun slides below the horizon, casting the desert into purple twilight.  At that precise moment, at the top of the tower—in its only open window—a light flares.




My, but that's a long way down over that cliff.  Can I get a hand here someone?  Anyone?

And they say Sagiro's the rat bastard...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Fifty-Sixth*
_In which: if there were only four archmages, this would be the end of our mission._

The party has retreated to the top of the nearest dune, and made their camp in view of the tower’s single open window.  Although they have kept careful watch, aside from the sudden flare of light at sunset, there has been no sign of life from the tower.

“Um, should we maybe call out?” Thatch suggests.

“If she does not know we are here, she is perhaps not powerful enough to warrant our consideration,” Anvil responds.

Eva, thinking that this is possibly an unwise way to speak of an archmage while camped on her doorstep, is about to say as much to Anvil, when suddenly a section of the base of the tower begins to shimmer.  The stone suddenly flows apart, creating a passageway.  A figure emerges from the interior and makes its way towards the party.

“Anvil, I really hope she didn’t just hear you,” Eva whispers.

The party goes to meet the figure halfway down the dune.  It is a human woman, about thirty years old, give or take a year or two from having lived in the high desert.  She is dressed simply in a loose gown of thin white linen, and wears her red hair in a single braid that hangs down her back.  Her only adornments are a gold circlet that rests on her forehead and a wooden Ehktian holy symbol that hangs around her neck.

She regards the party carefully.  If she is not exactly welcoming, she does not seem hostile either.  Merely curious.  “You have traveled far to come here, strangers.  Across the fiery heat of the desert, past the many obstacles the sands present,” she states, in an oddly formal tone.

No one really knows what to say to that.  Finally, Thatch offers “Um… yes.”

“What purpose has set your feet upon this path?”

“You are Manaal al Amani?”  Anvil asks.

“I am.”

“Then we come to bring you an invitation.”

Anvil introduces the party and briefly explains their mission.  He presents Manaal with the invitation from the Mages’ Academy and the letters from the four major Temples of Dar Pykos.

Manaal consults these first, initially reading over them quickly, but going back to the letter from the Temple of Ehkt to peruse it more closely.  She then turns her attention to the invitation.

When she finishes, she carefully rolls up the invitation and returns the letters from the Temples to Anvil.  “A worthy challenge.  But I must meditate on it before I can offer a response.  You are welcome to partake of my hospitality while I contemplate the matter.”

The party is unsure whether or not to accept, but simple courtesy (as well as the desire not to offend their obviously powerful host) suggests that accepting is the best course of action.  Manaal leads them towards her tower.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Lira begins, indicating the dead Ebisites lying about in the sand, “but it looks like many of these soldiers were burned to death.”

Manall raises an eyebrow, and, noticing Lira’s holy symbol, gives her a long stare.  “Indeed.”

“It’s our understanding that arcane magic cannot create fire.”

“Normally, your understanding would be correct.”

“Normally?  Are you… are you a divine caster as well then?”

Manaal watches Lira calmly and replies, “I am Ehkt’s Chosen Son.”

###

The ground level of Manaal’s tower is a single unfurnished room.  A shallow staircase winds along the inside of the exterior wall and leads up to the next floor.  There is no door to the outside; the archmage _stone shapes_ an entrance when she needs one.  There are no windows, either, though the blocked off remains of one are evident.  (The party will later be able to confirm their theory that there is a brick-up window on every level of the tower.)  Instead of natural light, torches set in sconces at regular intervals around the room and up the stairs provide more than ample illumination.

It is incredibly hot.

Manaal leads the party up two levels to a room with an intricately woven rug and a few small sideboards along the walls.  The combination of hot stone and no ventilation is stifling.  On one of the sideboards are several carafes of water, and she indicates that the adventurers should help themselves.  Although they are sweating profusely, Manaal seems fine.

“Do you desire food?” she asks.

Thatch nods, hungrily, although Anvil informs Manaal that they have their own supplies.

She shakes her head.  “That will not be necessary.  If you will give me a few moments…?”

The party members are a bit puzzled when Manaal sits down on one side of the carpet and begins to chant.  

And chant.

The chanting goes on for approximately ten minutes, and then suddenly a low table, laden with every sort of food the party can imagine is laid out before her.  Manaal opens her eyes.  “Please,” she invites the party, “eat.”

The food is sumptuous.  A feast, in fact, fit for heroes.  Manaal eats with them, and as the meal is gradually dispatched, the party members learn a bit more about Manaal, and she about them.

The party’s first interest is in Manaal’s ability to cast both arcane and divine spells.

“Even as child, I knew I had been touched by the Lord.  I was gifted with the ability to channel His divine nature, to know His divine will.  As I grew older and my understanding of His ways grew deeper, I came to study the arcane arts.”

“Why?” Lira asks, fiercely curious.

“Because it was His will that I do so.”

“To what end?”

“I do not know.  But I have no doubt that He will reveal that to me in His time.”

“But, if you’re his umm…” Thatch seems a bit reluctant to be speaking up, but holds his ground, “I mean, if you’re his Chosen Son, shouldn’t you… y’know… *know*?”

Manaal does not seem offended by the question.  “It is true I have an understanding greater then most, but His designs are not always clear, even to me.”

“Did He want you to live out here in the desert?” Kiara asks

“I am sure He did, after a fashion.  I have never found a place so well suited to contemplating His ways.”

“And this tower?  You built it yourself, all the way out here?”

Manaal nods.  “It has been no small undertaking.  There is an abandoned city not far from here.  I bring the stone from there, and have been slowly building the tower ever since I arrived.”

“You speak as if this tower is not yet complete,” Anvil notes.

Manaal fixes him with a curious look.  “The tower is never completed.  It is a monument to the Lord, a reminder of how we must constantly strive to attain the unattainable.”

No one has anything to say to that.  Fortunately, Kiara is always willing to fill an awkward silence.  “We thought Lira was the only person in the world who could cast both arcane and divine spells.”

Lira blushes about five shades of red, but meets Manaal’s curious gaze.  “I’m a sorcerer, but I ah… have been recently blessed with divine abilities.”

Manaal seems intrigued, but unlike the last archmage who found Lira interesting, does not offer to remove her sorcerous heritage.  “I would know more of this,” she says.

Lira recounts, more or less, her discovery of her divine abilities.  Manaal listens thoughtfully to the story.  Then, quite unexpectedly, she says “A true blessing of the Lord.  If you wish, you may stay here to study His ways with me.”

Lira isn’t quite sure what to say.  A chance to learn more about her own abilites, to study with someone who shares them… it is incredibly tempting.  On the other hand, Ehkt has already given her a challenge to attend to.  And Manaal does seem a trifle… extreme in her devotion. Still… “Well, I… obviously not immediately.  We do still have another archmage to find.”

“Naturally.”

“How long would this study take?”

Manaal fixes the young sorcerer with a penetrating stare.  “That is not something I can say.  Do you have something more pressing?”

Lira ducks her head.  “I don’t know.  I guess I just still have a lot of questions.”

Manall smiles, not unkindly.  “You will find that there is only one answer.”

“Right.”  Lira takes a large mouthful of cous cous to try and put an end to this particular line of conversation.  “So, er, what exactly happened out there?  With the soldiers?”

And Manaal proceeds to tell them…


----------



## Angcuru

Polymorph into a Red Dragon and ka-_flame_.


----------



## thatdarncat

Woot  and a 3rd storyhour update for my birthday  thanks!


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

Thanks for the update Spyscribe, and thanks for calling out Jonrog1. It was this that finally got me over to read his Drunk Southern Girls with Guns SH. As far as I'm concerned you rank at the very top of high quality writers, along with Sepulchrave, Carnifex and Jonrog1. The part that sets you above them is your frequency of updating.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Fifty-Seventh*
_Approximately 26 hours earlier..._

Captain Zenobia surveys her troops.  It has been a long trek through the desert, but all is ready at last.  Her soldiers are in position, the handlers are prepared, and the sun casting long shadows from the horizon.  The time is now.

The Captain is quite conscious of the number of officers who have failed at this task before her.  As she was informed when she was given this assignment, attempts to capture, kill, or force the surrender of the rogue witch have claimed the lives of a great many loyal soldiers of Ebis.  

However, none of them possessed the weapon she has at her disposal.

And, she tells herself with no small amount of satisfaction, none of them ever attained the distinction that will be hers when she succeeds.  

The Captain banishes such thoughts of the future from her mind.  Now is the time to focus on the present.  Complete the mission first.  Reap the rewards later.

“Manaal al Amani!” she calls out to the single window in the absurd tower before her.  “The Empire of Ebis wishes a parlay!”

There is no response from the tower.

“We do not come with malicious intent,” the Captain lies.  “We come to reach an accord.  We wish to find an accommodation that will be acceptable both to you and to the Empire, an agreement of peaceful co-existence.”

A voice comes back from the tower.  “I have always co-existed peacefully with the Empire.  It is the Empire that has always been the aggressor against me.”

“And I can put an end to that.  I can promise that the Empire will never again come to your tower.  But my superiors demand certain assurances before they will agree to that.  Will you parlay?”

There is silence from the tower.  For a moment, the Captain knows doubt.  If the witch cannot even be coaxed forth…

…but there is a sudden disturbance at the base of the tower, and an opening appears.  A figure emerges, one that matches the description Captain Zenobia has been given.  The witch, Manaal.

The entrance to the tower disappears behind her.  _Ah well,_ the Captain thinks.  It would be easier if they could simply walk into the tower once its owner is dead.  But no matter.  They have both the tools and the mandate to enter the tower, whether an entrance is present or not.

Manaal approaches confidently, though her face is etched with suspicion.  A strange nimbus of glowing blue flame surrounds her.  Captain Zenobia inwardly sneers.  Confidence may be deserved, given the fate of previous expeditions.  But this time…

“Speak then, soldier of Ebis,” Manaal says.  “I will hear your terms.”

“I’m sure you will,” Captain Zenobia says, and she nods to the handlers.

In an instant, the four creatures melt out of the shadows surrounding the witch and, snarling hideously, leap at her. 

Null shadows, Zenobia was told they were called.  Their name matters little to her.  The only thing that matters is the effect they have on Manaal.

She is fast, the Captain will grant her that.  Before the creatures even reach her, the witch casts a spell.  There is a great explosion of fire… one which has absolutely no effect on the null shadows.

She screams as their claws rake her flesh.  Whatever magical protections the blue flames grant her are useless.

_Where is your confidence now?_ Zenobia thinks.  

Manaal scrambles out of reach of the creatures.  Zenobia drops her arm, signaling the archers to fire.  She does not necessarily expect them to be effective, but they may distract the witch until the null shadows get their claws back into her.

She has time to get off only a single spell before they do.  A great gout of flame erupts from her hand and flies forward towards Zenobia’s men, striking one and suddenly arcing in all directions, striking several more.  There are screams, and some of her soldiers drop, but most hold their ground.  Inwardly, Zenobia triumphs.  _She’s going after the men, not the creatures.  Her only thought is vengeance.  Not survival.  A move of desperation.  The day is mine!_

And suddenly, something goes terribly wrong.  One of the null shadows ceases its attack on the witch.  It looks back towards the soldiers, snuffling at the air.  

Quite suddenly, it leaps towards her men.

Confused, Zenobia looks around.  What could cause them to…

And then she sees it.  One of the handlers has dropped his rod.

He is scrambling forward, desperate to recover it.  Zenobia’s unconscious mind intuits from his burned clothing that he must have lost it trying to evade the witch’s fireball, but her conscious mind doesn’t care. All it cares about is that he retrieves it before—

But it’s too late.  The rogue null shadow leaps on one of the other handlers and tears him to shreds.

A second null shadow stops its attack.  It turns back towards the handlers and snarls.

“Stop them!  Get them back under control!” Zenobia shouts.

Troops rush to protect the handlers from their charges, but the damage has been done.  The other handlers, seeing the gory remains of their comrade, lose their nerve and with it their control.  The third and fourth null shadows stop their attacks on the witch.  One springs towards the handlers, while the other launches itself towards the ranks of the clerics.  

Zenobia shouts commands, desperately trying to re-establish order among her men.  The creatures must be gotten back under control, must be turned back against the witch—

The witch.

Zenobia turns, but Manaal has disappeared.

The Captain’s blood runs cold.

But Manaal’s disappearance does not last long.  Zenobia looks up.  The witch is now standing atop her tower, far out of the reach of the null shadows.  Her white robe is stained red with her own blood, and she looks down on the soldiers with an expression of terrible fury.

No one will ever know if Captain Zenobia’s last order would have been to attack or sound the retreat.  She is incinerated in a burst of fiery vengeance before she has a chance to utter it.


----------



## brellin

HA eat fire. that it is what you get when make a spell caster mad. great update


----------



## Supaida

You know, the best thing about that scene? Just going by the spells she casts, Manaal isn't even terribly high level. But you don't have to be 20th level to be a horrifying death machine, you just have to be higher level than anyone else in the area. Staring down from her tower, with that Bruce Lee "_you made me bleed_" look going... 

I like Manaal. She's neat.

(I have read this story hour for a while, and I like it quite a lot.)


----------



## KidCthulhu

OK, so let me check something.  Don't Null Shadows go after the highest level arcane caster first, then the highest level divine caster next, and so on down the line until they get to the non-magical types.  It's a question of who's tastiest.

So why would they go after the soldiers in preference to a nice tasty arch-mage?


----------



## Fajitas

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> OK, so let me check something.  Don't Null Shadows go after the highest level arcane caster first, then the highest level divine caster next, and so on down the line until they get to the non-magical types.



In Sagiro's world, perhaps.  There are a few different things going on here.  I mean, just 'cause I yoinked doesn't mean I yoinked wholesale.

And anyway, who says they were going after non-magical types?

_And, 'cause PirateCat's gonna say it if I don't, "I'm yoinking wholesale right now, if you know what I mean."  >sigh<  The things I have to do preemptively..._


----------



## Angcuru

Because Fajitas says so.


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## brellin

We are waiting for an update.Untill I get one I will drown my sarorrows in fine ale (waves at the barmaid and yells a bit drunkenly for her to bring him another ale)


----------



## spyscribe

_Ah, finally!_

*Part the One-Hundred Fifty-Eighth*
_In which: there is more of Manaal, the shadow beasts, the gods, and a strange familiar._

Manaal recounts the story matter-of-factly, as though the destruction of a military battalion is of little consequence.  And perhaps, to her, it isn’t.

She concludes and is met with a nervous silence from the party.

“Why did the shadow creatures turn on the Ebisites?” Lira finally asks.  “They certainly didn’t turn on their masters when we fought them.”

“You know of these foul creatures?” Manaal asks.

 “We have… encountered them before,” Reyu explains.  The party tells Manaal of the attack on the Mages Academy, giving her all the details on the shadow beasts that they have.  Manaal has already discovered that the wounds they inflict leave scars, even when healed magically.  Indeed, when she raises her hands and allows her sleeves fall away, the party can see that her arms are covered with scars.

Manaal shakes her head.  “I do not know why they turned, but it is fortunate for me that they did, or I do not think I would be here to tell you of them.  Truly Most Holy Ehkt has been watching over me.” 

“What I don’t understand is how they got here,” Thatch says.  “There weren’t any Ebisites attacking the Academy, were there?”

“I believe the Ebisites have been seeking out these creatures,” Anvil says.

Everyone turns to stare at Anvil.

“What makes you think that?” Eva asks.

“Did I not tell you?  They asked me where they could find some.”

Anvil reminds the party of the encounter he had at the Temple of Justice in Dar Pykos.  

It was shortly after the party had been forced to _teleport_ back to Professor Alexandra after their first fight with Sheesak.  An Ebisite had been making inquiries into the shadow beasts, and having learned that Anvil was involved in the attack, sought the Justicar out to question him.  He claimed to represent a gladiatorial arena, but Anvil had found something suspiciously military about the man.  It now seems that suspicion was well-founded.

As the others are chewing over this disturbing revelation, Manaal finishes her meal and rises from the table.  “I shall withdraw now to begin my meditations on your offer.  You are welcome to stay here.  At midnight, I will conduct prayers with any who wish to join me.”

Anvil’s ears perk up.  Midnight is, traditionally, the time of prayers to Kettenek.  But, somehow, he suspects that that is not what Manaal has in mind.

“It was my belief that followers of Ehkt prayed at noon, not midnight” Anvil notes.

“I offer my prayers to the Lord at midnight and noon, at sunrise and sunset,” she responds, “as I am sure you venerate His Holy Brother at all times.”

Anvil considers for a moment.  Then he nods.  “This is true,” he states.

Lira and Reyu accept Manaal’s offer, Reyu because the elves venerate all the gods equally at any time, and Lira… because she wishes to learn more of this strange, powerful figure, the “Chosen Son” of her god.  

###

Lira and Reyu arrive at the top chamber of the tower just before midnight, drawn by the rhythmic ringing of a single gong, a strange and lonely sound in the desert night.  Manaal signals for them to enter and kneel by a small fire burning in the center of the room.

Lira looks around carefully.  A half-completed staircase leads up to the roof, a clear sign that Manaal is still building her home.  The room’s single window looks out onto the darkness of the high desert, lit only by the sweep of ten thousand stars.  The window admits a faint, warm, breeze that teases the ends of her hair and lifts a bit of sweat of the sweat from her neck, but the heat of the fire more than compensates for that small relief.

Lira cannot help but think that, even for the Chosen Son of Ehkt, this is a bit excessive, when her attention is abruptly snapped back to the fire as it suddenly *rises* and moves towards her.  She realizes with a start that the fire is actually some kind of creature, barely knee-high, but with discernable physiology.

“This is Ankhef,” Manaal says.  “My familiar and companion.”

The fire fixes the two newcomers with a serious gaze and bows to them.  Bowing back seems to be the only reasonable response.

“I have heard of such creatures,” Reyu breathes, barely audible, “Elemental servants of the divine.  But I have never seen one before.”

_I’d say ‘Ehkt’s balls_ Lira thinks, _but somehow that seems really inappropriate._

Ankhef resumes his position in the center of the room.  He concentrates for a moment, and seems to suddenly extinguish himself.  The flames of his body die away, leaving behind a tiny figure with skin that glows like embers.  The room abruptly becomes quite dark.  And even Reyu’s keen eyes have difficulty following Manaal’s movements.

Manaal produces a candle, and with a flick of her finger lights it, bathing her face in a golden light.

“Lord,” she beings, “now is the hour in which You are farthest from us, but also the hour when Your return begins.  Bring Your light to banish the darkness that we might see Your knowledge.  That we might rise to the challenges You will place before us…”  

Manaal continues in this vein—cursing the darkness and beseeching the return of the light—for some time, concluding just as the candle burns itself down to a flickering stump.  As it gutters and dies she sprinkles a handful of incense on Ankhef, and the room—already quite hot and close—is filled with a spicy sweet smoke.  Although not altogether unpleasant, it is enough to make the eyes water.

Manaal bows to her familiar.  As he flickers back to his normal appearance, she turns to Lira and Reyu.  “I’ll see you at dawn.”

Both nod in acknowledgement, and Lira silently follows the elf as they make their way back down the stairs to the lower room where the rest of the party is sleeping.

Lira walks carefully.  Her head feels full and light, as though the slightest touch will set it spinning on her shoulders.  

She tells herself that it must be the incense.

_Yeah,_ she tells herself as she crawls into her bedroll, _right._


----------



## brellin

brellin said:
			
		

> We are waiting for an update.QUOTE]
> by we I mean the voices in my head


----------



## Lazybones

Very nice. Liked the talking camel and the sorcerer community a lot. Plus it's nice to see how relatively common magic items (i.e. the decanter) can make a significant impact on the game. Makes you wonder; one of those, put to carefully considered use, could make an end to deserts...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Fifty-Ninth*
_In which: _

Gong.

With the coming of the dawn, Manaal awakes for sunrise prayers.

Gong.

Assuming she slept at all.

Gong.

Lira groggily pulls herself out of her bedroll, and begins the climb to the top chamber of the tower.  _She must sleep_, Lira tells herself.  _All wizards sleep._  Still, Lira has to admit, Manaal is like no wizard she has ever met.  Who knows how the Chosen Son of Ehkt renews her spells each day? 

Gong.

Well, Ehkt would, obviously.

Gong.

By the time Lira arrives, Manaal and Reyu are already there, both disgustingly alert and refreshed.  Lira settles to her knees on the scratchy wool carpet as the gong rings one last time and Manaal begins her rituals greet the new day and the return of the sun.

The uppermost chamber of the tower is swelteringly hot, the warm air from the single window adding movement to the baking atmosphere, but no relief.  Lira closes her eyes.  _Meditate_, she tells herself. _Don’t sleep._  A wave of heat passes over her.  _Or,_ she adds, _pass out_.

**********

Lira and Reyu rejoin the others for breakfast.  “Where’s Manaal?”  Thatch wants to know.

Lira finishes her third glass of water and holds out her cup for more.  “Upstairs,” she replies.

“She is conducting her private meditations,” Reyu adds more usefully.  “Perhaps to determine whether she shall aid us in the next leg of our journey.”

*

_Before retiring the previous night the party had asked Manaal if she would be able to assist them on completing the next leg of their journey to find the archmage Barnabus.  Manaal had never heard of Barnabus, and so could not take the party directly to him, but the party hoped she might get them as far as Nyarii, saving them another long trek through the desert.

Manaal had fixed Lira with an odd look when she posed the question.  “Do you not desire the challenge of making the journey yourselves?”

Although some members of the party would be quite happy to frankly reveal their thoughts on challenges for the sake of challenge, Lira chose a more diplomatic approach.  

“A long desert crossing is a challenge we are ill-equipped for, and we would not do ourselves or our superiors any service by dying before our last invitation was delivered.  We do not wish to impose, but any assistance would be appreciated.”

Manaal had at least seemed satisfied with that explanation, and promised to mediate on her response._

*

“I have made a request of Kettenek that he ask Ehkt to intercede on our behalf and tell Manaal to transport us back to Dar Pykos,” Anvil announces.

His companions pause to stare at him.

“Do you think that will work?” asks Eva.

“It is more likely to work than not asking,” he replies.

No one can argue with that.

###

When Manaal descends about an hour later, the party is eager to learn if Anvil’s entreaty has been effective.

“I have not yet consulted with the Lord on that matter,” Manaal replies soberly.  “In fact, I came to offer you the chance to speak to Him yourselves.”

The members of the party are a bit stunned.  Manaal, however, is not finished.  “I can offer you each an opportunity.  For the faithful, Ehkt will answer one question.  If you can pass the test.”

“What kind of test?”  Anvil asks.

Manaal smiles—just a little—as she replies, “It is a trial by fire, naturally.”

Eva, remembering her last trial by water, looks uncertain.  Reyu purses her lips, careful how she phrases her question.  “The faithful… Do you mean those who worship Ehkt?”

“Not only those who have faith in my Lord.  There are many kinds of faith:  faith in His siblings, in oneself.  Pursuits of knowledge or higher truth are also valid for this test.”

Kiara shifts anxiously from foot to foot.  “Can we ask a question of prophecy?”

“You may ask any question you like, as long as it can be answered with ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

Manaal informs the party that while the trial is not without risk, she will do her best to be sure they are not permanently harmed.  They may use whatever means are at their disposal to protect themselves from the flames, and if they wish to cease the test at any time they can call out to her and she will come for them.

“Can we help each other?” Lira asks.

“Certainly.  Also, if some of you do not have questions of your own, you may endure the test to ask a question on behalf of one of your companions.”

The party asks for time to prepare spells and formulate questions.  Manaal takes her leave, promising to return in one hour.

Reyu quickly decides what question she would like to ask the Lord of Light.  She notices Lira, sitting to one side, unconsciously chewing on her lower lip.

“It is certainly a challenge,” she tells the young sorcerer. 

Lira stops short of rolling her eyes… barely.  “Yes, Reyu.  Thank you for pointing that out.  The only problem is ‘Why me?’ and ‘What the hell?’ aren’t yes or no questions.”

Anvil shrugs.  “I have no polar questions for Ehkt.”

Annika and Kiara look up from an intense conversation.  “If you wouldn’t mind, there’s a question we might need you to ask for us…”

**********

When the hour passes, Manaal returns and leads the party upwards through the tower, past the top chamber, and onto the roof.

The roof is perfectly flat, in the shape of a circle fifty feet across.  There are no guardrails or crenellations, and more than 100 feet above the desert sands, the wind whips around them all mercilessly.

Manaal gestures for the party to wait in a cluster to one side of the roof, and positions herself across the diameter.

“To pass the test, all you need do is cross to me.”

And with that she casts.

Although Lira and Annika both recognize the arcane phrases Manaal invokes, they correspond to no spell either is familiar with.  Ehkt is invoked numerous times, and when Manaal lowers her arms, a column of fire leaps from the surface of the tower and races towards the sun.

The burst of heat that follows is immediate and intense.  It surely would have singed the party had not everyone already been under the effect of _resist elements_ or _protection from fire_.  Lira takes the additional precaution of casting _create water_ directly above her head, soaking herself.

Anvil and Reyu immediately stride forward into the flames.  Lira and Eva each throw the other a look that seems to say “here goes…” and follow.  Annika grips Kiara by the hand, and wizard and familiar step simultaneously into the fire.

Thatch sets the pitcher on the roof.  “Fresh geyser.”  A stream of water shoots upwards.  When he’s sure the force of the stream isn’t going to send him flying off the the edge, Thatch tips the mouth of the pitcher towards the flames.

The fire is completely unaffected.  Thatch sighs.  “Stop.”  

Thatch picks up the now empty pitcher, and sets aside 18 years of common sense.  _Alirria, help me do my job,_ he intones silently, and with no further hesitation, strides forward.


----------



## jerichothebard

I can't wait to hear what the questions are!

Great stuff, as always, and very inspiring.  I'm sending my players into the desert now, and may just be stealing some of this for inspiration...

thanks!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Sixtieth*
_In which: our heroes traverse fire, and… well, isn’t fire enough?_

Inside the fire, the heat is searing. Anvil takes one step forward, then another.  He can feel the hair on his arms curling up and singeing.  His lungs burn.  Another step, and another.  Anvil takes comfort from the stones beneath his feet.  They are a reminder of Ketennek’s presence as much as the magic that he knows is keeping him from being burned alive.  Another step and…

The fire is gone.

Anvil takes a breath.  By comparison, the air is cool.  He looks around and sees that the fire is not a solid column, but a ring.  Like the eye of a storm, a space at the center of the roof about ten feet in diameter is untouched by the flames and heat that rage on all sides.

Reyu emerges from the fire.  Then Lira, Eva.  Annika and Kiara.  Finally… Thatch.

“Is everyone alright?”  Anvil asks.

Annika shakes her head.  Lira is already casting _cure light wounds_ on herself, and Anvil notices she has been completely dried by her passage through the fire.  Anvil heals Annika’s wounds, much to Kiara’s relief.

Reyu pauses to make a brief prayer to Ehkt.

All the adventurers reenter the flames.

The second time through is no easier.  Lira grits her teeth and wills herself forward, ears full of the roaring of the flames and the pounding of her own heart.  Briefly, she thinks, _I’m insane.  I am walking through fire because a strange woman in the desert I just met has told me that if I do, I can ask one question of my god.  I’m not sure she’s not crazy, and I’m following her._

But, she keeps walking.  And with another step, she is out of the flames.  

Manaal is asking her a question.  “Do you need help?”

Lira stares up at the other woman.  She can smell her own burnt hair like a cloud around her.  She’s pretty sure that if she speaks, the skin around her mouth will crack. 

Euro’s voice pokes into her consciousness.  Hey Boss, I think the answer is yes, you know?

Slowly, Lira nods.

Manaal speaks another invocation and places a hand on the young sorcerer’s forehead.  Soon, Lira feels the familiar, and welcome, warmth of Ehkt’s healing energy wash over her.  In seconds, her burns have vanished.

“Do any of the rest of you require assistance?” Manaal asks.

Anvil shakes his head as he casts _cure light wounds_ on Eva.  “I will see to them.  We are all fine.”

“Indeed,” says Manaal, “and you have all proved yourselves worthy.  Follow me.”

Regrouped and mostly recovered, the party follows Manaal down off the roof and into the tower’s top chamber.

###

In the center of the room, Manaal has prepared a brazier filled with wood and aromatics.  Her familiar touches the pile and soon it is burning merrily.  Manaal then kneels and chants over the flames for some moments.

Kiara watches the fire anxiously, knowing intuitively that if something is going to happen, the flames will be its source.  She knows her question, but is almost afraid to hear the answer.

She blinks.  The smoke must be getting in her eyes.  For a second there she thought—  No, it’s not the smoke.  A face has formed in the center of the flames, and it is looking back at her.

Much like the image of Alirria that appeared to the party in the Vale of the Holy Spring, the face is indistinct.  It is constantly changing, flickering and wavering like… well, fire.  It is, however, clearly vibrant, a round, full face that at times seems to sport a beard, and at other times appears clean-shaven.  

Manaal opens her eyes for the first time since she began chanting.  “You may each ask a single question.”

Kiara is suddenly shy, and allows Reyu to ask her question first.  Reyu looks steadily at the brazier as she speaks, as though there is nothing odd about addressing a fire.  She asks her question:

“There is a lost one, and I feel partially responsible for her lack of direction.  Should I pursue Amelia?”

At first, there is no response.  Then the voice comes, rich and sonorous.  “Less ill will be found in the attempt than in not seeking her.”

Reyu steps back and Kiara feels Annika gently nudging her forward, prompting her to go next.

Kiara tries to be as confident as Reyu was, but she cannot quite keep the trace of nervous excitement out of her voice.  “Will I,” she asks, “in my lifetime, meet others like me, of my race?”

The answer both pleases and surprises her.  “You are unique, but others like you, you shall encounter again.”  Kiara is excited, but also puzzled.  What does he mean, *again*?

She does not have time to dwell on it though, for Anvil is already coming forward, and he is asking a question on her behalf.  “Are any of Kiara’s kind living in the Halmae in lands that I, Anvil, know?”

This answer is simple: “Yes.”

Annika then asks if Tor Smithson, the man her parents have found for her to marry, is a good match for her.

Again, the answer, “Yes.”

Thatch and Eva also ask related questions.  Thatch wants to know (a bit oddly, Kiara thinks), “Is the Advocates’ ultimate goal evil?”

“No more evil than the wind.”

This seems to mean something Eva who asks, “Is it still possible for me to follow both Alirria and Sedellus?”

“Both my sisters lay claim to you.  What path you follow is up to you.”

Lira is last, and a hush falls over the room as the others wait to hear what question she will pose.  The sorcerer swallows once, then looks straight into the fire.  “Ehkt, you have set before me many challenges.  Do I follow your path in a manner that is pleasing to you?”

There is a pause before the response comes.

“Yes, or my gifts would not be upon you.”

Lira lets out a long breath and settles back on her heels.  Manaal nods, but the spell has clearly not yet ended.  She looks to the party members.  “If you would excuse me,” she says.  “I will not descend for some time.  If you would like to join me at prayers, come when you hear the chimes.”

The others quickly withdraw and leave her to her communion.


----------



## Seonaid

_That_--deserves a contented sigh. Thank you, all who were involved in this.


----------



## dpdx

Yes, excellent series of updates.

Is Manaal being considered at this point by the party for the job of running the Mage's Academy in Dar Pykos? Sorry if that sounds obtuse, but I can't remember if they were here to search out a candidate in Ebis or just dropping off the Spiner-crystal...


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> Is Manaal being considered at this point by the party for the job of running the Mage's Academy in Dar Pykos? Sorry if that sounds obtuse, but I can't remember if they were here to search out a candidate in Ebis or just dropping off the Spiner-crystal...



Spiner-crystal... Heh.

Manaal is indeed absolutly under consideration for the position of Chancellor.  She's the real reason they've come to Ebis.  Gemil was just a side-trek dangling plot thread from the Petros adventure.

I'm fairly certain they would have buried Gemil in a sand dune before going to the amount of trouble to help him that they've had to go to to find Manaal...


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Sixty-First*
_In which: our heroes go from fire to water._

After very lengthy prayers at noon, Manaal descends along with Lira and opens a gap in the wall of the tower so that the rest of the party can check on their horses and camels.

Manaal also informs the party that she will aid them on their journey, transporting them to the Old Sea Road, a few days travel outside the port city of Nyarii, from which point the party can book passage to whatever locale they choose.  She also informs them, “Ehkt has spoken to me, and in accordance with His wishes, I will go to Dar Pykos and present myself to serve as Chancellor of your Academy.”

There is a brief pause.  Most members of the party are pretty sure that they made it clear there were other candidates for the job.  No one decides to push the issue.

“Umm…” Thatch begins, “will you be able to transport Bob too?”

“Bob?”

“My horse.”

It’s funny.  Previous to that moment, Eva would not have thought it possible for Manaal to appear nonplussed, but Thatch’s question has clearly caught her off-guard.  On reflection, she supposes that Thatch often gets a that reaction to that particular question.

After a brief pause, Manaal replies.  “I believe it would be possible.  However,” she adds preemptively, “if you wish to continue with your camels, you will have to travel on your own.”

The party quickly agrees that the camels need not come with them.

Instead, Reyu removes the camels’ harnesses and unloads the party’s gear that they had been carrying.  She then casts _speak with animals_.

Head for water she tells them.  The camels look at her oddly, and choose not to dignify such obvious advice with a response.  

Apparently, these camels are not a talkative bunch.

Meanwhile, Anvil and Annika both cast _detect magic_ and go through the remains of the Ebisite battalion.

Annika is fascinated by one soldier’s body.  Although he was clearly immolated at high heat, his sword and armor are intact, and both radiate magic.

“What kind of magic?” Thatch asks.

Annika just shakes her head.  “I don’t know.  It’s just… magic.  Kind of like the _magic weapon_ spell, I think, but that wouldn’t still be active after this long.”  

Mindful of the Ebisite prohibitions against robbing the dead, Annika decides it is worth the risk to take the armor and sword and hide them away among the party’s equipment for further study later.

Nearby, Anvil examines a horribly burned and maimed soldier who clutches the charred remains of what looks like a spellbook some kind of scepter topped with a large piece of onyx.  Anvil nearly overlooks the scepter because it has no magical aura.  However, remembering Manaal’s description of the Ebisite ambush, he looks again and notices that the scepter seems, on the contrary, to be almost *aggressively* non-magical.

He finds another one on another body, and packs both away to be brought to the Temple of Justice upon his return.

Manaal does not emerge again that day, and the party members—except for Lira who has remained inside—camp beneath the stars, for once not bothered by the warm nights in this part of the desert interior.  
###

The next morning after dawn prayers, Lira gathers the last of her things and follows Manaal out of the tower to meet up with the rest of her friends.

She never thought that stepping out into the desert in mid-morning would feel cool, but in comparison with the tower, it almost pleasant.  Not only is the outside air perceptively cooler, and unlike the still air inside, here there is a breeze.

“Are you ready?” Manaal asks the party.  

They indicate that they are and divide into two groups of roughly equal weight for the teleport.

Thatch is with Kiara, Annika and Bob in the second group.  They cluster around Manaal, she raises her hands, and then…

… the world is suddenly cooler.

Thatch finds himself standing on a bit of dry-packed earth in the shade of an olive tree.  Just twenty feet behind him, is the Halmae.  Manaal indicates a rise just to the north.

“The Old Sea Road is there,” she tells them, “it will lead you to Nyarii.”

Anvil makes his farewells on behalf of the group.  “May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you,” he tells Manaal.

“And thank you,” Lira adds.

Manaal accepts both.  “I will see you in Dar Pykos,” she tells them.  “May the radiance of the Lord light your ways, consume your fears, and warm your souls.”  

And she disappears in a flash of white.  

There is a moment of silence as the party members watch the spot she vanished from.

Then, nearly as one, they drop their things and bolt for the water, splashing and whooping as they go.


----------



## Len

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “Ehkt has spoken to me, and in accordance with His wishes, I will go to Dar Pykos and present myself to serve as Chancellor of your Academy.”



Wow, Anvil's sure got connections in high places.



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> Annika just shakes her head.  “I don’t know.  It’s just… magic.  Kind of like the _magic weapon_ spell, I think, but that wouldn’t still be active after this long.”



Oh, you poor, deprived players!


----------



## Fink

Spyscribe,

I'm de-lurking for the first time in years to thank you (and Fajitas) for your fantastic story hour and to beg you to hold off on the updates for just a couple of days.  I have a grant application to finish.  Surely you don't want WttH to impede the progress of science?


----------



## spyscribe

Quick catch-up on comments:



			
				Supaida said:
			
		

> You know, the best thing about that scene? Just going by the spells she casts, Manaal isn't even terribly high level. But you don't have to be 20th level to be a horrifying death machine, you just have to be higher level than anyone else in the area.




You are completely right.  Heck, the party is just about to hit sixth level, at this point in the story, and *we're* pretty bad-ass at this point.  I mean, not Manaal levels of bad-ass, but  at least a little bad.



			
				fink said:
			
		

> I'm de-lurking for the first time in years to thank you (and Fajitas) for your fantastic story hour and to beg you to hold off on the updates for just a couple of days. I have a grant application to finish. Surely you don't want WttH to impede the progress of science?




Ah, grant applications.  Makes me long for my days as an admin, formatting NIH biosketches... no, wait.  It doesn't.  Good luck with the grant, welcome aboard, and for everyone else, update coming in a couple of minutes.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Sixty-Second*
_In which: Thatch reflects on traditional Elven greetings._

Much cooled and refreshed from their impromptu bath, the group eventually resumes the road for Nayarii.

A few hours walk down the road, Lira asks a question that’s been nagging at her.  “What are we going to do when we get to the city and they ask to see our passports?” 

“We’ve got passports,” Thatch points out.

“Yes, but they don’t say that we’re traveling to Nayarii.  They say we’re going to,” (Lira has to pull hers out to check) “En Tyai.”

“Oh.  Right.”

Eva makes a radical suggestion.  “We could always tell them that we *were* going to En Tyai, but then were abandoned by our guide and, after wandering lost in the desert, eventually made our way to the Sea Road and this is the first city we’ve come to.”

“It does have the virtue of being true,” Lira allows.

“If incomplete,” Anvil adds.

“Will that be a problem?” 

Anvil is just about to respond when a shout comes from the side of the road.  

“Freeze humans!  Release our sister!”

The voice is gruff, and although the command was in Common it does not sound like that language is the speaker’s native tongue.

A moment later, a small group of elves show themselves from behind a bluff on the side of the road.  They look like no elves that anyone in the party (including Reyu) has ever seen before.  Their skin is dark, darker than even that of the darkest human Ebisites the party has seen.  Their clothing is a fierce-looking hodge-podge of the remains of several desert creatures: leather of various beasts, feathers of vultures and desert eagles, bone fragments.  It takes the party a moment to realize that the bits of armor the elves wear are parts of the carapace of a giant scorpion.  

Adding to their aggressive appearance are the lines of colored paint on their faces.  And, of course, the fact that all of them have arrows drawn and ready to fire on the party.

Thatch silently reflects that, while these elves’ means of dress may be unfamiliar, staring down the shaft of elven arrows is an all-too-familiar sight.  Somehow, that’s how elves *always* seem to start conversations with them.

“We’re not holding her!” Lira calls back as she, along with the rest of the party, freezes obediently.

The elven leader approaches cautiously, bow still drawn.  Reyu does not let her guard drop for a second.  Although it has not been worn by her tribe since before her Grandmother was young, she knows what his face paint means.  These elves are preparing for war.

The elven leader calls out to Reyu in Elven, “Is this true?  You are not these humans’ prisoner?”  To Reyu’s ear, his speech is strongly accented, although she can follow what he is saying.  She wonders if the other members of the party who speak Elven are having trouble.

“I am not,” she replies.  As he nears, Reyu can read the other elf’s braids.  He is Raku Oren of the Putan tribe of the Shesher nation.  His achievement braid indicates that he is a valiant warrior of many daring exploits. 

As Reyu absorbs this information, she is keenly aware that Raku is reading her braids and absorbing her own history. “Why did you think I was being held against my will?” she asks him, in Common this time.

Raku’s eye has now fallen on Kiara’s braids, and it is with some difficulty that he pulls his attention back to Reyu’s question.  “You were with humans,” he says simply.

“I see,” Reyu responds.  “And are humans the reason you are girded for bloodshed?” 

“Four children have been taken from the Olam tribe,” he explains, still only addressing Reyu.  “The child-thieves have locked themselves inside a human village.  The Shesher will not rest until they are returned.”

Reyu’s breath hisses sharply through her teeth.  Elves treasure their children above all else.  The taking of four by humans… Small wonder the Shesher are preparing for war.

Lira, Annika, and Kiara *have* been following at least most of the conversation and fill in the others as the matter progresses.  “But why?” Kaira blurts out. “Why would they take your children?”

Raku spits in the sand.  “They do not need a reason.  They have been taking our children for years without reason.  This time, they will pay for their theft in blood.”

Reyu turns to Anvil.  “This kidnapping?  Surely it is not… permissible… not even as a means to obtain slaves.”

“This is not in the Confederacy,” Anvil answers, “I am not an expert in the laws of this land.”

“Are the Shesher determined to extract a blood price?” Reyu asks Raku.

“*We* desire the return of our children.  It is *they* who demand bloodshed by their refusal to return them to us!”

“Where is this village?” Reyu asks him.  “Perhaps we can convince the humans to release your children without need for war.”

Raku snorts.  “And why would they listen to you?”

“We are outsiders.  We have no stake here, merely the desire to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.”  She indicates Anvil.  “He is a law-maker among his people.”

Raku considers Anvil with undisguised suspicion.  “If he is a law-maker, he should make laws against what these humans have done.”

Anvil, having received a quick translation, addresses Reyu.  “You should tell him that the doctrines of Universal Law would prevent such acts, as they are not holy in the sight of Kettenek.”  He stands back and waits for Reyu to translate.

Reyu blinks at him.  “Would you be willing to try to make a settlement?” she asks him.

“If the children were not Justly taken, certainly.”

“There can be no justification for what has happened to them, surely.”

Anvil is unruffled.  “That is what Justice demands we find out.”

Raku snarls at this discussion.  “The humans can not be reasoned with, but if that is your desire, you need to speak with the War Hand.  She commands the gathered forces of the Shesher nation.”  

_(For those readers wanting the true Halmae table experience, imagine twenty minutes of “is this our problem?” discussion here.  For the rest, suffice it to say_

Some party members are dubious that this is their cause to take on, but eventually agree it is worthwhile to at least learn more about the situation from the War Hand.  

_(And so, I am just a little embarrassed to admit, began two sessions of “talk to the hand” jokes.)_

“Where can we find her?” Reyu asks.

Raku does not seem pleased that “we” obviously includes the humans of the party, but he does not answer directly.  Instead, he turns to one of the other warriors with him and barks at her sharply in elven.  He then addresses the party.  “She will take you to her.”


----------



## Capellan

I'm surprised there was so much discussion about whether to get involved.  The party seem generally altruistic and I can't see Reyu or Kiara walking away from this.

"Talk to the hand", though, is fuh-NEE.


----------



## Seonaid

::snicker:: Talk to the hand.


----------



## KidCthulhu

The elven custom of naming leaders after body parts has always seemed like a design decision fraught with peril.  I mean, there are just too many funny parts.  

I, for one, woud certainly be rotfl at the chance to talk to the tribal Rectum.


----------



## dpdx

Talking to the Hand is definitely funnier. Nicely done, spyscribe.

But you can't seriously say that joke lasted _two sessions_, can you?


----------



## spyscribe

dpdx said:
			
		

> But you can't seriously say that joke lasted _two sessions_, can you?




Oh, I'm not proud about it, but it really did.  

  After the first time, no one even had to make the joke.  I'd just flash the "palm out" sign to Eva's player across the table, and we'd both lose it.

WisdomLikeSilence did so much good background work on the elves, came up with their whole system of government.  And look what she gets for it.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Sixty-Third*
_In which: the party talks to the… you know, that women in charge of the war._

Their guide takes off at a run, and the party is hard-pressed to follow.  After several hours, they are forced to ask her to slow down and allow them to catch their breaths.  The woman does, but grudgingly, slowing her pace just enough so that the party does not lose their way in the gathering twilight.

Sometime after midnight, the party finally reaches a small encampment, and is escorted to see the War Hand. 

She is middle-aged, for an elf, and wears thick and heavily-decorated braids which give her name as Maya Reni of the Olam Tribe and describe her as a “raider of raiders.”  Like the ten warriors who accompany her, her face is painted, making her appear alien and savage.

She glares at the party.  “You come to defend these stealers of children?”

Reyu hurries to explain.  “We are neutral parties here.  We merely wish to help avoid bloodshed if we can, and return your children to you.  What happened?”

It’s some moments before the War Hand answers.  “The human soldiers invaded our camp three nights ago.  They completely overwhelmed us and took four of our young ones.”

“Why?”

Maya’s eyes snap fire.  “There is no reason for what they have done.”

Reyu presses the other woman.  “You’re sure the attackers were soldiers, not slavers?”

“Yes.”

“Had the tribe encountered the soldiers?  Perhaps fought with them?  Why were they angered?”

“The tribe had done nothing to these humans.”  

Maya answers quickly, and with considerable anger, but Reyu detects a hint of bluster about her.  Somehow, she suspects that she is not being told the whole story.  The other woman continues.  “We immediately called to the other tribes for aid and pursued the child-thieves across the desert.  But before we could catch them, they took refuge in the human village and have blockaded themselves in.  

“Since then, we have attacked the village every night.  Thus far, they have held us back.  But more and more of the Shesher have been coming to our call to action.  Very soon, we shall have the strength to take the humans by force, raze their village, and rescue our children.”

“Raze the village? But what about the human villagers?” Lira can’t help asking.

“What about them?”

“If you raze the village… I mean, there must be innocent people living there.  Your fight is with the soldiers,” Lira says, stammering slightly under the unflinching gaze of the War Hand.  “You’ll let the civilians go, won’t you?”

The War Hand is unequivocal.  “It is the human soldiers that have brought this fight to the door of their people.  Their deaths are not on our hands.”

 “Surely you have warned them?” Reyu asks.  “Tried to reason with them?  Can the humans not be persuaded to return the children on their own?”

“They have received our ultimatum.  Still they refuse.”

The party confers.

“We should speak to the villagers,” Anvil says.  

“We should get the hell out of here,” Thatch counters.  “This has nothing to do with us.”

“Don’t you want to try and stop this?” Lira asks.  “Innocent people are going die.”

“Innocent people die every day,” Eva points out.

There is a pause.

“What?  I’m not saying I like it, I’m just saying it’s true,” she adds a bit defensively.

Reyu turns back to the War Hand.  “Can your people delay their attack?  Give us time to speak to the villagers and see if a peaceful settlement can be reached.”

The War Hand shakes her head.  “I have no time to give you.  More human soldiers are on the way.  They will reach the village in three days.  If we do not take the village before they arrive, we will not be able to take it.  And we will never see our children again.” 

“You have three days.  Surely, to save the lives of the children and those of your own warriors, you can give us one of those days.”

“Warriors of the Shesher are not afraid to die for our children,” she snaps reflexively.  

There is a pause.  “I do not doubt your resolve, sister,” Reyu says quietly.  “But it is not incompatible with our request.”

The War Hand is thoughtful.  Finally, she says, “Very well.  We will not attack until sundown tomorrow.  I give you until then to speak reason to the humans.  But be warned, if you fail, we will attack.  And I can make no guarantee of your safety if you are still in the village.”   

As the rest of the party beds down to catch what anxious sleep they can before dawn—when the War Hand has agreed to send them with an escort to within sight of the village—Reyu goes to talk with the other warriors to see if she can learn anything more about what has predicated this situation.

She returns to the group a few hours later.

“What did you find out?” Eva asks.

Reyu shakes her head, and merely indicates that they should wait until they can speak privately.

###

Shortly after dawn, the party leaves their elven escorts at the edge of the elven encampment and makes their way alone through the no-man’s land between the wild scrub and the village.  

“So?” Eva asks Reyu pointedly as they make their way towards the earthworks mounded around the village.

Reyu waits until she is sure that they are out of ear-shot of their guides.  “The War Hand was not entirely forthcoming regarding the events that precipitated the kidnapping,” she admits.

“No, really?” Thatch mutters.

“The children… counted coup against a human caravan that was traveling on the Sea Road,” she explains.

“Counted coup?”

“The oldest is only 17; they are babies.  Counting coup is a way to prove honor and daring, to earn accomplishments in the eyes of the tribe.”  Reyu indicates her own achievement braid by way of explanation.  “Among my people, a youngling might track a bear, then touch it with a stick in front of witnesses, without the bear attacking or running away.”

Anvil, who has been quietly grinding his teeth for much of the morning, interjects.  “I doubt the humans would have kidnapped the children for poking a caravan with sticks.”

Reyu pauses, mulling her words carefully.  “The children… took trophies from the caravan.”

“What kind of trophies?” Eva asks, dubious.

“Tell me it wasn’t ears,” says Lira.

There is a long pause.

“Oh, gods!”


----------



## Arkhandus

Guh.  Vicious little elves, huh?  The PC rogue in my game likes to collect enemy ears and toes for some reason.......but then, he's chaotic neutral, and says wierd things all the time......


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Sixty-Fourth*
_In which: a reluctant fighter meets an obligated officer and a sassy sorcerer narrowly preserves her back._

Following that revelation, the party stops to reconsider their position.  Many members are ready to turn back for the Sea Road right then and there.

On that side, Thatch makes several compelling points:


This isn’t their fight.
The elves have already lied to them, and he is disinclined to go out on a limb for them on that account.
The kids cut off ears!

Reyu counters that she was told that the children offered the humans healing, that that humans made no attempt to express their displeasure before kidnapping the younglings, and that death or enslavement are hardly proportional punishments for the crime of children who thought they were playing a harmless game.

Anvil points out that ignorance of the law is no excuse and that extra-judicial mutilation is generally not regarded as behavior acceptable under Kettenek’s law, be one a young wild sand-elf or no.

“Look at it this way,” Lira points out.  “If we do nothing, the elves are going to lay siege to the village until they either destroy it or the Ebisite army arrives to destroy them, and either way, in the middle of the whole thing is a village full of people who really don’t have anything to do with this except that they had the misfortune of the soldiers deciding to shelter there.”

“Your point?” Anvil asks as Lira pauses for breath.

“That if we go to the village we might be able to talk some sense into someone.”

Thatch snorts.  “Sense doesn’t seem to be in great supply.”

“Does going to the village in any way increase the possibility of innocent blood being shed?” Lira asks.

“Yes,” Thatch replies, “ours!”

Anvil picks up his pack again and starts towards the village.  “I will warn you,” he says, looking straight at Reyu, “if these negotiations fail, from what I know of the matter so far, I am likely to side with the villagers against the elves.”

Reyu looks back at him just as steadily.  “That is your choice.”

Seeing that Anvil is bound to continue on this crazed mission, Thatch picks up his own gear again and continues towards the town.  The rest of the group follows suit.

###

The party arrives at a town under siege.  The village is surrounded by earthworks peppered with Elven arrows.  The ground is marred with bloodstains and scorch marks, testifying to the fierce battles fought over the last few nights. During more peaceful times, a large wooden gate allowed entry into the town proper.  Now, the gates have been augmented by piles of rough timber, garbage, and anything else that could be quickly pressed into service as reinforcement.

Reyu guesses that outside the village there were once extensive olive groves and date orchards, but the trees have all been felled or burned—by which side is unclear—and the remaining stumps _woodshaped_ into low cover for use by archers.  _Clearly_, she thinks, _these humans will not be easily convinced that the elves are ready to reason._ 

Reyu stops abruptly.

Lira notices and turns back to see what has developed. 

“Lira, might I borrow your hat?”

###

The party puts a handkerchief on the end of Thatch’s sword and waves it around a bit before cresting the earthworks and beginning their descent into the town proper.  Thanks to Lira’s _hat of disguise_ and Kiara not being in bird form, the party appears to consist of seven ordinary, albeit foreign, humans as they approach the small group of soldiers who stand waiting for them.

Leading the Ebisites is a Lieutenant Katib who naturally wants to know how they have reached the village through the elven lines.  The party explains how they were waylaid by the elves on the road and then convinced them to allow them in to negotiate.

Katib is only a little skeptical.  “They never seemed interested in negotiation before,” he points out.

“We are foreign to this land,” Anvil points out.  “They rightly determined we have no interests here.”

(“You can say that again,” Thatch mutters.)

Katib shrugs his shoulders.  “If you wish to help, convince the elves to let us pass.  I have orders to take the prisoners back to Nayarii to stand trial, and I will see it done.”

“The elves are not inclined to let you pass with their children,” Anvil informs him.

“Since I am not able to release them, it seems we shall have to remain here.” There is the slightest hint of smugness in Katib’s voice, as if he knows a secret the party does not.

Reyu correctly guesses what it is.  “You cannot wait them out,” she says.  “The elves know your reinforcements are coming.  They will take this village before help arrives.”

For an instant, there is the slightest hint of doubt in Katib’s eyes.  But it is quickly replaced with the stoic look of a professional soldier.  “Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  It is in the hands of the gods now, I suppose.”

Lira attempts another tack.  “What about the people here.  Surely you can’t let them be slaughtered over… over an ear!”

Katib turns a hard look on Lira.  “A citizen of Ebis was assaulted and mutilated on the Sea Road by elven brigands,” he says.  “We cannot tolerate banditry on the Sea Road, especially not from the Shesher, to whom the merchants of the Empire pay a hefty sum every year to stay off the road.  We cannot let this attack go unanswered.  An example must be made.”

“Even if it means the death of your soliders?  Of these villagers?” Lira says.

Katib stands firm.  “I have my orders,” he says.

“The elves you have taken prisoner are just children,” Reyu protests.  “They may not have known of your… arrangement… with the Shesher.  They thought they were playing a game.”

 “Mutilation is a game?” 

“They claim they left healing for those they injured.”

“They lie.  No such healing was found,” Katib sighs.  “I am sorry, I truly am.  I am sorry for these children, whose parents did not teach them well enough, and I am sorry for the innocents here.  But it is out of my hands.  I’m not authorized to deal.  Not unless Jamaladeen decides to drop the charges.”

“Jamaladeen?” Reyu asks.

“The merchant who was attacked.”

“Perhaps we should speak to him then,” Anvil suggests.

The Lieutenant shakes his head.  “You’re welcome to try.  But I don’t think it will do any good.”

###

Katib escorts the party to the house where Jamaladeen has been billeted.  Along the way, Anvil asks him, “I realize that this man’s honor has been offended, and that your agreement with the Shesher was violated, but is this not a lot of trouble to go to on behalf of a single merchant?”

Katib seems just the slightest bit aggravated, but Anvil gets the impression that his irritation is not directed towards the party.  “Jamaladeen is a rich and influential merchant, with rich and powerful friends…  I have very little latitude for discretion in this assignment.”

Anvil nods.  “I see.”

Katib makes introductions.  Jamaladeen is a short man, with a large frame, dressed in ostentatiously rich robes.  He is surrounded by five much larger bodyguards, whose swarthy, unfriendly looks place them somewhere on the scale between cutthroat and thug.  

Rather quickly, Katib leaves the party to converse with Jamaladeen in private.  Well, relative privacy anyway.  Lira is convinced that anyone standing within ten feet of the door of the cottage would be able to hear the outraged merchant’s side of the conversation at least.

“My honor has been offended and restitution must be made!” he demands in a loud, booming voice.  The man isn’t Aegosian, but she’s willing to bet he’s had trade dealings with them.

Jamaladeen continues, “I cannot go abroad without everyone knowing of my disfigurement!  Not to mention my poor wife!”

Eva, who has noticed that the merchant has two fully intact ears ventures, “You appear fine… sir.”

“No thanks to those filthy little savages.  We’re fine *now*.  I had to pay a priest to _regenerate_ my ear.  And my wife’s, too.  Do you know what that kind of blessing costs?”

“Perhaps if the elves compensated you for your _regeneration_,” Lira suggests, hoping Reyu will keep her head, or at least, her hat in the face of Jamaldeen’s bigotry.

“They couldn’t afford it.  Besides, how could they compensate me for the lost business this has cost me?  I’m the laughingstock of Nayarii!”

“Perhaps you wouldn’t be if you hadn’t been so… forthright about your dishonor,” Lira ventures.

Jamaladeen stops his tirade and glares at the young sorcerer.  She returns his glower with her blandest smile.  Jamaladeen’s eyes snap and he turns, red-faced and shaking with outrage, to Anvil.

“If you do not teach this urchin some manners, I will do it myself.”  As he speaks, he allows his right hand to fall heavily on a cat o’ nine tails that hangs at his belt.

“That,” Anvil replies in clipped tones, “is enough.”

However, his remark was not addressed to Lira.

Jamaladeen’s eyes narrow.  “I *beg* your pardon?”

Anvil nods shortly.  “Good.” He turns to the others.  “If no one has any further questions…?”

Reyu steps forward.  She had not noticed the whip wielded by the merchant until he placed his hand on it, but something about it has caught her eye.  Each tongue of the lash is made of knotted ropes.  

“I could not help but admire your… weapon.  Where did you obtain it?”

This seems to mollify Jamaladeen somewhat.  He shoots Lira another quick glare and draws the cat o’ nine tails from his belt, holding it out so that the party can see.  (Lira does her best not to flinch.)

“I had it made, custom.”  He holds out two of the strings.  “These two, the little brats left behind.  See how they like getting a taste of their own.”

Up close, Reyu confirms her earlier suspicions.  The ropes are not knotted randomly; they contain elven writing.


----------



## Shieldhaven

Duuude.  Cool plot twist!

I'm impressed with how well the importance of elven knotted writing was built up in play, then used in an unexpected way.  Fajitas, you may not like this, but I need to eat your brain to gain your powers.    

Haven


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Shieldhaven said:
			
		

> Duuude.  Cool plot twist!
> 
> Fajitas, you may not like this, but I need to eat your brain to gain your powers.
> 
> Haven





Nope.  Sorry.  You are not allowed to eat my husband's brain.  

We're using it, you see. 

-WLS


----------



## Seonaid

Whoa . . . You and Fajitas are married? Whoa . . .

I need to rethink my thinks.


----------



## KidCthulhu

WisdomLikeSilence said:
			
		

> Nope.  Sorry.  You are not allowed to eat my husband's brain.
> 
> We're using it, you see.




It makes a great door stop!  Plus, it's tasty with fries.


----------



## Zog

Tasty with fries, and tasty when Fried!  Great with ketchup!  Good to share with friends!

A brain so tasty you don't eat it all at once! ?    


And it was a very nice wedding/mini-con.    

Still enjoying the story.


----------



## spyscribe

_Now, now.  There will be no brain-eating in this story hour...  Yet._

*Part the One-Hundred Sixty-Fifth:*
_ In which: we explore the intricacies of communicating with Elves._

Once the party is out of Jamaldeen’s earshot, Lira allows herself the luxury of a good eye-roll.  “What a dumbass.”

“Did you recognize the writing?” Reyu asks the sorcerer.

“I really didn’t want to look that closely.  But I assumed they must have been a message of some kind.  Since you were so interested in the cords, and they were left behind by the children.”

“Indeed the cords were certainly not knotted randomly… but I did not recognize what they said.  I believe they might be scrolls.”

“The elves did say that they left behind healing,” Annika offers.

Katib stops, clears his throat.  “Is there information that I should have here?” he asks.

The party blinks.  Finally Lira asks, “Well, you know how elves write, right?”

He shakes his head, “I didn’t know they did.”

“They leave a sequence of knots in pieces of rope,” she explains.  “The children counted coup against the caravan, and then left healing scrolls behind, and no one knew enough to recognize them for what they were.”

“Do you know they are scrolls of healing?”

“We do not,” Anvil points out.

“If we can get another look at the whip I’ll cast _read magic_ and find out,” Lira offers.  “Just… I’d rather it not be wielded at the time.”

Katib sighs, and rubs his temples.  “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Reyu crosses her arms in a very good imitation of human impatience.  “Now, would it be possible for us to see the children?”

###

It is with some reluctance that Katib allows the party access to the four elven captives. 

“Look,” Katib explains, “we haven’t mistreated them, but some of them did get roughed up when we grabbed them.”

“Would you object to us providing healing if it is needed?” Reyu asks.

The Lieutenant grits his teeth.  “I wouldn’t object, but I have men who are in far worse shape than they are.”

“Once we have visited the elves, I will see to your men,” Anvil informs him.

“Let’s get on with it then.”

In the end, it is only Anvil, Reyu and Lira who go into the converted shed to see the children, accompanied by Lt. Katib and his translator.

Once their eyes adjust to the dim light (which is presumably no difficulty for the elves) Anvil and Lira see the four captives.  They are all manacled, filthy, and somewhat battered, but by and large in good physical shape.  The oldest is a girl of no more than seventeen, the youngest is a boy of ten.

Reyu turns to Katib.  “These are rather… primitive… conditions.”

Katib shrugs.  “It’s better than they’re used to.  Have you seen how they live?  Barely have tents.”

It is an act of will for Reyu to keep her temper in check, but she reminds herself—once again—that these humans simply do not know any better, and tend to be slaves to their baser natures.  She ignores the Lieutenant’s question and turns her attention to the eldest of the children instead.

Reading the girl’s braids, Reyu learns she is called Zili Tuin, and although her achievement braid is short, it indicates that she is both daring a clever.  _Not clever enough_, Reyu thinks.

She addresses the child in Elven.  “Are you well?  Have you been mistreated?”

The girl has not taken her eyes off the visitors since they entered the room, and her expression holds nothing but naked hostility.  At Reyu’s question, she leans forward and deliberately spits at the other woman’s feet.  

Reyu is shocked at this grotesque display of manners from a youngling… until she remembers that she is wearing Lira’s hat of disguise.  As far as the children are concerned, she is just another human.

“You see?” says Lt. Katib indicating the pool of spittle on the ground.  “For the last three days.  That’s all we’ve gotten from them.”

Reyu ignores him and continues talking to the girl.  “Obviously, Zili, you do not lack for water, if you squander it so.”

Zili’s eyes widen briefly at the use of her name, but she merely spits at Reyu again in response.  This time, she isn’t aiming at the dirt.

Anvil does not speak Elven, but he can understand Reyu’s kind tone and recognizes blatant disrespect when he sees it.  Without a word he steps forward and slaps the girl across the face.  “You will cease this,” he informs her.  

It’s unclear if the young woman knows enough Common to understand him, but she certainly catches his meaning.  Still, even though Anvil has left a handprint across her face, Zili does not flinch or reach up to touch the abused skin.

Lt. Katib lets out a small sound of mixed fatigue and exasperation.  “Justicar, I *am* responsible for the treatment of these prisoners.  I would appreciate it if you did not leave them in worse condition than you found them.”

Anvil nods, and steps back again.

Lira casts _cure minor wounds_ on the girl.  She remarks to Reyu (in Elven, for the children’s benefit) as she does so, “Her braids say she’s smart, but I’m not seeing it.”

“Indeed,” Reyu replies.  She then adds to all the children, “We are here to help you.”

The younger three all look to the eldest for their cue.   Zili draws herself up, standing straight and proud.  “We do not need your help.”

_At last,_ Reyu thinks, _progress_.  “Do you understand what has happened to you?  These human intend to sell you into slavery.  You will never return to your parents and families.”

Zili scowls.  “Our families will bring us home.”

“Your families are trying,” Reyu corrects her.  “They have yet to succeed.  Tell me what happened when you counted coup against the human caravan.  I might be able to help you.”

A few of the younger children have begun shifting uncomfortably.  Zili glares at them, and they settle down, imitating her stare of indifference.  

“Whatever happens, I will bear it and bring honor to my people.”

Reyu turns to the other children.  “What about you?  Do you share your sister’s resolve?”

“They are Shesher!” Zili answers for them.

“Are they also mute?” Reyu retorts in exasperation.

“You speak our language badly,” Zili informs her, “and you know nothing of our ways.”

Reyu spares a quick glance at Lt. Katib, receiving a running account of the conversation from his translator.  She wishes, not for the first time, that the party had been able to convince him to let them visit the prisoners alone.  This would all be so much simpler if she could reveal her true nature to the younglings.

Instead, she says, “I have lived among the elves for longer than you have been alive, young one.  And never before have I met one as determined in her folly as you.”

Zili spits in the dirt.  With some hesitation, the other children follow suit.

Lt. Katib clears his throat.  “Unless there’s something else you wanted to ask…” he trails off, inclining his head towards the door.

Reyu tries one last-ditch effort.  She switches to Sylvan.  “Trust me,” she says in the language spoken by no human she knows.  “Let me help you.”

Zili’s eyes widen.  Unfortunately, so do the translator’s.  He turns to Katib.  “She’s speaking some other language.  I can’t understand it.”

“What are you saying?” Katib demands.

“If you need me, ask to speak with me.” Reyu continues in Sylvan.

At a look from his translator, Lt. Katib puts himself between Reyu and the elves.  “This interview is over,” he informs her.  

With what grace is left to them, Reyu, Anvil and Lira allow themselves to be quickly escorted from the room.  Zili watches them go, and for just a second, a flicker of doubt passes across her face.


----------



## MTR

Ok, that was the last possibility.  I vote the party leaves and lets all the jerks kill each other.


----------



## Amaury

*Great story*

Mega-congrats to the GM and storyteller! It took me a week from start to finish and I'm very impressed! 
Fajitas, your world has depth! The religious element is strong and meaningful. The cultures and peoples well developed (particularly liked the Ebis culture). Some great ideas in particular the elven culture is quite interesting, more on the Wild elves than Grey elves. 
As to the storytelling, Spyscribe, you are most gifted! Wow! Some of the writing is top class. Make a living out of it!!
Congrats also to the players to impersonate their character so well. Anvil is my favorite, I must say. The only criticism I would make is with the use of magic: magic missile again and again.. but well it's effective.
Many thanks for a great story!


----------



## spyscribe

Amaury said:
			
		

> The only criticism I would make is with the use of magic: magic missile again and again.. but well it's effective.
> Many thanks for a great story!




Hey, cut me some slack, the characters are just about to hit 6th level, but Lira' still only a 4th level sorcerer.  What else is she going to do, _cat's grace_ her enemies to death?  

Seriously, thank you for your kind words, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

Oh, and MTR, don't think that option wasn't discussed... extensively.


----------



## Fajitas

MTR said:
			
		

> Ok, that was the last possibility.  I vote the party leaves and lets all the jerks kill each other.



But what about the people? The peeeeee-ople!

>sigh< This was the adventure in which I discovered that my players really, really, really don't like moral ambiguities.  They want the good guys on one side and the bad guys on the other side, and a nice red line dividing them.  Oh, and big neon signs indicating which group is which.  Yeah, they like that.

So much for all the complex, morally ambiguous places I'd been planning on taking the campaign...


----------



## Cerebral Paladin

<nod>  Moral ambiguity is difficult in games.  It makes the games more interesting, but it can make it harder for players to find the fun.   I'm still addicted to it, at least in some formats, but I've been known to prioritize other things above fun, from time to time.   But it takes a lot of work to get it right, and some players just don't want to deal.

Okay, so this post ended up being utterly inane.  Oh well.


----------



## Fajitas

Cerebral Paladin said:
			
		

> <nod>  Moral ambiguity is difficult in games.  It makes the games more interesting, but it can make it harder for players to find the fun.



I'll admit, I knew there was a lot of moral ambiguity here, but I still didn't expect the players to want to bail as much as they did.  I mean, yes, moral ambiguity, but also villagers! Lots of innocent villagers, about to get caught in the crossfire!  Don't want to help the elves? Fine.  Don't want to help the Ebisites? No problem.  But helpless villagers!  Surely the PCs will want to help them?

Not so much, as it turned out.

>sigh<


----------



## Seonaid

Villagers just get in the way. ::nods sagely::


----------



## doghead

Cook _them_ first.


----------



## Fajitas

Seonaid said:
			
		

> Villagers just get in the way. ::nods sagely::





			
				doghead said:
			
		

> Cook *them* first.



>sigh<  Well, at least now I know it's not just my PCs...


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> >sigh< This was the adventure in which I discovered that my players really, really, really don't like moral ambiguities.  They want the good guys on one side and the bad guys on the other side, and a nice red line dividing them.  Oh, and big neon signs indicating which group is which.  Yeah, they like that.




Hey what's not to like?

The other factor at work here was that after _years_ the end of our mission to contact the five archmages was so close we could smell it.  We were on an archmage roll.  And as rewarding as it had been, the last time we'd gotten sucked into a villager-helping side trek it had taken us a year and two levels to take care of it.  Were any of these unpleasant (and might I add, ungrateful) people going to help us find Barnabus?  I don't _think_ so.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Sixty-Sixth*
_In which: the party finally finds someone who seems glad for their involvement._

“What was that?” Lt. Katib demands of Reyu once they are back in daylight again.

“A desert dialect,” Reyu offers.  “Perhaps your translator is unfamiliar with it.”

“Ehkt’s left testicle it was.  And what was that part about you living with the elves?  I thought you were disinterested parties here.”

“I have spent time with the elves south of the Halmae.  Not the Shesher.  I promise, we are not spies.”  Eventually, Reyu’s explanations and Anvil’s assurances convince Katib that the party members have not come with covert purposes.  Also, he is soon distracted.

An old man hurries up.  He is dressed like a soldier, but one long out of practice.  His armor barely fits anymore, and his sword is badly tarnished.  The man does not salute, nor even present himself to the Lieutenant.  Instead, he is entirely focused on the party.

 “Have you come to stop the elves?” he asks.

“Corporal—” Katib begins, but the other man talks right over him.

“Please, you’ve got to help us.  We are innocents here.  We have women and children.  We don’t deserve to be living under siege.  We’ll all be killed if you can’t hold the walls.”

“Corporal!”  Katib’s tone causes even Reyu to unconsciously stiffen to attention.  The soldier stops talking, realizing how far he has overstepped his bounds.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” he says, “but this village has been my home for longer than I was a Corporal.  I know it’s not the same for you, but this place means a lot more to me now than orders.”

Lt. Katib responds coldly.  “Was there something you came here to inform me of, or are you merely harassing our guests?”

The man responds equally coldly.  “The medics sent me to fetch you sir.  The sergeant has taken a turn for the worse.”  He looks beseechingly once more at the party.  “I didn’t mean to bother you.  Just… this village is my home.”

“We will certainly do what we can,” Reyu tells him.

_(See?  Once someone asks us to help, we’ve entirely willing.)_

Lt. Katib addresses the other man sharply.  “Tell the medics I’ll be there shortly.  Dismissed.”

The man takes to his heels.  Lt. Katib looks to Anvil.  “Justicar, you mentioned you could provide healing?”

Anvil does not waste time repeating himself.  “Where is this sergeant?”

“I’ll show you.”

###

While Anvil sees to Katib’s men, the rest of the party gathers to see if they have learned anything that will help them bring this situation to a peaceful resolution.

Jamaladeen’s whip has been produced for their inspection, and Lira excuses herself so that she can cast _read magic_ unobserved by the Ebisites.  She returns a few moments later and confirms Reyu’s hunch.

“Two of the strands are definitely the elven equivalent of scrolls of _cure light wounds_.  The Shesher were telling us the truth.  They did leave behind healing, they just didn’t leave that much.”

“It wouldn’t restore the ear though,” Eva clarifies.

“No,” Reyu allows, “but it would have healed the wound left behind.”

“Except that they’d be short an ear.”

“Well, yes.”

“What about the other cords?” Thatch asks.

“They’re knotted to look like scrolls, but whoever did it was just copying the other two strands, there’s no magic in them.”

Thatch rolls his eyes, “Flogged with healing?  What’s that got to be like?  ‘Ow!... Oh, that’s better.’”

Annika is either not amused, or doesn’t get that Thatch was trying to be funny.  “Probably more like just, ‘Ow!’”

Thatch lets it go.  “Elves, they’re all nuts.”  He looks over at Reyu and ducks his head, just a little bit.  “Present company excluded.”

Reyu cannot help but admit that Thatch might not be completely wrong, at least, not as far as Zili is concerned.  “Never have I met someone so… determined to be martyred.”

“Is there any chance we can convince Jamaladeen to change his mind?” Kiara asks.

“You met him, what do you think?”

“Okay, probably not.”

“Lieutenant Katib doesn’t seem thrilled with the situation,” Lira points out.  “Unfortunately, I think his hands are tied.”

“He said he had to bring the children to Nyarii to stand trial,” Kiara recalls.  “Couldn’t Anvil make a ruling right here?  That would at least settle things.”

“Anvil isn’t an Ebisite Justicar though,” Annika reminds her.

Eva suddenly claps her hands.  “Wait a second, there’s huge reinforcement of soldiers three days away, right?  I bet they’ll have an Ebisite Justicar with them.”

There is a brief silence.

“Umm,” Thatch finally says, “I think that’s the first not-crazy plan I’ve heard in days.”

###

Although Lieutenant Katib has no problem with having this matter settled here instead of Nyarii, he is dubious that the elves will be agreeable.

“I can’t authorize anything unless I have assurances from the elves they will accept the ruling.  But I’m willing to negotiate in good faith if they are.”  

Reyu and the rest of the party go back to the elves under cover of a while flag to explain the human side of the situation.  As expected, the War Hand is not any more sympathetic, but she does agree to meet with the humans if there is someone who can negotiate the return of the children.  As a gesture of good faith, she promises that the elves will not attack the village that night.  

The party quickly sends back word to Lt. Katib, and with another exchange of messages, a meeting is set for the next morning.

###

The chosen spot for the negotiations is in the middle of the burned-out buffer zone between the wild scrub and the earthworks surrounding the village.

The party goes ahead to arrive at the designated sport first.  The Ebisites are next.  Lieutenant Katib waits nervously, as though expecting an ambush at any time.  He only relaxes fractionally when the elves appear—much closer than Eva would have thought possible with the limited cover available—and join them.

The War Hand and her retinue arrive wearing full war-paint and armor.  Not to be outdone, Lt. Katib and his men are in full battle-dress as well.

Lira, having been nominated as the most diplomatic and bilingual of the group, looks from one side to the other.  _Yup, this is going to be interesting._


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Sixty-Seventh*
_In which: someone gets something cut-off… but it’s not who or what you think._

The talks are long and difficult.  Lira experiments with keeping both sides together to discuss their disagreements… then with giving them time and space to cool-off as she and Eva go back and forth between them, trying to nail down areas for compromise and concession.

After several hours she isn’t positive she wouldn’t rather they just start attacking each other and be done with it.  However, they do eventually work out the beginnings of a compromise.

The War Hand is loathe to give up her advantage of numbers by allowing the Ebisite Justicar time to arrive.  However, she is willing to wait for him, provided that the Justicar comes alone, unaccompanied by the rest of the Ebisite column.  Unfortunately, she will make no promises that the elves will not retaliate if they are not pleased with the Justicar’s decision.

Lt. Katib would obviously like more in the way of assurances, but—with the proviso of safe-passage from the elves—agrees to send a fast rider requesting the military Justicar to leave the rest of the retinue behind on the road in hopes of negotiating a settlement.

In return, the War Hand pledges that the elves will not attack the village.  At least, not until she hears the Justicar’s ruling.

With that hammered out, Lira tries to push for an additional concession from the Elves by floating the possibility of allowing civilian residents of the village to depart under amnesty, leaving only the soldiers trapped by the siege.

This is quickly shot-down by the War Hand and her aides, who insist that anyone leaving the village under any circumstances that do not include the return of their children is unacceptable.

Lira steps aside from the two parties for a moment to confer with Eva… and try to reign in her frustration.

“So, it’s a non-starter” she spits, “apparently their Elven honor demands the murder of innocent civilians.”

Lira is naturally conversing with Eva in Common, and had assumed that she was far enough away that the elves, with their seemingly rudimentary grasp of the language, would not understand her.

Then both women realize that the Elven delegation has gone abruptly silent.

“Oh crap.”

_(Note: with her charisma, skill points, and +2 from Eva’s assist, Lira had +18 to that diplomacy roll.  Her grand total: 19.  “Crap” was the *nicest* thing I said when that die came up.)_

###

Lira tries to apologize for her choice of words, which she readily admits were unthinking and unfortunate, but the War Hand is having none of it.

“You have insulted my honor, and I demand satisfaction.”

Lira, who has spent most of the day trying to be polite to people who seem to have no interest in avoiding a big fight where they will get to pound each other’s skulls in, finally looses what remains of her patience.  “Well what would make you happy?”  she asks sarcastically.  “My ear?”

The War Hand almost smiles, but not in any way that could be construed as friendly.  “Not necessarily.  The small finger off of your right hand would also be acceptable.”

The party makes clear that this is not exactly an acceptable compromise.

Their protests are matched by several Elves who come forward as though to take their restitution *right then*, when suddenly Reyu steps in front of the young sorcerer.

“This human is under my protection.”

The War Hand is unruffled.  “Then we will take your ear instead.”

Lira speaks up.  “Reyu, this is crazy—”

Reyu doesn’t even spare her a glance.  “Be quiet, youngling.  This no longer concerns you.”

Lira shuts up.

Reyu addresses the War Hand.  “She is a baby.  She does not know your ways, and meant no offense.”

“Meant or not, offense was given.”

“Why not take her braids?”

The War Hand gives a disdainful snort.  “Her braids mean nothing.”  However, the suggestion has given her pause.  “Would you offer yours in her stead?” 

A long, pregnant silence.

“You cannot have my name braid.  But yes, if you will agree to wait until the human Justicar has arrived and made his ruling in this matter, I will offer my achievement braid.”

“We will consider it.”

As the War Hand turns to confer with her people, and the Ebisites try to figure out what has just happened, Lira taps Reyu on the shoulder.  “You don’t have to do this.”

Reyu smiles a touch ironically.  “It would seem that I do.  Unless you have something else to offer, aside from your ears and fingers.”

Lira checks *carefully* to make sure that no one can overhear, then says, “Do you think they’d be interested in my name?”

Reyu frowns.  “You would no longer be Lira?”

The sorcerer shifts from foot to foot and pulls on one ear unconsciously.  “No.  I mean, that’s what I go by, with you guys, but it’s not my… uh… real name.”

Reyu blinks rapidly a few times.  “What is your—?”

 “Giovanna Niccolira Pauletta Rufina Pulcer Marie Allessandra di Vittani, and if that was your name you wouldn’t use it all either.”

Reyu is forced to see the point.  “Does it have meaning in your culture?”

Lira snorts.  “It means: the short, red-haired, pretty daughter of Niccolo and Allessandra di Vittani, with a strong connotation of ‘she is healthy, and will bear you many children.’”

Reyu sighs.  “I do not know that the Shesher would value the gift of a name you do not use.  And they would undoubtedly give you a new name so that all elves would know of your dishonor.”

“I didn’t mean to offend them.”

Reyu sighs again.  “I know.”

###

The War Hand returns to address Reyu after only a few moments deliberation.  “We will accept your achievement braid in return for your human’s offense,” she informs her.

Something in the War Hand’s tone kills the last of Reyu’s goodwill towards her desert sisters.  “Fine,” she spits back, “and let me be clear.  You have my braid, but that is all you have.  If this comes to bloodshed, I will not lend my bow to your cause.”

The War Hand doesn’t seem particularly worried by the loss.  “Understood.”

And with that, Reyu  lifts her dagger, and takes off her hat.

Of course, Reyu’s hat is actually Lira’s hat, which is actually a _hat of disguise_, and so the moment she removes it, she also removes the illusion making her appear human.

This comes as a bit of a shock to the assembled Ebisites.

So while Anvil reassures Lt. Katib that there is no treachery abroad, and Katib convinces his men to stand down, Reyu takes out a short dagger, lifts the beaded braid detailing all of her achievements since she became an adult in the eyes of her people, and slices it off, clean to the scalp.

The War Hand watches, impassive.  Reyu holds up the braid, just above the War Hand’s outstretched palm.  “We have an agreement?”

The War Hand nods, and Reyu gives her the severed lock of hair.


----------



## Capellan

And this is why "I take 10." are my absolute favourite words as a PC 

Though given that you got a 19 anyway, the elves' response seems a little excessive, unless you're playing with a '1s are automatic failures' house rule.  Assuming the elves were unfriendly, a 19 should shift them up to indifferent, not make them more unfriendly.

Obviously, Fajitas is just evil


----------



## thatdarncat

I'd say they were Hostile, not Unfriendly 

more more more!


----------



## Capellan

Hostile to the Ebisites, sure.  Hostile to the PCs?  Doesn't make sense.  Would you allow someone to whom you were Hostile to enter an enemy encampment under some claim of trying to free your children?  Would you trust someone to whom you were Hostile to broker an agreement between you and your enemy?  The elven behaviour toward the PCs has thus far been Unfriendly, not Hostile.

Of course, were I at the table when this would have happened, my reaction would have been "We're trying to help you save your children and now you want to mutilate one of my companions because _your feelings are hurt_?  See you on the battlefield, lady."


----------



## Spatzimaus

Capellan said:
			
		

> Of course, were I at the table when this would have happened, my reaction would have been "We're trying to help you save your children and now you want to mutilate one of my companions because _your feelings are hurt_?  See you on the battlefield, lady."




Same here.  My response would have been something like "What, you think we're doing this because we _agree_ with you?  We're doing it to protect the innocents, and if we're on anyone's side, it's *not* yours."  Anvil and Reyu have both said things along these lines.  I'm sort of amazed that the PCs went along with this, actually; do the Elves honestly believe the players agree with them at all?  Have the players given any indication that they value the "honor" of these Elves?
Of course, I tend to play the sort of characters who'd just write the whole thing off and walk away at this point.  I mean sure, you know they'll storm the village and try to kill everyone before the army arrives, but then they'll be wiped out in return, and they know it.  If that sort of enlightened self-interest isn't enough to keep them at the negotiations in spite of a few insults, what can you do?

In other words, you've done a beautiful job making a morally ambiguous crisis for the players to get stuck in.  Bravo!


----------



## Pyske

I think I'm there with you on being ready to just leave or even throw in with the villagers in this case.  Of course, a duel to first blood would also have been a fairly "traditional" way to settle the matter, but that might not work for the Shesher culture.


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Ahh, but what many of you don't realize is just how racist Reyu is.  Until she lost her achievement braid she would have fought with the elves.   Even with the arrogant behavior of the war hand, she would *never* fight against them.

And again -- innocents.  Elven children who don't really deserve slavery.  Human families who don't deserve slaughter.  So it would have taken more rudeness than we faced to make her walk away.

Not that the rest of the party agreed, mind you.

-WLS


----------



## jerichothebard

Maybe it's just me, but I don't see a moral crisis here.  The elves are clearly in the wrong.  Their children mutilated a group of humans, left insufficient healing in an unrecognizable form, and are making war on a human village that only has a loose connection with the soldiers who are trying to make right.  Slavery, by terms of a world such as this, is probably a valid form of punishment for that type of crime, whetehr you agree with it or not by modern moral standards.

As a player, I wouldn't have tried to negotiate at all.  I would have immediately stood with the soldiers and drawn sword.


----------



## spyscribe

Pyske said:
			
		

> I think I'm there with you on being ready to just leave or even throw in with the villagers in this case.  Of course, a duel to first blood would also have been a fairly "traditional" way to settle the matter, but that might not work for the Shesher culture.



Screw the Shesher, Lira never would have gone for that.  Sure, challenges are great and all, but a duel with the War Hand?  That's just giving the elf permission to slug her a few times before she takes the ear anyway.


----------



## MTR

Fajitas said:
			
		

> But what about the people? The peeeeee-ople!
> 
> >sigh< This was the adventure in which I discovered that my players really, really, really don't like moral ambiguities.  They want the good guys on one side and the bad guys on the other side, and a nice red line dividing them.  Oh, and big neon signs indicating which group is which.  Yeah, they like that.
> 
> So much for all the complex, morally ambiguous places I'd been planning on taking the campaign...




It may not be moral ambiguity per se that's bothering them.  It's just not very heroic to help this or that bunch of jerks who don't even want to be helped.  In the writeup the innocent townsfolk caught up in the mess are barely mentioned; maybe they needed to get more attention and interaction?

But I shouldn't be a critic; you run a game I'd love to play in while I run nothing....

Edit: I wrote the above before reading the post where a villager did come up and ask for help.  After the updates my sentiments have changed to "kill the elves."

I'm wondering what good a trial is going to do.  The kids are guilty and admit it.


----------



## Pyske

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Screw the Shesher, Lira never would have gone for that.  Sure, challenges are great and all, but a duel with the War Hand?  That's just giving the elf permission to slug her a few times before she takes the ear anyway.



 Er, a few times?   I would think someone that concerned with honor wouldn't do so in a public duel to first blood.  Regardless, my armchair quarterbacking won't help much, I suppose.  Let's see what happens next, eh?


----------



## Fajitas

Wow.  I'm not sure any story we've done yet here has generated this much conversation, which is a real thrill to me, let me say.  I'm so glad to see this scenario appreciated; lord knows the PCs didn't much appreciate it at the time.   

This adventure was, for anyone interested, *very* loosely inspired by the DarkSun scenario from Dungeon 110: "Last Stand at Outpost Three".

Frankly, I didn't think there was a compromise solution here.  I wanted a complex scenario with intractable sides to argue with, wherein ultimately the PCs, unable to broker a settlement, would have to pick a side and fight (and I was fairly certain they were going to side with the Ebisites).  In fact, I had some pretty cool combat scenarios ready and waiting, not that I'm still bitter or anything.    

What I failed to account for was 1) Thatch's desire to pack up and go home, 2) Reyu's absolute refusal to take up arms against elves, no matter how crazy they were, and 3) the inevitable ability of PCs to cut the Gordian Knot, even if you've made it out of reinforced steel cables.

Capellan, as to the 19 Diplomacy on the roll of a 1, I often default to the 1 is auto-failure but there's a little GM fiat involved.  When someone has to make a critical roll and everyone is really into the moment, standing up around the table so they can see the die roll, and you get that massive group groan when it comes up a 1... I like to ride that emotional wave.  I concede, I'm not terribly consistent about this, and maybe that's a problem.  Still... >shrug<

That said, I'm pretty sure that Lira's 19 is why the War Hand was willing to let her make restitution and stay a party to the compromise, rather than storming off and attacking the village forthwith.  As I said, I didn't think there was a way to get the elves to compromise at all, and I *really* wanted to run those combats.


----------



## doghead

"Honor", it one of the greatest excuses for stupidity and cruelty.

I have found myself rather taken with the elves as depicted in WttH. But the War Hand and her lot leave me cold. So does that child who started all this. Her "honor" is going to mean parents will lose children, brothers and sisters will lose siblings, grandparents will lose grandchildren, and spouses will lose  husbands or wives. 

Between the War Hand and the girl, its a terrible price they are willing to make their tribe pay for their honor.


----------



## Ero Gaki

It has been my experience that "kill the elves" is usually the correct answer. Heh, but then, I hate elves.


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Sheesh.  What's with all the elf hate?



			
				jerichothebard said:
			
		

> Slavery, by terms of a world such as this, is probably a valid form of punishment for that type of crime, whetehr you agree with it or not by modern moral standards.




In the Halmae, slavery is an exclusively human institution.  It's anathma to the elves.  Plus, remember that the youngest child is only 10, the oldest is just 17, and by elven standards they're even younger.  Since they did no permanent damage, counted coup, and did leave healing, this situation is a little like giving a group of children life in prison for joyriding.  

The kids do deserve some punishment, sure, but enslavement?  No way.

-WLS


----------



## coyote6

As honor-loving as the elves are, I'd say either chop off some of their braids, or give them some new ones ("big poopyhead", or something like that).


----------



## dpdx

As a long-time reader and fervent admirer of both this storyhour and the game that generates it, I'd like to take a shot at an analysis.

What the audience is reacting to isn't elves, elvishness, or even this group of elves in particular - it's their fundamentalism. It's moral absolutes like demanding a body part to atone for an insult of the custom, instead of the people who hold it. 

Lira, I believe, would have found the demand (in this case, demanding that innocent people of the town not be allowed to leave the town) sickening no matter who made it. It's hostage-taking, at its most basic level, and I'd venture to guess that the majority of the audience agrees with Lira as to the acceptability of it as an item on the table. It has nothing to do with the Shesher, the War Hand, or elves in general _except_ that they're the ones who demanded the lockdown.

So I don't think it's elf-hate, so much as it is the hostage-taking, that makes all of us (myself included) so eager to throw the Shesher who made it, under the bus. The Ebisites, on the other hand, never made an equivalent demand, for example, that Shesher non-combatants present themselves for annihilation.

What we really need is an update, so we can move on and not have to worry about potential bad outcomes to this scenario, but instead reflect on what _was_ the outcome.


----------



## jerichothebard

WisdomLikeSilence said:
			
		

> Since they did no permanent damage, counted coup, and did leave healing, this situation is a little like giving a group of children life in prison for joyriding.
> 
> The kids do deserve some punishment, sure, but enslavement?  No way.
> 
> -WLS




Two scrolls of cure light wounds, in a form that the humans couldn't possibly recognize, don't really count for much in my book.  Even if the humans were able to read them, they still won't regenerate an ear or a finger.

Personally, given the existance and acceptance of slavery as an institution, I would argue that, in exchange for the unprovoked and un-recompensed mutilation of innocent humans, selling the children into slavery is a bit harsh, but not out of bounds.  This isn't a nation, I would imagine, with an organized federal prison system, and I don't imagine the more frontier style "eye-for-an-eye" style of justice would be accepted by the elves any more so than the slavery.  So, what else are we left with?  Execution?  Yeah, that'll go over well.  A slap on the wrist?  The humans will never go for that.  What else you got?  Slavery or conscription into an army, which is basically slavery + a death sentance.



I'm still not seeing it.  If I presented my players with this dilemma, they would probably go ballistic and open up the keg of PC whoop-ass on the Shesher.





All that being said, I give major props to Reyu's player for keeping a strong character line - choices like that are both hard and memorable.  Excellent work.


----------



## spyscribe

jerichothebard said:
			
		

> I'm still not seeing it.  If I presented my players with this dilemma, they would probably go ballistic and open up the keg of PC whoop-ass on the Shesher.



It recently occurred to me that another non-obvious factor here as far as PC motivations were concerned--at least for Lira--had to do with the fact that since we'd been in Ebis, the local human populace had not exactly endeared themselves to us.

Lt. Kahtib seemed to be a stand-up guy, but his fellow citizens had tried to enslave us, abandoned us in the desert, instituted a policy to kill all wizards and sorcerers (which especially with Lira earns you no points), and just the other day Jamaldeen threatened to flog Lira himself.

On the other hand, the prospective guide Parwin (also a Shesher) would have been our top choice to lead us through the desert if she had had any idea where to find the place we wanted to go.  She also had quite the slavery sob story, if you will recall.

So the Shesher had inherited a bit of good will from that, and the humans had to overcome previous negative impressions.

And the most frustrating thing was the complete refusal of anyone to see any sort of reason.


----------



## doghead

I don't know, I think an ear for an ear may have been a workable solution. The elves, like the merchant, could have it regenerated, or at the least cured. Which is what the children offered. It might be a salutory lesson for the young elf.

And I tend to agree with dpdx. Its not the elves people are reacting to, but their bloodymindedness.

thotd


----------



## brellin

update please


----------



## Seonaid

I also have been struggling with this since it all got started. I'm not sure exactly how to put into words what's bothering me, but seeing as it's about time for an update  I figured I'd throw in my two cents.

I think my problem is that it seems wrong, to me, for the children to count coup against humans who don't have that custom. That's not _exactly_ what I mean, because I know that various American Indian tribes did that (and that's the form of counting coup with which I am familiar), but it doesn't seem to be that exacting a task to count coup against someone who isn't expecting it. I mean, yes, it's not easy, but considering the elves' immense sense of "honor," how honorable is it to attack relatively undefended (I mean, come on, they're _humans_) enemies? Plus, and of course since this is Fajitas's world and isn't at all ours this might not apply, if you get caught while counting coup, then you just suck, right?

This isn't entirely coherent; like I said, I'm not sure exactly what it is about the situation that bothers me. I think I would have started shooting and/or taken to the hills at the first sign of stubborn idiocy. As doghead said, major kudos to the players for sticking to hard in-character lines.


----------



## MTR

I just can't buy cutting off a body part as the equal of joyriding.  And the point about a limited number of medieval punishments is a good one; you can't toss them in a junevile detention center for a year.  What would be the historical punishment?  Probably having your hand or other body part cut off.


----------



## Spatzimaus

Like others have said, it's not a pro-Elf/anti-Elf issue.  It's that everything these Elves have done and said has given the impression that their side is the only one that matters; they've basically written off any Human objections as being irrelevant.  This is hardly a new thing, and the Ebisites have done it too to some extent, but not with the single-minded obliviousness that the Shesher have seemed to.

Basically, their side comes down to four points:

1> They left healing.
They attacked and mutilated innocents, and then left a token amount of healing that couldn't possibly make up for it, even assuming the humans could have recognized the braids as magical scrolls in the first place.  It'd be like shooting an unarmed man in the leg, handing him a band-aid, and saying that you're now even (better than that: it's something you plan on bragging about afterwards!)  Effectively, they were meeting the letter of the "law", so they could say they weren't harming anyone, while completely ignoring the spirit of it.  It's worse than doing nothing at all; they acknowledged that healing is needed, but refused to provide the right amount.  It's like tipping your waiter a nickel; if you left nothing, he could at least believe you forgot, or put it on a credit card or something.
If they had arranged for a healer to regenerate the ears, that'd be different; if the victim had been an Elf, would they have done the same?  And I don't just mean an Elf like Reyu, I mean a member of their own tribe.

2> It's just a flesh wound.
Some societies pride themselves on scars, or at least don't care about minor disfigurement.  Maybe an Elf would accept the loss of an ear in this manner, although I doubt it.  But that's irrelevant; the real indication of how serious the offense is is how the victim sees it, not how you do.  Based on previous contacts, the Elves should have known that this is something the Humans wouldn't just write off as "kids being kids"... but they probably just didn't care.  In their culture it was okay (maybe), so anyone who objects is just ignorant, and any punishment is unjustified.

3> They're just kids.
The Elves are treating the other townsfolk as being guilty by association in not letting them evacuate... and yet their tribe isn't doing the same.  If the Elves who did this truly were "children", implying that they don't bear responsibility, then someone else must.  Even if they truly thought that no crime was committed, they'd still argue that someone more senior should assume responsibility in place of the children.  It's the classic hostage situation, where the negotiator says "take me instead, let them go"; you're not acknowledging the other side is right, just that the truly innocent shouldn't suffer either way.  But they haven't.  Even if you didn't hold the individual parents responsible, the tribe as a whole could have offered restitution.

4> Go along with it, or we kill you in the name of Honor.
And finally, here we have their real position.  The other three arguments are so full of holes that they inevitably fell back to this.  This is the only one that affects the players directly, of course.

I'm not saying the situation isn't convoluted.  I'm just saying that there's been absolutely no reason to take the Elves' side on this.  Arguing that the sentence of slavery is too severe is a separate issue.


----------



## spyscribe

_Wow.  This is awesome.   Well, here's what the Ebisite Justicar had to say about the matter._

*Part the One-Hundred Sixty-Eighth*
_In which: judgment is rendered._

It takes three days for the Ebisite military Justicar to arrive.  

In the interim, Reyu informs the party that she will not return to the village, but instead makes camp in the no-man’s land between the elves and the humans.  Lira and Eva both decide to join her.  To pass the time, Reyu starts to teach Eva Elven.  

On the first night, while sitting watch together, Lira finally summons the courage to ask Reyu about a matter that has been weighing on her mind.

“I uh… really appreciate you saving my ear,” she begins, rather awkwardly.

For her part, Reyu appears to have regained her typical calm.  “It is hardly fitting for me to lecture young Zili about the folly of her pride if I am not willing to relinquish my own.”

Lira nods and pokes their fire a bit.  “So…  Are you going to tell the others that I haven’t been using my real name?”

“Would you rather I not?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

A pause.  “Why?” Reyu asks.

Lira lets out a long breath before she answers.  “I left my family rather abruptly.  I don’t know if any of them care enough to come looking for me or not, but I’d rather not be found.”  

“Because?”

“Like I’ve said, they’ve tended to take my being a sorcerer… badly.”

“In that case, why would they seek you?”

Another shrug from Lira.  “I don’t know that they are.  I haven’t seen any signs of it.  But it’s all the more reason to make a clean break.  I’m not just somebody’s daughter anymore.”

That, Reyu readily concedes.  Even in the relatively short time she has known Lira, the young human has grown much.  “I will keep your secret if that is your desire.  Perhaps, you will someday find a name better suited to who you have become.”

###

Thatch and Anvil spend their days helping to fortify the village’s defenses in case the elves do not keep to their word, or are unsatisfied with the Justicar’s judgment.  

On the second afternoon of work, while rooting around in storage, Thatch finds two-dozen seedlings, roots tied in sacks and leaning in rows against the wall of a shed.  He signals to the soldier from the village who was asking for the party’s help earlier.

“Where should these be planted?” he asks.

“Out in the groves,” the man replies.  Adding, “But it’s not safe to go out there anymore.  The elves have destroyed everything.  Those were just about to be transplanted when the siege hit.”

Thatch checks his sword and shoulders a shovel.  “We should get them in the ground then.”

The two men go out to the cleared area around the village and plant the spindly sticks.  (Thatch waters them all in liberally with the _decanter_.)  He can’t help but think that, despite all of his years on his family farm, he has never found planting something so satisfying.  He just hopes they aren’t all going to be burned down in three days time.

###

At last, the Justicar arrives.  He carries the rank of Captain in the Ebisite army, and Lt. Katib reports and briefs him on the situation.  The Justicar then takes a day to speak to the other parties involved in the case.  He interviews Jamaladeen the merchant, the prisoners, the War Hand, and finally, comes to speak to Anvil.

“You have had much interaction with the parties of this case.  What would your judgment be?”

Anvil, while not one to hold back when asked to expound upon matters of Justice, chooses his words carefully.  “It is not my place to decide Justice in this matter,” he begins, “but if the judgment were with me, I would rule that the children should be beaten, not enslaved, and then returned to their people.”

“And if it were Dar Pykos which was besieged by the Shesher, if you were forced to make your ruling with a knife to your throat, what would you say then?”

Anvil gives the question proper consideration.  Finally he says, “I would do as I must, that Kettenek’s Justice might be served another day.”

###

Just before dark, the Justicar finally summons the disputing parties, along with the adventurers, to a hill in the center of no-man’s land and dispenses his ruling: 

“It has been laid upon me to dispense the Justice of Kettenek in the matter of these Shesher and the merchant Jamaladeen.  It is my finding that for the crime of assaulting and mutilating Jamaladeen and his wife, the four children will be publicly flogged.  In addition, the Shesher nation will pay restitution to Jamaladeen to compensate him for expenses incurred for the _regeneration_ of his person, and that of his wife.  If the Shesher cannot afford to do so, they will recompense him by allowing his caravans to travel safely through the desert without being charged the customary payments for protection.”  

The Justicar pauses.  All present remain silent, as it is clear he has not yet finished his judgment.

“Furthermore, so that it be clearly understood by all, in the strongest possible terms, that the practice of counting coup against human caravans by assaulting humans traveling along the Sea Road is completely unacceptable, the four Shesher children, before being returned to their people, shall each have one of their ears severed.

“This is my judgment, and the Judgment of Kettenek.”

He pounds his staff into the ground four times, and his words are sealed.

Naturally, Jamaladeen is very vocal in his displeasure about the ruling, but with the word of an Ebisite Justicar on the record, Lieutenant Katib is now under little obligation to humor him.

The party is mostly concerned with the reaction of the elves.  The ruling causes much discussion among the Shesher delegation, but at last, the War Hand comes forward.

“We will abide by this judgment.”  She then turns to Reyu… and presents her with a bead.  “When you have your new braid, let your first deed be known as ‘baby saver’.”  

Reyu takes the gift, clutching it tightly in one hand.

One by one, the parties leave the hill, until the adventurers and the Ebisite Justicar are left standing alone in no-man’s land.

Anvil turns to him.  “Thank you.”

The Justicar sighs.  “Thank *you*.  I would not have thought that more bloodshed over this matter could have been avoided.  Is there anything I can do to thank you for your assistance?”

Lira nudges Anvil, mouthing “passports.”

Anvil nods.  “There is.  We have had some difficulties of our own while traversing the desert.  We have found ourselves far off of our intended course, and are now making towards Nayarii.  However, you are the first Ebisite official we have met for some time, and we have no papers for travel to that city.”

The Justicar studies Anvil and the party for a few moments, probably guessing that there is more to this story than they are saying.  However, he also decides to let it pass.  “Of course.  Before I return tomorrow to meet my division, I will have my clerk draw up the proper documents for you.”

Eva does her best not to let her relief show.

“Thank you again then,” Anvil intones.

“Kettenek’s Justice be upon you.”

“And upon you.”

###

_(At this point, Fajitas turns to us and says, “Anything else you want to do while you’re here?”  To which the quick and unanimous reply was, “Not let the door hit us on our way out.” Pfew!)_


----------



## dpdx

Never thought I'd say this, but I think the Ebisite Justicar's decision was too harsh. Everything up until "the kids have to lose their ears, too" would have been fine.


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

dpdx said:
			
		

> Never thought I'd say this, but I think the Ebisite Justicar's decision was too harsh. Everything up until "the kids have to lose their ears, too" would have been fine.




Come on man, the elves have enough healing to regenerate the lost ears and as far as I'm concerned this just serves to drive home the point of thinking before acting.
Even as a paladin of Tymaril I stand behind the verdict of the Justicar.
"Justice be done, either Kettenek's or Tymaril's"


----------



## dpdx

Maybe braids, but not ears. Cmon, if it's so damn easy to grow them back, why bother? Isn't a couple of lopped-off ears enough?


----------



## Shieldhaven

Possibly to show the elves that it really isn't a minor injury at all, but one that is _incredibly_ painful?

I'm with the Justicar on this one.  He had to do something pretty grim to show that he really meant business.  It's also the epitome of Hammurabi's Code.

Haven


----------



## weiknarf

The punishment must fit the crime.


----------



## Fajitas

dpdx said:
			
		

> Maybe braids, but not ears. Cmon, if it's so damn easy to grow them back, why bother? Isn't a couple of lopped-off ears enough?



Well, do keep in mind the following:

1) The Halmae is a low magic world.  _Regenerate_ is a 7th level Cleric spell and a 9th level Druid spell, so it's not that easy to grow them back.  Even a wealthy merchant like Jamaladeen had to pay an awful lot for it.  Plus, considering that most elven healing comes through Druidic magic, that makes it even harder to come by.

2) If you think the humans were going to punish the children, just wait until you see what the elves do to them.  Er, not that you will, because the party high-tailed it out of there pretty quickly.  But remember, these children... whoo, did they screw up.  They attacked humans on the Sea Road, a massive Shesher no-no as they rely on protection money from caravans on the Sea Road.  They also allowed themselves to be tracked and caught.  The whole point of counting coup is to prove one's skill and cunning, and the children have quite failed to do that.  

So, in short, the children are in a lot of trouble with the Shesher.  But children are also very important to the Shesher; they don't have many.  These four are at least half the children (and possibly all the children) that particular Shesher tribe has.  So, while they're probably going to take the children home and beat them soundly, ain't no way they're going to let any humans lay a finger on them.

Additionally, you first have to imagine that each of the children (especially Zili, the leader), is going to have "shamer of the Nation" added to her achievement braid.  And, even if the elves have the magic to _regenerate_ the ears, they probably wouldn't do so.  That's another badge of shame, and a reminder not to be so careless a hunter in the future.

Amusingly enough, WLS and I were discussing this just the other night.  A sane elf tribe, like Reyu's, would probably allow the children to have the ear _regenerated_ when they attain their majority, at 64.  Among the Shesher, however... by the time she turns 64, Zili will probably wear her disfigurement with pride.

3) The Sea Road is the main artery of trade through the Empire of Ebis.  The Empire cannot, *cannot* allow banditry of any kind along it.  The protection money paid to the Shesher is a carefully worked out arrangement that keeps the Road safe and prevents war.  The Justicar had to do something to indicate just how unacceptable this kind of behavior is.  If the elves feel free to violate the arrangement, the Empire has no choice but to eradicate the Shesher from the desert.  And that will be very, very costly.  So, harsh, yes.  Politically necessary?  Absolutely.

And, while the taking of braids may have been a worse punishment as far as the elves were concerned I note that a) as children, they don't have a whole lot that is interesting in their braids, and b) braids mean nothing to the Ebisites.  Ears do.  Can you imagine Jamaladeen's reaction if he learned that, as punishment, the children were to be given haircuts?  But ears... everybody gets ears.


----------



## Pyske

All good arguments, Fajitas.  The punishment seems reasonable (to me), if harsh.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Sixty-Ninth*
_In which: remember that fifth archmage?  We’re going to have to figure out where he lives._

Eva stares into the campfire, hugging her knees to her chest.

The party has traveled down the Sea Road for several days since their encounter with the Shesher.  Tomorrow, they will reach Nayarii, the major Ebisite city at the mouth of the Nefertigi River.

She’d known this day would come.  She’d known ever since she’d tossed that gods damned holy symbol into the river in Siunethrit.  She’d known that sooner or later, she would return to civilized lands.  Lands where the Sedellans could find her.  Lands where they maybe would want to ask her quite pointedly what, exactly, she thought she was doing.  

It is the question of just how “pointedly” they will ask that she is now worried about.

She’s had weeks to plan for it, but somehow, out in the desert, it never seemed all that immediate.  A return to civilization… that was tomorrow.  She’d had today to worry about.  Indeed, she’d had no shortage of todays to worry about.  But all of a sudden, here she is, and tomorrow is… well, tomorrow.

Part of her mumbles that she’s worried over nothing.  She disappeared off the map when she ditched that holy symbol back in Siunethrit.  There’s no way they could know where she’ll turn up next.  No reason to think they’d be looking for her in Nayarii.  No reason to worry.

And that, of course, is exactly what is worrying the rest of her.

So she stares into the fire, hugging her knees to her chest.  She knows she should be thinking of possible solutions, but all she can do is dwell on the great, scary unknown waiting for her.

That’s what Thatch sits next to her.

“Heya,” he says.

“Mmmm,” she grunts in response.

“You all right?”

Eva sighs and says, “Yeah, sure,” with a tone of voice that says she’s anything but.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“Yes, but nothing I can.  I’m sorry, it’s nothing personal, it’s just… I’m supposed to be able to be the river that flows in two channels, but I’m pretty sure that one of those channels is really not happy with me right now.” 

“Um.  Okay,” says Thatch, not getting it.

“The Sedellans? I dropped the holy symbol they were using to spy on us into the River back in Siunethrit.  I think they’re going to be a little upset about that.”  

Thatch stares at her.  “Is that all you’re worried about?” he asks.

Eva stares right back.  “Well, technically I guess I’m less worried that they’re a little upset and more worried that they’re really upset.  Like knife in the dark, body left to rot in an alley under a pile of garbage upset.”

Thatch laughs.  “Not gonna happen.”

“Yeah?” Eva says, gloomily.

“Yeah,” Thatch declares.  “This other channel you’re supposed to be able to flow in?  That’s Alirria, right?”

“Yes.”

“And, as one of the Lady’s Attendants, part of my job is to protect Alirrians who might be in danger, right?”

Eva blinks.  She’d never really thought about the practical ramifications of Thatch having taken his orders.  “But I’m not really… I mean, technically—“

“Look, Alirria herself decided to tell you that you that you had a choice.  Whether you’ve made that choice or not, I’d say that means that She wants you kept safe.  Which means it’s my job to see it done.  So.  How can I be of service to you?”

For the first time in days, Eva smiles.

###

Nayarii could not be more different than Siunethrit.  Bathed by cooling sea-breezes, filled with travelers from all over the Halmae, the city has a bustling, cosmopolitan air which is—along with the sea breezes—quite refreshing.

The party, their newly-minted passports in hand, is waved through by the now expected customs officials.  If there is one constant to the party’s experience in the Empire of Ebis, it would be that the customs officials seem to be uniformly bored to tears.

As soon as they’ve been cleared for entry into the city, Eva and Lira announce their intention to explore the main market. 

Kiara is soon tugging on Annika’s sleeve.  “Ooo!  Ooo!  I want to go too!  I need to buy a hat!”

“A hat?”  Annika is more than a little confused, “Why?”

“Be*cause*!”  Kiara explains, impatient to be off.

“She can come with us,” Lira offers.  “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“I’m going with them,” Thatch assures Annika. “They’ll be okay.  We can meet you back here if there’s something else you want to do.”

Annika throws up her hands in defeat.  “No, no.  If she wants a hat I might as well try to have some input in it.”

“Why?  You don’t have to wear it.”  Kiara points out.

“Yes, but I have to look at it.”

That decided, the motley group heads out, Anvil shouting after them, “Meet in front of the Temple of Justice at four o’clock!”

A distracted wave from Lira is the only sign that anyone heard him.

Anvil is left standing inside the city gates with Reyu beside him.  Despite the bustle of the city, the day seems somehow… quieter. 

“Perhaps it would be best if I procured lodging for us.”  Reyu offers.

Anvil nods.  “Excellent.”

“What are your plans?”

“If we are to find this Barnabus, we should not be sailing blindly across the sea.  I will go to the Temple of Justice, and seek information on their library regarding mysterious islands in the middle of the Halmae.”

“At four o’clock then.”

“Indeed.”

###

Anvil confidently strides up the front steps of the Temple of Justice and is quickly met—or forestalled—by an acolyte.  It’s a bit hard to read the young woman’s intention.

“Greetings Justicar,” she intones.  “You are far from home.  How may we be of service?”

Anvil nods; it is Just that strangers should not be allowed free access to all areas of the Temple.  “I have come to visit the library, seeking knowledge of unknown islands.”

The acolyte blinks.  “Unknown islands?”

Anvil nods.  “Yes.  Do you have records of such things?”

“That… that would be difficult, Justicar.”


----------



## doghead

Difficult as in "if they are unknown, then no one knows about them so how can there be any information" difficult, or as in "the information you seek is a closely guarded secret and not to be revealed to dodgy foreigners on the grounds that it might compromise national security (or some such twaddle)" difficult.

Somehow, I suspect the latter.


----------



## Fajitas

doghead said:
			
		

> Somehow, I suspect the latter.



Er, more the former, I'm afraid.   Bad Monkey Jeff, God bless him, looked me right in the face and demanded that I tell him everything I knew about unknown islands, with such conviction that I truly believe he thought it might work.


----------



## Seonaid

I love you guys.

I forget--at this point, is someone playing Annika and Kiara?


----------



## spyscribe

Seonaid said:
			
		

> I forget--at this point, is someone playing Annika and Kiara?




Kiara is always played by Snippet.  This session we didn't have any guest-stars, so Annika is down with her usual NPC self.


----------



## dpdx

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Well, do keep in mind the following: {_myriad of reasons_}



Oh, OK. I guess rehabilitation vs. punishment is not a common argument in Ebis. I withdraw my objection to the Judgment.

But I still think that making enemies of those children is going to come back and bite them. Which of course is the staple of a legendary ongoing campaign such as this one.

So anyway, what's the "shamer of the Nation" bead look like/made of? Scorpion dung?


----------



## babomb

Have I mentioned I love this story hour? Unknown islands...heh.


----------



## spyscribe

*Happy Birthday to Me!*

*Part the One-Hundred Seventieth*
_In which: we tell a tale of two libraries._

Reyu decides that, since they are going to be seeking a captain to take them to Barnabus’ island, it would be appropriate to seek lodging near the docks.

She wanders past several taverns populated by the filthiest of humans, as well as one inn that appears to also be operating as an unlicensed brothel, until she finds a suitable-looking establishment not far from the water.  It’s a well-built lodging house and tavern with a large holy symbol of Alirria carved above to the door.  Above the holy symbol is a freshly painted sign which names the place The Briny Blue.

A lively lunch crowd of many sailors and a few Alirria Priestesses fills the common room on the ground floor, but Reyu only stands in the door for a few moments before a server appears.

“Come for lunch, ma’am?”

“Actually, I am seeking rooms for myself and my companions.”

The woman considers.  “Oh.  Well, we should have rooms available.  You’ll want to talk to that man,” she points across the room.  “In the apron.”

Reyu nods her thanks and threads her way over to a high counter near the entrance to the kitchen.  The man the server indicated breaks off a friendly conversation with a few sailors at Reyu’s approach.  She notices that he eyes her a little oddly, but his voice is friendly enough.

“Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, I am seeking lodging for myself and my companions.”

The man’s brow furrows.  “How many companions?”

“Seven, including myself.”

“How many rooms do you need?”

Reyu considers for a moment.  “Three, ideally.  But if you lack space, we could make do with two.”

“Right…”  The man looks for a ledger, and flips through it.  Although to Reyu it doesn’t seem like he’s really looking at it very hard.  “Three rooms.  We can do that.”

“What is your rate?”

“Fifteen gold a night.”  

“For all of us?”

“Per room.”

Reyu frowns.  “That seems a bit high.”  She pauses, and the innkeeper busies himself wiping out an earthenware mug.  “Now…” Reyu continues, “what price would you have offered if I were a human?”

The man looks up at her again, obviously reassessing his first impression.  Then grins.  He quotes her another rate, which seems much more reasonable to Reyu.  She takes some of her share of the party’s funds and puts down a deposit.

The man takes her money, and then, as she is about to turn to go, beckons for her to lean in so that they can speak without being overheard.

“Your companions… are they all… elves?”

Reyu shakes her head.  “No, they are human.”

The man lets out a visible sigh of relief and seems much more relaxed about the whole transaction.  “No offence, you understand, but we don’t get many of your kind in here.  And well, you know some people…” he ducks his head again.  “They say elves are all crazy.”

Reyu sighs.  Given their recent adventures, it’s harder to argue with the man than it once was.  “Some are,” she allows.  

###

Anvil is escorted to the basement library of the Temple of Justice, where two acolytes attend him to fetch any records he might need.  Anvil notices that he is never left completely alone.  If he requires something, one acolyte will go off to fetch it, and the other will remain nearby, keeping a subtle, but unmistakable, eye on his activities.

Unfortunately, Anvil is unable to find many references to mysterious islands in the middle of the Halmae inhabited by reclusive wizards.  Instead, he bends his search towards matters of maritime law.  

On this subject, the Justicars have extensive records.  From what Anvil is able to determine, it appears that once they are out of sight of land, the laws of no land apply, and no matter what flag the ship is sailing under, the captain has—by maritime custom—almost complete authority to do as he sees fit.  _All more the reason_, Anvil thinks, _for forwarding the cause of Universal Law_.  

On a related note, Anvil does a bit of research in an attempt to determine the feasibility of bringing the Universal Law Caucus to Ebis.  He determines that it will be a hard sell, and it would be best to focus first on Dar Aego on the Universal Law front.  He also makes a mental note to be sure that they sail with a captain of good moral character.

As he is leaving, the acolyte who met him on the way in asks if Anvil found the information he was searching for.

“I did not,” Anvil replies.

“Well, you might want to consider checking with the Keepers of Light, at the Temple of Ehkt.  They tend to keep a… broader… collection.  It might contain the information you seek.”

Anvil thanks the acolyte and leaves, finding Reyu on the steps waiting for him.

“Were you able to find us rooms?” he asks.

“Yes,” Reyu replies, “I even convinced the innkeeper not to charge us double fair market rate for them.”

“Excellent.”

“Were you able to find information about Barnabus’ island?”

Anvil shakes his head.  “The annals of Kettenek have little to say on this matter…  Where is Lira?”

###

Anvil finds Lira that evening when she returns with the rest of the shopping party.  Sure enough, Kiara has found and purchased a completely ridiculous hat.  Anvil ignores the sartorial blunder and addresses Lira directly.

“We believe there is information to be found about Barnabus’ island in the library kept at the Temple of Ehkt.”

By now, Lira is used to Anvil’s abrupt style of greeting.  “Okay.”

“You should go look for it.”

“Why me?”

Now, it is Anvil’s turn for confusion.  “You are an Ehktian.”

Lira rolls her eyes.  “I don’t think you have to be a member to get in.  I mean, I know Ehktian scholars are called the _Keepers_ of Light, but they’re not proprietary.  Their motto is: ‘The light of knowledge illuminates the _world_,’ right?”

Anvil just stares at her blankly.

“Fine.  I’ll come with you.”

###

Lira is quite correct in that the Keepers of Light are more than happy to accommodate anyone seeking knowledge among their collections.  A librarian accompanies Lira and Anvil into the stacks, but merely to help them locate the records that will be useful to them.  The cataloguing system is a tad… impressionistic.

“Islands that no one has ever heard of…” the librarian sneaks a wink at Lira, “Well, *that* should be a challenge.”

The librarian takes Anvil and Lira over to a rack of rolled maps, and selects three or four, seemingly at random.  “Obviously, an island that *no one* has ever heard of isn’t going to be on any map, but we’ll see what we can do for islands that *most* people haven’t heard of.

Bringing the maps over to a table, the librarian unrolls them one by one, right on top of each other.  “Now here,” the librarian indicates the first map, “is a map of the channel islands between Ebis and Dar Thane.  Everyone has heard of them.”  He unrolls another map.  “And _this_ shows the al Soor map of the Halmae as comissioned by General  al Soor more than 150 years ago.”

In contrast to the first map, which looked more or less like a standard nautical chart, the al Soor map is covered in lost continents, sea monsters, and roving intelligent storms.

Anvil and Lira exchange glances.  Although they have seen more than their share of unusual things on their recent travels—certainly more than many might see in a lifetime—al Soor’s map seems a bit excessive even by their standards.

“The fascinating thing,” the librarian continues, “is that although this was the chief map in use for more than 85 years, it is now commonly accepted that al Soor never got closer to the Halmae than Ehkthotep.”

“But that is a hundred miles from the Halmae,” Anvil points out.

“Exactly!” the librarian replies.  “Which is what makes it all the more amazing that the map was of any use at all.”

“Well…” Lira begins, “We might need something a little more concrete than that.”

“Oh!  But here’s the genius of the catalogue!” says their guide.  He points to Anvil, “You, go through that pile over there and look for a leather-bound volume with a red spine and brown covers.”  He turns to Lira, “Those are the accounts written by travelers following the al Soor map, and here,” he unrolls five more maps is quick succession, “are the maps based on those accounts.”

By this time, Anvil has managed to find the volume in question and brought it over to the table.  The librarian takes it eagerly, and after consulting back and forth with some cryptic notations on the maps, thumbs through the pages until he locates the passage he is looking for.  “Here it is,” he says: 



> The men insist that this spot on the horizon must be one of the fabled Islands of Mirage, but, as no such islands are marked here on the map, I am sure it is nothing more than a great sea serpent, or perhaps an actual mirage.  Regardless, were it to prove to be one of the Islands of Mirage, I should not take the ship near it, for talk of the priceless treasures there can only stir discontent among the men, and I, for one, would not dare to set foot on those isles, from whose shores, it is said, no sailor returns.  Not for the promise of all the treasure in the world.




Lira turns to Anvil once the librarian has finished.  “If I were a reclusive wizard who wanted to live in the middle of the Halmae and not be bothered, I might just cultivate rumors of mysterious islands, ‘from whose shores no sailor returns.’”

Anvil addresses the librarian, “We will require parchment upon which to take notes.”


----------



## Sunday Raisin

*Happy Birthday Spyscribe!*

This morning, I shamelessly used your birthday as justification to spend over an hour catching up on all of this storyhour that I've not had time to enjoy while being an allegedly virtuous scholar.  Reading this was *much* more fun than analyzing political ramifications of 18th century British gardening practices as revealed in the writings of Charlotte Smith, so thank you for having a birthday and giving me the excuse....  

Thanks to you, Fajitas, and rest of the cast, too, for letting me guest star (or, rather, guest observe-quietly-in-the-uncertain-manner-of-a-beginner).  I'm still hoping that all of Kiara's carefully-considered questions to Manaal pay off.  And I miss you all! 

Thinking of you, Spyscribe!  Have a great day.


----------



## dpdx

Happy Birthday, Spyscribe! It's only fitting that someone who has often brought Halmaean goodness on other peoples' birthdays gets some herself on her own birthday.

Enjoy your day!


----------



## doghead

Happy Birthday spyscribe! 

Once again, thanks for bringing this story to us, it devoted fans. 

And you lucky dog Sunday Raisin. You got to see the crew in action.

thotd


----------



## Seonaid

Ditto what doghead said. And I love "Sunday Raisin." Not sure what it means, but it sounds good.


----------



## Pyske

Happy Birthday, spyscribe.


----------



## brellin

Im alittle late but I did not know it was your birthday  
SO HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY LADY SPYSCRIBE


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

Even later but still meaning well: Happy birthday Lady Spyscribe. (Was not able to read earlier, thus missing your announcement).


----------



## brellin

4 days since last update.


----------



## Pyske

brellin said:
			
		

> 4 days since last update.




So Spyscribe should be getting over her hangover sometime soon?


----------



## coyote6

Happy (very late) birthday, oh spying scribe of Halmae.


----------



## spyscribe

*An appropriate update for Thatch's player's birthday.*

*Part the One-Hundred Seventy-First*
_In which: Thatch sees Attendants at work._

Meanwhile, Thatch—with Eva his ever-present companion—decides to take advantage of his recent temple affiliation, and goes to talk to the Attendants.

“I’ve been tasked with protecting some of my companions,” he explains.  “Are there islands to be avoided?”

Dame Haideh nods politely to Eva but, if she notes the Sedellan holy symbol around her neck, does not pry.  “The area where you need to be most careful is, of course, the Darine Straits, because of the conflict with Dar Thane.  Also, piracy is an issue at the fringes of the shipping lanes.”

“I think we’re gong to be heading farther from shore,” Thatch clarifies.

“Oh really, where?”

Thatch ducks his head.  “I’m not exactly sure.”

“Oh… I see.”  Dame Haideh clearly doesn’t, but forges ahead.  “In that case, the most important thing is to sail with a captain you trust.”

Thatch nods.  “Do you know of any local Water-Walkers who might know about islands in the middle of the Halmae?”

“In the middle of it?”  Dame Haideh shakes her head, and officially gives up on trying to figure out what is going on.  “I don’t think there are many, but if anyone would have been there it would be Umayma.  She’s fond of traveling the Halmae.”

“Do you know where we can find her?” Eva asks.

“Assuming she isn’t out to sea, she’s probably at the waypost.”

Dame Haideh gives them directions and after Thatch thanks her for her help, he and Eva are on their way.  

Bemused, Dame Haideh merely watches them go.

###

The Water-Walkers’ waypost is much like any other: outside, it is built in the style of the local architecture, distinguished from the rest of the block only by the holy symbol above the door.  Inside, however, it is an eclectic mixing pot of sights, sounds, and smells.  Trophies and art from all over the world adorn the walls, and the travelers lodging there hail from anywhere and everywhere, chattering away in various accents and dialects.  It’s near dinner-time when Thatch and Eva arrive, and tantalizing smells waft from the communal kitchen.  In short, it could be a waypost anywhere in the Halmae.

A word with the Postmistress directs Thatch and Eva to Umayma, a well-worn woman with short cropped hair and a well tanned face.  She wears a rugged traveling outfit, with her sleeves and leggings slit in many places.  At first glance, Eva thinks that this must be the result of hard travel, but then she notices that the slits are run through with an odd pattern of laces and strings, allowing the gaps to be tied closed in cold climates or opened for ventilation in warm ones.

Thatch introduces himself and asks Umayma what she can tell them about travel on the Halmae.  Umayma seconds Dame Hadiah’s advice about traveling with a trustworthy captain, and expresses skepticism about the idea of mysterious islands in the middle Halmae not marked on any map.

“Most islands are pretty much just rocks twenty to fifty miles from shore.”

Thatch presses her.  “Have you maybe heard stories though?”

Umayma sighs.  “Sailors tell a lot of stories.  I don’t find many of them credible.”

Thatch and Eva’s try to suppress their disappointment.

“Well, who tells good stories then?” Eva presses her.

Umayma thinks for a few seconds.  “You want to talk to Captain Elsuki.  He’s on old sea-dog who lost a leg a while back.  Since then, he’s usually not too far from port.”  She shrugs.  “But if there’s something to see out there, he’s probably seen it.”

###

That and Eva tear themselves away from the impending dinner at the waypost and meet the rest of the party for their evening meal at the Briny Blue.  Overall, the adventurers are quite pleased with the accommodations; although, they find that as the night goes on, the crowd of sailors grows rather rowdy.   

In anticipation of this, the innkeeper employs several Attendants who stand at the perimeter of the room to keep an eye on things.  Whenever it appears that a situation might be getting out of hand, one or more of the Attendants step in and cast a quick spell on particularly rowdy carousers.  Nascent disputes tend to dissipate fairly quickly after that.

Lira, watches a couple of times before she identifies the effect of the orison.

“_Sober_?” she asks Thatch, by way of confirmation.

He nods.  “They were using it a lot during Alirria Rising at the Temple of the Handmaidens.”

“When do they teach you that?”  Lira asks.

Thatch’s eyes go wide.  “You think they will?”

Lira shrugs.  “*I’m* a cleric now, why not you?”

Although some are curious about the possible hangover-prevention effects of the spell, the party members decide not to attempt any experiments, and the night passes without major incident.

###

As usual, Reyu is first to rise the next morning.  She looks out to sea as she performs her prayers, letting the fresh breeze blow away the bad feelings left from their recent interactions with the Shesher and the lingering concerns she still has about Amelia. _When we’ve found the last archmage,_ she promises herself, _I’ll go home, find Amelia, spend some time with grandmother.  Then, I’ll feel better._

She looks over at her companions, just beginning to rouse and decides to go out for a quick walk on the docks before breakfast.

Reyu finds the docks at Nayarii to be much the same as other human ports she’s seen.  There’s certainly a stronger military presence here than in Dar Pykos, but—with the notable exception of Dar Thane—ships from all over the Halmae are represented.

She returns to the Briny Blue after about an hour and finds a grizzled, older human man with one wooden leg has installed himself by the fire.  On a hunch, she invites herself to join him.

“Are you Captain Elsuki?”

He gives her an appraising look.  “Why d’yeh want to know?” he asks, his voice a low growl.

“I have heard he is well-travelled.”

The man smiles to himself and takes a long draw on his pipe.  “Aye, I’ve heard that too.”

He and Reyu are soon joined by the rest of the party, who tell the Captain about their quest.  He listens to them, thoughtful.

“Well, that’s quite a story.”  He gives his wooden leg a knock.  “I don’t get out t‘the high seas the way I used t’, though.”

“Even if you haven’t,” Reyu prods him, “have you perhaps heard of the islands we seek?”

“The Islands of Mirage?”

Thatch and Kiara nod eagerly.

“I’ve heard a lot.  Most times, I’ve not heard th’name attached to a place a ship could sail.”  He holds off a hand to forestall the next question.  “But years ago, I knew a cap’n who claimed t’have a map t’lead a ship there.  A string of islands surrounded b’nothing but sea… where he said there’d be great treasure awaitin’ for them that could take it.  You understand I was young then, eager for adventure… so I signed on as second mate.”

He looks around as the eyes of his seven listeners light up simultaneously. 

“It weren’t an easy crossing.  Winter was coming in and the cap’n wouldn’t let anyone see his map, afraid we might mutiny on the open sea.  But eventually we got there.  The cap’n took a longboat and four men to the largest island in sight, promising to return in a week with whatever treasure he could find.

“When he didn’t return after two weeks, the first mate took th’second longboat and three more men t’go looking for him.

“I watched through the glass as th’longboat circled the island, ‘til it were out of sight.  Never saw it again.  Two weeks later, with no word, I was th’cap’n.  An’ so I hauled anchor and we came back to port.”

“Why didn’t you go looking for the first mate?” Anvil asks.

“I was near out of longboats, and running short on men too… assuming any of them would have followed me.”

“Ah, I see.”  Anvil nods and concedes the Just-ness of the point.

It’s Lira who delicately clears her throat and asks the question on everyone’s mind.  “What happened to the map?”

He meets her gaze.  “Now what kind of man would be letting a map like that fall out of his possession?”

“Ever think of going back?  One last, grand adventure.”

“That might make you rich beyond your wildest dreams?” Eva adds.

“Aye,” El Suki replies finally, “I’ve considered it.”

###

Bright and early the next day, the party arrives at the berth of Elsuki’s ship, _The Fool’s Errand_.


----------



## Seonaid

Awesome. And happy birthday, Thatch's player.


----------



## MTR

Then it's happy birthday to everyone!  Nice update.

After getting that advice about reliable captains (and the desert guide experience) did anybody feel a little nervous going with this guy?  You have to stretch your definition of "reliable" to fit a one legged captain who calls his ship The Fool's Errand.  

Of course you *are* going to an unknown island from whence none have returned.  The reliable types don't go there.


----------



## Spatzimaus

MTR said:
			
		

> You have to stretch your definition of "reliable" to fit a one legged captain who calls his ship The Fool's Errand.




Actually, I'd say that's exactly the sort of person I'd define as "reliable".  Anyone with no injuries clearly hasn't gone through any hardships, and probably just stuck to the safe travel lanes his whole career.  If you want to get somewhere dangerous, you clearly want someone who has gone to dangerous areas before and come back alive.

With a ship name like that, this captain clearly isn't superstitious (and more importantly, any crew that's willing to sail on a ship named that would be the same.)  Now, IMC the party had a ship named the Righteous Indignation.  Anvil would've loved it, I'm sure.


----------



## jerichothebard

It's not, of course, "reliable" in the same way as you would use it in conversation with your mother about a potential suitor... but when it comes to finding islands that all rational people think don't exist... well... Spatzimous has it right on the money.

And both _the Fool's Errand_ and  _Righteous Indignation_ are great names for ships!


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

Happy birthday to Thatch's player and thanks for the update Spyscribe. This is by now the only SH I follow that still get's updated, so please keep it going.


----------



## brellin

I think it's time for an update.


----------



## spyscribe

*GenCon SoCal, and update update*

So, first things first.  Halmae-type people will be around GenCon SoCal, but probably only on Saturday afternoon to evening.  (With the exception of our own BadMonkeyJeff who will be working at the Atlas Booth for the whole con.  Say hello, Kettenek's Justice demands it!)

As for the update, it's coming.  If it isn't today, it should be up tomorrow.  Believe it or not, after more than a year of twice-weekly updates, I've actually gotten through my accumulated backlog, and am writing now (more or less) hand to mouth.

The backlog can be refilled, but both Fajitas and I are up to our little eyeballs in other writing projects at the moment, so we're probably going to be dropping back to posting once a week through the end of the year.  That should be a pace I can comfortably keep without any post droughts.

The good news is that the session that is coming up after I finish posting this one... Pirates of the Halmae.  Oh yeah, good times.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Seventy-Second*
_In which: passengers come aboard._

_The Fool’s Errand_ is a one-masted sailing ship, well-built and suited to travel on the high seas.  The party comes aboard and Elsuki introduces them to the crew.

Elsuki’s first mate is a short, stocky Ebisite woman named Yasmine.  She and the Captain have sailed together for many years, and she looks on with some suspicion as Anvil scans her, the captain, herself,  the other ten members of the crew, and the party, for Evil and magical auras.

Finding nothing unexpected, the group is nearly ready to shove-off.  The only thing to be resolved is the small matter of payment.

While the party members are willing to pay for their passage, Captain Elsuki has something else in mind.

“I’ll not charge to carry ye,’” he tells them.  “All I ask is a share o’ the treasure y’be findin’ on the islands…  Assuming y’survive.”

The party members exchange glances.  While many of them are certainly not opposed to a little looting when it comes across their path, they are seeking an archmage, not a treasure.  On the other hand, 

Anvil clears his throat.  “You understand, the seeking of treasure is not our primary mission.”

Captain Elsuki is unconcerned.  “From what I be hearing of those islands, there’s plenty to find.”

“How much treasure would you require for your services?”

Elsuki has clearly considered this matter beforehand.  He proposes splitting whatever wealth the party obtains nine ways.  One share will go to each of the seven party members.  Captain Elsuki will take one as the captain of the vessel, and the remaining lot will be split amongst his crew.

The party considers.  Given that they will be the ones actually exploring these apparently dangerous and treasure-filled islands, it seems like Elsuki is getting the long end of this particular stick.

Anvil tries a counter-offer.  “Then we should split the treasure ten ways, as our eighth member, Bob, will require a share.”

Elsuki frowns.  “Which one of you be Bob?”

Eva plants her elbow firmly in Thatch’s ribs to keep him from pointing to his horse, at that moment being lowered into the ship’s hold.

Anvil doesn’t miss a beat.  “He does not stand before you, but he is vital to our mission.”

Elsuki squints.  “There’ll be no silent partners on this voyage.  Bob wants his share, he can earn it like anyone else.”

Anvil elects not to push the issue, and the bargain is struck for the spoils to be split nine ways.

###

All administrative minutiae out of the way, the ship departs and the party members settle themselves and their belongings in the cabin beneath the ship’s forecastle.  The captains’ cabin and mess are aft, as is traditional, and the crew strings their hammocks in the hold.

If any of them notice that Thatch calls his mount Bob, none of them mention it to the Captain.

Oddly, at the beginning of this voyage, it’s the strong-stomached Lira who has problems with sea-sickness.  But she gets over it in a few hours, and soon she joins Anvil at the ship’s rail where they stand and watch the ship’s crew swarming over the rigging.

Anvil enjoys watching the order that grows out of the seeming chaos.

Lira appreciates the irrepressible chaos amidst the apparent order.

Over the next few days, aside from some choppy seas, the journey passes uneventfully.  Thatch and Eva both take some beginning sailing lessons from the crew, and the entire party enjoys dinner with Elsuki and Yasmine in the captain’s cabin.

Whether half of Elsuki’s stories are true or not, he tells all of them well.

Then, on the morning of April 9th, there’s a shout from the crow’s nest.

“Ship Ahoy!”

The party and crew quickly rush to the rail where, sure enough, a longboat floats in the distance.

Kiara ducks out of sight of the crew, changes into swallow form, and takes wing towards the small craft.  For precaution, she doesn’t approach too closely, but gets near enough so that she can see the occupants of the boat while remaining unnoticed herself.

There are four people aboard, two men and two women.

One of the men, dressed in the robes of a monastic order of Kettenek, stands at the prow and waves a white piece of cloth in the direction of _The Fool’s Errand_.  Behind him, a strikingly beautiful woman dressed in the diaphanous gown of an Alirrian Handmaiden, waves her arms, hoping to attract the ship’s attention.  At the other end of the boat, the other man, well-dressed and showing signs of wealth and education, cradles a younger woman in his arms.  Her hair is ragged and matted, as are her clothes, and she seems to be muttering to herself. 

Kiara relays these observations back to Annika, while captain Elsuki orders the crew to make for the longboat.  

“Are you not concerned that they might be brigands?”  Anvil asks.

Elsuki fixes the Justicar with a hard stare.  “Look at the horizon.  There’s no other sails in sight.  Y’see someone without power or supplies in the open ocean, only a brigand wouldn’t pick them up.”

Anvil nods.  It is Just.  Still, he also prepares to cast _zone of truth_ on the new passengers as they come aboard.

###

The monk is the first of the longboat passengers to come aboard, the man who Kiara earlier saw waving the white flag.  He wears a simple black robe, and although he is clearly no longer a young man, his skin is tanned, and he moves with a certain fluidity that speaks to an active life.  His short, graying hair is pulled back into a tiny ponytail.

Anvil helps him over the rail and to his feet on the deck as the rest of the crew turns their attention to the other passengers.

“What happened to you?” Anvil demands.

There is a moment’s pause as the other man takes in Anvil’s Justicar robes and abruptness of the question.  When he does answer he speaks, in a deep, well-measured voice.

“We were passengers on another vessel, traveling together to Dar Pykos.  A ship flying a black flag approached us, and when it was clear that we were going to be attacked, the Captain put us in the longboat.”

“What happened to the ship you were traveling on?”  Anvil presses him, but the monk’s response is forestalled as the woman in Handmaiden’s robes climbs onto the deck.

Thatch’s eyes go wide.  After all, the woman is beautiful, with dark lustrous hair and a faintly exotic air that makes him wonder if she had ancestors from the Sovereignty. However, Thatch soon remembers his duties as an Attendant, and offers her a small bow.  “Welcome my Lady.  How may I be of service to you?”

Momentarily, the woman is equally nonplussed to find an Attendant aboard.  But she gets over her surprise quickly and acknowledges him with a graceful nod.  “Thank you.  You are too kind.”

The young woman comes aboard next.  She’s not yet out of her late teens, and seen up close, she is worryingly thin and pale.  She appears confused, requiring considerable help to navigate her way over the rail.  Even after she finds her feet, she merely stands—rooted to the spot where she was placed—muttering to herself and looking around with a dazed expression.

Last aboard is the well-dressed young man, who rushes to her side as soon his feet touch the deck.

“And who are you?” Anvil asks, still focusing on keeping all four within his _zone of truth_ spell.

“I am Brother Bradley,” the monk answers, without any apparent falsehood.  He indicates the others in turn, “The Lady Handmaiden is Sister Aurelia, and our young companions are Sakeem and his sister Ragya.”


----------



## Shieldhaven

"Sakeem" and "Ragya"... hm.  Those names are _reasonably_ close to "Simon" and "River"...  I wonder.  Would Fajitas rip off Firefly?  (Is the Pope Catholic?  Good writers borrow.  Great writers steal.) 

Very cool.


----------



## jerichothebard

Shieldhaven said:
			
		

> "Sakeem" and "Ragya"... hm.  Those names are _reasonably_ close to "Simon" and "River"...  I wonder.  Would Fajitas rip off Firefly?  (Is the Pope Catholic?  Good writers borrow.  Great writers steal.)
> 
> Very cool.





I was just thinking the exact same thing.  And the other two... Book and Inara?


Of course, I'm also midway through watching the series via Netflix, so it's on my mind a bit...


----------



## MTR

I'm kinda disappointed these people appear to be honest.  Where's the fun in that?   

spyscribe, so you've caught up to the actual game?  I hope you keep writing; it seems not always having material available tends to make authors forget about the Story Hour - and not come back.


----------



## dpdx

Someone had to bring up Firefly, didn't they? Nice suspension of disbelief. Now I'm gonna look for Reavers, Crime Syndicates, and the ship's navigator being married to the first mate.

Thanks.


----------



## spyscribe

_Happy (American) Thanksgiving everyone!  And a special shout-out to whoever found BadMonkeyJeff at SoCal and told him that Kettennek's Justice demanded the purchase of Lunch Money.  That rocks!_

*Part the One-Hudred Seventy-Third*
_In which: our serenity is shattered._

Thatch has been watching Ragya with some curiosity since she came aboard.  Sakeem does not seem to appreciate his interest.

“Can I help you with something?”

Thatch blushes furiously.  Guilty at being caught-out, even if he wasn’t up to anything.  “Um… Your sister… is she okay?”

“No,” Sakeem puts an arm around his Ragya, “she isn’t.”

For a moment, Ragya turns and actually focuses on Thatch.  “The water, it likes you,” she says simply.  

Thatch blinks.

Anvil comes to join the conversation in his usual direct manner.  “You were on your way to Dar Pykos,” he asks.  “Why?”

“I wanted to take my sister to see the sights.”

Although Sakeem sounds a trifle defensive, Anvil’s _zone of truth_ does not appear to be affecting anyone’s answers.  However—the cleric reflects—the new visitors might simply be able to resist its influence.  Anvil has always thought was a serious flaw in the spell.  He does note that although the young man and his sister both appear to be from Ebis, Sakeem has what looks like a spell-book tucked into his pack… which is odd for a native of a country as hostile to wizards as the Empire.

However, that would explain why the young man keeps glancing so nervously at the Ebisite flag flying from the mast of _The Fool’s Errand_.

Anvil isn’t the only party member to take note of Sakeem’s nervousness, and as the party helps the new passengers get settled in the fore-cabin, alternate theories begin to form.

“Do you think he’s a wizard?”  Lira asks in a whisper.

“He’s got a really big book in his pack.  It looks kind of like Annika’s.”  Kiara bounces with excitement, eyes bright.  “Do you think they’re fleeing the Empire?”

“Who wouldn’t flee the Empire?”  Eva puts in.

Thatch doesn’t like that the way that sounds.  “We aren’t fleeing…  We just have somewhere else to go.”

“What about his sister?”  Kiara asks.

Anvil covers that angle by surreptitiously casting a _detection_ spell.  Lira quirks an eyebrow as she notices that Anvil is not casting _detect evil_, but _detect undead_.  She shoots him a look.

“Is that really necessary?”

Anvil gives an uncharacteristic shrug.  “You never know.”  _(His player continues, “There are all kinds of weird-ass undead in the world.”)_

“Don’t you think some kind of _feeblemind_ effect is more likely?”

“Perhaps, but I don’t have _detect evil_ prepared.”

Lira decides not to ask why he *did* have _detect undead_ ready.  Instead, she joins the rest of the party as they talk with their new passengers privately, and attempt to confirm their suspicions.

###

They begin by telling the four their own story, or at least, its rough outline.

“We’ve come from Ebis, yes.  But as you can tell.  None of us are Ebisites.  We’re on a mission for King Orrin of Dar Pykos.”

“What does this have to do with us?”  Sakeem asks.

In response, Lira casts _mage hand_ and uses it to lift the flap of his pack open, revealing the spell-book within.

“If you need help, we might be able to aid you,” Reyu says. 

Aurelia studies each member of the party in turn, as though trying to gauge their truthfulness.  “The ship that attacked us,” she says slowly, and at long last.  “It was an Ebisite ship.”

“Why would the Empire attack your ship?” Anvil demands.

Brother Bradley speaks up.  “Initially, probably because out ship was out of Dar Thane.  They must have thought we were privateers, menacing their shipping lanes.  Of course, we were nothing of the sort.”

“But some of us do have—” Aurelia looks over at Sakeem and Ragya, “—other reasons for not wishing to encounter the Ebisite Navy.”

Sakeem glares at Aurelia, not liking her decision to take the party into their confidence, but does not back down for an instant as he answers the Justicar.  “My sister is a sorcerer.  We had managed to keep her hidden from the authorities for years.  I thought she was safe if I left home for a while.  I was studying at the Mages’ Academy in Dar Pykos when I got word that the military had found out about her.  They came in the middle of the night, took her, and killed our parents.”

Lira gives him a sympathetic look.  “We’re sorry.”

“It took me years to find where they had taken her and get her back.  I don’t know what they did to her, but…” he trails off, his gaze turning to rest on her vacant expression.  “I’m hoping that if I bring her back to the Mages’ Academy, someone there can help me find a way to cure her.”

“When were you at the Academy?”  Annika asks abruptly.  “Did we have class together?”

Sakeem’s eyes go wide.  “Umm… about three years ago?”

“I started right around that time…”

Annika and Sakeem compare notes, and confirm that they did take first-year divinations together, and although it was some time ago, once their memories are jogged, they do each recall the other.  

Anvil and Reyu exchange a look, reassured.

Sakeem, due to his efforts to find and rescue his sister, had not heard about the attack on the Academy, and the party members fill him in on details as best they can.  It appears that not many of his former classmates will be there to greet him on his return.

The party agrees—not knowing the full extent of Elsuki’s views on the arcane—to keep the siblings’ story to themselves, at least for the time being.  The new guests give the Captain a rough description of the ship that attacked them, but since they were cast adrift before the attack began, they are not able to say much definitively beyond the fact that the vessel was two-masted.

The morning is spent helping the new visitors settle in and learning other small details of their stories.  _(Details which I’m sure our astute readers can fill-in on their own. )_

Finally, Reyu brings the conversation back to the matter of the Ebisties.

“Do you think they’ll come after you?”

Aurelia shakes his head.  “I don’t know.”

“Well, if they do,” says Lira, “we need to have a plan.”

###

Since the new passengers have come aboard, Captain Elsuki has not relaxed the crew’s vigilance for a moment. 

Just before midday, a two-masted ship appears on the horizon.

The four refugees hide in the forecastle, while Thatch stands guard by the only door. 

The ship on the horizon draws closer.

Another cry comes from the crow’s nest.  “Ebisite colors!”

Captain Elsuki immediately relaxes.  After all, he should have nothing to worry about from the Ebisite navy or from another trading vessel.  Then, he notices the party members whispering and trading nervous glances.

“What?”

“Umm…”

“If there’s something aboard m’ship, and you’re hiding it from me, you’d best be t’fixing that.”

“It is… not our place to break a confidence.”

“Then maybe you’d best bring me t’someone who can.”

Thatch and Eva go to fetch Brother Brightly and the others, and they, with some misgivings on Sakeem’s part, bring Captain Elsuki into their confidence.

 Elsuki hears their story in silence, but all he says is: “If the military is looking for these people, we’ve got t’find a better way to hide them.”

“We must get rid of their longboat,” Anvil points out.  “We do not wish it to look as though we have recently taken anyone aboard.”

Lira shakes her head.  “But still, if they’re determined to search us, where on this ship could we possibly hide them?”

Thatch is sticking to Aurelia like glue.  “We can protect them.”

“No offense Thatch, but are we willing to bet all of our lives on that?”

Reyu’s eyes light up with a sudden idea.  “The captain’s right.  There is nowhere on the ship we can hide them.”

Eva rolls her eyes.  “Thank you, Miss Sunshine.”

Reyu ignores her.  “We should hide them outside the ship.”

“How—?”

“_Water Breathing._”

“You know,” says Thatch to no one in particular, “all elves might be crazy, but she’s crazy in a good way.”

_(Hey, if Fajitas is going to steal from _Firefly_, why shouldn’t we steal right back?)_

###

As the ship grows ever closer, Reyu quickly casts _water breathing_ on Aurelia, Brother Bradley, Sakeem, Ragya, and Anvil.

The sailors work to lash all five of them together with a bit of line, and before the new passengers quite have time to absorb what’s happening, they’re over the side.  Anvil uses an extra length at the end of the line to tie them to the ship’s anchor so they don’t drift out to sea.  Reyu follows them over the rail, _wildshaping_ into a dolphin in midair so that she enters the water with barely a splash.

Meanwhile, the party members work to conceal any evidence that their visitors were ever aboard.

“What do we do if they find their things?” Thatch asks.

Lira considers Thatch’s limited talents for dissembling.  “Look very sad and say, ‘They’re with Alirria.’  You should be able to get away with that even if they hit you with a _zone of truth_.”

Thatch grins.  “Oh, that’s good.”

“Other than that, you might want to let me do the talking.”  Lira smiles and heads up for a spot at the railing where she can watch the other ship approach. _And we’ll hope that it goes better than it did with the Shesher._ 

The other ship slows as it comes up alongside, bow-to-stern and now only fifteen feet from their own vessel.

Lira scans the deck, but just as they are coming into shouting distance, several things happen nearly simultaneously.

The Ebisite flag abruptly falls from the mast to be replaced an instant later by the colors of Dar Thane.

A shout goes up from the crew.  “Thanean pirates!”

As soon as the new flag hits the top of the mast, Lira feels a sudden rush of air.  She turns to follow the source and realizes that the sailor who used to be standing ten feet to her right is now flat on the deck, pinned there by an arrow through his throat.

###

Below the water, Reyu takes a few seconds to adjust to her new shape as a dolphin.  It’s tricky learning to use her new eyes, and she scans for Anvil and the others to give her something to focus on.

What she sees nearly makes her doubt her senses.  

Brother Bradley delivers a vicious chop to the back on Anvil’s neck, _stunning_ him.  The monk then reaches into his sash, pulls out a dagger, and severs the lines linking the Anvil to the others, and all of them to the anchor.


----------



## dpdx

OMG. Reavers!!

If that's not a chapter in the Rat Bastard DM handbook, it ought to be.

Happy Thanksgiving, Halmaeans and those who'd like to be.


----------



## spyscribe

Hey all, just a quick note to say that my computer is sick, so this week's update will be delayed.  Hopefully, not by a whole lot.


----------



## The Iron Mark

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Hey all, just a quick note to say that my computer is sick, so this week's update will be delayed.  Hopefully, not by a whole lot.



NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

/Vader

Need... fix...

Also need... Serenity DVD...


----------



## brellin

It has been over a week I think you need to find someone who can cast Heal Computer  ( ok it was kinda funny )


----------



## Fajitas

brellin said:
			
		

> It has been over a week I think you need to find someone who can cast Heal Computer



It's funny *now*.  Spyscribe *really* wasn't in the mood to hear jokes about it when it happened.

Just so all are aware, Spyscribe's computer is back, safe and sound and fully functional.  She has been dragged under by the riptide of the real world of late (stupid real world), hence the lack of update.  But she will be back, and when she does, I believe she intends to come back with a vengeance.

However, to tide you over in the meantime, I present the following:

As one can readily imagine, there's about to be some ship-to-ship combat coming up.  And, I figured, what the heck's the fun of ship-to-ship combat if you can't swing on the rigging and stuff?  So, the following are the House Rules I came up with for swinging on rigging.



> *SWINGING* (House Rule)
> You may swing on the rigging from any point on the ship to any point within 10 feet of the ship as a single movement action.  To swing on the rigging, you must:
> 
> 1) Start from a position higher than you’re swinging over. This may be on the fore or aft-castles, the mast, or the railing.
> 
> 2) Make a DC 5 Profession: Sailor check or a DC 10 Int or Wis check to determine which rope will take you where you want to go.  You may still swing if you fail this check.  Failure by 4 or less will get you within 10 feet of your desired location.  Failure by 5 or more may have exciting consequences.
> 
> 3) The DC for the swing is equal to twice the number of squares you want to move.  You may make a Dex, Str, or Tumbling check to swing.  You may also use ½ your Jump skill.
> 
> 4) If you make your Swing Check, you successfully land.  If you fail by 4 or less, you arrive at the right spot, but do not land on your feet.  If you fail by 5 or more, you slip somewhere en route.
> 
> 5) You may make an attack of opportunity against somebody swinging over your square. The swinger receives a +4 AC bonus against this attack.
> 
> You may also use the rigging to lift you up or lower you down rapidly.  Doing so only requires the use of steps 2-4.  Moving vertically is a move action.  However, you must use a standard action to release a rope you are using to raise or lower yourself.




None of this becomes relevant at any point.  Nope.  Not a bit.  Especially not the rules about fumbling your Swing Check.  Yeah, those >cough, snicker< never came up...


----------



## dpdx

Right. On!

Of course, you've set expectations now, Fajitas, for not only a map, but some heavy DM mechanical notation (or at least sufficient explanation in the narrative) of exactly how Anvil goes kerplooge! into the bounding main. (I'm just guessing, but he seems like the person most likely to fail a Dex check; plus, I love the sound of "bounding main" - and kerplooge!.)

But I'll wait for it. I've had a busy recent real life, too, so I definitely feel for Spyscribe.


----------



## Len

Fajitas said:
			
		

> None of this becomes relevant at any point.  Nope.  Not a bit.  Especially not the rules about fumbling your Swing Check.  Yeah, those >cough, snicker< never came up...



Oh, come on. The DCs were carefully set to guarantee a few fumbles, weren't they?

"Hmm, some of them might make all their swing checks. I better add another check using a skill that's based on their dump stats. "


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Seventy-Fourth*
_In which: someone gets bushwhacked._

Aboard _The Tranquil Shore_,  Captain Maklim—his long, brown coat blowing in the breeze—surveys his crew.  So far, it’s business as usual.  Zokath, his first mate, a tall, sober, dark-complexioned woman with the stiff bearing of a true soldier of Dar Thane is beside him, both of her cutlasses out and ready.  Her husband Welk is at the wheel, laughing maniacally at the expressions of shock aboard the _Errand_.  Keykel and her crossbow are well hidden near the forecastle, and Jor is secure in the crow’s nest with a clear shot at anything that might think to move on the Ebisite ship.

Yep.  It’s time to give these sun baked, beard-wearing bastards a little piece of payback.

Or perhaps not.

“Don’t like this, sir,” Zokath is shaking her head.  “Can’t see the others.  Ragya should have the whole crew snarled in the rigging by now.”

Maklim has to allow as she has a point.  He draws his sword from its sheath.  “Looks like this one might be interesting.”

###

Beneath the water, Reyu swims over to the rapidly sinking Anvil.  She catches his cloak in her beak drags him with her, swimming for all she is worth. 

She can see the girl, Ragya cast _shield_ on herself and grab Sakeem’s cloak.  Sakkeem casts _fly_, and the two begin rocketing upwards through the water.  Reyu is out of sight before she can see what Sister Aurelia has planned.

She takes Anvil, not directly to the surface, but *under* _The Fool’s Errand_.  Reyu is not sure what is going on above, but she is certain there is trouble.

And she is in the mood to be right in the middle of it.

###

At the aftdeck, Elsuki shouts to the crew, who swarms into action.  “Pirates!  To arms!  To arms!”

He is in mid-cry when Maklem and Zokuth swing across the gap between the two vessels and plant themselves right in front of him.

“Don’t suppose you’d care to up and surrender now, would you?” Maklem asks pleasantly.

Elsuki glowers and swings his cutlass at Zokuth by way of response.  She easily steps out of the way, and clucks her tongue.

“The Captain made you fair offer,” she chides him.  “You might want to consider it.”

Elsuki lets out a roar of rage and prepares to attack again.

“Captain!  No!”  Yasmine vaults over the rail of the aftcastle, putting herself between Elsuki and the two invaders.  

As she lands, a crossbow bolt comes out of nowhere and buries itself deep in her side.  A cry goes up from the crew: 

“Sniper!” 

“Watch yourselves!”

Yasmine holds her ground.  Blood pours out of the wound in her side, but she squares her stance and makes clear that any wishing to harm the Captain will have to do it over her corpse.

Unfortuantely for her, Maklem and Zokuth have no problem with that.

###

The rain of arrows from the other ship is unabated.  Another sailor takes a lethal strike, this time through the eye, while a third lies bleeding on the deck, cut down as he tried to defend his captain.

Worst of all, the arrows are punctuated by crossbow bolts.  A second sniper is striking like a cobra from somewhere aboard _The Tranquil Shore_.  The bolts don’t come often, but cause horrific damage when they do.

On the forecastle of the _Errand_, Thatch scans the other ship, looking for at least *one* source of the deadly arrows.  He spots a huge man in the crow’s nest of the aft mast, armed with the largest longbow Thatch has ever seen.

Thatch starts to run.  The gap between the two ships isn’t wide, and he bets he can make the jump across.  They want a fight, he’ll bring it to them.  However, he barely takes two steps when the red-haired pilot of the other ship grabs a line and swings himself over to the forecastle of the _Errand_, not ten feet away from where Thatch stands.

He laughs at Thatch’s surprise.  “Guess who’s coming to dinner!”

###

Lira finds partial cover behind the stairs leading to the forecastle and casts _shield_ on herself, while Kiara, up in the rigging embeds two arrows in the wood of the crow’s nest, just missing the archer there.

Another sailor drops like a stone, crossbow bolt protruding from his neck.  Kiara searches frantically for the other archer.  _Where are those crossbow bolts coming from?_

###

Zokuth’s swords swirl around her like a whirlwind.  A sailor falls before her, then, almost as an afterthought, she slices across Yasmine’s neck.  Yasmine crumples to the ground, clutching her throat and gasping before sinking into unconsciousness.

Zokuth puts a slash down Elsuki’s arm, just to show she can.  “Want to reconsider the Captain’s offer?”

Maklim steps up after her and puts a symmetrical, deeper, slash on Elsuki’s other arm.  “Think about it.  I make it a point never to argue with a pretty lady holding two swords.”

Annika has stood by the door to the captain’s cabin through this entire exchange, fortunately ignored by all the people with the swords.  Privately, given that five out of their crew of twelve are dead or dying, she’s not sure surrender would be a terrible idea.

Bodies litter the deck:  pierced, slashed, and in the case of Yasmine, nearly decapitated.  Lira is pinned down, Thatch has his hands full, Anvil and Reyu are nowhere to be seen—

And then, a dripping-wet grizzly bear comes climbing over the ship’s railing.  It bares its teeth as it surveys the scene, black eyes finally settling on Maklim and Zokuth.  The two pirates look back, just a little unnerved by this turn of events.

The bear *roars*.


----------



## doghead

*Bears.* Did I say how much I *really* like bears*. Especially the *big* ones.

* almost, in case I didn't, as much as I like this story hour. Good to have you all back.

t(happy)hotd


----------



## The Iron Mark

So much Firefly...

And go go druids!


----------



## Bill Muench

So I just got around to starting this storyhour yesterday. Just got to the end. All I can say is...

Awesome.


----------



## Blacklamb

Reyu *SMASH!*


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hudred Seventy-Fifth*
_In which: come on in, the battle’s fine!_

On the main deck, it takes Lira a second to figure out what has happened.  _Reyu,_ she realizes.  _She must have _wildshaped_ again._  And that reminds Lira of another resource at their disposal.  She puts Sheesak’s horn to her lips and blows for all she is worth.

The blast leaves her ears ringing, and Lira grins.  Somehow, she doesn’t think *that* is going to summon a puppy.

###

Welk and Thatch continue to fight, ignoring the sudden sound of the hunting horn.  Thatch because he is used to it by now, and Welk because… well… given how erratic his fighting style is, it’s hard to see what would throw him off.

Unfortunately, Welk’s erratic fighting style is well… erratic, and keeps Thatch from making best use of his sword.  For the first time in a while, Thatch finds himself missing almost as often as he hits.  Eva does what she can, loosing an arrow that hits Welk in the leg before she takes a flying leap into the ship’s rigging, looking to get a better vantage on the fight.

Welk, for his part, barely seems to notice the arrow in his leg and performs a crazy feinting maneuver that snakes its way under Thatch’s guard and slices open his sleeve.

“Is that the best you can do?” Thatch taunts.  “I don’t even like this shirt!”

“Oh, I’m just getting started!”  And with another crazed laugh the red-haired navigator is dancing out of Thatch’s reach again.

###

Finally at the surface between the two ships, Anvil treads water, and takes just a second to come to terms with the abrupt reversal in the party’s situation.  It would seem that the alleged refugees are, in fact, in league with the pirates they claimed to have been fleeing, and those pirates are now attacking their ship.  

He also reflects—with a certain amount of satisfaction—that putting them all over the side of the boat probably put more than a little crimp in their plans.

_It is true_, Anvil reflects, _Ketennek rewards those who act Justly, even if in ignorance of his true designs._

And fortune (from whatever source) has remained with the loyal cleric, as Reyu has left him near a ladder leading back up to the deck.  Anvil grasps the slick rungs, and pulls himself out of the water.  From there, it is a simple matter for him to climb up the side of the ship and over the railing to the main deck, not far from where Captain Elsuki is in a battle with a man in a brown coat and tight pants (most likely the captain of the pirate vessel, Anvil decides) and his dark-skinned first mate.

Anvil is just about to join the fray when he feels a sharp pain in his chest.  He looks down and finds the tip of a crossbow bolt just barely protruding below his sternum.  Anvil feels just a little faint, and it dawns on him that he is losing a copious amount of blood.  But he can’t see an enemy crossbow wielder anywhere.  _Where the hell did that come from?_ he wonders.

###

On the other side of the melee, Annika decides that the time for action has come.  She’s pinned-in by the fighting in front of her and the door to the captain’s cabin at her back, but sucking up all of her courage, she drops to a crouch, casts defensively, and unleashes a _lightning bolt_.

The first things in its path are Zokuth’s twin cutlasses.

The crackling electricity arcs from one blade to the other and back again, held fast by Zokuth’s reflexively clenching fists as she screams.

But that is not the end of Annika’s swathe of destruction.  She very deliberately angled the path of the bolt upwards, right at the crow’s nest of the opposing ship… and the longbowman standing within it.  Annika watches in satisfaction as he loses his aim and sends an arrow flying wildly into the water.  She imagines she can even see a wisp of smoke rising from his knitted hat.

As soon as the electricity dissipates, Elsuki presses his advantage against Zokuth, slashing down with his own sword as he shouts, “Back where you came from, Thanean swine!”

Zokuth is forced to tumble backwards out of reach, back *up* the steps to the top of the aft-castle.

###


Sakeem and Ragya come flying out of the water near the anchor chain, swooping through the air and making for the stern of _The Tranquil Shore_.

Sakeem carefully lands them near the ship’s wheel, placing his sister carefully beside him.  He strokes her back reassuringly as she finds her feet.  This has not gone according to plan, and Ragya doesn’t always react well to changes in her routine.

“Ragya,” he begins gently, “now is when you—”

He doesn’t even get a chance to finish the sentence.  Ragya flinches away from his touch, and begins pulling at her hair, shrieking.

Sakeem smiles.  He needn’t have worried.  Ragya knows exactly what to do.  A few seconds later, her first _sonic ball_ goes off, centered on the other ship’s main mast.  Not as effective, granted, as it would have been if she’d had the chance to _web_ the crew there first, but still, quite satisfying.

###

The air over the mid-deck of the _Fool’s Errand_ is rent by the most horrible noise that Kiara has ever heard.  Coming from everywhere at once the cacophony feels like it is going to shake her teeth loose.  Beside her, a sailor falls to the deck, writhing as he tries to clamp his hands over his bleeding ears.

The noise recedes, and Kiara scans for the source.  She sees Sakeem and Ragya back on the other ship.  _That’s right,_ she remembers, _if they were telling the truth about anything, then he’s a wizard, and she’s a sorcerer_.  Luckily, Kiara knows what to do about enemy spell-casters.  She nocks an arrow and prepares to let it fly the instant either one of them make a move to cast again.

Behind Kiara’s targets, Aurelia appears, walking calmly as though up a staircase made of air to the deck of her ship.


----------



## The Iron Mark

Blacklamb said:
			
		

> Reyu *SMASH!*



No Reyu in the update . And I want to see Anvil dispense some Justice despite a bolt in the chest.


----------



## Pyske

The Iron Mark said:
			
		

> No Reyu in the update . And I want to see Anvil dispense some Justice despite a bolt in the chest.




Darn those rules-sticklers, only letting people act once per round!   Still, I'm looking forward to seeing some maul-full goodness myself, in the next update.



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> He also reflects—with a certain amount of satisfaction—that putting them all over the side of the boat probably put more than a little crimp in their plans.




It took me a moment to realize that this was in the past tense.  I was looking forward to watching Anvil repeatedly grapple / bull rush people off the side of the ship.  Ah, well, if wishes were horses...


----------



## The Iron Mark

Ragya better be careful with those Sonicballs, or she's liable to blow a hole in the side of the ship.


----------



## dpdx

Interesting, complex combat.

Happy Holidays to everybody!


----------



## Raging Epistaxis

*Wow. Great SH!*

And now, having read this thread in it's entirety over the last week, I join the growing throng of fanboys, er- faithful readers - of your storyhour.

spyscribe, great writing!

fajitas, wonderfully detailed and well thought out world 

All the players, great job!

Bravo! Bravo!  Thanks for sharing.

R E


----------



## spyscribe

Oh, man, it's good to be back.

Just ducking in to say that the good news is that I have copies of all the updates lost when the database went down.  Unfortunately, as far as I know, other thread chatter has been lost. 

Doing what I can to bring us back to the present, I'm going to start reposting all of the lost updates, at a rate to be determined but no slower than one a day, starting now.  Fortunately (?) the lost five months include my period of computer sickness, so we should catch up pretty soon.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Seventy-Sixth*
_In which: Reyu gets her bear on…  or does she?_

From the crow’s nest of _The Tranquil Shore_, Jor watches the battle unfold below him.  Everyone is swarming over the other ship now.  Like ants… or, they’re kind of big for ants, actually.  And they don’t have that many legs.  They’re more like… big, two-legged ants.  Yeah, that’s it.

Jor pulls back on his bow to unleash another round of ant-killing arrows and takes careful aim at the big guy Welk has been playing with.  “Come on Velka,” he croons to his Karonian instrument of death, supple like a reed in his hands, “don’t fail me now.”

The arrows fly true.  Well, mostly.  One pierces his target’s leg and comes out the other side again.  The other two miss by mere inches, but allow Welk to swoop in and stab while the large fighter is off-balance.

###

Thatch lunges back at Welk, slashing wildly and missing completely, as his opponent easily evades him.

“You no good son of a wildebeest!” Thatch shouts.

Welk makes little beckoning motions with his hands.  “Bring it on, goose-lover.”

Neither notices Brother Bradley silently climbing out of the water and over the rail.  The monk crosses the deck, absolutely silent.  He brings his foot back, and just as he is about to deliver a devastating kick to Thatch’s kidneys… Thatch dodges to the side, trying to avoid another one of Welk’s wild swings.  Brother Bradley’s foot barely misses him.

Thatch whirls around in shock.  Crazed swordsman in front of him.  Monk behind.  _Oh bother,_ he thinks to himself, _I’m flanked_.

###

Lira would really like to help Thatch, but she’s got other targets to worry about.  The hunting horn has _summoned_ a dire wolverine on the deck of the _Tranquil Shore_, which she directs to attack Ragya before she can get off another _sonic ball_.  Mentally unbalanced or not, the other sorcerer proves to be just as susceptible to melee attacks as most others of her talents.  She screams as the animal scores her with its claws.

Trusting the wolverine to keep itself occupied for a little bit with Sakeem and Ragya, Lira turns her attention to Jor.  

Lira takes a deep breath. _If you see a bad guy,_ she reminds herself, _hit him with a _magic missile.  _[size=-2](He killed that sailor with a single arrow.  He’s going to kill me.)[/size]  _Lira tells the little voice in her head_:  You think you’re the only person on this ship who doesn’t want to die? You think Ehkt made you the way you are so that you could let other people fight for you?  Who else can take him out?  [size=-2](No one.  I’m going to die.)[/size]  …But I’m going to hurt him first_.  

And with that almost comforting thought… she casts.

The blue bolts impact, and Jor jumps in sudden pain.  He scans the deck, and an instant later, he’s drawing a bead on Lira.

_That’s right,_ Lira dares him silently with more courage than she feels, _take your best shot_.

Jor lets fly with three arrows in quick succession.  The first is low, and hits the steps Lira has crouched behind.  He corrects his aim and sends the second hurtling through the air, through the gap in the spindles of the stair-rail and right through the gap between Lira’s fourth and fifth ribs.

The force is enough to knock the sorcerer back a step, but although it hurts like hell, she can tell that the wound isn’t enough to kill her.  Jor sees this as well, and adjusts again, this time to send his arrow right through Lira’s heart.

Lira can only watch, frozen, as the arrow sings through the air.  It’s heading right for her.  It’s going to hit her.  There’s nowhere for her to hide.  It’s going to hit, right in the center of… the wooden spindle of the stair rail.

Lira watches the vibrating shaft of the arrow, embedded in the wood mere inches from her face.  _Well, maybe Ehkt really does favor the bold_.

_(That and the cover bonus, boo-yah!)_

###

At the other end of the _Fool’s Errand_ Zokuth vents her frustrations at Annika’s _lightening bolt_ by dropping another member of the crew who unwisely attempts to cross her path.  

Maklim goes for a more direct approach.

“Got any more tricks up your sleeve, Sweetheart?” he asks.  Stepping forward and slashing down with his sword, as though to split Annika’s head in two.

The blade comes whizzing down, then, at the last second, skips harmlessly away, as though deflected by an invisible shield.  Or, rather, an invisible _shield_.

“Just one or two,” she allows.

Maklim blinks.  “Well that’s neat, ain’t it?”  He then decides that standing in front of an enemy spell-caster who has just toasted two members of his crew is perhaps not the best idea and dashes up the stairs to join Zokuth.

Annika, seeing that immediate targets are no longer in her face, follows Lira’s two _magic missiles_ to Jor with a set of her own.  Before she becomes his next target, Annika opens the door behind her and ducks into the cover of the captain’s cabin.

###

Sakeem and Ragya have their hands full with Lira’s _summoned_ dire wolverine.  Sakkem yells at Ragya to get away, then waves his hands madly, trying to attract the animal’s attention.  “Over here!  Take me!  Leave her alone!”

For her part, Ragya backs up a step, begins to cast—and is nailed by Kiara’s readied arrow.  Still, the damage doesn’t seem to affect her concentration as another _sonic ball_ goes off.  This time it’s on her own ship, catching the wolverine in its cacophonous field.  Sakeem soaks a blow by the creature’s claws to hit it back with a _freezing ray_, still yelling at the animal to leave his sister alone.

The wolverine obliges, and—enraged by the wounds inflicted by Ragya’s _sonic ball_—turns its deadly claws on Sakeem.  The young wizard doesn’t stand a chance.  Two slashes send him to the deck, and a snap of the creature’s foaming jaws ensures that he will never rise from it.

###

At midships, some distance away, Aurelia raises a *Sedellan* holy symbol.  “Twilight Goddess, bestow thy deadly kiss…” she whispers seductively.  Black energy begins to crackle around her fingertips, 

Anvil catches sight of her casting.  _Odd,_ he thinks, _that looks like an _inflict_ spell.  But those spells cannot be cast at distance—_

Black energy flies from Aurelia’s fingertips, straight at Anvil.

Anvil dives out of the way.  _Though perhaps I am wrong_, Anvil thinks.  The black energy dissipates as it strikes the deck beside him.  Aurelia scowls.

###

Back aboard _The Fool’s Errand_, Lira notes the effectiveness of the wolverine, but keeps her concentration on the archer in the crow’s nest.  Casting quickly before he can ready another assault, she sends another pair of _magic missiles_ streaking over to the other ship.

Jor sees the glowing blue bolts coming, and dives below the rim of the crow’s nest, effectively putting himself out of Lira’s sight.  Lira shakes her head.  _Too little, too late._  The bolts follow him, and the archer does not rise.

###

Thatch is still caught between Welk and Brother Bradley, but—for the moment at least—it isn’t bothering him too much.  Brother Bradley launches one volley of blows after another, but seems pathologically unable to connect.

Thatch ignores him, instead concentrating on Welk’s wild swordplay.  It’s nothing he can pin down, but there *is* a pattern to the seemingly random lunges and thrusts.  Thatch watches patiently for his opening, ignoring the shouted taunts about his sword, his mother, and even his haircut, until he sees his moment. 

Then, in a single swing he pulls his sword around, up and under Welk’s guard, skewering him through the chest.  Welk looks down for a moment, almost surprised, then drops off Thatch’s blade and falls to the deck.

*Then* Thatch turns his attention to Brother Bradley.

###

Yasmine comes back to consciousness amid the clang of swords, the crackle of magic, and… a pool of bear-slobber?

She looks up at the huge brown bear standing over her, licking the closing wound on her chest.

“I hope you’re the elf,” she tells it.

The bear stops its ministrations and nods.

“Umm… thank you then.”

The bear helps Yasmine climb back to her feet, then goes to tend another wounded sailor.  _Well, I’ve got to hand it to the captain,_ Yasmine thinks.  _He promised it would be an adventure._

And without another hesitation, she jumps back into the fray.


----------



## Jackylhunter

Thank you SS, thanks for keeping your archive, and thanks for reposting them so fast.  You were a boy/girl scout huh?  You seem to be prepaired for anything.


----------



## coyote6

Yay! 

Hopefully, Sagiro has copies of his story hour, too. 

I've read a few notes by people saying they are able to retrieve stuff from Google's cache. If someone needs something, it's probably a good idea to hit Google ASAP; I don't think their cached copies last too long.


----------



## StevenAC

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Just ducking in to say that the good news is that I have copies of all the updates lost when the database went down.  Unfortunately, as far as I know, other thread chatter has been lost.



Fear not -- I bring good news! 

Being in the middle of preparing the next chapter of the Collected Halmae, I had already grabbed all except the last page (34) of the thread before the crash happened.  Thanks to Google, I have retrieved the last page as well, and so I believe I have everything from the thread prior to the crash.

I have created a not-quite-complete chapter 8 (hurry up and find that last archmage, already! ) which you can find here.  Enjoy!

Cheers,
Steven


----------



## spyscribe

_Wonderful news Steven!  I'm going to keep plugging away here, probably throughout the day, so that the story is still complete, and once I've caught up, new update!_

*Part the One Hundred Seventy Seventh*
_In which: a swing… and a miss._

The battle at the stern of _The Fool’s Errand_ rages.  Under fierce assault from Zokuth’s twin cutlasses, Anvil drops to the deck.

(Reyu comes forward to lick the cleric back to consciousness. _So glad I _wildshaped_ into a bear_, she thinks, with a trace of annoyance.)

Elsuki concentrates his efforts on Maklim, aided by one of the few members of his crew still standing.

Meanwhile, on _The Tranquil Shore_ a young woman emerges from her hiding place, crossbow clutched in one hand and leveled in front of her.  Her eyes grow wide as she surveys the battle about the _Errand_.  This is not good.  Not good at all.  And the Captain is too occupied to notice.  She shouts a warning:

“Welk’s down!”

Back on the _Errand_ Maklim hears Kaykel’s cry.  He glances around, takes in the situation, and swears vehemently.  Yasmine rewards him with a cut to his back for his trouble.

###

Eva has also assessed the situation.  And as it seems that the tide of the battle is slowly shifting to their favor, she decides to give it a little push.  Already in the rigging, she grabs a line and swings herself over to the deck of the other ship.

The rope puts her on a perfect trajectory to the deck of _The Tranquil Shore_.  She drops the line just as it reaches the end of its arc and lands easily on her feet amidships.  Then, she whips out her bow and puts an arrow into the young woman with the crossbow.

“I take it you’re the one who’s been causing so much trouble.”

The girl smiles as she brings up her own weapon.  “Kaykel.  Now get back to your own ship, and I won’t have to shoot you like I did the others.”

###

“Leave,” Elsuki bellows only inches from Maklim’s face, brandishing his sword, “NOW!”

Maklim, simply yells back, “Okay!”  And with that he jumps up to the rail and grabs one of the ship’s ropes in order to make good his retreat.  Unfortunately—in his haste—he doesn’t get as good a grip on the rope as he thought, and instead of swinging gracefully back to his own ship, he slips off and lands on the _Errand’s_ deck, sprawling at Annika’s feet.

He looks up at the startled wizard.  “That didn’t work so good.”

Yasmine is immediately on top of him, menacing him with her cutlass.  “Call it off,” she orders.

Maklim hauls back and slugs her in the face.  Zokuth jumps in as well, and soon she and three sailors are all brawling on the aftdeck.

Then, all of a sudden, with a shout of “For Alirria!” Thatch comes swinging overhead.

It soon becomes obvious that Thatch has no control whatsoever over the course of his swing.  And there is a mad scramble to dive out of his way. 

Zokuth ducks, swiping up with her cutlass at the legs churning wildly overhead.  She draws blood and sends the fighter careening out over the aftdeck and past the ship’s rail.

Thatch reaches the apogee of his swing over the open water between the two vessels.  He *tries* to hang on and let the rope bring him back to the _Fool’s Errand_, but the momentum is too much for him.

The rope jerks out of his hands, and three-hundred plus pounds of armored fighter go splashing into the Halmae, sending up a plume of water to the deck-rails of both ships.

For a moment, the fight actually stops.

_(Note: the combination of stellar and botched rolls that resulted in Thatch going into the drink was truly stunning.  As we all sit there blinking, someone goes, “Well, Alirria *is* the goddess of water…”)_

###

Reyu finally manages to put her bear form to the use she intended and goes after Zokuth with both claws.  She hits twice, but even with the full strength of her new form behind the blows, it isn’t enough to put Zokuth down.

Instead, Zokuth reels back and finds herself face to face with Yasmine.  _Haven’t I knocked her out twice already?_ she thinks, incredulous as she looks down at the _Errand’s_ first officer.

Indeed, Yasmine is barely on her feet, but her eyes blaze with determination.  With the last of her strength she screams, “Get off our ship, bitch!” and swings her blade around in a last, desperate arc… that slices right through Zokuth’s throat.

With a gurgle of surprise, Zokuth reaches up to her neck, as though not sure as to the source of the arterial spray dousing the woman in front of her.  She’s dead before she even completes the gesture.

Having used the last of her own stamina, Yasmine falls on top of her not more than a second later.

_(Scoring a crit when you’re at zero hit points, can’t ask for better than that.)_


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Seventy-Eighth*
_In which: they finally get the message._

Annika ducks out of her hiding place in Elsuki’s cabin and puts a _web_ on the deck of the _Tranquil Shore_ behind Eva, catching Aurelia, Ragya, and the dire wolverine. 

Aurelia is completely stuck in the _web_, writhing and shouting in frustration.  Ragya however, is still able to move and attempts to cast.  Unfortunately for her, the wolverine five feet away from her is also still more or less free, and the instant she drops her defenses, the animal surges forward. A single swipe from its razor-sharp claws sends her to join her brother in the afterlife.

Kaykel’s eyes go wide as she sees Ragya hit the deck.  As Kaykel is now the only crew member free aboard the _Tranquil Shore_, she defends it to the best of her ability and shoots Eva with her crossbow.

Without the benefit of concealment and the ability to aim at leisure, Eva is barely scratched.

_(Note: Losing your sneak-attack damage is a b----.)_

###

Eyes flashing in anger, Aurelia _dispels_ Annika’s _web_, freeing herself at last.  Her own _airwalk_ spell is still active, and she climbs her invisible stair to a point some fifteen feet above the deck of _The Tranquil Shore_, safely out of the fray.

Unfortunately, once Aurelia has dispelled the _web_, the dire wolverine is also free to roam the deck at will.  He snaps at Aurelia’s heels, frustrated, and then growls in Kaykel’s direction, taking off across the deck after her.

Lira takes on Aurelia herself with another pair of _magic missiles_, followed-up by an arrow from Kiara.

###

Elsuki manages a last parting swipe at Maklim, who grasps a rope and, managing to hang on this time, swings back to his ship.  Brother Bradley follows suit, leaping easily between the two vessels without assistance.

Anvil scowls.  These bandits of the high seas will not escape, and their leader will feel Ketennek’s wrath.  “Ketennek!” he calls out.  “I ask that you see fit to punish this man for the crimes of piracy, murder, sailing under false flags, and various others which I am sure he has committed but of which I am not currently aware!”

Maklim looks back at Anvil and shakes his head, “Yeah, I don’t think that’s—” at which point he is cut off by a sudden clap of thunder and a nearly unbearable pain that shoots through his entire body.  “Da-amn!”

Anvil looks on soberly.  “You have damned yourself.”

_(Astute readers might recognize this as _deific vengeance_ from _The Complete Divine_.  We didn’t.)_

Eva stabs at Maklim with her rapier, and he only barely manages to parry the blow.  Eva is just about to follow-up with another attack when she’s suddenly jolted by a crippling burst of black energy.  She gasps, turning to look for the source, and finds Aurelia, floating above holy symbol raised, ready to cast again.

_(Astute readers might recognize *this* as another ranged _inflict_ spell, showing that BadMonkeyJeff isn’t the only person at the table who reads _The Complete Divine_.)_

“Go home, little girl, before you get hurt again,” the priestess taunts.

Eva is only distracted for a moment, but a moment is all Maklim needs to knock Eva’s rapier aside and bring his own sword up under her chin.

“Do as she says,” Maklim’s earlier easy grin has been replaced by real anger.  “I won’t ask you twice.”

Eva’s eyes flash.  She’s sick of people telling her what to do.  “Bite me.”

Maklim’s sword flashes, Eva ducks, but the blade still manages to slice her scalp, sending blood dripping into one eye.  Despite her bravado, Eva is quite aware she is not in the best position.   In fact, aside from the dire wolverine, she realizes she is very much without ally on an enemy vessel.

And that is when Thatch, dripping wet, comes climbing over the rail and onto the deck.

_(DM: Where do you want to come aboard?
Thatch’s player: Oh, you’d better believe I’m gonna flank that m-----f-----!

Let it be noted here that Thatch’s player has never regretted the skill points that he piled into swim.)_

Eva grins, slices Maklim’s Achilles tendon and follows with a thrust to the kidneys.

###

Anvil and Aurelia glare at each other across the space between their two vessels.  As Lira and the wolverine have turned their combined attention to Brother Bradley, and Thatch and Eva appear to have the pirate captain well in hand, there are no distractions as Anvil turns his attention to the Sedellan.  She’s looking right at him as he casts, and Anvil makes no attempt to conceal his motions.

_After all,_ he thinks to himself, _it will be the last thing she sees._

For her part, the thought that comes to Aurelia as Anvil’s _blindness_ spell takes hold and her world goes black is: _I should have saved that _dispel magic_ I used on the _web_._

Aurelia casts _sanctuary_ on herself instead, but not before two arrow embed themselves in her thigh and Kiara’s shouts of victory ring in her ears.

The spell also doesn’t stop Annika from zorching Aurelia with her wand of _shocking ray_, or from Eva following up with two deftly-placed arrows of her own.  Finally, Aurelia crumples in the air then floats gently to the deck.

Brother Bradley lies bleeding on the deck as the wolverine comes dashing for Maklim.  Already weakened by Eva’ and Thatch’s devastating attacks, the captain is soon unconscious.

Kaykel, now the only member of her crew still standing, lets out a squeak of fear and makes a desperate dash for the aftcastle and the ship’s wheel.

Thatch catches her at sword-point an instant before she reaches it.

“Don’t even think about it,” he tells her.  For a breath, Kaykel hesitates, then slowly puts her hands in the air, and surrenders.

###

Through quick action by Anvil, Lira, and Reyu, only three of the sailors on _The Fool’s Errand_ succumb to their wounds, although many are caught just at the brink of death.  

Kaykel is handcuffed and placed in the _Errand’s_ hold, where she is soon joined by several guards, and Maklim, unconscious but stabilized and bound with Anvil’s masterwork manacles.  None of the rest of the _Shore’s_ crew survived their wounds. 
As the adrenaline wears off, the party members finally tend to their own wounds and then set off to explore their unexpectedly captured vessel.

*A Coda*

_As some of you know (and the rest of you are about to), whenever I complete a session’s worth of story hour, I send the file off to Fajitas for a read-through before I start posting.  Over the years—and I confess that it feels a bit weird that I say that without exaggeration, we’ve been this for *years* now—we’ve worked out a system that allows us both to be happy with the resulting story hour… without killing each other during its creation.

So now, as a sort of DVD extra, I would like share with you (in its entirety and completely unchanged) the note I found following Zokuth’s first line in Part the One-Hundred Seventy-Fourth_:

**********

“Don’t like this, sir,” Zokuth is shaking her head.  “Can’t see the others.  Ragya should have the whole crew snarled in the rigging by now.”

DEEPLY STUPID WORLD NOTE: Funny story.  Ragya is not, in fact, her actual name.  In fact, excepting Aurelia, none of the guys you took aboard were using their real names.  Ragya and Sakeem are both Ebisite names, whereas in reality they’re both from Dar Thane, like the others.  And Brother Bradley is a Pykosian name, to lend credence to the story that he’s helping them get to Dar Pykos.  In fact, he too is Thanean.  Their real names are Raka, Sorkane, and Bothk.

The fact of the matter is that everyone on the ship, except for Aurelia, is Thanean.  They were all from the town of Tranquil Shores, which was located on one of the islands in the Darine Straits.  It was destroyed by the Ebisites.  The crew of the _Tranquil Shore_ were among the few survivors. Maklim got a Letter of Marquee (privateer authorization) from Dar Thane, and they all banded together to prey upon ships of Ebis in revenge for their devastated home.  I believe that Raka/Ragya was the only one of them who as actually *there* at the time.  Witnessing the slaughter of her family is why she’s crazy.

Aurelia isn’t really a Handmaiden, either.  She’s a Sedellan, pretending to be a Handmaiden for purposes of infiltration.  Aurelia probably isn’t her real name, as it sounds far more like a Handmaiden name than it does a Sedellan name.  I believe she’s a Child of the Wind, tho’ I didn’t write that down.  I even think that I had something in my mind about her seducing Maklim and egging him on into more and more Sedellus-like tactics.  She could give a crap about the destruction of their village, but she was overjoyed to find an emotionally pliable privateer captain that she could turn into a force of destruction.

Anyway.  There’s every reason to think that this is not actually worth mentioning, but I thought I’d bring it up.

**********

_Ultimately, I decided that the fight was confusing enough without having the crew of the _Tranquil Shore_ refer to each other by one set of names and the crew of _The Fool’s Errand_ think of them by another, but it did seem worth mentioning._


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Seventy-Ninth*
_In which: we once again hoist sail._

Manacled, and locked in the forecastle of _The Fool’s Errand_ Kaykel is *not* pleased.  Standing guard outside, Thatch has been getting quite an earful.

“And you’d best get off the Cap’n’s ship,” their petite prisoner continues.  “He’s got all manner of nasty surprises below decks…”

Lira and Eva approach as Kaykel takes a pause for breath.

“She said anything useful?” Eva asks.

Thatch shrugs.  “Next time we need to curse someone, I’ve got some new ones to try out.”

“Any Ehktian ones?”  Lira asks, then explains as Thatch and Eva eye her skeptically.  “What?  ‘Ehkt’s balls’ gets a little repetitive.”

From within comes, “And if you think the Thanean navy is going to let this go, you’ve got another thought coming, I can tell you that!”

“A couple.  She uh… doesn’t seem to hold to any god particularly,” Thatch replies.

“Well,” Lira flexes her fingers just a tad theatrically, “if you could open the door and keep her distracted for a few seconds, I’ll see if I can make friends.”

###

Eva stands guard in the doorway, just in case of trouble, but under the influence of _charm person_, Kaykel proves to be a much more agreeable prisoner.  

“You should be fine below decks,” she assures Lira.  “I mean, I might be a little careful around Jor’s stuff, but that’s really it.”

A cursory exploration of the other ship has revealed no sign of any further crew, which is odd.  A ship of its size would normally require at least ten hands on deck at all times.  Still, the party also finds many locked doors.  A search of Maklim’s person for keys yields an abundance of candidates, as well as several weapons, of which he is divested before he can regain consciousness.

Meanwhile, Lira asks Kaykel about the seeming lack of crew.

“Oh, we’ve got all the crew we need.  More really.  You could sail _The Tranquil Shore_ by yourself if you had to.”

“How?”  Lira asks.

“You just tell the ship what to do, and she’ll do it.”

“We’ve tried that.  It doesn’t seem to work.”

Kaykel grins and gives a little shake of her head.  “Well, you need the command words, silly.  Can’t have just anyone coming aboard and taking over.”

“Right…  What were those words again?”

Kaykel sobers.  “I’m not supposed to say.”

“You can tell me though, right?”  Lira looks her most endearing.  “We’re friends.”

Kaykel looks over at her commander, still unconscious on the other side of the small cabin.  “I think it’d be better if you just asked the Cap’n.  I mean, I’m sure he’ll tell you, but it’s his ship.”

Lira shoots Eva a helpless look, and Eva shrugs.  While Lira remains to continue her efforts of persuasion, the rogue goes to explore the rest of their newly captured ship.

###

The aft castle, much like their own, has been made up as chart room, captain’s mess, and the captain’s quarters.  Eva finds several maps of the islands of the Darine Straights many of which have cryptic notes in the margins.  There is also a letter bearing the seal of Dar Thane, authorizing Captain Maklim Renott and his crew as privateers with a mandate to “harass all Ebisite commerce and seize as prizes all appropriate spoils.”

The captain’s quarters are austere to the point of barrenness.  A few more fighting knives, a spare set of clothes, and an old quilt on the bed account for the majority of his possessions.  On one wall a map of a small island somewhere in the Straights hangs in pride of place.  On it is marked a small coastal town, neatly labeled “Tranquil Shore.”

At the opposite end of the deck, the forecastle has been converted into a sumptuous set of guest quarters, no doubt—from the jewelry found within—formerly occupied by Lady Aurelia the “handmaiden.”

Below decks is the ship’s galley and crew quarters.  Zokuth and Welk’s room is furnished simply, with many cutlasses… and even more carved wooden toys shaped into animals and monsters—many of which are even more fanciful than what the party members found in the Ketkath.

Jor’s room is, as Kaykel hinted, trapped.  Fortunately the rig is as obvious to detect as it is deadly.  Eva disarms it, and she and Thatch proceed to poke around.  After digging through piles of empty wineskins and several stacks of obscene artwork of the cheapest kind, Thatch uncovers a cache of blackroot distillate at the bottom of a trunk.

Eva wrinkles her nose.

“Well, it is legal in Dar Thane,” Thatch points out.

“How do you know that?”  Eva asks.

Thatch ducks his head and mutters something about conversations overheard in a tavern.  Eva lets it go.

Kaykel’s room is decorated with pretty seashells nailed to the walls, and a trunk full of coins tucked away under her bunk.

The other lifeboat “refugees” appear to have been staying in a single large room to forward, divided by hanging curtains.

Anvil finds Kettenite holy texts from the Sovereignty that he can only assume once belonged to Brother Bradley, along with Sakeem’s spell book and several scrolls.  Annika identifies the scrolls as _resilient sphere_ and _wall of force_.  She also finds that he appeared to be working on a magic item, almost like a _periapt of health_, but with some interesting alterations.

She shows it to Anvil.  “He was probably working on it to try to help his sister.”

Anvil nods.  “It is true that even the Unjust sometimes act Justly.”

Annika blinks, pretty sure that pronouncement didn’t make any sense.  After thinking about it for a few seconds, she’s almost positive it doesn’t.  But Anvil sounds so sure when he says things like that, it makes her want to believe him anyway.

“Look at this.”  His voice pulls her out of her reverie.

Anvil has found a doll by the third hammock.  Her eyes are ripped off, and her hands have been tied to the sides of her head with a piece of paper and a bit of string.  Anvil removes the paper and uncoils it.  A childish, unsteady hand has written: “Beware the snakes, they crawl into your ears when you sleep.”

Eva has come up behind the pair and reads over Anvil shoulder.  “See,” she says, “that’s why I don’t like the woods.”

“I think it’s a metaphor,” Annika tells her.  “At least, I hope it is.”

###

Above decks again, the party consults.  Annika has found that the ship’s wheel and nine other points around the deck radiate faint conjuration magic.  

“From what Kaykel said,” Annika theorizes, “they’re probably all _Unseen Servant_.  The wheel would be the lynch-pin.  Stand there, speak the command words, and you can run the whole ship by yourself.”

Lira shakes her head.  “I still haven’t been able to convince Kaykel to tell me the command words.”

Reyu considers.  “Could you attempt to charm the captain after he regains consciousness and learn the commands from him?”

“Maybe?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Annika suggests.  “Tomorrow I can prepare _Identify_ and find out myself.”

Lira shrugs.  “Fine with me.”

“Excellent,” Anvil declares.  “Do so.”

It is then that Captain Elsuki brings up a rather unpleasant subject.  “If’n there’s nothing more ye be wanting with the prisoners, it be best we get on with it.”

“Get on with what?” Kiara asks.

“Hanging them.”

“Hang them?” Kiara squeaks.  “We’re supposed to hang them?”

“They’re pirates,” Elsuki explains, speaking slowly, in deference to Kiara’s youth and apparent naïveté.

It’s a bit of a conversation stopper.

Finally, Thatch breaks the silence.  “Umm…  Didn’t they have that letter thing from Dar Thane?”

Captain Elsuki snorts.  “Aye, and I could ha’ a letter from th’ Imperial Admiral for all that it matters.”

“We are not in Dar Thane,” Anvil points out.  “And until the cause of Universal Law has triumphed, it holds no power on the high seas.”

Yasmine looks at the Justicar somewhat askance.  “Are you quoting something?”

“I have conducted extensive research,” he informs her.

###

The business is at least mercifully brief for all concerned.  Maklim has regained consciousness and retains a grim composure throughout.  Kaykel is less sanguine about her fate, but Captain Elsuki is firm in his resolve and aboard the ship, his word is law.

Yasmine proves to be an able hangman, and both surviving prisoners die instantly.  Their bodies are given to the sea, and before the sun has twice set on their pitched battle, _The Fool’s Errand_ and _The Tranquil Shores_ are hoisting sail.

###

Since only one person is really required to sail _The Tranquil Shores_, there is just enough surviving crew on the _Errand_ to maintain both ships.  Thatch, Eva, and Kiara all take crash sailing lessons and lend a hand where and as they can.

Within a week, the ships have arrived in sight of the fabled Islands of Mirage.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Eightieth*
_In which: land ho!_

Reyu looks at the scroll of parchment that Captain Elsuki has rolled on a small table near the ship’s wheel.  A field of blue with lines and a few green blobs on it.  She shakes her head.

“I do not understand,” she says.  “How can an island be flat?”

“Imagine you’re a bird,” Kiara suggests, “and you’re flying above the islands.  Really, really, really high.  And that blue part would be the water, and the islands would be green…”  she trails off at Reyu’s lost expression.

“But a ship… cannot fly.”

Kiara shakes her head, and gives up.

_(WisdomLikeSilence rolled three 1s in a row trying to interpret Elsuki’s chart.  Obviously, elves don’t make pictographic maps.)_ 

Even for those who can interpret the chart, the picture it paints is woefully incomplete.  The water surrounding the islands is much shallower than the surrounding sea, preventing long-rage vessels such as _The Fools’ Errand_ or _The Tranquil Shore_ from approaching.

Since a deep-drafted ship cannot penetrate the waters surrounding the islands themselves, the map shows only what could be observed from a distance.

“It looks like some of the islands have significant peaks on them,” Lira observes.  “We should be able to get to high ground and survey farther into the archipelago as we go.”

Eva could hardly look less enthusiastic.  “Great.”

“But, if we can’t approach on _The Tranquil Shore_, how are we going to find Barnabus?”  Kiara asks.

“Captain Elsuki has given us the use of his longboat,” Anvil informs her.  “We will row.”

This time, it’s Thatch’s turn to display a marked lack of enthusiasm.  He has a feeling he knows who “we” are going to be in the rowing department.  “Great.”

###

Although most of the group assumes that the logical course of action is to make first landfall on the same island the previous expeditions disappeared on, Lira suggests that they determine which island to explore first by tossing a small coin onto the chart, and going to whichever island the coin lands on.

Of course, the first three times she tries this, the stone goes skittering off the table and lands on the deck.

_(Hey, it’s harder than you’d think to throw a die in the air and get it to land on an eight-and-a-half by eleven sheet of paper.)_

“Maybe Ehkt is trying to tell you something?” Annika suggests.

Lira shrugs, looks up at the sun, and shouts, “If this is a really bad plan, Ehkt, strike me down!”

Beside her, Eva and Thatch each take a large step back.  However, no smiting seems imminent, and the group agrees to follow the route of the last voyage.

###

Given that Ehkt does not seem to have an opinion on how best to approach the Islands of Mirage, the _Fool’s Errand_ drops sea-anchor off the coast of the island where Elsuki’s previous captain and first mate went missing.  

Captain Elsuki agrees to wait two weeks for their return before he heads back for Nayarii.  

Anvil frowns at this.  “You will return with both ships?”

“Aye.”

“We have an agreement as to the division of spoils from this voyage.  Even if we take all of the portable items of value from _The Tranquil Shore_, it would be a mere fraction of the value of the vessel itself.”

“Aye.”  Elsuki cannot disagree.

“Unless the riches to be found among the islands themselves are a truly untold sum, you will owe us a great deal of money.”

“Well, there’s that.”  The Captain’s expression makes plain that if the party does not return within two weeks, he does not anticipate them ever being in a position to collect their debt.

“What if we send you word to wait for us?” Lira puts in.

“And how would y’be doin’ that without coming back?”  Elsuki asks, amsued.

Lira ignores his tone.  “We can contact you magically.”  

Captain Elsuki sighs.  “Of course ye can,” he mutters, then clears his throat and actually answers.  “Ye send word magically that ye’re okay and we should wait, I’ll give you another week.”

Anvil nods.  “Agreed.”

And without further negotiation, the party packs their gear—Thatch bids good-bye to Bob—and they take to their longboat and head for the island where Elsuki’s last captain met his final fate.  

The party members hope for better results.

###

Kiara flies ahead of the boat, soaring high for the first time in what feels like forever.  From her vantage point, it’s easy to get a good look at the island where they are about to make landfall.  Aside from being covered in extremely dense and varied vegetation, there doesn’t seem to be anything unusual about it.  She sees no signs of any dwellings, habitations, or fauna of any sort.

She reports back to the rest of the group, who decide to proceed regardless.  Even if it appears unlikely that this is Barnabus’ home, the island has a peak of some elevation, and they reason that if they can reach that point, they will be able to survey farther into the archipelago, and add to their scanty map.  

They party lands their boat on the beach, secures the longboat above the high tide line, and sets out to explore the island’s interior.

###

Thatch takes the lead, hacking through incredibly dense underbrush as the group makes their way slowly uphill.  Kiara is able to dodge around most of the local flora as she flies in swallow form, but for the rest of the party it is slow going indeed.  The sun is hot, and the air thick with flying insects, busily flitting from one flowering plant to another. 

It’s spring, and every plant on the island seems to be in bloom.

It’s after lunch when, passing by a particularly lush patch of grass between two trees, Kiara is suddenly struck by the feeling that something is… off.  She looks around, sharply, unable to pinpoint what exactly has changed about the current landscape.  

She signals mentally to Annika, who stops the group.

“Kiara sees something.”

“What?” asks Eva, who has been expecting something to go wrong since the group returned to the wilderness.

“I don’t know,” Annika shrugs helplessly.  “I don’t think she knows.”

“That is not useful,” Anvil points out, but Reyu cuts him off.

“No, I believe I know what she means.  It’s—”

But what it is becomes abruptly evident as a vine comes striking down from its place in the canopy, and wraps itself around Reyu’s neck.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Eighty-First*
_In which: it’s only a plant… right?_

As the vine hoists Reyu off her feet, the rest of the party swings into action.  Eva hurls a dagger, hoping to sever the vine before Reyu loses her air supply.  

The blade spins through the air, razor-sharp edge singing through the air.  She misses.

Thatch readies his sword, taking a mighty swing, and cutting a beautiful swath through the air.  Lira and Annika let fly with the _magic missiles_, which hit at least, but aren’t enough to convince the vine to let go of its victim.  And so, Reyu take matters into her own hands and _wildshapes_ into a black bear, planning on using the sudden shift in size to break the vine’s grapple.  It doesn’t work.

Kiara flies straight up, shooting above the canopy where she has room to shift into her hybrid form.  From her new vantage point, she sees that the vine throttling Reyu is not just a rogue tentacle, but an appendage anchored in a massive tangle of vines.  

Vines that are on the move.

“Look out!” Kiara shouts, but her cry comes just an instant too late as five more vines shoot out of the tangle, straight for Annika, Lira, Anvil, Eva, and Thatch.

Lira lets out a shriek as a vine wraps around her ankle, jerking her upward sharply until she is dangling upside-down some seven feet above the ground.  She tries to _magic missile_ it, but the vine constricts painfully around her leg, shaking her so hard she’s unable to maintain her concentration.

Annika is soon dangling beside her, while Anvil has fared slightly better, with the vine wrapped around one arm, at least leaving him in a more conventional orientation.  Unfortunately, Thatch is hoisted by his neck.  Only Eva manages to evade the grasping tendril, escaping with only a welt on her shoulder as it slaps at her ineffectively.

A second vine goes after Reyu, and she simply gives up on getting free.  Instead, she swings herself over to the trunk of a nearby tree and climbs it to bring herself within claws reach of the nest of vines.  More vines emerge and slap at her, trying, but unable to get purchase on her heavy coat and thick, ursine limbs.

Anvil and Thatch each swing wildly, trying to hack themselves down, while Kiara and Eva concentrate their attacks on the creature’s central mass. _Can a plant be a creature?_ Eva barely has time to wonder as she nocks an arrow for another volley.

Meanwhile, the vines further entangle their helpless victims and *squeeze*.

Annika struggles valiantly, but it’s no use.  She can’t concentrate.  She can’t aim her wand of _shocking ray_ properly.  The vine is squeezing her tighter and tighter, and darkness is starting to creep in around the edges of her vision.  She can feel Kiara in her head, worried, and for good reason.  Although she tries to shield the thought from Kiara, she’s pretty worried too.

Kiara shoots the central nest, and her arrow at last strikes true, burying over half its length, its end quivering.  She lets out a cheer, the suddenly turns into a scream.  Below her, Annika’s body has gone limp.

The plant drops Annika’s unconscious body to the ground.  A few seconds later, Lira’s follows.  Then Anvil’s.

And just like that, almost half the party is down.

Thatch swings crazily with his sword at the vine holding him, grazing it, but *still* unable to cut himself free. 

Eva swears, ducking as the three vines no longer throttling her friends come after her again.  Kiara is still peppering the plant’s “body” with arrows, but it’s hard to tell if they’re making any progress.   Although it quivers slightly as Kiara continues shooting at it, it’s impossible to tell how injured it might be.  _And with most of our divine and all of our arcane firepower unconscious and bleeding to death—_ Eva stops in mid-thought.  _Firepower._  She ducks behind a tree-trunk, and starts digging madly through her pack.

Above, the central mass of vines sends out a series of new, shorter tendrils and pulls itself slowly through the canopy. It shows no interest in the unconscious party members it has just dropped, instead focusing on Eva, the only free one on the ground. 

Unluckily for the plat, as it pulls itself slowly forward, it passes right by the tree trunk where Reyu still clings.  She reaches out with one paw and claws a great chunk out of it.  The knot of vines wriggles madly for a few seconds after being ripped away, then goes limp and drops off Reyu’s claws to fall to the ground below.  The vine wrapped around Reyu’s neck goes with it.

She turns to look for Eva bringing her head around just in time to see the young rogue step out from behind a tree, a flask of alchemist’s fire clutched in one hand.  She takes her time, aims, and hurls it at the plant, hitting dead center of the mass of vines.

The flask breaks on impact, coating the plant creature with viscous green liquid that immediately bursts into flame.

As his vision dims, Thatch sees the vines burn.  _It’s almost eerie_, he thinks distantly, _the way the plant doesn’t scream._  Instead, it *writhes*, silently and violently.  And in its violent shaking, it loses its grip on Thatch’s throat, and the fighter falls to the ground.  He waves for a few seconds, but keeps his feet.  
A few more arrows from Kiara, and the vines go slack.  The tangle falling, charred and smoking, to the ground.

While Reyu brings Anvil and Lira back to consciousness, and Kiara feeds Annika a healing potion, Thatch walks over to the heart of the plant creature and hacks the central nest in half with a single stroke of his sword.  

The thing is solid vines, all the way through.  

He kicks over one half, and to his surprise, finds that they are not the first to have encountered this plant and lived.  On one side, it bears a brand.


----------



## spyscribe

_Note: this game was the one time our group experimented with tape-recording one of our gaming sessions.  Fajitas had just gotten a new micro-recorder, and it seemed like a good way to potentially save me from some note-taking.  I don’t know if anyone has ever listened to that recording, but there’s probably a lot of swearing on it because we could not roll worth crap that night.  

This is the message Fajitas posted to some friends the following day:

“Anybody out there having a string of really good rolls in their gaming lately?

If so, you've probably got my group's gaming karma.  If at all possible, we'd like it back, please.

I have never in my life seen so many 1s rolled during a single combat session as I saw last weekend. There was very nearly a TPK (Total Party Kill), because the PCs proved quite unable to hit what they were fighting.  Twice, not once, but TWICE, in two consecutive rounds, I watched the party's primary fighter launch a full attack, only to roll a 1, followed by a 6 (neither of which hit). And not a single, not one single 20 was rolled in the entire fight.

So, please, if you have our karma, please send it back.  We're not asking for *all* of it back.  We'd just like to be restored to a statistically valid curve.  No questions asked.  Promise.”

We’ve never tried to tape-record a session since.  It would feel like tempting fate._


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Eighty-Second*
_In which: Reyu notices one thing amiss, but misses another._

The sun is still high overhead when the party reaches the peak that they’ve been aiming for.  Light glitters on the water surrounding the island, and the sea before them is dotted with the rest of the archipelago.  While the others pause to update their map, Reyu scans the island.

“What do you see?”  Anvil asks her.

Reyu squints.  Frankly, she sees a lot of plants.  Forest plants, water-loving plants, tall plants, short plants…  by the far shore, she sees something else.

“I believe there is some kind of… structure… on the side of the island opposite where we landed.  

Anvil follows her finger.  He can just make out the point she is indicating.  “Indeed.”

“Ooo!  Ooo!”  Kiara is already sprouting wings.  “I’ll go look!”  She leaps into the air and takes off, finishing her shift to swallow form in midair.  

“Be—” Annika calls after her…  “Careful,” she finishes belatedly.

Kiara is back soon enough, and without obvious misadventure.  She perches on Annika’s shoulder and mentally relates what she’s seen. 

“She says it’s some kind of dock.”

“A dock?” Eva asks.

The swallow nods.

“Were there any other structures?”

The swallow shakes her head.

“Who would build a dock on an empty island?” Lira asks of no one in particular.

“An archmage?”  Thatch suggests.  “We’ve already met one who builds a windowless tower in the middle of the desert.  That’s weirder than a dock.”

A pause.

“He’s got a point,” Eva admits.   

Hoping that closer investigation will yield more information, the party decides to return to their boat and see this dock for themselves.

###

Retracing their steps back to the boat is easier than the journey from it, both because it is largely downhill, and because the party is able to follow their own, previously cleared, trail.

Along the way, Kiara spots a clearing not far from their path.  In it, a large ovoid pod covered in thick thorns stands up from a doily of dark shiny green leaves. 

“Oh look,” Lira remarks when this is pointed out to her, “a giant spiny pod.  Let’s leave it alone.”

This is readily accepted as an agreeable plan.  After Anvil checks to see if it is a magical giant spiny pod (it isn’t), and then checks to make sure the party hasn’t picked up any magical items they weren’t aware of (they haven’t), they press on, and by late afternoon have shoved off in their longboat once again.

###

With Thatch at the oars, it doesn’t take long to circumnavigate the island and arrive at the previously sighted dock.  The party moors their craft and steps out onto the simple wooden structure.

“Well,” Eva remarks, “it sure is a dock.”

While the dock is clearly intended as a permanent structure, Reyu finds no real trail from it into the island’s interior, or even any tracks.  After much searching in the failing light, she finds something of a trail off to one side, but it doesn’t look to have been maintained for quite some time.

Apparently, Barnabus doesn’t visit this particular island with much frequency.

“Fancy that,” Lira grouses. “Between the insects and the vines that want to kill you, it has so much to recommend it.”

The party decides to make camp on the beach and wait until daylight to see where the path leads.  Reyu fishes for their dinner, and the party happily supplements their sea-rations with her catch.

After dinner, Anvil rises from his seat and the fire and proclaims:  “Archmage Barnabus!  We are here with a message from King Orrin of Dar Pykos.  Show yourself!”

The only response comes from the lapping of the waves and the crackling of the fire.

###

It’s second watch, in the very middle of the night.  Anvil has just completed his midnight prayers, and the beach is quiet.  

Reyu gazes up at the stars, spread across the sky in dizzying thickness and intensity.  Although she knows Captain Elsuki and _The Fool’s Errand_ are not far off, it feels like the party’s little fire is the only light for hundreds of miles.  

Around the smoldering embers, her companions slumber.

Lira fell asleep only a few hours ago, having sat the first watch of the evening, and so it is with some annoyance at first that she notices Euro’s presence intruding on her consciousness.

Boss!  Boss!  Wake up!

Once she registers his panic, Lira wakes immediately.  She barely has time to utter a mental _What is it?_ before she notices the crushing weight on her lower legs.  She looks down, and in the dim light of the fire she can see some kind of plant-like mound, perhaps two feet tall and as wide in diameter, covering her feet and lower legs.  Then, by a fraction of an inch, the mound shifts upwards.

Lira shrieks.

As she wiggles and tries to get up, the thing scoots off and immediately begins shuffling towards the tree-line.  Anvil, already awake, moves quickly and pulls a burning log out of the fire, beating the thing as it retreats.  

The mound smokes and scoots even faster.

_(BadMonkeyJeff: 1d6 *plus* fire damage?  Why isn't a burning club my regular weapon?)_

By the time most of the rest of the party has untangled themselves from their bedrolls, he has pretty well driven it off, and Eva shoots off an arrow or two for good measure to discourage it from coming back.

Lira is unhurt, albeit somewhat shaken, a condition which is not aided when she discovers a few tiny holes have been punctured in her blanket.

“What was it going to do to me?”

“You are uninjured,” Reyu points out calmly.

“Yes, because *Euro* noticed the big shuffling *plant* invading our camp.  You were on watch.  What were you watching?”  Euro glares indignantly from Lira's shoulder.

Don't you worry Boss.  Any more plants so much as look at your funny, they're going to have to deal with me, you know?

Reyu, archly, does not reply.

_(WisdomLikeSilence, on the other hand, says: “Oh, are you upset because I didn’t protect you from the big scary compost heap?”)_

Finally, with a last muttered, “This is why I hate the woods,” from Eva, the party goes back to sleep.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Eighty-Third*
_In which: if you were an archmage, would you live here?_

The next morning, the group treks up the overgrown path that Reyu located the previous evening.

The trail is long and meandering, with no sign of recent passage or habitation.  Reyu notices that at one point they make a complete loop around a grove of darkwood trees.  The sigil they saw branded into the vine creature has been burned into the trunks, and Reyu finds signs of a light harvest made some years back.  

_(The party members might have stopped to take a bit themselves, but most of their players have not read the DMG. “Dark wood?  Okay.  Whatever.”)_

Seeing nothing of particular interest, the party moves on.

###

Maybe a quarter of a mile farther up the trail, Annika suddenly stops and points off to one side.  “We should go *that* way.”

Thatch stops short beside her, nodding.  “She’s right.”

Reyu frowns.  She can see no sign of anything of any interest off the trail in that direction.  “Why?” she asks.  “What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” Annika says. “It doesn’t matter… We should go.”

Anvil frowns.  If it was just Thatch he would dismiss it at magical mind-control, but Annika is usually stronger-willed than the young fighter.

He confers with the other members of the party who do not feel any certainty in the indicated direction.

“I see nothing off the trail,” Reyu says, keeping her voice low.

Apparently, not low enough.  “It’s just out of sight,” Annika insists.

“Okay, that’s weird,” Eva decides, and Lira nods.

“Still,” Anvil points out, “it is not unworthy of investigation.”

Eventually, and with much prodding from Annika and Thatch, the group does leave the path.  However, they make their enthusiastic “guides” walk at the back of line.  

“This is dumb,” Thatch points out.  “How will you know which way to go?”

Eva keeps a hand on his elbow.  “You can tell us if we’re heading in the wrong direction,” she tells him grimly.

At first, nothing appears amiss.  Then, about fifty or sixty feet off the path, Reyu stops the column.

“There,” she says, pointing.

Sure enough, almost concealed in the litter of the forest floor are two semi-circular rows of sharp thorns facing each other.

Reyu takes a fallen branch and pokes at the center between the two semi-circles.  Like teeth of a giant mouth, the thorns snap together, closing around the end of the stick and trapping it inside a gleaming reddish pouch.

Thatch and Annika blink, the effect attracting them to the site apparently broken. 

“What the hell is that?”  Thatch asks.

Lira grits her teeth.  “I *hate* plants.”

The party presses on a little further along the trail, but as it becomes increasingly clear they are the only humans to have passed this way in quite some time, they eventually decide to turn around and try their luck on the next island.

###

As they first draw near the second island, the party is greeted by an imposing rocky shore, broken only by a waterfall plunging into the sea below.  Thatch rows on, in hopes of finding a dock like the one on the last island, but as it grows dark, they settle for a comfortable-looking beach.

The night passes quietly, although Euro—not trusting the others’ ability to keep watch—gets very little sleep.  And so, the next morning, as Reyu and Kiara take wing to survey the island from above, the rest of the party—and a very sleepy weasel—set out to explore the island on foot.

Aerial reconnaissance reveals another dock on the side of the island farthest from the open sea, and a clear, spring-fed lake at the isle’s highest elevation.  From that basin, streams and cascades feed other, smaller pools all over the island.  

At ground level, Annika sums up the overall effect. “It feels… tranquil.”

And it’s true.  The island is forested, although not as thickly as the first island, which the party has dubbed “The Island of the Killer Plants.”  And as their party makes their way through the woods, their path is punctuated with numerous freshwater springs and pools.  At one such spring, filled with glittering koi fish—after checking to be sure the water is clean and not magical, evil, or chaotic—the party gratefully takes the opportunity to refill their water-skins and wet their toes and faces with the cooling liquid.

Still, the island appears to be as devoid of archmages as the last.  The party hikes on until late afternoon, finally finding a dry flat place to camp.

In fact, it would be hard to imagine a more perfect campsite.  The ground is flat and level, and there are no tree-roots sticking up or undergrowth to clear.  There’s even a small, still pond, tranquil in the shade of the overhanging trees.

Reyu looks at the pond again and blinks.  There’s something… off about it.  After a second or two, she realizes what it is.

“The pond,” she says, indicating it to the others.  “It’s not… fed… by anything.”

And yes, on second examination, there is a certain, stagnant quality to the water.  Reyu approaches, and just as she draws within steps of the pond… there is a ripple in the water, and a huge pseudopod lashes out at her.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Eighty-Fourth*
_In which: it’s the attack… of the blob!_

Reyu just has time to dodge out of the way and realizes that her earlier assessment is almost completely inaccurate.  Whatever the pool is, it is no pond… and it is about to be fed.

As Reyu ducks away from the “pond’s” lashing tongue, Eva wastes no time on philosophical musings.  Bow out, and unable to discern anything that looks like a vital organ, Eva fires an arrow right for the thing’s center mass.

At a target that size less than thirty feet away, she can hardly miss, and indeed her arrow flies true, passing right through the center of the creature and out the other side, leaving a silvery path of bubbles through the viscous fluid. 

The creature shudders for a moment, and then… bifurcates, right along the path of the shot.  Each half slides away from the wound, and—since they flatten slightly on the ground—leave the appearance that each is now nearly the same size as the original blob.  

The two halves roll across the ground towards the party.  Everyone backs up, horrified.

“Right,” says Lira, as she readies a spell, “let’s not do that again.”

Thatch nods in mute agreement, holstering his sword and reaching instead for Professor Alexandra’s pitcher.  Bracing his feet firmly on the ground, he shouts, “Fresh geyser!”  The pitcher obeys, sending out a blast of cold, clear water.  Thatch aims the torrent at the half nearest him, and the transparent blob ripples and bubbles a bit under the onslaught.  Most importantly, the stream of water slows its advance towards the party.

The other half of the creature has no such obstacles.  As it nears Eva and Lira, the sorcerer unleashes her readied _burning hands_.  A small chunk of the creature melts away under the assault, but at that instant, another pseudopod emerges and thwacks Eva right in the chest.  She gasps and tries to back away, but the thrashing appendage sticks like glue, enveloping her, and drawing her back towards the body.

Eva struggles as hard as she can.  Her skin burns everywhere the viscous body of the creature touches her, and she squeezes her eyes shut as tightly as she can.  On her back, she feels her pack hiss and steam.  Dimly, through the goo pressing into her ears, she can hear Lira screaming her name. 

Thatch does the best he can with the pitcher, trying to keep his half of the blob away from Reyu, Annika and himself.  Annika calls down a _lightening bolt_ upon it, which Reyu follows up with a _flaming sphere_.  The blob shudders and ripples a bit, steaming from the heat, but continues its slow advance.  

_It’s like a giant slug_, Thatch thinks.  Then, he gets an idea.  _Maybe it *is* like a giant slug._  He doesn’t have a huge saucer of beer handy, like they would put out on the farm.  But there was another way to keep them away from the gardens…

Thatch renews his grip on the pitcher.  “Salt geyser!” he shouts.  The blob almost seems to sputter for a moment, and its forward advance stops.

Eva can feel the last of her armor melting away into slag and falling off her trapped limbs.  Her lungs are nearly bursting, but she resists the overwhelming urge to take a breath.  _Drowning,_ she thinks, _in something that isn’t even really water._  She fights against the crushing grip of the creature.  Must get free.  Must get free.  Must… She blacks out.

With a roar, Anvil charges the blob still holding Eva, her now unconscious body suspended, her feet inches from the ground, her face inches from the open air.  His sword rips down through the creature, causing it to split again.  Although, he notes with satisfaction, at least this time the halves are markedly smaller than the parent.

Lira strikes the blob holding Eva with a _magic missle_, and it shudders just a bit.  _Excellent_, Anvil thinks, and turns to the others.  “By Kettenek’s Justice—!” he begins, just as the other blob he separated reaches out and envelops him, drawing the Justicar into its acid embrace.

With Anvil still doing his best to smite the affront to Kettenek in which he has been enveloped, the rest of the party concentrates their efforts on freeing the unconscious Eva, hoping that she is still alive.

Reyu lets her _flaming sphere_ assist Thatch in keeping the largest chunk of the blob contained, and casts _produce flame_ at Eva’s transparent prison, hoping that the heat will not further injure her trapped friend.  Annika follows suit with a jolt of electricity from her wand of _shocking ray_.  Eva appears unaffected by the attacks, but the goo surrounding her becomes cloudy and loses vitality.

Lira casts a final set of _magic missiles_ and the chunk at last splatters, melting into the dirt and leaving Eva lying unconscious, but still alive, on the damp ground.  Reyu runs forward to heal her, and a few seconds later, Eva gasps, eyes flying open.

“What in the hells is that thing?”

“Not a pond.”

Eva blinks.  “Is it dead?”

“A piece of it is.  You might want to… withdraw.”

Eva takes another shuddering breath.  “Yeah.  Good plan.”  She doesn’t even bother to rise to her feet, but tumbles directly backwards, out of the reach.

Two blobs remain.  The larger lurches towards Thatch but is unable to reach around the geyser of salt water he has trained on it.  Inside the other, Anvil feels his armor begin to dissolve.

Anvil, however, is not out of the fight.  Calling upon his divinely granted _feat of strength_ he *wrenches* himself free of the acid creature, just before Lira nails it with a _magic missile_.  

The two halves of the blob try to close back together, reaching to trap Anvil and Reyu between them, but all of the flailing pseudopods miss, flapping helplessly in the air.  Annika zorches the larger half with her wand of _shocking ray_.  As she does so, Reyu plows into it with her _flaming sphere_, then throws a _produce flame_.

The blob snaps rigid for a second, abruptly going from translucent to opaque, and then bursts apart in a shower of acidic slime.

Thatch grins, and turns the salt geyser to nail the last remaining smaller one.

On the other hand, the blob is not giving up without a fight.  It scoots sideways out of Thatch’s stream, and as it does so, it envelops Reyu in a single gulp.  Annika fires her _shocking ray_ and Lira casts yet another _magic missile_, but the blob holds fast to its new victim.

Inside the creature, Reyu remains calm.  Testing her strength against the creature’s all-encompassing grasp, she quickly determines that she will not be able to break free through brute force.  However, that is not her only option.

Calming her mind, Reyu strives to ignore the feeling of her clothes melting against her flesh, her hard armor scraping against raw skin.  Instead, she reaches out mentally to her _flaming sphere_, still active and burning only a few feet away.  Quashing any panic that her air is running short, she calls the _sphere_ to her.

It comes, and as the flames lick the wet surface of the viscous blob, the creature squeezes Reyu one last time… and bursts open.

Reyu’s feet hit the ground and she immediately dives into the stream of water from Thatch’s pitcher.  The pounding spray immediately lessens, and when Reyu opens her mouth, she finds that the fighter has reset the magic item to its “fresh fountain” setting.

When the last of the burning feeling on her skin has faded, Reyu steps out of the spray and looks at the rest of her companions.  They are alone in the clearing.  The battle is over.

Then, she realizes that Thatch and Anvil are pointedly not looking at her.

“What is the matter?” she asks Lira.

The sorcerer blushes.  “The ah… blob ate your clothes.”

Reyu looks down at herself, not quite covered in only her leather armor.  “Indeed.”

Thatch nervously clears his throat.  

“I have a spare set,” Lira offers.  “We should be the same size.”

Reyu mentally rolls her eyes at her companions’ discomfiture.  Only Kiara seems unbothered by her state of undress.  “Perhaps that would be best.”

As Reyu dresses, Thatch tries to console Eva on the loss of her armor and equipment.  Her clothes are still reparable, but unfortunately, that’s all her encounter with the creature has left her.

“Well,” he offers, “at least you have your modesty?”

Eva gives him a look to indicate that consolation is just as stupid as Thatch thought it was.  “Frankly, I’d rather have my f---ing money.”

Thatch tries to change the subject, turning to the group at large.  “Umm… do you think we should still camp here?”

“Why?  Do you want to fight the next pool we decide to camp beside too?” Lira asks.

“That we would encounter two such creatures in one day would be highly unlikely,” Reyu opines as she rejoins the group.  “And besides, we now know the signs to look for.”

Lira is unmoved by the logic.  “And when was the last time ‘likely’ was the operative word for this mission?”

There is a certain logic there, and once the group satisfies themselves that the area is free of further hazards, they make camp.    Laying out their bedrolls, they do find one object of note.  At the spot where one of the blobs was destroyed is a large rounded stone, carved with the same sigil they found branded onto the plant creature.  The rock radiates a faint aura of enchantment, but none of the magically inclined members of the party are able to determine what spell might be generating the effect.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Eighty-Fifth*
_In which: echoes of the past return._

Around sunset, as the party is clearing up after their evening meal, Reyu pricks an ear.  “Shh…”  She gently signals for quiet, whispering, “Listen.”

The sound of rattling tin cups and rustling bedding quiets, to be replaced by the distant rush and gurgle of water, the pounding waves, and then… floating on the breeze, a deep lowing sound, as unexpected as it is hauntingly familiar.

The party members listen, entranced.

“Was that a lake wader?” Kiara whispers, quivering with glee.  Beside her, Thatch’s eyes are bright with barely contained excitement.

Lira nods.  “I think so,” she whispers, not wanting to obscure the last notes of the haunting call.

“But they live in fresh water,” Annika adds, just as quietly.  “How would one get out *here*?”

Reyu slowly shakes her head.  “I do not know.”

The calls continue on through dusk, sounding somehow melancholy in the gathering dark.

###

Later that night, Eva lies next to Lira, unable to sleep.  She tries to get comfortable in borrowed blankets, but it isn’t the sleeping sorcerer beside her, or even the fidgety weasel keeping her awake.  Her bedroll is gone.  Her armor—the best Dar Karo had to offer—is gone.  All of her money, every copper piece she’s saved since they started this goddess-forsaken journey, is gone.

Eva lets out an exasperated noise, then lies still, hoping not to have disturbed anyone.  The rest of the party slumbers on.  _Goddess *forsaken* indeed,_ she thinks.  _On this trip, goddesses have been at least half the problem…  But what am I going to do now?  At this rate, the Fortune Riders will have their claws in me for the rest of my life…_ the memory of icy wind down her spine causes an involuntary shudder.  _And then some._

###

The next morning, dawn breaks on the holiest day of the Alirrian calendar, Alirria Ascendant, or mid-spring.

Thatch, stranded on an island in pretty much the exact geographical center of nowhere, is just a little peeved.  Not that he has anything against any of his traveling companions.  It’s just, this wasn’t exactly the cadre he’d hoped to celebrate with.  

As Kiara and Reyu come back from their aerial reconnaissance of the island, he looks up, hopeful for at least a small bit of good news.

“Did you find the lakewader?” he asks, almost before either Kiara or Reyu have managed to fully shed their avian forms.  “How far was it?”

“Who cares?”  Eva asks, testily, not having the best day either.  “What would you do with it if we found it?”

_(At which point, BadMonkeyJeff, in full Anvil mode says, “Well, it *is* Alirria Ascendant…” with a gesture to indicate that a young man such as Thatch surely has his needs.  

That’s where Thatch’s player chucked his dice at him.

Just in case you were wondering what it’s like playing with a group in their 20s and 30s that’s mostly women.)_

As Thatch goes and pouts, Anvil turns to Reyu.  “Did you see any sign of Barnabus?”

The druid shakes her head.  

“Great,” Lira puts in, “we’ve gone from the deserted island of plants who want to kill us to the deserted island of ponds that want to kill us.”  She pauses for a moment, as though suddenly struck by an idea.  “You know, if anyone knew this place existed, it would be swarming with more Questors than the Ketkath.”  

Reyu clears her throat.  “There was no sign of habitation on *this* island,” she reiterates.  “However, I did see smoke coming from another island not far from here.”

“At least it’s elementally appropriate,” Lira mutters under her breath.

Anvil ignores her.  “Unless we have reason to linger here, that would seem a logical next destination,” 

“Agreed.”

No one else is particularly eager to stick around.  Although Thatch would have liked to see the lakewader for himself, he is decidedly in the minority opinion.

With a sigh, Thatch shoulders his pack and heads back towards the sea for another day of rowing.  _Some Alirria Ascendant_, he thinks.

###

Just past mid afternoon, the party’s boat docks at the island where Reyu spotted smoke.  This island is smaller and somewhat flatter than the other two they have visited, covered with areas of both light woods, and more open grassland.

Upon circling to the side farthest from the open sea, the party finds a dock, identical to the ones found on the first two islands.

There isn’t a path from the dock, but there are numerous sets of animal tracks leading away from the beach across a grassy area and then into the woods towards the center of the island.  Reyu bends to examine them more closely.

“What strange manner of beasts might we find here?” Anvil asks.

Reyu concludes her examination, and straightens.  “I believe they are…” she trails off, almost apologetic, “sheep.”

“Sheep?”

She nods.

“Well,” Eva says with a resigned sigh, “let’s see if they want to kill us and take our stuff too.”

###

The party sets out into the woods.  The undergrowth is not particularly lush or thick.  There do not seem to be an overabundance of streams or ponds.  When nearly half an hour of easy walking passes without anything unexpected happening, most members of the party are just about ready to leap out of their skins.

Thatch stops short.  “What was that?”

“What was what?” Kiara squeaks.

“That rustling sound.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

Reyu stares intently into the surrounding woods.  “I did.”

By this time, everyone has stopped, and soon the rustling noise becomes obvious, speeding up and growing nearer by the second.

The group quickly makes a defensive circle, swords out, spells readied.  *This* time they aren’t going to be taken unprepared.

The rustling grows nearer, nearer, and then suddenly, the source appears.

It’s a little man, no more than three feet high, with a scraggly unkempt beard, and equally untamed hair sticking out at wild angles from his slightly balding head.  Aside from the fact that he is somewhat less ostentatiously dressed than their former companion and is brandishing a small wooden spear, he looks like nothing so much as Hue’s cousin.

The party stands there mute, blinking in astonishment.

For a few seconds, the little man does too.  Then, he lowers his spear, and smiles brightly.

“Hi!” he says.  “You aren’t sheep.”


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Eighty-Sixth*
_In which: we come to know more about the Isle of Hues._

“Hi!” the man says.  “You’re not sheep.”

By this time, several more hunters have emerged from the surrounding woods, all bearing sharpened sticks.

It would be more threatening if any of the hunters were more than three and a half feet high, and if fewer of them were smiling.  Or if any of the sticks were really all that sharp.  

It takes a moment for anyone in the party to find their tongue.

“Umm…  No we’re not.”

“Then who are you?” the little man asks.

“I am Anvil the Just.” Anvil replies. “Who are you?”

“Philinimbram Nacklebarren,” he says with a grin.

“Huh wha?” says Eva, echoing the sentiment of much of the party.

“Philinimbram Nacklebarren,” the man repeats.  It doesn’t sound any more probable the second time around.

Anvil, however, is undeterred by the man’s daunting appellation.  “We are seeking the most powerful wizard in the Halmae.  Do you know this individual?”

“Nope,” Philinimbram replies brightly.  The others shake their heads as well.

“Do you know anyone who might?”  Reyu presses.

The man thinks for a moment.  “Well, we can always ask Granny.  She might know.”  The rest of his group nod quickly in agreement and there is some chatter to the effect that this is certain to be the case.

“Is she a wise woman?”

 “She should be.  She’s our Elder.”

“Elder?” Eva asks.  “How old is she?”

“Old,” Philinimbram says, nodding sagely.  “She’s over 300.”

“300 years?”  Lira lets out a low whistle.  She gives Reyu a sidelong smile.  “That’s old even by your standards.”

“Indeed,” Reyu replies.

Philinimbram hurries to correct the party’s misunderstanding.  “300 years!?  No, no.  Granny’s 300 <b>months</b> old.”  Then, as Lira’s words fully register, he gapes wide-eyed at the party.  “300 years?  Wow.  Do you really live that long?”

“Well,” Eva mutters, “*I* don’t.”

###

Philinimbram Nacklebarren leads the way back to his village.  As they walk, Thatch gets a chance to ask a question that has been nagging at him ever since he met Hue that night in the woods so many months ago.

“So, what do you call yourselves?” he asks.

“By our names, usually,” he answers.

“No,” Thatch, struggles to clarify.  “What do you call a whole group of people like you, collectively?”

“Oh,” Philinimbram replies, realizing what the fighter is after.  “People.”

“People?”

“Yeah.”

“But,” Thatch shakes his head, “*we’re* people.”

“No you’re not,” Philinimbram says, laughing.  “You’re big feets.”

“Big feets?”

“Sure,” he replies, pointing to Thatch’s—admittedly rather large—examples.

“Are there other big feets here?”  Lira asks, hiding a smile at Thatch’s consternation.

“Sometimes,” the small man allows.  “You’re the first ones we’ve really met.  Most of the time we just see your tracks.”

The party also asks their guide about the symbol they’ve seen repeatedly on or near creatures on the other islands.

“Do you know it?” Reyu asks, sketching the figure in the dirt.

“Of course,” Philinimbram answers with his usual enthusiasm.  “It’s our clan symbol.”

“Your clan symbol?”

“Sure.”  The man pulls up his sleeve to show the same symbol Reyu has sketched on the ground tattooed on the back of his shoulder.

“Where did you get that?” Reyu asks.

“I’ve always had it.”

“It’s a birthmark?”

“Oh no.  It’s this thing called a tattoo.  It’s kind of complicated, but you take a special kind of dye and some needles, and--”

“I… am aware of the process,” Reyu says.

“Oh.” Philinimbram seems almost disappointed that he can’t finish sharing his wealth of information.

Reyu and Thatch exchange a look.  Yep.  It’s just like having Hue back.

At last the group arrives at Philinimbram’s village.  According to Philinimbram—who the party has no reason to doubt—it is the only settlement on the island, and the residents are quite proud of it.  

The hues—as the party has started referring to the little people—live in burrows which are mostly underground, but with windows cut into the upper stories.  It is from these windows, doorways, and the occasional tree trunk that many residents are now gawking at the newcomers.

Thatch does his best not to stare back.  Anvil surveys his observers without self-consciousness, and notes with approval that all of the residents are dressed in simple woolen garments; it would seem that no part of the sheep is wasted.  

Lira nudges Eva as she spots a cluster of children watching them from underneath a bush.  As the youngest child in her family, she’s never been overly fond of the word “moppet” but it’s certainly the term that leaps to mind.  The little ones are adorable, barely knee-high even to her.  One brushes a lock of hair out of her face, and Lira is forced to wonder if she and her friends are *that* amazed by the appearance of the mythical big feets, or if their eyes take up half their faces normally.

Philinimbram walks up to the door of one such burrow and knocks loudly on the door.  “Granny!” he calls out.  “There are big feets here to see you!”

Eva looks around.  If there was anyone in the village who was not peeking out behind something to stare at them before, there isn’t now.

A thin, elderly voice comes out in response to Philinimbram’s call.  “Who’s that?”

“It’s Philinimbram!  With big feets!”

A pause.

“Well, come in.”

The members of the party examine the tiny door of the burrow skeptically.

“It would be better if you could come out,” Anvil calls back.

“I can’t hear you!  You’ll have to come in.  I’m a little hard of hearing.”

“Come.  Out.”  Anvil shouts.

“There’s no need to shout.  Come in,” Granny’s voice comes back.

Thatch wanders down the length of the burrow until he comes to a window.  Inside, is a comfortable-looking, if primitively furnished, room with a tiny, ancient woman sitting on a wooden chair, knitting.

“We can’t,” he answers her.  “We don’t fit.”

“Boddiwerble?” the woman looks up, startled.  “Where have you been?”  Then, almost as an afterthought, “Did you bring those muffins from your mother like I asked?”

“Umm…”

Eventually, Philinimbram convinces Granny to come out of her burrow, and she and Anvil have a protracted discussion.  It’s protracted mostly because she keeps thinking that Anvil is an individual by the name of Dimpleglim and Anvil keeps correcting her misapprehension.

“Do you know a great wizard who lives in these islands?”

“I did once.  I saved the stones to make a rattle for my granddaughter.”

“No, not a great *giz*zard.  A great *wiz*ard.”

“You should know to leave lizards alone, Dimpleglim.”

“You think I am an individual who I am not.”

“What?”

“I am not Dimpleglim.”

“Of course not, you look nothing like him.”

And so on around again.  Eventually, the rest of the party wanders off and leaves Anvil to handle the conversation.  Anvil is certainly capable of doing so, his resolution and unflappability matched only by Granny’s dottiness. 

After standing and talking quietly among themselves for some minutes, the rest of the group eventually notices two of the village children quietly creeping towards them.

Reyu crouches down to their level, and smiles.  

“Come here,” she beckons.

They freeze in their tracks.

“It’s okay.  Don’t be afraid.”

Eventually, she coaxes the pair, and a half dozen other children, into a rough semi-circle, although they refuse to get closer than twenty feet.

“Now,” she tells them.  “Watch carefully.”

And before their very eyes, Reyu _wildshapes_ into a golden eagle.  She takes to the air easily and flies a lazy circle above the village before coming back to the common, shifting back into elven form just as her feet touch the ground.

The children stand transfixed in place, jaws hanging open.  One of them finally manages to close his mouth.  He licks his lips nervously.

“W—  Will you come to the party tonight?”

Reyu smiles.  “I would be honored.  Can I bring my friends?”

The child eyes the rest of the party warily, then nods.

“What sort of the party is it?”

He swells visibly with pride, bringing him up to just above the level of Reyu’s knees.  “It’s my birthday.”

“Not just yours,” another child objects.  “It’s my birthday too.”

“And mine.”

“And mine!”

Suddenly, Reyu finds herself at the center of a swarm of children all clamoring that she should attend *their* birthdays too.

“Mine’s tomorrow night!”

“Mine’s the night after!”

“Mine’s next week!”

Reyu notices one little boy standing off to the side, kicking at the dirt.

“When’s your birthday?” she asks gently.

“Don’t have one now,” he mutters, barely audible under his breath.

“He’s a 31-er!” one of tonight’s birthday boys proclaims.

“Yeah!  You’re a 31-er!” the others chant.  “Ne ner ne ner ne ner!”

“That’s enough.  That’s enough!”  One of the adults comes bustling into the middle of the crowd, dispersing it and consoling the object of their derision.  “You’ll have a birthday next month,” she consoles him.



> DM’s Sidebar: The Hues
> 
> So, there I was, working on developing the details on gnome—er, I mean hueish culture, and I happened to notice that they lived to be over 300.  And I thought, what the hey?  Why is it that everyone but half-orcs lives longer than humans?  This is just nonsense.  So I decided that gnom—er, hues didn’t live to be over 300 years.  They lived to be over 300 months.
> 
> It did not take a whole lot of further thought in that direction to realize that, for a population of, say, 100 hues, they must have multiple birthday parties *every night*.
> 
> Which, of course, immediately led to the plight of the poor 31ers, who only have seven birthdays a year instead of the usual twelve.  It’s considered very bad luck to be born a 31er.  After all, they always die so young…
> 
> It also follows that, in a society where birthdays are a daily occurrence, age is of great importance.  Hence the village Elder, who, by definition, is always the oldest person in the clan.  Which means that the leader of the hues is, typically, quite senile.
> 
> I love the hues.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Eighty-Seventh*
_In which: among other miscellaneous encounters, Anvil gets up close and personal with a sheep. _

Philinimbram has appointed himself the group’s official liason to the rest of the village, and he happily spends the afternoon introducing the village population.  

From their conversations, the party learns that all the hues have the same “clan tattoo” that Philinimbram does.  Apparently, it is a clan ritual to tattoo their children at birth.  When asked about the origins of the custom and the symbol itself, none of the hues have any idea.  Not that this appears to bother them.  “It’s just what we do,” they explain.  

Eventually, Anvil rejoins the group, having concluded his conversation with Granny.

“Does she know anything about Barnabus?”  Annika asks hopefully.

“In a word,” says Anvil, “no.”

###

As the villagers prepare for the birthday revelry that night, the party goes to explore the island.  The only other inhabitants are a flock of sheep, munching contentedly in a sunny meadow a few minutes walk from the village.

The party approaches cautiously, but it soon becomes evident that the sheep are quite tame.  Even when Thatch lifts one to look for signs of the sigil carried by the hues and other creatures they’ve found on the islands, its only response is a plaintive bleat.

“I don’t see a sigil on it,” Thatch offers, “but it *is* kind of wooly.  There could be something under there.”

“Well I’m not going to try to shear it and find out,” Eva announces, a sentiment quickly seconded by Lira.

“Besides,” Lira points out, “it’s not like *everything* on the islands has the sigil.  The grass doesn’t, the docks don’t.  Really, it’s only the weird things that try to kill us.”

“And the hues,” Thatch adds.

“They just didn’t try very hard,” she corrects him.  “Remember the spears?”

Thatch is unconvinced.  “They were pointy sticks.”

Lira is not one to let logic get in the way of a perfectly good point.  “Whatever.”

While Thatch inspects the sheep, Anvil casts _speak with animal_ in an attempt to ascertain its origins.

“Have you seen humans before?” he demands.

The sheep blinks at him.

“Beings like us.”

The sheep thinks about it for a bit.  “Someone as tall as you,” he agrees eventually.

“How did you come to be here?”

“We walked.”

“You walked?!”

The sheep points its nose towards the woods at the edge of the meadow.  “From over there.”

“No,” Anvil persists.  “How did you come to this island?”

“Island?”

It takes some work, but the party does eventually explain “island” to the sheep.  That hurdle cleared, they even manage to convey the concept of a boat.  Now clear on what the party wants to know, the sheep agrees that it was once on such a craft, some number of days before.

“How long did you spend on the boat?” Anvil asks gravely.

The sheep chews for a long moment, then bleats unhappily.

“You can speak,” Anvil reminds it.  “Do so.  How long were you on the boat?”

Before that moment, Lira would never have thought it possible for a sheep to pout.

“We ate on the boat,” the sheep finally answers.

“How many times?”

The sheep’s only response is another plaintive bleat.

“Umm…”  Thatch suggests. “I don’t think sheep can count.”

“Once?” Anvil asks.  “Or more than once?”

Alas, try as they might to come up with a common reference, the sheep’s concept both of time and numbers proves too impressionistic to allow the party to estimate how far the sheep might have traveled to get to the island.

Next, they show the sheep a picture of the sigil, but the sheep doesn’t recognize it.  Eventually, Anvil decides that he has gleaned all of the useful information he is going to be able to get out of this subject, and allows Thatch to set it free.

As the sheep is not exactly light, Thatch is more than happy to oblige.

###

The gathering that night is quite the shindig.  Although the hues might celebrate their birthdays frequently, the regularity of the festivities does not appear to dampen the participants’ enthusiasm.

As dark falls, everyone in the village gathers in the common area between their burrows.  Several sheep are roasting over a large bonfire.  The hunters are quite pleased with their quarry, and share tales of the latest fearsome sheep hunt as several cooks bicker good-naturedly over the best method of preparation.

The good mood of the night is infectious, and the adventurers quickly gets into the spirit of the celebration.  Thatch becomes incredibly popular with the children as they take turns being lifted onto his shoulders and trotted around the commons for a big-feets-eye view of the village.  With some amusement, Lira catches a few of the adults sending longing looks in his direction, clearly curious, but not quite wanting to ask.

As Thatch begins to look just a little tired on his twentieth-odd trip around the bonfire, Lira beckons a group of children over.

“Do you want to see a trick?”

They all nod eagerly, eyes bright.

“Look carefully…” Lira tells them, and _pretidigitates_ a shower of sparkling flowers that rain down on the children’s heads.

Much to her dismay, as one, they all take to their heels, shrieking in terror.  Lira turns to Eva, stricken, “I hope that isn’t—” 

Before she can even finish the thought however, the children have returned, and Lira is up to her knees in a tiny mob pleading, “Do it again!  Do it again!”

Lira is happy to indulge them.

###

Reyu watches with amusement from a little distance away, then turns back to her conversation with one of the villagers, a woman who bears the family name of her old adventuring companion, Hue Brindlestock.

“Tell me,” she asks, “do you have a relative named Hufaziloranix?”

The woman thinks.  “That was my great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather’s name… I think.”

Reyu cannot hide her disappointment.  “No one more… contemporary?”

The woman shakes her head.  “Why?”

“I met an individual of that name who would seem to be a… person… such as yourself,” Reyu explains.  “He did not know of his origins.  I had thought perhaps they might be here.  Apparently not.”

“It might have been my great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather,” Ms. Brindlestock helpfully suggests.  “No one’s seen him in a really long time.”

Somehow, Reyu doubts it, but is too polite to say anything.

The other woman leans in close, as though to whisper a confidence.  “Some of the hunters were talking earlier,” she confesses.  “Is it true that big feets live for hundreds of years?”

“Not… all of them,” Reyu responds diplomatically.

The woman’s jaw drops.  “Some live even longer?”

###

As the night wears on, Anvil discusses the group’s mission with some of the village elders who are slightly more… cogent than Granny.  The hues do not know of a man named Barnabus.  They are equally ignorant of the builder of the island’s dock.  They do confirm that the dock—and the village itself—are the areas of the island where they are most likely to find big feets tracks.  Those who have studied the phenomenon agree that the big feets usually come to the island in groups of two or three at a time.  To what purpose, remains a mystery.

Anvil files this information away and finally asks the question that has been weighing on his mind since he first encountered the hues.

“Tell me,” he says gravely, “of the Justice of your people.”


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Eighty-Eighth*
_In which: *sniff* Isle of Hue too, man._

As the children start dropping off to sleep, Thatch and Lira are able to take a break from their duties as entertainers, and the tenor of the celebration changes.  Kegs of the local ale are brought out and Philinimbram soon approaches the party with an overflowing stein.  Even at a distance they can hear it hissing and popping, and it effervesces with a vaguely noxious odor.

“Want some?”

“What is it?” Eva asks, clearly skeptical.

“Badgerbite!”

The party members all look to Lira.  (Except Thatch, who—somewhat miffed—mutters, “I drink Dwarven Ale too, you know.”)

Lira ignores him.  She takes the offered beverage with thanks, privately amused at her role as party imbiber of potent potables.  _My mother would be so proud,_ she thinks.  

In her head, Euro snorts.

With silent toast to their hosts, Lira knocks back a healthy slug of the local brew.  She analyses the first mouthful thoughtfully.  _Okay… looks nasty, smells worse, but once you get past that… not half-bad.  And actually, it isn’t even too stron—_

The ale knocks back.

Boss?  You cool?... Oh….

It always takes a few seconds for alcohol’s full impact to hit the other side of the mater/familiar bond.  A stray thought flits across Lira’s consciousness that she hadn’t been aware that “brick to the head” was available in beverage form.  

Lira sits by the fire blinking for a few seconds.  _Holy crap_.

Eventually, with an act of will (and use of an action point) Lira calms her stomach, and a beat later, manages to get her voice back.

“Not bad,” she rasps, and then, to the chagrin of the tiny piece of her brain that still cares about such things, she giggles.

The others watch with a mixture of amusement and incredulity.

“Is she actually drunk?”  Thatch whispers to Eva.

Lira giggles again.

“I believe the proper term is ‘wasted.’”

“Am not,” Lira retorts, the effect of her scowl somewhat marred by a delicate hiccup.

###

When one of the hues starts hitting on Annika, the party decides that the time has come to make their exit and go pitch camp.

They find Philinimbram to say good-night, who waves cheerily and then asks, “Are you going to your burrow now?”

Anvil and Reyu exchange glances.  In all of their interactions with the hues, no one made mention of guest accommodations.  But there’s something about the way he said, *their* burrow… Could he mean…
But before anyone can think of a way to ask what Philinimbram might mean without broadcasting their ignorance, Lira blurts out, “We have a burrow?  Where?”  

Philinimbram looks a little puzzled, then realization dawns. “Badgerbite’s good stuff, huh?”

Lira nods happily.  “Yeah.”

“Here,” he says, gently taking her hand.  “I’ll show you.”

###

Philinimbram leads Lira (and the party) to a small copse of trees not far from the village.  Apparently satisfied that he has seen them to the door, he takes his leave and returns to the village, where the festivities show all signs of going until dawn.

The party has only one problem.  There is no “burrow” in evidence.  Reyu and Kiara scour the area, but aided only by Anvil’s _light_ spell and Annika’s everburning torch, they can find no sign of any shelter at all.

“If Barnabus or other ‘big feets’ do come around,” Annika offers, “he seems to be pretty careful not to let the hues see him.  If he’s made himself a place to stay, he’s probably hidden it magically so they can’t find it.”

“Well, that worked,” Eva grouses, indicating the route Philinimbram took back to the village.  

Lira giggles.  “We could tell the hues we lost our key.” 

Annika, who has already had several offers of a burrow where she could spend the night, is the first to quash that suggestion.  “No.”

“Do you have _detect magic_ prepared?”  Reyu asks her.  “If the burrow is magically concealed, perhaps we can locate it that way.”

The wizard shakes her head.  “I used it earlier.”

Both women look at Anvil.  “Kettenek did not see fit to grant me that ability last time I petitioned him.”  He clarifies, “More to the point, I did not ask.”  He then shrugs and indicates Lira.  “She can always cast it.”

Lira realizes that someone is talking about her.  “Cast what?”

Reyu pats Lira on the arm.  “Never mind.”

Lira is not to be put off.  “Cast what?”

“_Detect magic_.”  

“Of course I can _detect magic_.  Why didn’t you ask?”  Lira rolls her eyes at her friends’ apparent idiocy and begins to cast the spell.

_(“Concentration check, please,” says the DM.)_

It takes a little longer than usual, but Lira finally finishes her arcane chanting and arm-waving.  Finished, Lira stands perfectly still, staring at the party.  The others look on expectantly.

“Are you alright?” Reyu asks gently.

Lira blinks.  “Ooo,” she says at last, “pretty colors.”

###

Once the rest of the party is standing behind her and Lira is no longer distracted by the auras of their magic items, she does manage to locate the concealed entrance to what is presumably Barnabus’ “burrow” by the aura of abjuration radiating from the latch.

When repeated attempts at opening the door fail, the party finally decides that the best plan of action is for Annika to memorize _knock_ in the morning, and in the meantime, they take out their bedrolls, and camp under the stars.

###

The next morning dawns bright. Really bright.  Far too bright.  And—as far as Lira is concerned—far too early.  She has never in her life been this hung-over.  Not even after the dwarven ale sludge.  Her head aches, her mouth tastes like the inside of a sock, and every sound reverberates inside her head.

Very carefully, Lira finishes her morning prayers and focusing exercises, and opens her eyes.  A beam of sunlight, Ehkt’s glory on earth, comes lancing through the trees right into her eyes and explodes inside her brain.

Lira winces, and grits her teeth.  _This is a challenge_, she reminds herself.  _Embrace it.  This is a challenge._

Next time you take on a challenge, leave me out of it.  Euro grumbles into her head.

_What’s *your* problem?_

I’m just sayin’.  You think you could think a little quieter maybe Boss?

_You’re not the quietest thinker yourself, you know._

[size=-1]Oh… sorry about that.[/size]

Sigh.  _[size=-1]Yeah, me too.[/size]_

As Lira and Euro work out their morning grumpiness, Annika easily _knocks_ open the door to the burrow Philinimbram led them to the night before.

From the outside, the door is highly camouflaged behind bushes, branches, and other natural brush.  Otherwise, it looks very much like the doors on the hues’ own burrows.  

Inside, the party finds to their surprise and satisfaction that the ceiling is high enough to allow everyone but Thatch to stand comfortably erect.  The burrow consists of a single room, simply furnished with a table and two wooden stools.  The floor, ceiling and back wall are bare dirt; however, the side of the burrow facing the hues’ village is made of woven sticks and leaves.

Through the screen, the party is able to see outside remarkably well, although from the outside, the wall is completely opaque.

“It’s like a duck blind,” Thatch observes.

“So Barnabus brought the hues to the island so he could observe them?”  Eva looks a little unsettled.  “That’s kind of creepy.”

“Creepier than keeping a talking golden skull in your basement?” Kiara asks.

Eva has to admit she has a point.  “Well, no.”

Lira, recovering a bit already from her hangover casts _detect magic_ again.  Although the auras she sees on the party are not quite as… vivid… as they were the night before, at least they don’t make her want to lose her breakfast.

After a close scan of the room, she returns her verdict.  “There’s nothing magical in here that we didn’t bring ourselves, and,” she adds, “nothing we brought with us reads as magical that shouldn’t be.”

Eva sighs.  If she still owned something beyond the clothes on her back, she might be more worried about things like that. 

Although Reyu finds many tracks, none appear to have been made more recently than a month ago, leading her to surmise that this probably isn’t one of Barnabus’ primary haunts.  Still, the party composes a note to the archmage and leaves it on the table, just in case the long absence implies that he will be returning soon.

Once that is taken care of, the party decides that the time has come to move on to another island in the archipelago.  Of course, this will necessitate bidding good-bye to the hues.  As they shove-off from the dock, it is Reyu who finally finds the words to express the party’s thanks.

“Good-bye,” she tells Philinimbram warmly.  “May all of your sheep be succulent.”


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Eighty-Ninth*
_In which: another day, another island._

The islands in this part of the archipelago are somewhat closer, and the party can in fact see two from the hues’ island.  There is a small island not too far away, and then in the distance, they can make out a piece of a larger one.

Thatch, as the party’s chief rower, puts in a strong vote for heading for the near island.

As they approach, Kiara notices something.

“There’s a building on that island!”

This is cause for some excitement among her fellow travelers.

“Really?”

“Are you sure?”

“It isn’t just another dock?”

“I think I see it too!”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Are you sure your eyes are open?”

Kiara’s bounces up and down in her seat.  “Can I go look at it?  Can I, Annika?  Can I?”  

Anvil discretely grips the side of the boat, currently rocking with some vigor under Kiara’s excitement.  “Perhaps,” he observes through clenched teeth, “that would be a wise plan.”

“Okay, okay,” Annika relents.  “But be…”

Kiara shifts to swallow form and is gone in seconds.

“…careful.”

Lira pats Annika on the arm sympathetically.  “She knows.”

###

Sure enough, Kiara is back—safe and sound—a few minutes later, brimming with even more enthusiasm than before.

“There are a whole bunch of buildings.  They were kind of back in the trees, but there were definitely a bunch of them… Oh, and there’s a dock, too.”

“Excellent,” Anvil proclaims before anyone else can respond.  “Thatch, proceed.” 

Thatch puts his back into it, and everyone else in the boat concentrates on courteously ignoring the delicate shade of green creeping up Anvil’s skin.

###

Although the soil of the island is rather rocky, Reyu is able to discern the tracks of four humans (or humanoids), leading away from the dock into the island’s wooded interior and then back out again.

“How long ago?”  Eva asks.

“No more than a week.”

“Well,” says Lira, “let’s see where they went.”

###

Past three forks on the twisting wooded trail the party comes around a bend to find themselves standing before a most curious artifact.

It’s an Ebisite ziggurat. 

Although it looks extremely old, it appears to be in good-repair and otherwise well-maintained.  Lira casts _comprehend languages_ to read the inscriptions, and finds that it is the tomb of “His Holiness Azad al Gazi.”

“If he’s so holy,” Thatch asks, “what’s his tomb doing all the way out here?”

“Maybe he was trying to avoid Gemil,” Eva suggests.

Although the party has to allow that Ebis seems to have more than its share of necromancers, it doesn’t seem like the most likely explanation.

Plus, on the door is the same sigil that was tattooed on the hues, carved in the stone by the acid pond, and branded onto the killer plant.

The party is beginning to sense a theme.

Although there are no obvious magical auras anywhere on the building, the sigil itself radiates abjuration, and sure enough, the door is locked.  After a quick vote, the party members decide not to break in.  Instead, they backtrack to a previous fork in the trail.

###

A tower rises out of the trees.  This must be what Kiara spotted from the boat.  As the party approaches, a high stone wall with a single set of iron gates comes into view.  

Surprisingly enough, there is no sigil in view.

After Eva checks the gates for traps and a loud knock receives no response, Eva tries the handle.  To her surprise, the latch turns easily, and the gate swings silently back on its hinges.

The group enters and finds themselves in the courtyard of an old-fashioned keep.  Surrounding the yard are various doorways, some unmarked and open.  Most have sigils on them, and are locked.

Anvil considers.  “Do you think the sigils are tied to the door locks in some manner?”

“Umm…  Given the abjuration auras they’re all giving off, I’m thinking yes.”

Thatch digs through his pack.  “Didn’t you say that this one from the acid pond radiated enchantment?”

Lira nods.

“Why the difference?”

The sorcerer shrugs.  “You can't lock a pond?”

###

One of the unmarked doors leads to a smithy, which to Annika’s not entirely unexperienced eye, looks as though it is regularly cleaned, but has not been in use for some time.  Other unmarked doors lead to a set of equally vacant stables.

As the marked doors are all magically sealed, and since Annika does not have a second _knock_ prepared that day, Eva borrows Kiara’s tools and unlocks a shuttered window.

“What have you found?” Anvil asks.

“Looks like some kind of barracks,” Eva reports back from the window.  “But there’s a door, it might lead to the rest of the building.”  

Except for Thatch, the rest of the party follows her through, where they find sleeping quarters for twelve.  They also find storage where monastic robes still hang, clean and undisturbed.

With Thatch following their progress as he keeps watch outside, the rest of the party leaves the barracks room.  The door leads to a great hall, with huge stone fireplace, and a table still set with wooden plates.

After passing a kitchen, the party finally finds a narrow twisting staircase leading up to the top of the tower.

###

They emerge into a domed room with a massive telescope and movable roof controlled by an intricate pulley system.

“It’s an observatory,” Annika whispers, voice tinged with wonder.

“Wow,” Kiara echoes.  Then a pause.  “Why are we whispering?”

A small dark passage leads from the observatory to another room containing row upon row of scribe’s desks.  On one wall is a massive mural painted with an intricate star chart in the familiar patterns of the night sky.  The other walls are lined with honeycomb like shelves, each niche filled to the brim with scrolls. 

The next room is a more conventional library, filled with books on astrology and the stars.  Anvil takes one from its place and opens it.

Inside the front cover, a bookplate declares the volume to be part of the collection of Cosmia Astrologica Darine, written by Brother Anekitos in the year 163.

“One-sixty three…” Annika starts to do the math in her head.  “So if this is 153 that would make the book… from ten years in the future?”  She frowns.

Kiara’s eyes go wide.  “Wow!”

“Umm… I hate to sound like Thatch here,” Eva begins, “but isn’t that impossible?”

“It is some kind of trickery,” Anvil announces.

“Or they’re using a different calendar.”

All eyes turn to Lira.

“This is the year 385 in the Hennan calendar.  Plus it would explain why the reference is to the Cosmia Astrologica Darine, not the Cosmia Astrologica *Dar* Darine.”

“So how old would that make the book?”

Lira shrugs.  “Old.”
Annika brings the conversation around to the more germane question. “But what is it doing way out here?  Not even Dar Darine claims to have been exploring this far out in the Halmae during that era.”  She turns to Eva, who is from the city.  “Have you ever heard of this place?”

Eva wracks her brain, but can’t come up with much.  “I think I heard something… once… a story about some monastery, or some monks… somewhere.”  She gestures helplessly.  “But I don’t know if this was them.” 

The party looks through some more of the books, but can find no clue as to how the monastery came to be in its present location, or any mention of Barnabus’s name.  Ultimately, they leave the archmage another note on the table of the main hall downstairs, and resume their exploration of the island.

Their wanderings next lead them to a Sovereign-style house, built overlooking a running brook.

After that, they find a Temple to Alirria.  Built of pure white stone and covered in heraldic and decorative carvings.  Lira takes one look at it, and its distinctive Dar Hennan decoration, and makes a decision.  

“This was *definitely* built somewhere else and moved here,” she pronounces with nearly Anvil-like certainty.

“And how do you know that?” Anvil asks, unimpressed.

“Because,” Lira points out details of the ornate façade as she explains, “this temple was built and dedicated by the di Scallini family.  The di Scallinis are one of the oldest, most powerful families in the city and there is *no way* they would build a temple out here where no one could see it.”

“Alirria can see it,” Thatch mutters in a low voice to Eva.

“I don’t think it was Alirria they were trying to impress with all that gold leaf,” she replies.

“Do you know when it was built?” Reyu asks.

Lira shakes her head.  “There isn’t a date that I can see, but it must have been a while ago.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Rumor has it these days the di Scalinis are living on credit.  My brother Pascal was engaged to a daughter from the family for a little while, but Papa called off the wedding.”

“Because they didn’t have money?” Reyu asks, puzzled.

Lira shrugs.  “He didn’t exactly share his reasoning with me, but that would have done it.”  She gestures to the building. “This must have been done back when they still had money.”

Although Reyu is somewhat puzzled over the intersection of marriage and commerce, she decides she will probably be happier not knowing the details. 

###

That night, the party gathers around their fire, a merrily crackling circle of light on yet another empty beach.  Although no one says anything directly, they are all too aware that it has been five days since they left _The Fool’s Errand_, almost half of their allotted time before Captain Elsuki will declare them lost and abandon them.

They’ve learned much.  Unfortunately, they are no closer to locating Barnabus than they were the week before.

“But why would he bring the building here?”  

“Maybe Barnabus collects buildings.”

“Not just buildings,” Lira points out.  “First there was the island full of killer plants, then there was the island full of water and watery things…”

“You suspect he…” Reyu searches for an appropriate word, and settles for one that reflects her disgust, “…collected… the hues as well?”

“They got there somehow, and someone watches from that burrow and brings them sheep.”

“Are we even sure we want to find this guy?” Annika asks.  “We’ve got four candidates already.”

“We were charged with delivering the invitations to all candidates,” Anvil reminds her, “even if we found them wanting.”

“Besides,” Lira argues, “it’s not like this is the first archmage we’ve found with strange hobbies.”

“It might not be Barnabus doing the collecting,” Thatch suggests.

He is met with puzzled silence.

“Well, it’s true,” Thatch repeats, a tad defensive.  “We know that he lives somewhere here.  We don’t know that he’s the only one.”

“He’s an *archmage*,” Eva argues.  “Even if he doesn’t keep this collection himself, he condones whoever does.”

“Well,” says Reyu, getting off and brushing the sand off her hands.  “It will be another thing to ask when we find him.”

“And hey,” Lira says brightly as the party settles down to sleep.  “Look on the bright side.  We’ve been all over this island and nothing’s tried to kill us.”

Miraculously, in spite of that pronouncement, the night passes quietly.


----------



## spyscribe

That's it!  We're caught up with all the old updates (including a few tweaks to Part the 188th to try and clear up some of the confusion over burrow ownership).  As promised, new update to come in a just a moment.

Thanks to everyone for your patience, and big thanks to StevenAC for his incredible archiving prowess.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Ninetieth*
_In which: if we don’t find Barnabus soon, Thatch is going to have a stroke._

Stroke.  Stroke.  Stroke… Stroke.

_The really frustrating thing about a rowboat_, Thatch reflects, _is that you can’t see if you’re making any progress.  I mean, sure, I can see the island we just left getting farther, and farther… and farther, but that’s not exactly encouraging._

Thatch tries to glance over his shoulder on the backstroke, hoping he can catch a glimpse of the large island they sighted that morning on the horizon.

_Yup, there it is.  A green blob.  Green blob in front of me, green blob in back of me, white blob to the right of me…_  Thatch blinks.  Then looks again.  _Is that a—_

“I see a sail!”  Kiara shouts.

It’s true.  After close to a week of empty seas, there is suddenly a small vessel, speeding along several hundred yards off their port side.

###

As Reyu (_wildshaped_ into a pelican) draws alongside the other vessel, she knows that at least part of their search has ended.  The boat is a small swift craft, clipping along at full sail.  And at the top of the mast, above the sail, a small pennant bearing the same sigil that they have found throughout the islands flaps in the breeze.  

From what Reyu can see, the crew is entirely human: three men and two women.  Two are obviously professional sailors, while the other three wear elaborate grey and red livery.  Around the necks of these three hang medallions embossed with the same sigil that is on the vessel’s flag.

As Kiara hangs back, ready to fly back to the longboat for help if needed, Reyu circles the boat slowly.  She makes sure that she has been spotted, then comes in for a gentle landing on the deck and shifts back into an elf.

Her sudden appearance is met with understandable surprise.  One sailor loses his grip on a line he was hauling, but a barked order quickly quells any panic.  _Good,_ Reyu thinks, _these humans do know how to think before acting_.  She tries not to think about the fact that she is effectively staking her life on their continued good sense.

Reyu bows slightly and speaks.

“I do not wish to alarm you,” she says calmly.  “My friends and I have come to these islands seeking a great wizard by the name of Barnabus.  Do you know where we can find him?”

A tense silence follows her words. Reyu catches the strangers sneaking glances at each other, as if wondering how to respond.  

Finally, one of the men in livery—whose slightly more ornate braiding appears to designate a position of authority—meets her gaze and speaks.  “I don’t know any Barnabus.  I work for the Count.”

“Do you know where we might find *him*, then?”

The man appears more and more confused by the moment.  He does not reply, but silently points in the direction of the large island that the party has been rowing towards.

Reyu smiles.  “Very good then.”

Behind the man, a woman in livery speaks up.  “You know you are in the Count’s domain.”  It’s almost, but not quite, a question.

“I knew we were in someone’s lands,” Reyu answers.  “But we have no knowledge of your Count.”

Once again, the crew of the small ship exchange uneasy glances.  

“He unaware of your presence?” the man asks.

“To my knowledge.”

The man appears to come to a decision, and snaps to with brisk efficiency.  “You should report to the Guard immediately.  We will escort you.”

Reyu is unruffled.  “We would like nothing more.”

The crew indicates to Reyu the proper direction for them to take, and Reyu and Kiara both fly back to the rest of the party in the longboat.

###

Anvil is quite pleased to finally have contact with an official authority.  “Excellent.  Take us there, Thatch.”

“Easy for you to say,” the fighter mutters.

Sensing Thatch’s fatigue, Kiara helpfully perches on his shoulder and whistles a jaunty tune to help him keep time.  Much to her disappointment, he does his best to ignore her completely.

Eva helpfully suggests that Kiara probably just isn’t whistling loud enough.  Thatch glares at her as if to say, “If I wasn’t charged with keeping you safe, I’d kill you right now.”

###

Thatch finally pulls the longboat in to dock alongside four or five light skiffs at port on the island indicated.  Word of their arrival appears to have preceded them and a small crowd of has gathered.  Liveried sailors, a fair number of dock-workers, fishermen, and a few teamsters press forward to get a look at the strangers coming into port.  A line of armed liveried men, most likely the County Guard, keeps anyone from getting too close.  

The commander of these last watches the party dock soberly, his expression betraying no emotion beyond a sense of guarded wariness.

Anvil greets him without qualm.  “We are here seeking the wizard Barnabus.”

The guardsman stands firm.  “I should take you to see the Count.”

“As we have told the others, we would like nothing better,” Anvil replies.  “Please, take us to him.”

###

The guardsman commanders a skiff and by early afternoon the party has been taken to yet another island, to be met by yet another group of liveried guards.  While their escort is a bit severe and not inclined to small talk, they are also not unfriendly, and the group chooses not take offense at the healthy display of caution.

Mostly, the party members hope that no one will mind the fact that they killed a deadly plant and an acidic pool on their way in.

This island is the largest they have seen so far, and although there are a few gently rolling hills, the terrain is for the most part flat and the walking is easy.  They are taken down a wide dirt road past several hamlets to a large manor house, built on the center and highest point of the island.

###

Although the manor house sits resplendent behind open gates, the thick stone wall those gates are set in is clearly built to withstand unwelcome visitors.  Along with the Count’s mansion, the walls also shelter guard barracks, servant quarters, and a stable.

And as the party approaches, no one can help but notice that the Count’s sigil is on every wall, gate-post, and uniform they pass.

Lira also can’t help but notice that the entire compound reeks of understated wealth.  Everyone’s clothes—down to the boys sweeping out the stables—fit perfectly.  The wall surrounding the manor and its outbuildings has been cleanly finished on both sides.  For that matter, she’d be willing to bet the stones for the house have been imported.

Which begs a nagging question.  The Halmae, although certainly vast, is a heavily-traveled sea.  Surely, someone would have made contact before now?

After all they had heard about the Islands of Mirage, Lira had thought she was prepared for anything they might encounter.  Strange beasts, reclusive wizards, untold riches.  But… a kingdom?  Or, rather, a county that has remained unknown to its surrounding neighbors for who knows how long?

The front door of the manor has been carved in an intricate relief depicting the known world.  The Darine Peninsula curls up the right hand side, and on the left the mountains of the Ketkath appear to have been depicted in a thousand individually carved peaks.  And in the center of the doors—and the center of the Halmae—is the Count’s sigil.

The doors swing outward, revealing a short man of middle years, wearing a much more decorated version of the livery they have seen on the guards, rich with deep blues and reds.  Around his neck is the now expected medallion.  

He makes a sweeping bow at the party’s approach.  “Greetings,” he says, turning to include each of the adventurers as he speaks.  “I am Lord Marmion, chamberlain to the Count.  Welcome to the Islands of Agramount.”


----------



## beldar1215

Is there a way to post the link for the compilied pdf's of the story hour. I only recently found this story hour and was on part three. I think for poeple trying to catch up, the pdf's were great! Thanks in advance.

Beldar


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## el-remmen

I think more than anything I really love the sense of discovery in this campaign.  Awesome stuff!


----------



## Fajitas

beldar1215 said:
			
		

> Is there a way to post the link for the compilied pdf's of the story hour.



Heh, I thought.  Silly Beldar.  Of course there's such a link.  I'll just reference him to it.  It's in the very first post of the Story Hour...

...but it wasn't there in December. >sigh<

I'm sure Spyscribe will correct that soon enough, but in the meantime, you can find the collected PDFs, compliments of the brilliant and talented StevenAC, by clicking here.



			
				el-remmen said:
			
		

> I think more than anything I really love the sense of discovery in this campaign. Awesome stuff!



Thanks, el-remmen.  One of the whole points of this initial adventure (and believe it or not, according to my original Master Plan the entire quest for the archmagi was just the first adventure) was to introduce the PCs to the gameworld.  The Halmae is atypical enough that I thought it would be better to follow the old adage and show, not tell, the PCs what the world was like.

I don't think I quite realized just how much there would be to show...


----------



## el-remmen

Fajitas said:
			
		

> I don't think I quite realized just how much there would be to show...




Isn't always that way though?


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Heh, I thought.  Silly Beldar.  Of course there's such a link.  I'll just reference him to it.  It's in the very first post of the Story Hour...



Right where it should be!  

The info box is back at the top of the thread with handy links to the new story hour index, StevenAC's compiled pdf files, and Fajitas' Secrets of the Halmae thread.

Click it!  (You know you want to.)


----------



## beldar1215

Thank you so much for the links. My workday will go by so much quicker now. I just have to remember to do my work and not just read the story hour. Great Stuff. I look forward to getting caught up soon.   

Beldar


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Ninty-First*
_In which: we meet a chamberlain, a count, a chef, and..._

Lord Marmion leads the group down a long gallery with polished stone floor, lined with paintings, statuary, and other—uniformly exquisite—objects d’art.

He makes pleasant small talk, with Lira taking primary responsibility for holding up the party’s end of the conversation.  Although the chamberlain is nothing but polite, he has a tendency to ask more questions than he answers.  

As they walk through the gallery, several party members notice a frequently recurring face in the portraits they pass.  And Lira hazards an inquiry, “Would that be the Count?”

Lord Marmion pauses in front of a portrait hanging in a large gilt frame.  “Ah yes.  His Highness, Count Agramount.  A good likeness, I think you’ll find.”

The portrait shows a clean-shaven, young man with fair hair hanging loose to just above his shoulders.  Rather conventionally good-looking, Lira allows, although the man’s impassive expression is hardly one to excite warm feelings in anyone.  A chain of office around his neck bears the familiar sigil.

After a few moments, Lord Marmion gently indicates that while the portrait is of infinite patience, perhaps its subject is not, and the party allows themselves to be led on to the audience chamber.

###

In the flesh, Count Agramount is somewhat older than his portrait.  _Although_, Eva thinks, _she could hardly expect him to look *younger* than the painting_.  His fair hair is tinged with grey at the temples, and his face is more worn and lined.   If she had to guess, she would say he is now somewhere in his late middle-age.  

However, if the portraitist exaggerated the youth of his subject, it is with some shock that Eva realizes that he also exaggerated his humanness.  The Count is a half-elf.  A few wisps of hair hang over the tips of his ears, but it’s unmistakable.  

Eva tries to keep any surprise off her face, but shoots a surreptitious look over to Reyu to gauge *her* reaction.

If Reyu has one, she isn’t showing it.

Lord Marmion presents the party, recalling names and affiliations without pause or error, and the Count listens intently.

“And how have you come to reach my humble isles?” The Count inquires.  “Your vessel hardly seems adequate for such a journey.”

“We have a ship waiting for us,” Lira explains, matching the Count’s formal tone seemingly without effort.  “By necessity it remains in deeper waters.”

At the Count’s prompting the group briefly recounts their journey through the islands thus far.  While Agramount expresses some regret over the demise of the killer vines and the acid pond, he allows as to how their destruction was—apparently—unavoidable.

He seems to find that the fact that the party has been leaving notes for Barnabus all over his buildings a bit irksome, but assures them that it is also easily correctable.

“Oh,” Thatch puts in, “and the hues know that you’re watching them.”

A rapid blink is the Count’s only indication of surprise. “The… what did you call them?”

Thatch puts a hand about three feet above the floor.  “About so high, hunt sheep?  We met one named Hue once, and he’d never met anyone else like him before, so… we call them hues,” he concludes, a trifle awkwardly.

“Ah,” says the Count, “I see.”

“What do you call them?” Kiara asks, never one to be daunted by titles or rank.

“The little people.”

“Oh, that makes sense, I guess.”

The Count changes the subject.  “I am told you are seeking the wizard Barnabus?”

Lira drops what feels like her fiftieth curtsey of the day.  “Yes, your Highness.”

“To what purpose?”

Anvil steps forward, taking out the party’s letters of introduction from their temples back in Dar Pykos, along with the one from King Orrin.  After the Count has examined them, Anvil tells about the fire at the Mages’ Academy, the death of the last Chancellor, and the invitation which they have been tasked with delivering to Barnabus.

The Count listens attentively to their tale, but does not seem hopeful that Barnabus will take them up on their offer.  “His work keeps him quite busy, and I assure you he is quite happy with his position here.”

“And what position is that?” Anvil inqures.

“He is my honored guest.”  

“So honored we cannot speak with him?” Anvil asks.

When it becomes clear that the group is not to be put off, the Count makes them an offer.  “As I said, I believe Barnabus is quite busy with his research at the moment, and I would hate to disturb him.  However, if you give me the invitation, I would be happy to have it conveyed to him.”

Anvil and Lira trade a quick look, and he silently agrees to let her handle this one.

“We certainly would not wish to interrupt the archmage’s work,” Lira begins, “but we have been charged with delivering the invitation directly to him, and would be remiss in our duties if we allowed that task to fall to others.”

“As I said,” the Count points out, “I doubt the position would be of interest to him.”

Lira accedes the point.  “You are certainly closer to his mind than we are, and we have no desire to force him into a position he has no desire to fill.  Still, if at all possible, we must deliver our message, and receive his regrets, in person.  If Barnabus is in the midst of work that cannot be interrupted for even so brief a meeting, we are more than willing to attend him until a more convenient time.”

The barest flicker of annoyance passes over the Count’s features, but before Lira can be sure that it was there, it has vanished.

The Count nods gracefully.  “The resolution you bring to your duty is admirable, and a credit to your King and your temples.  Dine with me this evening, and stay the night.  We rarely have guests, and I am sure the Countess and my sons would enjoy the pleasure of your company.  I will contact Barnabus on your behalf, and request the honor of his company that you might speak with him.”

Reyu is rather startled at the mention of the Count’s sons.  After watching him for some minutes she is quite sure of the man’s mixed heritage—no matter how it was obscured  in his official portraiture—and as everyone knows, half-elves are infertile.

If Lira shares similar surprise, she covers it with a deep curtsey.  “You honor us with your hospitality, and it is our pleasure to accept.”

“The pleasure,” the Count replies smoothly, “is mine.”

###

The adventurers are shown to three separate suites in the guest wing of the manor.  Reyu elects to room with Lira and Eva, which leaves Annika and Kiara with their own chamber, and Thatch and Anvil in another.  The servants are unfailingly polite and helpful, and even offer to have Reyu measured for a new set of clothes to replace the set that she lost to the acid pool.

The party takes time to bathe and refresh themselves, and by the time they are summoned to dinner, they all seem much more like the royal envoy that they are supposed to be.

###

Dinner is served in a large, formal dining room with fireplaces at both ends, and a highly polished wooden table down the center.  Thatch gulps inwardly when he sees the fifteen utensils set out at various positions around his plate, then again when he notices the Countess.

She appears to be fully human, and shows her own beauty to best advantage in a stunningly crafted dress, accentuated with eye-popping jewels.  Although there is nothing about her appearance that does not show the most exquisite taste, the overall effect of everything together is somehow just as bit… excessive, and in a strangely familiar way.  Thatch wonders if she’s from Dar Aego.

The Count introduces his wife to the party, as well as his two sons, Guy and Gaston.  Both are half-Elves, like their father, although there does not seem to be much family resemblance between the two men, or the Count.  Gaston is somewhat stocky, and the more observant members of the party notice that the medallion he wears (along with everyone else in family) carries the family sigil on one side, and a holy symbol of Ehkt on the other.  

Guy on the other hand, is much slighter, and carries a rapier on his hip.  The Countess eyes it balefully, but he ignores her until the Count clears his throat, and indicates that he should not come armed to the table.  Guy bows politely, although with a touch of irony, and surrenders the sheathed blade to the woman in livery standing behind the Count. 

The dinner itself is amazing.

Crisp salad greens followed by a soup so light and aromatic eating it feels more like smelling than tasting.  Thatch is not the only guest who sometimes has to look to Lira to figure out which utensil goes with which dish, but no one polishes a single plate out of an obligation to good manners.

Lira cannot quite believe the food in front of her.  Although she certainly didn’t eat like this every day before she became an adventurer, she has enjoyed her share of good meals, and this… this is superb.

When the chef appears with the dessert course to make sure that the Count and his guests have enjoyed their repast, she tells him so.  “Truly, I have never had its equal.  Not even at the palace of the Doge.”

The chef seems oddly unsettled for a man receiving only positive reviews of his craft.  “Ah… thank you very much.” He steals a quick glance over at the Count, still finishing his dessert.  “You’re… Dar Hennan then?”

It’s then that Lira notices that the chef does not wear a medallion bearing the Count’s sigil.  She wonders if that’s significant.  

“I am,” she replies instead.  “My friends aren’t, although most of us are from the Confederacy, and we’re currently on a mission for King Orrin of Dar Pykos.”

“I see,” the chef bows.  “I am Aegosian, myself.  Chaidess.”

“It is an honor to meet you.  How did you find your way here?” 

Lira notices that Chaidess glances quickly at the Count and flushes a bit before replying.  “I came with the Countess, actually.  She knew my work, and… asked me to accompany her here.”

The Count finishes his meal and raises his glass in toast to his chef.  “And it is to our profit.”

Chaidess bows.  “Thank you.”

“We will not keep you from your duties any longer.”  Count Agramount indicates that Chaidess is excused, and with a last bow in the direction of the party, the chef takes his leave.

Eva looks across the table to Thatch, mouthing, “What’s wrong with him?”

But Thatch’s answering shrug is cut off by the sudden appearance a new person in the room.  It is a human man, rather elderly in appearance—although that could merely be due to the long white beard, and small square spectacles perched on the end of his nose.  He wears long robes and carries a large wooden staff in one hand.  

Barnabus.


----------



## Jackylhunter

oh, this is going to be good.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Jackylhunter said:
			
		

> oh, this is going to be good.




Agreed!  I'm really happy that you continue this wonderful story spyscribe, it is so rich in background that I feel able to predict how some of the characters will act/react and yet the plot itself keeps flowing in unpredictable/realistic turns that keep us (and I'm quite sure the party) on our toes. =-)


----------



## spyscribe

Jackylhunter said:
			
		

> oh, this is going to be good.



Either that, or anticlimactic.  You know, if you wanted to hedge your bets.  

Seriously, thanks guys.  I know it feels like I say this every week, but... just you wait.


----------



## Angcuru

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Either that, or anticlimactic.  You know, if you wanted to hedge your bets.
> 
> Seriously, thanks guys.  I know it feels like I say this every week, but... just you wait.



What if we don't want to wait?


----------



## thatdarncat

Invent a time machine?


----------



## Jackylhunter

Well, I would never *Bump* a story hour.  But I would like to give this one a *nudge* up to the top of the first page.  Thank you...=)


----------



## el-remmen

I anxiously await the next update. . .


----------



## spyscribe

el-remmen said:
			
		

> I anxiously await the next update. . .



To el-remmen (and others).  Update should be today if I can manage it.  Of course, every time I say that, something seems to happen that delays me.  

So... um... pretend this post doesn't exist.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Ninety-Second*
_In which: we’ve found the last archmage.  Our mission is over.  We can all go home…  Right?_ 

He just appears.  One instant there's no one there, and the next, there's an archmage.

Out of habit, Eva looks around quickly for where he might have come from.  _Archmages.  Can never just use a door, can they?_

The newcomer acknowledges the rest of the room with a nod and makes a short bow to the Count.  “You wished to speak with me?”

“Ah, Barnabus,” the Count replies, “how good of you to take time from your work to appear.”

“Certainly, my liege…”

As Barnabus and the Count exchange pleasantries, Lira and Reyu both surreptitiously cast _detect magic_.

To Reyu’s magically enhanced sight, the room lights up in a blaze of magic.  Baranbus himself shows a weak transmutation effect, as well as auras of abjuration on his ring and the brooch holding his robes.

Each of the Count’s sons carry a couple of magic items, and his wife has more than a few—mostly, Lira notes with some amusement, illusions.  However, the real eye-opener is the Count.  Nearly ever item or piece of clothing on his person radiates some kind of magical aura.  Both women find they have to look away in order to avoid being dazzled.

Barnabus appears to have been briefed on at least some of the party’s tale, and turns to Anvil.  “You have an invitation for me?”

Anvil speaks to the archmage with the utmost respect.  “We have been tasked with seeking out the greatest arcanists of the Halmae.  Your reputation precedes you, but we would like to witness some demonstration of your prowess, so that we might speak to our superiors with confidence of your skills.”

Barnabus considers the request for a moment.  “Very well then,” he replies, and without another word begins to cast.

Suddenly, Anvil finds himself shrinking in his chair.  His feet can no longer reach the floor, and indeed, within a few seconds he can no longer see the top of the table.  Turning to either side he sees that the rest of his companions are being similarly affected, except—oddly enough—for Kiara.

She is sitting in her seat, watching Annika shrink, and giggling.

With a wave of his hand, Barnabus dismisses the effect and the party finds themselves restored once more to their normal size.

Apparently satisfied, Anvil gives a short nod and presents Barnabus with Kind Orrin’s invitation.

The wizard opens the seal and examines the letter, then tucks the parchment away in a pocket of his robe.  “Well, I certainly appreciate the trouble you took to find me.  But I am afraid I will have to decline.”

“You are certain you will not even appear before the committee then?” Anvil asks.

Barnabus shakes his head.  “No, I think not.  I am quite happy in my current situation.”

Lira speaks up.  “The Lady Chi’i should be present, if you wish to see her again.”

There is a brief pause.  “Ah, well...  An opportunity I shall regret missing, but I’m sure our paths will cross again in the future.”

“It seems likely,” Lira agrees.

Beside her at the table, Eva squints.  If she didn’t know better, when Lira mentioned Chi’i, she could have sworn that the archmage’s first reaction had been one of confusion. Still, it was so fast, it’s hard to be sure.

###

After dinner, the party members return to their respective rooms.

There was nothing *wrong* about their meeting with Barnabus.  It’s just that it was a little… off.  Like the way that the archmage carries only a fraction of the magic items that the Count’s wife does.  Maybe he doesn’t feel that he needs them.  Then again…

And then Annika mentions that while beyond her abilities _mass reduce_ just isn’t *that* powerful a spell.  Maybe Barnabus just underestimated the party’s experience with high level arcane magic.  Then again…

Why was Lira’s reference to Chi’i surprising?  There could be an innocent explanation.  Just like there could be innocent explanations to the others.  But all together?  Something isn’t quite right.

Unsettled, the group goes their separate ways for the evening.  The Count seems eager to have them on their way now that their errand is complete, but even he isn’t going to send them packing in the middle of the night.  

Hoping that Alliria will appreciate his observances of her Ascendance better late than never, Thatch gains permission to use the house shrine.  Eva, out of paranoid habit, tags along.  

_(When Bad Monkey Jeff was asked what Anvil was going to spend the evening doing he replied, “I’m sitting in my room in my underwear, playing the guitar.”  Who would have guessed?)_

Others do what they can to uncover more information about Count Agramount and his household.  Once out of sight in her room, Kiara switches into swallow form and escapes out a window for a quick reconnaissance mission around the keep and grounds.

Reyu considers _wildshaping_ into a dog to conduct some spying of her own, but decides to wait with Lira, who has requested the opportunity to speak to their chef privately.  His discomfiture during dinner was unmistakable, and Lira hopes to find out what is on his mind.

The chef, Chaidess, arrives promptly, accompanied by a liveried escort.

“You ah… asked to see me, Miss?” he says, stopping before the room’s threshold, unconsciously rubbing his hands along the sides of his apron.

“Yes, thank you for coming.  I know you must be busy…”  Lira watches the chef’s escort lurking in the hallway, clearly listening.  “Won’t you come in?”

The chef sneaks a quick glance back at his minder.  “I had better not.  I’ve many duties to attend to before tomorrow.”

“Of course…  Anyway, I wanted to say again how impressed I was with dinner.”

“You’re very kind,” he ducks a bit, and wipes a line of sweat from his brow. 

Lira does her best to draw him out.  “You said you were Aegosian?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Oh.  I’ve only been there once, briefly.  But we should be returning to Dar Pykos soon, our mission being completed.  I know you’re very busy here, but if you like, we’d be happy to carry a letter back to the Confederacy for you, or send greetings to any family you have back home.”

“I… no, there’s… really… no one.”

Chaidess may be an excellent chef, but he is hardly a convincing liar.  Listening in on the conversation, Reyu is positive that Chaidess would like to say more, but with his minder listening to every word, he is unwilling to say it.  In fact, at that moment, the liveried escort opens his mouth, and Reyu is certain that the conversation is about to come to an abrupt end.

She is not sure what she to do about it, but all of sudden Lira interrupts herself in the middle of a sentence saying, “I’m sorry…  I don’t feel so—” and then faints, straight into the chef’s arms.


----------



## el-remmen

Just got back from a hard day's work, checked the boards and got a chance to enjoy my post-work brewski while reading the Halmae!  woot!

My only complaint is that that update was teasingly short. . .


----------



## Dortmunder

This story hour rocks. Have I said that yet? If I haven't, I am saying it now. It *rocks* .


----------



## Jackylhunter

I agree El-remmen, too good, but too short.  Thanks for the hard work Spyscribe, keep the updates coming...=)


----------



## Seonaid

Of all the crappy times to come back from a hiatus. Sometimes the cliff-hangers are not so perilous, but this is one of the worse ones. Come back, spyscribe! I'm recovering from knee surgery, if sympathy'll make the updates come faster!


----------



## spyscribe

el-remmen: Hey, I don't make the cliff-hangers, I just exploit them.  Good to see you around.

Dortmunder: Thanks!  (Some things, no one minds hearing twice.)

Jackylhunter: What can I say?  I'm short too.    But thanks.

Seonaid: Knee surgery!  Oh no.  Best wishes for a speedy recovery.

And while I don't have an update today, I have finally managed to get to something I'm been meaning to do for more than a year now.  Way back when the party was tracking down Sheesak for the second time, we had occasion to interrogate a goblin.  Since no one in the party speaks goblin, there was quite a bit of charades involved, as well as the drawing of little pictures.

And Fajitas actually made us draw the pictures.

Having recently acquired a device, which among other functions is a scanner, I am finally able to bring our group's artistic achievements to the world.

It's a miracle we got any useful information out of that damned goblin.  

(I've attached the picture here, as well as in its proper context.)


----------



## doghead

OK. So we have three goblins, one of whom barfed. It smelt like wet dog. Everyone got on their horses and rode away. Spiders came and feasted on the flies that were feasting on the er, remains. Fajitas got so frustrated he just nuked everyone. No wait a minute, that would be an anachronism. Perhaps its a web. Yeah, the spiders used webs to catch the flies.

Although, it does remind me of a blue whale in a Pringle sweater. Do whales play golf?

thotd


----------



## spyscribe

Well, this is an update... of sorts.

Our group has come back from a seven-month hiatus for the players and a five-year time jump for the characters.  Now, the gang (somewhat changed) is back in Dar Aego, trying to convince our old friend (?) al-Assal to sponsor us as a gladiator team so that we can infiltrate the upcoming Dar Aego Games.

What we need now is your input.  Check out this thread and help us choose a name for our gladiator alter-egos!


----------



## Jackylhunter

I voted Spy, 

I'm just wondering, will that 5 year time jump be happening soon?  Currently, has your group gotten all the mages back to Dar Pykos?  Or are you still tracking them all down?


----------



## el-remmen

Yeah, how far behind (sessions & real time-wise) is the story hour currently from when the 5 year jump happens?

Oh, and I voted - but want to change my vote to "The Aristocrats!"


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

I kinda voted. And sorta made a couple of suggestions.
Looking forward to see what name will be chosen by the group.
And also, is the other thread going to be used for the story after the hiatus or will that continue here?


----------



## StevenAC

I voted too, sort of. 
It was a bit of a surprise to see the changed makeup of the new party -- no Reyu or Kiara.  That should add a certain tension to the next few updates...

I've added your excellent illustration above to the collected _Halmae_, and brought the last chapter up to date with the latest cliffhanger.


			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> She is not sure what she to do about it, but all of sudden Lira interrupts herself in the middle of a sentence saying, “I’m sorry…  I don’t feel so—” and then faints, straight into the chef’s arms.



That Lira.  What a drama queen...


----------



## spyscribe

_Getting to your question in a minute Jackylhunter, but first, update!_

*Part the One-Hundred Ninety-Third*
_In which: we resort to subterfuge, lies, and banditry!_

Reyu has to give Lira credit.  If she didn’t know that the young sorcerer had the constitution of a horse, she might have actually been fooled by her performance.  

Fortunately, the Count’s employees have no way of knowing that Lira is made of sterner stuff than she appears to be.

As Chaidess panics, Reyu takes charge.

“Do you have her?  Here, you should sit down.”

As she is moved onto the chef’s lap, Lira groans, and her eyes flutter open.

“Are… are you all right?” Chaidess asks her.

Lira looks blearily up at Reyu.  “Can you get Anvil?”

“Of course,” Reyu assures her.  She turns to the escort, still standing in the hall, and looking a bit dumbfounded.  Reyu takes advantage of his confusion.  “Show me to our companion’s apartments.  We must hurry.”

The escort looks from Chaidess, to Lira, to Reyu, and decides not to argue with an insistent elf.  “Of course.  This way.”

Once their footsteps have retreated out of earshot, Lira opens her eyes fully, looks up at Chaidess, and says, “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

The relief that floods his face is nearly heartbreaking.  “Oh gods, yes.  You have to help me.  They’ve got my daughter.  I’d escape in a second, but they say they’ll kill her if I try.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.  They let me see her once a week; we’re never alone.  It’s a small island, somewhere to the west of here.”

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Suell.  Please, she’s only fifteen.”

“Is everyone here being held against their will, like you?”

The man shakes his head.  “Not everyone.  Just people, craftsmen mostly, with skills the Count wants.”

Lira bites her lip.  Footsteps are already approaching from down the hall.  “We’ll do what we can, but… Do you think you could get us some kind of map—?”

Chaidess hears the footsteps as well.  He hurriedly whispers, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Anvil’s voice comes booming down the corridor.  “What is going on here?”  When he, Reyu, and their escort reach them, Chaidess is helping Lira to her feet.

“Are you alright?” Anvil demands.

“Just a bit faint.  I don’t know what happened.”

“I hope it wasn’t something you ate,” the chef says, sounding convincingly worried.

“No, no.” Lira assures him.  “I’m sure it was something else.  I should probably just lie down for a bit.”

“That is a good idea,” Anvil announces, and then, much to Lira’s surprise, he picks her up and carries her back into her room.

Reyu is left standing with Chaidess and the attendant.  “Thank you,” she tells them.  “I’m sure she’ll be fine.  It’s probably just the badgerbite.”

And with that, she retreats into the room, and closes the door behind her.

###

Reyu does do some canine reconnoitering later in the evening, and once she returns, the party gathers to try to figure out what to do next.

“No wonder he looked so nervous during dinner,” says Thatch when he hears about Chaidess’s predicament.  “Still, I don’t know what we can do to help.”

“It raises the question,” Anvil points out, “of whether Barnabus is being held here as well.”

“If the Count can hold *him* here against his will, how are *we* supposed to break him out?” Lira asks.

“Maybe he could, but there’s a hostage for his good behavior as well.  If we can free the hostages, we can eliminate the Count’s leverage,” Annika suggests.

“Do we even know Barnabus wants to leave?” Thatch asks.

Eva shakes her head.  “Something weird was definitely going on at dinner.  When Lira mentioned Chi’i’s name, it was like he had never heard of her before.”

“Maybe he also does not feel he can speak freely in front of the Count,” says Reyu.

“We could use the headband to contact him, see if he could talk then,” Kiara suggests.

“But if Barnabus wanted to speak to us privately, why doesn’t he just _send_ to us on his own?”  Eva wants to know.

“Maybe he doesn’t know the spell?”  A puzzled silence greets that suggestion.  Annika looks uncomfortable.  “I’m not saying it’s likely, just that it’s possible,” she argues, only a little defensive.

“It’s worth a try,” says Thatch.

“But what if the man we met tonight wasn’t even Barnabus?” Eva points out.  “Then we’d be _sending_ to the wrong person, and pretty much telling the Count we think he’s lying to us.”

“Okay,” says Lira, “how about this:  the one person we know in all the Halmae who has actually met Barnabus is Chi’i.  Why don’t we use the headband to send a message to _her_, asking if she would please ask Barnabus if he’s meet us and let us know his answer?  That way, we don’t tip our hand.”

“Do you think Chi’i will do it?”  Annika asks. 

“She has no real reason not to, if we ask nicely.  Hopefully we can make it clear in twenty-five words how few options we have.”

“Or she’ll teleport here and turn us all into four-armed gorillas,” Eva sighs.  “Which would at least solve some of our problems, I suppose.”

“How so?” Reyu asks.

“We would spend the rest of our lives on one of the Count’s little islands and wouldn’t have to worry about finding Barnabus or not.”

The group settles down to trying to compose a _sending_ to Chi’i, which takes some doing to achieve the proper balance of diplomacy versus information.  After about twenty minutes, they are interrupted by a scratch at the door. 

When Reyu answers it, she finds a nervous-looking woman in service livery standing on the threshold.

“Can I help you?”  Reyu asks.

“Chaidess sent me,” she answers in a whisper.  Checking over her shoulder to see if anyone else is in the hall.  “I’m supposed to give you this.”  She hands Reyu a rolled piece of parchment.  Reyu takes a quick glance.  _Great, another “map.”_

“Here,” she quickly ushers the young woman inside.  “You should come in, and meet the others.”

With a little prompting from the party, the woman, whose name is Simone, points out the island where they are, and the one where she is from originally.  She has no idea where Chaidess’s daughter might be being held.

“I could barely believe it when Chaidess told me what was going on.  That he was here against his will, that his daughter was being held hostage?”

“It doesn’t seem like the Count?”

“Not at all,  but…” she hesitates, “I can’t believe that Chaidess is lying.”

The party thanks Simone for the map, and once the coast is clear out in the corridor, she slips away.

###

The next morning Anvil _sends_ the party’s message to Chi’i, to which they receive the following reply: “I cannot contact him and you again in the same day.  I will speak to you tomorrow.”

Anvil is not oblivious to the slight annoyance which permeates her message, and privately hopes they have not erred in soliciting her assistance.  Unfortunately, her response, however potentially useful, presents them with the additional obstacle that the Count seems to have every intention of getting them on their way and out of his islands as soon as possible.

And so, when the Count meets the party for breakfast, the group has prepared what they hope is a reasonable request.

“Since Barnabus is determined not to come to Dar Pykos to interview for the Chancellor’s position, and as he appears to be the greatest artificer in the Halmae, we were wondering if we could stay for a couple of days, so that Annika might study with him.”

The Count considers this.  “Will your ship not depart without you, if you do not soon return to it?”

“We have some time before they will assume we have been lost,” Lira assures him.

“I see,” says the Count, stroking his chin thoughtfully.  “Well, we do not often have visitors, and even more seldom do we have guests.  I am prepared to allow you to remain for a time, but I would ask two favors of you, in return.”

“What kind of favors?” Eva wants to know.

“As you are no doubt aware, I own many artifacts of a… unique and valuable nature.  I have put in place the most thorough security measures which I can muster, and they have been tested by my staff, but I think they would benefit from a trial by outsiders.  To whit, I would ask you to travel to one of my islands, and attempt to commit a theft.  This will allow me to know of any holes in my countermeasures.”

A silence falls over the table.

“And if your countermeasures are successful?” Reyu asks.

The Count is reassuring.  “The countermeasures can be rendered non-lethal.”

“That would be good,” Thatch mutters, not the only party member who is not quite sure how he feels about this “favor.” 

“You mentioned there were two things?” Lira inquires.

“Yes.”  The Count nods.  “Merely that you do not speak of what you have seen here to those outside these islands.  And if you have made any maps to ease your passage, that you leave them here.”

“We will have to report to the King of Dar Pykos, and our Temple superiors,” Anvil points out.

The Count allows the exception.  “The King is already aware of my… existence.”

“You may then certainly count on our discretion,” Lira assures him.  If the Count notices that she makes no mention of whether or not the party has any maps in their possession, and what they will do with them if they do, he makes no sign of it.

“Well then, if you are agreed to aid me in the other matter, I will send Lord Marmion for you in an hour’s time.”  He indicates Annika and Kiara.  “You and your young friend, if she likes, will be taken to see Barnabus, and the rest of you can conduct our experiment.”  The Count indicates the woman behind him.  “Lady Tempeste will accompany you as an observer, and I will provide a small ship and crew, with orders to obey you as if they were your own.”  He surveys the party.  “Do we have an agreement?”

The party members turn to each other.

“Well, this kind of has ‘challenge’ written all over it,” Lira points out.  “Besides, we’ve never practiced banditry before, it could be fun.”

Anvil scowls a bit at that, but makes no objection to the idea either.  In short, no one can see any reason to refuse the Count’s request, and so, after the meal is concluded, they return to their apartments to prepare for an adventure.


----------



## spyscribe

Jackylhunter said:
			
		

> I'm just wondering, will that 5 year time jump be happening soon?  Currently, has your group gotten all the mages back to Dar Pykos?  Or are you still tracking them all down?



Well, easy answers first.  We're not still out tracking down archmages.    Rest assured, you will find out who the next chancellor of the Mages' Academy will be, eventually.  Which isn't to say that there isn't some excitement to come before we get there.  And after, but before the five-year gap.

To answer el-remmen, the five-year gap comes just about a year (calendar time) from the session that I'm sarting to post now, which that year--October 2004 to October 2005--was seventeen games.  Which will be... umm... a lot of updates.


----------



## happyelf

This is a really great story thread! I particularly like how it started at a low level, and of course the characters are great, too!


----------



## spyscribe

_Thanks happyelf!  And because I can't resist the temptation to do some kind of update on 6/6/06, here's a bit I forgot from the last update, with more information on the map we got from Simone, and another graphic from Fajitas._

The map is consistent with the one the party obtained from Elsuki, but—for obvious reasons—it is far more complete.  This map shows the archipelago is made up of about thirty islands, and seems to be color-coded.  Some islands are red, some purple, some orange and some (primarily the ones towards the center) yellow.  Unfortunately, there is no obvious key to decode the meaning of the colors.  Additionally, the map show many lines in a variety of colors and thicknesses joining the central islands to the outlying ones.  The party guesses they represent shipping routes, but again, there is nothing to indicate what the differences between the colors and thicknesses of the lines might mean.


----------



## brellin

great update


----------



## KidCthulhu

I've finally caught up with this SH after a few months away. What can I say?  Fajitas is an evil genius and you, Scribe, make Bosworth look like a piker.  It's funny how well you guys write.  Like maybe you should do it for a living.


----------



## spyscribe

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> I've finally caught up with this SH after a few months away. What can I say?  Fajitas is an evil genius and you, Scribe, make Bosworth look like a piker.  It's funny how well you guys write.  Like maybe you should do it for a living.



From your lips to future employers' ears.  Good to have you back.  

Update coming in a few minutes.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Ninety-Fourth*
_In which: what other party could find a railroad in the middle of the Halmae?_

At last, Thatch, Anvil, Reyu, Eva, and Lira are ready to make their departure.  The Count places a small barge at the party’s disposal, complete with a captain and three crewmen.  All swear to Anvil’s eventual satisfaction that they are good men who will engage in sincere banditry at the party’s request, although they seem a little perplexed at the question.

The Captain of the Count Guard, Lady Tempeste, who the party saw briefly at dinner the previous night, is also there to meet them.  Oddly, she’s not armored, but Thatch notices that she carries a long and ornately-spiked iron chain.  He’s seen similar weapons at a few of the more exotic shops in Dar Karo, but he’s never before met anyone who actually wielded one.

Lady Tempeste also comes with two additional County Guards, one male, one female.  The woman wears armor and bears a shield, but does not carry any visible weapons.  The man is similarly garbed, with the addition of a longsword that hangs at this side.  Lady Tempeste does not introduce them to the party, and the adventurers don’t ask for any names.

_(“For once,” mutters the DM.)_

Instead, they make their good-byes to Count Agramount, who has one more thing for them before they leave.  “There are no living guardians on the island, and the defenses should not be lethal.  However, if you are wounded, you may find these useful.”  At the Count’s nod, Lord Marmion produces four flasks, similar to a type frequently used for potions.

“Is there anything specific we should attempt to steal?” Lira asks, “Or will any trophy be acceptable?”

The Count raises his arms in a gesture of surrender.  “Pretend you are bandits.  Take whatever seems worth taking.”

And on that last word of advice, the ship shoves off from its moorings, and they are on their way.

###

From the start, the trip goes… oddly.  When Anvil asks the captain to which island they will be traveling, Lady Tempeste quickly interrupts, informing the party members that they have no need of that information.

This strikes more than one party member as a bit odd, but they decide not to make an issue of it.  Besides, the ship takes a route which passes what the party has dubbed “The Island of Killer Plants” which allows them to make a fair guess where they are in the archipelago.  

Once they are in view of their target island, the party gathers on deck to plan their strategy.  Thatch proposes they circumnavigate the island first, and let Reyu run aerial reconnaissance in pelican form.  Lady Tempeste listens to all of this, scowling, until she finally interjects, “You were to survey the island at night.  Isn’t that what a bandit would do?”

The conversation stops cold.  “Why would we do our reconnaissance at night?” Eva asks.  “We can’t *see* anything if it’s dark.”

“It’s not a terrible idea though,” Thatch offers.  “Whatever’s on the island might be nocturnal.”

“All the more reason to go during the day,” Lira points out.

Tempeste scowls.  “You were informed there were no living guardians on the island.”

“If it’s an island full of traps, then I *definitely* want to land by daylight.”

Thatch squints up at the sun.  “It’s getting on to late afternoon.  Why don’t we check out the island now, and then again after dark?  We’ll make landfall tomorrow morning.”

Everyone is quickly agreeing with the wisdom of this plan when they notice Lady Tempeste glowering.  “I had intended,” she informs them, “to be home by tomorrow.”

“Do you not wish this to be a thorough test?” Reyu asks her.

“Besides,” Anvil points out, “we will want to prepare appropriate spells for our endeavor.”

Tempeste’s expression darkens further at their reasonable points.  She looks pointedly at the captain of the ship.  “I don’t know if we have enough food for another day…  Captain?”  From her expression it is clear that there is a right answer to her question, and a wrong one, but before the captain can deliver either, Anvil speaks up.

“Oh, we can make food.”

Lady Tempeste audibly grinds her teeth.  “Very.  Well.”

_(DM’s note: It was at about this point that someone commented that Lady Tempeste was behaving like nothing so much as a GM attempting to railroad ornery players.  So funny… and so true.)_

###

From the boat, the party observes that the island is not large at all, even smaller than the one occupied by the Hues.  There is a dock built on one side of the island, but it’s blocked off from the bulk of the interior by a high stone wall.

Reyu does a fly-over to confirm.  The wall is approximately 30 feet high and very thick.  It cuts off a small section of shore by the dock, and extends into the water some feet below the low-tide mark.  A ledge runs around the inside of the wall, not far from the top, as though designed to allow patrols to look over the wall into the rest of the island.  Between the wall and the dock are a few small structures that look (and smell) like animal pens.  Reyu notes that the only passage *through* the wall is a small gate, only large enough for something the size of a sheep—or a Hue—although she guesses that a human or elf-sized creature would fit easily by crawling through on all fours.

Beyond the wall, the island is forested, fairly level, and has a small stream providing fresh water.  However, there are randomly-spaced, irregularly-shaped bare areas throughout the island, which appear to have been burned out.

The view at night, although darker, is not appreciably different from the view during the day.

From what they have learned, the party is left to theorize that the island is inhabited by exploding sheep.  However, it seems unlikely.

What also seems unlikely is that there is any kind of treasure to be found or looted on the island. 

Hmm...


----------



## doghead

Choohoo! Welcome aboard the Tempest Express! Passengers without a valid ticket will meet with an unpleasant fate.

_Hmm_ indeed.


----------



## el-remmen

Something awful fishy is going on. . .


----------



## brellin

I think I guessed a small part of the plot I of course will NOT post what I think it is for 2 reasons
                        1 I do not want to ruin it
                        2 I might be worng  
But if I am right this is going to be good


----------



## The Iron Mark

Obviously this island will be full of the undead and constructs. The Count only mentioned there weren't any [/b]living[/b] guardians.


----------



## Jackylhunter

Ah, the Count is using a ploy from the "Ye olde Playbook for getting rid of meddle-some outsiders"  

The 2 fold strategies are thus:
First, send them on a fools errand
Second, have their "escorts" cut their throats while they sleep.
Thrid, hmmm, nevermind, there is no third thing.

hehe


----------



## BlueAnt

Oh, I'm sure this will turn out well.


----------



## Richard Rawen

BlueAnt said:
			
		

> Oh, I'm sure this will turn out well.




Yes, but for Who?

hmmm


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Ninety-Fifth*
_In which: something is not right._

Something is not right.

Lira says as much to Reyu, who agrees.  Reyu also brings up a disturbing point.  “Can you… verify… that the healing potions we were given are truly that?”

Lira shakes her head, keeping her voice low so as not to be overheard.  “Annika could, if she were here.  But I don’t know how, given that Lady Testy over there barely gives us privacy to piss off the side of the boat.”

Reyu looks vaguely shocked.  “How much privacy do you require?” she asks.

Lira decides this isn’t a conversation she wants to pursue further.  “Yeah… let me see what I can figure out about those potions.  _Detect magic_ will tell us something, at least.  See if you can keep our minders distracted for a few seconds.”

Reyu watches Lira as she walks over to the other side of the boat.  _Humans_.

Lira looks at one of the healing potions the Count gave them before setting off.  It *looks* like a healing potion.  She unstoppers it and takes a sniff.  It *smells* like a healing potion.  She risks a glance over her shoulder.  Lady Tempeste and her guards are safely distracted at the other end of the boat.   Just to be on the safe side, Lira turns her back and casts a stilled _detect magic_.

She looks at the potions, then checks a few of her own magic items just to be sure they are reading as they should.

_Well,_ she thinks, _that’s not a good sign._

###

Lira finds Lady Tempeste standing with one of her guards by the barge’s small mast.  Lira smiles at them.  They do not smile back.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Lira begins, “but the potions we were given, they’re just healing potions, correct?”

“That is what you were told, is it not?”

“Well, technically, we were told, ‘If you are injured consume these.’ I was just wondering if they were _cure light wounds_… something slightly more potent?  You know, just in case.”

Lady Tempeste lets Lira’s question dangle.  “I do not know the specifics.  You should have asked Lord Marmion.”

“Of course,” Lira agrees.  “But they are something in that… genre?”

“Yes.”

Lira nods respectfully to Lady Tempeste and the silent guard before she withdraws.  “Thank you.  I won’t trouble you further.”

###

“That is… troubling.”

Lira shakes her head.  “I don’t like this, Reyu.  We’re being played.”  With some difficulty, she and Reyu have managed to steal a few seconds to speak privately.

“I suppose we will find out in the morning.”

Lira looks over to where the sun is just dipping below the horizon.  “Ehkt, if we’re in trouble, give me a sign.”  She adds under her breath, “Well Devon, I hope you’re happy.”

###

The next morning, after concluding morning prayers, Reyu surreptitiously casts another spell in hopes of determining the nature of the “healing potions” the party has been given.  She whispers her findings to Lira as they finish breakfast.

“They are not poisoned.  That is… something.”

Lira shakes her head.  “Not much though.”  On the one hand, she’s not willing to completely rule-out the possibility that there is a legitimate explanation.  On the other, she’s really getting tired of being nice to people who keep lying to her.  She’d also like to know the lay of the land before they find themselves marooned on one of the Count’s islands.   And so, without another word to Reyu, Lira gets up and walks over to the other side of the deck where their “observer” is waiting.

“Lady Tempeste, do you have a moment?”  The expression on the other woman’s face says clearly that she wishes she didn’t, but Lira merely smiles pleasantly and presses on.  “I certainly understand that you have knowledge of this island that you cannot share with us, in order for this to be a fair test.  However, I was wondering about one thing that I was hoping you could illuminate.”

As she speaks, Lira’s voice has grown noticeably less concillatory.  Lady Temepste glares back.  “Yes?”

“The healing potions we were given,” and by this time all trace of a smile has left Lira’s tone, “why aren’t they magical?”

Which is when Lady Tempeste attacks her.


----------



## Fimmtiu

What we have here is a failure to communicate! Excellent update.


----------



## el-remmen

Gah!

How long must we wait until we find out what happens next?  

These cliffhangers are cruel and unusual punishment to your loyal readers!


----------



## Jackylhunter

DOH!  Oh well, I guess Anvil will have to 'bring the justice' once again.


----------



## babomb

No! Don't cut it off there!


----------



## Gideon

Jackylhunter said:
			
		

> DOH!  Oh well, I guess Anvil will have to 'bring the justice' once again.




Silly silly Jackylhunter.  Anvil does not 'bring the justice'.  

He brings the *J*ustice!


----------



## Pyske

Ah, spyscribe... so innocent-seeming, yet so EVIL.


----------



## The Iron Mark

Gideon said:
			
		

> Silly silly Jackylhunter.  Anvil does not 'bring the justice'.
> 
> He brings the *J*ustice!



No no no, in the Halmae Justice brings Anvil (to mete out some Justice)!


----------



## Eridanis

_(Eridanis ducks his head into the theatre, sees the curtain is still down for the intermission, and runs for a good seat near the front)_

Just finished catching up, and wanted to say "thanks" for the great story (and to StevenAC for the great pdf compilation). So many people have pointed out all the great things about this SH, but for me, the best part of it is that you feel like you're with friends you've known for years, sitting down and enjoying the game with them. (It shares this quality with Piratecat's and Sagiro's stories. I guess the acorn does not fall far from the tree!) Thanks for the camaraderie, and the RBDMness.

My favorite moment, though? When Thatch went outside the city under siege to plant that tree. A great character moment, and it shows how high the quality of play is that you would even think of such a thing.

I'll be quiet, now. Where's the stage manager? Someone call places so we can get back to the story!


----------



## Plane Sailing

Hey Spyscribe!

Great to see you last weekend, and as a result of that...

31 pages, 195 sessions and 1230+ posts looks a bit daunting, but I've decided to start reading your storyhour 

I'll post again in a few months when I've caught up!

Cheers


----------



## el-remmen

Plane Sailing said:
			
		

> 31 pages, 195 sessions and 1230+ posts looks a bit daunting, but I've decided to start reading your storyhour
> 
> 
> Cheers




It's totally worth it!


----------



## Piratecat

el-remmen said:
			
		

> It's totally worth it!



Read StevenAC's pdf compilation. It's the way to go.

Spyscribe flew back home yesterday from Boston, so I'm figuring she'll update today, right? Right?


----------



## Plane Sailing

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Read StevenAC's pdf compilation. It's the way to go.




Just downloaded all 8 of them...


----------



## Richard Rawen

Plane Sailing said:
			
		

> Just downloaded all 8 of them...




Linkage? Please =-)


----------



## Piratecat

Always check the first post of a story hour -- that's where all the good links are!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Ninety-Sixth*
_In which: the party gets a little smaller._

Before the question has even finished leaving Lira’s mouth, Lady Tempeste reaches behind her and whips out her spiked chain, which comes swinging around with blinding speed, straight into Lira’s left shoulder.

The end of her question becomes a scream, and Lira just has time to think, _this, is *not* good,_ when the pain from the blow is immediately followed by an agonizing electric crackling that shoots all the way down her arm.  

A second, piercing shriek rends the air above the barge.  Thatch, just preparing to disembark, looks around in confusion for the source of the sound.  Then he notices the blood running down Lira’s arm and spattering the deck.  There’s a ring of steel as Lady Tempeste’s male guard draws his sword.  Scrambling for their weapons, Anvil and Thatch are not far behind.

At the other end of the boat, Eva’s keen ears catch the guard behind her reciting some kind of invocation.  She whirls around just in time to see the other woman pointing at her over the top of her raised shield.  A small white sphere shoots from her outstretched finger, hits Eva in the chest, and blossoms into a circle of searing cold.

The captain of the boat looks around helplessly.  He is a sworn liege of the Count, but this is far out of his expertise.  With their commander frozen in inaction, the three sailors also hold their peace.  Two draw crude clubs which they hold vaguely at the ready, but they make no obvious move to join the fray.  The one who spent last night playing cards with Eva and Thatch is too confused to do even that.

Meanwhile, the battle is joined.

Seeing that the sailors don’t seem to be getting into the fight immediately, Eva and Thatch concentrate their attention on Lady Tempeste’s two guards.  Eva makes a stab with her rapier at the one who cast the spell at her, but the tip merely sinks into the opponent’s raised shield.  Thatch charges forward and draws blood on the other guard, but barely manages to bring his sword up in time to parry an answering blow.  Sparks fly as the two blades meet.

Reyu takes a step away from the sailor she had been standing beside at the stern and casts _call lightning_.  Overhead, the thin clouds begin to thicken, and the wind picks up, just a little.  She then quickly puts out a hand to keep Lira from backing into her.

The sorcerer is not in good shape.  Trying to get out of the reach of Tempeste’s swirling chain, she’s taken another blow to her side, and is bleeding freely.  Unfortunately, it’s not a large boat, and she doesn’t have a lot of room to get away, especially not from the reach of the long, spiked chain.  She winds up beside the mast, packed in between Reyu, Anvil, and the still-unmoving captain.

However, she is, at least for the moment, relatively secure.  Lira takes a deep breath and fires a pair of magic missiles back at Lady Tempeste.

They hit, unerring as always, but it’s barely a scratch.  And an instant later, Tempteste steps forward, the chain licking out once again.

Locked in combat with the guard, Thatch can only watch in horror.  This time, the chain catches Lira full across her middle.  Lira goes pale, eyes wide as the impact comes, her mouth flies open… but no sound comes out.  

It’s almost as though Ehkt grants that instant to give a young woman’s soul time to flee her body before the horrors about to be inflicted on it can come to pass.  It’s impossible to know for sure, but the light in her eyes is gone.

Then blood is flying everywhere, followed by the sickening crack of Lira’s spine snapping, and seconds later the wet thud as her body hits the deck, nearly ripped in two.

Euro lets out a sound of such despair that it hurts to hear it.

Time should stop, but it doesn’t.

Desperately, Thatch launches a wild attack, but the guard continues to match him blow for blow, parry for parry—keeping him stuck uselessly on the other side of the boat as Lady Tempeste advances towards his friends.  Already she’s cleaving into Reyu, adding dark elven blood to the crimson lake still spreading across the deck.

Lady Tempest might be thinking she can take the entire party down one by one.  Anvil has other ideas.  Spattered with the blood of his companions, he charges forward, holy symbol brandished in one hand, straight for Lady Tempeste.  She chokes up on her chain, bringing it around and slashing down his side, but Anvil just keeps coming, colliding with her and calling upon the super-human strength granted him by Kettenek to drive her back ten feet, over the deck rail, and splashing into the water below.

Tempeste shouts in frustration.  Despite her equipment, she manages to keep her head above water, and then, swings her chain one-handed back up towards the deck, rips down Anvil’s leg.

Anvil feels his vision dimming.  As blood pours out of his wounds he’s nearly overcome by a wave of vertigo accompanied by a loud buzzing in his ears.  Sitting down, just for long enough for the world to stop spinning, is a very attractive option.  But he manages to cling to the conviction that he still has work to do, and with the last useful consciousness he has, steps back from the edge of the deck and heals himself.

As Thatch’s sword clangs and Eva ducks another _lesser cold orb_ from the guard, Reyu reaches carefully past Euro, bristling by Lira’s corpse, and gently removes Sheesak’s hunting horn from where it hangs on the sorcerer’s belt.  Rising, she puts it to her lips and sounds a mighty blast.  In the water beside the boat, a green vortex forms, and the water below the surface begins to churn.

Seconds later, a gout of water and foam bursts upwards from the water, splashing the deck.  Barely visible in the froth are eight, giant, sucker-covered tentacles, all reaching for Lady Tempeste.  

Grappled, squeezed, and about to be pulled under, Tempeste does not bring up her weapon.  Instead, she reaches down for something out of view beneath the water’s surface, and then, in a flash of white light, she vanishes.

Anvil swears.  

Eva lets out a yell of frustration, grabs the guard she’s been fighting, and pushes her over the rail and into the water.  Weighed down by her armor and shield, the guard thrashes madly, face just below the surface.  Eva watches in grim satisfaction for a moment, then pulls out her rapier, and uses the point to make sure the woman cannot come up for air.

Thatch brings his sword down once more, finally felling the other guard.  And just like that, the fight is over.

Eva turns and sees the captain staring, open-mouthed.  She pins him with a look.  “You.  Do.  Not.  Move.”

“Y—Ye—Yes ma’am,” he stammers.  He has been liberally spattered with Lira’s blood, but underneath it, he’s gone completely white.

Reyu scoops Euro up in one hand and tries to comfort him, but the weasel is having none of it, twisting against her in an effort to get back to Lira’s body.  Holding him isn’t made any easier by the fact that his fur is slicked and matted with blood.  Reyu gently sets him back down.

Euro pulls vainly on Lira’s ear.  Boss… Boss!…  Come on, Boss.  You got bad guys to take care of...  Boss? 

The only answer is the creaking of the deck and the soft sound of the sea lapping against the hull.


----------



## spyscribe

_Notes on the fight: Lira was declared dead at –30 hp.  In fact, with the surprise round, and an attack of opportunity, Tempeste had Lira down to one hit point before her first action.  Lady Tempeste’s crit in the next round was the very definition of overkill.  It did, however, make me feel better about my decision not to bother using my last action for a _cure light wounds_.

Interesting to keep in mind that this was not just a case of delicate sorcerer.  When this fight took place Eva, Lira, and Anvil had 36, 37, and 38 hps respectively, and none of them were wearing any kind of armor. 

And if anyone was wondering about the level of detail work that goes into this story hour, I give you the most inane DM note ever:

STUPID WORLD NOTE: I actually doubled some damage that I shouldn’t have in that crit.  It was only a d6, so Lira was actually pronounced dead at –29 to –24 hp.  Scant comfort, I’m sure, but them’s the facts._


----------



## Piratecat

Oh my.


----------



## Fimmtiu

Holy s-- uhh, cow.


----------



## Pyske

Ow.

And I'd be really, really sorry to see Lira go.  Here's hoping "coming back from the dead" isn't restricted only to Sedellans.


----------



## Ladybird

Oh NO!

Poor Lira! And poor little Euro! *sniffle* His reaction is so very sad...

I really hope there's some way to bring her back!

...please?


----------



## el-remmen

That was awesome!


----------



## The Iron Mark

Go Anvil! Kettenek demands *JUSTICE*.


----------



## Baron Opal

Snif. Poor Lira.

At least it was quick.


----------



## Eridanis

Oof. Nothing worse than someone ripping your friend in half, then teleporting away. *J*ustice is pretty P.O.'ed, I imagine...


----------



## Cerebral Paladin

Oof.  Always hurts when a PC dies, but especially when it's so sudden (and with so little chance to have done something differently--this really felt like bad luck hitting hard).

Fajitas, I have a question about the surprise round.  Usually, I wouldn't give a surprise round when someone a PC knows is present and knows to be suspicious draws and attacks-- I figure that's a normal initiative sort of situation.  Was there something special going on here that I missed?  Did Lira get a Sense Motive to figure out that an attack was about to come?  (This shouldn't be taken as criticism, btw-- Fajitas runs a great game, although I'm not certain I've ever tabletopped with him as GM as opposed to as a fellow player or with me as GM.  I'm just curious about his decisions on the rules here.)


----------



## doghead

Brutal. Heartbreaking. 

I wouldn't give much for the Lady Tempest's future right now.

Is there any wonder I keep reading this SH? It is fantastic.

thotd


----------



## Richard Rawen

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Always check the first post of a story hour -- that's where all the good links are!



Many thanks.



 . . . wow . . .  I've had pc death's like that before, where it is totally out of the blue, yet reading about Lira still made me catch my breath.  I guess that's another sign of a good story: we're invested enough in the characters to care.

Still sucks though


----------



## Jackylhunter

Wow...I mean...WOW, What a way to go.  

_Euro - "Comeon Boss, you've still got work to do, ask Eckt real nice to let you come back to me, please!!?!"_


----------



## Fajitas

Cerebral Paladin said:
			
		

> Oof.  Always hurts when a PC dies, but especially when it's so sudden (and with so little chance to have done something differently--this really felt like bad luck hitting hard).
> 
> Fajitas, I have a question about the surprise round.  Usually, I wouldn't give a surprise round when someone a PC knows is present and knows to be suspicious draws and attacks-- I figure that's a normal initiative sort of situation.  Was there something special going on here that I missed?




Let me state first off that I really hate stupid character death.  I don't mind killing PCs, but I feel like there should be appropriate drama or intentionality involved.  Character deaths that come as a result of sheer dumb bad luck, bad die rolls, or a grotesque and unavoidable lack of the information needed to make the right decisions... those kind of deaths suck to me.

I have, in the past, employed GM fiat to avert stupid deaths like that.  In fact, I'd already done it for Lira,  during the Mages' Academy fire.  She, the 2nd level sorcerer, had been left at the back of the party lines to face the Shadowbeasts.  The party, at that point, had no way of knowing that that was the worst tactical move they could possibly make.  So I let the crit I rolled against Lira during that fight apply to a random student who ran in between her and the Shadowbeast, giving the party an extra round to get their act together and save her.*  

But you can't do that all the time.  So...

That said, the decision to give Lady Tempeste the surprise round was based on two things:

1) The fact that Lady Tempeste, being trigger-happy by nature and knowing the PCs were suspicious, was going to shoot first and ask questions later (if at all).  Lira, on the other hand, was still trying to talk.  She had no intention of starting a fight with her question.  She wasn't even sure that Lady Tempeste even knew that the healing potions were fakes.  Honestly, Spyscribe's face when I told her Lady Tempeste attacked was the very definition of flat-footed.  

2) Lady Tempeste had the Quick Draw feat.  She was pretty well optimized to kill you before you even knew the fight was on.

Yes, Lira's death here did involve a lot of bad luck.  The crit when she was down to 1 HP was pretty much the clincher.  If it hadn't been a crit, she would have been in a lot of trouble, but likely still alive (I let PCs go down to negative Con before death).  

From the armchair quarterback's perspective, there were, to my mind, two things Lira could have done differently: first, back off farther, getting out of range of the reach of the spiked chain (tho' this would likely have meant jumping off the barge, and Lira doesn't have any points in swim).  And second, not magic missile Lady Tempeste.  She wasn't trying to kill Lira in particular, she was trying to kill the entire party.  Absent the magic missile, Reyu probably would have been the more dangerous looking target (assuming, of course, that Lira hadn't taken up the cleave position next to Reyu like she did).  

That said, Spyscribe made those decisions for character reasons, rather than tactical ones,  and I gotta respect that.  She was P.O.'d at having been jerked around with the healing potions and she was P.O.'d at having been attacked like that.  She didn't want to hide and heal herself, she wanted to rise to the occassion like an Ehktian.  She died on her feet, and really, really messily.  What Questor could ask more?

Besides, I don't think I've ever seen the party quite as ready for bloodshed as they were after this.  Any lingering fears I had about them hemming and hawing about going up against the proper legal authority on the islands pretty much evaporated in that mist of red and the cries of one angry weasel...


_* (Note that I wouldn't do this the next time the party encounters Shadowbeasts; they know too much about them for that kind of tactical blunder to be a forgiveable sin.)_


----------



## Cerebral Paladin

Makes perfect sense.  I totally agree with the tactical assessment; Spyscribe deserves mad props for doing the character appropriate thing instead of the tactically optimal thing, but it still makes sense that that would get her killed.

I had misread how suspicious the PCs were.  If I had been there, I think I would have been expecting that a rumble could break out at any second, but it sounds like Lira wasn't thinking that.  Also, there's an inherent tension on when to give surprise rounds:  if you don't count situations like this as surprise, you get the stupidity of combats starting with "okay, I attack him" "nope, he beats your initiative, so he attacks you first, and guess what, it's a sneak attack because you're not ready for it even though you started the fight."  On the other hand, it reduces the likelihood of big swings in combat outcomes based on who draws first.  (And of course, Quick Draw is key.  Otherwise, her surprise round would have been "she draws her weapon.")


----------



## StevenAC

So well written as always, spyscribe, but... Oh, such an ignominious fate for my favourite character!  

<Arthur Dent>_I'm a bit upset about that._</Arthur Dent>

For those reading the PDF version, chapter 8 of the Collected _Halmae_ is now in its final form, extending right up to this cliffhanger...



			
				Fajitas said:
			
		

> Any lingering fears I had about them hemming and hawing about going up against the proper legal authority on the islands pretty much evaporated in that mist of red and the cries of one angry weasel...



Red mist descending here, too... I hope there's some painful and lingering Justice approaching for that Lady Tempeste...


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> She didn't want to hide and heal herself, she wanted to rise to the occassion like an Ehktian.  She died on her feet, and really, really messily.  What Questor could ask more?




That was the clincher right there.  It's hard to follow sometimes in the story hour just because of the length of time over which events play out, but the idea that she wasn't really a good Questor had been bugging Lira more and more.  A lot of that goes back to her conversation with Devon, which she was thinking of just a few posts back, and especially the face-off with Jor which combined to make her ready to step up and do damage.

And once Lady Tempeste had her down to one hit point before the end of the first round... well, I was pretty sure I was about to get quite dead, because with the damage Lady Tempeste had been doing, I didn't think I could heal myself enough to really make a difference if she hit me again.  The only way out of range was off the side of the boat, and even though Lira probably wouldn't have drowned (she has excellent con), I just don't buy that a non-swimmer jumps into the middle of the ocean, especially if she's injured.

So it was really a choice of how I wanted to go down, and sugar, I was going down swinging.  At a certain level it was profoundly satisfying to be considered dangerous enough to be worth killing quite that completely.  The only annoying thing was the _magic missile_ was my best offensive option, and I think I only did like four points of damage.  Laughable.


----------



## el-remmen

spyscribe said:
			
		

> I just don't buy that a non-swimmer jumps into the middle of the ocean, especially if she's injured.





You're my kind of player.


----------



## Angcuru

A very sudden, shocking death of one of my favorite characters.    Can't wait till next update to see how the party plans their horrible bloody revenge of _DOOM_!


----------



## Baron Opal

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Can't wait till next update to see how the party plans their horrible bloody revenge of _DOOM_!




Indeed! And, _DOOM_ is something we know well, and have come to expect from these fine heroes.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Ninety-Seventh*
_In which: revenge can certainly be served cold, but it can also be served wet._

The sailors all stand by silently, wondering what will become of them.  Reyu thanks the octopus for its service, and dismisses it.  Thatch takes a foot and pushes the corpse of the guardsman he just killed overboard.  Once the splashing subsides, the only sounds are the one remaining guard still struggling in the water and Euro, keening softly.

After closing Lira’s unseeing eyes, Reyu goes over the rail where Eva is still holding the guard underwater with her sword.  With the situation once again in hand, it seems a bit… excessive.  She looks to Eva.  “Go ahead and fish her out.”

Eva lifts her rapier, dries the blade on her tunic, and then sheathes it.  “You fish her out,” she replies and walks back to join Thatch and Anvil by Lira’s body.  

_(Author’s note: How’s that for touchingly vindictive?)_

###

“Can you fix her?”  Thatch is asking the cleric.

Anvil shakes his head.  “I cannot.”

“What about…?” Eva starts to ask, but is unwilling to finish the question and concludes instead, “you know… Like… when it was me.”

“It may be possible,” Anvil replies, “but we will have to return her body to Dar Pykos within—”  He abruptly cuts himself off, holding up a hand for silence.

The _sending_ in his head says, _"Barnabus says he has not seen anyone for several days.  Consider this a debt owed."_

Anvil thanks Chi’i in nineteen eloquent words and then concludes with, “May Ketennek’s Justice be upon you.”

He then informs the others of the content of the message. 

“So we still haven’t found Barnabus,” Eva summarizes.

“Indeed, it would appear not.”

“And if we were taken here to get rid of us, what’s happened to Annika and Kiara?”

“If we are all lucky,” Anvil observes, “the Count has taken Annika to manufacture magic items for him and is holding Kiara hostage for her good behavior.”

“And if we’re not lucky?”  

“He has discovered Kiara’s nature and had added her to his collection.”

Thatch flexes a fist.  “So how are we going to rescue them?”

“As a first step… I would suggest we find Barnabus.”

###

Thatch goes over to the bow where the guard is still foundering in the water.  He reaches down, grabs her by the hair, and pulls her up out of the water, just far enough to get a breath.  “Ready to play nice?” he asks.

The guard merely coughs and sputters.  Thatch shrugs.  “Oh well.”  And pushes her back under.

A few seconds later he pulls her up again.  “How about now?”

“Yes!  Yes!” she chokes, trying to talk before her mouth is clear of seawater.  “I was just following orders, I swear.”

“What were you orders?”  Thatch asks.

Eva mutters under her breath, “If they were to keep us alive, you did a really lousy job.”

“We were supposed to put you ashore on the island and then leave you there.  That’s all I was told.”

“What’s on the island?”

I’m not sure.  One of the Count’s… creatures.  Please, just pull me up on the boat.”

Thatch looks over at the red pool on the deck that used to be Lira.  “I’ll think about it.”

Reyu walks over and looks down at the half-drowned human.  “Give us a reason.  Tell us something… interesting.”

“Like what?”

“What do you know about Barnabus?”

“Nothing— No!  No!  Don’t put me under!  I mean, I’ve only seen him once.  He’s an older man, human, gray-haired with a beard.”

“Go on,” Reyu chides her.

“He lives on an island, alone.  No one’s supposed to disturb him.”

“Where is the island?” Thatch asks.

“I don’t—  Nooo—!”  The rest of her protest is lost as Thatch drives her head underwater once again.

###

Meanwhile, on a clean patch of deck, Anvil takes out the copy of the map smuggled to them the night before by Simone and shows it to the captain.

“Do you know which island Banabus lives on?”

The captain gapes.  “Where did you get that?”

Eva glares at him.  “That is not the issue.”

The captain gulps.  “Umm… yes, of course not…”  He gathers himself.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know which island he lives on.”

“What can you tell us about this map?” Anvil demands.

“Well… the map shows kind of what’s on each island, and what’s gets shipped there, and how frequently.  Like, the red islands, on the outside.  Those are the dangerous ones.”

“What gets sent there?”

“Sheep, mostly.”

 “And these routes to the purple islands?”

“Those islands are uninhabited.  They just get a cleaning crew once every week or so.”

Reyu has come to join the conversation, although she ignores the unintelligible map they are discussing.  “Like the island we found with all of the different buildings.”

“What of the other colors?”

“Right.  The orange ones have sentient creatures on them, who live there, but aren’t… you know… citizens of the County.  The yellow ones are what we’d call inhabited.”

“Even these two that are under guard?”

“Those are for the Count’s guests.”

“His ‘guests?’” Although Anvil stresses the irony on the word “guest” the captain does not.

“Craftspeople and their families,” the captain clarifies.

“What about that yellow island,” Anvil points it out, “that no one ever goes to?”

“Oh, that’s for exiles.  Criminals.”

Anvil sighs.  He’s not sure they’re any closer to finding Barnabus than they were before this little excursion.  Although now they have at least (thanks to Chi’i) confirmed that there is a genuine Barnabus to find.  

However, there is one more island that catches his attention.  It’s colored orange, and the supply route indicates that it receives a small amount of food on a weekly basis, but it’s located must closer to the Count’s main island than the hues island, which is also orange, or any of the other parts of the Count’s “collection.”  When Anvil asks the captain about it, the other man does not know who or what might live there.

###

Anvil walks over to where Eva has joined Thatch and the two are venting frustration by hitting the last guard and then forcing her underwater.

“Pull her up,” Anvil directs Thatch.

Thatch does and Anvil shows her the map.  “Do you know who resides there?” he asks her.

The woman shivers in the water.  “Are you just going to kill me anyway?”

Thatch shrugs.  “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

Anvil nods to the fighter.  “Bring her up onto the boat.”

“How do we know she’s not just going to attack us all?” Eva asks as Thatch hauls the guard up onto the boat by the back of her neck.  “Do you know how to keep her from casting?”

Anvil pauses.  “Put that necklace on her.  The one we have which kills casters who attempt to use their magics upon us.”

There is a pause.  

_(And believe it or not, we all managed not to laugh… yet.)_

“Oh yes,” says Reyu.  “I’ll get it.”

The guard looks from Anvil to Reyu and back again.  “You’re bluffing,” she says.  But she doesn’t sound too sure of herself.

Reyu returns with a crude necklace and drops it over the woman’s head.  “You are welcome to try and see what happens, human.”

Eva adds, “It didn’t go well for the last one.”

The guard gulps and is quiet.

_(And *that’s* when we all burst out laughing.)_

###

_Stupid note for the easily amused: BadMonkeyJeff was checking out various options to bring Lira back from the dead, and had initially concluded that we were going to have to find someone able to cast _ressurection_ as it was highly unlikely we would be able to get her body to someone able and willing to perform _raise dead_ before the caster level limit expired.  Which led to the legitimate question of whether there are any 13th level clerics in the Halmae.

Fajitas: Well, there are, but they are very rare and considered very powerful.
BadMonkeyJeff:  Then again, we probably work for several of them.
Fajitas: There is that.
SpyScribe: And I was definitely on company time._


----------



## Pyske

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Fajitas: Well, there are, but they are very rare and considered very powerful.
> BadMonkeyJeff:  Then again, we probably work for several of them.
> Fajitas: There is that.
> SpyScribe: And I was definitely on company time.[/I]




Huh.  Turns out I'm easily amused!


----------



## spyscribe

Pyske said:
			
		

> Huh.  Turns out I'm easily amused!



I've always said that it's better than being bored most of the time.


----------



## el-remmen

REVENGE!  REVENGE!!

I want blood for blood!

Oh, and thanks for the update - it was even longer than usual (or so it seemed).


----------



## spyscribe

Quick side-note: 

If anyone is heading out to Origins, go find the Halmae's own "Bad Monkey" Jeff Tidball, who will be working the Atlas Booth.  Tell him what Kettenek's Justice demands, and get a free Captain's Coin from his new game Pieces of Eight!

If you're not going to be at Origins, he'll also be spreading the word of Kettenek (and Atlas) at GenCon.


----------



## doghead

Hey spyscribe, with Lira dead, what were you doing? Did Fajitas have you ghost hacking NPC's or does your new character make an appearance soon?

thotd


----------



## thatdarncat

Woot!

*adds another must do item to his gencon list*


----------



## spyscribe

doghead said:
			
		

> Hey spyscribe, with Lira dead, what were you doing? Did Fajitas have you ghost hacking NPC's or does your new character make an appearance soon?



 Good question, and it was a mix.  This update represents the tail end of the session where Lira was killed, so I was able to keep busy taking notes (per usual) and amuse myself by "playing the corpse."  (For the last few rounds of combat I would declare my action as: "I lie there and ooze" or "still really dead" or observe to Reyu's player, "There are bits of me all over you.")

Conveniently enough, I had to miss the next session, so Fajitas didn't have to worry about giving me something to do, and after that I ran various NPCs for a while until we could get me back into the party on a more permanent basis.


----------



## spyscribe

thatdarncat said:
			
		

> *adds another must do item to his gencon list*



Excellent.  Be sure to introduce yourself when you do.  We still don't know who found him at SoCal last year and announced "Kettenek's Justice Demands I buy Lunch Money."  So awesome!


----------



## thatdarncat

I should have an EN World badge on, so that won't be a problem.


----------



## doghead

I saw something in the News Report in the gladiator name thread that looked suspiciously like Lira was back. Then it just occured to me that there was a character summary in the first post ... and look what I found ...



> Giovanna (better known as: Lira) - Sorcerer/Cleric of Ehkt, god of Summer, Fire, and Chaos.




Looking forward to meeting Giovanna.

thotd


----------



## Pyske

Doghead:

 (possible spoiler)
[sblock]I think that's Lira's real name.  "Lira" is a pseudonym, since she's hiding from her (wealthy, aristocratic) family.  Which means Lira might be coming back, as hinted in the conversation about _Raise Dead_.[/sblock]


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the One-Hundred Ninety-Eighth*
_In which: I don’t know what happened.  I was dead._

_—Um... Fajitas?
—Ahem, yes.  Let’s try that again, shall we?_

*Part the One-Hundred Ninety-Eighth*
_In which: Lady Tempeste returns!  Well… not quite. 
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

Anvil flexes his arms as Thatch helps him tighten the last strap.  _Excellent.  A fine fit_, Anvil thinks, as he walks about the barge in his newly acquired armor.  The fallen member of the County Guard no longer has need of it, whereas Anvil’s need has just become somewhat more pressing.  Fortunately, that Guardsman was almost the same size as Anvil. 

“That armor might as well have been made for you,” Thatch comments.

Anvil shakes his head, sadly.  “Were it made for me, it would not bear the Count’s sigil,” he says.  “I wonder if there is some way of inscribing the symbol of Kettenek upon it.”

Eva, meanwhile, is not quite as lucky.  She has donned the captured woman’s chain shirt.  It is heavier than the armor she is used to, and it is awfully tight.  “I can barely move in this thing,” Eva complains, trying to raise her arms.

“Will it not be better to be… constricted, but alive than to be the alternative?” Reyu asks.

Eva grumbles, but with Lira’s corpse covered on one corner of the deck, it’s hard to argue.

Lira’s body has been wrapped in spare sail canvas, which, given the state of the corpse, was a delicate bit of work.  Anvil intends to pray for _gentle repose_ in the morning, so that the body may be preserved until it can be returned to Dar Pykos.  Euro sits on top of his fallen mistress, a wild look in his eyes.  No one will get near Lira without facing his fury.

Lira’s remaining magic items have been, for the moment, divvied up among her comrades.  Reyu takes Sheesak’s horn, Eva takes the _hat of disguise_, and Anvil claims the two remaining glass balls that Professor Alexandra gave them oh-so-long ago.

The party has extensively questioned their captive as to the nature of the Count’s defenses.  Any thoughts she may have had of not cooperating have been quelled by Thatch’s threats to drop her over the side again.  She has given them much information regarding the Count’s distribution of guards, specifically on the Count’s “guest” islands.

Now that there is little they can do for Lira, the party’s thoughts are focused on Annika and Kiara.  They had been left with the Count to study with “Barnabus.”  

What has happened to them in the wake of the Count’s treachery is anyone’s guess.  

After carefully considering their options and studying their map, the party decides that their best hope lies with Barnabus.  If they can find him, they may be able to persuade him to help them rescue their comrades and escape the Count.  Otherwise, they’ll have to take the Count on themselves, and none of them relish that idea.

Now, all they have to do is find Barnabus.

The two islands that stand out as the most likely homes for an archmage are the yellow island that none of the Count’s ships go to (referred to as Exile Island by their prisoner) or the small orange island near the Count’s Main island.  There are regular supply runs there, but neither the captive nor the captain knows what inhabits it.

“Tell us more of this Exile Island, then,” Anvil demands.

“It’s where prisoners are sent,” the captive says.  “Criminals.  Murderers, thieves.”

“How are they supplied if no ships go to the island?” Reyu asks.

The captive fixes her with a disdainful look.  “They aren’t.”

The captain nods.  “You couldn’t take a ship there if you wanted to.  You’d be overrun in a second by those poor bastards, trying to escape.”

“How do you deliver them if you can’t get there?” Thatch asks.

“Never been on a prisoner run myself, but from what I understand, you get within sight, toss ‘em overboard, and make them swim.”

Reyu thinks it sounds barbaric, but Anvil nods sagely.  “It seems a fitting punishment, provided those who are sentenced there are sentenced Justly.  Now that we see more fully the Count’s nature, I am not as assured of that as I might be.”

“Whatever,” Eva says.  “It doesn’t sound like we’ll find Barnabus there.  I think we should try this other one.  The orange one.”

The party quickly agrees.

Since Lady Tempeste teleported away, it is fair to assume that the Count is now aware of what happened and will have patrols out looking for them.  The safest course of travel would be a route that keeps them out of sight.  The captain, under duress, suggests that they should head south, out of the ring of islands.  They can cut up north later, making a straight run for the orange island.

“What do we do with *her*,” Eva asks, nodding towards their captive as they make preparations to leave.

“Well, she was planning to maroon us here on this island.  I say we return the favor,” Thatch says.

The woman pales, but says nothing.

“We should leave her on the dock,” Reyu says, “behind the stockade wall.  That way there will be at least a… chance that she will be rescued before whatever is on that island finds her.”

Thatch snorts.  “It’s more kindness than she would have shown us.”

“Exactly,” Reyu says.  “Perhaps it will serve as a… lesson to her.”

The party agrees, and leaves her on the dock.  They do not bother to remove the necklace that kills spellcasters when they try to cast.  They figure she can take it off herself after they leave.

###

Though it was early morning when Lady Tempeste turned on them, it takes the party most of the day to sail around the islands.  The water gets choppier as they leave the shallower water and find themselves out on the open Halmae.  The barge heaves dangerously.  The captain looks displeased, but he and his crew focus and keep the ship afloat.

Anvil’s stomach, on the other hand, is not quite so professional.  Not for the first time, he curses the sea for its malleability, and focuses on keeping his innards as stable as a rock.

Kettenek’s Justice is not with him in this endeavor.  Nor, after a while, is his lunch.

Finally, the barge returns to shallower waters.  The captain, with a nervous swallow, rigs the ship for fast running (or as fast as the barge can manage), and begins the quick dash to what the party hopes is Barnabus’s Island.

They are not long on their way when they are spotted.

The ship they see is a skiff, a smaller and faster vessel than their barge.  It bears towards them, an armed man standing up and waving at them to heave to.

“Um.  Now what?” Thatch asks.

“Do we fight?” Eva asks, cracking her knuckles.  Ever since Lira’s death, she’s looked like she’s just waiting to kill something.

But Reyu is thinking.  “Perhaps we could… dissuade them from stopping us.”

“How?” Anvil asks.

“Yeah.  I doubt they’ll back off just because we ask them to,” Eva adds.

“They would not back off if *we* asked them to,” Reyu replies.  “But I suspect they would back off if Lady Tempeste asked them to.”

Everyone stares at Reyu.  “Do we not have Lira’s _hat of disguise_?” the elf asks.

Thatch, Anvil, and Reyu all quickly disappear into the barge’s cargo hold.  Eva dons the _hat of disguise_ and concentrates on Lady Tempeste’s appearance.  The air around her seems to shimmer, and she hears a sudden gasp from the captain of the barge.

Eva looks down.  She cannot see her own face, but the hands, the clothes, the body she sees… they are not hers.  When she concentrates, she can see her own form beneath them, as if she was wearing a second skin.  But otherwise…

She hopes the effect is as convincing to those on the skiff.

The skiff draws nearer, pulling alongside the barge.  Eva can see a pair of sailors, along with eight armed members of the County Guard.  One of them, the standing one, is better adorned than the others.  He calls out to the barge.  “Avast.  What’s your business here?”

Eva is on.  Swallowing, she steps forward.  “What’s *your* business here?” she asks, trying to match Lady Tempeste’s impatient tones.

“I’ll ask the questions—" he suddenly cuts off and his eyes get wide.  “M’lady?  What are you doing out here?  I thought you were with the other searchers, further west.”

“Yes, well, obviously I’m not,” Eva says.  “Have you found anything?”

“Um, little, m’lady,” the soldier says, somewhat perplexed.  “We haven’t seen any sign of the interlopers, nor anything else unusual, except for your barge… I didn’t think there were supposed to be any barges out here now.”

“Probably just this one,” Eva says, “which I took.  To search for the interlopers.”  Eva’s sweating.  She knows she’s not handling this well, and the chain mail is *so* uncomfortable.  “How is the search going?” she asks, trying to take a page from Anvil’s playbook and make it a demand.

“I haven’t heard much out here,” the guard says, his eyes slowly narrowing.  “I’d have thought you’d be better informed than I.”

“Oh, I would be, but I’ve been out searching,” Eva responds, now desperately trying to end this.  “You can go about your business now.”

“Very well, m’lady,” the guard says, slowly.  “Will I see you back at the barracks on Crag Island?”  There’s something funny about the way he says that last part.  Something very careful.

_Crap_, Eva thinks.  _He’s testing me_.  She tries to shrug it off.  “I told you to go about your business,” she says.

The guard’s eyes flash.  “There are no barracks on Crag Island,” he says.  And then, to his men, “It’s them! Get them!”  And, as one, the guardsmen rise and jump across to the barge.

_Crap_, Eva thinks.

_DM’s Note: And that, my friends, is what happens with a natural 1 on a Bluff check._


----------



## Jackylhunter

FANTASTIC update as usual, Please keep them coming!


----------



## doghead

Weird. I had a sneaking suspicion Lira was going to be reincarnated (raised? Renovated? whatever that spell is) into Lady Tempeste's body. When I saw the header, I though I my mystical powers of fortune telling were improving. Yeah! 

Oh well.

Nice update however.


----------



## el-remmen

Man, you sure do love them cliffhangers.

I suppose this is karma for all the times I have done it in my story hour. . .  :\


----------



## Piratecat

It is indeed.  Neener.


----------



## OakwoodDM

Bugger. This was not the time to discover this Story Hour, and then get caught up. Having read through all StevenAC's .pdfs (very good job, by the way) and seen the people bemoaning having to wait like everyone else, I finally get to that situation, and it's a thousand times worse, because this time there's a dead character and revenge to be extracted!

I will echo all the great and fully deserved praise for this Story Hour, for its author, for the players and for the DM, and I will remain patient in my wait for an update. 

I will, I promise...


----------



## Richard Rawen

I will not only Not make such promises, but I will instead grumble and be generally surly and when people ask me what my problem is I'll give them all the gory details!

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how *Those Crazy People* get started!
What with the walking around and talking to themselves, behaving rudely and ... wait, I did that before reading SH's... nm 

Still... I would _Reeealllly_ Appreciate it if you could post the next few pages... ya know, just till Lira is raised and Justice is messily returned upon Tempeste(she's no Lady). Oh and the count's got to get whacked too.
Is this a great place to put "Justice Demands it" or what!?


----------



## Fajitas

Richard Rawen said:
			
		

> Still... I would _Reeealllly_ Appreciate it if you could post the next few pages... ya know, just till Lira is raised and Justice is messily returned upon Tempeste(she's no Lady). Oh and the count's got to get whacked too.



I'm curious to know what makes you think any of those things are going to happen in the next "few" pages...


----------



## el-remmen

Fajitas said:
			
		

> I'm curious to know what makes you think any of those things are going to happen in the next "few" pages...




Spoken like a true Rat Bastard. . .


----------



## Aneul

Hey everyone, I'm yet another lurker who's been tempted into posting by this fantastic SH. 
Spyscribe, great writing- this is by far the most purely fun to read story hour on these boards.
Fajitas, you've put together an incredible story, I'm especialy impressed by your ability to make a low level campaign exiting, challenging, and engaging. Great work, both of you.
To the rest of the players- its been a pleasure to vicariously live through this adventure with you. 
Hey, Boss, great storyhour. I'm thinking now would be a real good time to post another update. You know, Boss, hey?"
So keep writing, Kettenek's Justice demands it!


----------



## spyscribe

_Happy Birthday WisdomLikeSilence!  May each new year improve on the last._

*Part the One Hundred Ninety-Ninth*
_In which: Kettenek’s Justice is invoked, a close-encounter with Alirria is avoided, and Eva wishes she had eyes in the back of her head.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

_Not bitchy enough_, Eva thinks to herself.  _Not bitchy enough by half…_

The Guardsmen leap across the gap between the skiff and the barge.  Fortunately for Eva, they land in various states of disarray.  One nearly misses the barge altogether and barely catches the edge of the deck.  Only one manages to land on his feet.  

Naturally, that one guard immediately swings at Eva, but she dodges nimbly.  Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Thatch, Anvil, and Reyu emerge from the cargo hold and take up fighting positions.  _Okay_, she thinks, _time for me to pull back and let the front line take these guys on…_

She steps back, away from the guards who are rising to their feet.  So she doesn’t notice the belaying pin that the captain of their barge has raised—not until he cracks her over the head with it.

“Ow!” Eva yelps.

“Help us!” the captain shouts to the Guardsmen.  “They’ve taken us prisoner!  Strike back at them, men!”

“Screw you!” Eva responds, and she strikes at him with her rapier.  The weapon plunges deep into the captain’s gut, deeper than either she or the captain expected.  The captain’s shout ends in a gasp as he clutches his wound with one hand.

Meanwhile, at least some of his crew seems to have taken his words as orders.  One of them looks around, uncertain.  Another searches for a weapon.  The third, having found one, strikes Anvil with it.

The Justicar turns on the sailor, eyes blazing.  “Raise your hand against a servant of Kettenek again, and you will Know. His. Justice,” he snarls.

The sailor’s eyes widen.  He drops his weapon.

Anvil nods and then rushes towards the Head Guardsman.

_(DM’s Note: Ain’t nearly often enough you see the Initmidate skill in use.)_

Meanwhile, Thatch has wasted no time in heading for the front line.  With a mighty cry, he swings his greatsword, cutting two of the guards down before they can even rise to their feet.  _Heh heh heh_, he thinks.  Two of the standing guards strike back, scoring hits.  Thatch shrugs the minimal damage off and shows them what real damage looks like.  They drop.

Reyu, meanwhile, has been firing arrows at the Head Guardsman.  Unfortunately, Anvil’s current proximity makes it difficult for her to keep firing.  She drops the bow, draws her short spear, and heads into melee.

Eva shakes her head a few times, trying to get her eyes to focus again.  That blow to the head was a doozy.  She does notice the barge captain, bleeding profusely, trying to stumble away from her.  “Oh no, you don’t,” she mutters, and whips a throwing dagger in his direction.  Another hit.  The captain crumples to the deck.  

Two guardsmen step forward to flank Thatch.  Since he’s already taken down most of their companions, Thatch isn’t really that concerned.  They coordinate their attack, and both strike the young fighter.  He takes more damage, not nearly enough to take him down, but enough to start him worrying.  _One good strike and I can take ‘em both out_, he thinks, but he proves unable to get that good strike.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to, as Eva quietly steps up behind one of his attackers.  The guard is so focused on Thatch, he doesn’t even notice.  Nor does he ever get a chance to.  A quick, sharp thrust between the fourth and fifth ribs, and he drops.

“Nice,” Thatch says, and turns his full attention to the one remaining guardsman.  Said guardman then does two things in rapid succession: 1) Acquires religion, and 2) shuffles off this mortal coil.

Anvil, meanwhile, has been locked in combat with the Head Guardsman.  Both have been injured, but the Head Guardsman seems to be panting just a little harder than Anvil.  Taking quick stock of the state of his men, the Guardsman calls out to the sailors on his skiff.  “Go!  Get out of here!  Find help!”

The sailors on the skiff don’t need to be told twice.  They quickly get to work, and the skiff begins to move off from the barge.

“Eva! Stop them!” Anvil demands, as he swings at the Head Guard again.

Eva glances over towards the skiff.  There are two… or possibly four (gods that was a hard hit on the head)… sailors on it, and it’s starting to move away.  “Yeah, right!” she calls back, and fires an arrow.  It might have hit, if there actually had been four.  Alas, there are only two, and the arrow flies past them.

Thatch, having dispatched his last foe, quickly gauges the distance between the two ships.  Since the distance is growing every second, he doesn’t have a lot of time to think.  “I got ‘em,” he yells, as he runs across the deck of the barge and leaps towards the skiff.

It does not occur to him that he hasn’t always had the best luck with ship-to-ship acrobatics.  It does not occur to him that this is awfully far to jump in all his armor.  Nor does it occur to him that if he misses the boat, he will be quite at the mercy of those two sailors.

Fortunately, none of that matters.  He clears the distance and lands quite solidly on the skiff.  So solidly, in fact, that the entire skiff rocks with the impact.  The two sailors topple forward, falling at Thatch’s feet.

Thatch looks down at them, his greatsword raised.

“Stop the boat.  Now.” 

They swallow.  

Then they stop the boat.

_DM’s Note: And that, my friends, is what happens with a natural 20 on an Intimidate check._

Anvil and Reyu manage to take down the Head Guard.  The barge sailors, having only briefly mutinied, surrender again.  All told, four of their attackers, including the Head Guard, still live.  They are divested of their weapons and their livery (which the party may find useful), and they are all bound tightly.  Reyu treats their wounds, though she does not bother to waste healing magic on them.

Thatch brings the skiff back to the barge.  Anvil and Eva are discussing what information the Head Guard might have that they would want to know.  “Can I ask the questions?” Thatch asks, a dangerous look in his eye.  “I’ve gotten real good at making people on boats talk.”

They query the Head Guard about the search for them.  He puts up a show of defiance, but nothing that Thatch and a quick dunk can’t break.  The search, they learn, is mostly taking place among the western parts of the islands, where their last known position was.  Little effort is being made in this area.  Though, the Head Guard thinks that’s likely to change once his team fails to report back.

The group then withdraws to discuss what to do next.  They decide they should clearly abandon the barge in favor of the much faster skiff.  As an added bonus, the skiff only requires two sailors, thus they can rid themselves of the mutinous barge crew.  Then there is the question of what to do with the prisoners.

“Well, we’re pretty close to the Exile Island,” Thatch points out.  “We could toss ‘em out and let ‘em swim.”

“Will that not be the same as a death sentence?” Reyu asks.

“So?” Eva counters.

“Are there not other islands nearby?  Islands where they might have at least a fighting chance of rescue?  It seems more… humane,” Reyu responds, savoring the irony that she, the only non-human, is the one who wishes to be “humane”.

In the end, they decide to go with Reyu’s plan.  According to the map, there is a creature-laden island nearby.  They’ll deposit the prisoners on the dock, and with luck, they’ll be rescued before they’re eaten.  The barge they’ll set adrift.

Thatch nods, and prepares to leave the group conference.  “Not yet,” Anvil says.

“Why? Is there anything else to talk about?”

“No,” Anvil says.  “But I believe we should continue to sit here and say the words ‘massive attack’ and ‘naval armada’ loudly enough to be heard by the prisoners before we maroon them.”

Thatch stares at the straight-faced Justicar.  “Will it help or hurt if I laugh out loud?”

Anvil thinks it over.  “I believe it will help, but only if you laugh wickedly.”

Thatch does so.


----------



## Angcuru

> “No,” Anvil says.  “But I believe we should continue to sit here and say the words ‘massive attack’ and ‘naval armada’ loudly enough to be heard by the prisoners before we maroon them.”
> 
> Thatch stares at the straight-faced Justicar.  “Will it help or hurt if I laugh out loud?”
> 
> Anvil thinks it over.  “I believe it will help, but only if you laugh wickedly.”
> 
> Thatch does so.



Simply awesome.


----------



## Jackylhunter

Hehe, that is so cool.



> The Justicar turns on the sailor, eyes blazing. “Raise your hand against a servant of Kettenek again, and you will Know. His. Justice,” he snarls.


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

spyscribe said:
			
		

> _Happy Birthday WisdomLikeSilence!  May each new year improve on the last._




Thanks Spyscribe!  Thats the plan, at least. 

And have I mentioned lately how much I enjoy this story hour?  Sure, I always know what's going to happen, but you make it come alive again.


-WLS


----------



## carrot

> “Nice,” Thatch says, and turns his full attention to the one remaining guardsman. Said guardman then does two things in rapid succession: 1) Acquires religion, and 2) shuffles off this mortal coil.




I love this story hour. That is just brilliant!


----------



## el-remmen

Okay, here is a question: How much of a session does each of these updates account for on average?


----------



## spyscribe

el-remmen said:
			
		

> Okay, here is a question: How much of a session does each of these updates account for on average?



That is an excellent question that deserves a better answer than I'm about to give it:

On average?  I have no idea.  

I'd say it's probably around 4-5 updates per session.  3 is I think the absolute minimum.  On the other hand, the session that began with meeting the Hues and covered their island, the island full of buildings, running into the ship, and being brought to see the Count was my longest session write-up to date and that was 7 or 8 updates.  (I'd have to go back and check my notes to see exactly where that session ended and the next began.  The end of a session usually, but doesn't always, come at the end of an update).

I used to write "by the update" more than I do now.  These days I'll write up a session, get Fajitas' input, do my rewrite and only then do my final update divisions.  If I know there's a good cliff-hanger or I need a time-lapse, I'll put in a break as I go, but those don't always last through to the final draft.  By the same token, the "in which" is usually the last thing that gets done before the update goes up.


----------



## el-remmen

So you have no idea how many sessions had been played at this point?

I tried to keep good track of session # in my game - but even so, we screwed up and it ended up an estimate - we won't know the true number of sessions until I am totally done with the story hour.  According to my notes it was 107, but my guess is 103.


----------



## Fajitas

el-remmen said:
			
		

> So you have no idea how many sessions had been played at this point?



Hah!  <b>She</b> doesn't know, but I do.  I write up my notes by session.  By my count, the adventure currently being posted was Session 52.  I may be off by one or two, as there were a couple of sessions I ran from modules and thus didn't type up notes.

For the record, we played Session 71 last night.


----------



## el-remmen

Fajitas said:
			
		

> For the record, we played Session 71 last night.




So, Fajitas, do you have a set ending in mind for this game, or will it go until one or more of you is bored?


----------



## Richard Rawen

A great combat update that still shows the personalities of the characters!
I Really like those personalities too... lots of good laughs this time 

. . . so, _next_ update?

ya know... with the JUSTICE and all?

_*smiles weakly*_


----------



## Fajitas

el-remmen said:
			
		

> So, Fajitas, do you have a set ending in mind for this game, or will it go until one or more of you is bored?



Erm.  Well, both actually.

In truth, I had an overall arc in mind for the game from the get-go.  Ultimately, that arc boiled down into three Acts, of which the search for the Archmagi was the first.

In reality, it took me about four years to finish that, at which point I was so burned out on gaming, work, and life in general, that we took about six months off.  And players had babies.  And work/career issues started to get more and more involved for many of us...

And, in short, I realized that, running a rate of approximately 4 years per Act, there was no way I was going to finish the entire story.

So, I trimmed the story down to what somewere between one-and-a-half and two Acts, of which the search for the Archmagi was the first.  I'm not in any huge rush to push through it, as a lot of the major story elements have yet to be introduced.

Cerebral Paladin asked me recently if this campaign was a story that had found a gameworld, or a gameworld that had found a story.  As it's turned out, it's both.  So, if I make it to intended ending, great.  If not, it'll be a good time anyway.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Two-Hundredth*
_In which: a reunion!  Or two, depending on how you count.
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

The sun has nearly set when the party docks their skiff on the shores of the island they fervently hope is Barnabus’s.  The two sailors they have kept as prisoners have, thus far, fallen over themselves to be helpful to the party.  No doubt the dark looks Thatch keeps throwing at them have had something to do with this.

A path leads away from the dock, into the forested depths of the island.

Reyu _wildshapes_ into an owl and does aerial reconnaissance before the light fades.  She returns shortly, to announce that the path leads to a cottage a short way away.  Assuming this to be the home of Barnabus, she did not investigate too closely; it seldom pays to investigate an archmage’s home too closely.

After a brief discussion, the party decides to wait until daybreak to approach.  They suspect that Barnabus is the only thing on the island, but given their experiences so far, they opt not to chance traveling in the dark.

And it is just as well that they do wait.  For a tiny bird suddenly swoops excitedly towards them… and transforms into a frantic Kiara.

“Thereyouarethereyourareohmygodsohmygodsohmygods!”  

“Be calm,” Anvil demands, to a predictable lack of results.  Eva and Reyu make more reasonable attempts to calm her.

“It’s all right.  It’s all right,” Reyu says soothingly in Elven.  “You’ve found us.  We’re here.  Tell us what happened.”

“The Count!  He said he was gonna take us to see Barnabus, and all of a sudden there were two people there and they looked alike, but they weren’t Barnabus, and then they cast and suddenly I couldn’t move and Annika fell asleep, and then a bunch of guards came and took her away, and they tied me up and took me away too, and they told me that I was a hostage and nothing bad would happen to me or to Annika as long as she made magic items for the Count, and then they took me to this island with a village full of other people who I think were also hostages, and then as soon as they weren’t looking I turned into a bird and flew away to try to find Annika, but I couldn’t find Annika, so I tried to find you, and I had just about given up when I suddenly saw your skiff way out there, and I came and it was you, and what are we gonna do?”

Kiara is forced to slow down and repeat the story a few times before everyone has it.

“Wait a minute,” Eva says.  “He took *you* as a hostage to ensure *Annika’s* behavior?”

“Yes.”

 “He thought that Annika was a more unique addition to his collection than you?  That’s… almost funny.”

“Almost,” Thatch growls.  But everyone is quietly thankful that they were clever enough to keep the Count from learning Kiara’s nature.

“So what are we gonna do?” Kiara demands.  “We have to rescue Annika!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Thatch mutters.  “We will.”

“We believe this to be the island of Barnabus,” Anvil informs her.  “It is our hope that, once we have delivered our invitation to him, he will aid us in rescuing Annika and escaping the Islands.”

“Will he help us kill the Count?” Kiara asks.  “I think he really, really deserves it.”

Everyone is surprised by the young girl’s sudden bloodthirstiness.  “We shall… see,” says Reyu.

Kiara nods, content, for the moment with that answer.  Then she looks around.  “Where’s Lira?” she asks.

There is a long silence, as everyone in the party prays that someone else will answer her.

###

At first light, Anvil, Eva, and Reyu follow the path into the woods.  Thatch remains behind with the skiff, ensuring the continued cooperation of their two captive sailors.  Kiara remains with him.  Or, more precisely, she remains with Euro, standing vigil over Lira’s body.  The sailors seem almost as frightened by the look on her face as they are by the look on Thatch’s. 

The cottage is not terribly far from the dock.  It is large, fairly picturesque.  Secluded and well shaded.  There is a small garden, which gives the appearance of having been tended… well, with a greatsword.

Smoke comes from one of the several chimneys.

Anvil strides forward and knocks at the door.  “We come seeking the wizard Barnabus,” he declares, loudly.

An elderly voice responds from within.

“Yes, yes.  Just bring it around back, won’t you?”

The party exchanges startled glances.  Without any better ideas, they make their way around to the back of the cottage, where there is another door.  Anvil knocks again at this one, and the elderly voice responds, “Oh, no need for formality.  Just bring it on in, there’s a good chap.”

Though not quite what the party had expected, the words do indeed seem to be an invitation.  Anvil opens the door.  

It opens into a small workroom.  A long table is covered with all manner of objects, some strange, some quite mundane.  Bits of wood, cloth, and metal, as well as boots, belts, cloaks, daggers, almost anything the party can imagine is strewn about, in and among powders and feathers and strange bubbling concoctions.  The walls are covered with shelves from top to bottom; each shelf is cluttered with an even wider array of random objects.  There are several piles of—for lack of a more descriptive word—stuff scattered about, balancing with varying degrees of precariousness.

Reyu, curious, casts _detect magic_.

Almost everything in the room glows with an arcane enchantment.

“Hello?” Eva calls out.  “Anyone there?”

“Just leave it there.  I’ll get to it later,” the voice calls out from another room.

“Leave what?” Eva asks.

There is a pause, then a shuffle, and a man enters the workroom.

It is Barnabus.

At least, he looks exactly like the “Barnabus” that they met at the Count’s Keep.  The same long, white beard, the same plain robes, the same face.  Their posture is somewhat different, however.  The other Barnabus appeared more… poised.  This one walks with a staff and hobbles slightly.  He seems much older.

He peers at the party.  “Leave what?” he repeats.  “Isn’t it Thursday?”

“It is not,” Anvil informs him.

“Hm.  Didn’t think it was.  Truth be told, I was a bit surprised when I heard you lot.  Seemed early for Thursday.”

“Were you… expecting us?” Reyu asks.

“Well, no, not if it’s not Thursday.  Running early, are you?  Change to the schedule?”

There is a pause.  “Pray tell,” Anvil finally says, “who do you think we are?”

“You’re here with the weekly delivery, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Oh.  My mistake.”

“Do we *look* like the people who make the weekly delivery?” Eva asks.

“Well, no, now that you mention it.  Though it’s so seldom I see anyone else.  Are you friends of the Count, then?”

“No,” Anvil says, flatly.

Barnabus frowns at them.  “You’re not here from the Count?”

“No.”

“And I don’t know any of you, do I?”

“No.”

“So what you’re saying is:  you are complete strangers who have entered my house uninvited?”


----------



## el-remmen

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “So what you’re saying is:  you are complete strangers who have entered my house uninvited?”





Aye caramba!


----------



## Capellan

"Actually, we knocked.  Twice.  And you said to come round the back and come in.  Even a vampire would consider than an invitation."



On another note: spyscribe I am foolish and have lost your e-mail address.  Can you drop me a line at crowroadaw (at) yahoo (dot) com (dot) au so I can get it again?  Thanks!


----------



## orsal

Capellan said:
			
		

> "Actually, we knocked.  Twice.  And you said to come round the back and come in.  Even a vampire would consider than an invitation."




This mage no doubt considers his whole island to be his house...


----------



## Blacklamb

That was a VERY evil cliff hanger!

Wow!!

Blacklamb!


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

Just wow! Been away for what I thought was a week and upon return I find two updates waiting to be read. As well as a reminder to congratulate **blushes for its belatedness**   WisdonLikeSilence, which I am doing herewith at last.


----------



## KidCthulhu

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “So what you’re saying is:  you are complete strangers who have entered my house uninvited?”




Now would be a very good time to find some undiscovered points in Perform and try the Singing Telegraph trick.


----------



## CTSparky

*is there a way ?*

Thare have been quite a few moments in this story hour that I've loved so much I almost feel a part of the sessions (I wish).

I'm going to GenCon (For the first time) this year, and I'd love to support Halmae in any way I can while playing D&D mini's.

So I'd love to get some t-shirts of the halmae group. I have a few suggestions:
"For Kettenek's Justice!"
"Pimp the gnome for Justice!"
I can just picture the T-shirts done in the front with a map of the Halmae on the back with maybe an enworld.org site address.  Maybe any profits can go to enworld, or a charity of the groups choice.  Do you think these would sell?

What other tag lines do you guys hold in high esteem?


----------



## Jackylhunter

CTSparky said:
			
		

> Thare have been quite a few moments in this story hour that I've loved so much I almost feel a part of the sessions (I wish).
> 
> I'm going to GenCon (For the first time) this year, and I'd love to support Halmae in any way I can while playing D&D mini's.
> 
> So I'd love to get some t-shirts of the halmae group. I have a few suggestions:
> "For Kettenek's Justice!"
> "Pimp the gnome for Justice!"
> I can just picture the T-shirts done in the front with a map of the Halmae on the back with maybe an enworld.org site address.  Maybe any profits can go to enworld, or a charity of the groups choice.  Do you think these would sell?
> 
> What other tag lines do you guys hold in high esteem?




I'd buy several, (as long as Spyscribe and Fajitas (and their group) give their Ok).  Pimp the gnome for Justice indeed...=)


----------



## spyscribe

CTSparky said:
			
		

> Thare have been quite a few moments in this story hour that I've loved so much I almost feel a part of the sessions (I wish).
> 
> I'm going to GenCon (For the first time) this year, and I'd love to support Halmae in any way I can while playing D&D mini's.
> 
> So I'd love to get some t-shirts of the halmae group....




Wow...  What a fun idea.  Tell you what, drop me an email through the boards (click on my name at left and select "send spyscribe an email" and let me know what you've got in mind.  We'll see if we can't work something out.

Also, for everyone going to GenCon or Comic-Con (next weekend!).  Swing by the Atlas Games booth and tell "Bad Monkey" Jeff Tidball what Kettenek's Justice demands and then demand you own promotional coin for Jeff's new game Pieces of Eight.  He'd love to meet you!


----------



## el-remmen

upDATE! upDATE! upDATE! upDATE!


please?


----------



## Gold Roger

el-remmen said:
			
		

> upDATE! upDATE! upDATE! upDATE!
> 
> 
> please?




Well, maybe spyscribe will update when you update *nudge nudge*


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Two-Hundred First*
_In which: no one asks Eva’s opinion, but if they did, she would have a thing or two to say about Barnabus’s “test.”
(as recorded by Fajitas)_

Barnabus’s grip tightens ever so slightly on his staff.  

“But you did invite us!” Eva says, quickly.  “You told us not to stand on formality.”

“Did I?” Barnabus says, brow furrowed.

“It was just a moment ago.  When you thought we were the delivery people.”

Barnabus blinks.  “Ah, yes, of course,” he says, shaking his head and relaxing his grip on the staff.  “So I did.  Goodness, that was a bit foolish of me in retrospect, wasn’t it?  Still, I suppose it was a reasonable mistake.  Especially if it’s Thursday.”

“It is not Thursday,” Reyu reminds him.

“Hmmm?  What?”

The party looks askance at each other, no one quite feeling like actually getting back into it.  “You are Barnabus, then?” Anvil asks.

“I am.”

“Excellent.  I am Anvil the Just, Justicar of Kettenek.  My companions and I have been seeking you for some time…”

Anvil proceeds to tell Barnabus the story of the Mages’ Academy and their search for a new Chancellor.  He presents him with the invitation and the letters from the Temples and King of Dar Pykos.  Barnabus listens politely and quickly inspects the documents.

“Do you mind if I examine these in more detail,” he asks, “to determine their authenticity?”

“By all means,” Anvil says.

Barnabus takes the documents and disappears into the other room.  He is there for five minutes… then ten… then fifteen.

Finally, tired of waiting, the party casually steps into the other room.

Barnabus sits at a desk, tinkering with some strange object. The letters sit on the desk next to him.  He seems to have forgotten about them.

Anvil clears his throat.  Barnabus looks up.  “Hmmm?  What?  Oh, yes, of course!  Your letters.  I’m sorry, I was looking for something and got distracted by this.  Have you ever seen one of these?  It’s a fascinating—well, never mind.  Your letters.  Of course.  Now, what did I come in here looking for?  Ah, yes.  Let’s see…”

He rummages about the room, searching for something.

Eva reaches over to a shelf and picks up an old pair of spectacles.

“I don’t suppose you’re looking for these?” she asks.

“The very thing.  How ever did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” she mutters.

Barnabus dons the spectacles, and briefly looks quickly at the letters.  He barely even reads them, just glances at them.  He does stop at the invitation, however, peering quite intently at it.  “Hmmm.  Yes, clever,” he says.  “I like the enchantment here, the one that will indicate the date that we should come to your city.  Well thought out, especially since you didn’t know how long it would deliver all these invitations.”

The party says nothing.  They hadn’t actually known the invitations themselves were enchanted, but now that Barnabus mentions it, it does indeed seem rather clever.

“Well, this does appear authentic,” he says, as he hands the letters back to Anvil.  He does a quick double-take as he looks at the party members through his spectacles.  “Ah.  I see you are no strangers to enchantments yourselves.  Some nice work.  Nice indeed.”  He glances over their magic items, quickly perusing each in turn, nodding happily.

As it becomes clear that he has forgotten they are in the midst of a conversation, Reyu gently prompts him with “So… will you be able to accept this… invitation?”

“Hmm? What invitation?”

“From the Mages’ Academy of Dar Pykos.”

“Yes, that!  Hmmm.  Well, there may be a bit of a problem, there.  You see, I already have an arrangement with Count Agramount.  I’m not sure how I’d feel about leaving him in the lurch for this.”

The party exchanges dark glances.

“How… well do you know the Count?” Reyu asks.

“Oh, well enough, I suppose.  Seems a fairly charming enough fellow.  He came to me, oh, a great many years ago, now.  He offered me this place to live.  Promised I’d have all the privacy I wanted, any food or materials I might desire.  In exchange, he sends me things he’d like me to enchant for him every now and then.  High quality items, I might add.  Always wonderfully crafted.  He comes by to visit sometimes, too.  Sit around, chat.  See how I’m getting on.  That sort of thing.”

That gives the party pause.  Reyu takes a very careful look at Barnabus with her _detect magic_.  There are a great many auras on his person, but none of them appear to be of the enchantment school.

“The items he sends you are built by enforced labor, from master craftsmen whose families the Count holds hostage in order to ensure their cooperation,” Anvil informs him.  

Barnabus looks startled by Anvil’s statement.  He peers at the Justicar, first over his spectacles, then through them.  “What?  I hardly think that could be the case.”

“I can assure you it is.  We have seen it first hand.”

“He’s never taken anyone I know hostage.”

“That’s probably because he’s not an idiot,” Eva says.  “But he’s certainly deceived you about his true nature.”

“Oh, come now.  Why would he do such a thing?”

“He… collects things,” Reyu explains, somewhat delicately.  “Fine art, unique creatures.  The things you have made for him, he surely considers a prized part of his collection.  Indeed, I would not be surprised to discover that he considers… you a part of his collection yourself.”

Barnabus shakes his head.  “I find that very difficult to believe.  He hardly seems the type.”

“Be that as it may.  The Count is a tyrant and a despot, who steals, kidnaps, and murders with impunity,” Anvil insists.  “If you wish to verify my claims, I will willingly submit myself to any test you name.”

Barnabus’s eyes narrow.  He glances at Anvil through the spectacles again.  “Well then…” He turns and rummages around in one of the piles of junk in the room.  From it, he produces a hearing trumpet.  He puts it to his ear.  “Very well.  Tell your tale.”

Anvil tells them of their adventures through the Islands of Agramount, from their first landing on one of the islands, to the Count’s treachery and Lira’s death.  As Anvil recounts their encounter with the false Barnabus, a scowl appears on the face of the real one.  It grows steadily deeper the more he listens.

Finally, Anvil finishes the tale.  Barnabus lowers the hearing trumpet.  He seems every bit as old as he did when they entered, but the fire now in his eyes is that of a much younger man.

“It would seem,” he says, “that I have been deceived.”

“Indeed,” Anvil agrees.

“I think,” Barnabus says, after a long pause, “that I should pay a small visit to the Count.”

Eva cracks her knuckles.  “Mind if we tag along?”


----------



## sandtiger

Never posted here before, but...

Thank you, I needed that.

I really enjoy your writing, having read you voraciously from the beginning.

Thank you, thank you.

Sandtiger


----------



## Angcuru

Whip the Count's butt, Barnabus!


----------



## Jackylhunter

> “It would seem,” he says, “that I have been deceived.”
> 
> “Indeed,” Anvil agrees.
> 
> “I think,” Barnabus says, after a long pause, “that I should pay a small visit to the Count.”
> 
> Eva cracks her knuckles. “Mind if we tag along?”




Awww, snap...=)

Hmm, I think I need to hang out with an older crowd.
Anyway, again, wonderful story Spy, your writing is fantastic.  and I absolutley love your campaign world Fajitas.  I can't wait for the next write-up


----------



## brellin

After being gone for too long I have returned and up to date on this wonderful sh.
And now I must beg for an update like everyone else.


----------



## brellin

Oh and I know it is late but Happy Birthday to all the players. Without who we would not get as many updates.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Really great take on the 'doddering old mage' archtype.  Lets just hope the fire in his eyes stays lit long enough...


----------



## spyscribe

sandtiger said:
			
		

> Never posted here before, but...
> 
> Thank you, I needed that.
> 
> I really enjoy your writing, having read you voraciously from the beginning.
> 
> Thank you, thank you.
> 
> Sandtiger




And thank you, Sandtiger.  Great to hear from a new "old" reader.  

New update is coming soon!


----------



## spyscribe

_Technical preface: I’m back playing in this session, although as you will see, Lira is not.  However, Fajitas did have an NPC to keep me amused.  Also, guest starring this session was Tremere, better known as TomTom from Piratecat’s game, who had relocated to the West coast!_

*Part the Two-Hundred Second*
_In which: Barnabus gets testy about Woodsy, and Testy is made out of wood._

Having agreed that the party will accompany Barnabus when he goes to “speak” to Count Agramount, the archmage announces that he will need some time to gather supplies.

“How long?” Anvil asks.

“Oh, not more than an hour,” Barnabus replies as he digs through a pile of odds and ends heaped up in one corner of the room.  “Now,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else, “where *is* he?”

Eva answers for the group.  “He?”

“Well, fine, ‘it.’” Barnabus replies, throwing up his hands.  “It does help to personify them, you know.  And they certainly seem to appreciate it.”

“They?”

“Yes, we’ll want to bring the Woodsman too.  Would you go fetch him?”

“Where is he?”  Anvil asks.

Barnabus considers.  “Probably in the woods.”

Eva shoots a look over to Anvil as if to say, _Ask a silly question…_ Anvil shrugs.  “I will go find him.”

“Good good good.”  As Anvil leaves through a back door, Barnabus uncovers what looks like a human head carved out of wood.  “Ah, Testy!  There you are.”

“Indeed I am,” the head replies.  A wooden hand emerges from the pile appropriately spaced from the head and soon Barnabus is helping an entire animated wooden man to gain his feet.  The man, Testy, wears a thick leather apron with many different storage loops and pockets which are soon filled as Barnabus piles the man’s hands with various wands and scrolls.

As all of this is going on, Testy looks around the room, looking at each of the party members in turn.  His eyes appear to be fixed in his wooden skull and do not blink, which gives the rather unsettling effect of seeming to stare at whatever he is looking at.  Survey complete, he greets the room politely.  “Hello.  I am Testy.  Are you here to help with a new experiment?”  His voice has an odd quality to it.  Almost as if he was speaking from the other end of a hollow log.

The party stands dumbfounded, unsure whether to be more amazed by the figure before them or by the name Barnabus has apparently given him.

Barnabus is not in the least perturbed.  “Yes, Testy, this is…  a bunch of people.  Did I get your names?  No matter.”  He turns back to Testy, still filling the man’s arms and pockets with scrolls and wands. “Here, you’ll want some of these, and a few of these, and… Oh!  These too.”

Barnabus explains to the party.  “I craft a lot of magic items, and you know how tricky magic can be sometimes, hmm?  Well it can be, so I thought it might be useful to have an assistant who could test things for me.  So I built Testy here.  That way I can experiment with new enchantments and artifacts, and no need to worry about anyone being hurt.”

He knocks on Testy’s solid wooden form by way of illustration.  “Solid, durable, non-conductive, and it’s not like he’s going to be exposed to a lot of fire in this line of work, is it?”

_(DM’s note:  The key thing about Testy, from a rules perspective, is that he is capable of activating magic items that can normally only be activated by a spell-caster of the appropriate class (i.e. wands and scrolls: spell completion items).  He can of course be used to test magic items that *don’t* require spell completion, but then again, anyone can do that.)_

“What experiment are we going to conduct today?”  Testy asks.

Barnabus thinks.  “Well… I don’t know how I’d phrase it exactly…”

“We are conducting a study in the stubbornness of humans,” Reyu supplies.

“Hum.” Barnabus considers.  “I suppose we are.”

###

As Barnabus did not give any indications as to *where* in the woods the Woodsman might be found, Anvil strides out purposefully from the house listening for the sound of someone chopping wood.  It’s a quiet day, but there is nothing in the woods that sounds like axe fall.

However, in the distance he does detect a strange buzzing noise.

He follows the noise.  The buzzing is nearly constant and grows steadily louder as Anvil approaches.  However, before he reaches the source, Anvil is brought up short by an odd sight.  

There, beside the path, is a bush, which appears to have been pruned into the shape of a tree.

A few yards father on is another bush pruned into the shape of a… bush.

And then, a few yards farther on, Anvil finds the Woodsman.

The “man” is solid metal, easily six and a half feet tall, and where his hands should be are two giant whirring saw-blades.  As Anvil watches, he carefully prunes a dead limb off of a large and painstakingly maintained tree.

The branch crashes to the ground, and the Woodsman turns and finally notices Anvil.  The whirring saw-blades slowly come to a stop, the buzzing noise dying away until the woods are quiet once more.

“You are the Woodsman?” 

The giant metal head nods.  Although he has a mouth-shaped area on his head, when he speaks, his lips do not move.  “Yes.”

“Barnabus desires your presence at the house.”

The Woodsman nods again and sets off in that direction.  Anvil follows behind.

###

“Actually,” Barnabus is in the midst of explaining, as Anvil and the Woodsman arrive back at the house, “it rather sounds as though—Petros you said?—Petros’ butler was a golem.  A flesh golem to be exact.  Similar perhaps superficially to Testy here, but completely different in theory and construction.”

He spies the Woodsman entering, “Oh yes!  And this is the Woodsman… Woodsy when you get to know him.”  He smiles and pats the enormous metal man on the arm with an affectionate paternal air.

Kiara—who has gotten bored waiting around on the boat while Thatch glowers at the captured sailors and Euro hisses at anyone who looks sideways at Lira’s body—flutters into the room in swallow form.  Seeing Woodsy and Testy, she flies several cautious loops around their heads, trying to figure out what is going on.

Woodsy watches her with interest, especially as Reyu begins catching her up on the conversation in Sylvan.

_I would pet you_ Woodsy tells Kiara, _but I would harm you._

Kiara is so surprised she almost forgets how to fly.

_You can talk to me!_

_Of course.  I’m a nature spirit_

Kiara whirls back into human form so quickly she nearly gives herself whiplash.  She turns on Barnabus, horrified.  “You took a nature spirit and trapped it in a huge metal body?”

“And then he asked me to cut down trees,” Woodsy supplies mournfully.

“Well I don’t anymore, do I?”  Barnabus retorts, showing just a touch of impatience.

(“No,” Woodsy admits.)

“Certainly in retrospect,” Barnabus admits, “using a nature spirit to animate the wood-cutter was perhaps not the most logical choice, but it’s hard to see all the possible consequences *at the time*.” He sighs.

“What animates Testy?”  Reyu asks.

“A fire spirit.”

“In a wooden body?” Eva asks, a bit confused.

Barnabus throws up his hands.  “Yes, yes, yes.  Well let’s *dwell* on irony.”  He harrumphs.  “I have to prepare.”  Then, as he is leaving the room, something catches his eye that improves his mood considerably.

“Oh, perhaps there’s something in here that you would find useful when we go talk to the Count.”  He takes an ordinary looking sack and tosses it into the middle of the floor.  “Help yourselves.”

Eva pokes the sack cautiously, as Anvil asks, “Is it safe?”

“Of course!”  To illustrate the point, Barnabus upends the bag right there.  A pile of items—which the party cannot help but note seems far larger than what should be able to fit in the sack—falls to the floor in a disorganized heap.

There’s a set of oily-looking leather armor, three rings, a necklace, and a wooden tile along with an assortment of other objects.

Reyu, who still has _detect magic_ active from earlier, blinks.  Then, she blinks again.  *Every single thing* that came  out of the sack… and the sack itself, now that she looks at it… is magical.  And all of them radiate with enchantments that would put Professor Alexandra’s storeroom to shame.


----------



## ellinor

Love the mood and feel of this whole update.  My favorite turns of phrase:



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> “We are conducting a study in the stubbornness of humans,” Reyu supplies.
> 
> ###
> 
> _I would pet you_ Woodsy tells Kiara, _but I would harm you._
> 
> ###
> 
> “What animates Testy?”  Reyu asks.
> 
> “A fire spirit.”
> 
> “In a wooden body?” Eva asks, a bit confused.
> 
> Barnabus throws up his hands.  “Yes, yes, yes.  Well let’s *dwell* on irony.”




Plus . . . I'm getting tingly with confrontational anticipation!

Thanks as always.


----------



## babomb

spyscribe said:
			
		

> “Certainly in retrospect,” Barnabus admits, “using a nature spirit to animate the wood-cutter was perhaps not the most logical choice, but it’s hard to see all the possible consequences *at the time*.” He sighs.
> 
> “What animates Testy?”  Reyu asks.
> 
> “A fire spirit.”
> 
> “In a wooden body?” Eva asks, a bit confused.
> 
> Barnabus throws up his hands.  “Yes, yes, yes.  Well let’s *dwell* on irony.”  He harrumphs.




This line made my day. Great update as always.


----------



## el-remmen

Have I mentioned how much I love this story hour?


----------



## Ero Gaki

I love this story hour. I love it so much that I have stolen certain elements (mainly the religion system) and applied them to my new Castles & Crusades game. Hope no one minds.


----------



## LightPhoenix

In the persuit of true insanity, I read the entire story (400 or so pages of StevenAC's awesome PDF) in but two days.  I either have no life, or this is some of the most enthralling stuff I've read in a while.  Or maybe a little bit of both.


----------



## spyscribe

_Welcome LightPheonix!  And have fun with the pantheon Ero Gaki.  We certainly do.

This is kind of a franken-sidebar, with some update goodness along with details of the loot from Barnabus' _Bag of Holding_.  If I get to it before the weekend there might be another story update this week, but if not, there should be the usual one on Wednesday._



*Sidebar*
_From Barnabus’ Bag of Holding_

As Barnabus has already left the room, Reyu turns to Testy.  “Perhaps… you could tell us about these… items?”

“Of course,” Testy replies.  

He picks up the leather armor.  It looks like it should be dripping oil onto the floor, and yet somehow, it isn’t. He holds it out to Eva.  “Try and grab it.”  She hesitates.  “Go on…” he urges.

Eva cautiously grips the edge of the breast-plate.  Then she tries again.  Her fingers slide right off, as though the armor has been greased, but her fingers don’t come away oily.

“What the hell?”

“Very useful for grappling,” Testy informs her.

Eva lets out a low whistle.  “Like a greased pig.”  

Testy blinks.  “I don’t know.  I’ve never greased a pig…  That would be an interesting experiment.”

“Not for the pig,” Woodsy objects.

“Have you ever asked one?”

Anvil clears his throat.  “Perhaps you could tell us about the other items?” he suggests.

“Certainly.”

As Testy begins to describe the properties of the other items in the heap, the party’s jaws drop.

###

_(Note to players in the game: It is here that my notes fail me.  I’m not sure who took some of this stuff.  Let me know if I got something wrong.)_

Slick Armor – Leather, appears coated with oil.  +5 competence bonus to Escape Artist checks.  Taken by Eva.

Dagger of Returning - Taken by someone.

Thundering Warhammer - extra 1d8 sonic damage on a crit.  DC 14 save for target, or permanently deafened.  Taken by Anvil.

Ring of Feather Fall – Taken by Thatch

Ring of Protection +2 – Taken by Reyu?

Ring of the Ram – Taken by Anvil

Immovable Rod – Taken by Thatch

Wand of Magic Missile (7th Level) – Saved for Annika?

Folding Boat – Held by Kiara

Bracers of Armor +3 – Taken by Kiara

Cloak of Charisma +2 – Saved for Lira

Bag of Holding – Taken by Kiara

Periapt of Wisdom +2 – Saved for Lira

Slippers of Spiderclimb – Taken by Eva

Horseshoes of the Zephyr – Taken by Thatch for Bob

Bracers of Archery, Lesser – Taken by Reyu?

Bow of Blood-Seeking – Taken by Reyu


----------



## el-remmen

Jeez! That is quite a haul!


----------



## Raging Epistaxis

Oh boy.  
Maybe it's just the Paranoid in me speaking out, but when I see a list of loot like that my second thought is:  "Uh Oh.  What will the party be going up against now?"

The first thought? "Holy S***!"   

R E


----------



## Angcuru

This looks like it will give them a real edge against other humanoids in the world.  What with the relative rarity of magic items in the Halmae.  Very nice haul.  In my old group we used to call those hauls "assassination bait" because of the attention they attract.


----------



## spyscribe

Hey all, before everyone heads out to GenCon, don't forget to stop by and say hello to "Bad Monkey" Jeff Tidball (Anvil's player) who will be working the Atlas Games booth.  While you're there, get a free coin from his new game, Pieces of Eight.

If you can't make it to GenCon this year, console yourself with this map of the Halmae.  A reproduction of the very one that Fajitas pulls out whenever we say, "Where's Dar Und again?"


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Two-Hundred Third*
_In which: snippet says, “Now, refresh my memory.  Is the Count a magic user, or is he just a big jerk?”_

Barnabus rejoins the group and the entire assembly of party, archmage, and two constructs begin making their way to the dock.  As they walk, the party asks Barnabus about magic items he made for the Count that they should be aware of.

“Oh, I’ve made plenty of things for him over the years.  Most of them are personal items, self-prestidigitating garments, armor that can look like clothing, personal protection.  Then there’s the various guards and wards on the Keep, and, of course, the sigil medallions, the teleport sticks— oh goodness.”

Barnabus suddenly cuts himself off, his brow knitted in concern.

“What is it?” Eva asks.

“Well, I had assumed we would just teleport to the keep, but… Hmm…. No, we can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve warded the building against teleports.  We’ll have to arrive just outside the front gates.”

“So, if we get into trouble, we can’t teleport out either?”  Eva clarifies.

“Not as such, no.”

“What is your intention, exactly, when you speak to the Count?”  Reyu asks.

“Well,” Barnabus considers his words.  “I will inform him I intend to leave, and then I will ask him for the return of all the magic items I have crafted for him.”

“What if he refuses?”  Anvil asks.

“I will destroy them,” he says simply.  At this pronouncement, the party members, as one, stop cold.  It takes Barnabus a few seconds to notice that he and the constructs are the only ones still walking.

“You have the power to spontaneously destroy any magic item you created?”

Barnabus smiles indulgently.  “Oh no, no, no of course not…  I have the power to destroy any magic item at all within forty feet.  Little spell of my own design…  I call it _the disjunction_.”  

_(Or, _Barnabus’ Disjunction_, since there is no wizard named Mordenkainen in the Halmae.)_

“*If* it becomes necessary, I’m sure the Count has some sort of store room.  We have simply to find it.”

“What if we’re within forty feet when you cast the spell?” Eva wants to know.  “Will it affect our items as well?”

“Certainly.”

“Can you give us some warning before you do that?”

Banabus nods.  “Well, I’ll certainly try.”  His eye falls on Kiara.  “You might not want to be there when the spell goes off.”

“Why?  What would happen to me?”

“I have no idea.”

Testy gives Kiara an appraising look.  “That would be fascinating.”

Woodsy scowls.  “You think everything is fascinating.  You’d think you’d always been clumping around in that thing.”

Barnabus sighs.  “If you like, Woodsy, you’re more than welcome to stand in the area of effect when and if the _disjunction_ goes off.  I won’t stop you.”

Woodsy nods.  “I just might.”

Eva finally brings the conversation back around to where it started.  “But what about magic items the Count might have on his person?  What should be we careful of?”

“Oh right, right…”  Barnabus considers again.  “Well, there was this spiked chain I made for the captain of the County Guard.  When it hits, it delivers an electric charge—”

Anvil cuts him off.  “We know of it.”

“Really?  Did you see it wielded?”

Just then, the group arrives at the boat.  At one end, the captured crew waits.  At the other, Euro perches atop the sailcloth bundle that contains Lira’s body.  His eyes narrow at the strangers.

Barnabus does in fact put two and two together.  “Oh… oh… I’m terribly sorry for your loss.  I mean, it’s good to know the weapon is effective, but obviously these are not the circumstances one would wish for that discovery.”

“It is another… difficulty with teleportation,” Reyu points out.  “We would not want to have to leave Lira’s body behind.”

Barnabus nods.  “Yes… I can see that.  Awkward to have to carry her into battle, and all that…  Unless…” he trails off, lost in thought.

“Unless what?” Eva asks.

“Is that her familiar?”  Barnabus asks suddenly, pointing at Euro.

“Yes.”

“We could… shrink the body.”

“Shrink her?”

“Yes.  I believe she would even be small enough for the weasel to carry.”

_(DM quote: “And this plan is so cool, I’m not even going to have you make a ‘use rope’ check to rig up a harness.”)_

Woodsy, who is able to talk to Euro, explains the situation, and the weasel grudgingly backs off long enough for Barnabus to cast _shrink object_ on Lira’s corpse.

Euro continues to watch both Woodsy and Barnabus with great suspicion.  You try anything… I’ll kill you.  You get that?  I can take you down.  Don’t think that I can’t.

Once the deed is done, Euro runs forward.  He sniffs at the now tiny _(or to be precise: _fine_)_ bundle, and through Woodsy relays his cautious satisfaction.  When Lira is firmly secured to his back, the party can practically *see* his ego inflating.

Since they aren’t going to need the skiff, the party takes the sails, and then leaves the sailors free to row themselves to whatever island they choose.  They figure that wherever the sailors decide to go, they won’t be able to raise an alarm in time to do any good.

And so, as the sailors put their oars to the water, there is a sudden white flash, and the party vanishes.

###

The party materializes directly in front of the main gates of the Count’s compound.   Above them, the walls loom, ten feet high and solid stone.  The massive iron-clad wooden gates that stood open when they were first escorted to see the Count mere days ago, are now closed and barred.

Reyu looks up.  She cannot help but notice that there are a lot *more* guards stationed on the wall than there were the last time they were here.  At the party’s sudden appearance, they snap to attention.

At least fifteen men and women at arms immediately bring their bows to bear on the party, along with several war-mages who stand ready to cast at a moment’s notice.  Eva steals a glance over at Barnabus, standing at the front of the group, flanked by Testy and Woodsy.

The archmage appears perfectly calm.

He clears his throat, and, addressing an officer stationed above the gate, announces, “We have come to speak with the Count.”

The officer says something to the soldier on his right side who in turn calls out, “Send for Lord Marmion!”

The cry is taken back along the wall, through the courtyard and onto the keep.  Then, quiet falls once again over the strange gathering. 

While they are waiting, Anvil looks up at the arches stationed above his head, and gives them all a withering stare.

Presently, Lord Marmion, the Count’s chamberlain, appears above the gate.  Although he must have hurried over, his robes of office are unruffled, and his decorous smile, as always, in place.

He greets the archmage as though he were not backed by a small army standing ready to attack at his slightest gesture.  “Barnabus.  It is good to see you.  We are so seldom accorded the pleasure of a visit.”

Barnabus, also apparently unconcerned by the number of armed observers, answers cordially, “Some issues have been brought to my attention which I would like to discuss with the Count.”

Marmion smiles.  “Of course.  And the Count would be honored to see you.  However, your… associates are a different matter.”

“Hmm?”

“We would request that they be given over into our custody.  They are wanted for many crimes, among them:  theft, piracy, and assault on members of the County Guard.”

Barnabus appears to consider for a moment, then replies amiably.  “No, no I really don’t think that would be acceptable.”  He brushes his hands, as though that settles the matter.  “Now, are we going to stand here all afternoon, or are you going to open up?”  He smiles again and pantomimes rapping on the door.

Lord Marmion and the Guard Officer exchange a tired look.   Then, Lord Marmion shrugs.  “Captain… Open up.”

The captain raises his arm and with a shout, gives his men their orders.  While it is not exactly the instruction the party had been hoping for, it is also, admittedly, not really a surprise.  

“Fire!”


----------



## Fimmtiu

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Barnabus smiles indulgently.  “Oh no, no, no of course not…  I have the power to destroy any magic item at all within forty feet.  Little spell of my own design…  I call it _the disjunction_.”




9th level spells... Yikes! On the other hand, he'd rather destroy a vast cache of his own magic items than just kill the double-dealing Count and take them off his charred, twitching corpse. You've got to admire those kinds of principles, especially since they're so foreign to an adventurer's point of view. Excellent NPC.


----------



## Richard Rawen

I agree, Barnabus is a class act... I'm really excited to see how this turns out!


----------



## LightPhoenix

Honestly, more than the Disjunction, I want to see Barnabus bust out a Wish.


----------



## spyscribe

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> 9th level spells... Yikes!



  You're telling us.  In the upcoming combat, Fajitas gave us Barnabus' spell sheet to run him by committee.  We looked at it and jaws dropped.  If I'm not mistaken, higher level spells than we've seen any of the other archmages cast so far.

(And if you're reading this in Indianapolis, don't forget to stalk "Bad Monkey" Jeff Tidball at the Atlas Games booth!)


----------



## recentcoin

Fire! 

What a simple little word with so many meanings....

Fire! as in Ready! Aim! Fire! - a firing squad kind of thing

Fire!  as in House on fire!  - a get a bucket of kind of thing.

Fire!  as Good - you built one - as in a cooking dinner kind of thing.

Fire! as We're on fire!  - some IPO's - as in a good money kind of thing.

Nice little cliff hanger.....

RC


----------



## thatdarncat

Consider Jeff stalked


----------



## Seonaid

I forgot to find him.


----------



## thatdarncat

It's ok, I forgot to tell him what Ketterik's justice demands.


----------



## spyscribe

thatdarncat said:
			
		

> Consider Jeff stalked



Excellent! 



			
				Seonaid said:
			
		

> I forgot to find him.



Ah, he is wiley, but he will not evade you next time.


----------



## CTSparky

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Excellent!
> 
> Ah, he is wiley, but he will not evade you next time.




I unfortunately did not get to see him. Dangit! Next time any of you are on the East coast let me know, I'll do my best to say hi.


----------



## Sialia

*Totally off topic*

Spyscribe--I just overheard a rumor that you have recently relocated to my actual real neighborhood--is this true????

I am hoping this is true.

It would be very, very cool to get together.


----------



## CTSparky

update for the faithful?

Heck an update for the desperate!!!!!


----------



## spyscribe

Sialia said:
			
		

> Spyscribe--I just overheard a rumor that you have recently relocated to my actual real neighborhood--is this true????
> 
> I am hoping this is true.
> 
> It would be very, very cool to get together.



It would be very very cool to get together, and next time I am in your neighborhood and not visiting my great-aunt, we will have to do so.

However, the rumor that I will be relocating to your neighborhood on a permanent basis is, let us say, inaccurate.  (I would say that I don't know how these rumors get started, but in this case, I do.   )

It is true that I am starting a new job tomorrow, but it will not require a move.  That and out of town guests though, are responsible for the update hiccup that we're currently in the middle of.  Anyone waiting for an update, I'm hoping to post by the beginning of next week, but in the meantime, please stand by.

Thanks!


----------



## Sialia

Sigh.


 . . .disappointment.


but it would be really really cool to see you if you happened to be up visiting family around here and had time to drop us a line . . .we also have lots of spare sleeping space if you ever need somewhere to flop . .  .

(relentlessly hopeful)

anyway, i guess this means you'll get to stay with your current gaming group and keep writing this really really cool storyhour . . . so I guess it's not a total loss. (even though it would be _even _ cooler to get to actually play with you live)



As you were.


----------



## Piratecat

I figured she was an arcane spellcaster, so it was _inevitable_ (and just desserts for Fajitas!)  That'll teach me to mis-read a post. But congrats from all of us on the new job!


----------



## KidCthulhu

Piratecat said:
			
		

> I figured she was an arcane spellcaster, so it was _inevitable_ (and just desserts for Fajitas!)




She couldn't move much further west without the need for water-wings.


----------



## coyote6

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> She couldn't move much further west without the need for water-wings.




Or a lei.

Or a kimono. But then she would have gone West to the East, and that would be silly.


----------



## spyscribe

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> She couldn't move much further west without the need for water-wings.



Okay, that mental image just made my day.

And now, without further ado, a bumper-update.

*Part the Two-Hundred Fourth*
_In which: the battle is joined._

Lord Marmion begins by singing a stirring battle-hymn.  Its effects on the guards are obvious, as they straighten in their places, take aim, and send a hail of arrows down upon Barnbaus, the constructs, and the rest of the party.  There are several warmages scattered among the arches who also let fly with readied spells, one of whom sinks an _iceknife_ into Barnabus’ leg.  

It does not take long for the party to strike back. 

Reyu starts off by covering half the wall, (and a quarter of the courtyard beyond) in a huge _sleet storm_. 

When several soldiers and a warmage come stumbling along the top of the wall out of the area of the sleet storm, tests out his new _ring of the ram_ by knocking the warmage off the wall into the courtyard behind.  

The warmage goes tumbling, and Anvil gives a nod of satisfaction.

Meanwhile, Testy uses a wand of _knock_ to open the main gate…which does not open.  

Testy frowns.  Apparently, the Count has more than two spells or mechanisms keeping the gate shut. 

Thatch—not one to wait for such niceties as open doors—runs for the wall, then leaps up and grabs the edge, pulling himself up and over the crenellations.  He swings to his feet right next to one of the County guard.  A guard who is really sorry right about then that the weapon in his hands is a crossbow.

Thatch looks down into the courtyard.  An open field stands between the wall where the party is attacking and the main keep where the Count makes his residence, and presumably, waits out the battle.  There are another fifteen guards at least in the courtyard beyond those visible on the wall, and who knows how many more in the barracks off to Thatch’s right.  

He decides not to borrow trouble, and noticing that a knot of guardsmen, officers and warmages has formed at the edge of the _sleet storm_ right on the other side of the gate, signals to Barnabus.  It appears that one of the Guard officers has noticed too, as he runs forward, shouting, “Scatter you fools!  You’re in perfect—”

Which is when chaos breaks out.

Or rather, Barnabus’ _confusion_ spell breaks out.

Guardsmen babble incoherently.  Some attack their neighbors.  Others run in terror, or just wander aimlessly.  In an effort to restore some kind of order, one of the officers caught in the effect bellows with great authority, “Monkey snot!  Demand refunds!”

Above it all in swallow form, Kiara looks down on the beautiful chaos.  _Lira would have been so pleased,_ she thinks.

Reyu casts a _flaming sphere_ centered on a warmage on the front wall who was *not* knocked off by Anvil’s ring.  This is enough for Lord Marmion to apparently decides that this battle has gotten too close for comfort and (casting one last spell on himself) turns and flees back towards the keep.

He runs, skirting the mob of _confused_ guards, officers… and one rather bruised warmage.  

###

A warmage who is really not having a good day.

He catalogues his latest woes:  There was the late shift last night.  Then up early this morning.  Cold porridge for breakfast (_Most people find that the novelty of _ray of frost_ wears off after a few months_, he grouses to himself).  Then Lady Tempeste was on a tear all through their *hours* of standing review waiting for Barnabus to show up (_okay, so he’d been napping.  So what?  *Some* people need to get their eight hours a night in order to *DO THEIR BLASTED JOBS*_.  Sigh).

And then comes the damned sleet storm.  

Of course, just when he gets out of that, he gets hit with an invisible force that knocks him off the wall right on top of one of the mouth-breathing peons.  And yeah, even though everyone—well everyone in the mage’s corps—knows that the spear-carriers aren’t exactly recruited for their intelligence, they generally aren’t so addled that they *mindlessly attack* their own people.  

Even when those people *do* happen to be falling out of the sky on top of them.

It makes the warmage feel just a little better when another guard starts attacking the one on top of him, which at least gives him a chance to crawl out from under the bottom of the pile.

And if there is one thing that *he* knows, it is that his day would be going much better if not for that archmage on the other side of the gate.  It’s because of Barnabus that he had to be up at the crack of dawn this morning, and Barnabus’ fault he was standing watch on the walls all day, and hell, he’s pretty sure that Barnabus is somehow responsible for that _ray of frost_ in his oatmeal this morning.  Oh yeah, he’d like to get at that Barnabus and show him what for.  Except of course *Barnabus* is on the other side of that blasted gate…  Coward.

_Good thing I’m not affected by that damned _confusion_ spell_, he thinks to himself as he runs back into the _sleet storm_… making straight for the gate controls.

###

The pitched battle on top of the outer walls continues.  Thatch wastes the guardsman beside him and then calmly steps forward into the courtyard beyond.  It takes only a second for his new _ring of feather fall_ to kick in, and Thatch cannot help laughing at the guards on the ground watching his slow descent, open-mouthed, as a _sonic ball_ from Barnabus goes off behind them.

Eva follows, using the _slippers of spider climb_ to simply walk up the outside of the wall and then use the height advantage of her perch to start picking off _confused_ guards like so many fish in a barrel.

She’s not so worried about the guard next to her on the wall.  After all, his only reaction to her appearance was to shout, “Dizzy fish!” at the top of his lungs and gesticulate wildly.  However, _confused_ or not, he’s very adamant, and as Eva continues to ignore him, his frustration grows until he attacks her in a desperate bid to get her attention.

Eva lets out a yell of shock and pain as the guard opens a gash in her off arm.  “What is your problem?!?” she shouts back at him.

“Polish keenly!”

“Oh, well that clears everything up,” Eva mutters.  Seeing that this guy isn’t going to do her the favor of dropping dead by himself, she ditches her bow and draws her rapier.

###

Still outside the gates, Testy hears the unmistakable clunk of a final bolt opening.  He nods in satisfaction.  “That’s better,” he remarks to no one in particular.  Then, Testy notices that there is, unhelpfully, no handle with which to open the gate from the outside.  _Hmm…_.  This is a job better suited to others’ talents.  And a particular other at that.  “Woodsy!”

In two great strides, Woodsy lumbers forward.  His huge saw-hands sink easily through the metal sheathing covering the wooden gates.  With a backward heave, the giant doors begin to slowly open.

Reyu watches the widening crack between the gates, looking for defenders who might use this new vantage for attack.  She doesn’t see any, but squinting into the swirling _sleet storm_, she does see the silhouetted form of what looks one of the warmages struggling at the gate’s controls.  _Trying to get them closed again_, she thinks grimly.  Without hesitation, she nocks an arrow in her new _bow of bloodseeking_ and lets fly.  Undaunted by the mighty winds and weather, the shot flies true and the warmage drops.

Although there is no way for Reyu to know it, it is a kindness, really.

Seconds later, Anvil is forcing his way through the still slowly-opening gate.  The rest of the party is not far behind him.

###

Inside the courtyard, pandemonium reigns.  Thatch cleaves through guards two at a time, and soon those who have enough wits to do so are running for all they are worth.  Those that do soon find themselves caught between the burst of Barnabus’ _cone of cold_ and the inexorable progress of Reyu’s _flaming sphere_.

Woodsy advances through the ground troops, saws singing as they whirr through the air, “pruning” through anyone who gets in his way.  Meanwhile Testy alternates between firing off the wand of _magic missiles_ in his left hand and the wand of _sonic balls_ in his right.

Eva guts the _confused_ guard on the wall next to her and then runs down the inside face of the battlements to join the fray, falling into flanking position with Thatch around one of the few guard officers to remain on his feet.

The sergeant takes a swing at Thatch, missing heroically.  He then takes just a split second to look at the battle around him.

The sergeant is no fool.  He begins to shout, “Retrea--!”  But the sight of Eva’s rapier protruding from his stomach cuts him off an instant before his death does.

Still, the intent of his order manages to carry to the rank and file.  Although, it isn’t so much an ordered retreat as it is vaguely directed bedlam.  Half of the still-living guards are _confused_, stuck in the _sleet storm_, or both.  The party continues to press their attack, now under fire from archers shooting from arrow slits in the front of the main keep itself.

Taking note of this, Barnabus almost-casually waves a hand and a _wall of stone_ appears, blocking off all of the arrow slits down the left side the building… and the front door.

Eva and Thatch exchange worried looks.  “Umm…  How are we going to get to the Count now?”

Eva shakes her head.  “I don’t know.”  She pauses to slash at a guard coming up on her right side.  “I’m going to worry about it later.”

Thatch grits his teeth.  “Good plan.”

###

Woodsy continues to advance on a small troop of guards who are still managing to hold their ground.  “You are in my way,” the construct informs them.  “Prepare to be pruned!”  One of the soldiers bravely strikes out with his sword, hitting Woodsy’s torso underneath his raised arm.

The blow lands with a teeth-rattling CLANG!  The reverberations so strong they nearly knock the sword out of the man’s grip.  The soldiers quickly decide to be somewhere else.

###

On the edges of the fray, Anvil notices one of the warmages has taken cover by the far side of the keep and looks like he’s about to cast at Barnabus.  The archmage is still limping from the _ice knife_ he took in the leg, and Anvil will be damned if he is going to lose two arcanists to the County guard.

Stepping forward, Anvil puts himself in the warmage’s line of effect, and casts a spell of his own: _silence_.

The warmage stops abruptly in what looks to be mid-incantation.  Probably trying to figure out if the world has gone suddenly quiet or if he has gone suddenly deaf.  The distinction is about to be academic.

“There!” Anvil shouts to Barnabus, pointing to the warmage who is quickly dashing to one side to see if the unnatural quiet has an area of effect.  It does, but Anvil keeps the warmage right in the middle of it.

Meanwhile, Barnabus is casting.  “A little invention of my own,” he explains to Anvil as he completes the incantation.  “I call it the _Grasping Hand_.”

“What does it do?”

“Grasps things.”

It’s not the most subtle arcane effect Anvil has ever witnessed, but then again, Anvil is hardly a slave to subtlety himself.  A look of abject horror crosses the warmage’s face as a giant, pale hand appears, closes around him, and squeezes.

He’s eerily silent as he’s crushed to death.

Suddenly Eva’s voice rings out across the battleground.  “Anvil!  Barnabus!  Behind you!”

The two men whirl... 

...And find themselves face to face with Lady Tempeste.


----------



## jerichothebard

I'm not normally a fan of shifts of story-telling perspective, but this:



> ###
> 
> A warmage who is really not having a good day.
> 
> He catalogues his latest woes: There was the late shift last night. Then up early this morning. Cold porridge for breakfast (Most people find that the novelty of ray of frost wears off after a few months, he grouses to himself). Then Lady Tempeste was on a tear all through their hours of standing review waiting for Barnabus to show up (okay, so he’d been napping. So what? Some people need to get their eight hours a night in order to DO THEIR BLASTED JOBS. Sigh).
> 
> ...
> 
> Good thing I’m not affected by that damned confusion spell, he thinks to himself as he runs back into the sleet storm… making straight for the gate controls.
> 
> ###




is just beautiful.


----------



## Seonaid

Fantastic update. This is one of your best. What a way to start my day!


----------



## KidCthulhu

Tee-hee.  Polish keenly!  Demand refunds! I love the insane bibblings.  Nice work, Fajitas and Scribe.


----------



## thatdarncat

Woot update


----------



## The Iron Mark

jerichothebard said:
			
		

> I'm not normally a fan of shifts of story-telling perspective, but this:
> 
> is just beautiful.



Kind of reminded me of Discworld a bit.


----------



## Pyske

Very nice update!  I only cringe at haveing to wait two or three more whole updates before we see the Count's comeuppance,... but at least it sounds like there will be some nice comeuppance hors d'ovres next time.


----------



## Snipet

Woo woo!  That was so cool!  I'm just sorry I missed the actual game.  (Good thing Kiara was there to look out for everyone.  Where WOULD they all be without her... )

Wonderful update, Spyscribe!  And so GREAT to have seen you last weekend!
Miss you all lots!


----------



## CTSparky

*quick question*

I have a quick question for Fajitas.  What was the "bad day" warmage going to do at the controls?  Was he going to try and lock the doors again? or was it something else.

Great update BTW. I have to agree with Pyske that I'd love to read a super long update of the whole battle, but that is me.

Take care guys and have a good weekend.


----------



## Fajitas

CTSparky said:
			
		

> I have a quick question for Fajitas.  What was the "bad day" warmage going to do at the controls?  Was he going to try and lock the doors again? or was it something else.



Ironcially, he was trying to *open* the gate, so that he could get at Barnabus.  He'd rolled the "attack the caster (or close if attack not possible)" option on the _confusion_ spell.  The caster would be Barnabus, and the only way to close with him was to get through the gate, so...



> Great update BTW. I have to agree with Pyske that I'd love to read a super long update of the whole battle, but that is me.



Yeah, y'all say that, but I don't think you actually mean it.  Especially given that this battle covered two whole sessions (played back-to-back over the course of one weeked). That's more than I'd want to read at once.  Heck, it was more than I wanted to *run* at once...


----------



## Snipet

CTSparky said:
			
		

> What was the "bad day" warmage going to do at the controls?




The warmage's day would have included worse things than dying if he had made it out, I imagine.


----------



## Jackylhunter

Great update as always.  Quick question about the spells Reyu is casting.  I thought only clerics of Ehkt could cast fire spells, how come Reyu can cast flame sphere?  Is she a druidic Ehkt worshiper??


----------



## Fajitas

Jackylhunter said:
			
		

> Quick question about the spells Reyu is casting.  I thought only clerics of Ehkt could cast fire spells, how come Reyu can cast flame sphere?  Is she a druidic Ehkt worshiper??



Any divine caster can cast fire spells; it's only arcanists who can't cast fire.  Worshippers of any other god can cast fire spells for the same reason that you don't have to be Kettenite to cast _raise dead_, or Alirrian to cast healing spells, etc.  

Also, an interesting and relevant tidbit, elves are pretty much exclusively pantheists in the Halmae.  Try asking Reyu about humans who venerate one god about the others some times.  She'll give you a big ol' honking pointy earfull.

Thus, a) Anvil can cast _flaming sphere_ if he wanted to, and b) Reyu is an elven druid who worships Ehkt no more or less than she worships any of the other gods.


----------



## Jackylhunter

Thank you Fajitas...=)  great story hour, and great campaign!!!


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> CTSparky said:
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Great update BTW. I have to agree with Pyske that I'd love to read a super long update of the whole battle, but that is me.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> Yeah, y'all say that, but I don't think you actually mean it.  Especially given that this battle covered two whole sessions (played back-to-back over the course of one weeked). That's more than I'd want to read at once.  Heck, it was more than I wanted to *run* at once...
Click to expand...



The other drawback being you'd still be waiting for the battle to even *start*.   I have to confess, I'm not crazy about having a combat take a month or more to post either, it can really kill the flow if the breaks don't go well.  But it's what I can do at the moment, and so it's what gets done. 

However, I can offer a sort of consolation prize.  If there's interest, after the end of battle at Agramount, I will create a separate "behind the scenes" thread with my original notes from the session, some bits of my first draft, Fajitas' notes, and then the final product.

Is that something anyone would want to see?


----------



## Jackylhunter

Oh yes, anything you can post that won't spoil the drama, we'd love to see.


----------



## orsal

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Is that something anyone would want to see?




Imagine the sight of me shooting my hand up as high as I can old it, panting with childish excitement, "Yes, do that!".

I'd give you a graphic if my ASCII-art talents were more developed, so you'll have to use your imagination.


----------



## Seule

Ooh! Ooh! Yes! Yes!

  --Seule


----------



## Pyske

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Is that something anyone would want to see?




Absolutely.

Also, I don't REALLY mind multiple updates for the combat.  I was just bemoaning my eager anticipation, in an "Argh, cliffhanger!" sort of way.


----------



## brellin

Bump. Got to keep this sh. from falling into darkness


----------



## Richard Rawen

A fun read, the next battle (Lady Tempeste) should be a doozy, if Barnabas doesn't just turn the $!%@# into a fish that is 




			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> . . .  Is that something anyone would want to see?




Add me to the *YES* column


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Two-Hundred Fifth*
_In which: Euro’s revenge._

Her spiked chain is spinning so fast it sings as it slices through the air.  Before Anvil has time to react Lady Tempeste looses one end, sending it flying straight for Barnabus’ head… and misses.

The party does not intend to allow her the chance to try again.

Reyu shoots Lady Tempest, burying an arrow right in the center of the other woman’s gut.  As she fires the arrow, she can feel Euro’s claws digging into her shoulder, and suspects it’s only the desire to keep his mistress’s body out of harm’s way that prevents the furious weasel from charging her killer right then and there.

Barnabus, not liking the idea of letting Lady Tempeste get another shot at him, makes a gesture, and seconds later the _grasping hand_ appears before him.  At a claw-like motion from the archmage the _hand_ seizes Lady Tempeste and holds fast.

“Wait!” Eva calls to Barnabus as he is about to close his hand (and _hand_) into a fist.  “Don’t kill her!”

“Ah!  You want a hostage?”

“No,” she replies, approaching Lady Tempeste with a very dangerous look in her eye.  “We want to do it ourselves.”

Lady Tempeste—struggling in the _grasping hand’s_ iron grip—glowers back.

###

Meanwhile, as Thatch runs across the dirt yard to close with Lady Tempeste, he feels a strange sensation, as though all of his muscles are trying to freeze-up on him.  He grits his teeth and shakes off the feeling, but spares a second to look around for the source.

There, right by the barracks door on the right side of the courtyard, he notices a man he hadn’t seen before.  From his lack of armor or visible weapons—_along with that strange muscle freeze-up_—Thatch guesses the newcomer must be a mage of some kind.  But he isn’t wearing a guard uniform like the warmages they’ve seen so far. And his attention is only on Lady Tempeste, as though the rest of the battle is barely worth his notice.

Thatch spots Kiara in hybrid form, swooping above the battle with her bow and arrow at the ready.  He waves for her attention and points out the new player on the field.  “Back there…  spell-caster!”

Kiara barely takes the time to nod an acknowledgement before taking aim and firing at her new target.  Woodsy spies what Kiara is doing and is soon moving in, just in case the wizard has any thoughts of escape.

Given that Kiara has just buried an arrow in his thigh, escape is not seeming like a terrible option, as far as the mage is concerned.

The mage, whose name is Etienne, looks around the battlefield.  The keep remains sealed, by its own defenses and by Barnabus’ _wall of stone_.  _Good for the Count_, he thinks to himself.  The sleet storm has finally stopped, but the few survivors of it can only huddle together miserably in a corner.  Among the remaining guards still on their feet, the sight of their commander held captive in a giant floating hand is not exactly doing wonders for morale.  Come to think of it, the giant saw blades in his back aren’t doing wonders for Etienne’s _own_ morale.

He comes to a decision, and looking over his enemy calls out, “Justicar!”  

Anvil turns to find the source of the strange voice.  There, back near the barracks to one side of the courtyard, a lone mage stands, bloodied between Kiara and Woodsy.  Seeing that he has Anvil’s attention, the mage speaks again.

“A word?”

Anvil approaches with caution and a deliberate tread.  “It depends on what the word is.”

“If you can guarantee my safety from the… enthusiasm… of your compatriots, I’d like to offer you my surrender.”

Anvil is not without his suspicions.  “Why?”

The wizard gestures to the scene around them.  “I don’t appear to be on the winning side.  I’d like to rectify that.”

A pause as Anvil considers the other man’s words.  “What is your name?”

“Etienne Biber.”

“Very well.  Etienne Biber, I accept your surrender on the condition that you will not be summarily executed for your complicity in the unjust acts committed by your liege the Count Agramount.”

“You are a most honorable and reasonable man.” 

Anvil pulls a bit of knotted string from his pocket, and ties it around Etienne’s neck.  “This,” he informs the mage, “is a necklace that kills casters when they try to cast.”

Etienne doesn’t bat an eyelash.  “I find your argument most convincing, Justicar.”

###

This activity does not go unobserved by those still surrounding Lady Tempeste, who is now bleeding rather freely.

“You might want to surrender yourself,” Barnabus observes.  “These people seem very intent on killing you, and I must say I’m not unsympathetic.”

Lady’s Tempeste’s reply is not entirely distinct, but sounds suspiciously like, “Bite me.”

Barnabus makes a small shrug, and leaves the party to their work.

###

On the scale of such things, Lady Tempeste’s death is quick, but there is very little else merciful about it.  At the end, the _hand_ releases her to fall limply to the dirt.  

Euro walks over to the corpse, and defecates on it.

A quiet falls over the courtyard.  The battle is over.  Inside the keep however, it has not yet begun.


----------



## Jackylhunter

Euro walks over to the corpse, and defecates on it.

Best...Line...Evah!!!

Great update, as usual.  Please send more soon.


----------



## Angcuru

Corpse defecation...ftw?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Two-Hundred Sixth*
_In which: Barnabus finally gets to have his conversation with the Count._

The surrender of Etienne and the death of Lady Tempest serve to illustrate to the few remaining guards that perhaps, surrender is the preferable option, and the last of the Count’s forces are soon secured.

Those *outside* the keep, anyway.

Kiara flutters about excitedly.  Since she’s in hybrid form, the fluttering is literal.  “Back at the beginning of the fight, since I was in swallow form anyway, when Lord Marmion ran back into the keep, I slipped in under the eaves.”  Kiara pauses to catch her breath.  “And there were all these guards in there, and warmages, and the Count’s sons.”

“Did you see the Count?”

“No, but it looked like the important people were falling back to the throne room.”

“What about the unimportant people?”

“I think they’re waiting for us to break down a door.”

Eva makes a frustrated noise.  “Well then, let’s *not* do that.”

“Etienne?”

The mage clears his throat delicately.  “If they are going to make a stand, the throne room is probably the place for it.  I wasn’t privy to any meetings on the topic—”

“I can’t imagine why not,” Thatch mutters.

“—but it’s one of the most defensible rooms in the keep.  Only one entrance, heavy doors—”

“Barnabus?” Reyu asks.

“Hmm?  Yes?”

“Can you open a passageway directly into the throne room?  So we don’t have to deal with everyone else in the keep?”

“Oh yes, of course.  I have _passwall_ prepared for just such an occasion.”

Thatch flexes his hand around his sword hilt.  “Then let’s get moving.”

With a last check to make sure everyone is healed back to full strength, that’s exactly what they do.

###

Barnabus’ _wall of stone_ has already sealed off the front doors of the keep, but since the throne room is located against the back wall, this is more of a problem for the keep’s defenders than for the party. 

The only potential point of egress from the keep left is a kitchen door along the right side of the building.  As the party dashes past, Thatch plants his _immovable rod_ against the door, holding it shut.

Reyu gives the door a kick on her way past.  As a voice inside calls, “Hold your ground!” she grins.  _That ought to keep them busy for a bit_.

###

Once at the back of the keep, Barnabus casts _passwall_* opening a tunnel from the courtyard directly into the throne room.

_(*For the duration of this encounter, as well as the battle in the courtyard, the players ran Barnabus’ spells as well as their own characters, more or less by committee.)_

Immediately from the inside, shouts can be heard.  

Kiara goes flying in first, still in hybrid form, as Anvil calls ahead.  “We demand parley!”

There is a pause, and some speech that is too quiet for the party to make out.

“Very well.”

As the party cautiously makes their way into the throne room, Reyu notices that their passage intersects with another one—a small servant’s corridor that appears to run around the perimeter of the throne room—and instead of proceeding to egress in the throne room with the rest of her companions, the she steps off to the side to better investigate.  _After all_ she thinks, _given the Count’s history of duplicity, better to exercise caution._  She notices that Kiara has done the same.  _So much the better._

The party and Barnabus find quite a welcoming committee waiting for them.  There is the Count, of course, his son Gaston, Lord Marmion, several guards, two warmages, a well armed stranger, his armor covered in odd holy symbols, his sword blade made of a dark metal, and a man who looks shockingly like Etienne.  (Anvil takes a quick look behind him to ensure that the wizard is still waiting outside as he promised.  Indeed, Etienne stands at the other end of the _passwall_, following what happens with some interest.)

Eva lets out a small sniff.  _The Count *would* have identical twins for his Court Wizards._

The Count’s second son, Guy, and the Contessa are nowhere to be seen.

As Barnabus enters the throne room, he takes in the welcoming committee, and casts a _globe of invulnerability_, standing so that most of the party members fall within its sphere.

The Count makes no comment until Barnabus finishes casting.  “Really, Barnabus, I thought we had a better relationship than that.”

Barnabus nods soberly.  “So had I.  But that was before I learned of some of your less savory practices.”

“Less savory?  Have I ever been anything but a generous host to you?” 

“The objects you brought me to enchant for you were made by slave labor.”

The Count smiles rather patronizingly.  “Did I ever tell you they weren’t?  Barnabus, you never cared about that sort of thing before the intrusion of these…” he makes a gesture of distaste towards the party, “interlopers.”

Barnabus’ voice takes on unexpected steel.  “Count Agramont,” he says, “it is my intention to leave your service.”

“Are you quite certain about that?”

“I am.”

The Count sighs.  “I was afraid this day would come.”  He gestures for the well armed man the party does not recognize to step forward.  “So, you see, I took certain precautions.  For instance, I enlisted the aid of this gentleman, Munzir von Shreicthelm.  Or, as they call him in Dar Und, the Anarcanist.  They say he has slain more arcane casters than any man alive.  A true artisan when it comes to killing wizards.  So, of course, I simply had to have him.”

The so-called Anarcanist sneers at Barnabus, his hands shifting on the hilt of his sword, his dark eyes fixed upon the wizard.

“Of course,” the Count continues, “it doesn’t have to be this way.  You can return to your island, surrender these renegades to me, and we can forget this entire incident ever happened.  Come now, what do you say?  Our relationship has always been mutually beneficial.  Are you really willing to throw it all away?”

When he is certain the Count is quite finished, Barnabus clears his throat.  “In addition, upon my departure, I will require the return of all of the items I have enchanted for you.”

The Count’s face darkens.  “I see.”

He turns and shoots the barest glance towards Gaston.  And an instant later a black bolt is shooting from Gaston’s fingertips straight at Thatch.

And that’s when things get interesting.


----------



## Gold Roger

You modern kids and your cliffhangers.

I'm telling you, all the storyhour writers these days are using is those dastardly cliffhangers. And it's not only the storyhours, it's the TV to, and recently I went to the cinema and at the end of the movie, guess what?

Right, a cliffhanger.

It's like some pest or something, cliffhangers everywhere. Must be a corporate thing. Next thing you know you go and buy a good old adventure module and guess what, you'll get a cliffhanger at the end.

Back in my days there wheren't any of those cliffhangers. You'd buy a module, kill monsters and at the end of one sessions you'd know exactly what you'd be doing at the start of your next session- kill more monsters, or make a new character, because the monster got you for a change.

But the important part was that you died before the end of the session. You kids, you'll propably stop a session when you see someone low on HP, just to have one of your precious cliffhangers, makes me sick, it does!

[/cranky old man]

In other words, keep up the good work, I'm greatly enjoing myself.

Edit: cleaned up rotten grammar- just look what you did to my poor brains with your cliffhanger


----------



## Fajitas

Gold Roger said:
			
		

> But the important part was that you died before the end of the session. You kids, you'll propably stop a session when you see someone low on HP, just to have one of your precious cliffhangers, makes me sick, it does!



Mental note: Don't tell Gold Roger where we ended our last session...


----------



## el-remmen

I'm sorry.  I think G.R. had just come from reading my story hour's last installment and after reading this last Halmae one his mind just snapped!  

Anyway, great great stuff as usual.

Question: When Anvil asked for parley, this allowed the party (and allies) to all walk into the throne room, as opposed to allowing the Count and his allies the tactical advantage of the attackers having to pass through the _passwall_ one at a time. . .

Was this just for dramatic expediency?  Fatal arrogant flaw of the Count?  I mean, theoritically, any parley could have been done by calling through the _passwall_?


----------



## Fajitas

el-remmen said:
			
		

> Was this just for dramatic expediency?  Fatal arrogant flaw of the Count?  I mean, theoritically, any parley could have been done by calling through the _passwall_?



It was one part dramatic expediency, and actually one part game design.  I had certain things that I needed the Count to say to the PCs before the fight began.  Specifically, I needed him to introduce the Anarcanist, and to state that he had made preparations for the day Barnabus might turn on him. That is, I needed him to give the PCs the tactical information that there was a very real, very dangerous threat to Barnabus in this encounter.  That kind of intentionality is very important to me as a GM.

There were also a couple of other bits of information in there I needed to get out, but it's a bit early to talk about them.

Personally, I don't remember if there was a literal parley called in game, or if the PCs just entered and they spoke before the fight.  I typically trust Spyscribe's notes and sense of the dramatic on these things.


----------



## CTSparky

*to Fajitas et all*

Fajitas, thanks for the background on the reason for parley.  I was wondering that maybe next gencon/winter fantasy you and a bunch of other GMs would elaborate on the methods and tips that you do to make your game so good.  
Heck, it doesn't even need to be at a con you could just talk about it in a thread.

Thanks again for the wonderful game, and Spyscribe keep up the good work.


----------



## beldar1215

Well now I'm depressed!! After about 2 months of reading at work I'm all caught up. Well now it's just a waiting game.

SpyScribe: Everyone has said this, but I'll say it agian, Great Storyhour. You could turn this into a novel and it would sell huge!

Fajitas: I wish I had your skill at running a Campagin. Just from reading this I know it would be so much fun to play in your game!!

Keep up the great work and I can't wait for the next update.

Beldar


----------



## Richard Rawen

blatant bumpage


----------



## spyscribe

_Ah, at last... the update!_

*Part the Two-Hundred Seventh*
_In which: our adventurers take on the Count… and friends._

Meanwhile, as the parley with the Count has been going on, Kiara and Reyu have been sneaking carefully down the interior passageway.

Kiara notices that she can hear everything that is going on inside the throne room perfectly, and discovers that the passage has several outlets into the throne room itself, cunningly concealed behind tapestries.

_So that’s how all those servants came right out of the walls_, she marvels.  

However, servants aren’t the only ones who can take advantage of a hidden hallway.  As Kiara comes around a corner, she discovers two warmages and the Count’s second son, Guy, poised at the hidden gaps in the tapestries and ready to unleash their fury into the room.

Kiara shouts.  

“Snipers!”  

Guy immediately whirls away from the throne room.  Behind Kiara in the passageway, Reyu has begun the process of _summoning_ a dire wolf, but the complex invocations required will leave Guy plenty of time to act.

Guy immediately whirls away from the throne room and draws his rapier, advancing towards Kiara.  Kiara takes to the air as best she can in the confined space, to make herself a more difficult target.  As she does so, she catches a glimpse through the tapestries of Gaston sending a black bolt of seething negative energy straight for Thatch.

###

Inside the throne room, Thatch flinches as the oily black energy screams towards him, but he holds his ground.  After all, that’s about the smartest thing you can do when someone’s trying to launch a magical attack at you when you’re standing inside a _globe of invulnerability_.

The bolt impacts Barnabus’ field, causing a brief shimmer across the surface of the _globe_ before dissipating harmlessly.  Thatch smirks.

Anvil wastes no time in seizing the initiative.  “Count Agramount!” he bellows, “I call upon Kettenek to smite you for the injustices you have practiced in your realm.  Crimes including but not limited to: kidnapping, unlawful enslavement, assault, and murder!”

The ground beneath the keep trembles and a surge of _deific vengeance_ hurtles towards the Count… only to vanish instantly as it impacts his _anti-magic field_.  

Barnabus’ eyes darken.  Anvil scowls.

There is a brief silence.

“Well,” Eva mutters under her breath.  “This could get old really quickly.”  And with that she draws her sword, lunges forward and slashes at the nearest enemy in reach.  

The battle is joined, and as guards run forward, warmages cast, and the party returns fire, the Count calmly takes a step back and prepares to watch the carnage.

###

Testy pulls out yet another wand from his seemingly unending supply and attempts to snare the Count in a _web_.  He’s protected by his _field_, but the sticky strands do ensnare Gaston, two warmages, an officer of the Guard, and the man the Count called the Anarcanist.

That last swears loudly, and lets out a nearly animal snarl as he hacks and slashes his way through the stiff and heavy strands.  Beside him, Gaston gathers himself and begins to cast a spell of his own.

Eva tries to figure out what the Count’s son is up to, but there are so many spells flying around it’s hard to tell.  A _freezing sphere_ has suddenly materialized in the middle of the room and is rolling straight at Woodsy, Barnabus has started an _ice storm_ in another corner, there’s a crack of summoned _lightning_ from just behind a tapestry, and she’s pretty sure she caught a glimpse of an _acid arrow_ out of the corner of her eye.  

The effect of ice, acid, web, and crackling holy energy all in one small space is more than a little surreal.  Eva grits her teeth.  _Steel in hand, enemy in reach,_ she reminds herself.  _Concentrate on what you know.  Don’t worry about what you don’t until you have to_.

Unfortunately, a few seconds later, she encounters something she knows all too well.  Because at that second, from the shadows of two columns in the center of the room, two hunched figures melt out of the darkness.*  

The Count watches, inordinately pleased as Eva flinches.  “Oh, didn’t I mention?  The Anarcanist brought along a couple of friends.  Null shadows, he calls them.  Fascinating creatures, no?  After they’ve killed you all, I’m planning to give them a place of honor in the menagerie.”

Black mist rolls off the bodies of the creatures that the party has come to call shadowbeasts.  They sniff the air, scanning, scanning… and then lock in on Barnabus.

The null shadows rush the archmage, rushing through the _globe of invulnerability_, as though it wasn’t even there.  Barnabus briefly frowns.  _Well, of course they can rush right through,_ he thinks.  _Who decided to call that spell a _globe of invulnerability_ anyway?_  Still the archmage isn’t too worried until he notices that the null shadows are also unaffected by any of his _other_ abjurations.  _Oh.  Now this could be a problem._

In seconds, the creatures’ claws are ripping through Barnabus’ fragile skin and pulling away chunks of aged flesh.  

The burning wounds left behind on his body are bad enough, but as the creatures momentarily withdraw their claws, Barnabus feels _the disjunction_—one of his most powerful spells—ripped from his mind.   The shock of violation leaves him more shaken than the physical pain.  

Another option off the table.

Still standing at the back of the room, the Count smiles.

It’s right about then that Gaston manages to _dispel_ the _web_ trapping him and others in the corner.  And as soon as the _web_ drops, the Anarcanist charges forward, straight for the bleeding Barnabus.

Eva throws herself at the mage-killer as he passes, slashing him on the thigh, but it’s not enough to stop him, or even slow him down.  As the Anarchanist brings his broadsword down on the injured, elderly archmage, time seems to slow.  With all of his magical protections at full-effect, the Barnabus should be nearly untouchable in melee combat.  

But as the Anarcanist’s blade touches each abjuration surrounding Barnabus there is a shimmer and burst of light, and Barnabus feels his wards stripped from him.  At the last second, he manages to dodge to one side, taking what would have been a killing blow on his clavicle instead of his skull.

_(DM’s note: the effect of the Anarcanist’s blade was the result of a grossly over-powered feat that I gave him from Complete Arcane, which—while grossly overpowered—is *really* useful for killing wizards.)_

Barnabus barely manages to choke out, “Anvil!” as he stumbles backwards.  He catches himself on the wall behind him, dizzy and weakened by the pain and loss of blood.

Anvil gives up on his useless attempts to _dispel_ the Count’s protective _field_ and dashes to Barnabus’ side.

As all this is going on, Lord Marmion falls back to the wall beside the Count, and Kiara—who has snuck into the room past a tapestry—stings him with an arrow.  He glares at her as he clutches the wound with one hand and uses the other to cast back at her.

Kiara doesn’t recognize the spell, but for a moment, it strikes her how absolutely absurd this entire situation is.  A room filled with magical ice, sleet, lightning, and a guy who calls himself *the Anarcanist*?  What kind of a name is that?  She puts a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle a giggle.  She just knows that if she starts laughing, she won’t be able to stop.  

And at that moment, teetering on the brink of helpless laughter, she catches a glimpse of the shadowbeast menacing Barnabus.  She’s seen them before.  They’re the creatures that attacked Annika in the desert, the ones who killed her old familiar during the fire at the Academy.  

Her laughter dies behind her lips, and Kiara realizes it must have been an effect of Lord Marmion’s spell.  

Because there’s nothing funny about the situation at all.

###

Barnabus couldn’t agree more.  Anvil sinks his sword into one of the shadowbeasts menacing the archmage and then fends off another attack from the Anarcanist.  Barnabus takes advantage of the brief respite and casts _forcecage_.  The protective barrier snaps into place not a moment too soon, surrounding himself, Anvil, and a quick-flying Kiara.  

Safe for the moment, Anvil casts _cure serious wounds_ on Barnabus.  He can’t heal all of the archmage’s injuries, but at least Barnabus no longer appears to be on death’s door.

The Anarcanist’s sword shudders as it impacts the bars of the _forcecage_, but it does not go through.  Woodsy takes advantage of the mage-killer’s distraction to saw at his back with his whirling saw-blade hands.  When Eva buries an arrow in his side, the Anarcanist is finally forced to turn from Barnabus and deal with the immediate threat.  

He swings his sword around at Woodsy, but apparently his mage-killing prowess doesn’t extend to constructs; none of his attacks manage to land.

In the hidden hallway, Reyu has used Shesak’s horn to summon a bear.  She sends it in to attack alongside the dire wolf that she summoned earlier.  With wild animals coming out of literally nowhere, the Count’s second son, Guy, ducks through the tapestries into the throne room.  Reyu follows.

She finds the battle going full-force.  Thatch and Eva frustratingly have their hands full dealing with the Count’s officers and elite battle-mages and are unable to reach the Count himself.  Swords are swinging, another _freezing sphere_ appears and an _ice-knife_ shatters at Eva’s feet.

One of the shadowbeasts has turned on Testy, and is sinking its claws into the construct.  For his part, Testy seems torn between whether to be concerned at the damage he is suffering or intrigued by its source.  Now pinned to the floor, Testy pulls out a wand and casts a _lightning bolt_ at the creature crouched on his chest.  The spell passes through the creature as though it wasn’t even there.

_Fascinating_ Testy thinks.

The second shadowbeast hasn’t been distracted from its fixation on Barnabus.  As other attacks are deflected off the _forcecage_ the creature comes forward and sniffs at the barely visible bars.  They’re closely set, with barely an inch of clearance between them.

Anvil has a moment of relief, thinking that perhaps they’ve found one magical effect that the shadow abominations are not immune to.  But then, the creature leans its weight against the magical enclosure… and *pushes* its way through.


----------



## dpdx

Would killing the Anarcanist dissipate the null shadows?

Because otherwise, this is looking like multiple PC fatalities at a _minimum_. Of course, the battle on the boat looked like that, too.

You folks _rule_ the Story Hour.


----------



## spyscribe

Aw thanks, dpdx.

There's a funny story about the null shadows that came up this game actually.  It happened when Fajitas was describing their first appearance.

_Imagine, if you will...

Fajitas: And then, out of the shadows of the columns, come two hunched, humanoid figures--
Spyscribe: Oh.  So that's a change.
Fajitas: ... No..._

You would think that over nearly three years of gaming, and not only gaming, but _rehashing those games in this very thread_ (which involves quite a bit of back and forth between the two of us) somehow this little detail would have been communicated.

And all of a sudden Fajitas figured out why we thought the shadow creatures might have had something to do with the boar-like animals the Miyen elves were being attacked by.

There's a lesson for everyone in there somewhere.  I just have no idea what it is.


----------



## Starch

*What's this??*

What's this??    A cliffhanger... and nothing more to read?! Noooo! The Pain! The pa-a-ain... *sob* 

Wonderful Story Hour! I am particularly impressed with how you have created an immersive world and created an environment where each player is heavily invested in their character, Fajitas.

Thank you spyscribe (and others) for such beautiful writing, which brings the story alive.

And kudos to all the people who play in that game. Am I right that most of the party dialogue written into the Story Hour was actually roll-played at the table (the way it should be)?? 

Did I mention I'm a big fan of sessions that end in cliffhangers?


----------



## el-remmen

I'm not sure I get what you're saying. ..  but maybe its because I don't remember the boar-creatures you are talking about. . . did they have to do with the elf-god guy who guarded the pit in the earth for the elves?

Didn't that pit in the ground have null shadows come out of them before?

My memory is fuzzed.


----------



## Fajitas

El Pirato! said:
			
		

> I'm not sure I get what you're saying. ..  but maybe its because I don't remember the boar-creatures you are talking about. . . did they have to do with the elf-god guy who guarded the pit in the earth for the elves?
> 
> Didn't that pit in the ground have null shadows come out of them before?




The problem came about because I did not quite fully describe the Null Shadows the first time they appeared.  I had, in my head, a clear image of crouching humanoids, with glowing red eyes, long claws, and strangely, snuffling noses.  In fact, as I described them, I stoop on my chair, crouched down, and made sniffing, snuffling sounds with little growls.

Creepy and effective, if I don't say so myself.

What I forgot to mention was that they were humanoid.

So the players all saw me crouched down snuffling like an animal, and assumed that the Null Shadows were animal-like creatures, rather than humanoid.

We didn't discover the visualization gap until this session.

Which explained a lot.  It explained why, when the Miyen Kai (elven god thing) described the evil nasty boar-like things (the ones that came out of the hole in the ground) to the party, they thought they might be shadowbeasts (Null Shadows).  It also explained why, way back during the Mages Academy fire, Spyscribe chose to use the word haunches when describing the creatures.  I thought it was an odd choice at the time, but figured "what the heck.  Writer's choice."

Now we're all on the same page.  



Um, d'arrrrrr.


----------



## el-remmen

Ah! I see!

Yeah, well. ..  obviously, I though the elf-guy was talking about Null Shadows as well.

Edit: But oddly, I always thought of the Null Shadows as hunched humanoids.


----------



## spyscribe

Thanks Starch, and welcome.



			
				Starch said:
			
		

> And kudos to all the people who play in that game. Am I right that most of the party dialogue written into the Story Hour was actually roll-played at the table (the way it should be)??




For the most part, yes.  I touch on this in some detail in the promised "table-to-page-to-screen" thread, but my rule of thumb is that if there is a partiuclarly witty, touching, or apt line of dialogue in the story hour... it probably got said at the table.

It makes sense, if the line was that good, it'll stick out.  I'll remember it, and so does the reader.  We are also fortunate to have a table full of smart and engaged players.  The fact that three of us are screenwriters doesn't hurt either.


----------



## coyote6

El Pirato! said:
			
		

> Edit: But oddly, I always thought of the Null Shadows as hunched humanoids.




I thought of 'em as humanoid; not sure about the hunched part, though.

But I also read about them in Sagiro's story hour, which probably helped shape the image.

Hey, Spyscribe, Fajitas -- are you folks planning on going to Gen Con SoCal this year?


----------



## KidCthulhu

dpdx said:
			
		

> Would killing the Anarcanist dissipate the null shadows?




I can't speak for what modifications Fajitas may have made to his Null Shadows, but as they run in Sagiro's game, no.  They just focus on the next highest arcane caster in the room, and if one of those is not available they head for the divine casters.


----------



## spyscribe

coyote6 said:
			
		

> Hey, Spyscribe, Fajitas -- are you folks planning on going to Gen Con SoCal this year?



 I have no idea.  If experience is any guide, I won't know for sure until the Wednesday before the weekend.


----------



## dpdx

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> I can't speak for what modifications Fajitas may have made to his Null Shadows, but as they run in Sagiro's game, no.  They just focus on the next highest arcane caster in the room, and if one of those is not available they head for the divine casters.



Gulp. Maybe they can be banished, or plane shifted.

I always visualize them as a much smaller, wispier version of the Tarrasque, such as they would crouch and grumble like a four-legged beast, and about as easy to kill.

They just lost Lira. It's going to be horrible if they lose Barnabus, but even worse if that null shadow gets to the _next_ strongest arcanist.


----------



## CTSparky

*bump*

I'm dying here guys..
Spyscribe revive me!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Two-Hundred Eighth*
_In which: we beg to remind the party that their task was to give the archmage an invitation, not to get him killed._

The front half of the shadowbeast inexorably pushes its way into the cage with Barnabus, Anvil and Kiara.

Anvil raises his _thundering_ warhammer, bringing it right down onto the unnatural creature’s forehead.

The weapon passes as though through empty air.

Not good.  

Anvil withdraws, pressing Barnabus out of the way behind him.

The creature has passed completely into the forcecage, and now the shimmering closely-set bars of force serve to protect it from any attack from the rest of the room.

Most of the rest of them room anyway.  Reyu knows that for whatever reason, the sheadow-creatures are immune to magical attacks.  Watching Anvil’s new warhammer pass through it without effect, it would seem that this protection would extend to magical weapons as well.

So, she takes a perfectly ordinary arrow.  One that she made herself, in fact.  Normally, striking a target through the narrow gaps of the _forcecage_ would be an impossible shot.  But using the _bow of bloodseeking_ she recently got from Baranbus, it’s barely a challenge.

Reyu lets go of her bowstring and her arrow flies true.  Delicately snaking past Testy, it threads the bars of the _forcecage_ as though they weren’t even there.  It then flies through the shadowbeast like so much smoke, skittering across the throne-room floor.

_Kettenek’s Halls._

_(Note:  You can imagine the cries of frustration around the table.  Here we are, sixth level, loaded with some of the most powerful magic in the Halmae, and these things were giving us more trouble than they had during the fire at the Mages’ Academy.)_

Hovering in hybrid form in the corner of the _forcecage_ farthest from the dark creature, Kiara feels a strange calm fall over her as she readies her bow.  She doesn’t think about the fact that a monstrosity very similar to this one killed Annika’s last familiar.  She doesn’t think about the fact that she’s now trapped with one, or that since Barnabus’s spells and Anvil’s new magical warhammer are useless against it, killing it is really up to her.  Instead, she simply draws her bowstring, aims, and lets the arrow fly.

As soon as her fingers loose her shot, time resumes its normal speed.  In a second, Kiara finds her arrow, buried half its length in the shadowbeast’s eye.  The creature howls in pain and rage.  Kiara reaches for another arrow.

Anvil takes advantage of the shadowbeat’s momentary distraction to cast _cure serious wounds_ on Barnabus.   The archamge gives a curt nod of thanks, and then, ignoring the threat he can do nothing about, turns his attention to a threat he can.

Namely, the rest of the room.

Up until this point, Baranbus, and the rest of the party, have been trying to minimize damage to the Count’s minions.  Most of them probably have no idea what sort of man their leader truly is, and will hopefully fall into line once the Count is removed from the equation.  But as warmages and guard officers continue to hammer away at them while the Count is untouched, clearly the time for such concerns has passed.

Barnabus sends a _chain lightning_ sizzling out from between the bars of the _forcecage_ hits the Anarcanist… and blows him to smithereens.  The only remnant of the would-be mage-killer is a dark smear on the Count’s masterfully crafted tile.  Barnabus makes a small sound of satisfaction.

Secondary bolts knock two more of the Counts defenders to the ground, unquestionably dead, and cause Eteinne’s look-alike to stagger and nearly fall to his knees.

Although untouched by the _lightning_, the Count does not look nearly as happy as he did mere moments ago.

The events of the next few seconds hardly improve his mood.  Woodsy two-hands the shadow-beast still crouched on top of Testy, whirling blades throwing out chunks of solid shadow until for a moment the two constructs are obscured in a black cloud.  Quickly, the black lightens to grey, and then fades entirely.  The null shadow is gone.

Out of sight in the passage, come the sounds of a bear and wolf feasting on their enemies.  Eteinne’s twin attempts to strike back by casting a set of _magic missiles_ at Barnabus, but the bolts are absorbed harmlessly by the pin holding the archmage’s robes.

Unfortunately, the shadowbeast in the _forcecage_ has regained its senses following Kiara’s attacks and slashes at Barnabus, drawing blood and ripping another carefully-prepared spell from the archamge’s mind.  

Out of arrows, Kiara whips out a dagger, and with a flick of the wrist flings it into the shadow creature’s neck.  The beast screams as it boils away into nothing, and the dagger clatters to the ground.

Anvil is about to heal Barnabus again when he realizes that he is not in great shape himself, and is also running very low on healing spells.  Since the battle still rages, Anvil decides that this is probably the sort of situation that Professor Alexandra had in mind when she gave them certain magic items, “[post= 1511298]in case of emergency[/post].”  _Too bad Lira isn’t here_, he thinks, _she had all those glass spheres… Oh, right.  I have them now._

Reaching into a secure pocket of his tunic, Anvil draws out a glowing ball of blue glass.  Dredging the Professor’s instructions from his memory, Anvil picks a spot where as many members of the party as possible will be within range, raises his arm, and smashes the globe against the stone floor.

Instantly, a radiant blue light flashes out into the room.  Anvil feels the familiar warmth of divine healing, and watches as his companions’ wounds close even as they continue the fight.

Barnabus detonates a _sonic ball_ on the Count’s allies who remain outside their leader’s _antimagic field_.  Two of the warmages practically burst where they stand, and the Count’s son Gaston clutches his head, bleeding from his ears. 

Gaston attempts to ready a counter-attack, but before he can muster one he finds himself charged by a very angry Woodsy.  The half-elf’s sap sprays, and Gaston is soon dead at his attacker’s giant metal feet.

Reyu’s summoned bear has run out of targets in the passage outside the throne room and comes charging in towards the Count.  She calls to him, “Wait!” But as he closes to ten feet, he runs into the Count’s _field_ and abruptly vanishes.

Reyu calls down a _lightning strike_ and toasts an officer not in the _antimagic field_.

Thatch grins.  Without distractions, it’s time for him to do what he does best.  He doesn’t need magic to take care of the Count or his lackeys.  And he charges ahead straight for the Count’s son Guy. 

Broadsword clashes with rapier, but Guy is quick where Thatch is strong, and not as hopelessly overmatched as it might seem.  He nicks the fighter’s thigh and smirks.

The Count frowns, and muttering under his breath, he draws his own rapier from its scabbard, and takes a few steps forward allowing Guy to flank Thatch.

Guy grins and his next hit goes deep.  Thatch bleeds freely, but grits his teeth and continues the fight.  That’s when he feels the Count’s blade behind him, sinking into his shoulder not once, but twice.

And that is the last straw.

Thatch sets his stance, draws back his sword and when he sees his opening, drives it forward through Guy’s stomach and out the other side by his spine.  The Count’s son is dead before he hits the ground.   

Without missing a beat, Thatch swings his blade around and puts a gash in the Count’s shoulder to match the ones the Count so generously gave him moments ago.  The Count barely manages to avoid a second strike, and for a moment stares at the Thatch, as if stunned the fighter had the audacity to hit him.
The Count’s shock does not last however.  In seconds, he takes in the situation in the rest of the room.  With a quick gesture he dismisses his _antimagic field_, allowing his ring of _expeditious retreat_ to become active once again.  And then, the Count takes to his heels and runs.

An officer tries to follow, but Thatch almost casually decapitates him as he runs by.

The rest of the remaining defenders scatter, but none get very far.  The wolf takes down a stray warmage, and Marmion falls to Testy’s _magic missiles_.  Reyu sends a _lightning bolt_ after the Count as he flees, but while it certainly doesn’t make him happy, it isn’t enough to stop him.

“Cover the exits!” Anvil bellows.  “He cannot be allowed to escape unpunished!”

The party scatters, sweeping the building for any remaining troops loyal to the Count, but finds no organized resistance.  Taking up positions to watch the keep’s exits, they wait for the Count to make his escape, but after several minutes, he still has not emerged.

The party goes through the keep and surrounding buildings again, this time more thoroughly.  Barnabus leads the way, eyes snapping with anger, but the Count and Countess are nowhere to be found.

###

Outside in the courtyard, Eva interrogates Etienne at knife-point.  The wizard looks faintly aggrieved.

“Is the poniard really necessary?  I did give my parole, after all.”

Eva doesn’t move her dagger from its position against Etienne’s chest.  She has no intention of cutting him, but it’s been a very trying week, and the Islanders don’t exactly have the best track-record for honestly thus far.  “Just answer the question.”

“Well, I don’t know where he’s gone.  Do you think I’d let him waltz right by me and not say something?  And really… I detest being a bore about this, but the knife—”

“Are there any other exits?!?”  Eva demands.

Etienne thinks.  “No, no, I don’t believe so.  Barnabus blocked most of them with his spell,” he indicates Barnabus’ _wall of stone_ covering most of the front side of the keep.  “You’ve blocked the kitchen with what I must say is a quite ingenious use of an _immovable rod_… Oh, I then I guess there would be the Count’s personal escape tunnel.”

Eva restrains herself from stabbing loquacious wizard… barely.  When she gets a handle on her temper she asks slowly through clenched teeth, “Where is the Count’s.  Personal. Escape.  Tunnel?” 

Etienne quickly realizes that brevity is the soul of wit.  “I’ll show you.”

###

Etienne guides the party to a concealed doorway in a gallery not far from the throne room.  It is opened in short order, and Eva leads the way through a twisting stone corridor.  She trips one safeguard, and finds herself clutched by a dozen rubbery black tentacles seemingly growing from the floor, (“Oh,” says Barnabus, “I wondered what he wanted those for,”) but thanks to her new slick armor, they don’t give her too much trouble.

The good news is that the party seems to have finally located the Count’s escape route.  The stone passage descends underground from the keep, then levels out until finally emerging at a small dock in a hidden cove on the far side of the island.

Unfortunately, by the time they arrive, the dock is deserted.  A single mooring rope hangs limply in the water, but of the Count and Countess, there is no sign.



			
				DM's note said:
			
		

> WORLD NOTE: For the record, the total death toll for this combat was as follows:
> 28 County Guardsmen (Warrior 1)
> 9 Warmages (Warmage 4)
> 7 County Guard Officers (Fighter 4)
> 2 Null Shadows
> 1 County Guard Chaplain (Cleric 4) – 2 more of these were present but survived.
> Lord Marmion (Bard 6)
> Gaston (Cleric 6)
> Guy (Rogue 6)
> Moritz, The Anarcanist (Barbarian 6)
> Florismart, Etienne’s twin (Wizard 7)
> Lady Tempeste (Fighter 6/Exotic Weapon Master 1)
> PLUS
> Etienne (Wizard 7) – surrendered
> Count Agramount (Aristocrat 11) – escaped
> 
> Also worth noting that Florismart was *supposed* to trap Barnabus in a hemispherical wall of ice once the null shadows were in melee range.  I don’t recall why that didn’t happen, but it would have been UGLY.  As it was, he lost more than 60 hit points to the null shadows before the party took them out of commission.


----------



## Ciaran

That's quite a death toll!  And well told, as usual.

Why didn't Reyu's summoned bear reappear after the Count dismissed the antimagic field?


----------



## coyote6

Ciaran said:
			
		

> Why didn't Reyu's summoned bear reappear after the Count dismissed the antimagic field?




Duration might've expired. They were 6th level, it might've been long enough for the bear's time to run out.


----------



## thatdarncat

Woot! Go team justice!


----------



## Fajitas

coyote6 said:
			
		

> Duration might've expired. They were 6th level, it might've been long enough for the bear's time to run out.



And it's possible, it's just possible, that I just forgot.  

Wouldn't be the first time.

As it was, there were two other things that I forgot in that fight: the first was the sigil of Summon Monster VII installed in the center of the throne room, set to summon 5 Fiendish Dire Deionychuses whenever someone crossed over it (which would have been Thatch, by the way).  I remembered that one in the middle of the fight, but at that point it seemed kinda like overkill anyway. 

The other thing that I forgot was that someone in the party was still carrying the stone sigil that they found when they killed the ooze creature back on Water Island.  That should have had certain effects on them, especially when it came to attacking members of the Count's Court.  I wrote myself a reminder in big letters at the top of my notes during this fight, but every time it came up I forgot about it.

>sigh< So many ways to hose the PCs, so little time.


----------



## jerichothebard

Fajitas said:
			
		

> ... I wrote myself a reminder in big letters at the top of my notes during this fight, but every time it came up I forgot about it.
> 
> >sigh< So many ways to hose the PCs, so little time.



I feel your pain.  Last session, my PCs offed my BBEG with a _poison_ spell and a sneak attack.

Which isn't so bad, really.







Except for the part where the BBEG had a template that gave him the elemental type.






Elementals, you will recall, are immune to poison and sneak attacks.  The total damage from those two attacks should have been exactly two points, from the knife wound.

>sigh< Indeed.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Ah, but there are always more BBEGs.  It's kind of funny how they just keep cropping up.  They're gluttons for punishment.


----------



## Seonaid

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Barnabus sends a _chain lightning_ sizzling out from between the bars of the _forcecage_ hits the Anarcanist… and blows him to smithereens.  The only remnant of the would-be mage-killer is a dark smear on the Count’s masterfully crafted tile.  Barnabus makes a small sound of satisfaction.



Yay! ::cheers::


----------



## coyote6

Yeah, I'm always forgetting stuff. I spent at least a half-dozen sessions forgetting that one PC was wearing booby-trapped armor, that was supposed to trigger when she exerted herself. Fight after fight of tumbling, jumping, stabbing, and it isn't until I'm packing up the minis that the thought, "Hey, trapped armor!" appears.

D'oh . . .


----------



## dpdx

Man, I'm sorry I ever doubted the party!

What'd that take, like, three rounds after I was convinced we were headed for multiple fatalities? Who knew that null shadows just needed a beating?

Anyway, on to the distribution of loot- er, the repatriation of Barnabus' carefully-crafted magic items!


----------



## CTSparky

*thank you*

Spyscribe, I just wanted to say that I was on death's door when I saw that there was an update.  I'm back to full health.

Thanks again guys for making my day.


----------



## babomb

I recently started a new campaign, and have gratuitously stolen several things from this story hour, not the least of which is the gods. However, my party is starting in an area that is the analogue to the Sovereignty. Also, one of the PCs is a paladin of Kettenek, and I couldn't resist naming his superior Anvil the Just. Just thought I'd let you know.


----------



## spyscribe

Hey everyone!

Remember how I promised I'd post my notes once the fight was over?  Well, it is and I have.  Check out my adaptation thread in this very forum: http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=177160.


----------



## el-remmen

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Remember how I promised I'd post my notes once the fight was over?  Well, it is and I have.  Check out my adaptation thread in this very forum: http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=177160.




That's all well and good and interesting, but. .. uh, when are we going to see the next installment of the tale of our intrepid heroes?


----------



## beldar1215

17 days since the last update. Spyscribe, we need another update soon. I'm getting twitchy!!

Beldar


----------



## spyscribe

Hey all, next update should be up by the end of the week.  

In the meantime, see if you can get Fajitas to explain the "crazed weasel of death" mechanic over in the adaptation thread.  It was a great bit that we never (alas) got to see in action.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Two-Hundred Ninth*
_In which: well, we’ve deposed the Count… what happens now?_

Since Etienne didn’t elect to accompany the party through the Count’s secret escape tunnel, the adventurers return to find him in the throne room looking down at the corpse of his double.  

There is an awkward pause.  Finally, Eva breaks it.  “Yeah, who is that guy anyway?”

Etienne sighs.  “My twin brother, Florismart.”  

This leads to a rather awkard pause.  Finally, Kiara asks, “You okay?”  

“Fine.  Perfectly fine.”  Etienne makes a distracted gesture.  “And look… he died right by Gaston.  Probably begging for healing…  I always told him, ‘Just put your hands up, and you won’t *need* healing.’  …Idiot.”

They party withdraws, allowing the odd wizard to mourn in private, when he turns to call after them.  “You’ll need someone to maintain order.”

Reyu blinks.  “Order?”

“Among the troops.  With Lady Tempeste gone, barracks discipline is bound to slip with no one in the top post.  You’ll need someone with experience to take charge.” He lets the thought dangle suggestively.

“And that would be you?”

Etienne shrugs modestly.  “I believe I’ve proven my trustworthiness to you and your companions, and the men do know and respect me already.”

Reyu’s is confused.  “They respect you… *and* they know you?”

Etienne makes a small, insulted, noise, and turns away.

###

The first thing Anvil does after the battle, naturally, is to send for the local high-ranking Justicar so that the rule of law might be quickly and firmly established.  With typical Justicar efficiency, she soon arrives.

Indefatigable the Just is an older woman, with a penetrating gaze and a demeanor that brooks no nonsense.  She and her escorts enter the courtyard, and she surveys the disordered scene before her.

Anvil presents himself.  “Greetings, I am Anvil the Just, Third order Justicar of Dar Pykos.”

“Greetings,” she looks around.  “You are responsible for this?”

“The Count is responsible.  This is merely the fruit of his unjust actions.”

Indefatigable raises an eyebrow.  “Indeed.  I’ll hear from you later, then.”  She motions to a member of her retinue, and points to a County Guardswoman sitting dumbly outside the barracks.  The guard is quickly fetched before her.

“Who is your commander?” Indefatigable asks.  Her manner, although direct, is not unkind.

“Lady Tempeste *was*…” the young woman trails off.

“And who has taken command now?” the Justicar presses.

The guard swallows, but the direct demand appears to help kick her brain into gear.  She glances around, getting her bearings and taking count of the dead and the living.  “Captain Bellamy, Justicar.”

Indefatigable nods.  “Good.  Bring him here.”

###

Etienne, perhaps smelling that important decisions are being made, appears along with the disgruntled guard captain, and after Indefatigable calls the small company formally to order, Anvil tells the party’s story.

He begins with the mission to speak to Barnabus.  This is a good place to start, not only because it is the beginning of the tale chronologically, but it is also easily verified by the letters Anvil carries from King Orin and the heads of the temples of Dar Pykos.

Anvil goes on to describe their initial encounters with the Count.  How they actively presented themselves to the County Guard, were completely forthright about their motives, only to be rewarded with deception when the Count presented them with an imposter instead of Barnabus.

This is where Captain Bellamy—who has so far kept himself to expressing his displeasure by dark looks punctuated by the occasional low grumble—begins to sputter.  “Are you really going to believe some story—?”

“Hold your peace, Captain.  You will have an opportunity to give your account.” She pauses, and Etienne delicately coughs to get her attention.  She frowns at him.  “Yes, who are you?”

Etienne bows.  “Etienne Biber, Madame Justicar.  Lately court wizard to the Count.  I believe I can add relevant testimony at this juncture.”

“Yes?”

“I was he who impersonated the Archmage Barnabus.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed.”

“At the Count’s request?”

“Yes Madame.”

“For what reason?”

“I did not ask for specifics, Madame Justicar.  But I was given the impression the Count was desirous to be rid of his visitors as quickly and quietly as possible.”

The look Captain Bellamy gives Etienne is positively murderous.  

Indefatigable merely raises an eyebrow.  “Anvil the Just, pray continue.”

Anvil does.

When Anvil reaches the relevant point in the story, Chadiss the cook is found and brought before the Justicar.  He nervously recounts how he was brought to the islands against his will, his daughter held hostage for his cooperation, and how he finally gathered the courage to ask the party for help.

“Never!” Captain Bellamy sputters.  “My guards have no such duties… guarding an island full of hostages… Outrageous!”

Indefatigable turns to Eitienne.

“The islands aren’t far from here.  I can show you on a map, if you like.”

Captain Bellamy glowers.

Barnabus does not provide the most coherent account of his time on his island, but does confirm that Anvil and the others found him, and describes how, using magical means, he was able to determine that they were telling him the truth about their encounters with the Count.

“Plus there was the body,” he adds.

Indefatigable blinks.  “The body?”

“Of their friend.”

Euro is found and is relieved of his burden, after which Barnabus restores Lira’s corpse to its original size.  One of Indefatigable’s people steps aside and performs a quick examination of the body under Euro and Anvil’s watchful eyes.

He turns to Indefatigable to make his report.  “The wounds are consistent with the weapon described.”

Captain Ballamy sputters.  “But… But… They’re outlaws!”

Indefatigable holds up a hand for silence.  “Peace, Captain.  The evidence before me, as well as…” she pauses, “other information known to me—is sufficient.  Agramount is to be brought before the bar of Justice to answer the accusations brought before him, and in the meantime, is ruled a fugitive, to be apprehended and brought to custody by any member of the County, be they civil guard, temple dedicat, or private citizen.”

She takes a stone in each hand, and solemnly strikes them together four ties.

Indefatigable next addresses Captain Bellamy.  “Captain, these are your orders: to find and apprehend he who has been lately known as the Count of these lands.  If you cannot fulfill your charge, this is your opportunity to cede to someone who can.  What say you?”

Bellamy pauses, glares at Anvil.  He then turns his back on him, and makes a short bow to Indefatigable. “I accept my charge, Madame.”

“Good.  See to your men.  You are dismissed.”

Bellamy risks one last glance to Anvil.  “What about them, Madame?”

“Do not concern yourself.  They are in my custody.”

Bellamy bows again, rather stiffly, and leaves without a backward glance.  Soon, his voice can be heard bellowing across the courtyard as he brings his people back into order.

Indefatigable turns to one of her acolytes.  “Take a small team and a squad of *our* guards to the islands that house the craftspeople and their families.  Carry my ruling under my seal to the guards stationed there, and… inform the residents that any who wish the leave the islands, will now be free to go.”

“Very good, Madame.”

“Anvil, your friend taken from you.  Her name was Annika Tandeuter?”

“Yes.”

“Fetch her back here.”

“With all speed.  Kettenek’s Justice be with you.”

“And with you.”  Having dismissed all but a few members of her escort, Indefatigable gestures for Anvil to remain, then stands for a moment in silence.

“You are fortunate,” she observes finally, “that Mountain the Just, the head of my order, is away in Dar Darine at the moment.”  

“Oh?”

“Were it he hearing this case you and your friends would certainly have clapped in irons.”

“Surely he would have followed Ketennek’s Justice in this matter as any other.”

Indefatigable’s lips twist with irony.  “No doubt.  Still… you are fortunate.”

“Is there anything else you require of us?” Anvil inquires respectfully.

At this, Indefatigable does quirk an eyebrow.  “No, I think this will be quite enough.” She sighs.  “By all rights, since you’ve unearthed this debacle, I should demand you do your share to clean it up.  But I suppose you have other duties.”

Anvil bows.  “We have delivered the last of our invitations.  We should return to Dar Pykos to inform King Orin and our temple superiors, but if you require a service—”

Indefatigable waves him off.  In spite of her name, she does seem a bit tired.  “No, your presence here will serve more as a center for conflict than anything else.  The Justicars can administrate the County in the short-term, and in the long… well, we got along before Agramount.  We will somehow muddle through again.”

“This count is not of the original ruling line?” Anvil inquires.

“On his father’s side only.  He ensured that any legitimate heirs were… unavailable to take the throne when the last Count died.  It has been a long time now…” she pauses and eyes look far away for a moment.  She shakes herself, and it passes.  “If you will excuse me, Brother, I have much to do.”

Anvil bows and by the time he rises, Indefatigable is already halfway across the courtyard.


----------



## StevenAC

Another great update, spyscribe.  I particularly like the hints of past events dropped by Indefatigable at the end, which we may or may not ever get to hear about in more detail.



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> Reyu is confused.  “They respect you… *and* they know you?”



_Reyu_ said that?  Was she feeling particularly snarky that day, or what?  It sounded more like something Eva would say...  (I've decided Eva is my new favourite character, while Lira's out of the picture. )



> “You are fortunate,” she observes finally, “that Mountain the Just, the head of my order, is away in Dar Darine at the moment.”



And just to jump in ahead of Piratecat and/or KidCthulhu:
I'm Mountain the Just _right now_, IYKWIMAITYD...


----------



## Fajitas

StevenAC said:
			
		

> I particularly like the hints of past events dropped by Indefatigable at the end, which we may or may not ever get to hear about in more detail.



There is a great deal of both backstory and gameplay in the Islands of Agramount that never saw the light of day.  See, it occurred to me that, after the PCs helped topple the rightful government of a secluded island nation, there might be a bit of social and politcal issues fallout.  Thus I came up with a series of nation building adventures, in which the PCs had to deal with some of the repercussions of their actions.

Unfortunately, what with one thing and another, it was about three months real-time after we finished the battle with the Count before we got a chance to play again.  We'd lost a lot of momentum and, after nearly three years real-time, the PCs had *finally* found all the archmagi.  They were itching to get back to Dar Pykos and get on with the story, and no one was terribly interested in cleaning up their mess.

So, alas, it all got ditched.

However, since good material is never truly lost, I'm gonna post what I had in mind here, under spoiler tags for those who don't want to know.  I'll say that the Count has not, nor is he ever likely to, show up in game again since then, but even if he does, I don't think this will spoil anything for that future story.

[sblock]
*Backstory*
The Count Agramount the PCs fought was named Omi.  He was the illegitimate half-elven son of the previous Count.  He was raised in the Keep by his elven mother.  His parentage was acknowledged, but never given its due; whatever the Count might have wanted, the Contessa would never allow an illegitimate half-breed the same deference that her children were shown.

Omi, however, came to regard himself not as a freak, but as a rarity, a one-of-a-kind uniquity worthy of special treatment.  Needless to say, he grew resentful of the fact he never got the treatment he felt he deserved.

Omi had two half-siblings, the legitimate heirs. Omi quietly did away with them.  Armand, the younger, died first, of an "allergic" reaction.  Veronique, the eldest (who was briefly Contessa after their father's death), died in a hunting accident along with her husband.

Her children, the two remaining legitimate heirs, were too young to take the throne.  Thus, Omi became Regent until Gerard, the elder of the two, became 16 (the age of majority in the Halmae).  However, shortly before his 16th birthday, Gerard was murdered.  And the evidence implicated his younger sister, Monique.

The Count sentenced Monique to banishment to Exile Island, thus removing the last obstacle to his official rule.

However, at this point, the Justicars finally spoke up.

The head of the Justicars back then was Pillar the Just.  He had a close relationship with Gerard and Monique, having been schooling them in the Ways of Justice, that they could be wise and merciful rulers.  Pillar refused to believe that Monique could murder her brother, and objected to the Count's sentence.

At which point, evidence was unearthed that Pillar was carrying on an affair with his underage pupil, Monique.  Pillar was stripped of his Orders, and sentenced to banishment and shipped off to Exile Island.  Another Justicar, young, ambitious, and loyal to Omi, was installed as the head of the Justicars (Mountain the Just followed him).  Omi's rule was cemented. 

Indefatigable, at that time, was a First Order Justicar.  Pillar was her mentor, and, if truth be known, she was more than a little infatuated with him.  When the evidence of his relationship with Monique came out, she could hardly believe it.  Pillar denied the charges, but Indefatigable never spoke up.  She never came to his defense, or offered him any words of support.  She felt too hurt by the accusation.  And, at the time, she was too young and naive to even consider that the evidence might have been falsified.

Over the next 60 years, she came to realize how wrong she was.

Omi solidified his hold on the County.  He began to use the Island's considerable resources to build his collection of unique objects, creatures, and artisans.  Anyone who spoke against him was sent to Exile Island.  There were rumors of the ruthless tactics the Count used, but, of course, anyone caught spreading such rumors was shipped off to Exile Island.

Indefatigable, now fully aware that Pillar had most likely been innocent, chose to stay silent.  She rationalized that she could do more to serve Justice as a Justicar than as an exile.  And she did well, rising to the position of Mountain's second.  But, deep down, she would think of her mentor, Pillar the Just, who would not remain silent, and she knew that, however she might rationalize it, she stayed silent out of fear.  And shame.

The arrival of the PCs, at a time when Mountain the Just happens, fortuitously, to be away, is precisely the second chance she has dreamed of for the last 60 years.

*Gameplay*
There were several possible bits of nation building gameplay that I'd had in mind.  One was an effort to help Indefatigable wrest control of the Justicars, by helping her root out and eliminate the corrupt Justicars loyal to Mountain and the Count (as well as their allies in the County Guard).  Another potentially involved putting down a revolt on one of the peasant islands.

The two that seemed like the most fun were these:

1) Rescue the Hostages- Lady Chantal is a big-wig in the County Guard, charged with overseeing the islands on which the families of the Count's artisans are held hostage.  She is a fierce loyalist.  She threatens to start killing the hostage families, unless the Count is restored to power.

2) Find the Heir- A divination regarding the proper line of succession on the Islands reveals "If thou seek, thou will espy, the line lives on, reborn on high."  The only surviving member of the original bloodline was Monique, sent off to Exile Island.  Thus, the divination is interpreted that she, or some of her descendants, may still survive on Exile Island.

The PCs have to go to Exile Island to find her.  They will have Barnabus's folding boat with them, to use to escape the island once they find the legitimate heir.

Exile Island is dominated by warring tribes of survivors; the tribes are fairly small, as there aren't a lot of resources on the island, and survival is a zero-sum game.

There is only one good place to land a boat on the island, and of course, it is always watched.  The PCs are immediately attacked, mistaken for new prisoners.  Eventually, they find the Agramount tribe, who live on the easily defensible peak of the island ("the line lives on, reborn on HIGH," get it?)  

There they meet Renee, great-granddaughter of the long-dead Pillar and Monique (who were not having an affair when they were exiled, but did eventually fall in love).  However, as the leader of the Agramount Tribe and a cleric of Kettenek, Renee is her tribe's primary source of food and protection.  She refuses to leave the rest of them behind.

The PCs must evacuate Renee and her tribe of 15, while fending off the advances of the other tribes, who will do anything to get their hands on the folding boat...

(Side-note: It is Indefatigable who asks them to go to Exile Island; somewhere, deep down, she probably holds out hope that Pillar might still be alive.)

[/sblock]

Mmmmm.  Things that might have been... 



			
				StevenAC said:
			
		

> And just to jump in ahead of Piratecat and/or KidCthulhu:
> I'm Mountain the Just _right now_, IYKWIMAITYD...



LOL.  Well channeled, sir.


----------



## Shieldhaven

Since I haven't said this in the past... several hundred posts, thanks for sharing this with us!  It's made out of raw_ awesome._

Haven


----------



## spyscribe

StevenAC said:
			
		

> _Reyu_ said that?  Was she feeling particularly snarky that day, or what?  It sounded more like something Eva would say...  (I've decided Eva is my new favourite character, while Lira's out of the picture. )



Yeah, that was really Reyu.  And, in fact, really WisdomLikeSilence.  It makes sense, but you have to mentally read it with a tone of honest confusion.  I mean, Reyu can see how people can know Etienne, obviously.  And she can imagine that if you saw him from a distance, and noticed the robes, or something like that, you might think him a figure to respect, but that there are people--especially members of the County Guard--that both know and respect him... that seems a little far-fetched.

Also, while Reyu generally doesn't go out of her way to be rude, Etienne certainly doesn't have *her* particular respect, so it's not like she's going to be really worried about being polite either.  

WLS, does that about sum it up?


----------



## WisdomLikeSilence

Pretty much.  Reyu usually does try to be diplomatic, but it had been a hard week, and she was genuinely confused.

And hey, sometimes I have a weakness for a good line.

-WLS


----------



## Richard Rawen

WisdomLikeSilence said:
			
		

> Pretty much.  Reyu usually does try to be diplomatic, but it had been a hard week, and she was genuinely confused.
> 
> And hey, sometimes I have a weakness for a good line.
> 
> -WLS





_Feed the weakness!_ lol

Seriously, had to chime in here, loving the characters as they 'do their thing.'  Really fun to "watch" a group dynamic that works and a world that is so deep and well thought out.
Looking forward to the great revelation: WHO will be the next Archmage!?


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Two-Hundred Tenth*
_In which: spyscribe gets to play Kiara… and has far too much fun._

Tentatively, the business of the County begins to grind forward once again.

Captain Bellamy shouts his guards back into some semblance of order.  Although he continues to look darkly at any member of the party who crosses his path, there are no breaks in discipline.

Chaidess the cook, hangs up his apron, and for the first time since his arrival in the islands, walks out of the keep without fear of watchful eyes.  Simone goes with him, and hand in hand, they make their way to the docks.

Inside the keep, Anvil commandeers a small chamber in the guest wing for the party’s few supplies, and Lira’s body.  Before leaving them, he takes Lira’s stiff fingers in his own, and casts _gentle repose_.  

After a moment, he re-winds her canvas shroud, and leaves her to the security of a locked door and Euro’s guard.

###

Kiara spends anxious hours waiting by the docks, watching for the ship that will bring Annika back to her.

Then, before even the glimmer of a sail appears on the horizon, she knows that Annika is near.  Like a key in a lock, the raw end of their separation is whole again.  Not caring who might be watching, Kiara leaps into the air, wings unfurling even as they appear from her back.  

She soars across the water; her own joy at their reunion perfectly reflected back to her across their bond.

###

Later, Annika and Kiara find the rest of the party clustered in an upstairs passage near the Count’s private apartments.  Eva is engrossed with inspecting the masonry, and the rest of the group intently waits upon her results.

After waiting patiently for nearly a full minute, Kiara breaks the silence.  “Why are we all in front of a blank wall?”  
The rest of the party abruptly turns.

“Annika!”

After welcomes are complete and Annika has been filled-in on all that has transpired during her absence, Anvil finally answers Kiara’s question.

“Eva believes she has found the entrance to the Count’s vault of magic items.  She is attempting now to breech his defenses.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a secret door,” Thatch explains.  

“Ohhh…”  There’s another pause.  “Really?”

Eva sighs and runs a hand through her hair in frustration.  “Yeah.  Really.  And it’s not opening.”  She glances over to Annika.  “I don’t suppose you’ve got a _knock_ handy.”

Annika shakes her head.  “That wasn’t the… expertise… the Count’s people requested of me.  If I had an _identify_ I might be able to get the password to open the wards, assuming there is one, but…” she shakes her head.

“Ooo!”  Kiara bounces in her excitement.  “A password?  I bet we could guess it.  We’re way smarter than the Count.”   She turns to address the secret door.  “Open!”

The door does not oblige.

“Please?”

The rest of the group exchanges “this could take a while” glances.

“Gaston.”

Anvil excuses himself.

“Guy.”

Reyu goes to look for Barnabus.

“The name of that little black and while dog that sniffs around the kitchens! … Whatever it is.”

The door remains stubbornly shut.  Having run out of names from the household, Kiara switches tactics.

“Applesauce.”

Thatch loses a 16 silver to Eva over a half dozen hands of rummy.

“Cake.”

Nothing.

“Fresh grubs!”

Barnabus arrives and casts _knock_.  The door opens, revealing a stone spiral staircase leading down into the dark.

(“But I was about to get it!”  Kiara protests.)

Eva squints into the darkness, already inspecting it for hidden dangers.  She motions to Barnabus and points to a spot on the wall.  “Is that something?”

The archmage pulls on his spectacles and squints at the spot Eva indicates.  “Ah yes.  Not one of mine, but rather clever.  Must have been the work of one of those identical fellows.  You met them… Eating and Runningstart.”

“Etienne and Florismart?”

“Yes, yes.  Quite so.”  Barnabus nods for a moment more.

Finally, Eva ventures.  “Can you do something about it?”

“Hmm?  Oh yes.  Yes, of course.”  Barnabus _dispels_ whatever it was with a wave of his hand, and the party descends.

###

Thatch lets out a low whistle.  It’s not that he’s got a head for magic like Annika, or Lira, or even Anvil, but he remembers how many odds and ends Professor Alexandra had crammed into her storage room before it all burned in the Academy fire.  This collection… makes hers look like a broom closet.

A room, at least thirty-feet square, filled with rows of shelves from floor to ceiling and every shelf is full of items.

Barnabus looks around with satisfaction.  “Very good.  Very good.  Just as I thought.”

“Are you going to destroy them?” Anvil asks.

Barnabus appears to stop and consider the Justicar’s suggestion.  “Well, I suppose that I could, but it does seem like a bit of a waste doesn’t it?  No… but I rather do think I shall retake possession.”

Thatch clears his throat.  “Are you going to want the things from your bag back too?”  It’s not like he *needs* any magic items… except the pitcher, which is cool… but he hasn’t even gotten the chance to try out the horseshoes on Bob yet.

“The bag?  What?  Oh!  No, not at all.  Keep them, with my thanks…” he trails off.  “Although…”

“Yes?”

“If you have the bag handy, that would be very useful.”

All eyes turn to Kiara.

“But…  It holds all my stuff.”

Annika sighs.  “Kiara, give the nice archmage back his _bag of holding_.”

Kiara pouts a bit, but is eventually persuaded to part with the _bag_.  Annika comforts her.  “That’s alright.  We can open the folding boat later.  That will be fun, right?”

(Sigh.  “It’s not the same.”)

Even with the carrying capacity of the _bag of holding_ Barnabus is unable to clear the storeroom before returning to his own island that night.  He places an _alarm_ spell and leaves the rest for the morning.

###

Two days later, the party is ready to depart the islands at last, and return to Dar Pykos.  

When word spreads that there is a vessel departing for the Confederacy, more than a few Confederate citizens express their interest in leaving the Islands of Agramount post-haste.

Word is sent to Captain Elsuki, who proves more than willing to take on additional passengers.  After all, after the taking of _The Tranquil Shore_, he’s got room for plenty of additional passengers.  …As long as they’re willing to pay for their passage.

Ultimately, some thirty-five forced residents of the Islands elect not to wait for another chance to leave, and pay the fifty gold pieces a head to travel back to Dar Pykos with the party.  Among them are Chaidess, his daughter Suell, and Simone.

###

The trip home is uneventful.  The seas are calm enough that Anvil is only vaguely queasy for most of the voyage.  Still, even on days when the winds and the seas are active, he descends to the cargo hold each night after his prayers and ensures the continuing _gentle repose_ of Lira’s remains.

A few days out from port in Dar Pykos, Elsuki invites the party members to join him in his cabin for dinner.  After a very pleasant meal, with some very pleasant—and very potent—potables, the Captain gets down to business.

“Now, when I agreed to take ye t’ the Islands of Mirage, we did have an agreement as to payment.” 

Elsuki continues, almost idly.  “Don’t think I weren’t noticing the baubles ye boarded this ship with that weren’t with ye when ye left it.  This voyage were arranged as a treasure huntin’ expedition, and I’m sure ye weren’t planning on holding out on my share, or the one for me crew.”

The party members shift uncomfortably.  Sure, no one had deliberately hidden their new loot from the Captain, but they hadn’t exactly gone out of their way to advertise it either.  Eva takes a moment to roll a swallow of wine around her mouth, then responds to Elsuki.  “You’re right,” she allows, earning some sidelong glances from her compaions.  “And I’m sure you wouldn’t be planning on holding out on us either.”

Elsuki gives Eva a withering stare.  “How would you be meaning that, young miss?”

It is then that Eva, who has been sipping at her glass most of the night, notices that Elsuki’s own goblet, despite the Captain’s jovial manner, has barely been touched.  _Oh… so that’s how we’re playing this one._  She smiles.  _Let the negotiations begin._

“Well… were you planning on keeping _The Tranquil Shore_ for yourself?

###

Eva puts out her hand.  “We have a deal then?”

Elsuki puts his callused hand in hers, and shakes it firmly.  If he is a bit surprised that the evening concluded with him agreeing to mortgage his ship to the party in return for sole possession of the _The Tranquil Shore_, the Captain is also a good sport about it.

“Ye drive a hard bargin lass,” he says as he breaks the handshake.  “If you ever be looking for employment…”

Eva’s tone is only a touch rueful.  “I’ll keep you in mind.”

Elsuki laughs loudly, and claps Eva on the shoulder.  “Good lass, good.  Now… the grog!”

_(And that’s it for the birthday post this year.  Enjoy the weekend everyone!)_


----------



## el-remmen

spyscribe said:
			
		

> If he is a bit surprised that the evening concluded with him agreeing to mortgage his ship to the party in return for sole possession of the The Tranquil Shore, the Captain is also a good sport about it.




Can you break down what happened here for those of us to dim to figure it out?  Some kind of diplomacy? Was he charmed?  I didn't get the reference to his not drinking either.

Oh, and great post as always - I can't wait for their home-coming.


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## thatdarncat

And once again, happy birthday!


----------



## Fajitas

el-remmen said:
			
		

> Can you break down what happened here for those of us to dim to figure it out?  Some kind of diplomacy? Was he charmed?  I didn't get the reference to his not drinking either.



The not drinking was just about him trying to get an advantage over the others in the negotiations.

What happened during the negotiations was, quite simply, that the party pointed out that the _Tranquil Shores_, a magic ship larger than the _Fool's Errand_ that could be sailed with fewer people, was, technically, part of the booty.  In fact, it was far and away the greatest part of the booty, given the cost of the ship compared to everything else they brought back.  So, either, they could sell the unique, one-of-a-kind ship and split up the profits, or Elsuki could keep the unique one-of-a-kind ship ("Admiral Elsuki, says ye...?") and owe the party.

No deceit.  No spells.  No trickery.  Just a pretty well reasoned, inescapably tempting proposal that Elsuki (which is to say, I) hadn't actually considered clearly.


----------



## StevenAC

*Happy birthday, spyscribe*

In celebration of our chronicler's birthday, the latest chapter of the Collected _Welcome to the Halmae_ is now available here, bringing the story right up to date.  Enjoy!


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*Belated again*

But nevertheless still sincerely Happy Birthday. Current situation at home leaves little time for roaming the web, but I found a little time, only to find out I was late again


----------



## spyscribe

First of all, thank you to everyone for the birthday wishes!  

el remmen: Fajitas has nailed the explanation of the negotiations perfectly.  It was just an arty time-cut, nothing mysterious.     (Although it had never occurred to me that he [Fajitas or El-Suki] hadn't thought about how the ship cut into the treasure divisions.)

Also, I'm really looking forward to being able to post the next sections of the story.  And trust me, they *are* coming.


----------



## spyscribe

Yes, it's time for my traditional Wednesday before GenCon SoCal announcement that yes, we'll be there!

If you're going to Anaheim this weekend look for Anvil "Bad Monkey" Jeff Tidball at the Atlas Games booth, demo-ing his new game Pieces of Eight.  You might also run into WisdomLikeSilence there, and I and a few others will probably be wandering about on Saturday.

Remember, if you tell Jeff what Kettenek's Justice demands you will completely make his day.  Or at least, you'll make mine.


----------



## coyote6

So noted.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Two-Hundred Eleventh*
_In which: our heroes return… all of them._

And so, nearly six months to the day since they last left the city, the party returns to the friendly harbors of Dar Pykos.

Meeting the ship are Professor Alexandra, Tenacious the Just, and Dame Jenna of the Attendants.  Accompanying them are a man and a woman unknown to the party.  The woman is a Sedellan and wears the grey robes of a Harbinger.  The man’s holy symbol identifies him as a member of an Ektian order, the Keepers of Light.  This last has brought two acolytes who bear a stretcher between them.

Professor Alexandra appears positively relieved as the party disembarks.  “Welcome home,” she says warmly.

Anvil speaks for the group, “It is good that our mission is complete that we might turn to selecting an appropriate candidate to serve as your Chancellor,” he replies gravely.  

The Professor blinks for just a moment, then smiles to herself.  “Indeed.”  She continues, “We are all eager to hear of your recent travels, and of your encounters with the last two archmages.  If I might suggest we all convene for an initial debriefing this evening?”

She gestures to where the Keeper and his assistants are, under Euro’s watchful eye, carefully lifting the bundle containing Lira’s body onto the prepared litter.  “Lira can add her impressions later, if she’s… available… and feeling up to it.”

For his part, Anvil fixes the Keeper with a stern stare.  “Who are you?” he demands.

“I am Brother Brightly, of the Keepers of Light.”

“You are not the man that Lira knew before.  Why is he not here?”

Brother Brightly spreads his hands.  “I was merely told that Devon had requested to be relieved of his duties in this matter, I believe in order to embark on a quest of his own.  I have been asked to take over his position as liaison.” 

Anvil accepts this with a nod.  “It is your intention to _raise_ Lira then?”

The man nods.  “If her soul is willing and able to return, yes.”

“I believe this requires components of some expense.  We are prepared—”

Brother Brightly cuts him off.  “That is not a concern.  We take care of our own.”

Anvil cannot argue.  It is, after all, only Just.  Standing beside Thatch, Eva feels briefly cold.

The group breaks up, with plans to reconvene at the Temple of Justice that evening after dinner.  Thatch uses his immovable rod to secure _The Tranquil Shore_ until such time as Captail Elsuki can obtain the necessary capital to buy out the party’s shares in the vessel, and then sets out with Eva to see if Mrs. Blackburn has any rooms available.  After that, he’ll try to find a place to test out Bob’s new horseshoes.

Reyu goes to seek lodging as well, and Annika and Kiara head back with Professor Alexandra to the Academy.

Anvil, having no doubt as to where he will sleep that night, nods respectfully to Tenacious.  “Is there Universal Law yet?” he asks.

If Tenacious finds Anvil’s question amusing, he gives no outward sign.  “Not yet, brother.”

###

Mrs. Blackburn does indeed have rooms available and is more than happy to let them to Thatch, Eva, and Reyu.  Eva hands over the fee for the week without complaint, despite the fact that she has no intention of making use of her own room.  She and Thatch have already had several discussions concerning their return to Dar Pykos.  Until they know what the Sedellans might have planned, Eva will not leave Thatch’s side, even if it means sleeping on the floor in his room.  

For whatever reason, Thatch seems to think that having someone else in the room at night will be a benefit to him as well.  Eva decides not to ask questions.

That accomplished, it is a quick matter to get Bob settled in one of the city’s stables, and then re-shod with the horseshoes from Barnabus’s pack.  

A scant hour and a half later, Thatch and Eva have ridden outside the city walls to a flower-strewn meadow, free from unwanted observers.

Thatch takes a deep breath of the warm, fresh air.  _At last._  Back on solid ground.  Sun on his face.  Riding Bob again.  Eva clinging tight behind.  _It doesn’t get much better than this_, he reflects.

Quickly, Thatch brings Bob to a trot, then to a canter and a gallop.  And then… “up!” he urges with a slight pull to the reigns, and an instant later—although they are still running through the grass—the sound of Bob’s hoof beats abruptly vanishes.

Bob slows a bit, uncertain what has just happened, but Thatch continues to reassure him and soon the horse has mastered the new rhythm of running without touching the ground. 

A minute later, they ford a stream without a single splash.

Behind him, Eva laughs.

It is a *glorious* afternoon.

###

Meanwhile, after determining that the cause of Universal Law will survive a few hours more without his attention, Anvil accompanies Lira’s corpse to the Temple of Ehkt.

It is not a short walk from the docks to the Temple District, but Brother Brightly does not offer any conversation and Anvil does not volunteer.  The acolytes walk with purpose, but without undue hurry, through the streets, up the steps to the Temple, until they eventually lay their burden to rest in a small sanctuary off of the main nave.

After Brother Brightly and the acolytes depart, Anvil finds a corner near the door, and sits with the body.  

Perhaps an hour passes.

Euro paces, clearly distraught by the delay, but Anvil leaves him to it.  Nothing has comforted the weasel since Lira’s death, and he does not expect that anything will now.  The body, on a raised stone platform near the back wall of the chapel, lies inert.

Eventually, a rather burly Ehktian priest with red hair and a beard enters.  He acknowledges Anvil’s presence with a nod, and then goes to his work.

The priest begins by unwrapping Lira’s sailcloth shroud.  Although Anvil’s use of _gentle repose_ has prevented decomposition, it has done nothing to repair her wounds.  Anvil notes that it was probably only the acolyte’s careful handling that has kept the body in one piece.

If the priest is shocked by the extent of the damage, he gives no sign.  He spends a few moments checking over the body, ensuring that nothing vital to life is missing, and then gives Anvil a small nod.

“Should I go?” Anvil asks.

“If you wish.  It is not necessary.”

Anvil retakes his seat, and the priest resumes his work, once again ignoring the Justicar.

He lights four pillar candles, two at Lira’s head and two at her feet.

Once the flames are firmly established, the priest begins to chant.

“Ehkt, Father of the living, Bringer of growth…”

Anvil watches carefully.  As the chant continues, the candle flames grow, getting brighter and brighter with the urgency of the priest’s prayers.

“…allow your child to return to us, so that she might face the challenges of a new day…”

Lira’s body is glowing now too, with a golden light, her wounds closing before Anvil’s eyes.

“…that she might once again stand at noon, your time of glory…”

The candle flames rise to fill the air above the dais, 

“…under the warmth of your gaze…”

All Anvil can see of the priest is a dark silhouette against the glare.

“Return her to the day.”

Brighter.

“Return her to your light!”

Brighter.

“RETURN HER TO YOUR LIGHT!”

Anvil raises a hand to shield his eyes, but just as the glare becomes unbearable… it fades.  The candles recede to their normal level.  Lira body lies between them, clean, whole, and perfectly still.

Except for the tiny flutter of a pulse in her throat.  Then the hitching gasp of lungs remembering how to work again.

And Lira’s eyes open.


----------



## coyote6

She's alive! Alive!


----------



## spyscribe

coyote6 said:
			
		

> She's alive! Alive!



She is indeed.  

(And I hear you made it over to Atlas at SoCal.  Awesome.)


----------



## coyote6

Yeah, Kettenek's Justice demanded I try (and later buy) Pieces of Eight, after all. I even met WisdomLikeSilence, briefly. 

(Fortunately, the very nice guy from FFG [whose name I'm blanking on] saved my credit card for me when I forgot it at the booth. Me==cover boy for Complete Idiot, when WotC releases it.)


----------



## Ero Gaki

Hooray!!! Lira lives!!!


----------



## CTSparky

*Woot*

Woot. Lira lives.  So Spyscribe, did you know right then you wanted Lira to come bakc or not?  What made up your mind.


----------



## Angcuru

Huzzah! Good to have Lira back.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Huzzah! Indeed =-)


----------



## spyscribe

CTSparky said:
			
		

> So Spyscribe, did you know right then you wanted Lira to come bakc or not?  What made up your mind.




Interesting question.  

I might have briefly toyed with the idea of letting Lira really be *dead* dead, but I don't think I ever really seriously considered it, mostly because there didn't seem to be a good reason to.  At a game level, I was still enjoying playing her, at an emotional level the impact had already been had, and at a story level it wasn't like this had been a noble sacrifice that she'd be squirming her way out of by returning to life.

Last but not least, after years of multiclassing, I wanted to get to Mystic Theurge, darn it!

_Mechanics that you didn't ask about, but which came to mind:

Since the party leveled on the trip back to Dar Pykos (7th!), Fajitas kindly let Lira come back at 6th, the same level she died at, so she was only one net level behind the party.  Also, it meant I wouldn't have to play through both sor4/clr1 *and* sor4/clr2 *again* (two straight levels that are pretty much the same anyway).  Even so, I think we worked out the Lira went more than three years real time without learning a new arcane spell.

I got a lot of juicy plot stuff in return (as you will soon see), but man, that first _web_ was sweet!_


----------



## dpdx

Congrats on getting your character back. First time one of my characters got _raised_, I was pretty happy, too.



> Thatch uses his immovable rod to secure The Tranquil Shore until such time as Captain Elsuki can obtain the necessary capital to buy out the party’s shares in the vessel...



Later, after hiring some Academy students versed in Create Wondrous Item and tooling for mass production, Thatch would go on to become the wealthiest Baron in all the Halmae and Pope Robert II of Alirria. Sales of 'The Rod' grew exponentially as it became the security item of choice throughout the Darine Confederacy.


----------



## Trahnesi

*Getting it out of the way...*



			
				dpdx said:
			
		

> Sales of 'The Rod' grew exponentially as it became the security item of choice throughout the Darine Confederacy.




My immovable rod is growing exponentially right now, IYKWIMAITYD.


----------



## CTSparky

Trahnesi said:
			
		

> My immovable rod is growing exponentially right now, IYKWIMAITYD.



Not to get too off topic, but what does th whole abbreviation stand for. 
I get this much: IYKWIM
So what does AITYD mean?


----------



## Pyske

CTSparky said:
			
		

> So what does AITYD mean?




AITYD = "And I think you do"


----------



## Ero Gaki

So, any chance of an update? I neeeeeeed an update, or I'll explode. That happens to me sometimes!!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Two-Hundred Twelfth*
_In which: before we continue…_

The pain is so strong it’s like its own being.  It stands beside Lira on the deck of the Count’s barge, growling, waiting to take her away into unconsciousness.  She ignores it.    One of Lira’s arms hangs useless at her side.  Lady Tempeste stands in front of her.  She is swinging her chain again, and Lira can see her own blood glistening on the spikes.

_She’s going to kill me,_ Lira thinks, time seeming to slow with subjective clarity.  _If she hits me again, I’m past healing, and there’s nowhere for me to go to get away._

Realizing that actually makes her decision easier.  If she only has seconds left to live, Lira is going to make sure she does her damnedest to take her killer out with her.

Lira concentrates, casts, and two blue bolts go flying from her outstretched fingers.  Lady Tempeste barely flinches.

_Nice try…_ The chain come swinging around again.  _But not enough._

The pain is worse than she could ever imagine… but it doesn’t last.

There is darkness… and the distant clink of pewter steins… and voices…

***

Lira sits on a rough-hewn wooden bench before an immense trestle table.  All around her is an incredible feast.

Red-haired men and women, laughing, eating, drinking, cursing… everything they do, they do with gusto.  Everyone is huge, in body, voice, and manner, and with a start Lira realizes that she is as well.

The man beside her turns his head, and seeing a new face, claps her on the back.

He indicates the place before her.  Lira hadn’t thought to look, but now she notices that there is a plate and stein.  The trencher is piled high with fresh roasted game—venison and fowl—while the drinking vessel overflows with rich foaming ale.

Nods of greeting come from those seated near her at the table.  And a few raise glasses to the new arrival.  Lira returns the salutes in kind, sipping at the smoothest ale she has ever tasted, and taking tentative bites of the meats before her.

Near one end of the table, a man rises, and a cry of “Tell us your tale!” comes up from those at the feast.  

The man takes a long swallow from his mug before he begins.  “There I was,” he begins, “the rest of my comrades fallen, and only me between the advancing raiders before and the villagers behind…”

It’s kind of a grizzly tale actually.  Although no one else at the table seems to mind.  When that story of combat against incredible odds, bloody dismemberment, and ultimately honorable death concludes, a woman with two thick red braids rises and tells a story of facing down a pair of angry wolves with her bare hands.

It’s an excellent story, and Lira cheers with the assembled.  Eating with more gusto as her stomach settles.

_Why was her stomach upset?  What was she doing before she was here?_  She can’t quite remember, and it doesn’t seem important, not really.

And now Lira is being prodded to her feet, and the voices, now directed at her, are nearly overwhelming.  “Tell us your tale!  Tell us your tale!”

Lira looks over the assembled.  “What would you have me say?”

“Tell us of your deeds!”

“Your Quests!” 

“The rout of your enemies!” 

Lira casts her mind back.  Her death (_She’s dead?_) doesn’t seem that heroic somehow.  Not in this company.

She tells them about standing in the middle of a burning building in the Mage’s Academy, casting spells to hold back the flames to protect her friends and save the city—

The first man to rise interrupts her.  “Yes, yes, your friends.  What have *you* done?” 

“When have you stood alone?”  another voice adds.

“When have you looked death in the face… and laughed?” 

Lira stares out over a sea of faces.  Red-haried, women, red-bearded men, all huge like trees… like fire.

“I—” she begins.  But it’s as though she can hear their objections before the tales leave her mouth.  She let others rush in first.  She stood behind.  If she had been alone, she would not have prevailed.

Alone.  At that word an image flashes in her mind’s eye, unbidden.  She sees herself screaming, curled on the floor as her father's belt lashes down across her shoulders.

What has she ever been, when she has been alone?

The man beside her shakes his head, and seems almost sad.  “Well, they can’t all be chosen.”

He turns away, and another champion of the table rises, and Lira is ignored.

She sits, but either the table has grown, or she has diminished.  The plate before her now holds only a piece of bread, and her cup is filled with water.  For the first time, Lira notices that there are others at the table.  Clad in simple white gowns and tunics, they are served as she is.  Ignored by all those around them.  Present at, but excluded from, the feast.

Lira tugs the sleeve of the large man beside her.  He barely spares a glance before shrugging her off and returning to his meal.

Lira doesn’t know whether to be bereft or angry.  This is it?  This is all I am to be judged on?  This—

And then she notices a faint tugging sensation.  As though there is a string passing through her middle, and someone behind her is pulling on the end.

She turns to look behind her.  But there *is* no behind her.

The pull grows stronger, more urgent.  Lira rises from the table, but no one marks her.  The feast is everything.  There is nothing else.  Except… the pull remains.

Lira doesn’t try to look back again.  Instead she faces forward, and then falls into the pulling sensation.  _In another second I will hit the chair.  In another second I will hit the floor…_

She keeps falling.

###

Lira opens her eyes, although a moment earlier, she hadn’t been aware they were closed.  She’s lying on her back, on something very cold, and very hard.  Above her, a red-bearded face is looking down at her.

_Is this a new place, or is this man about to ask me to prove myself worthy?_

Lira notices she’s breathing.  Had she been breathing before?  Can she use this breath for speech?

“Holy crap,” she whispers.

The face above her smiles, just a little.  “Indeed,” the man replies.  He gently helps her to sit up, and then takes his leave.

[size=-2]Boss!  Boss!...[/size]

She’s in an unfamiliar room, but in one corner is a familiar face.

[size=-2]…found Barnabus…[/size]

“Anvil?”

[size=-2]…carried you on my back…[/size]

He nods.

[size=-2]…and then I pooped on that bitch who killed you!…[/size]

“Am— Am I… back?”

Euro's breathless monologue pauses and the voice in Lira's head sounds a little indignant. Of course you’re back.  I’m here, aren’t I?

“Yes,” Anvil replies.

Concentrating, Lira reaches up with one arm to scratch Euro on the head.  She notes that her arm works.  They both do.  _Thank you_, she thinks to her familiar.  He curls protectively around her neck, nose tucking underneath his tail.

At the warmth of his touch, Lira suddenly notices she’s quite cold.  She shivers.

“We have returned to Dar Pykos,” Anvil is informing her.  “Professor Alexandra has asked us all to be present for a debriefing this evening, however, it is no fault to you if you wish to be excused.”

Lira nods, not quite listening.  “How long?” she asks.

Anvil appears caught off-guard by the question.  “In a few hours time.”

“No,” Lira enunciates carefully.  Talking takes concentration, stringing words together again.  “How long was I… dead?”

Anvil answers instantly.  “Eleven days.”

“Eleven…”  It didn’t seem so long.  Lira looks down at her belly, and sees through the shreds of her tunic that there isn’t a mark on her.  The scars she has carried from the shadowbeasts since the night of the Academy fire are completely gone.  _Lady Tempeste must have ripped them out._  Lira runs a hand over the smooth skin, and shudders.

“Are you alright?” Anvil asks.  “What do you require?”

Lira has to think about it.  She isn’t hungry, although it seems like she should be, if she hasn’t eaten in eleven days.  Maybe because of the food from… She pushes that thought aside.  Is she thirsty?  Maybe.  Tired?  “I think… I think I want to lie down.”

An acolyte enters the chamber, carrying a robe for Lira, and a mug.  Lira takes both, looking down into the earthenware cup.  Water.  _Of course._  Dimly, she notes that the voices continue:

“She requires a place to rest.” Anvil is informing the acolyte.

“Of course.  That is not unusual in these cases.”

Lira drinks cautiously, letting them talk over her head.  The water slips down her throat, cool and pure, like life.  

It tastes wonderful.


----------



## Shieldhaven

*sniff*  Yaaay, Lira!

Looking forward to seeing if she changes as a result.  Awesome update!

Haven


----------



## Seonaid

I love the insight into Lira. Thanks for yet another wonderful update!


----------



## hbarsquared

I recently finished StevenAC's excellently compiled PDFs of the story hour, and have now caught up with the remaining posts.

As with those that have come before me, I heap much praise upon Fajitas and spyscribe.  Thank you for bringing to all of us not only an excellent story hour, but an excellent _story_.

Thank you.

Consider me another loyal reader among your fans.


----------



## thatdarncat

Yay Lira's back!


----------



## Angcuru

*does the PC resurrection dance*


----------



## Ero Gaki

Yikes... it doesn't seem like Lira's god is found of mages. That's got to sting.


----------



## dpdx

Good thing she's also a cleric of Ekht, then.


----------



## Ero Gaki

Well, Ekht wasn't too impressed with her mage tactics (stand in back and blast) so now I think she is in trouble. If she wants a happier afterlife, she's gonna have to risk herself on the front lines, and that is suicide for a mage. Let's hope those cleric levels have made her tougher.


----------



## Fajitas

Ero Gaki said:
			
		

> Well, Ekht wasn't too impressed with her mage tactics (stand in back and blast) so now I think she is in trouble.



You do seem to be presupposing that Lira was actually conversing with Ehkt.  Remember, dieties in the Halmae tend not to take distinct anthropomorphic forms.

Assuming that it wasn't simply a dream or hallucination created in the last moments of Lira's life, then at best it was presumably some kind of Ehktian spirit or angel, specifically a Questor related spirit, which, while possessing of an opinion of its own, does not necessarily speak the final word on behalf of Ehkt's opinion.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Fajitas said:
			
		

> You do seem to be presupposing that Lira was actually conversing with Ehkt.  Remember, dieties in the Halmae tend not to take distinct anthropomorphic forms.
> 
> Assuming that it wasn't simply a dream or hallucination created in the last moments of Lira's life, then at best it was presumably some kind of Ehktian spirit or angel, specifically a Questor related spirit, which, while possessing of an opinion of its own, does not necessarily speak the final word on behalf of Ehkt's opinion.





Yeah but . . . how will _Lira_ interpret it?  

The fact that we're interested, nay concerned, well that fact speaks volumes about your skills as an author  =-)


----------



## Fajitas

Richard Rawen said:
			
		

> Yeah but . . . how will _Lira_ interpret it?



That is, indeed, the question.



> The fact that we're interested, nay concerned, well that fact speaks volumes about your skills as an author  =-)



Credit where it's due, please.  Spyscribe is the author.  I'm just the inspiration.


----------



## Ero Gaki

Ah, I stand corrected. I guess I'm more used to campaigns where the gods do wacky things like talk to PC's. My bad, my bad.


----------



## Fajitas

Ero Gaki said:
			
		

> Ah, I stand corrected. I guess I'm more used to campaigns where the gods do wacky things like talk to PC's. My bad, my bad.



Honestly, sometimes I need to remind myself that my gods don't behave like most gods.  You wouldn't believe some of the plot threads I came up with, developed, and then chucked out 'cause my gods just don't do that kind of thing...


----------



## spyscribe

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Honestly, sometimes I need to remind myself that my gods don't behave like most gods.  You wouldn't believe some of the plot threads I came up with, developed, and then chucked out 'cause my gods just don't do that kind of thing...



(*I* only wouldn't believe them because I spend ten minutes every morning thinking about fluffy kittens to banish the demons of the night.)



			
				Richard Rawen said:
			
		

> Yeah but . . . how will Lira interpret it?



Yeah, I/Lira spent some quality time going over the little score card in my head: column 1: signs Ehkt wants me to get myself killed; column 2: signs Ehkt doesn't want me to get myself killed; column 3: signs Ehkt could give a crap whether I live or die... ad nauseum.

(I flatter myself that Fajitas particularly enjoys messing with me like this because he knows I will put in the quality time to really stew over it.  He hasn't managed to give me in-character dreams yet, but again, I reference the morning routine of fluffy kittens.)

To all: I've really been enjoying the speculation here in part because *I* certainly couldn't make heads or tails of the whole thing at the time.  After all, Ehkt had been so encouraging when we chatted at Manaal's tower...

And jeremy_dnd: Thanks, and welcome!


----------



## willow

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Yeah, I/Lira spent some quality time going over the little score card in my head: column 1: signs Ehkt wants me to get myself killed; column 2: signs Ehkt doesn't want me to get myself killed; column 3: signs Ehkt could give a crap whether I live or die... ad nauseum.




And so begins Lira's path to lichdom.


willow


----------



## Richard Rawen

willow said:
			
		

> And so begins Lira's path to lichdom.
> 
> 
> willow




ROFLMAO!


----------



## CTSparky

*?*

Update please?


----------



## porthos

willow said:
			
		

> And so begins Lira's path to lichdom.




Now that's what I call a first post!


----------



## dpdx

I'm just amazed that the 'willow' username went so long unclaimed in the history of ENWorld. And after that great movie of the same name featuring Tom Cruise, no less.

"Just one beat, of your hearrrrrrt..." o/~


----------



## Jackylhunter

Psst...Sorry if I've missed something, but the '88 movie 'Willow' stared (if you want to call it that) Val Kilmer.  But I'm sure you knew that, and I'm just missing something.  

Anyway...Pimp the Gnome for Justice...and all that.

=)


----------



## Raging Epistaxis

> the '88 movie 'Willow' starred (if you want to call it that) Val Kilmer



Funny, I always think of Warwick Davis as the lead, and Val as more of a 'Oh yeah, he was in Willow too...'   

Happy Holidays to all.
Pimp! Pimp! Pimp! the Gnome for Justice!


----------



## Ciaran

Jackylhunter said:
			
		

> Psst...Sorry if I've missed something, but the '88 movie 'Willow' stared (if you want to call it that) Val Kilmer.  But I'm sure you knew that, and I'm just missing something.



I expect that was just confusion with the movie "Legend".


----------



## beldar1215

Spyscribe,
  Any chance of an update before the holidays? Think of it as a Present for all of us!

Beldar


----------



## el-remmen

dpdx said:
			
		

> I'm just amazed that the 'willow' username went so long unclaimed in the history of ENWorld. And after that great movie of the same name featuring Tom Cruise, no less.




I see 'willow' and I think Buffy the Vampire Slayer, personally.

Unless you count the original star wars movies, I'd rather imagine that no fantasy movies were made before Fellowship of the Ring.


----------



## dpdx

Psst! 'Scribe! I tried to buy you time to prepare your update by posting a stupid comment to the thread, but hurry, it's almost losing steam!

Yeah, I was thinking of Legend, my apologies. The only thing I remember about it was the cool scroller video game it spawned, but at that low a resolution, Val Kilmer and Tom Cruise probably even use the same sprite...


----------



## karianna

*O for Awesome*

As we'd say back home 'O' for Awesome, this story rocks!  Thanks for getting me intro trouble with my girlfriend for reading instead of doing the xmas shopping, getting no work done (sorry boss) and generally pissing myself with laughter .  Made more than a few friends blink twice when I persuaded the off license store owner to sell us booze after the closing hour "Why?  Because Justice demands it my good man!"


----------



## Seonaid

Merry Christmas, those who celebrate! I forgive you, spyscribe, for not updating around the holidays, but you better get crackin' once the New Year has started!


----------



## spyscribe

_Gah, I had no idea that this update was going to be such a bear to bring together.  The long silence was entirely unintentional.  But at last..._

*Part the Two-Hundred Thirteenth*
_In which: Anvil finds that cold is indeed Kettenek’s element._

With Lira once again alive, and being taken care of by her brother Ehktians, Anvil at last returns to the Temple of Justice.

_It is good to be home_, Anvil thinks as he deliberately makes his way up the great steps to the entrance.  He savors the feeling of the stone stairs, solid beneath his feet, as if the sheer weight of so many years worth of collected Law has lent them added mass.  It has been six months since he last walked these steps, having left the Temple just after receiving his promotion to Third Order.

He passes through the familiar doors and takes a silent moment to breathe in the air of Justice once more.  

His compatriots pass him by in the busy entryway.  He nods a greeting to one, Enduring the Just.  

Enduring regards Anvil coldly, and does not return the nod.

Anvil pauses only a moment to consider the meaning of that, but ultimately deems that it is not worth his consideration.  He continues on his way back to his cell.

The next three Justicars he greets brush him off just as coldly.  And when the *next* of his brethren, a Second Order Justicar, returns Anvil’s formal greeting with a cold glare, Anvil chooses to stay silent no longer.

“Are you in a great hurry?” Anvil demands of him.  “Is there Law that must be made without a moment’s rest?”

The Justicar is taken by surprise.  “What?  No.”

“Then surely you have time to exchange pleasantries with a brother Justicar,” Anvil replies.

The Justicar is stung at first.  Then he bows stiffly and practically spits the words “May Kettenek’s Justice be upon you.”

“And upon you,” Anvil replies.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Anvil the Just,” the other says, his eyes flicking down to the Third Order stripes on Anvil’s robes, “some of us have *work* to do.”

With that, the Justicar hurries away.  

Anvil watches him go. 

###

The next morning, Lira wakes up hungry.  At least the gnawing sensation in her stomach feels like a return to normal.  Despite exhaustion the night before, sleep was hard to come by.  

Fortunately, the Temple of Ehkt does not believe in sending its acolytes off to face the challenges of a new day on an empty stomach.  Lira is halfway though a second plate of sausage and eggs when she looks up to find a young priest of the Keepers of Light standing at the chair opposite her.

“You’re feeling better I see.”

She looks on in confusion as he smiles and seats himself.  “I’m sorry, we have met, although you wouldn’t remember it.  My name is Brother Brightly.  I’m your new liaison with the Church of Ehkt.”

Lira blinks; she hadn’t been aware she was in need of a new liaison.  “What about Devon?”

“I’m told he asked to be relieved of his assignment…” Brother Brightly stops at Lira’s momentarily stricken expression.  “I ah…  I believe he has gone off Questing.” Brother Brightly tries to reassure her.  “He speaks highly of you.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Shouldn’t he?”

_Well, last time I was in town he was avoiding me like I was catching._  “He told you about me?”

“Not personally, but I was briefed on your dossier.”

_I have a dossier?_  “So you know about the things I do?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

Brother Brightly looks a little bemused.  “You’re referring to your varied magical talents?  Yes, that did come up.”

“And you don’t have a problem with that?”

“Why would there be a problem?  You are clearly quite blessed.  The implications for relations between the divine and the arcane are fascinating.”

“Oh.”

Lira eats a few more bites in silence.  

“Um, don’t take this the wrong way.  I mean, it’s very nice to meet you and all, and I certainly appreciate being… you know… not dead, but, since we’ve delivered the invitations to all of the archmages, is there anything left for you to liason?”

Brother Brightly nods and takes a bite of his own breakfast.  “In point of fact, yes.  With your mission complete, I was hoping to get your impressions of each of the archmages.  After all, those of your group are the selection committee’s best resource.”

Lira nods.  “Alright.  Although you should know that my knowledge of Barnabus is somewhat…” she gives Euro’s head a scratch, “filtered.”

Hey, you know I give it to you straight, Boss.

_Of course you do._

Brother Brightly, unaware of the sidebar conversation going on without him, merely nods.  “So noted.”

Lira takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and thinks back to the beginning of their journey.

###

Although the party was first sent to find the four most powerful archmages in the Halmae, they discovered that there were in fact five wizards with arcane prowess far above those of any of their peers.

The Miyen Kai

The enigmatic Miyen Kai claims to be the living personification of the Health of the eleven Miyen Nation.  Though he protects the Miyen from supernatural attacks, the elves seem wary of him.  While we suspect that there is more to him than there appears, since we chose not to linger to delve deeper into his nature, we have little hard evidence to support our suspicions.

Chi’i

Of all the archmagi, Chi’i seems most interested in the study of magic itself, probing its origins and seeking out its most powerful practitioners.  To our knowledge, aside from her visits with the other archmages, Chi’i rarely if ever departs the tranquility of her secluded valley where her privacy is guarded by the wilds of the Ketkath Mountains.  Still, Chi’i is not completely ignorant of the outside world, and it was she who informed us of the existence of Barnabus.

Petros

By contrast, Petros is clearly a crusader, traveling the Halmae in his moving tower, fighting the scourge of the undead.  Though he is the archmage who most actively uses his abilities for the greater good of the world, his study of the unholy and the undead borders on the unhealthy.

Manaal al Amani

Manaal: the desert mystic and self-proclaimed Chosen Son of Ehkt.  She is also one of two known people (including Lira herself) capable of casting both divine and arcane magic.  Her evocational powers are truly formidable, and, self-proclaimed or not, her ability to create fire with arcane magic certainly marks her as special.

Barnabus

And, of course, Barnabus, the artificer.  While he has shown the most impressive powers we have seen among the archmages, and his manner is certainly benign, he is also clearly the dottiest of the bunch.

###

Brother Brightly leans back as Lira concludes her narrative.  “Well, they certainly are an eclectic group.”

“You could say that.”

“So,” he says, “who would you recommend for the position of Chancellor?”

Lira blinks, not sure she heard correctly.  

But it was no mistake.  Throughout the city, the same question is being posed by each of the party’s contacts.  Who, in their opinion, is most fit to be the next Chancellor of the Mages’ Academy?

###

_Okay readers, I now put it to you.  You know now as much as we did then.  I’m curious, who would you recommend?_


----------



## orsal

spyscribe said:
			
		

> _Okay readers, I now put it to you.  You know now as much as we did then.  I’m curious, who would you recommend?_




I vote for Chi'i, the _academic_ among mages.


----------



## el-remmen

I'd say Barnabus or Chi'i, even though Manaal is my favorite.


----------



## Gold Roger

Barnabus or Chi'i.


----------



## weiknarf

spyscribe said:
			
		

> _Okay readers, I now put it to you.  You know now as much as we did then.  I’m curious, who would you recommend?_




Chi'i  although storywise Barnabus might be more fun.


----------



## Seonaid

I forgot about Hue! Thanks for the update. I like the style of this one. 

*I* as a player would recommend Manaal, but I think Chi'i is the more logical choice in game.


----------



## CTSparky

Well i choose Barnabus simple becase out of all of the archmagi he seems the most normal.
I just have a sneaking suspicon that Chi'i is hiding something.


----------



## Jackylhunter

I would pick Chi'i, but I think she would refuse.  I think Barnabus is the most likely to accept the offer.  Although I'm not sure having an absent-minded archmage training a new crop of mages, is such a great idea...=)


----------



## jensun

I would choose Barnabus.  He may be absent minded but hes a delver and a tinkerer.  He seems more likely to let his students get on and explore things for themselves than be too restrcictive.

Of course, that could have implications in itself.


----------



## energy_One

I would almost certainly select Barnabus. The others already seem to have established roles, other than Chi'i, who seemed a tad self-absorbed to be doing that kind of work.


----------



## Cerebral Paladin

Wow.  I'm really surprised that Barnabus is as popular as he is.  He's a great guy and all, and would make an outstanding instructor in artificing, but he's also a loon and capable of missing things going on right in front of him.  As an administrator and leader? What a disaster.  Not that this is influenced by my spouse's experiences dealing with academic administrators, or anything.   (My spouse is an assistant professor who has had to deal with far too many people who are smart, able academics put in administrative positions that they are terrible at, with very bad consequences for their universities.)

I'm not sure who I would favor, but not Barnabus.  Perhaps Chi'i, perhaps Manaal.  Petros seems too politically unpalatable-- he's doing a lot of good as it is, but as Chancellor might be a lightning rod for hatred of mages.  The big question in my mind is whether Manaal's ties to Ekht would help build acceptance, etc, or whether her eccentricities and religious oddness would bring condemnations for heresy.  If Manaal would play out well, she might be the best choice.  Chi'i has less upsides to me, but less downsides as well.


----------



## dpdx

Chi'i (likely won't accept), then Manaal (likely won't either), then Barnabus (hopefully if they don't, he does). The Miyen Kai has pressing engagements elsewhere, and unless you want a dramatic upsurge in necromancy throughout the Darine Confederacy, Petros isn't a good choice either.

But if I may go off the board, how about...

the acting Chancellor?


----------



## brellin

Barnabus seems to be the best choice to me but whay do I know? Oh and I would like to say Happy Holidays to all I am sorry that it is so late but I just now got to use a computer.


----------



## Destil

*Vote for Petros.*

In times when the moral fiber of the city is running thin, you need strong ethical leadership.
Will Barnabus serve as a roll model for these future mages? Or will he lock himself away with the resources of the University to make magic items that will be used to empower a corrupt magic-hating nobility and, in the future, he may or may not need to Disjoin?

Petros has championed the fight against the undead across the Halmae.
This winter Cri'i was clearly aware and able to act against the undead threat. She did nothing while Pertos valiantly sacrificed his life for the cause. And what did she want that 'evil rock' for, anyway?

Petros is not afraid to use the darkest means to the greatest ends. His research has already yielded excellent results in the field of prosthetics.
Will Manaal warp the focus of the University? Will *fire magic* 101 really be of any use to the future of arcane magic?

Petros can and will fight for the University.
Will the Miyen Kai fight for the University? Or will he stare at a big hole in the ground hundreds of miles away while riots tear down the wall and stone 1st year conjuration students to death? And he actually disempowered the the leadership of the tribe, as the 'health' of the nation. Could the king be next? Could he have his sights set on being the 'health' of the Darien Alliance?

This uhm.... November maybe? vote for what's right. 
No absent minded tinker.
No evil rock collector.
No useless pyromancer.
No elven dissident.

Vote Petros.


________________________
Paid for by the People's Support of Petros Foundation.


----------



## spyscribe

Destil said:
			
		

> ...
> ________________________
> Paid for by the People's Support of Petros Foundation.



Oh.  My.  God.

I... I'm out of words Destil.  That was fabulous.


----------



## Raging Epistaxis

Heh. That was awesome Destil.   I can just imagine Bob LeFontaine reading it. (he's the movie preview voice guy iirc)
You wouldn't happen to be a politcal writer in RL, would you?  

Oh. What about the "I'm Petros, and I approved this message."


----------



## Richard Rawen

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Oh.  My.  God.
> 
> I... I'm out of words Destil.  That was fabulous.




< eyes glazed over >

Yeah, I gotta go with Destil on this one.

*shakes head*

Oh, I mean, I vote for Barnabus!*


_*with a strong administrative assistant - preferrably a female who is strong willed and organizationally gifted._

And Destil as his personal relations minister.


----------



## Seonaid

Destil said:
			
		

> This edit was made possible with donations from Cyrus.



ROFL. Good one.


----------



## babomb

There's been a lot of negativity in the campaign for chancellor, but let's look at the FACTS.
Barnabus is the only one who can put nature spirits into metal bodies with saws and have them patrol the Academy to keep YOU safe.
Barnabus has the most skill in creating magic items.
Barnabus will create automatic fire extinguishers so that the Academy never burns down again.
Barnabus is the only candidate with as much experience as Chancellor Edmund Worthington II.
Barnabus is the right archmage for the job.

"I'm Barnabus, and I approve--what was I doing again?"


----------



## happyelf

I vote for the evil magic head guy.


----------



## The Iron Mark

Oh spyscribe, why hast thou forsaken us!?


----------



## spyscribe

The Iron Mark said:
			
		

> Oh spyscribe, why hast thou forsaken us!?



Hey, no forsaking here.  Next update is in the pipeline and will hopefully be ready for primetime very soon.

Following that, there will probably be news on the state of the story hour, and what I'm expecting to do for the next couple of months.


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Two-Hundred Fourteenth*
_In which: two of our heroes find tests before them._

When the party received their charge, King Orrin described the attributes the next Chancellor would have to possess:  



> “The next Chancellor must be strong enough to hold their ground. Rational enough to navigate the political waters of the civic and religious authorities of the city, and last, but certainly not least, powerful enough to defend the academy should it once again come under attack.”




When the liaisons ask their charges who best represents these qualities, they get many answers.

“Of all of the candidates, I find Petros to be the most Just.”

“Personally, I might support Manaal, but I think you’d have serious objections from the other temples.”

“*Not* the Miyen Kai.”

“Even for an elf he’s crazy.”

“I doubt he’ll even show up.”

“I *like* Barnabus, but… umm…”

“Chi’i could be a good choice.”

“I doubt she’ll even show up.”

“She’s very smart.  Dedicated to the theory of what arcanists *do*.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m just not sure.”

###

“…and of that, there can be no doubt.”  Anvil concludes.

“I see,” says Tenacious the Just, nodding at Anvil from across his large stone desk.  “The selection committee will certainly keep that in mind.” 

Anvil, with nothing to add, remains silent, waiting for Tenacious’s next question.

But older Justicar has none.  “Well done, Anvil.  You’re a great credit, to yourself and the Caucus.  We’re in your debt.  Which reminds me, the Caucus will be meeting Friday night.  Gemstone has returned from the Assembly of Justice in Dar Darine, and we’ll be hearing her report.”  He pauses a moment.  “You should invite your friends to join us.  There are many in the Caucus who would like to meet them.”

Anvil blinks.  “I shall see to it they attend.”

“Good.  Good.  And, of course, we should also be thinking about you.”

Anvil pauses, but only for a moment.  “Of course,” he says. “Pray tell, what exactly were you thinking of thinking about me?”

“Your 4th Order examinations, naturally.  It’s still a bit early yet.  You’ve some major cases yet to take on.  But if we make a concentrated effort to get you there, there’s no reason you can’t test in, oh, the next few months some time…”

It is only the fact that Anvil is well practiced at hiding his surprise that keeps his jaw from dropping.  His promotion to the Third Order came quickly enough.  To already be discussing his promotion to Fourth Order… 

It’s not that Anvil is not ambitious.  Quite the contrary.  The thought of receiving his Fourth Order so young, to be that much closer to the most intricate discussions of the deepest particulars of Kettenek’s Justice…

But, given all the cold looks that he’s been given since his return to the Temple…  all the whispers that he’s overheard in the hallways….

Carefully, Anvil says, “There is, in fact, a related matter I wished to discuss with you.  Since my return to Dar Pykos, I have noticed that a number of our brothers have behaved coldly towards me.”

“Oh?” Tenacious says, raising an eyebrow.

“Indeed.  I believe that the basis for this behavior lies in my promotion to the Third Order.  I believe they do not feel that I have truly earned the position.  To push for another promotion again so soon may only serve to sow discord within our order.”

Tenacious shakes his head.  “Anvil, I’m sure it’s nothing,” he says.  “It’s quite common for older Justicars to feel some resentment when a young, talented individual is promoted up the ranks faster than they are themselves.  I have the utmost confidence that once they’ve had time to get to know you, they’ll turn around.”

Anvil is not entirely convinced.  The cold looks he has been receiving have not been restricted to Justicars older than himself.  Nor to those lower in rank than he.

But Tenacious does not give him time to raise this objection.  “Think of the Caucus, Anvil.  We can always use more high placed Justicars within our ranks.  You’ll be even more useful to us with a promotion.”

It is certainly true.  As a Fourth Order, Anvil would be empowered to head a Special Inquiry Board, giving him broad discretionary power to pursue matters of Justice.  He could begin an Inquest against the persecution of arcane magic if he so desired.  Or perhaps even against the Slave Ownership Ruling, one of the biggest thorns in the side of Universal Law in Dar Pykos…

But…

But…

Anvil is all too aware that he only barely managed to pass his Third Order exams.  If he goes into his Fourth Order exams with the same haste, he cannot expect to have the similar good fortune twice.  

Surely his time would be better spent honing his skills at the Third Order.  Surely, it is self-evident that he should dedicate himself to proving beyond all shadow of a doubt that he is worthy of what he has, before he attempts to move forward.

 “Besides,” Tenacious says, as if reading Anvil’s mind, “if you hadn’t proven yourself ready for the Third Order, you would never have received it.”

There is a long, long silence in the cold, stone room.  Finally, Anvil speaks.

“Very well,” he says.  “I shall prepare for my Fourth Order exams.  It appears that Kettenek’s Justice demands it…”

###

“…now, consider, if you will, the numbers in the third column.  If properly balanced, their sum should equal the sum of the first column, minus the sum of the second column…”

Thatch pinches himself.  Again.  The pain is barely enough to keep him awake, but it is the best he can manage without calling attention to himself.

As it happens, Anvil isn’t the only member of the party preparing for upcoming exams.  

Since Thatch’s return to Dar Pykos, Dame Jenna has eagerly thrust him into his official training as one of the Lady’s Attendants.  His position as the Alirrian representative on the search for the Archmages has been a prominent one, and, as he only joined the Attendants halfway through the quest, his rank within the sect is still… well, technically he’s a squire.  Dame Jenna believes it would be best if they can have him knighted as soon as possible, to better bring his title in line with his responsibilities.

Despite the fact that—as a member of an Alirrian order—this will make him *Dame* Thatch, he doesn’t really disagree.

Thatch has thus far proven himself more than capable at the physical training, and his horsemanship is second to none.  Unfortunately, since the Lady’s Attendants are expected to perform governmental and clerical functions in addition to their martial duties, he has had to sit in classes.  Diplomatic classes.  Accounting classes.

“…but, when compared to the principal interest rate for such an investment, we find what?  Anyone?  Anyone?”

He would almost rather be out negotiating with elves.

Almost.

The only person who seems more bored with the proceedings than Thatch is Eva.  She has not left his side since their arrival in Dar Pykos.  He knows well just how much she has been dreading this return ever since she ditched her magically bugged holy symbol in Ebis.  Whoever the Sedellans are that are harassing her, that simple act has clearly stated to them that she’s not going to take it any more.

Now it’s just a question of waiting to see what they’re going to dish out.

And whatever Eva’s religious leanings may currently be, she has certainly been blessed by Alirria.  And protecting those blessed by Alirria is the clear job of the Attendants.  Even if they are, technically, merely squires.

Thatch looks up from his mess of columns and numbers to glance over at Eva.  Her eyelids are fluttering and her head is slowly starting to nod.

_Humph_, Thatch thinks.  _Isn’t she the lucky one?_


----------



## Richard Rawen

Huzzah! Welcome Back!

and oh how the Adventurers are probably aching for a night in the wilderness once again *laughs*

Dame Thatch... =)


----------



## Capellan

spyscribe said:
			
		

> He would almost rather be out negotiating with elves.




And when we're talking about Thatch, that's saying something!


----------



## el-remmen

Too. short.

Agony! Agony!


----------



## Jackylhunter

Great stuff, and I can't wait for more.


----------



## beldar1215

Got my fix of Halmae. My day may now proceed!! Waiting for my next one!!! Hope it comes soon!


----------



## spyscribe

*Part the Two-Hundred Fifteenth*
_In which: Profanity!  Reunions!  And the vast onyx-acquiring conspiracy gets a name!_

“Umm… Eva.  Class is over… You can wake up now.”

Eva slowly comes back to herself—and the massive crick in her neck—in the now empty classroom in the west wing of the Temple of the Attendants.  Late afternoon light slants through the narrow windows.  The rest of the room is deserted.

“Blood and Milk,” Eva groans.  “What time is it?”

Thatch turns about four shades of pink at Eva's choice of expletive.  “It’s a couple hours before dinner… and… um… can you not say that *here*,” he grimaces.

“Sorry.”  Eva unfolds from her chair, licks two fingers and draws a sign on the wooden desk to appease the goddess, to which she adds an additional, “sorry” upwards for good measure.  The spit evaporates quickly, which Eva chooses to take as a sign of an apology accepted.

“I got a note from Dame Jenna,” Thatch says.  “Professor Alexandra wants to meet with us about planning security for the archmages’ visit.”

Eva gestures to the door.  “Lead on.”

###

Thanks to Eva’s nap, she and Thatch are among the last to arrive for the meeting.  Anvil is at the front of the room, consulting with Professor Alexandra about something.  The rest of the group is clustered in a knot near the middle.

Kiara spots the new arrivals and beckons eagerly.  “Guys!  Come on!  Come on!  She’s back!”

_Back…?_  It takes Eva a split second to realize who Kiara means.  And where she is back from.

But the group parts, and there’s Lira, warm as life.  Eva wonders if any of the others notice the faint shadows in the sorcerer’s eyes.  Then she wonders if the shadows were caused by anything similar to the ones that have haunted her since her own “return.”

Eva gives her friend a gentle squeeze.  Asking low in her ear, “Are you okay?”

Lira’s grip tightens reassuringly.  “Pretty much.  Yeah.”

They part slightly, and Eva feels Lira’s eyes searching her own.  “I think it was better for me.”

Eva gives an almost laugh.  “Wouldn’t be hard.”

The two sit together, with Thatch on Eva’s other side, as Professor Alexandra signals for the group’s attention.  “In order to evaluate the archmages as candidates for chancellor, we will be hosting all of them in the city for a few days.  Given your prior experience, we were hoping that you would each agree to act as hosts and, frankly, escorts while they are in the city.”

“You anticipate they will cause disruptions?” Anvil demands.

“No, we anticipate they might be a target of them.  The Purists have been active over the last few months and we don’t want to take any chances.”

“The Purists?”

The Professor looks surprised for an instant, than sighs.  “Of course, you’ve been gone.  The group responsible for attacking the Academy has gone public.  There haven’t been any attacks on the scale of the night of Sedellus Ascendant, but there have been more isolated incidents.  They seem to be working to gain public support.” 

“And they call themselves the Purists?”

The Professor nods.

There is a brief pause as the party takes that in.  In retrospect, it was foolish of them to assume they had heard the last of those behind the attack on the Mages’ Academy.  But it has been over six months since the attack, and while *their* attention has been occupied with other matters, the Purists have not been so distracted.

Lira wrinkles her nose.  “Pure what?  Horseshi—?”

“—Be that as it may,”  Alexandra interjects before Lira can complete the thought, and waving a hand to settle the light smattering of laughter that accompanied the remark.  “Whatever *their* agenda may be, hopefully *ours* will involve sufficient preparation.  And on that note…”

Professor Alexandra lays out the plan for the arrival of the archmages.  They will be arriving that Friday.  They will have time to explore the city during the afternoon before a grand banquet to be held on the Academy grounds that night in their honor.

Saturday, the archmages will be busy meeting with representatives from the various power bases in Dar Pykos: the four Churches, the Mages’ Academy, and King Orin’s government.  The party will once again serve as guides and security escorts.

On Sunday, the entire retinue will make their way out of the city walls to a specially prepared parade ground where the archmages will perform a demonstration of their abilities.  This demonstration is not designed to be dangerous per se—Alexandra takes pains to point out—but it is designed to test how the candidates react to potentially dangerous situations.

Finally, on Monday, the Selection Committee—made of up of one representative from each of the power bases (Tenacious for Kettenek, Dame Jenna for Alirria, Brother Brightly for Ehkt, Sister Shifting, a Harbinger, for Sedellus, Professor Alexandra for the Mages’ Academy, and Sir William Collingswood, the King’s Chamberlain, for the King)—will meet in private to decide which of the archmages will be offered the position of Chancellor.

Anvil gives a sharp nod as the Professor finishes explaining.  “Good.  This schedule will not interfere.”

“Um… do you have something else to be doing?” Thatch asks.

“I do.  As do you.”

Reyu looks faintly confused.  “What would that be?”

“There is a meeting Wednesday of the Universal Law Caucus.  You have all been invited to attend.”  Anvil looks over his companions and adds, with an air of resignation, “This is an honor which I anticipate some of you may not appreciate.”

Lira’s eyes cut to Eva, and she mutters, “I knew I had a reason to live.”


----------



## Capellan

Huzzah for updates, even if they do make the rest of us look like slackers.

What's the in-game etymology of "Blood and Milk"?  I'm sure Fajitas has one


----------



## CTSparky

*what I would liek to know is:*

How far behind are the updates to the game actually being played?


----------



## spyscribe

CTSparky said:
			
		

> How far behind are the updates to the game actually being played?



This question, I can answer easily!

The last update wraps up the session that we played March 13, 2005.  For perspective, if you look back to some of the comments in this thread, you may notice that the mage's academy story arc concludes in a game we played July 10 of that year.


----------



## Fajitas

Capellan said:
			
		

> What's the in-game etymology of "Blood and Milk"?  I'm sure Fajitas has one



Well, it's really just a question of what kinds of things would be profane to Alirria, he said, and left it to the reader's imagination to take it from there...


----------



## el-remmen

Look, I am sure you have other stuff in your life you deem important, but as I am all caught up on my soon to be posted new story hour (we've had one session and that installment is ready to go) and grad school is just starting up while work is winding down  - so I have a little time. .  and I want to spend that time reading more Halmae!

Stop considering your own needs and think of me for a change! I would go harrass Sagiro for more Abernathy's Company, but he has a child and thus I have more sympathy for him ;-)

I am really eager for the next set of adventures.


----------



## Fajitas

el-remmen said:
			
		

> I am really eager for the next set of adventures.



Now, now.  Spyscribe has to dole out the updates in nice, small chunks if she wants to be able to use them to deepen her hold over you and forge you into an unstoppable army.  ("Minions!  Turn control of your government over to me or there will BE no updates!") 

Seriously, did none of you wonder exactly what the spy in "Spyscribe" was up to?

All kidding aside, folks, please give the Mistress of Inscription and Espionage a little room.  She's now working a full time job with an hour commute that doesn't leave her a whole lot of time for writing... and, as much as she loves you, writing Story Hour is not exactly the line of full time writing that she's out here to pursue.

So please, be patient.  She'll keep 'em coming as fast as she can.  Begging, pleading, or cajoling, even in good fun, won't speed it up.

Lavishing unconditional praise and adoration on her... now that might.


----------



## el-remmen

Fajitas said:
			
		

> Begging, pleading, or cajoling, even in good fun, won't speed it up.




Dude! You are bringing me down! Why you gotta make me feel guilty about some good-natured cajoling? 

But seriously, I know what what it is like from the SH author side, so I hearby apologize if my comments unwittingly came off as too strident.



			
				Fajitas said:
			
		

> Lavishing unconditional praise and adoration on her... now that might.




Doesn't it work for us all?  Well, that and cash.


----------



## Len

Fajitas said:
			
		

> "Minions!  Turn control of your government over to me or there will BE no updates!"



OK, but... what does she want with the government of Canada?


----------



## spyscribe

Len said:
			
		

> OK, but... what does she want with the government of Canada?



Oh... nothing...  *Looks around.  Whistles innocently.*


----------



## Vaslov

Len said:
			
		

> OK, but... what does she want with the government of Canada?




Word on the street is it has something to do with a Wolverine / Anne of Green Gables cross over...  EVIL.

Spy, thank you for the wonderful story hour.


----------



## energy_One

Vaslov said:
			
		

> Word on the street is it has something to do with a Wolverine / Anne of Green Gables cross over...




I have to say, _best joke ever_.

And thanks to spyscribe for working on the Story Hour, and Fajitas for working on it through another layer of abstraction.


----------



## CTSparky

*planned release on DVD?*

Is there a plnned release of the story hour from 3/05 to current on DVD?    I'll buy it.


----------



## karianna

*Can't let this go away!*

Bumpity bump for you great SH!


----------



## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit

Well, given that I enjoy reading several storyhours on these boards, I don't know how I ignored this one for so long! But having found it, I have now spent far too much time over the past couple of weeks reading it all! 

And I know you've had lots of other readers telling you how good it is - so I won't bother ....

.... OK, I will!   

Kudos to all involved: spyscribe for great writing, all the players for creating such memorable characters, and especially Fajitas for putting together a very well realised world and some of the most personality-filled NPCs I've seen.

Now I just want more updates ...


----------



## spyscribe

_Four years already.  (Although I’m sure to some of you it feels like it’s been that long just since the last update.  )  I’m not sure whether to be amazed that this project has gone on so long or to marvel that the time has gone by so fast.  As I do every year, I’d like to thank our readers, both those who are just finding this thread and those who have been reading since the beginning, without your participation this thread would not be the same; my fellow players, who have made for not only great games, but great friends, and of course, Fajitas who gave us all a reason to roll the dice together.

Happy Birthday._

*Part the Two-Hundred Sixteenth*
_In which: Church Politics! Spies! Intrigue!  A typical week, really._

What with one thing and another, the week before the arrival of the archmages passes.

[sblock]If the preceding sentence sounds like a gloss to you, that’s probably because it is one.  

Many of you have probably noticed that this story hour thread doesn’t update as often as it used to.  In fact, two of three times a week has become once every two or three weeks.  Unfortunately, (or fortunately, in light of the reasons for it) I don’t see that changing back in the near future.  In the last six months, I’ve gotten a new job, and it’s a job where I’m not being paid a pittance to answer phones and do filing in between writing 10,000 words of story hour a week.

That plus a commute that averages more than two hours a day, and my writing time—especially writing time for story hour—has dwindled.

And so, we’re skipping a subplot.  Not because it isn’t a good subplot.  But it’s two sessions worth of set-up that doesn’t pay off until after the new Chancellor is selected, and at current pace of updates, it doesn’t really make sense to interweave the two.  So for the time being, suffice it to say: 

What with one thing and another, the week before the arrival of the archmages passes.[/sblock]

Anvil pours over the dusty tomes in the Temple library.  Thatch dutifully attends his accounting classes, Eva by his side.

Until one day, Eva decides she has had enough.

Eva is tired.

Sure, she’s done her share of the work involved in the security arrangements for the visit of the archmages.  But it’s not that.

Eva is tired of looking over her shoulder all the time.  Tired of the anxiety keeping her up at night until the best rest she gets is when she drops off in the middle of one of Thatch’s classes.  Tired of the fear and paranoia and uncertainty, and most of all, she’s tired of *nothing happening*.

Which is why, when she finds a piece of parchment inside her pouch that reads…



> Meet me at the Fortunate Traveler
> 
> -K




…It’s almost a relief.  Even though it’s in the coin purse no one’s supposed to know she carries.  But still, as she reads it, she thinks to herself, _Oh, why not.  The worst they can do is kill me, right?_

And, without telling anyone else in the party what she is doing, she makes her way to the Fortunate Traveler.

***

The Fortunate Traveler is an Alirrian bar.  A strange place, she thinks, to meet a Sedellan.  But then again, Kemmer is a strange Sedellan.

She enters the main room and looks around.  She doesn’t see any obvious sign of Kemmer… nor does she necessarily feel like continuing to indulge him in these cloak-and-dagger games.

So she boldly makes her way up to the bartender and says, “I’m looking for a man named Kemmer.  Is he here?” 

The bartender jerks a thumb up the stairs.  “Third room on the left,” he grunts.

_Could’ve put that in your stupid note_, Eva thinks to herself as she makes her way up the stairs and knocks on the third room on the left.

“Nobody’s home,” says a voice right in her ear.

Eva jumps three feet in the air and whirls… to find Kemmer standing behind her, grinning.

She forces herself to resist the urge to knock the smirk right off his face.  Experience tells her that even if she did, it would be back in a moment.

“Care to join me?” he asks solicitously, as he makes his way back into the third room on the *right*.  Eva hesitates for a moment.  This is the man she has been afraid of seeing since she ditched her bugged holy symbol in Ebis.  Does she really want to enter a room with him, alone?

_But then_, she thinks, _if he’d wanted to kill me, he could have done it here in the hall right now.

Or when he slipped that note into my pouch._

With that reassuring thought, she enters the room.

Kemmer is watching Eva closely, as if he can see the thought process playing out in her head.  He motions her to sit on the bed.  She does.

“You gave us quite a scare, there,” he says, finally.  “When you ‘lost’ that holy symbol of yours.  Some of us were afraid we were going to have to resurrect you again.”

“Accidents happen,” Eva says, guarded.

“Indeed they do.  And you appear to have been a most fortuitous one.”

Eva blinks.  That’s not exactly what she expected to hear.

Kemmer continues.  “The others didn’t agree with me.  They thought you were just a mindless dupe who would serve our purposes and not ask any questions.  They didn’t think you had anything going on above the neck.  Couldn’t get past your appearance, you see.”

“Great,” Eva mutters.

“No, they couldn’t imagine that anyone so plain looking could possibly have an interesting thought in her head.  But I always knew…okay, I always suspected that somewhere, deep down, buried away where no one else could see it, somewhere in there just might be the teeniest, tinsiest shred of intellect.  And I was right.  There *is* the teeniest, tinsiest shred of intellect.”

“Did you ask me here just to insult me, or is there a point to all this?” Eva demands.

Kemmer laughs.  “See.  That’s what I mean.  Fiesty.  I like it.” And suddenly he leans forward, smiles, and asks, “So how would you like to come work for us?”

Eva blinks again.  

And then pretty much explodes.  “Come *work* for you? What in the Hells have I *been* doing for the last six months?”

“You been being used,” Kemmer responds, good-naturedly.  “Now we want you to *actually* work for us.  How does that sound to you?  A bonafide member of the Advocates?”

Eva scowls, remembering the break-ins to her room, the suddenly appearing notes.  “Do I have a choice?”

Kemmer feigns insult; at least, she’s pretty sure he’s feigning it.  Eva’s not sure he’s ever shown a genuine reaction in her presence… or anyone else’s.  “Of course you do.  You could walk away.  Go back to being another girl from Dar Darine, run off from a bad engagement, a Fortune Rider playing cards and drinking bad ale while the world marches on.”

Eva frowns and Kemmer abruptly leans forward, stopping with his face inches from hers and plants a finger firmly in the center of her forehead.

“Or, you could be an Alirrian.  If that’s the sort of thing you *really* want to do.”

Kemmer leans back.  He’s smirking again.

_Bastard_ Eva fumes to herself…. but… she considers the offer…

###

Meanwhile, Lira finds the time to touch base with her brother Questors.  Devon is gone, and the new chapter administrator is a grizzled adventurer, filling the unglamorous post for the church in order to earn a _regeneration_ spell to replace his legs, which have both been severed just above the knee.

Now laboriously pulling himself about the office in some kind of wheeled chair, he clearly chafes against his current position, both administrative and physical.

When Lira introduces herself, she can almost see the mental process wherein he glances her over and decides that in the Questor categories of “doer” and “talker” she clearly belongs with the latter group.

_Fine_, Lira thinks, _I’ve been dismissed by better than you._  She feels too tired to argue with him, and also not sure that, “Hey, on my last Quest I got killed,” will score her any points besides.  

And in fact, Lira discovers that the urge to tell tales of daring and adventure has paled, and finds herself drifting to the fringes of the room as the night wears on.  Which is where she nearly collides with Artimus, who barely three months ago had been her date for Alirria Rising.

“Lira!” he grins, kissing her lightly on the cheek.  “How are things?”

“Complicated.”

“Your mission?”

“Can’t really talk about it.”  

Artimus nods understandingly even as he tucks a medallion that had half-fallen free back into his tunic.

Lira raises an eyebrow.  The medallion wasn’t a Questor holy symbol.

Artimus catches the look and guides them farther off towards one corner of the room.  “You’ve heard about the Purists?” he whispers.

“I’ve heard they’re still active.”

“They’re not the only ones.”  Making sure that no one is watching, Artimus draws out the medallion for Lira to see.  It’s wooden, roughly the size of a standard holy symbol, but instead of the sign of one of the gods accompanied by a sect designation, it shows a crescent moon, and bit of arcane script.  “Some of us have decided it’s time to start looking after our own.”

###

Of course, as far as Anvil is concerned, the most important event of the week is Wednesday’s meeting of the Universal Law Caucus.  At Anvil’s insistence, the entire party is in attendance—some more grudgingly than others—and as Tenacious promised, there are several at the meeting who are eager to make the party’s acquaintance.  

Fortunately for group unity, most of the party finds it more amusing than anything else that they are usually recognized as, “Oh, you’re one of Anvil’s team…” before being asked to field questions about their adventures.  

Once the meeting is formally called to order, the main event on the night’s agenda is Gemstone the Just’s report on the Justicar’s Quadrennial Conclave which has just concluded in Dar Darine.

_(Note 1: this is, in fact, where Mountain the Just, chief Justicar of the Islands of  Agramount was when the party was busy deposing the Count.)

(Note 2: the Justicar’s General Conclave is now colloquially known as “the all Justice Just-off.”  The DM would like to extend his most sincere thanks to jonrog1 for that little gem.)_

Gemstone is not known as a charismatic speaker, and her address is certainly on the dry side, but the bare facts are chilling enough to make up for any lack of rhetorical flair.

“The Pillars of Kettenek have declared that they will no longer recognize the cause of the Arcane as Just.  At this time they have chosen not to make a declaration that the cause is UnJust, but their members will no longer act in support or defense of Arcane practitioners, institutions, or their allies.”

Eva, who has never made a habit of keeping track of the sects of either one of her *own* goddesses, never mind Kettenek, leans over and whispers in Lira’s ear, “Is that a change?”

The sorcerer nods.  “When we knew there was going to be an attack on the Academy, the Pillars were one of the only religious groups in the city who sent people to help.”

“Oh.”

Gemstone is still speaking, “Although the sect leadership has previously stood neutral on the question of the Arcane, leaving the matter to the consciences of their members, leadership cites recent activities of the so-called ‘Arcanists League’ against the anti-arcane group known as the Purists.  The Leauge, in its few public statements, has claimed their members only act to defend themselves, or in retaliation for specific Purist acts, but the leadership of the Pillars seems to think that the vigilante action of the aforementioned League has been responsible for collateral damage and casualties beyond those stated targets.”

Lira’s throat goes suddenly dry.  If this is correct, then the attempts by the Purists to sway public opinion that Professor Alexandra spoke of would seem to be working.

And in two days, the five most powerful arcanists in the Halmae are due to arrive in Dar Pykos. 

Beside her, Thatch’s hands reflexively tighten in his gloves, ready.

They’re going to have their work cut out for them.


----------



## el-remmen

Nice to see an update!

Thanks!


----------



## orsal

Happy birthday again, Fajitas. And spyscribe, congratulations on the reason for slowing down - it's worth it. Except the part about the commute.


----------



## Angcuru

Good to see an update.


----------



## Len

Happy Birthday, Fajitas! and Happy Storyversary, spyscribe!  



			
				spyscribe said:
			
		

> In the last six months, I’ve gotten a new job, and it’s a job where I’m not being paid a pittance to answer phones and do filing in between writing 10,000 words of story hour a week.
> 
> That plus a commute that averages more than two hours a day, and my writing time—especially writing time for story hour—has dwindled.



What you really need is a job that pays more than a pittance, and leaves you time to write updates, and comes with a chauffeur so you can write while you commute.


----------



## Arkhandus

Huzzah, an update!!!

Also, Happy Birthday Fajitas!

Likewise, congrats Spyscribe on the new job!  Boo on tedium and pittances!


----------



## Yavathol

*Bits of the puzzle come together!*

Hoorah!  An update!

And the plot gets more intricate  

In case anyone hasn't picked up on it, the Fortunate Traveller has been mentioned before, it's the inn where Amos was drugged in the first adventure  

And given the similarity in names, I'm betting that Kemmer is actually Remmer with the scar/Reller with the eyepatch    Here I was thinking he was just a two-bit scoundrel, he's obviously far more than that!  Spyscribe, can I ask what disguise he uses for the Kemmer alias please?

Also, I'm so glad for the pdf files that have been compiled, and the campaign notes that were included in the story hour at the start, they are invaluable for quickly refreshing ones memory on various aspects of the world.  However, the section on religious orders does not mention the Advocates, the Arcane, or the Purists...is there any chance please of a brief description of these sects in the same manner as the initial ones?  (In the GMs thread if you are worried about spoilers?)

Are the Purists even a sect, or just a secular group?  What is the name of Artimus's new order?  

Looks like we still have a bit of story to go through before we find out who the new Chancellor will be!


----------



## Pyske

Good to see you posting again, Spyscribe.  Glad to hear that the new job no longer qualifies as a "pittance"; now if only we could arrange for a ride share for you, so you could write during the commute.


----------



## willow

Does anybody else REALLY want to see what happens when a crazed mob tries to attack the five most powerful mages in the Halmae? 'Cuz I really do. (Of course, that's because I don't live in the Halmae, so it's not my living room that's going to be destroyed in the crossfire.)


----------



## Fajitas

Yavathol said:
			
		

> And given the similarity in names, I'm betting that Kemmer is actually Remmer with the scar/Reller with the eyepatch    Here I was thinking he was just a two-bit scoundrel, he's obviously far more than that!  Spyscribe, can I ask what disguise he uses for the Kemmer alias please?




An interesting theory, to be sure. Alas, at this point of the story, Eva is the only one who has ever met Kemmer...and she was not present during the Remmer/Reller/Regger adventure.  Which makes the theory a bit tricky for anyone in the party to confirm, doesn't it? 

And, no matter how much you beg, Spyscribe cannot tell you what disguise he allegedly uses in the alleged Kemmer alias, as Spyscribe wasn't there.  I, however, can tell you that Kemmer is fairly nondescript, without any distinguishing markings at all.  



> However, the section on religious orders does not mention the Advocates, the Arcane, or the Purists...is there any chance please of a brief description of these sects in the same manner as the initial ones?  (In the GMs thread if you are worried about spoilers?)




The Purists aren't mentioned in the background material, because it was written as "here is what everyone who lives in the Halmae knows about the world." The Purists didn't come into being (or at least, didn't attract any attention) until very recently; simply put, nobody really knows enough about them to compile such an entry (though I wouldn't describe them as so much secular as pantheonistic). The same goes for the new Arcane group, about which you'll learn more soon.

And as for the Advocates...hey! You're right. They're also not in the background material. Weird.  It's almost like no one who lives in the Halmae knows about them either...


----------



## Yavathol

Fajitas said:
			
		

> The same goes for the new Arcane group, about which you'll learn more soon.
> 
> And as for the Advocates...hey! You're right. They're also not in the background material. Weird.  It's almost like no one who lives in the Halmae knows about them either...




Yeah, I realised it was something like that, but it was worth a shot.  So this Arcane is the same group that Artimus has joined?  I thought that was the case, but am very black-and-white, I like to get things crystal clear.  

I noticed there was an omission in the background material for the Advocates (if they are who I think they are), those Children of the Wind sounded too nihilistic and chaotic.  Funny thing with ultra-secret groups though, and its the same with Vecna churches...how do they work?  I could secretly be a follower of Sedellus, and that way inclined, but so could Joe and Bob next door, and none of us would ever know, as we are too secretive to ever talk  

Wouldn't this seriously impact the groups power, since the more well-known you are, the easier it is to gain followers and political power.  Unless the Advocates are like a secret order within a more respectable sect, it would never be possible for the High-priest of Sedellus to be an Advocate...hmm.  I think I'll shut up now, before Kemmer does something nasty to *my* coin-purse


----------



## thatdarncat

Fajitas, happy birthday


----------



## Aneul

Happy birthday Fajitas (first year I've been around to say this- now I feel like an honest to goodness Halmae fan), and its great to see an update (and a very good one at that), Spyscribe!


----------



## A'vandira Silvermane

*From me too*

Happy Birthday Fajitas (belated as it may be) and happy Storyversary Spyscribe (thanks for the new word Len).
Good to see a new update (and a good one again as expected), although sad to see the drop in frequency, despite the good reason for that (congrats on the new job Spyscribe)


----------



## dpdx

I have to say that, given the state of the Darine Confederacy at this point in the story, including a brewing war between pro- and anti-arcane, Kettenek enforcing neutrality among the Justicars, and a number of surreptious groups jockeying for position:

What makes the Mages Academy so sure they're going to even get _takers_ for the Chancellor's job? If I'm the Miyen Kai, for example, it's MUCH safer out on the hinterlands, staring down the potential threat, than it is to face all of the real ones, declared and undeclared. Likewise the other potential chancellors, all of whom would have left a safer, if not better situation than the one that waits for them in Dar Pykos. It'd be like running the American Self-Defense School in Mogadishu.

You know? "Thanks, but no thanks; I'll just open the Fire Magician's Primary School right over here in Dar Wyoming, where the toughest thing I have to face up to is the odd ECL 4 character and some sagebrush."


----------



## dpdx

What?

Oh. Happy Belated Birthday, Fajitas! Congratulations on the anniversary of the Story Hour!

Is everybody okay?


----------



## ellinor

dpdx said:
			
		

> Is everybody okay?




Yes, people are okay, although Fajitas is recuperating from the flu.  Mostly, everyone is just really busy now.

To speculate about the motivations of the archmages' reasoning for wanting the Chancellor job, that was my initial thought as well.  But my take is that Fajitas set them up with motivations.  The Miyen Kai loves power (and what better power than to be in a position to mold such impressionable minds?); Manaal and Petros would probably love to have a platform for their philosophies to be heard; Barnabus would love to have the framework and resources to do his experiments (now that he's out of the resource-providing clutches of the Count, and doesn't really have anywhere to live, come to think of it), and Chi'i . . . well, who really understands anything about Chi'i.  But she is a bit of an academic type already, so she might find communing with other arcanists to be rewarding.  That's my take.  None of them have really displayed the will to stay out of controversy or danger, except maybe Chi'i.  Maybe there is a certain amount of self-preservation there, too . . .safety in numbers; students and teachers with power who can help you defend yourself and your kind; the desire to be part of making the world safer for your kind, rather than allowing it to become more and more dangerous . . . but of course, only Fajitas really knows how they think!


----------



## happyelf

I still think it should be the evil head-guy they found.


----------



## spyscribe

happyelf said:
			
		

> I still think it should be the evil head-guy they found.




Ha!  It's kind of like hosting a party that way.  You think you're having four archmages over, then your adventurers ask if they can invite a fifth, you say, "Sure, why not?" And at that point, who's going to notice yet another one?


----------



## Arkhandus

A bump because Justice demands it.

Also, every party could use more evil head-guys.


----------



## Snipet

Miss you all!  Hope all is well.


----------



## Seonaid

Caught up again!

Congrats on the job, spyscribe! Happy (belated) birthday, Fajitas!


----------



## CTSparky

*a bump for want*

I just can't see Halmae at the bottom of the list.  So here is  bump to remind people of this wonderful story and to wish that other obligations of the players and the GM part so they can make it back to the table.


----------



## TwinBahamut

Just got caught up. After something like a week straight of reading. In the middle of finals, for my last quarter of college.

This is a great story hour. Thank you very much, spyscribe, for putting so much effort into such a great story. Fajitas has my admiration as a great DM. I also want to thank StevenAC for the handy PDF format.

Argh, I was so certain that I would see the new Chancellor chosen before I got caught up, too...


----------



## (contact)

A bump for my convinience. 








More to follow.


----------



## dpdx

(contact) said:
			
		

> A bump for my convinience.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> More to follow.



Man, I hope so! It's been too long!


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## (contact)

dpdx said:
			
		

> Man, I hope so! It's been too long!




Since someone bumped this thread?


----------



## babomb

(contact) said:
			
		

> Since someone bumped this thread?




Yes.


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## darkhall-nestor

what where are the posts last post in feb 07  wow!!!


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## Groutknoll

Hey spyscribe, 

You better be careful, Jonrog may Call You Out for an update    , because "Justice demands it!"


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## cheshire_grin

Aw, nuts.

I finally reached the end of the last page. Grover kept telling me not to turn the page, there was a MONSTER at the end, but he was wrong; it's worse that that.

There's _no more updates_ at the end. 


Great SH, spyscribe/Fajitas. I love the world and the prose-ization, reading this has really made me miss my old group. I haven't had the chance to play a live game in I think 5 years now, and reading this really brings back some great memories.


----------



## beldar1215

Sure do miss the updates. Will we see one anytime soon? I hope this awesome Story Hour hasn't died. Come back to us, please.

Beldar


----------



## spyscribe

Hello everyone, or anyone who's still left!

Okay, you got me.  There isn't a monster at the end of this thread... yet.  (Man cheshire_grin, I haven't thought about that book in *years*.)

I've avoided posting here mostly because I don't want to be the author who is forever promising that there will be an update *soon* and then the update never appears.  

All appearances to the contrary, this story hour isn't quite dead yet.  In fact, just a couple of days ago I sent a new document to Fajitas to look at.  However, it probably isn't going to be posted for a while.  And that's because when we start up again, I intend to push on through to the end of the story of the selection of the next Chancellor of the Mages' Academy.  But, I'm not going to start that until I have the rest of the story at least in initial draft form.

And that (along with some other factors) is what is causing the delay.  There isn't a whole lot of story left, at least not compared to what's already been written, but some of it is technical, and all of it was played more than two years ago, and even my memory starts to get hazy at a certain point.

But while you wait, and I write (or think about writing, or bemoan to Fajitas that you all deserve an ending) I want to take a minute to thank each and every one of you who has helped keep this thread alive over the last six months.  You are the reason to keep this going, and I am delighted to see that people are still discovering and reading this thing.

I don't know when posting will start up again, beyond saying that I'd really like to get this thing rolling again by my birthday, but if anyone has any other questions in the meantime, please ask away and I'll do my best to answer.


----------



## Vaslov

Woo-hoo!  Halmae Lives!


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## cheshire_grin

spyscribe said:
			
		

> Hello everyone, or anyone who's still left!
> 
> Okay, you got me.  There isn't a monster at the end of this thread... yet.  (Man cheshire_grin, I haven't thought about that book in *years*.)



I'm glad you recognized it, then...  I have an 8-month-old, so it's actually easier for me to quote kids' books than adult ones at this point...   



> All appearances to the contrary, this story hour isn't quite dead yet.  In fact, just a couple of days ago I sent a new document to Fajitas to look at.  However, it probably isn't going to be posted for a while.  And that's because when we start up again, I intend to push on through to the end of the story of the selection of the next Chancellor of the Mages' Academy.  But, I'm not going to start that until I have the rest of the story at least in initial draft form.



That's great news.

Not to sound ungrateful, 'cause I'm really not  but does that imply that "the end of the story of the selection of the next Chancellor of the Mages' Academy" is the _end_ of the story, or will you continue to write up the campaign (at whatever pace) afterwards?

Thanks again for the delightful story hour. Such amazingly memorable characters and setting, you all did a fantastic job with it.


----------



## Seonaid

Yes, please don't tell us that the campaign (and the story) ended when the Chancellor is selected?!?


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## spyscribe

cheshire_grin said:
			
		

> Not to sound ungrateful, 'cause I'm really not  but does that imply that "the end of the story of the selection of the next Chancellor of the Mages' Academy" is the end of the story, or will you continue to write up the campaign (at whatever pace) afterwards?




To address your question and Seonaid's, the selection of the next chancellor of the Mages Academy was originally intended to be the first year arc of the campaign.  (Obviously, it took us a long longer to play out than Fajitas had originally anticipated.)  That means that it makes a good natural bookend to the story of the thread so far.

How any write up of other parts of the campaign (including the skipped sub-plot I mentioned a while back) might appear on these boards is a question I plan to deal with when I get there.


----------



## Snipet

spyscribe said:
			
		

> I don't know when posting will start up again, beyond saying that I'd really like to get this thing rolling again by my birthday




Hey Spyscribe!  Your birthday's coming up!  heh heh


Wish I could help, but your (and Fajitas) genius cannot be duplicated.  I feel lucky that you gave us as much as you already have!

Miss you guys!


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## Baron Opal

Just a bump to say that the story is missed and I hope you are all still gaming.


----------



## Seonaid

Don't make me cry! I want an update!


----------



## doghead

Having been away for a bit, I decided to catch up using Stevenac's wonderful compiled pdf's. I just wanted to say thanks to Steven for putting them together.

Now that I have gorged on Halmea goodness, I shall savour the anticipation that comes with knowing I have another half dozen or so instalments awaiting me.

Yummy.

doghead
aka thotd

PS: Happy birthday to everybody.


----------



## spyscribe

Oh yeah, what was yesterday again?  The FIVE YEAR anniversary of this thread?  Another birthday for Fajitas?

And how did I celebrate it?  Did I resume the long-delayed saga?  No, I sent Fajitas a cheezy e-card.

(Poor Seonaid is off sobbing in a corner somewhere.  Sorry about that Seoniad.)

We passed 100,000 views this year, and I can't tell you all how happy it makes me that people are still checking in with, and enjoying this thread.

Our campaign has gone on indefinite hiatus, and I fear that after a year without updates, it's fair to say that this story hour has as well.

I wish I could promise you an update soon.  I do want to bring this to a fitting end.  I look forward to sharing with you the incident which in my notes reads, "Eva kidnapped, farce ensues."   And Anvil's first experience as a trial attorney.

I start a new job on Monday.  A job I am very, VERY, excited about.  While the commute will be shorter, the hours will be longer.  We'll see how that shakes out for the story hour.  I'll be in touch though, and someday, the story will resume.


----------



## Seonaid

Yay! Good to hear from you! Congrats on the job. It lessens my tears somewhat.


----------



## Fajitas

spyscribe said:
			
		

> No, I sent Fajitas a cheezy e-card.



She sent me an *awesome* cheezy e-card.

And speaking of awesome, her new job is it.  Big round of applause for Spyscribe.


----------



## Arkhandus

Congrats on the new job, Spyscribe!


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## Snipet

Woo hoo!  Your job sounds absolutely fantastic, Spyscribe!  Congratulations!  So great to chat with you again the other day.  Can't wait to hear more!  I'll be in LA after graduation (so probably around May 12-ish) and I'd sure love to see all y'all.  Anyone planning to be around then?


----------



## spyscribe

Thanks Arkhandus, and hi Snipet, it was good to talk to you too!

And for those of you wondering what could be so awesome about my new job that it is preventing updates, click below to take a peek at the latest group of adventurers who've brought me aboard as their lackey and note taker.

http://themiddleblog.livejournal.com/13611.html


----------



## Seonaid

Which one is you?


----------



## StevenAC

*Collected Story Hour update*

No, it's not an update to the story, sorry.

But with the campaign and Story Hour currently on hiatus, I have taken the opportunity to bring the Collected Halmae page up to date, with a mini-chapter that collects together the last few updates that were not already in a PDF file.

Thanks to spyscribe and Fajitas for many years of pleasure from this Story Hour -- and one day, hopefully there'll be more Halmae story to collect!


----------



## Halford

Having found, and finished, this wonderful story hour I just wanted to thank all involved. Spyscribe your work captivated me, Fajitas I truly hope I can foster the enthusiasm and wonderful characterization of PCs, N and otherwise, your game has achieved. And to all the players and guests, I have thoroughly enjoyed your characters without exception.

Truly inspiring, and a rare chance to indulge is my love of Mustilae in all their glory.  My best wishes to all as they continue with their lives - here's hoping you all get to play again soon!


----------



## spyscribe

Alas, not a story hour update, but I did want to check in.

Thank you for your kind words Halford, always good to hear from another mustelid fan, and I'm so glad you enjoyed the story.

StevenAC: THANK YOU, for your compilation, as Fajitas and I have said publicly before, you make us look good.

And Seonaid?  I'm the one in the pink shirt in the front row. 

And if any of you would like to check out the project that has eaten my time and taken me away from the story hour: _The Middleman_ premieres tonight on ABC Family Channel, 8/7 central.  It's a smart, funny show that I am proud to be involved with.

I'm the writer's assistant, which means that it's my job to be in the writers room and take a lot of notes (something you all know I have quite a bit of practice with!), but I am proud to share that I have also gotten a coveted assignment to write an episode.  It's number 11 in the production order, and if all goes according to plan should be airing in late August.  I'll keep you posted with more details as I can share them.


----------



## Seonaid

Congratulations! That's so cool! You'll definitely have to let us know if/when you hear more.


----------



## StevenAC

spyscribe said:
			
		

> StevenAC: THANK YOU, for your compilation, as Fajitas and I have said publicly before, you make us look good.



It was a great pleasure.  I look forward to more of the adventures of Euro's Company one day... 

And big congrats on getting the episode writing job.  Hope it all goes well for you.


----------



## el-remmen

spyscribe said:
			
		

> And if any of you would like to check out the project that has eaten my time and taken me away from the story hour: _The Middleman_ premieres tonight on ABC Family Channel, 8/7 central.  It's a smart, funny show that I am proud to be involved with.




I watched it and liked it!  I particularly liked the patter and the eschewing any serious exposition in favor of just assuming the audience gets the "comic book-y" premise.

Anyway, I started a thread in the Media Lounge forum about it.


----------



## Jackylhunter

I too watched it and liked it.  It's on my Tivo List now, so I won't miss a one.


----------



## thatdarncat

spyscribe said:


> And if any of you would like to check out the project that has eaten my time and taken me away from the story hour: _The Middleman_ premieres tonight on ABC Family Channel, 8/7 central.  It's a smart, funny show that I am proud to be involved with.



You know, I'm enjoying The Middleman so much I can forgive the lack of updates  I'd actually forgotten you were involved.


----------



## Amellia

Yes this show has continued to impress me, the premiere was funny, witty and pretty much dead on with the comic. I think the casting is perfect, Natalie Morales as Wendy is a great match and I belive Matt Keeslar was born to play this one. Anyone watch it last night?


----------



## el-remmen

Amellia said:


> Anyone watch it last night?




We've been discussing it here.


----------



## Seonaid

I met spyscribe, I met spyscribe! And she's even cooler in person than she is on the boards.


----------



## Seule

Seonaid said:


> I met spyscribe, I met spyscribe! And she's even cooler in person than she is on the boards.




I question that validity of that statement, it doesn't sound plausible.
Can one human even contain that much coolness without freezing solid?

  --Penn


----------



## Seonaid

Seule said:


> I question that validity of that statement, it doesn't sound plausible.
> Can one human even contain that much coolness without freezing solid?
> 
> --Penn



I know, it's really hard to believe, but it's true!


----------



## Beretta

Ehkt's Balls! I can't believe I missed this gem all this time.

Now, having reached the end, I can't believe that's it!

So many questions unanswered, so many threads yet to unravel...

Who becomes Chancellor? Is the Justicy McJust-Off Caucus the first splash in a wave of Universal Law that eventually sweeps the Halmae?

Anyway, better to arrive at this Story Hour late than never - big props to all the cast and crew for many hours of entertainment.

Also many thanks to Steven for the PDF versions which I used to read it all - great stuff!


----------



## Seonaid

I was so excited to see a new post, but it's not an update.  spyscribe, why hast thou forsaken us?!?


----------



## Baron Opal

Alas, she has been seduced by the twin demons of _engaging work_ and _steady paycheck_. We lament our loss.


----------



## Seonaid

I know.  I met her a few months ago and she was all excited about her job and stuff. Silly girl.


----------



## el-remmen

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FAJITAS! And Happy Birthday "Welcome to the Halmae" story hour!


----------



## Fajitas

Thank you, sir.  With age comes Wis bumps...


----------



## spyscribe

Has it really been six years since this story hour began?  

More to the point, has it actually been two years since I managed to update?!?

Sheesh.  You'd think that I had suddenly become wealthy and non-compulsive or something.

Alas, I'm as compulsive as ever (although happily not as poor).  No, the answer is sadly much the same as last year.  I'm working on a new television show.  I should be writing a new script, and somehow the story hour falls through the cracks.

Happily for anyone pining for a Halmae fix (and that includes me these days), ellinor and Ilex have begun a new story hour based on the group's _new campaign_.  

http://www.enworld.org/forum/story-hour/251423-rose-wind-saga-halmae.html]A Rose in the Wind: A Saga of the Halmae.

I am so jealous that I can't play in this game until I get back to California in a month.  This story hour is going to be _awesome_.  Go check it out!


----------



## energy_One

Thanks for the update, spyscribe, and good luck with everything you are doing!


----------



## ellinor

Thanks for the kind words!  We look forward to getting you back.


----------



## Seonaid

spyscribe said:


> Happily for anyone pining for a Halmae fix (and that includes me these days), ellinor and Ilex have begun a new story hour based on the group's _new campaign_.
> 
> http://www.enworld.org/forum/story-hour/251423-rose-wind-saga-halmae.html]A Rose in the Wind: A Saga of the Halmae.
> 
> I am so jealous that I can't play in this game until I get back to California in a month.  This story hour is going to be _awesome_.  Go check it out!



I can't get the link to work.  Never mind. There's an extra " at the end of it.


----------



## spyscribe

Seonaid said:


> I can't get the link to work.  Never mind. There's an extra " at the end of it.




Fixed it, thanks!


----------



## Jackylhunter

I know that there is a new thread, with a new story.  But I was re-re-re-reading this one, and I think I've found my favorite line ever.  Or at least the best character into ever.  It is Hue, meeting Reyu and Thatch, behold:
“Great!  It smells delicious!  Can I have some too?”
It is a high pitched voice filled with a nearly feverish excitement, and it comes from the bushes nearby.  Thatch and Reyu whirl and see a strange little man.  He is maybe three feet tall, with a large nose and a dark beard full of twigs.  He has great big 
expressive eyes – though what exactly they express is unclear.  It might be “Wow!” or it might be *“Guess what the voices in my head are telling me!”* Possibly both.  A ferret sits on the man’s shoulder, beady eyes darting back and forth.

I love you guys...=)


----------



## spyscribe

Hue was a good one. (The ferret, even better.)  One of those characters who you could hook into within about five seconds of meeting him.


----------



## Kuritaki

Just finished reading this thread...[Repeating all of the praise already given, and then some (no, a lot!) more...]
I have only one question for Spyscribe: It has been so long since the last update  Will there ever be new updates? Or are you saving them for the movie?


----------



## thatdarncat

http://www.enworld.org/forum/story-...ae-updated-february-6-2011-a.html#post4687970


----------



## SolitonMan

Kuritaki said:


> Just finished reading this thread...[Repeating all of the praise already given, and then some (no, a lot!) more...]
> I have only one question for Spyscribe: It has been so long since the last update  Will there ever be new updates? Or are you saving them for the movie?




I'd be happy to hear just who was chosen as the archmage of the academy...talk about a cliffhanger...


----------



## spyscribe

Hey Kuritaki, thanks for the kind words!  I'm so glad to know that people are still finding and enjoying the story hour. 

To answer you and Soliton Man, the status of future updates is that I would love to finish off the tale.  Unfortunately for that goal, but fortunately for me, I've been very steadily employed in television for the last three years which is great on the professional and creative front, but lack of updates is the downside.   

The story hour is something I get a chance to work on occasionally, but I don't want to start up with the updates again unless I'm reasonably assured I can make it to the end.

In the meantime, enjoy A Rose in the Wind (link in sig).  We certainly are having a good time playing it.


----------



## Seonaid

Why would you choose gainful (and enjoyable) employment over keeping the unwashed masses happy for free? Where are your priorities, woman?!?


----------



## spyscribe

I know!  I know!


----------



## SolitonMan

spyscribe said:


> I've been very steadily employed in television for the last three years ...




Can you share what you've been working on?  I watch some television, it'd be nice to know something I enjoy in that medium was created by someone who has created something else I enjoy in this medium.


----------



## Seule

SolitonMan said:


> Can you share what you've been working on?  I watch some television, it'd be nice to know something I enjoy in that medium was created by someone who has created something else I enjoy in this medium.




Oh, how I wish the answer to this question was 'The Middleman'. That would rock.

  --Penn


----------



## Wilhem

Wow! Just read the lot over the last few days. Good job it has been quiet at work! Fully addicted to such a great story so well told. Well done to a clearly great DM and set of players as well. I can't wait to hear the conclusion and I'm cheering for Barnabus  'beware the wrath of the crazy old guy' plus i don't think he will be caught out again. 
On to the sequel i guess! 
P.S. Cheers steve for compiling the pdf.s


----------



## spyscribe

Wilhem, so glad you've enjoyed the story!  Obviously, I've been delinquent in updating here, but have fun reading the sequel!


----------

